Always On Time

February 6, 2024 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

We celebrated the boy’s birthday yesterday. It wasn’t the actual day on the calendar, but he had a day off and the rest of us were free, so we scheduled the dinner.

It was only a few days ago we decided on the date. The Lovely Lady and I had a short trip to Tennessee that took a couple of those days. Before we knew it, we were almost upon the date and we hadn’t ordered a present.

But, you know there’s this online service (the name sounds a bit like a piece of beef you’d order in an upscale restaurant) that promises delivery in two days.

We were sure it would be on time.

The day came and I checked my email for tracking. All seemed okay, with the package having arrived at the local distribution center early that morning.

It would be on time.

Further checks throughout the day told a different story. At noon, the package was still in the distribution center. I checked at four o’clock, with the same story.

It wouldn’t be on time.

At five, we sat down to dinner with the family, including the boy. Dinner proceeded, finishing in about half an hour.

Time to open presents.

Ours wasn’t there.

With great disappointment, we told him we’d have to get it to him the next time we saw him. He’s a strong independent young man, who had no intention of making his grandparents sad.

“No problem at all! I’ll just have my birthday longer!”

We laughed. I checked my phone again.

“Out for Delivery,” read the screen!

Ten minutes later, the delivery vehicle was in the street in front of the house. Eagerly, he tore open the package we handed him.

On time!

Our best efforts seemed to be thwarted, but instead, the package was right on time.

Right. On. Time.

I’m not good at the patience thing. I watch the clock, clicking the refresh button on my screen, disappointed every time.

The Preacher said there was a time and season for everything. Everything.

“To everything there is a season,
And a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
(Ecclesiastes 3:1, KJV)

I don’t want to wait. I want the answer now! Well before the deadline, I want to hold it in my hand, certain that I am prepared for whatever comes.

And yet, our Father up above created time, and the seasons, and the answers we crave. He’s the one who knew exactly when to send His Son.

“But when the fullness of the time came, God sent His Son. . .that we might receive the adoption as sons and daughters.”
(Galatians 4: 4-5, NASB)

His gifts are good. They are perfect.

They are on time.

There are a number of those gifts I’m still waiting on. (Patience, for one.)

I wasn’t sure about the online service. I’m confident—absolutely certain—about His timing.

He’s always on time. Always.

I’ll wait. You?

“God’s timing is always perfect. Trust His delays. He’s got you.”
(Tony Evans)

“Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.”
(James 1:17, NASB)

Next in Line

September 20, 2022September 20, 2022 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Sometimes I say things I’m not sure I believe. It’s not a game; I just need to hear the words out loud to be able to decide.

If I believe them or not, I mean.

These particular words, I said for the first time a couple of months ago. We were sitting at a familiar corner in my little town when they escaped from my mouth. Still, I didn’t blurt them; I announced them rather thoughtfully.

I’ve had time to think about them—to play with them in my brain and in my spirit—since then. I’ve decided I do believe them. So last weekend, as the Lovely Lady and I sat at the same corner waiting for the light to change, I spoke the words again.

I may have been a little more forceful this time.

“We’re next. I think I like being next as much as I actually enjoy going.”

She gave me that look. You know.

That look.

I’m certain it was the same look she had given me weeks ago when I said the same words. I suppose she expected—since I hadn’t reiterated it again since then—that I had thought better of the original statement and wasn’t going to repeat it again.

I haven’t.

And I did.

It’s a traffic light I’ve waited for many times. We often shop at the grocery store just past the corner. McDonald’s is on that same corner. When I’ve ridden my bicycle with friends on occasion, it’s a familiar point at which to cross the busy highway.

I’ve studied the progression of the different lanes and the timing of the lights. I know when each lane will begin to move and when they will stop (well, except for those few who invariably blow through the just-changed-red light at the last moment).

Others have done the same thing as I. One can tell by the brake lights that darken as the cars ahead anticipate the opportunity to move on in their journeys. It’s clear in the edging forward that begins as the stream of oncoming traffic begins to wane

When my cycling friends are with me, we’ve been known to start across the highway before the light changes, seeing that the crossing lanes have no oncoming traffic.

