Promises you've made to others

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Do you keep your promises? Or, in other words, can you remember any promise that you haven’t kept?

Who can’t?

We all have broken our word at one time or another. Perhaps we may have forgotten, but be assured that the person to whom you made the promise has not. That person will probably be hesitant to remind you of your promise; you might even convince yourself that he has forgotten. Though it might never be spoken of, that promise will remain.

I stare into space, not really looking at anything — I’m going backward in time, in my catalog of memories. I can see them all before me — the place where we were, the exact position we were in, the words he said. Many of them were not really promises, either. They were just small, seemingly insignificant things.

But still, I remember. When I think of that person — separated by oceans and continents — his words come back to me and make me wonder if he has forgotten.

Today, my uncle came to our “new” house for the first time; and he had lunch with us. Nine years ago (it seems like yesterday!), he had come to our village house in the mountains. I was just ten years old, then. I was helping mother with small tasks around the kitchen during mealtime when he said with a laugh, “The next time I come, I want to eat the meal that you have prepared yourself!”

I can remember my consternation with a smile today. Countless times did I remembered that little joke with fear and apprehension. I wouldn’t mind (much) if five uncles dropped in around mealtime today; but I truly worried about it when I was little. . . And, today, I wondered if he remembered.

Go back today. Remember the little promise you made to that child and make the plans to fulfill it. Don’t fool yourself. Don’t lie. Be true!

“Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth” (1 John 3:18).

Through the Fog

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Fog. I wonder if there is any traveler who likes fog. Artists and poets might find something good in it, but I doubt that any pilgrim could appreciate it.

As for me, I hate fog — especially when we are traveling. The grayish-white cloak of monotony is wearisome: it shrouds the scenery with gloom and an all-encomassing despondency. It is a veil that conceals every mountain, tree, and rock. Even the edge of the road is barely perceptible, sometimes!

Some time ago, we were traveling through fog. It was not the thickest fog we had seen, nor was it nighttime. Still, the bleak surroundings seemed overwhelm me. I was tired — tired of the fog, tired of the tortuous roads, tired of traveling. My soul seemed to be as dreary as the fog outside the misted window-glass.

Then I remembered a song I’d learned years ago:

Why should I care if the sun doesn’t shine?
Jesus is mine, all of the time.
Why should I care if the storm clouds are low?
Jesus is with me I know.
He will never forsake me, I am under His wing,
Tho’ trials o’ertake me,
I will praise Him and sing.
I am ever so happy,
So why should I care if the sun doesn’t shine?
Jesus is mine all the time.

Then, the remembrance that Jesus is mine aroused me, invigorated me, and fired me with zeal for my Lord. . .

Or . . . that is what . . . should have happened, right?

Well. It didn’t. It was good to remember; but still, my heart was weary. I was still tired of staring at the fog. You see, simply knowing God’s truth isn’t enough for victory.

Until I decided that I was going to trust God that He was with me although I couldn’t see Him through all the weariness of my mind and obey Philippians 4:4 in spite of the fog, that song was just an ideality to wish for.

But when I did trust, He blessed. Sure, the fog was all around and the U-turns were as bad as ever, but I had the peace that passeth all understanding. Faith as a grain of mustard seed, and He accepted it.

“But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him” (Hebrews 11:6).

How amazing He is! And He is the ever-faithful one that always rewards even our feeblest footsteps to draw near to Him (James 4:4).

We climbed higher and higher up the mountain. Reaching the summit, we broke through the fog. Behind, I could see the impenetrable gloom. Ahead, the mountains and valleys were spread out in majestic grandeur. And I remembered the sweet promise in Isaiah 44:22:

“I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist.”