For several years, I sold fireworks in a tent in West Little Rock. The days usually stretched to twenty-two hours, allowing me just enough time to run home, take a shower, let the dogs out, and feed them. I didn’t have time to love on them, which made me feel like a terrible dad. It was hot. I was tired.
Every year, I entered that venture knowing full well the amount of work involved. I went in prepared to live on French onion dip, Ruffles, and Slim Jims from the dollar store.
By the time I helped load up the leftover fireworks on July 6 at ten o’clock at night, I’d be running on pure adrenaline. I didn’t mind. I met amazing people and had engaging conversations with friends who’d stop by and sit in the extra white-with-green-stripes lawn chair. I sat under a three-poled tent with the flaps rolled up, thankful for a rare breeze to chill the sweat on my forehead. Tropical Skittles on the counter and an ice cooler filled with bottles of water—not bad at all. In fact, I looked forward to it every year.
One particular year was harder, though. In the midst of preparing to get the tent going, I heard of the passing of a dear friend from Nashville, Greg Murtha. Greg suffered for more than four years with colon cancer. He endured more than seventy rounds of chemo, two heart attacks, and other ailments. But Greg showed more exceptional courage, belief, faith, and absolute joy during his terminal sickness than any human I’ve ever known, including biblical characters. Greg never failed to vigorously look for places to show the heart of Jesus. He believed in celebrating and celebrating big.
Greg was right. When the prodigal son came home, he didn’t get a pat on the shoulder and a “Welcome back” key ring. They threw a party. A lavish party. An impressive celebration. Greg believed, and so do I, that any celebration for any reason should be big. He said he’d been to too many memorial services that were morbid and solemn. Even forever family—faithful followers of Jesus—had to settle for Kool-Aid drinks and store-bought cookies at the reception.
But Greg’s memorial service that August rang with pure joy and triumphant celebration. It was a party to end all parties. Greg made plans before he died. He hired his favorite band from Nashville and catered a massive blowout with lots of great food.
I will never say Greg was. Greg is. He waited and found purpose in his weakness. He wrote the book Out of the Blue, which contains one of my favorite quotes: “There is no better place to be than to truly, truly say YES to the prompting of the Holy Spirit, whatever He tells you to do. The answer is YES because we get to join Him on the adventure. It could not be better.”
One day, when I finally feel the verdant grass of home, Greg will be standing right alongside Jesus and many others in my great cloud of witnesses welcoming me to my forever home.
Within a few days of learning about Greg traveling to heaven, I learned that a college friend had suffered a massive heart attack in Baton Rouge and died. Two days later, I was doing a live feed on social media, talking about the fireworks stand. An old friend of mine chimed in and asked about the stand. I told him to come visit. He said, “I’ll see you soon.”
I couldn’t wait. I was excited to spend time with my friend, as we went to different churches and hadn’t been around each other for several years. It would be good to catch up.
The next morning, I realized he never had come to the tent. I figured he was just busy. A few hours later, I got a message from his niece that he’d also suffered a massive heart attack at work, and the doctors had been unable to save him.
I was stunned. It was a moment when I just had to sit back and ask, “Why?” Greg, only fifty-one, left an amazing wife and son. Both of my other friends were living life while completely unaware that their time was limited.
Why? Why now? I wasn’t questioning God’s wisdom or his will. I know that somehow, somewhere, there is good for those who love him. I wasn’t doubting that he had a plan and that it would unfold according to his timing. I guess I was wishing these things were more manageable, as a human being, to digest and understand.
I talked to my friend Debbie Ganus and said, “I’m beginning to get the feeling we aren’t going to make it out of here alive.”
She responded, “Me too. But sometimes I wish we got a countdown clock.”
I said, “That would be nice. I’m just glad I can’t really think of anything I would need to change.”
The spiritual side of me totally gets it. The human side of me wants and needs answers. It would be great if all the pieces fell into place, even for a minute. I know how my story ends. In fact, I know that it never does. I know that living, for me, goes on forever. There is no termination.
I also know that no part of my journey will ever be isolated. I will never be alone. I guess the best we can hope for on this side of living is the waiting.
The more I thought about waiting, the more I looked at the myriad of verses that speak to that concept. Isaiah 30:18 (ESV) says, “Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are those who wait for him.”
Notice it does not say, “Blessed are those who wait for an answer.” It doesn’t say, “Blessed are those who wait for a blessing.” It says, “Blessed are those who wait for him.”
Lamentations 3:25 (MSG) says, “The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, the soul who seeks Him.”
