I'll never forget the time my son was a toddler and I had given him a dismissive and wishy-washy response when he asked if I would take him to Chuck E. Cheese that weekend. With a confused countenance, he burst into tears and then spoke the most profound words I've ever heard: "There's no such thing as maybe!" September is a month of promises. New academic relationships are forged as teachers and administrators carefully set the stage for partnership. Parents listen dutifully as school staff members vow to be accessible and to always keep the best interests of students at heart. But to that one parent whose child is in perpetual crisis, these mantras are merely white noise. After all, the impact of a promise is only as powerful as the covenant relationship that it represents. For those of us whose lives have been upended, cynicism may have replaced the belief that better days are coming.
My aversion to broken promises began at three years of age. When my father suddenly left, the vibrant colors of my childhood faded into gray as loneliness engulfed me. No matter what they say, promises were never really meant to be broken; bitter disappointment can sever relationships and cause even the most tender hearts to become calloused and jaded. Unfulfilled promises aren't always intentional. Circumstances do change and people can be short sighted, albeit well-meaning. Personally, my word is my bond and I hold people to a pretty high standard. The problem remains that this idealistic mentality sets us up for a wild ride of heartache and disillusionment. More than once, I have cleared my calendar and checked restaurant reviews because someone casually said, "Let's do lunch sometime."
Most of us can relate to a collective weariness of political and economic promises that carry a distinctively hollow ring. We are living in turbulent times between the global pandemic, Middle East crisis, crushing cost of living and the mirage of The American Dream. If September 11th has taught us anything, it's that no human being can make good on the promise of security. That assurance comes from a much deeper place that can't be defined by borders. As I have learned personally in the last two years, (while navigating the endless bureaucracy and frustration of a federal disaster grant), even humanitarian organizations fall short. Solemn oaths sworn under pressure are easily forgotten during times of tranquility. The promise and the reality make strange bedfellows. Integrity is rare, and a handshake doesn't seal the deal without a notarized contract and an attorney present.
I am so grateful that my destiny is not based on human frailty or empty words. I remember going to visit my brother in the hospital earlier this year. ALS had stolen his quality of life, but nothing could steal his joy. I had met my friend, Trudy, for a quick meal and some encouragement and she suggested that I play some worship music when I arrived. I chose the song, "Goodness of God," and it filled the room that day as the peace overcame him. Lovers often whisper promises in the dark because intimacy allows them to be vulnerable. God also whispers to us in the dark and asks us to trust the process in the midnight hour of despair. You can take His word to the bank and lock in with bulldog faith even when your rational mind sees certain defeat. His commitment to you is non-negotiable and "haters" will have no idea how God's goodness prevailed when the odds were stacked against you. But as surely as the sun rises, He is a promise keeper, and YOU WILL NOT BE DENIED.
Understand, therefore, that the LORD your God is indeed God. He is the faithful God who keeps his covenant for a thousand generations and lavishes his unfailing love on those who love him and obey his commands. -Deuteronomy 7:9 NLT
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