We’re next!

I don’t want to argue about my thoughtful statement. I’ve simply come to the conclusion personally that the anticipation, the certainty we’ll soon be moving again in the direction of our destination, is at least as exciting to me as the actual journey.

You see, actually moving entails effort. Sometimes, it even feels dangerous (those red light runners, you know) to enter the flow of traffic again. And, to tell the truth, frequently it’s just more comfortable to sit right where I am.

You’ve seen them, haven’t you? The efficient ones. Checking their lists while they wait. Putting on lipstick. Texting their moms.

Those are the ones I don’t understand. I sit drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, counting down the seconds until the light changes. Those folks, the efficiency experts, often become so enthralled in their idle-time activities that they forget they’re next. Horns will honk. Possibly. We are in the South, you know.

Still, we don’t always enjoy waiting.

Oh, we can adapt; we can fill the time with other diversions, but soon we are absorbed in those undertakings and forget that we’re waiting. Then again, we can sit idle—stressed and worried about what’s coming next.

But, being next means being ready.

Preparation is required for next.

As when driving, one must be set for what lies just ahead. Equipment must be in good condition. Our minds must be alert and primed for action. Eyes open. Reflexes tuned.

Can’t you just feel the adrenaline rush now? I can!

The red light in front of me notwithstanding, I’m ready to go.

Ready and waiting.

We’re next!

Be on guard. Stand firm in the faith. Be courageous. Be strong.
(1 Corinthians 16:13, NLT)

“A subject uppermost on my mind which I wanted most to emphasize…is our customer service philosophy here at Walmart, ‘You’re always next in line at Walmart.'”
(Sam Walton, founder of Walmart, Inc.)

But as for me, I watch in hope for the Lord,
I wait for God my Savior;
my God will hear me.
(Micah 7:7, NIV)

While We Wait

February 1, 2019February 1, 2019 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 3 Comments

Anticlimactic. That’s what they call it, I think.

The bomb is going to explode. Terror grips the characters in the action movie. There is no way out! They’ll all surely be blown to bits. The camera fades to the timer counting down the seconds: 11, 10, 9, 8, 7. . . The distraught secretary screams and covers her face with her hands.

Click.

The hero flips a switch on the side of the bomb’s casing and the countdown stops. Within seconds, the plot has moved on, as if the minutes of terror and horrible certainty had never happened.

Anticlimactic.

It was. For the last several weeks, I’ve been waiting for the bomb to explode. Today, a sweet young nurse flipped the switch to stop the timer. Well, actually she clicked send on the email I received right after getting out of bed this morning.

“Your CT scan is normal.”

It’s done. Over. Time to move on.

Or, as Andy Dufresne said in the movie, Shawshank Redemption, “It all comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living or get busy dying.”

Wait!

Can we talk about this for a minute? I’m pretty certain I’m not the only one who’s been here—here just past the anticlimactic point, the place where we’re supposed to just pretend the last few weeks didn’t happen.

They happened. I felt them. I did the things I was supposed to do; said the things I was supposed to say. And, all the time I had my face in my hands while I screamed. Figuratively—the face in hands thing, anyway. Literally—for the screaming thing, if you count on the inside.

Did I say all the time?

That’s not quite right. It was like that for a while. Even before I heeded the signs and called the doctor, I was hunkered down, imagining the end game, wondering what I would do should the worst come to pass.

But a week ago, as I was in the middle of saying the right words to my lunch companion—the right words, mind you, a light came on. Sitting there in the Thai restaurant, with my adult son, I said the words.

“I’m not afraid to die. I’m not. I know what’s next. But, I really don’t want people to be left behind, people who need me.”

Nice, huh?

What I heard in that moment, not from my son but in my head, was the voice of my father saying the words to me several years ago. He was talking about himself at the time.

“No one is indispensable. God can have anyone do what I’m doing now.”

