Operation Arrival
by Charles R. Swindoll
For the longest time I didn't understand the new-car industry. I had always thought it worked like this. When a guy wanted a car, he dropped by the local dealership, kicked a few tires, slammed some doors, and fiddled around with radios, hoods, and trunk lids. Then he would rap with the salesman, dicker over prices, choose his favorite color, and place the order. I figured that when headquarters got the specs, they'd scurry around the shop finding the right steering wheel, engine, chrome strips, and hubcaps, then make sure all that stuff got stuck on correctly before it was shipped. You know, kind of like whipping up a last-minute meal with grub from the kitchen.
But that's not the way it is at all. To my amazement, I discovered that a computer card puts into motion dozens of contacts all over the country. One spot makes only engines. Another, the glass and plastic parts. Some other outfit does the steering wheels, and yet another the carpet and vinyl. As the order is placed, it triggers action in all these related areas. And---hopefully---at just the right time the special things arrive at the assembly plant where it all comes together---everything from bumper bolts to windshield wipers. And within a relatively short period of time, a shiny new car is punched out, rolled onto a transport truck, and sent to its proper destination.
What a remarkable arrangement ingenious Americans have devised! And none of it was even thought of two hundred years ago.
Now then---if man can come up with an organizational plan as complex as all that, think of how much more efficient God's arrangement was . . . over two thousand years ago. I'm referring to the perfectly synchronized events surrounding the Savior's birth. For sure, it was no afterthought. Scripture assures us that when the fullness of the time came, God sent forth His Son. (Galatians 4:4)
Fantastic statement!
At just the right moment, precisely as God arranged it, in keeping with a plan we might dub "Operation Arrival," enter Messiah.
Micah said it would be in Bethlehem, Judah. It was. But I thought Joseph and Mary were of Nazareth, Galilee. They were. Aren't those places miles apart? Yes, in those times days apart. Then . . . how? Well, you see, that's just a small part of the plan, nevertheless amazing. Especially when you consider Mary was almost "term" in her pregnancy. To get them down south in time required fairly good roads---unheard of prior to the Roman takeover. And they certainly needed to be forced to travel . . . hence a required census from Caesar Augustus (Luke 2:1) that forced Joseph to register in person in the city of his family roots, Bethlehem (2:4).
But before a Savior could be born, there also needed to be some natural means of common communication---a familiar tongue that would quickly spread the news. No problem. Thanks to Alexander the Great, the father of koine Greek, that language was ripe and ready for rapid dissemination of the gospel message through the pen of the evangelists and apostles from then on.
Thanks to good roads, a decision in Rome, and a bothersome census, it happened at just the right place. At just the right time . . . with an articulate language as the perfect verbal vehicle. A little baby that the world hardly noticed arrived. Rome was too busy building and conquering. Augustus thought he was hot stuff prancing about the palace demanding that census. In reality he was little more than a wisp of lint on the prophetic page . . . a pawn in the hand of the Commander of "Operation Arrival."
The things God pulled off to get His Son delivered on time twenty-one centuries ago would make the pride of American ingenuity look like an organizational afterthought by comparison.
Excerpted from Come Before Winter and Share My Hope, Copyright © 1985, 1994 by Charles R. Swindoll, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission.
The Cry from a Cave
by Charles R. Swindoll
The Cave of Adullam was no Holiday Inn.
It was a wicked refugee camp . . . a dark vault on the side of a cliff that reached deeply into a hill. Huddled in this clammy cavern were 400 losers---a mob of miserable humanity. They came from all over and wound up all together. Listen to the account:
Everyone who was in distress, and everyone who was in debt, and everyone who was discontented gathered. . . . There were about four hundred men. (1 Samuel 22:2)
The original Mafia. They all had one thing in common---a bad record. The place smelled like the Rams' locker room and sounded like an Army barracks. You can bet not one of those guys ever heard Gothard's principles on handling irritations. They were so tough they'd make Al Capone sleep with a night-light. They were gross. Anybody who got near that gang stayed as quiet as a roomful of nuns. They had a quaint name for those who crossed their paths . . . victims.
Except for David. That's right. David. It became his responsibility to turn that mob into an organized, well-disciplined fighting force . . . mighty men of valor. Talk about a challenge! These weren't the filthy five, nor the nasty nine, nor the dirty dozen. Remember---there were 400 of these hard-luck hooligans. Shortly thereafter, their numbers swelled to 600. And David was the den mother for these desperados. He was general, master sergeant, and chaplain all rolled into one. David, "the sweet psalmist of Israel," became David the drill instructor. Needless to say, his battalion of 600 is not to be confused with the 600 who "rode into the valley of death" in Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade. The only place these guys had ridden was out of town, chased by their creditors . . . which turned David's men into predators.
Did he pull it off? Could a shepherd from Bethlehem assume command of such a nefarious band of ne'er-do-wells? Did he meet the challenge?
Indeed! In a brief period of time, he had the troops in shape---combat ready. Incredible as it seems, he was doing battle against the enemy forces using strategic maneuvers before the year was up. These were the very men who fought loyally by his side and gave him strong support when he became the king of Israel. They were called "the mighty men," and many of their names are listed in the Bible for heroism and dedication.
