I recently went away for a couple of days to a cabin in the middle of the woods. This is the place where I got the original vision for Manna Café. More importantly, it’s where I hide when I unfortunately have issues with myself, when I’m burnt out, and when the world closes in and I need to be alone with God. This is a place where I can actually sit still for hours at a time and not feel guilty. If you were to ask anyone close to me, especially my wife, they would tell you I don’t sit still very often.
This trip was no different, and it was one of those spring fever days. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, the green of the earth was just starting to poke through the brown of winter, and there I was in the middle of the woods, complaining to God about this life He had given me. I was grateful, don’t get me wrong, but this life is hard! I was tired, feeling very beaten up and unsure of what I needed to do to fix things. So there I was, trying to unwind a little (especially seeing as how my blood pressure had been all out of whack the last few weeks), sitting in a lawn chair in the sun and enjoying the rays. I even took my shirt off. I was trying to keep my mouth shut and listen for God to speak some great words of wisdom from above, some new revelation—something! Anything! I was really starting to get into the moment.
Then I heard thunder in the distance and saw dark clouds far off, so I thought, Well, crap it’s going to rain . . . Oh well, no big deal. By the way, did I mention I was alone? All alone. Actually, there are very few people on this planet who even know where this place is, and the closest one was at least twenty miles away.
Then I heard that voice . . . you know, that Holy Spirit kinda voice. Not a big booming voice, but I recognized it because it was the same voice that talked me into getting a haircut seven years ago—but that’s another story. I remembered the voice—the same voice that talked to me about feeding the poor. The voice that called me out of the wilderness, the one that patches me up when I hit a wall.
The voice said to me, “Take off your clothes.”
The fact that I was in the middle of the woods and there was no chance of another person being anywhere close didn’t help any. Of course, I resisted! But the voice wouldn’t let up, so after at least thirty minutes of whining and checking all around to make there weren’t any squirrels looking, I finally obeyed and took the rest of my clothes off.
Now some of you might not think it strange for a fifty-year old hippie to sit in a lawn chair in the middle of the woods buck naked, but it was a little unusual for me. But there I was, naked in the woods in my lawn chair. The first few minutes were pretty intense. I heard every sound, everything that resembled someone or something stumbling upon my nudist camp of one. I heard every leaf rustle in the wind. The woods suddenly became very noisy. But after awhile, I finally calmed down and it wasn’t so bad. The sun was shining, and I could feel its warmth aalllll ooveer. I could hear the creek at the bottom of the hill.
Then I heard thunder again, but the voice said, “Sit.”
But it’s a storm, I said.
Then a few drops fell. I heard, “SIT.”
So I gathered my courage, thinking maybe this was some kind of rite-of-passage test that God was giving me. I thought, Well, okay, this ain’t so bad, I can do this. Then the thunder started up again, but the voice said, “Wait.” The wind picked up, but the voice said, “Wait.” I think those squirrels had a bet going on how long I would last because then a shower came, and I hunkered down, naked in my lawn chair, shivering in the wetness of the moment—but I made it through.
I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I had made it through a rain shower naked in the woods! Whatever test this was, I had made it. Part of me wanted to stand and beat my chest and do my Tarzan impression. You’ll be glad to know I restrained myself. I just leaned back with my hands behind my head and grunted a little, like Tim the Tool Man.
And then the bottom fell out.
It wasn’t just a rain, but one of those cold rains, the ones where the raindrops feel like icepicks driving through your flesh. There was thunder and lightning. Try as I might, within two minutes I was running into the cabin, shivering, drying off, yelling like a little girl, frantically trying to warm up with a blanket. And then the voice came back.
“What!? That’s all you got? You can’t even sit though a rainstorm without covering up? But you want to feed the world? You think you can save the world?
“You act like it’s up to you. Do you know where those raindrops came from? Could you have stopped them from falling? You couldn’t even sit through them, but you were just asking Me what you need to do to fix things in the storms around you. Did you save yourself, or did I save you? You remember, don’t you, that I’m the One who created the rain? I decide when it falls and when it doesn’t, so how can you take on the storms without Me?
“Do you remember the disciples could only find a few loaves and a few fish?—I’m the One who multiplied it and fed the thousands. Are you better than they were? Peter learned the hard way he couldn’t walk on water without Me. Have you even tried? You’re feeling discouraged and burnt out. You strive till you’re exhausted to make things right. Don’t you get it? All you have to do as my disciple is your part. I’ll provide the increase. You martyr your health, your family, even your relationship with Me to do ‘God’s work’ . . . My work. It’s not your work to do, it’s Mine. No wonder you’re tired.
“Give it to Me. I’ll take it because I’ve stood naked in the storms and survived. That’s My job—to do what you can’t do while covering you. Do your part and give Me the rest.
“On judgment day, you’ll stand naked before God. Will you be able to stand because you let Me be your covering, or will you run away buck naked and screaming like a little girl because you did it your way? Kenny, let Me show you what’s yours to do and what’s Mine. Do your part, and let Me do Mine. That’s how we will fix things.”