Same old Lesson. Listen to God. No, Listen.

During a half-hearted attempt to tidy up over the summer, I found a postcard that a friend had handed to me two years ago. I remember that evening in July ’07 very well. My family and I were staying in a house belonging to other friends while they were on holiday. Nothing unusual in that, except that we were homeless. Since moving out of our previous address, and in the months previous to that, God had remained silent as to where we were to live.

God hadn’t been silent about buying certain people flowers, or in steps we should take which led us to places we could stay temporarily, or on small details we were not so bothered about. On the big questions, “What exactly are we supposed to be doing now that we have no employment, no savings or capital, and no home?” or “Where is the new home that you have been promising us for so long?” there was the chilling echo of nothing at all.

Two things happened while we were staying in our friends’ house. Firstly were able to meet some housing association representatives who were soon to be in receipt of newly built houses and had been alerted to our plight. The second thing was that, seeing as I was nearby for this particular fortnight, my very good friend was determined to drag me to a gathering of some people who were accustomed to listening to God, which on this occasion was to be visited by some prophetic ‘dude’ named Martin Scott. (I’d never heard of Him then, but now he’s on my blogroll. Click below if you are intersted)

What a night.

Over refreshments, my friend who had insisted I go along, handed me that postcard. He’d prayed about our meeting with the housing people and copied down what he felt God was saying. This was a big moment. My friend and I had been meeting weekly for years, until our routine had been disrupted by my new nomadic lifestyle. He had walked with me as the life and ministry that I had known had steadily fallen apart. He had prayed earnestly as we searched for new dreams, new directions, and a new home. God had promised much but those promises were yet to be fulfilled. Then there were the weeks of turmoil with our belongings in storage and our lives in transit, and God seeming to shut his mouth completely.

Until now. God broke his silence.

The meeting started  with introductions. That was enough to finish me off. What on earth was I going to say? I decided on as little as possible.

“I’m…. This week, I live in….. “

I think most people laughed as I gave a “help, I’m lost”  glance to my friend. Not the prophet bloke though. He sensed immediately that I was living through trauma. Once he’d finished saying what he’d come to say, he asked to pray and prophesy over me.

“I declare over you that you have known what it is to be spat out….”

Whatever else he went on to say, this opening line was a Holy Spirit slam-dunk, or bullseye, or move-stopping rugby tackle. Choose any analogy you like, but I can’t quite describe that moment as Martin uttered these words over me and I just broke. I hadn’t met this guy before, but I recognised the Spirit of God talking there and then. I couldn’t lift a finger to copy any of it down. I looked up at my mate and he was no use either, tears streaming down his face. Martin went on to say a lot more, but perhaps the most significant part for me on that night was that what I had experienced as an abrupt, premature, violent tearing from my former life and ministry had in fact been God’s timely rescue.

Now this is a long post, far longer than I envisaged when I first sat down at the computer, but stay with me because you’ve still to find out what was on that postcard.

God said that we would move into one of those new houses, and that I would then be close to three specific areas to be prayed for, which would require my ongoing commitment.

As I re-read the postcard this summer, I wondered if the word was accurate, or if I’d been listening to God properly since, as I didn’t think I could name three things or areas that I had continually prayed for during the past two years.

As I wondered about this, my wife ventured a simple solution. “Why don’t you ask God what the three things requiring ongoing committed prayer are?”

Well, yes of course, I was going to do that, wasn’t I? Once I’d thought of it. Maybe.

Anyway, I followed her advice and asked God.

Guess what?

He told me what they were.

This ended two years of introspective speculation using one simple question suggested calmly and simply by my wife. What is it about men and directions?

What I noted first about God’s answer is that if I’d ever sat quietly enough before God for any length of time, I would have known these were the three. They were not a surprise list and had been there all along. Secondly, I had the wrong idea about what God meant by ‘committed’ and ‘ongoing’. I had not prayed for these things every day or even every week over the last two years. There had been no regularity in praying for these things. I had not organised any teams or prayer events regarding these matters, though interestingly, one prayer event did walk,  Spirit-led, straight into one particular issue. Yet the absence of such activity did not mean that I had not responded to God or that I had not prayed properly. There were days where I had been prompted to pray into one or more of these areas. On such days, I had responded and gone and prayed. When I was praying into these areas and issues, I did so with firm commitment.

So, there had been ongoing, committed prayer in three specific areas after all. I just hadn’t recognised it. There had been no great programmes, no organised plan or timetable, just simple responsiveness to God. You know why?

BECAUSE HE HAS THE PLAN.

HE KNOWS THE STRATEGY.

So why do we think we need either?

How many times have I gone off on one with a grand plan when God was asking me to do something far simpler to fit into His plan?

Doesn’t He say that His yoke is easy and his burden is light?

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