When God answers prayers with a “no”

 God sent me to work with ordinary people who trusted God—in practical, specific, real-life ways.

 

They demonstrated faith in action:

• when they asked God for a way to officially work in Colombia despite the unlikelihood at that time,
• when they asked God for land for their center of operations,
• when they asked God for personnel to join them,
• when they asked God for people in their home countries to provide finances and prayer support,
• when they asked God for vehicles and airplanes and airstrips,
• and when they asked God for so many other needs, both big and small.

 

Wycliffe Bible Translators’ founder, Cam Townsend, had a habit of singing “faith . . . laughs at impossibilities and shouts ‘It shall be done!’ ‘It shall, it shall, it shall be done. . . ” (his version of Charles Wesley’s “Faith, Mighty Faith”). Before long it became the theme song for the entire worldwide Wycliffe organization.

 

Time and time again, Uncle Cam and early Lomalindians watched while God kept answering “Yes!”

 

It’s exciting, and it’s humbling, to see the way God answers prayer for giants of the faith like Uncle Cam and Lomalinda pioneers.

 

But sometimes God said “No” to their prayer requests.

 

For example, they needed land where they could establish a center of operations, including an aviation department. So they prayed, believing God was leading them to a place beside a lake where they could use floatplanes to transport Bible translators to and from their remote locations among indigenous people groups.

 

God answered by leading them to the perfect spot that became Lomalinda on the shores of a lake. And it was all so good.

 

But before long, those early settlers realized floatplanes would not meet their needs. They had misunderstood what God was leading them to do, and they heard His gentle “No.” As Proverbs 16:9 says, “People may make plans in their minds, but the Lord decides what they will do” (NCV). “We humans keep brainstorming options and plans, but God’s purpose prevails” (Proverbs 19:21, The Message).

 

Instead of using floatplanes, they built a grassy, up-and-down landing strip and used regular airplanes. They knew God had given them His better answer to their prayers when He directed them to a different kind of aviation program than they had imagined.

 

God answered their prayers with a “No,” on other occasions, too:

• like when one family’s home burned to the ground,
• like when Doug Kindberg didn’t survive his moto accident,
• like when Marxist guerrillas kidnapped and murdered Chet Bitterman. 

In ways we might never fully understand, when God says “No,” He has His good and holy reasons.

 

God’s ways and thoughts are higher than our ways (Isaiah 55:8-9). His ways are better than our ways, they are superior. He is omniscient. He is Sovereign God, who says “My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please” (Isaiah 46:10, NIV).

 

You see, “Our lives don’t really belong to us” (Jeremiah 10:23). Our dreams, our hopes, our ministries, our families—they don’t really belong to us, either. God is the Big Boss. He wisely, lovingly works out what’s best. Our role is to trust God has good plans for those who love Him (Romans 8:28).

 

And so we come back to the question I’ve been asking lately: 

 

When Jesus said,

“You can ask me for anything in my name,

and I will do it,”

did he mean we are the boss of him?

(See John 14:13-14.)   

 

No, he didn’t. Uncle Cam and Lomalinda’s pioneers knew they were not the boss of God.

 

Even though what they asked God for seemed perfectly reasonable, and perhaps even brilliant, they also knew they were mere humans with imperfect insights into God’s plans and ways, so they knew He would sometimes answer with a “No.” And they were okay with that—

 

“Thy will be done. . . .”

 

Cavin Harper writes: “In a day when a lot of people are telling us that we can have anything we ask for—if we envision it in our minds, it is ours—what happens when God says, ‘No’? 

 

“Many Christians find the idea of God saying ‘no’ to be a devastating conflict with their theology of ‘ask and you shall receive,’ or ‘name it and claim it.’

 

“I know the shattering consequences of a ‘no’ from God,” Cavin continues, “when I really wanted to hear ‘yes.’

 

“It was in such a moment that I realized what a lite, thin-skinned Christianity I had embraced.

 

“I had confined God to an unbiblical theological box and did not account for the deep and profound work that God wanted to do in me through His ‘no.’

 

“That work involved developing in me an undivided heart where He could meet me, change me, and give me His peace in the acceptance of His answer, even when it was “no.”

 

“While His answer never changed, I did,” Cavin says, “and guess what I discovered?  There really is life (with a capital “L”) after ‘no.’”

 

How many times has God answered “No”

to one of your prayers

and later you realized

His “No” was for the best?

Aren’t you glad He answered the way He did?