And, from somewhere else, in the back of my brain, I almost thought I heard God Himself laugh. Not an unkind laugh, but the kind of laugh you hear from a father when you’ve been a little foolish and naive. Gently, the words come to mind:

Before you were born—before even a day of your life had been lived—your days on earth were numbered and recorded. Not a moment will be left out. (Psalm 139:16)

I’m not that important. I’m not. And no, I’m not putting myself down, not trying to be self-deprecating. I’m simply stating a fact.

I’m not important enough to make God change the days, the hours, the minutes that have been set in my account. My times are completely in His hands.

So, I’ve decided I’m waiting for Him.

I’ve decided I’m waiting for God. Share on X

The what-ifs and the if-onlys don’t change the reality of life one whit. The brain and the mouth run on ahead of the events, sometimes with disastrous consequences to our spirit.

Fear paralyzes and turns our focus inside out.

But, if we will wait on our God, He will see us to safety.

Fear paralyzes and turns our focus inside out. But, if we will wait on our God, He will see us to safety. Share on X

Just like His people at the Red Sea, He tells us to stand still and watch His rescue take place. (Exodus 14:13)

In His time. At His place.

Waiting is hard. Not knowing is hard. But, when we run ahead, we fall at the side of the road, immobilized by weakness and fear.

I’m finally learning that in the waiting, I can trust Him. Even if the result from the tests had been different today, the real outcome would still be the same. Exactly as He planned.

When we wait on Him, our strength for the journey is renewed. Like an eagle soaring on the thermal currents above the mountains, we will gather strength as we fly. We’ll run without losing strength, and walk tirelessly. (Isaiah 40:31)

When we wait.

Waiting is hard.

Ah, but His rescue is spectacular.

Absolutely spectacular.

My voice You shall hear in the morning, O Lord;
In the morning I will direct it to You,
And I will look up.
(Psalm 5:3 ~ NKJV ~ New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.)

Waiting For Hope

December 15, 2018December 16, 2018 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

Waiting. It’s not my strongest ability. It’s not even close to the top ten.

You’d think it should be.

For most of us, it is one of the activities in which we have the most experience. Hours. And hours. Waiting.

She said she needed to go see the Social Security folks. And, would I go with her? I agreed, so earlier this week, we set out for our destination.

We expected a really long wait. The full waiting room (don’t you just love that name?) didn’t allay our fears in any way. Rows and rows of folks. All waiting.

Everyone has been there. No, not necessarily at the Social Security office. I mean waiting. We’ve all been there. At the doctor’s. The hospital. The courthouse. The DMV.

I love how the waiting rooms are full of lively conversations, laughter, and joy. Oh, wait. They’re not, are they?

Silence. Dread. Expectation of failure. These are the emotions of the waiting room.

I sat, watching (in silence) the same people walk one by one out the door of the government office the other day. Not one was crying. Most were even smiling.

Still, the faces of those waiting were grim, with a host of feelings written in their eyes, on their mouths. Impatience. Disgust. Worry.

My companion and I sat, mostly in silence as well, our own emotions written to be read by other observers, I’m sure. We sat and awaited the adventure before us—the adventure of the interview.

Yes. I did say that. Adventure. What is to come. Anticipation.

They do come from the same place, you know—adventure & Advent.

The time before, when we wait. Waiting, in hope or in dread.

This time of year is tricky. With the rest of the world, we await the coming joyous event.

I look around me and I see a lot of emotions. Somehow, folks don’t all seem joyous. Many are downright sad. Others seem disillusioned, almost bitter.

Somehow, even the folks who have been all happy-clappy through this season in years past seem a bit more sober. Introspective, even.

I wonder.

Maybe I was the happy-clappy one. The one who couldn’t see through my own giddy expectation to notice others weren’t enjoying the waiting. Perhaps I, who awaited the coming day with wonder, couldn’t see that others just sat wondering when it would all be over.

I see them now.

Sometimes, I am them.

We drove along this evening, the Lovely Lady and I. It seemed they filled my vision, the Christmas lights spelling out the word HOPE in foot-high letters on the fence.

