I know, I know. It’s been a while, and I’m sorry, but you can thank society for putting this thing called college into my head and I have to do it. You can also thank it for the usual nuisance that happens every semester, which is that there are always one or two classes out of five that I find potentially useful and interesting, and the rest bore me to death with very little potential for redeeming the time. So on the weekends, instead of thinking about great blog posts, or write my stories, I veg out, and either sit and read, talk with friends, or nap. I suppose I could just take classes that interest me, but that doesn’t help me graduate much. I would have one interesting degree if I did!
Anyways, about two weeks ago, I was home alone, doing dishes while listening to a lecture for this convoluted subject called ethics…(pauses for dramatic effect)…and I looked up to see a hawk on the ground about twenty feet from our kitchen window. I love birds and almost anything with wings, so I stopped to watch it.
It did not take very long to notice the squirrel not two feet from the hawk either.
Then the strangest thing happened: the squirrel ran at the hawk.
I was stunned.
I thought the hawk would take the squirrel’s charge as a death wish and pounce on it, and for a split second, it looked like it would, for it lifted into the air. But it didn’t chase the squirrel. It fled.
Up it flew onto the high posts of our trampoline. Then I got another shock. The squirrel chased the hawk further.
Yep. That’s right. Stupid squirrels. If anyone wants some of ours, we will pay you to get rid of them. (They eat our chicken feed more than our chickens do. And our trashcans. And our trash. And our stinky diapers. And then they don’t have the decency to clean up after themselves. Yeah. Come get ’em. Please.)
Anyways. So this squirrel goes running up the tree nearest the trampoline pole and gets on an even level with the hawk and starts chitterring at it. Then after the hawk still did nothing, the squirrel started playing tag with another squirrel, and they went squeaking around the yard, never paying the hawk any attention.
Sometimes, I feel like Christians are like that hawk. We have God-given weapons, and are indwelled with an all powerful God, and yet too often we shy away from battles we can easily win, that we are equipped to win, that we are commanded by God to win.
Some argue that God is a god of peace, that He avoids conflict completely, and that we, as His children, are to be meek as lambs. Yes, we are to be meek, but we are also to be bold as lions. What about all those times God commanded the people of God to make war on the ungodly nations?
I think that too often we, myself included, miss out on fully fulfilling our purpose as heralds and soldiers of Christ in the name of “peace”. We go through life with blinders on, and when we come across potential conflict, instead of girding ourselves up with the armor of God and proclaiming the truth, we turn tail and run.
When I was about fourteen, I was in a children’s orchestra. Our conductor was not a Christian, (I learned a couple of years later that he was a homosexual) and would often use mild language. Now, my definition of “mild language” is taking the Lord’s name in vain, and I didn’t say anything, though it did annoy me quite a bit. Then one day he said, “Oh my god,” and instead of stopping there, he made this little comment after it, “If there is a god.” He left no time after it for me to think about it, and certainly no time to comment, before he had started the orchestra again. During the little five minute break we got midway, I was torn between privately bringing it to his attention that what he said was neither necessary nor helpful and to ask him to quit, or letting the matter pass. I chose letting it pass. Every time I think about that day, I regret my decision. What harm would it have been if I had stood up and told him I was a Christian and was made both uncomfortable and quite upset by his unnecessary remarks week after week? Very little, if any, of any value. You see, I was too worried that he wouldn’t like me anymore, and if he didn’t like me, I would not be likely to get that particular percussion part I wanted. And so, long and short of it, I failed to stand up for what I believe because I didn’t trust God.
Too often we forget the weapons and the purpose for which we are called. Too often we flee. And yet, there are times when it is good to flee, like when we are tempted, like Joseph did with Potiphar’s wife. For a drunkard, it would mean avoiding places and people who would tempt them to drink. For a vain person, it would mean avoiding the people (and mirrors) that would encourage the vanity. But every where we flee, we must be running towards something, and that should be God.