I was captured by this verse in the book of Amos that I read a few mornings ago.  It says, “I gave you empty stomachs in every city and lack of bread in every town … declares the Lord.” (Amos 4:6).  Those first few words just won’t leave me, ‘I gave you’.  It almost sounds like a gift.  I’ve been letting them just sit there with me, ruminating, digesting.
 
I love it when God gives me gifts, at least when he gives me the gifts that I love.  A sunset, a friend, a word of affirmation, maybe even a financial blessing, they all remind me of the great love that my King has for me.

But giving me empty stomachs and lack of bread?  As I read on, he continued the thought.  “I also withheld rain from you.” (v.7) “Many times I struck your gardens and vineyards … with blight and mildew.” (v.9).  “I sent plagues … I killed your young men … I filled your nostrils with the stench of your camps.” (v10).  Definitely not the gifts I was hoping for.

And yet, if I am honest, I have sensed his hand in troubles at times.  Certainly not always.  Frequently it is our enemy, bent on destroying us and the life that Christ has for us.  But occasionally, Yes, I do sense Him thwarting my efforts.  And the reason is the same reason that he gives me the sunsets and the friends … because of his great love for me.  Verse 6 goes on, “I gave you empty stomachs in every city and lack of bread in every town, yet you have not returned to me.” (emphasis mine).

There is something that I need to understand about God, something that is one of the hardest lessons of this life, and that is that he loves me so much, that he will stop at nothing to draw me and to prepare me for the great adventure that he alone knows can be mine.

In The Horse and His Boy, the third of CS Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, Lewis writes of a young boy named Shasta.  As Shasta is walking alone in a forest, he suddenly becomes aware of someone walking with him.  Shasta begins telling of all of his troubles, of being chased by lions and howled at by wild beasts, and of his friend Aravis being wounded.

“I do not call you unfortunate,” said the large voice.

“Don’t you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?” said Shasta.

“There was only one: but he was swift of foot.”

“How do you know?”

“I was the lion.”  And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and sid nothing, the Voice continued.  “I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis.  I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead.  I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept.  I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time.  And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you  lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at, midnight, to receive you.”

“Then it was you who wounded Aravis?”

“It was I”

“But what for?”

“Child,” said the Voice, “I am telling you your story, not hers.”

I’m not sure that I understand that yet, but I do want to have clarity of the battle, to recognize his touch in my life, pleasant or painful, and to recognize that as the gift.