She didn’t see them. I motioned in the general direction and still, she didn’t see them. Frustrated, I stabbed my finger straight at them and her eyes followed it across the field ahead.

Oh! Now I see it!

I intended to take a photograph later, but I forgot. It was well past midnight again when I wandered over that way. This time I couldn’t see the letters. Pulling my light jacket tight against the frigid north wind, I walked right up to the fence, a quarter of a mile away. Then I saw that they were still there, just not lit up. In the middle of the cold, dark night, they were still there. Even though I couldn’t see them.

The letters are still there. They’ll shine again tomorrow.

They will.

HOPE.

In letters that reached to the sky, He wrote it. Some don’t see. Some can’t see. Not without help.

HOPE. In letters that reached to the sky, He wrote it. Some don’t see. Some can’t see. Not without our help. Share on X

While we’re waiting, perhaps we could talk amongst ourselves. It’s time to point to hope. To talk about hope. To live in hope.

We do. We live in hope. We live there.

The world is waiting in the dark night. (Isaiah 9:2)

Waiting for hope.

Hope will shine bright.

It’s time to point the way. Time to speak up in this waiting room. Time to walk out in joy and wonder.

While the world waits.

Hope will shine.

Hope looks forward to the Glory to come; in the weary interval of waiting, the Spirit supports our poor hearts and keeps grace alive within us.
(A.W. Pink ~ 1886-1952 ~ English theologian)

The people who sat in darkness
have seen a great light.
And for those who lived in the land where death casts its shadow,
a light has shined.
(Matthew 4:16 ~ NLT ~ New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Not Home Anymore

August 9, 2017August 9, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 3 Comments

It’s not really our home, you know.

I said the words jokingly—actually, only half jokingly—to a guest in our house the other day.

The visitor was visibly surprised. We’ve lived in the house for a decade and a half, filling the walls with artwork we’ve chosen to fit our taste, and the bookcases with volumes to feed our souls.

The walls still seem to echo with the voices of our grandchildren and college students around the table. If I listen carefully, I can almost hear the Lovely Lady’s mother’s musical laugh, her idiosyncrasies and stories far outlasting her years on this earth.

The Doxology still rings in the air, sung by voices young and old scattered around the little dining room. And, before the strains of that beautiful old hymn of praise die down, one may be able to make out the joyful carols sung so many times over the years inside these thick brick walls.

Many whom we love have crossed the threshold of this wonderful old house while we’ve resided here, a better home than I ever imagined it would be. The welcome here was always warm, the food delicious, the fellowship all one could ask for.

That was then.

Home is the place where even the host feels welcome, the retreat where the world is left behind at the door, even if only for a little while.

And God said to Paul and his Lovely Lady, leave behind this beautiful and welcoming home, along with the music store, your vocation and place of ministry for the last thirty years, and go to a place I will show you. But, not yet.

But, not yet.

Am I comparing my circumstances to Abraham’s? Really? I tell you, there have been times over the last few months when I would have told you he had it easy compared to me.

All Abraham had to do was to obey and walk. God showed him the rest. Under the great oak tree at Shechem, God waved an arm around and declared that everything he saw was his. Home.

I hope there is little need for me to reassure the reader I have no illusions about my importance in the grand scheme. I’m well aware of the part Father Abraham had yet to play in the history of mankind.

I understand the great faith it took for Abram to leave his family and country and travel, not knowing where he would end up. I only make the comparison because this Hero of faith had merely to take one step after another until the Lord told him to stop.

A pilgrim no more, he would be home. Home.

But, I’m sure many can identify with this unsettled feeling I have deep down when I look around me in this old house. It’s not my home anymore. Oh, my name (and the Lovely Lady’s) is on the title, but my home is somewhere else.

Or, it would be if I could leave here. There are still a number of things that have to happen before I walk out the door for the last time.

So, I keep walking back in every evening. I keep sleeping in (what will be) someone else’s bedroom. I work in an office that will never truly be mine again.

