Taking Care of Business

1

The Dream

I stood at the Eiffel Tower and slowly scanned the 750-foot structure that ascended into the clouds. For a man who had traveled far from home, Paris was a dream come true. All of my life, I longed to experience the rich culture that northern Europe offered its visitors. As I stood, open-mouthed and staring, it was hard to imagine my feet were trekking across the tables of history. I lingered, lost in the moment, until a stranger interrupted my thoughts and nudged me to move along. Without taking my eyes off the tower, I shuffled forward, taking in the irony of the moment. That day the Eiffel Tower was being painted, and that fact loomed large in my mind. I was the president of an industrial painting company and knew what a job of that size entailed.

As we loaded the tour bus and the doors swung shut, the guide rambled off bits of information. "The tower has changed colors many times.Fifteen hundred brushes and five thousand sanding disks are used in the process. It will take sixty tons of paint to complete the project."

Once the tour guide finished and replaced the mic on its hook, my pastor looked at me and, in a serious tone, said, "One day, Gene, you will paint structures like the Tower. They will be some of the largest infrastructures on the planet."

Several weeks passed before my mind could fully take in what he had said. Although I felt the weight of those words, it would be a while before my faith would catch up to my feelings. I knew it was more than a coincidence that the Eiffel Tower was being painted during my short stay in Paris. Although I didn't know what step to take next, I knew prophecies are pointless if we don't turn our feet and begin to walk in faith. In a way that is hard to explain, I realized that it took the backdrop of Paris to prepare my heart to embrace the prophecies that would unfold.

In the months to come, I forced my way through mounds of books and stacks of commentaries. I analyzed antiquity, waded through war stories, studied religious works, and even glanced at the gladiators. I read the works of those considered giants in the faith and scanned sacred texts to draw my faith into focus. Each entry showcased men who defied the odds and carved out their chapter of history. In my faith quest, I found my faith consistently returning to the story of Noah.

During this time, I had an opportunity to view a dramatic production of Noah. The producers used rich cinematography and reverberating sound effects to bring the ancient tale to life. As a man who has great appreciation for contractors who create supersized structures, I felt emotionally tied to what Noah had agreed to take on. As the scenes unfolded, I scooted closer to the edge of my seat. Oddly, I felt encouraged when God gave Noah an assignment he couldn't fully comprehend. My hands squeezed the sides of the chair when the animals worked their way out of the woods and ambled up the ramp. I squirmed around in frustration when critics did their best to dissuade him from driving another nail into a project that would surely sink. For the first time, I could see the flash of uncertainty in Noah's eyes as detractors labeled him a lunatic. It wasn't just Noah whom they threw verbal jabs at; they tossed a few rocks his sons' way too.

If you have had rivals who have tried to censure your creativity or discount your dreams, then you understand the kind of chaos that Noah was working around. As the script moved forward, the cinema cut to scenes of tsunami-sized waves splashing against the boat. This time, Noah's critics weren't trying to cut off what he was doing; they were trying to claw their way onto it.

What happens when God snatches our life jackets away and throws us into the deep end? How do we respond when he asks us to do something that may leave us looking more like a heretic than a hero? God's requests don't always arrive neatly packaged. Sometimes they get torn and shredded as they make their way to us. If there is any theological doubt to that statement, then consider how Daniel's prayers got entangled in the heavenly realm. Daniel 10:2-3 tells us that for twenty-one days, a prophecy was locked outside of the earth. Maybe you've felt like your prayers have gone unanswered or your petitions have fallen short of their intended mark. Daniel understood what that felt like, and so did David. If we are honest, at times, divine instructions can feel more heavy than heavenly.

Sometimes the hardest situations in life set us up for the greatest miracles. Before I darted off to Paris, I felt like my future was held up by something I could not explain. The company I was working for offered me a promotion that would double my salary. It was a proposal that would push my earnings into the six-figure range and would bring my family financial security. Even with the lure of a lucrative signing bonus, I knew in my heart that God hadn't released me from the small church in Texas where I was pastoring. What made the decision harder to make was that I was not taking a salary from the church. Pastoring was our gift to the congregation and our seed planted for God's kingdom. To walk away from the deal meant walking away from anything that would anchor our finances.

It wasn't a decision we made quickly. My wife and I devoted ourselves to prayer and fasting and felt confident that God wanted us to remain in Texas. We quickly learned that sometimes making the right decision does not always guarantee instant blessings or increases. Sometimes we have to sacrifice our way through a season to get to the supernatural side of things.

The next twelve months were not as easy as we imagined they would be. During that time, we were forced to return our industrial painting company's vehicle, and our owner-financed house was reclaimed and sold when we were no longer able to afford the payments. The interesting thing about walking by faith is that it empties our resources so that we can make room for God's. Although I can't share everything that God did in that season, I can tell you miracles came into our lives-small at first, then like an avalanche giving way. When the company car went back, a man stepped forward and handed us the keys to a debt-free vehicle. As we packed up our house, another property owner offered us a house to rent for half the price of the one we were walking away from. Everywhere we turned, we saw that our obedience brought us something better. Over the decades, I've learned that God will never have us walk away from one opportunity if there isn't a greater one looming in our future.

When I think of all the men who did great exploits for God, my mind doesn't rush to remember the one who brought down a giant or the one who declawed a lion or even the one who conquered a kingdom. Instead, my mind races toward a man who followed his faith and ended up in God's hall of fame. If we retraced Abraham's journey, we would discover his story wasn't marked by a major epic moment but rather a series of serious surrenders. Maybe that's where the majority of us live, and maybe that is where we best live out our faith, in the space between epic and ordinary.

If you remember the story, Abraham left his native land in quest of establishing a new nation. While that may seem like an exciting opportunity, it required extraordinary faith and emotional fortitude. We don't achieve assignments of that magnitude every day-sometimes ever. Forging a nation came with risk and occasional regret. The quest to walk out God's promises involves conquering situations and sometimes conquering ourselves if we get in the way. God didn't just call Abraham to walk into prophetic promises. He also called him to walk away from kindred and country. That may be the hardest part of faith: letting go of something familiar so that we can find our future. Maybe, like Abraham, you long to do something that lands you outside of what is familiar or holds family ties. Although I cannot promise that your journey will be easy or without effort, I can assure you that receiving the promises of God will be worth more than anything you leave behind.

Sitting at my desk, I received a phone call from a coal-mining facility in northeast Texas. The project manager invited me to attend a bid meeting to price the cost of painting a crane boom. He explained that the boom was the largest of its kind, measuring 338 feet. Those words, largest of its kind, rang loud in my mind. As he rambled through the process, I silently whispered, According to your word. Over the next few days, I repeated that phrase again and again until hesitation turned into conviction. There was a point when I quit trying to talk myself into faith and started speaking faith aloud.

The following week I arrived at the meeting and took a seat in the boardroom. Other contractors were there for the same purpose. In a way that seems nothing short of miraculous, competitive contractors insinuated their bid would be unusually high. Their firms were short-staffed, and a project of this size was more than they needed.

As I drove home from the meeting, my mind went to the image of the Eiffel Tower, and my thoughts lingered on the prophecy, "One day, Gene, you will paint.some of the largest infrastructures on the planet." I grinned at the memory and waited for the call that would confirm the project was awarded to my company.

As I reminisced, I thanked God for trusting me with that initial project. Somehow, I knew more contracts were to come. And according to the promise I received in Paris, some of the...