​My quarter-inch-thick, body-length, foam mat barely softened the hard edges of the cold stones beneath me, yet I lay in complete contentedness and drifted off to the music of river water rushing by.  Sometimes, I have wrestled with the curse of first-night-camping-insomnia when one’s body, accustomed to a soft, comfy bed, protests against the hard ground cushioned merely by a flimsy piece of foam for a bed—clearly a joke if you think this will offer much comfort.  The average hiker will need a couple days to succumb readily to sleep—due mostly to acute exhaustion rather than adaptation.  Honestly, though, I’ve suffered very little from this chronic, camping malady, and, thinking back, I see the remedy began in my childhood.  

As a child and even into my youth, though I had a perfectly comfortable bed, I would crawl down off my bunk each night as though drawn by an unseen power, lay my bedroll on the floor, and happily slumber upon the cold solidness. 
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“Maybe there’s something wrong with his bed,” my concerned parents mused.  So my dad set to work building me a nice bunkbed-desk combo he had found the plans for in a woodworking magazine.  I tried to love it, but still, I would crawl down off my soft perch and splay out on my bedroom floor.  The problem wasn’t the bed.

When my mother took me to the doctor for a checkup, and he asked her if everything seemed good with me, she said, “Yes, doctor, but he prefers sleeping on floors.”  The doctor rubbed his chin, mused over me afresh, and said, “Perhaps it’s a phase.”  This hope pacified her ‘til the next checkup, but his response made me wonder about my strange habit since even the medical field had no answers for such an oddity.

At sleepovers, my friends thought I was just being generous to let them have the bed all to themselves, but really, I just wanted the floor.  Give me a blanket and pine planking, a sleeping bag and concrete, or a plastic tent and a backyard.  People wondered why.  I wondered why.  I started to believe I was just weird, and it caused me to worry about my future.  Would I forever live with this peculiar flat-floored-forty-wink-fetish?  

​Many years later, lying for the hundredth time on misshapen stones, gazing groggily but enraptured by the early morning mist, hanging heavily in the river valley, and listening to the forest wake up, I suddenly knew why I loved to sleep on floors as a kid!  I realized in that moment that my childhood habit was more than a curious happenstance—an eccentric nature. It had been God’s preparation, even those years ago, for “the works, which God prepared in advance for [me] to do (Eph. 2:10)!  

​Now that I’m grown and in my right mind, I truly appreciate a good bed—Sealys and Sertas, memory foam and pillow-tops alike.  But as it turns out, God has purposes for our lives that start at infancy, and though we may not understand our quirks and intricacies, they often play a part in the greater story.  Only God knew His calling me to be a wilderness expedition instructor would result in countless nights of sleeping out in open spaces on ensolite pads beneath nylon tarps.  But, don’t feel bad for me. I’ve slept pretty well on most of those occasions—cold nights, stormy nights, hot and muggy nights.  I’d been falling asleep on hard surfaces since I was a kid, tempered by a God-given nature, preparing me for the work He had ordained for me to do.  

Jeremiah 29:11 reminds us, “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”  Always before when I read this passage, it drew my attention to the future, causing me to wonder, “What does God have for me next?”  But lately, I’ve discovered that we can see ahead better when we look back and observe the patterns and preferences we’ve demonstrated all along the way.  It’s as if we were hardwired to turn out the way we are.  When I bring into the present the quirks and intricacies of the past that have made me who I am, I can see that my present abilities and talents perfectly fit the design of God’s plan. I no longer just shrug my shoulders and offhandedly remark, “I guess I’m just good at sleeping outside,” but give credit to a loving Creator who made me this way and set me up for success at the plans He had for me. 
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I don’t know what your quirks and intricacies are, but you’ve got them and God wants to use them.  God’s been doing design work in you since you were young, getting you ready for your destiny.  My suggestion is that you remember who you’ve always been and invite your past self into the present plans that God is unfolding in your life.  When you do this, you will find it easier to love yourself for who you are, love our great God who made you, and point to Him when people draw attention to your odd set of talents and skills.  Sleep well!

​“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”
Psalm 139:14

Discovery Ministries celebrates the end of the summer season each year with a staff party.  One year, we went to a local quarry-turned-swimming resort, complete with imported white sandy beaches, fabricated cliff jumping platforms, and blue water dyed to give the impression of the tropics.  Before I even had a chance to set up my lawn chair, crack open a soda, and enjoy this simulated swimming lagoon, my oldest daughter, Emma, sustained an injury.  Jumping into the heavily dyed water, she could not see the sharp rocks hidden just a few feet below the surface, resulting in a deep, nasty, three-inch gash on her right knee.  It was bad.  She clearly needed stitches.  Frustrated with the resort and all their rock-obscuring blue dye and the fact that I would miss the party, I helped Emma hobble to the car and escorted her to the emergency room. 
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The ER is an interesting, paradoxical place.  You go there because you think you’re dying, but once you’re there, you sit and wait until you’re bored to death.  Maybe this is the hospital’s way of weeding out the extreme cases.  Those who are faking it eventually give up and leave.  