I’ve got one foot firmly planted in the present, and the other poised to take the next step—to a different place entirely.

It should be time to close one chapter and move to the next. Only, I keep reading the last paragraph again and again.

I don’t write these words to get sympathy. Not at all. I do wonder though, if anyone else can identify with how I’m feeling.

Anyone?

This unsettled feeling—this impatience and restlessness—I wonder, did our Savior ever feel it?

Earth was never His home. He left His home to live here temporarily, before returning to His rightful home. (Philippians 2:6-8)

He wasn’t welcome, didn’t get settled in. He came to His people and they didn’t accept Him. (John 1:11)

He didn’t even have a place he wanted to call His own. The birds and animals had homes, but the Son of Man didn’t even have a place to lay His head. (Matthew 8:20)

He didn’t settle in. He never got comfortable. He was Creator of all that is and there was no place here for Him to call home.

The task for which He came still lay ahead of Him. And, after that—home.

Really. Home.

And, after that—home. Really. Home. Share on X

I’m realizing something, these days as I miss the home that was and look forward to the home that will be. I’m realizing I’ll never really be settled-in there either. It may be the place I reside for the rest of my life—or not. Regardless, it won’t really be home, either.

Just as now, when I gaze across the bridge to the next place, in my heart, I’ll someday be looking across the river to that place, my last and final destination and feel the need to go home.

I may even wonder, as I do now, why I have to wait—why I have to keep one foot in the present and have the other ready to take that step into eternity.

For right now, I’d settle for simply taking the next step.

Just one will do.

For a start.

Leaving home—to go home.

And then it happens all at once and unexpectedly. That is how things happen, I suppose. You pack your bags and find yourself walking yourself home.
(Shannon L Alder ~ American author)

Abraham was confidently looking forward to a city with eternal foundations, a city designed and built by God.
(Hebrews 11:10 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. All rights reserved.)

I’ve Got All Day

April 1, 2016April 1, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Ten o’clock sharp. Every weekday morning. The door is unlocked and the music store is open for business.

It says so on the door in black and white: Business hours: 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM

Right on the door. In black and white.

I actually arrive most mornings an hour early. Preparations need to be made. Loose ends are tied up from the previous day’s business. Orders have to be assembled. Repairs sometimes need to be completed. I want to be ready for the customers who will walk through the door each day.

I see them in the parking lot. Nearly every morning, vehicles pull off the street and pause before the front door. They’re reading that business hours sign. They always leave—well, nearly always.

Earlier this week, as I readied the cash register at about a quarter to ten, I noticed a nondescript economy car pulling up to the store. I ignored it, certain they would back out and leave, to return after I opened up. I was wrong.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

The door rattled with the force of the blows. I wasn’t ready to open up yet, besides which, I tend to be a little obstinate when rushed before hours. I didn’t open the door. A car door slammed outside and I heard a tiny bit of tire-rubber being deposited on the asphalt as the driver left.

I think he was unhappy.

And yet, at 10:05 when he returned (the door then being unlocked), there was no indication of any residual discontent. Our conversation was cordial—friendly, even. It was interesting to hear him talk about his day. He said it more than once, so I’m fairly certain it was so:

“I’ve got the whole day off. I’m just going to take my time and do whatever I want.”

I’m confused.

The door pounding? The tire squealing? Something’s not right here. The sign clearly gives perspective on what one would expect. Experience with other retail establishments would discourage such actions.

And, he’s got all day. No hurry at all.

Why is virtue so hard? You know—patience is a virtue, good things come to those who wait—things like that.

Why is it so difficult, then?

I don’t have the answer to that. But, I do find myself thinking about the impetuous man. In quiet hours, I wonder.

I’ve got a whole lifetime. He had only one day. A whole lifetime, to live my life. Yet constantly, I am impatient—antsy to get on with things.

You too?

It’s funny. We have the signs that tell us what to expect. Springtime and harvest. Day follows night. One man plants, another harvests. To everything there is a season. All written in black and white for us to read.

