I wait for the Lord

more than the watchmen for the morning --

more than the watchmen for the morning.

Psalm 130:6

In the depths of a moonless night, a watchman stands tense, alert to every sound.  A rustle of brush, the crack of a twig could be a frightened mouse scurrying for cover; or an advancing army creeping toward the city.  

He longs for light, for vision, for the flood of information revealed by the dawn.  A battle to plan or an embarrassed laugh of relief, anything is better than the coiled spring of wondering, of waiting for what can't be seen.

Waiting for the Lord. Waiting for the light.  Living in the longing for the dawning glow that illuminates the truth of all that commotion stumbling through the night.

I waited patiently for the Lord,

and He turned to me

and heard my cry for help.

Psalm 40:1

Deep in the mists of longer ago than I want to imagine, I woke up every morning to a pair of tiny blue eyes peering over the edge of my bed.  The red headed toddler in a diaper and a trailing  "daddy shirt" didn't make a sound as he crept into my room.

He didn't cry or call out or tug at my arm as he waited.  He just stared in silence until I opened my eyes, then solemnly announced, "Cheerios".  My teasing prodding for  a hello,  a good morning,  an I love you mommy, netted me only a ornery grin and a firm repetition of "Cheerios".

In the innocent faith of a child, he stood in perfect patience.  He held no doubts that my eyes would open, that I would laugh at his antics, that I would get up and get him the breakfast he wanted.

David stood too with his eyes on God, expectant, confident, at least for that moment, that all that he needed was there, poised to be delivered.

But I am not ashamed,

because I know the One I have believed in

and am persuaded

that He is able to guard

what has been entrusted to me

until that day.

II Timothy 1:12

My mind drops instantly into old hymn mode as it brushes over this verse.  It's different here though.  The hymn I remember talks about what has been commited to God, not what has been entrusted to me.  My Bible acknowledges the alternate translation in a note, but gives this as the primary. 

What a terrifying thought, to be entrusted with a gift from God.  What if I break it?  What if I lose it?  What if I mess it up beyond repair?  How could I possibly protect something so precious?  Instead, He guards it.  Jesus himself protects and corrects and keeps it safe. 

I can rest in faith.  I can trust that I can't ruin anything too badly as long as I walk in His light.

But as for you,

continue in what you have learned

and firmly believe. 

You know those who taught you ...

II Timothy 3:14

The world is a constant droning of endless voices.  Voices pleading and voices strident, voices calm with reasoned authority, voices bellowing with the power of conviction, each convinced he's right.  Each determined to be the voice of truth.  It's learning that never rests.  It's the teachings of radio, television, internet, and endless stacks of books vying for attention, tugging at my mind. 

Who are all these people?  Some,of course, maybe even most, are earnest, Godly, Christians, hoping only reach out with the truth.  But what of the others?  How many grasp for power, prestige, and money?  How many don't know the number they hurt?  How many just don't care?

"you know those who taught you ..." Paul told Timothy.  His mother, his grandmother, and Paul himself, they were Timothy's foundation.  He knew them.  He knew how they lived.  He knew their love for him.  He knew they wanted only the best for him.  He knew they would never delibrately steer him wrong. 

In the world of constant voices, who do I know?  In the weeding and sifting of the cacophony of sounds, there's plenty of good to find, but test it, mold it, measure it to the standard of the teachers you really know. 

No one serving as a soldier

gets entangled

in the concerns of civilian life:

he seeks to please

the recruiter

II Timothy 2:4

Entanglements abound in a school in the spring.  State testing absorbs a week of precious time.  Field trips and farewell plans, awards and frantic last minute curriculum jostle and battle for the few fleeting days remaining.  A constant jumble of thoughts and plans and readjustments in hopeless endless effort to keep up the pace and please everyone involved.  

Disentangle, step back and breathe.  Who do I really need to please?  Where is loyalty, the focus, on the one who brought me this job.  The one to whom I owe the fullfillment of it as a ministry.

The Lord will rescue me

from every evil work

and will bring me safely

into His heavenly kingdom

II Timothy 4: 18

There wasn't going to be any rescue.  Paul knew that.  The entire book is his final farewells, his last exhortations, his aching love for the man he considered his son. 

He was in prison.  He was cold and lonely.  He knew his race was over.  He knew he would shortly be killed.  So why would he write with such confindence of rescue? 

It wasn't a physical battle on his mind.  He had no fear of physical death.  He longed only for safe passage to the heavenly kingdom.  He rested at peace in unwavering faith that he would receive it. 

You, therefore, my son,

be strong in the grace

that is in Christ Jesus

II Tiimothy 2:1

Grace and strength; they sound so opposite.  I'm used to admonitions to stay strong in the faith.  Hang on, stand firm, resist.  It's work.   It's a firm resolve, a constant vigilance.  The strength is in the effort, in the exercise of developing muscles.

 But grace, grace is a gift.  No effort can make it stronger, greater, more abundant.  It just is.  It holds me, surrounds me and draws me in.  All I can do is to rest in it, and in the rest become infused with strength..