Depending on the problem, meeting God halfway to the solution can be a daunting prospect. He can reach the middle in one mighty stride, but how many fumbling steps before we get there? How long before we’ve done enough to activate his end of the bargain? Maybe not as long as we think. Because maybe halfway doesn’t always mean halfway. Maybe sometimes it’s as close as putting on our shoes.
After killing James, the brother of John, Herod imprisoned Peter, delivering him “to four quaternions of soldiers to keep him.” Sixteen guards taking shifts four at a time to ensure he stayed put.
Then they proceeded through the prison to the iron gate, which opened of its own accord. Passing into the street, the angel departed, and Peter went on his way a free man.
I’m not a Bible scholar. At all. If I’d ever heard this story, it hadn’t stuck because when my sister brought it to my attention, it was news to me.
But it was good news. If ever someone needed some chains broken, it was me.
The Girl Who Was in Over Her Head
I was in the throes of my first solo flight with a batch of kindergarteners, holding on for dear life while an unexpected learning curve gave my sanity whiplash. After three years as an assistant, I thought I knew what I was doing. I knew the curriculum, the routine, how everything should go. In theory, I had this. But in real life–whoa.
Having weathered some roller coasters herself, my sister, whose shoes I was attempting to fill now that she was teaching first grade, came to my classroom one day with this necklace (notice in my pictures on this blog that I wear it to this day) and a story, not just about a jailbreak, but about me.
She’d become more familiar with this account at a teacher training, where the instructor followed it up with a question. Of all the instructions Peter might have received in that miraculous excitement, why the mundane task of putting on his sandals?
Raising her hand, my sister suggested, “Because Peter could put on his sandals?”
She nailed it.
Under the circumstances, Peter’s wardrobe was about the only thing he could control. All the heavy lifting–breaking chains, making guards oblivious, willing iron gates open, and so forth–was out of his hands. So, he did what he could–put on his sandals, cast his garment about him–and heaven did the rest.
That’s all I had to do. Put on my shoes and show up. Prepare my lessons, get my materials in order. Pray. Pray some more. Then let God break my chains of fear and doubt.
It was a comforting thought. And it sounds simple, right? But it’s one thing to put your shoes on while the angel’s standing in front of you. It’s another to put them on in hopes he’s on his way.
Meeting God Halfway When You’re a Control Freak
Doing your part takes a certain amount of faith that God will do his. But when you’re a control freak like me, especially one whose needs have never seemed very near the top of God’s priority list, trusting him to come through is like trusting your partner on a school assignment. You don’t. I once let a partner take our project home over the weekend, and guess who wasn’t there on Monday to turn it in?
I don’t like letting go.
This didn’t serve me well as a new kindergarten teacher–or probably ever–but I didn’t feel I had much choice. If God didn’t show up in my classroom, I still had to be there. If he didn’t infuse me with serenity every time a stubborn little boy triggered my temper, I had to find some somewhere. Or just endure the discomfort of having none, which is usually how it went.
Placing myself in Peter’s place, the story in my mind always looked more like this:
I’m on my feet, shoes on, garment cast about me. That angel can arrive anytime. I’m ready.
But the night wears on. The next day dawns. Herod orders me brought forth, and now what can I do but resign myself to my fate or fight my own way out?
So, I don’t wait all night for the angel that probably isn’t coming. I just plan my own escape from the beginning. I probably have no hope of getting out that way, but what hope do I have anyway if help doesn’t come?
As a teacher, as a single adult, as a human being, this is how I’ve lived too much of my life. Hoping God shows up, but in case he doesn’t…
Which attitude does nothing for the next scenario.
Meeting God Halfway When You’re Weary
Getting out of prison is exhausting enough without doing it alone. After so many failed attempts, I don’t feel much like trying anymore. The pendulum swings from expecting too little of God to expecting too much, and the story starts to look something like this:
I’m chained between the guards. I’ve been through an ordeal. I’m wiped out, and I don’t want to put on my sandals. If the angel has power to break chains and open iron gates, can’t he just carry me out while he’s at it? I’m tired. Why do I have to put on my shoes and walk?
Billy wanted to know the same thing in Where the Red Fern Grows. Desperate for his own hounds, he’d prayed and prayed for them, to no avail. When his grandpa told him that wasn’t enough, that he had to meet God halfway, that it wasn’t good for his character if he didn’t, Billy spouted this too-true retort. “I don’t want character! I want dogs!”
That’s been my chief complaint in a nutshell. As a teacher, as a single adult, as a human being.
I don’t want character! I just want to have a good day at school!
I don’t want character! I just want to get married!
I don’t want character! I just want to be happy!
Character is what makes those rewards so rich. Sometimes it’s even what brings the reward. But it’s hard to see that when you’re worn out. Growth takes effort you don’t feel like making, and meeting God in the middle, or anywhere, might as well be a rendezvous on Mt. Everest.
But now we’ve come full circle. The middle–or anywhere–isn’t as far as that.
The Truth About Meeting God Halfway
Imagine if God gave the angel these instructions before he visited Peter’s cell:
“I need you to get Peter out of prison, but don’t do too much. He’s gotta pull his own weight. You can take care of the guards and open the gates, but he’ll have to break the chains himself. Don’t know how long that’ll take him, but just wait outside the door until he meets you.”
Yeah, right.
Yet, isn’t this how we think God handles our problems? We pray, he sets out to answer, and we set out to meet him, but of course he arrives at halfway in about a split second and we’re nowhere near, so he just hangs out there until we arrive.
He doesn’t work that way. When he reaches halfway, he picks up the mile marker and keeps coming. Halfway becomes wherever he meets us. And he meets us wherever we are.
“Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you,” he says. No stipulations about how far he’ll come before we have to do the rest. As long as we’re headed toward him, he’s headed toward us.
Don’t Underestimate Where Your Sandals Can Take You
I saw no heavenly messenger in my kindergarten classroom that year. There was no magical swinging open of the iron gate–not like it happened for Peter, anyway. But after nine months of getting out of bed each day, clasping my sandal pendant around my neck, putting on my actual shoes, and showing up to fill my metaphorical ones, an amazing thing happened. I had sixteen students who, just able to scratch out their name when they came to me, could now read and write.
And I signed up for another batch. Actually, four more batches, as it turned out.
You don’t do that if you’re still in chains.
I don’t know exactly when mine fell off, but looking back, I’m sure of two things. First, meeting God…wherever I met him…was not a solo trip. It wasn’t for Peter, either. He had the church and their prayers behind him. I had family. And students with compassionate parents–I cringe to think what tales their children brought home some days! And maybe other support I wasn’t even aware of. It wasn’t all my own stamina that got me into my shoes every day.
Second, the experience wasn’t the prison. If it was, I would have considered the end of the school year an open gate and gotten myself hence. Maybe I wouldn’t have even stuck it out that long. But I wasn’t locked in the job. I was locked in my personal weaknesses and inexperience. So, when God went to work on those chains and prison walls and four quaternions of guards, as it were, it wasn’t my challenging students he was fixing–well, maybe he did some work on them, too. But mostly he was fixing me.
Whatever chains are binding you, take comfort in knowing that while you may not get an all-at-once prison break like Peter, that doesn’t mean God isn’t freeing you every time you put on your shoes. And bringing halfway that much closer.
If this post has helped you, please pass it on and share in the comments what putting on your shoes looks like for you.
Scripture References
Pin It For Later