Sitting in the ER waiting room this day, I notice that there isn’t much action.  I see a lot of people sitting quietly, staring straight ahead, some with pained expressions on their faces, all of us just waiting.  I was expecting something different.  On TV they make ER’s seem as thrilling as a war zone.  After all, it isn’t called a “Trivial Room” or a “Negligible Room,” but an “Emergency Room.”  Where was the gunshot victim?  Where was the guy having a heart attack with a paramedic straddling him, feverishly performing CPR while EMT’s and nurses frantically roll the gurney down the hall yelling, “STAT!”  Where was the blood, the mayhem, the disorder?  Instead, I observe an overweight gentleman dozing off a few seats away.  An older lady labors with a nagging cough.  I watch a mother try to calm a dirty-faced little boy, whose cheeks shine with tears streaking paths down them as he sobs quietly and holds his arm close to his side.   

My own daughter’s tears have long since dried, and now she is trying, as I am, to make the best of our situation by thumbing through the pages of an out-of-date Better Homes and Gardens.  The hours tick away, but nothing happens.  More hurt, pained, and ailing people quietly file in than file out, and soon the lobby is full.  I find myself yearning for our name to be called so we can get on with this and get back to normal life.  For the first few hours, I even hold out hope that maybe Emma and I can make it back to the beach for a late lunch, but then as the clock ticks, my hope falters.
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I feel myself beginning to go a little crazy by the fifth hour of thumbing through the same Popular Mechanics magazine.  Finally, like a mythic siren, our name is called and we are directed to an examination room.  A doctor scurries in, looks at the charts, and asks what the problem is.  This is an honest question because at this point the laceration on my daughter’s knee has begun to scab over, and due to the stalactites growing from my ears and the crazed look in my eye, I look more like the one in need of medical attention.  

Waiting is no fun.  The Bible talks about waiting quite a bit, like in Psalm 69:3 where the psalmist writes, “I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched.  My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God.”  Sounds a lot like the ER.  But not all waiting is bad.  Psalm 62:5 states, “For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from Him.”  There are even some really good outcomes from waiting, like in Isaiah 40:31 where it says, “…but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” 
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It seems like waiting is not only something we have to do in life—it’s ordained by God for our good.  I was considering this when I read the story of David recently.  David, anointed to become king in a covert coronation, gains God’s full endorsement.  Immediately the power of the Holy Spirit comes over him, and he is soon killing giants and pretty much winning at everything.  He’s humble, good looking, chosen by God, a victorious warrior, loved by everyone—except king Saul.  And this is where the plot in David’s story takes a turn for the worse.  He finds himself on the run, hiding out—an outlaw with no prospects, blocked from his calling with no clear path to the throne.  God promised him the kingdom, but for years due to no apparent fault of his own, David would have to wait.  It’s during this difficult season of his life that we learn how he was able to endure.  

There are a couple times in the narrative that stand out to me as times that David waited when it looked like he could have forced God’s hand and taken control of his destiny.  The first is the time he is hiding in the cave, and Saul enters to relieve himself.  It looks like God is delivering David’s enemy directly into his hands.  Talk about being caught with your pants down!  There’s Saul, ripe for the picking.  The men with David are so convinced that they claim it’s God’s will that they strike Saul down.  But David hesitates and refuses to kill the one he honors as the Lord’s anointed.  Instead, he cuts off part of Saul’s robe and uses it for collateral against sparing his own life.  Saul is humiliated and returns home. 
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Saul doesn’t relinquish his zeal for long, though, and soon he is hunting David again, tracking him to the last corner of the desert.  Every day Saul gets closer to catching David, so what does David do?  He waits until Saul and his men have bedded down for the night and then tiptoes his way into the center of their camp where Saul is snoozing. 

One of David’s mighty men has accompanied him and is thinking the plan involves assassination, but to his surprise, David grasps Saul’s spear and water jug and doesn’t kill Saul but calls to him once he is a safe distance away.  Seeing David holding up the jug and the spear from the adjacent hilltop, Saul is again convicted of his deadly envy and gives up the chase, forced to swallow the pill that David holds in his hand what Saul has placed his faith in—the jug of provision and spear of protection.  David on the other hand, has placed his faith in God’s provision and protection.  

I marvel at David’s ability to wait for God’s timing and wonder how he was able to maintain his conviction and a willingness to delay when the plan of God seemed to be handed to him on a platter.  Why didn’t David take matters into his own hands?  Why didn’t he seize the advantage—take the initiative?  I think it goes back to two vital foundations:  David believed that God is who He says He is, and David believed that he was who God said he was. 
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As ones who have chosen the Almighty God as Lord, we must accept those beliefs, also.  If God is truly God, then He has the power and authority to make His plans succeed.  If God tells us who we are, then there’s no more argument.  The problem is not with God, His plan, or our identities.  The problem we face is in the waiting.  The courage it took for David to trust and wait, is the same courage and trust available for us through the power of the Holy Spirit.  The Apostle Paul has a good word for us when he states, “For I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that day what has been entrusted to me” (2 Tim. 1:12). 

Today, as you endure the waiting game of life, wonder what God’s plans are for you, and wrestle with whether you’re worth it or not, place your trust in God, be kind to yourself as He is, and know that He has big plans for you.  

“Wait for the LORD; be strong, 
and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!” 
Psalm 27:14

​Spiritual warfare hits in surprising ways.  For us this season, it’s been with water...water so common, so powerful, so precious.  For the folks who live in a hurricane alley, they understand the brutal, devastating power behind this force of nature.  Conversely, water rights to those living in the southwestern United States are more valuable than oil.  It is as old as time, too much of it will kill you and a person can only survive about three days without it—water.  So, when Discovery Ministries had its third consecutive water main break in the span of two months, I realized it was more than just bad luck.  It was battle.  

Satan comes to kill, steal, and destroy, and from what I was experiencing, we could add dehydrate to the list.  We discovered the first leak near an RV campsite with water simply bubbling up and slowly pooling like a small artesian well.  The source of the leak lay in a water main deep beneath the earth’s surface.  We would have to dig through the rocky soil, expose the pipe, and make the repairs.  No, it was not an emergency, but really inconvenient.  

Just a couple weeks later, a group staying in the lodge reported silt in the water supply—definitely a problem requiring immediate action.  After a cursory check on filters, we determined the cause—another break in a water main.  This time, the stakes were higher because we were hosting camp guests and would have to relocate them until we could fix the water line, a repair that I knew would be costly.  In desperation, I called a plumber and left a message on his phone to come quickly.  Weighing the options, I knelt in prayer over the loss of clean drinking water.  That’s when I heard God say, “I’ve got this!”  It felt difficult to let it go, but by the end of the day I didn’t really have any other options.  

The next day I woke early and headed for the camp, prepared to work hard until I’d solved the problem.  To my surprise, there, already in the parking area, was an excavator idling behind a truck and trailer. 
I approached the driver. “Hey, what’s going on?”  I asked. 
“The plumber asked me to meet him here early, so here I am.  Where’s the broken water main?” 
Two significant things you need to know about this area make this occurrence a marvel.  First, around here in this rural county of backwoods Missouri nothing ever happens quickly.  Secondly, even if cell phones are getting a signal in these hills, which is only about half the time, communicating one’s problem and need to the tradesman is often challenging, at best.  As I directed the worker to the site, I realized God had fulfilled His words, “I’ve got this.” It truly felt like a miracle.  The workmen were on the job, and soon pure, clear water was flowing for all to enjoy.

​Just a few weeks later, as a crew graded our washed-out camp road after an overabundance of rainfall, they unexpectedly hit a water main.  This time it severed the life source to our administration building, its second story apartments, and the staff house.  This time, our whole staff felt the loss.  

​We soon received the bad news when the plumber examined the damage.  The very old, severed water pipes were rusty and irreparable, so this would be no simple fix.  We would have to dig and re-run hundreds of feet of water lines, costing the camp thousands of dollars that we didn’t have.  Again, we hit our knees, and the Lord said, “Trust me.”  That same day a friend of the ministry randomly wired money to our bank account.  You are probably already ahead of me.  It was a sum that nearly totaled the cost of the waterline repairs.  
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I believe Satan’s battle tactic has been to shut off our water supply, but the faithfulness of Jesus defends and makes it overflow.  That’s a theme present throughout the Bible, especially in Christ’s bold interactions with people.  There was the time in Samaria when Jesus sat next to a well and asked a woman for a drink.  She was appalled that He, a man and a Jew, would ask her for a drink.  Jesus pulled back the curtain on His deity to reveal, “If you knew who I really am you would be asking Me for a drink, and it would be that of Living Water” (John 4:10 my paraphrasing).  

​Later in John’s gospel, we read Jesus’ teaching in the temple of Jerusalem: “On the last day of the feast, the great day, Jesus stood up and cried out, ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink’” (John 7:37).  Then in the book of Revelation, John records, “And He said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment’” (Rev 21:6).  Reading on, Revelation 22 tells us that this living water originated from the very throne of God.  From these passages, we see that the water is living, the water is for everyone who thirsts and the water is free from the very heart of God. 

​If the unquenchable water source is Jesus Himself, then it’s no surprise that Satan would launch a battle against this front, against our getting something so pure, so sweet, so soul quenching as the Living Water of God.  But, like the confused and abused Samaritan woman who wanted to drink but didn’t know how, like the crowds listening to Jesus make his temple proclamation but were so subjected by the harsh, burdensome legalism of the religious leaders that they feared to drink, and like those described in Revelation who were invited to simply come and drink priceless, everlasting water for free, we ask, “How do we drink?”

It occurs to me that I find the way to drink by standing firm against Satan’s tactics.  In his attempts to sabotage our water supply, we hit our knees and went to Jesus.  It was there that Christ quenched our thirst in simple ways, saying, “I’ve got this!” and “Trust in Me.” It was there that He opened our eyes to see His miraculous provisioning.  In fighting for the faith to believe that He would supply our physical need for water, we found the supply of Living Water that had not run dry.  

“…the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”  
​Revelation 7:17 (ESV)