 

Part Two: Standing in front of a mirror and yelling at kids

Last week I asked, “Have you ever been standing in front of a mirror when you yelled at your kids?”

If you have, you were startled at what you saw. And ashamed. The things we do to our faces when we get mad and scream—well, they’re frightful. Mean. Ugly.

We should never, never inflict that on kids, yet that’s what my face looked like to our new little neighbor, Glenny, on our first day in Lomalinda.

You see, he had surprised me by darting into my kitchen and holding a snake within six inches of my face and hollering, “Ya wanna see a real, live boa constrictor?”

Somewhere deep in my brain, I connected “boa constrictor” with “danger” and I was so scared I couldn’t breathe.

I bent down and glowered into Glenny’s sweaty, freckled, beaming little face and—when I could finally gulp in air—I yelled, “No. Get out!” pointing toward the door.

I’ve never forgotten how his bright smiling face dimmed, he blinked, caught his breath, turned, and sprinted down the hall. (Click here to read about that.)

Immediately I knew I’d done a bad thing. I grabbed my camera and ran after him, calling out, “Wait, Glenny, let me take your picture!” 

For all these years, I’ve been heartsick for the memories Glenny must have of me yelling into his little face. I’m sure I looked cross and dreadful and horrid.

Here’s where Part Two of this story comes in.

A year ago, Dave and I were at our granddaughter’s track meet and I snapped a picture of her. Then I noticed a man to the right of her. I stepped closer—it was Glenn! Forty years had passed since I’d last seen him, yet I’d have recognized his dear face anywhere.

Our granddaughter in red on left; Glenn on right in black.

I walked over to him. “Are you Glenn Gardner?”

“Yes,” he smiled, studying my face, trying to place who I was.

“I’m Linda Thomas, your neighbor in Lomalinda.” Both of us burst out laughing and gave each other hugs. During our visit, we met his adorable daughter and lovely wife and learned they live in a nearby town. His daughter was on the middle school team competing against my granddaughter’s team.

Dave, Glenn, and Linda

As we visited at the track that day, I reminded Glenn of the boa constrictor incident, and he admitted he remembered it—of course any child would—so I apologized and asked his forgiveness.

He was quick to assure me, wearing his great smile,

that he’d forgiven me.

That was one of the most important moments of my life.

For more than half of my lifetime 

I’ve grieved over what I did to Glenn.

After my memoir was published in June, I sent Glenn a copy and soon he sent me this:

“I received your memoir and am reading it. So glad you wrote this.

“As for the snake, rest assured I always enjoyed spending time in your home. I have very fond memories of you in your kitchen listening to the Carpenters, so much so that I bought all the Carpenters’ CDs once I got married and played them in our car, in our kitchen, etc., all the while being reminded of those wonderful years you were our neighbors. . . .

“Forever grateful for you, and this book has been and will be healing.” *

I wrote back to Glenn, saying I still felt bad he’d had to look at my ugly, screaming face. “THAT face is what you had to look at. THAT face is still in your memory. That’s why I’m overwhelmed at your forgiving spirit and your grace. THANK YOU.”

Glenn replied (and this still chokes me up), 

“Consider yourself loved and cherished. 

THE only face of Linda Thomas I know 

is one of love and comfort, 

so look in the mirror and smile. 

THAT face is in my memory.”

What grace! What forgiveness! His words still make me cry in gratitude.

I could write much more about experiences of receiving grace and forgiveness from God and others but instead, let me leave you with these words from Frederick Buechner:

“To forgive somebody is to say one way or another, “You have done something unspeakable, and by all rights I should call it quits between us. . . . However, although I make no guarantee that I will be able to forget what you’ve done, and though we may both carry scars for life, I refuse to let it stand between us. I still want you for my friend.”

“To accept forgiveness means to admit that you’ve done something unspeakable that needs to be forgiven. . . .”

           

“When somebody you’ve wronged forgives you, you’re spared the dull and self-diminishing throb of a guilty conscience.

“When you forgive somebody who has wronged you, you’re spared the dismal corrosion of bitterness and wounded pride.

“For both parties, forgiveness means the freedom again to be at peace inside their own skins and to be glad in each other’s presence.”  (Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking)   

All I can say is “Amen.”

And “Thank you.”

*About eighteen months after our family returned to the States, Glenn’s brother-in-law, Chet Bitterman, was kidnapped by Marxist guerrillas and murdered. You can read more about it in my memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir.