Sifted

I’ve been thinking about sifting lately.

Harvest comes first, then threshing and winnowing. And finally, sifting. When I was in Israel, I saw a whole series of rustic, round sifters, the woven mesh finer on each one. The object: filtering out chaff, stalks, sticks, rocks, and leaving nothing but grain.

It reminds me of a life-changing series of minutes that played out in an airport, several years ago. After eight-plus years of waiting and dreaming, my family was about to take flight for Israel.

It was a hot but miraculous May afternoon: eighteen suitcases, nine carry-ons, and nine family members were all lined up at the check-in counter and ready to go. But with just three hours before our flight, an over-zealous airline agent with misinformation about our tickets was about to keep us grounded. My parents explained, cajoled, and finally ran down a very long hallway in search of a more sympathetic official. Meanwhile, I babysat the baggage –- and time kept evaporating. It was hard to pray. It was hard to trust. The best I could do was to inwardly look up towards Jesus every now and then and say, “I know You can handle this.”

While other travelers swirled past me, I had time to stop, sift through my motives, and decide that this trip wasn’t all about me: it was for Him. I had a moment to remember Who was in control. And I had the privilege of seeing Him work on our behalf. There –- in the confusion -– I met God. I met Him in a way I never would have if everything had gone according to plan.   [Read full article].

Sifting time. A time to stop and discern.

The lovely thing about sifting is that it works. The chaff does get blown away. The extras do get filtered out. And the heavy, real, good grain remains.