But, we stand at the door, not being able to see what’s happening behind it, and we pound with our fists, perhaps even kicking it with our feet.

We know the truth. Our times are in His hands. For all our uncertainty and stumbling in the darkness, we believe He controls all that happens to us. (Psalm 31:15)

Or, do we?

He says wait, and we fidget—be patient, and we worry.

We’ve got all our lives. And, we can’t add one millisecond to those lives by worrying. He says that, too.

His plan is being worked out in us. He began the work; He’ll complete it. (Philippians 1:6)

Wait.

He knows how much time we’ve got. Pounding on the door won’t change His plan. Laying rubber in the parking lot will have no effect whatsoever.

Do you know that waiting builds us into the people we were intended to be? I hope I’m not stretching here.

They that wait upon the Lord will renew their strength. They shall mount up on wings as the eagles do. They’ll run and not grow tired. They’ll walk and not become faint. (Isaiah 40:31)

Patience, my friends.

The doors will open at exactly the right time and we’ll be welcomed in.

It says so right there in black and white.

Wait. Patiently.

Wait.

Have patience. Have patience.
Don’t be in such a hurry.
When you get impatient,
You only start to worry.
Remember. Remember,
That God is patient, too.
And think of all the times
When others have to wait for you.
(from Music Machine ~ Hernandez/Powell ~ Singer/Songwriters)

For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all.Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.
(Romans 8:24-25 ~ NIV)

Not to Go Back

May 8, 2015May 8, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The thunder cracks and the sky drenches the earth, as the dogs in my backyard huddle underneath the storage building, their own aluminum house seeming to them a refuge of limited safety.

I know how they feel.

Oh, not about the little thunderstorm. Those blow in and out with a certain regularity these Spring nights. I rather like the noise and bluster, feeling safe enough in my brick house. It may be a false sense of safety, but it will do for now.

No. I’m thinking more about this feeling I’ve had for awhile that the world is not such a safe place anymore. Some days, it feels like I spend so much time hunkered down to avoid the shrapnel that I don’t accomplish anything at all.

Even more frustrating is, glancing around, I see folks on every side still advancing. I’m staying in the same place, while they move toward the goal.

I hate that!

Did you ever learn to march? Maybe in the service, or perhaps even in a marching band?

Do you remember marking time?

I never served in the armed services, but I marched, both in Jr. ROTC and in the band. I detested marking time.

Detested it.

The amount of energy expended simply to stay in one place was frustrating. I wanted to just stop and stand there while all the others kept marking time. Feet going up and down. Never moving from the spot in which they started.

I never did that. I just kept marking time with them because I was told to. I never understood it, though.

The thing I didn’t know was that, in most instances, while one section of the entire group is marking time, other sections are still moving into place. Often, the section marking time would be required to blend with the moving section as they arrived at the spot where the stationary marchers waited, the combined squad continuing on down the field.

Have you ever tried to stand still and fall in step with someone who is moving past you? What happens for the first few steps? Yeah. You struggle to catch up, and then to keep up, with the other members of the group.

But, if your feet are already moving at the same pace, even if you’re not moving forward, there is no lost effort in falling into step immediately as they approach. The ranks remain aligned, the diagonals perfectly straight.

Flawlessly, seamlessly, the whole body moves forward into the formation they have planned and trained for ahead of time.

The storm is passing now, the sound of the battle in the skies retreating into the distance. It won’t be long and the dogs will be rubbing against my back door, awaiting their next meal and a little ear-scratching from me.

My legs are a little tired, but I think I can mark time a little longer. I’m not sure how long these missiles are going to be flying overhead.

Still, I want to be ready to move out when the time comes.

Unlike the dogs, no ear-scratching will be required.

Not to go back is somewhat to advance... ~ Alexander Pope Share on X

Not to go back is somewhat to advance, and men must walk, at least, before they dance.
(Alexander Pope ~ English poet ~ 1688-1744)

Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm.
(Ephesians 6:13 ~ ESV)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

waiting