All of us face a challenge. For some of you, it's a business that has all the earmarks of disaster. For others, it's the challenge of schooling without adequate money, or a houseful of young lives to shape, or a wounded relationship, or a prolonged illness that lingers and hurts. Still others of you find yourself in leadership over a group of people who need constant direction and encouragement . . . and you're tired of the demands. Some of you endure employment in a company that lacks a lot.
Be encouraged! If David could handle that cave full of malcontents, you can tighten your belt and take on the challenge in your cave. Do you need strength? Peace? Wisdom? Direction? Discipline? Ask for it! God will hear you. He gives special attention to cries when they come out of caves.
Excerpted from Come Before Winter and Share My Hope, Copyright © 1985, 1994 by Charles R. Swindoll, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission.
The Shadow of the Giant, Part One
by Charles R. Swindoll
Goliath reminds me of the cross-eyed discus thrower. He didn't set any records . . . but he sure kept the crowd awake!
Day after day, he paraded along the slopes of the Valley of Elah throwing out threats and belching blasphemies across the creek with a basso-profundo voice like twenty out-of-tune tubas. He was not only ugly, he was huge, well over nine feet tall in his stocking feet. His armor included a bronze coat of mail weighing two hundred pounds, a solid-iron spear (the head alone weighed twenty-five pounds), and a big bronze helmet. Add another club, bronze leggings and boots, plus that face of his . . . and you've got the makings of a shoo-in linebacker for the Chicago Bears or next season's center for UCLA's starting five. Pity the poor private who drew duty as Goliath's shield bearer! It was about as suicidal as a novice drifting into the Devil's Triangle on a hang glider. Goliath, you see, was the pride of Philistia; and if you didn't believe it, all you had to do was ask him, or ask Saul's army (if you could find them).
Paralyzed and hypnotized, the camp of the Israelites sat galvanized in their tents. The only noise heard from the Hebrew troops was the knocking of their knees or the chattering of their teeth---in unison. Goliath was, up to that point, eminently successful with his basic strategy of intimidation. His threats boomed across the valley with chilling regularity, producing the desired result: fear. The inspired record informs us that those monotonous blasts from the giant's mouth sounded forth every morning and every evening for forty long days. The dawn of that forty-first day, however, was the beginning of the end for the giant from Gath.
Some ten miles away, a handsome, muscular teenager---the runt in a family of eight boys---was sent on an errand by his father. That innocent errand proved to be an epochal event in Jewish history. Fresh from the wilderness, the sheep trails, and more important, from the awesome presence of God, David stopped and stared in disbelief when he reached the battleground.
For a young man whose unsullied character had been nursed in solitude and spawned in secret acts of bravery, the scene before him was staggering. The young shepherd simply could not believe his eyes. Refusing to accept his brothers' rationalizations or listen to the giant's threats, David saw through the Philistine strategy and withstood it through sheer, solid faith. He knew His God could handle any threat.
Are you facing a giant today? Tomorrow we'll learn from David two timeless truths about giant warfare.
Excerpted from Come Before Winter and Share My Hope, Copyright © 1985, 1994 by Charles R. Swindoll, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission.
The Shadow of the Giant, Part Two
by Charles R. Swindoll
Yesterday, we visited David as he faced off against Goliath. Refusing to accept his brothers' rationalizations or listen to the giant's threats, David saw through the Philistine strategy and withstood it through sheer, solid faith.
You know the outcome. With a well-worn leather sling and a smooth stone, and unbending confidence in his mighty God, David introduced Goliath and all the Philistine hordes to the Lord of hosts, whose name they had blasphemed long enough. The account concludes with a profound statement:
Thus David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone, and he struck the Philistine and killed him; but there was no sword in David's hand. (1 Samuel 17:50)
What an interesting counterstrategy! To this day, two timeless truths of giant warfare live on. Both are as appropriate today as they were in the days of Goliath.
Prevailing over giants isn't accomplished by using their technique. That's "lesson one" for all of us. Goliath might have been mistaken for the battleship Missouri with all his noise and bronze. Not David . . . he didn't even carry a sword! His greatest piece of armor, the lethal weapon that made him unique and gave him victory, was his inner shield of faith. It kept him free from fear, it made him hard of hearing threats, it gave him cool composure amidst chaos, and it cleared his vision.
Conquering giants isn't accomplished without great skill and discipline. To be God's warrior, to fight His way, demands much more expertise and control than one can imagine. Using the sling and stone of the Spirit is a far more delicate thing than swinging the club of the flesh. But oh, how sweet is the victory when the stone finds its mark . . . and how final.
Are you facing a giant?
Chances are you've already bumped into one or more of them this week. Is the intimidation reaching unbearable proportions? Do your ears ache from their constant threats? Don't run . . . but don't try a bigger club, either. Be like David. Turn your Goliath over to Jehovah, the giant-killer. Explain to your powerful God how anxious you are for Him to win this victory for a change---not the giant and not you.
Then load up your sling, soldier, and don't forget the stones. You're in for the time of your life.
Excerpted from Come Before Winter and Share My Hope, Copyright © 1985, 1994 by Charles R. Swindoll, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission.
