The simplest of things go a long way to affect futures. And funny, they don’t happen in seconds. They take years. Years to develop. Years to be hemmed and hawed and straightened till perfection.
Often, the people through which these simple things occur are far from perfect. They’ve been taught humility and discipline, perseverance and understanding, patience and honesty, yet they still show the other side of man.
Is there such a thing as the other side of man? You bet.
The childish Christian I am, I often expected success to be immediate, or at most, pushed ahead for a year, two max. Given, I’d read stories of Joseph and David and Moses. I knew Joseph dreamed at seventeen, became prime minister at thirty. I knew Dave slumped the giant at a similar age, but had to fight wars and wiggle under caves before being crowned king at…
Moses was the worst of the lot. Forty years of thorough demands. Even with this, he couldn’t hold back from spilling fire (not literally) when the fickle Israelites provoked this sage.
Welcome to the New Era. Or Testament. The disciples went with Jesus for three and a half years, receiving sermons that weren’t just lengthy but were truckloads slamming against the walls of their heart.
They were feeble when time came to give out.
But then, there was Paul. Paul didn’t experience the travails of the sage, or the parables of Pete.
He just went blind for three days, and then he was preaching.
Oh. Did I say just? You don’t just go blind, man. Without sight for three days. Really, there are so many things humans cannot perfectly comprehend until they take a sip of the experience. Here’s how to know.
Close your left eye. Walk to the nearest entrance. Now, shut tight your better eye – or right – and step out. Yeah, do it. March on with both eyes closed. Try crossing the four-lane highway or ordering decaf. Man your vehicle with eyes taped, or attempt hugging a loved one.
It’s terrible. A terrible situation. In fact, the only thing more terrible than been maimed is losing one’s soul, as Jesus said.
So, there appeared to be only two options for me. Either the lengthy hemming that’s necessary for awesome expeditions, or the quick frightening experience that positions for exploits. Which would I choose?
I don’t know. Earlier today, I read a blog discussing preparation and the writer. It goes beyond the art of weaving stories. All things require preparation.
Ministering to a group of twenties? Prepare. Intend to pen a bestseller? Prepare. Want to hear from God and live as a son to The Father? Prepare. Interested in learning a new language? Prepare.
There’s no specific length. There’s no specific how.
But the place of preparation is irremovable. In spirit, in soul, in body.