In any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of contentment, whether I go satisfied or hungry, have plenty or nothing. I am able to do all things through the one who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:12, 13)
One of the low points in my life was in Ilorin, Nigeria. I was separated from my wife and family for three months and lived on bananas, peanut butter, and sardines. As I shared a bed with an old missionary, I built a wall of self-pity around my heart.
There was a scratching noise from outside my virtual prison. The mortar between two blocks crumbled and a beam of light streamed in.
“This is a jailbreak. Get ready to come out,” the Lord said in a laughing whisper.
I offered one pathetic prayer in acknowledgment of his attempt. That made room for a larger praise of his grace, which, in turn, paved the way for more of his Spirit. In the end, deep satisfaction pillowed my head, as a blanket of peace draped my sleepy body. I no longer cared about the heat, my bunkmate’s snoring, or my empty stomach. My sweet Lord was all I needed.
Before I can be released from an undesirable situation, I need to get to the place where I can say, with Paul, that I don’t care how it turns out. Worship is the only way to reach that larger perspective. Each bad circumstances calls for a choice—cling to self-pity, or accept the jailbreak by redirecting into worship. Veneration of the Lord relocates my spirit—the real me—to the outside of my circumstantial prison.
Once I’m outside, I discover why the Lord was laughing through the mortar. There I was, crouched inside a tiny cell, while just beyond the walls were acres of the blinding glory, consuming splendor, and raging power of Jesus, Creator of life.
Seen from the outside, the picture of me covering my head under all that whirling life is … comical.
Prayer: King of Glory, be so real to me that I don’t care about earthly outcomes.