Sitting with the King
Sneak Peek
There's no doubt about it—the most frightening experience of my entire life happened in 1988, while I was doing one of the things I enjoy most.
It was a beautiful summer afternoon and I was outside of the home Susan and I had built a couple of years earlier. I love working in my yard, especially when I'm alone. For me it's an ideal opportunity to commune with God, enjoy his awesome creation and think.
Saturday's are important days in my pastoral preparation time. I know where I'm leading the church through Sunday sermons, for one or two years ahead, so coming up with a subject is not difficult. By Wednesday, I sit down for a couple of hours to prepare my outline, but it's on Saturday that I put the colour, flavour, and fragrance into the Sunday dinner. To spend a few hours outside alone with God, on the Jewish Sabbath, is both productive and refreshing.
On this particular Saturday I had my work cut out for me. A couple of years earlier Susan had purchased a acre lot on which we'd carefully placed our house. Behind us was an untouched city-owned forest, and in front I'd planted a half acre of grass, cut in half by a long winding driveway, some rock gardens and colourful variety of decorative trees, shrubs and flowers. It was on the large east side yard that I was working that Saturday.
Preparing for the construction of our home, I'd had the high-hoe operator place all the forest debris he'd removed in a volcanic pile about 50 feet from the side of the house. We'd sold the logs, but had been left with about a dozen huge (8 to 12 foot) tree root branches and bushes that formed a small mountain. It was my job that day to burn as much as I could before the rest was buried in deep holes in the front yard. My thinking was that it would not only save a lot of money in hauling charges, but also would be fun building a large bonfire.
Being a man, I've always loved playing with fires, so this was set to be a good day. In the weeks previous, I'd already burned up most of the branches and light debris, so there wasn't much east-to-ignite fuel left. To compensate, I'd brought home trunk loads of old rubber tires—and also about five gallons of gasoline.
I began my day's work by carefully arranging the tires around the stumps and leftover branches. I formed the makins of a small kindling fire in the hollow base of the pile. And to be cautious, I had my garden hose running and handy in case the fire went better than I expected. You can never be too careful!
I poured about half the container of gasoline over the tires and tree stumps—and then, with my heart pumping with excitement, I struck the match and lit the kindling.
Within seconds, all the fires of hell broke loose in my yard. I could not believe it—the flames shot upward at least twenty feet and the entire mountain of wood and branches lit up like a Roman candle. As a budding pyromaniac, that might have been exciting for me, but there were two major problems. One was that the fire was illegal in our city and two was that the huge sparks, which were rising upwards of fifty feet, were licking and lighting upon the forest which edged my yard.
I was scared beyond belief! Quickly I grabbed my now puny looking garden hose and pulled it toward the blaze. But as I yanked, it tangled and only a pathetic drizzle came out. Of course I prayed—as sincerely as I ever had before. My prayer went something like this: "Lord, if there's anything I should confess, I'm so sorry, but right now I need help—big time! Amen" While I was praying I was seeing visions of my future behind bars, and the newspaper with headlines, "Local pastor burns down hundreds of acres of pristine forest...houses lost, city aflame."
This is all true; sadly true. The lower branches of the surrounding forest were actually singed black. Only God could have stopped what would surely have gone down in history as one of the stupidest things I've ever done. Thankfully he did and within a very few minutes (which seemed like hours) the intensity of the flames quieted. It took a lot longer for my heart to settle into a normal rhythm.
I wrote this sad story to illustrate the very normal truth of this third book in the Kingdom series. We have been given the privilege, as well as the responsibility, to not only diligently pursue our God and his assigned purpose, but also to protect our circle of influence from the destructive powers of evil.
It is a good and right thing for me to work in my yard, cultivate the garden and clean out refuse, but it would be akin to abortion of my assignment if I did not protect it from the evil assault of the enemy. What had the potential of being so good and fruitful in Susan's and my property, could very easily have been totally wiped out in only an hour. Not only would all that we'd workd for be gone, but the properties within the touch of our personal borders could also have been devastated.
