On the Anvil - Max Lucado [9]
God sees our life from beginning to end. He may lead us through a storm at age thirty so we can endure a hurricane at age sixty. An instrument is useful only if it’s in the right shape. A dull ax or a bent screwdriver needs attention, and so do we. A good blacksmith keeps his tools in shape. So does God.
Should God place you on his anvil, be thankful. It means he thinks you’re still worth reshaping.
Is it anvil time for you? What does that look like?
What is your hope for the reshaping that is taking place?
Has God left an imprint on your life? What does that mean to you?
16: Footprints of Satan
Once he was approached by a leper, who knelt before him begging his help. “If only you will,” said the man, “you can cleanse me.” In warm indignation Jesus stretched out his hand, [and] touched him.
Mark 1:40-41, neb
I was in an emergency room late one night last week.
Victims of Satan filled the halls.
A child—puffy, swollen eyes. Beaten by her father.
A woman—bruised cheeks, bloody nose. “My boyfriend got drunk and hit me,” she said, weeping.
An old man—unconscious and drunk on a stretcher. He drooled blood in his sleep.
Jesus saw the victims of Satan, too.
He saw a leper one day . . . fingers gnarled . . . skin ulcerated . . . face disfigured.
And he got indignant . . . angry.
Not a selfish, violent anger. A HOLY anger . . .
a controlled frustration . . .
a compassionate disgust.
And it moved him. It moved him to action.
I’m convinced that the same Satan stalks today,
causing the hunger in Somalia . . .
the confusion in the Mideast . . .
the egotism on the movie screen . . .
the apathy in Christ’s church.
And Satan giggles among the dying.
Dear Father,
May we never grow so “holy,” may we never be so “mature,” may we never become so “religious,” that we can see the footprints of Satan and stay calm.
What do you think is meant by “footprints of Satan”?
Does anything move you, as it does Jesus, to the kind of indignation described here?
Are you willing to stretch toward someone in need of your touch? Who might that be?
17: Thump-Thud, Thump-Thud
When a potter bakes a pot, he checks its solidity by pulling it out of the oven and thumping it. If it “sings,” it’s ready. If it “thuds,” it’s placed back in the oven.
The character of a person is also checked by thumping.
Been thumped lately?
Late-night phone calls. Grouchy teacher. Grumpy moms. Burnt meals. Flat tires. You’ve-got-to-be-kidding deadlines. Those are thumps. Thumps are those irritating inconveniences that trigger the worst in us. They catch us off guard. Flat-footed. They aren’t big enough to be crises, but if you get enough of them, watch out! Traffic jams. Long lines. Empty mailboxes. Dirty clothes on the floor. Even as I write this, I’m being thumped. Because of interruptions, it has taken me almost two hours to write these two paragraphs. Thump. Thump. Thump.
How do I respond? Do I sing, or do I thud?
Jesus said that out of the nature of the heart a man speaks (Luke 6:45). There’s nothing like a good thump to reveal the nature of a heart. The true character of a person is seen not in momentary heroics but in the thump-packed humdrum of day-to-day living.
If you have a tendency to thud more than you sing, take heart.
There is hope for us “thudders”:
1. Begin by thanking God for thumps. I don’t mean a half-hearted thank-you. I mean a rejoicing, jumping-for-joy thank-you from the bottom of your heart (James 1:2). Chances are that God is doing the thumping. And he’s doing it for your own good. So every thump is a reminder that God is molding you (Hebrews 12:5-8).
2. Learn from each thump. Face up to the fact that you are not “thump-proof.” You are going to be tested from now on. You might as well learn from the thumps—you can’t avoid them. Look upon