- Julie Branstetter
Get Back On The Table
Hopefully this will encourage others that God will always take you back on the table. Because He's good.
Narrator: All too often when God is working on us we leap off of the table the minute He begins to dress our wounds. We pray for God to heal us and then as soon as it starts to hurt we run from Him and then ask Him why He’s not healing us. Christian brother and sister, we are His sons and daughters after all so why not look at it in that context? Although this is an somewhat comedic illustration for those of us who have small children, spiritually it can be quite a serious issue.
Child: Daddy, Daddy, I fell down and skinned my knee. It’s terrible!! It’s hurrrrrts!!!!!!
Daddy: Well come here and let me look at it.
(The child’s eyes grow wide as he backs away and fearfully runs out of the room again.)
Narrator: Yes we do that. We run to God for help only to cower in fear when He has to take a look at us. What might He see? What will He think of us when He sees how bad it really is? As if He does not already know. But the wound just keeps hurting until finally we run back.)
(The child comes into the room again)
Child: Daddy!! It really hurts now, please help me!!
Daddy: Well come here and let me look at it. (The child comes over and shows his daddy the wound.) Hrm, that’s pretty bad. I’m going to have to work on that.
Child: I knew it!! (The child runs out of the room again, this time with the daddy following behind him.)
Narrator: He knows that if this wound doesn’t get cleaned, infection is going to start setting in. Time is of the essence.
(Finally the child runs back into the room with his daddy behind him. He throws himself on the floor and gives in because the pain is worse than ever and running away is getting too hard.)
Child: I can’t take it anymore. Just please help me!!
Daddy: Okay, hop up here on the table and lie down so I can operate on it.
Child: OPERATE!!!!!!!!! It’s just a skinned knee, are you kidding?!
Daddy: It WAS just a skinned knee but you’ve run away so long now it’s infected. If you don’t get up here and let me work on it, you’re going to be hurting all over soon.
(The pain is throbbing so badly now the frightened reluctant child hops up on the table. As soon as the daddy barely touches the wound the child LEAPS off the table!)
Child: OUUUUCH!!!!!!! You HURT Me!!!!!!
(The child stares wide eyed with shock and surprise at the daddy.)
Child: I can’t believe you would hurt me!!
Daddy: It’s the wound that hurts you. You have to get back up on the table so I can fix it.
(The child runs away again, out of the room, to solve his own problem.)
Narrator: Oh he’s sure now that he can solve this problem better on his own. He puts all kinds of things on the wound to make it stop hurting, but in the end, it hurts worse than ever and now the child can’t even walk straight. (The child comes into the room limping, bent over with a terrible grimace on his face.) It’s affecting his posture, his attitude and how he functions in everything he tries to do. We do that too. We want God to fix our wounds and heal us as long as it doesn’t hurt. As soon as it hurts, we leap off the table and start trying to do it ourselves. We’ll cover it up with all kind of things but eventually it affects us entirely. It makes us grouchy and bitter; it turns our faces downward in hopelessness and even prevents us from walking straight or functioning properly at all. What was a scratch has become a disease to our whole being. In the end we must come back to God.
Daddy: Come on now, I have to open it up to clean it.
(The child looks at the daddy and reluctantly nods. He’s too weak to even hop up on the table so the daddy helps him up and begins to open up the wound.)
Narrator: It’s painful alright. It hurts 10 times worse now. The child tries to deal with the pain. He winces and writhes on the table. He looks down at the open wound. Oh it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s really REALLY bad. His eyes bug out. It’s just gross! It looks so much worse than he thought it would. He had no idea how bad it had gotten. His eyes reveal the fear and shock he feels from seeing it. Yes, we do that too. Suddenly, the child decides he can’t handle it anymore. He throws himself on the floor and has a tantrum, rolling all around, back and forth while the daddy stands and watches.
Child: I can’t take it!!! It’s worse than ever, it’s not getting better, it’s getting worse!!
Daddy: (silence)
Child: Look at me!! I look awful, I’ll never be right again!! (The child pauses suddenly in a fit of sorrow and pain with a look of shock and revelation) You’re trying to KILL me!!
Daddy: (silence)
Child: Well, aren’t you going to SAY something?
Daddy: (silence)
Narrator: The child rolls all over the floor again throwing his tantrum in one last attempt to make the daddy respond. In between whines of…
Child: “Oh It hurts so baaaaad”
Narrator: and…
Child: “You don’t love meeee”
Narrator: …the child peeks up with one eye at the daddy who remains stoic, silent and composed.
Daddy: (silence)
Child: (with resignation) Why won’t you help me?
Daddy: Are you finished?
Child: (silent resignation, sigh)
Daddy: I don’t want you to hurt anymore either. I’m not killing you, but your wound is. I’m not hurting you, but your wound is. Once the wound starts healing, you won’t feel like this anymore. You have to get back on the table now so I can help you.
Narrator: “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it, Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees.” (Finally the child realizes this has to be done.) No matter how bad it hurts, the only way for this child to live and fulfill the purpose God has on his life is to address this wound first.
(The child climbs back up on the table, takes one look at his daddy and then lies down. The daddy smiles down at the child.)
Daddy: And don’t lie here the whole time and try to tell me how to operate on you either!
Narrator: Sometimes we just need to get back on the table, be still and quiet, and don’t move until He tells us to. Dad always gets the last word.