Through the Fog

phamilynews.net

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.”

Brother, a Boeing 747-8, and a Believer

flyflytravel.com

Trees, trees, and more trees. Rolling hills and valleys. We are flying through the Nepal East-West Highway at 100 kph. I stare out the window, and my mind wanders.

“Baba?” my brother’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

“What?” my father answers him.

“I think —” he says ponderously, “I think the pilot of the Boeing 747-8 must be like God.”

Hearing his awed voice, I stifle a giggle. Sumpurna has fallen in love with that airliner this month because of the video Baba downloaded for him.

My father is wiser. “Why?” he prompts him.

“Because there are all those dials and things,” my brother replies, enthusiastically. “There are so many things that he must be like God to know everything all at once!”

“Well . . . I think he is more like a believer more than being like God.”

Now it’s my brothers turn to ask, “Why?”

“The pilot cannot use his eyes to pilot the plane — I mean, he has to, but not by looking out the windshield. He has to look at the dials to guide him to the airport. He has to pilot by faith. It is like the believer looking at God’s Word and walking through life by faith, not by sight.”

Anyone would think that my brother would be satisfied with the answer; but, no, he has more questions: “Don’t the dials ever go wrong? What happens if it does? Doesn’t the pilot look out of his windshield to look at the lights when he is landing? What do the people on top of the tower do?”

“The people on the towers direct the pilot as the Holy Spirit directs the believer. If he doesn’t hear them, the pilot will not be safe.”

The conversation goes on and on. We have crossed the jungle and reached the suburb areas. I stare out the window, and the houses flash by.