Whoa, Baby--Don't Snuff It Out!

During the wonder years when I was privileged to sit at the feet of God's servant (who happened to be my great-aunt) Trinie Valdez, she often referred to the following verse in Isaiah. "A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench . . ." (Isaiah 42:3). It was a prophesy, she explained, referring to Jesus and one which revealed a beautiful part of His nature.

Having lived with electricity most of my life, I didn't "get it" until Auntie gave me a little bit of a lesson on pre-electricity living. Until Auntie explained, I did not know that the material (flax in Bible days) used to keep the flame in a lamp burning, if not trimmed, will produce an acrid smoke that burns and offends the eyes. The natural response is to snuff the wick out, get rid of the offending item.

But Jesus, being far superior to the natural urges that tend to govern man, is led by something far greater than ordinary tendencies; when He walked on this earth He said that He did only that which His Heavenly Father would have Him do. He said, "The Son can do nothing of Himself but what He sees the Father do; for whatever He does, the Son also does in like manner" (John 5:19). In the ordinary course of events, the natural man would quickly snuff out the wick to protect himself from the burning pain to his eyes. But the spiritual man (Jesus and he who would be like Jesus), fans the flame and gets those smoldering embers to burst forth in a healthy, light-giving flame. It's a captivating concept--and a portal to glory when one experiences the benefit of it.

My missionary husband had left to go on a two or three week trip to the States to itinerate (touch base with churches who supported us and, hopefully, introduce our ministry to new churches). While on most occasions we traveled as a family, for various reasons this time the boys and I would remain behind in Mexico, holding down the fort, so to speak.

It so happened that on that very first night, I took the boys with me to the midweek service at our church. We got out of the car onto a sidewalk (at that time the church was renting a party barn in downtown Cd. Victoria) and, as the boys stood beside me on the sidewalk, I remembered something I needed from the car. "Hold on to your brother," I ordered Stephen, then five. Two year old Daniel smiled up at me from beside his big brother. I turned to the car, unlocked it, got whatever it was, and turned back to my boys. Only . . . instead of two, there was only one. I looked around. No Daniel.

"Where's your brother?" I asked Stephen, beginning to panic. He shrugged his five year old shoulders. I really panicked then.

Turning in a complete circle, I spotted the errant Daniel. He was toddling into the middle of the street. And a white truck was heading straight towards him. Not wanting to startle him and cause him to race into the vehicle's trajectory, I called out in a calm voice, "Daniel, come to Momma." My smiling boy turned to me, laughing. I walked with as much calmness as I could muster into the street. While Daniel had slowed his walking, as had the truck, it was all but on top of him. To my horror, I realized that there was no way it was going to miss. I prayed softly, calling on Jesus to help us. Somehow, I cannot explain how, the truck did not barrel into Daniel. Instead, Daniel barreled into the truck, hitting the passenger side fender. He fell down and for all the world it looked like the back wheels would run over his little legs. Somehow (God!) they did not. Now that both Daniel and the vehicle were at a standstill, I felt free to unleash the panic within and run to Daniel, who was now caterwauling from the big goose egg on his forehead.

After making sure there were no broken bones, I turned to the sidewalk in front of the church building. Even if somewhat belatedly, I needed to get my baby out of the street. The driver of the truck rushed out to apologize. "I didn't see him, ma'am! As soon as I did I tried to stop and miss him!"

"It's okay, it's okay. It's not your fault," I told him as I turned back to the sidewalk, praying in tongues as I carried my baby.

A lady who happened to be walking by heard me and came to rub my forehead just as the driver began begging, "Please don't do this to me, ma'am." I didn't realize what was going on until later--unaware of how one can pray in another language through the baptism of the Holy Spirit, the lady and the driver thought the trauma had made me lose my mind!

Anyway, to make a long story short, a friend from church who had witnessed the tail end of the incident told me she would take me to her doctor friend whose clinic was still open. Daniel was duly x-rayed and pronounced 100% okay. Because my church friend was his friend, the doc didn't even charge me! I thought that if there was to be a silver lining to this traumatic incident, this would be part of it (Daniel not being seriously hurt would, of course, be at the top of the list!). Little did I know that God had something else in store for me . . .

After the relief of getting the official diagnosis of "all well," I began to feel the guilt of what I had done. My carelessness had put my toddler in harm's way. Steve was spending the night at the border, and on one level I knew that he needed to have a clear mind to focus on what he would be ministering in the days to come. The last thing he needed was a hysterical call informing him of family drama that had turned out okay. But the guilt felt unbearable. Come what may, I felt constrained to call him and let him know what a horrible, rotten, no good mother I was. So I did.

After listening patiently, he said, "Janine, you are a good mother. It was an accident, it could have happened to anyone. Thank God Daniel is okay, but you have nothing to feel guilty about." I was the smoking flax, sending acrid fumes all around, and Steve was taking the part of the Holy Spirit, fanning the burning embers of goodness in my mother's heart. The flax waxed hot from the fanning and burst into a healthy flame. God bless Steve for his kind words that spoke to the good in me and caused it to flourish.

There's a similar Bible example of "fanning the flame" in Acts. Barnabas felt led to include John Mark in the ministry even though he had previously jumped ship in Pamphylia, abandoning both Barnabas and Paul. This sparked such a strong controversy between Paul and the man who had up to then been his partner in the ministry that they separated (Acts 15:37-41). Barnabas, whose name means "consolation," was fanning the smoldering wick (John Mark) whom Paul, though a godly man with a great testimony, wanted to snuff out. Did John Mark deserve Paul's censure? Probably. But, wouldn't you know it? Later on, in 2 Timothy 4:11, Paul actually asked Timothy to bring Mark with him "for he is profitable (useful) to me for the ministry." Way to go, Barnabas!

May God help us, each and every one, to see the potential in smoldering, acrid-fume-producing wicks and fan them into healthy, light-giving flames. Like Barnabas. Like Jesus.

"Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ" (I Corinthians 11:1).