I do not believe that there is a greater human enigma of thought than waiting for God to do whatever he is going to do next. Years ago, I wrote these words . . .

Here I sit on the outside
Throwing pebbles in the ocean,
Hoping one will cause a tidal wave
And wash me out to sea.

Here I sit on the outside
Wondering what to do next
Wondering how to get someone
Or even God
To notice me,

And my gifts
Which I will gladly give
For the price of bread
For me and mine.

Here I sit on the outside
Wondering what part of the Body of Christ
I am.
A little toe? An eye? An ear?
I feel most like the buttocks.

Something for the rest of the church
To sit on,
And wipe.

Here I sit on the outside;
On the shelf
Gathering dust,
Waiting to be opened and read.

Helping to hold up the other
Forgotten books.
Perhaps someday the shelf will be
Cleaned;
And there shall be a book burning.

That shouldn't be so bad.
Even the smoke flies upward.

I felt that I was lost to God, isolated, hidden from His awareness, maybe even from His love.

I soon discovered -- I was wrong.

I am not the only one to process such painful feelings. Perhaps somewhere in the dark, lonely reaches of your heart, you have felt similarly. Felt the pain of seeming abandonment.

Perhaps, like Jesus, you have wanted to cry out to the Creator, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" This is that time when the One who knew no sin became sin -- for you and me.

If you are like the rest of us, you have felt the need for comfort. Just the soft, almost silent whisper of his presence, just a small taste of his love; something, anything to be reassured that God is there and that he cares. All of the scripture in the world cannot provide this. All of the talk, all of the sympathy or affirmation in the cosmos cannot heal the pain, the longing, the thirst. The most painful word in the sentence from the scripture above is, "When?" It stands there, solitary and alone, waiting for an answer, a response.

The answer will assuredly come. And when it does you will know it. You may lie in your bed at night, listening to the sounds of the jungle, wondering if it is the roar of a lion you hear. But when the lion roars, you know damn well -- it's a LION!.

God's touch is like that. Delicious and definitive. Not long after writing this, a friend of mine sailed his boat from the mainland to Catalina Island where I lived. With him came a young man who worked with Charles W. Colson, of Watergate fame and special counsel to President Richard M. Nixon. Mr. Colson was imprisoned for his role in the Watergate scandal. The young man on the boat was his cellmate in an Alabama prison.

The three of us met in my office on the island, where after an hour or so of discussion, I was invited to conduct a seminar in a California Federal prison for Colson's new organization, Prison Fellowship. It went well. I was invited again, and again and again.

After two or three months of this, I was contacted by the Vice President of Prison Fellowship. I was to do another seminar in Ft. Worth, Texas. He wanted to know if I could meet with him there in a local restaurant. In that meeting, I was invited to consider becoming the National Training Director for Prison Fellowship.

I remember while flying to Washington, D. C.. I prayed earnestly and told God that I would give my right arm for this job.

I got it. Never in my previous life and ministry had I seen the power of God at work in and through the likes of me. I couldn't have imagined.

God's touch is like that. The roar of a lion? Puny -- in comparison!

-- PDM

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