Defining Moments (1)
Then Moses said to God, “Behold, I am going to the sons of Israel, and I will say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you.’ Now they may say to me, ‘What is His name?’ What shall I say to them?” Exodus 3:13 NASB
Has sent me – Perhaps character isn’t determined by the routine choices of daily living. Perhaps it’s more a matter of what we do in those moments when we are overwhelmed by emotional circumstances. Like Moses when he decided to strike the rock rather than speak to it. That singular moment, when the years of anger and frustration got the best of him, changed everything about his hopes and dreams. Perhaps you’ve had a few moments like that. I have.
When I completed my first Master’s degree at seminary in Chicago, I was at the lowest financial point of my life. No job, student loans, an infant at home. I worked as a janitor at night, a security guard during the day, and taught a class at a local college. For nine months I was at work nearly twenty hours a day. At the end, I was so tired I couldn’t read a single sentence in a book without forgetting it the next moment. This led to a defining moment.
We lived in a very small house on the West side of Queen Anne Hill in Seattle. It was old, not well-constructed, and full of problems. The space under the house was basically a hole in the dirt where the blocks held up the foundation. The water line from the street came through this space. One day it started leaking. And, of course, there was no money to call a plumber.
I sat in the dark, a single light bulb on the end of a long extension cord casting ghostly shadows around my temporary work area. The galvanized pipe that connected the street supply to the house wasn’t fitting correctly. Over and over, I removed the coupling, refit the pipe and tightened it. Over and over, as soon as I turned on the water pressure at the street supply valve, the leak started again. Back and forth, street to dirt hole, hours of trying to fix what seemed like a simple problem. It was just too much. What swept over me was the futility of it all. No money. Hopelessness over the circumstances. A really dark future. I remember crying, just feeling like there would never be an end to this “hole” I was in, this place where all that I really wanted from life was denied on every side. I could taste the powdered eggs from the charity food pantry, the browned lettuce, the stale bread. I felt the weight of being alone down there in the dark, struggling to fix even the simplest problem, a problem that left us without water. I was shaking, a combination of hopelessness and anger, self-pity and self-doubt. Where was God when all I needed was to fix a leak in this god-forsaken place? I remember praying. Actually, more like shouting under my breath. A defining moment. The first time I was consciously aware of being totally abandoned.
Were there other defining moments? Certainly.
When I was a teenager, my closest and long-time friend (now going on more than sixty years) had a .22 rifle. We often explored the woods where we lived. Miles of undeveloped land. Nothing but trees and brush. And, of course, an ideal place for two thirteen-year-olds to shoot. We did that a lot. On one particular occasion, after shooting at windows in an abandoned forestry tower, we were hanging out in his bedroom. As a joke, I picked up the rifle we had been using, and pointed it at him (yes, I know!) and said, “Okay, man, this is the end.” My friend replied, “Hey, I think I just saw a shell in the gun. Better check.” And sure enough, one of the bullets we thought we’d fired was still in the gun, now loaded into the chamber. God saved both of us, I’m pretty sure. Defining moment.
In my twenties, my wife and I did a lot of backpacking in the Cascades. One early spring we set off for a lake near the White River. As we climbed the mountain, we reached the snow line, something we didn’t expect. We kept on, following what we thought was a trail. Eventually we came upon a set of footprints. We thought there were hikers ahead. Relieved we continued, only to discover after another hour that there were now several sets of footprints. Lost. Wandering in the snow in circles. Panic. Then carefully, slowly, retracing our tracks until we came to the place where one set suddenly veered down the mountain. We followed those and were soon out of the snow and back to the car. But that wasn’t the worst of this trip. We camped overnight below the snow line, and by morning I was very, very ill. I later discovered I had contracted pneumonia, but at the time all I knew was that I had to get to a hospital. We still had to pack all the gear, the tent, and climb back up to the parking lot. At the car I was nearly delirious. My wife drove the 90 miles to the nearest hospital. That’s about all I remember. I woke up two days later. That wasn’t the last time death came knocking, but it was certainly the first time I realized how fragile life is.
I have a list of defining moments. Some I can’t share. Some too frightening to write about. Some so filled with joy I don’t know how to write about. If I separate my life story from the routine, these are what make me who I am. In a sense, these are the events God sent to me to remind me who I am. No prophet arrived in person, but the message was just as clear. Some sent me down very dark holes. Some lifted me to inexpressible heights. In between I’ve spent my life trying to understand why. Maybe there’s something about Moses that I need to find in me. Soon.
Topical Index: remember, message, Exodus 3:13