I spend too much time looking for reasons in life and too little time waiting for him. Too much time seeking the path for my life, when in reality, he is the path. Too much time wanting the pieces to all fall together without having to waste too much energy forcing the square peg into the round hole. Psalm 33:20–22 (ESV) says, “Our soul waits for the Lord: He is our help and our shield. For our heart is glad in Him, because we trust in His holy name. Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us, even as we hope in You.”
Probably few people can say their lives have turned out exactly the way they planned. Some may not have turned out as well. Some turned out far better. As important and necessary as planning can be, it doesn’t come close to the peace, joy, and adventure of waiting on the Lord. I can only imagine the joy and laughter he must get out of the grand surprises he throws at us if we take the time to look. Sometimes they are so subtle we really have to scrutinize closely to see them. But sometimes they are so astonishing that all we can do is say, “Hey, God!”
Waiting is not passive. Waiting is hard work, especially when we realize that waiting might not be resolved in this part of our eternal lives. But we should wait expectantly and be prepared for the surprise of unexpected results. Wait in the Word. Be still. Be strong. Be willing to be courageous. Pray, and be thankful for the blessings you are going to receive. Isaiah 40:31 tells us that if we wait on the Lord, our strength will be renewed, and we will rise up with eagle-like wings. We will never grow tired in the running, and we won’t grow weary in walking the path he has for us. Whether the waiting is long or short, we can be encouraged that the best is yet to come.
Susannah Spurgeon, wife of Charles Spurgeon, wrote,
The Lord has strewn the pages of His Word with promises of blessedness to those who wait for Him. And remember, His slightest Word stands fast and sure, it can never fail you. So, my soul, see that you have a promise underneath thee, for then your waiting will be resting, and a firm foothold, for our hope will give you confidence in Him who has said, They shall not be ashamed that wait for me.
As I reeled from the deaths of three friends, I wasn’t questioning God. I was looking in every crevice and corner for the good he has promised. I waited.
Psalm 33:4–7 (MSG) says, “God’s Word is solid to the core; everything he makes is sound inside and out. He loves it when everything fits, when his world is in plumb-line true. Earth is drenched in God’s affectionate satisfaction. The skies were made by God’s command; he breathed the word and stars popped out.”
Star Breather is intimately interested in every molecule of our journey and knows precisely where and how the good will all be bound together.
I got the following story from Joseph Watson, a friend who travels the world as a teacher for Youth with a Mission (YWAM). It brought me to tears.
Whoa! Check this out! Whenever I teach for a whole week, my rule for myself is to never start teaching till I’ve memorized everyone’s name.
To help me learn their names, I’ve written over a thousand icebreaker questions.
Almost every week, someone in the school will pick number twenty-three. And whenever that happens, I know it was God who had them choose that number. Never more so than this week.
Question twenty-three reads, “Who would you most like to get saved?” Whenever that question is chosen, I know that God wants the whole class to take a moment, and all of us together pray out loud for the person the student says.
Sheila, nineteen, one of the students, picked this question and answered, “My sisters.” And so we prayed.
When we finished praying, I told her in front of the class, “Look how many prayers just went up for your sisters! God heard every one, and his promise is that his arm is not too short to save, nor are his ears deaf to our cries. Expect to see God move on their behalf, and you let us know what happens.”
Well, God started moving immediately. One of her sisters we’d prayed for is a prostitute in Brasilia. Only hours after we’d prayed, a man paid the going rate to take Sheila’s sister to a restaurant for dinner. But rather than him being another john, he talked gently to her about Jesus and how much God loved her. He wanted nothing more from her.
After dinner, she went back to her apartment, where she lives with her two little sons. In the middle of the night, her two-year-old awoke from a dream, crying out, “Jesus! Jesus!” Prior to this, she’d never even allowed the name of Jesus to be uttered in her home. But hearing her little boy right after the surprising dinner caused her to pray. She said, “God, I don’t know if I believe in you or not. But if you are real, then cause Sheila to mend her relationship with our birth father.”
The backstory is that Sheila had never before met her biological father. She had spurned all of his efforts to reach out to her, angry at his having abandoned them so long ago. But yesterday Sheila felt from the Lord to reach out to her birth father for the first time. Over the phone, they asked forgiveness of each other. Sheila knew her birth father was suffering from a terminal illness. But unbeknownst to her during the conversation, he was gravely ill. In fact, a few hours after they spoke, her dad died—but not before letting Sheila’s sister know about his reconciliation with Sheila.
Now the two sisters have plans to talk about all these things after their dad’s funeral tomorrow. Only an all-loving Father God could weave these pieces of broken hearts together. Have I mentioned lately that I love my job?
The postscript to this story is that Sheila’s sister is now a former prostitute, working a better job, and pursuing the Lord.
Wait for the Lord. His plan for you is perfect.
I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.
—Psalm 130:5–6 ESV
