Pondering the Work of God’s Hands

Psalm 143:5 I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the work of your hands.

God is so good to me.

I sit here with a cup (an actual china cup and saucer) of dark roast coffee in the Cottonwood Bistro in Brookings, South Dakota, where I came to serve as a young upstart pastor thirty years ago this summer, and I have time this morning to ponder the ways and goodness of God in some degree of leisure.

Vicki and I have taken a few days of vacation and are visiting good friends in the place where our children spent sixteen of their growing up years, and I sit here under no immanent threat of the lash. I have something that has been relatively rare in history: leisure.

Last night over dinner we discussed with friends the tender tenacity of our adopting Father, and the requirement-satisfaction that is achieved by grace. It was delicious (both the dinner and the conversation). What luscious leisure.

But all men can ponder the works of God whether in leisure or not, whether under the whip or not. In fact being under the whip just might intensify one’s ponderings. There is no exemption from considering the Creator. All men, even atheists, find contemplation of God unavoidable, at least for a season (Romans 1:19–20).

While I admit the difficulty of meditating on God in the very moment of wrestling a pig toward the vet for an inoculation, or dribbling the ball on a fast break, or changing lanes in heavy traffic on a speedy highway, nevertheless all moments are not preoccupying in the way those moments are. Even when vaccinating 600 pigs on a single morning, there are moments between pigs. Even when playing basketball, there are moments between plays when the principles that make for good sportsmanship and good stewardship of the temple come to mind as relevant and appropriate to consider, even if momentarily.

The highest earthly king on his throne cannot escape thoughts of God and the lowliest slave shoveling manure in the stable cannot either. I have done hard work under the hot sun, and God was there.

And as I sit here, reflecting on Scripture, and looking out the window at the street I used to drive at 5:30 a.m. three times a week on my way to the university to play basketball for an hour or so before heading home to get home school up and running for the day, tears come to my eyes at the goodness of God.

While I could be thankful (and am) for such things as the coffee, and the opportunity to raise children in this town, and friends who welcome us to their home after being gone a decade and half, tears come to my eyes at such condescending mercy—from the God who prepares good works in advance that we should walk in them—that ordains that a little farm boy born thousands of miles from Bethlehem of Judea should come to Bethlehem of Minneapolis (via Brookings) to play a role in a worldwide ministry.

He can snatch an ordinary jar of clay from a first grade class of only a handful of kids at tiny Bureau Junction, Illinois, and use him to influence others around the world to consider Christ… not wasting his life and urging them not to waste theirs. It’s all grace.