On the Anvil - Max Lucado [20]
I will spend time with those I love. My spouse, my children, my family. A man can own the world but be poor for the lack of love. A man can own nothing and yet be wealthy in relationships. Today I will spend at least five minutes with the significant people in my world. Five quality minutes of talking or hugging or thanking or listening. Five undiluted minutes with my mate, children, and friends.
Today I will make a difference.
Are you letting petty inconveniences—or not-so-petty circumstances—master you? Or is God your master in all things?
What are you grateful for?
What difference would you like to make in this one day you’re given?
36: The Tested Tunnel
We held our breath as he disappeared into the tunnel. There were five of us. Five energetic boys. School was out for the summer, so we had turned our attention to the vacant lot next to our house. The flat, west Texas land was a perfect summer playground.
On this particular day, it seemed that the attention of the entire world was focused on that tunnel. We had dug a ditch about three feet wide and four feet deep that ran halfway across the lot. To give it the appearance of a tunnel, we covered it with several planks of scavenged plywood and a thick layer of dirt. We camouflaged the entrance and exit with a few tumbleweeds and mesquite bushes, and—presto!—we had an underground tunnel. It was ready to entertain an entire neighborhood of ruffians as they fought off Indians, escaped from slavery, and invaded Normandy.
Today was the day we would test the tunnel. Was it strong enough? wide enough? deep enough? too long? Would it collapse? The only way to find out was to send a volunteer through the tunnel first. (Memory may fail me here, but I think it was my brother who agreed to test the tunnel.)
It was a tense moment. The five of us stood solemnly in our T-shirts and jeans. We gave him last words of encouragement. We patted him on the back. (We admired his self-sacrifice.) We stood quietly as he decisively got down on hands and knees and scurried into the hole. We held our breath as we watched the soles of his high-top sneakers disappear into the darkness.
No one spoke as we waited. The only movement was the pounding of our young hearts. Our eyes stayed fixed on the tunnel exit.
Finally, after we had each died a thousand deaths, my brother’s sandy blond hair emerged from the other end. I can remember his triumphant fist leading the way as he scrambled out, yelling, “There’s nothing to it! Don’t worry!” And who could argue with the testimony of seeing him alive and well, jumping up and down at the tunnel’s exit? We all went in!
There is something about a living testimony that gives us courage. Once we see someone else emerging from life’s dark tunnels, we realize that we, too, can overcome.
Could this be why Jesus is called our pioneer? Is this one of the reasons that he consented to enter the horrid chambers of death? It must be. His words, though persuasive, were not enough. His promises, though true, didn’t quite allay the fear of the people. His actions, even the act of calling Lazarus from the tomb, didn’t convince the crowds that death was nothing to fear. No. In the eyes of humanity, death was still the black veil that separated them from joy. There was no victory over this hooded foe. Its putrid odor invaded the nostril of every human, convincing them that life was only meant to end abruptly and senselessly.
It was left to the Son of God to disclose the true nature of this force. It was on the cross that the showdown occurred. Christ called for Satan’s cards. Weary of seeing humanity fooled by a cover-up, he entered the tunnel of death to prove that there was indeed an exit. And as the world darkened, creation held her breath.
Satan threw his best punch, but it wasn’t enough. Even the chambers of Hades couldn’t stop this raider. Legions of screaming demons held nothing over the Lion of Judah.
Christ emerged from death’s tunnel, lifted a triumphant