When We Can't, God Can: Encounters with the God of the impossible

By Catherine Campbell

Few of us are superheroes. Most of us are plain ordinary. In spite of this fact God continues to throw the impossible in our direction and, invariably, we shout back 'I can't!' Yet we discover this is the best background against which God can 'do immeasurably more than we can even ask or think' as the apostle Paul put it.

'When We Can't, God Can' sets side by side the stories of men and women from both the biblical narrative and today who said 'I can't', only to go on to accomplish great things for the God who declares his strength to be made perfect in weakness.

Catherine's particular gift is to encourage, and to provide connections between the experience of biblical characters and life today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monarch Books
• Release date: Jul 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9780857216137

Catherine Campbell

Catherine has spoken at numerous Ladies' events, including day conferences, breakfasts and weekends, as well as individual fellowship meetings for women in various churches. Having cared for two profoundly disabled daughters for a period of almost twenty years, Catherine is often asked to speak on the subject of suffering - through testimony, bible ministry and seminars. But she also delights in opportunities to share what the Bible has to say on a myriad of other subjects too! She is married to Philip. They have three children; two daughters, Cheryl and Joy, now in heaven, and a wonderful son, Paul who is married to Susie, both exceptional musicians.

Book preview

Preface

The young tour guide obviously enjoyed her job.

From the moment our group entered the site of the ancient ruins, she positively gushed with information. But then this was Ephesus. Who could remain dispassionate in this amazing place?

Ephesus was a Roman colony and gateway to Asia Minor from around 129 BC, she told us. By the first century AD it was a major centre of trade and politics, with an infrastructure second to none in its day.

Our group rewarded her knowledge with the requisite oohs and aahs, as the young woman explained the remnants of structures still standing and remarkably preserved, in spite of assault by natural disasters and invading armies.

Did you know that the residents of the upper city had central heating, and water taps? she asked.

We didn’t, actually, and the evidence we were shown boggled the mind when there are people in our world, in this century, who have never even seen a water tap. The Romans were undoubtedly amazing engineers. Statues, amphitheatres, marble pillars, and the ruins of superbly designed buildings from centuries ago were mesmerizing.

Interestingly, although the city shone with grandeur, even today as an archaeological ruin, the lives of its former inhabitants did not. As the guide described widespread immoral behaviour, and disgusting sacrificial practices used in pagan worship, I suddenly realized why the apostle Paul wrote to the new Christians in the way that he did in his letter to the Ephesians.

Don’t live any longer as the Gentiles do, he told them in Ephesians 4:17, and further commented that they were instead to live as children of the light (5:8). As I walked on the same streets that Paul did, and caught a little glimpse of everyday life in first-century Ephesus, the challenges faced by the Ephesian church became clearer, making it easier for me to understand from a twenty-first-century perspective.

Since writing God Knows Your Name and now When We Can’t, God Can, I have discovered the importance of examining the biblical narrative in its contextual setting. Looking behind the scenes of the Bible, as it were, is not only fascinating but illuminating, helping us to understand the relevance of God’s word both then and now. The social, cultural, political, and religious environment surrounding the individuals and nations that we read about in the Bible open wide a window for us to look through. By doing so we can discover not only how they lived, but how people interacted with each other, and with God. More importantly, looking behind the scenes expands our ability to see a little of God’s heart in His dealings with mankind, and how we in the twenty-first century also fit into His big plan.

Essential to all this is, of course, the fact that the Bible is not merely a history book, from which we learn lessons. Rather, it is God’s direct communication to mankind, applied to individual hearts by the power of His Holy Spirit. The Bible is therefore no ordinary book – its words bring life.

Unfortunately, I cannot visit everywhere that I write about. However, I am privileged to be able to study the many excellent resources available today to help you look behind the scenes with me. Some of the Bible characters you read about in When We Can’t, God Can may be well known to you, while others are not. I do hope, however, that in my retelling of these wonderful stories you will see things in a new light – I know I have!

My desire throughout this book is for us to see the relevance of the Bible in each of our lives, whatever is going on in them at present. Also, running alongside is the enormous truth that the God of the impossible desires a relationship with each one of us. That is certainly the experience of the individuals from our generation whose life stories are paired with those of people from the Bible. Each one of them has personally proved that God is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20), and they have given me permission to share with you how that has happened when impossibility stared them in the face.

I am humbled by their trust, and blessed indeed to present a small part of their stories to you.

God is Able…

When I Walk in Darkness

c. AD 32

The sudden cramping caught Anah off guard.

Her hands had slipped off the water jar for only a second, but it was long enough. Long enough for her to see the falling pot smash into smithereens as it hit the stones in front of her, a few seconds before she joined it in the dust. Like a swarm of bees, shards of razor-sharp clay sprayed an unsuspecting group of women chatting nearby, momentarily stunning them.

To the young woman on the ground the whole scene seemed to play out in slow motion. In spite of that, she could do nothing to stop the contents of the broken jar suddenly gushing over her head in a rush to find an escape route. In that moment Anah wished that the water had swept her into the pool and out of sight. Instead, a wave of embarrassment followed the drenching water and quickly flushed up over her wet cheeks. Her only consolation was that the water from the shattered pot would hide her tears, or so she hoped.

No, not here, please! Anah groaned, another wave of pain squeezing her abdomen as she attempted to get to her feet before any fuss could be made. But it was too late for that. Some of the pottery-sprayed women were already rushing to her rescue, leaving their own water pots balancing precariously as they moved to help the heavily pregnant woman up from the ground. Unfortunately, while picking their way through broken pottery and puddles, some of Anah’s rescuers voiced an opinion on her current predicament.

Why did you fill such a large pot, in your condition? sniped one older lady.

It’s much too heavy for you to carry through the city, someone observed.

Have you no daughters to help you? chided another.

Daughters! The word hit harder than a slap in the face.

Perhaps soon, she replied. The image of her last little baby flashed across her mind, while remaining invisible to the bunch of Job’s comforters now crowded around her. It had been a little girl – with thick black curls and rosebud lips, but whose eyes had closed far too quickly in death, denying Anah the joy of bringing up another mother in Israel.

Perhaps soon, she whispered again, as hands reached down to raise her to her feet. The women fussed around her, when all Anah wanted to do was to hurry home before the next contraction arrived. Maybe it’s a false alarm, she hoped, as she felt someone dry her face.

Thank you. Thank you, Anah said firmly, waving away any further interference. I need to get home. I… I… I’m sorry to have startled you. I… didn’t mean to…

As she turned to go, another tightening tugged at her, only this time it was accompanied by a wetness that had nothing to do with the broken water pot.

Lemuel’s pacing could be heard in the room directly beneath his restless feet. It had been several hours since he had returned from the quarry to discover that Anah was in labour. The roof was the best place for him – out of the way, or at least that’s what the women had told him as they shooed him from the room. But he could not settle. Waiting was not well practised by this man who was more accustomed to being up and doing. Even when a friend had brought him some supper to fill his empty belly after a hard day’s work, he couldn’t settle to eat. For once in his life food was the last thing on his mind. And as the minutes stretched into hours the lump in the stonecutter’s throat seemed to grow larger as the cries from below grew louder. Why was it taking so long?

Papa?

Lemuel turned in the direction of the gentle call.

Papa, why is Mama crying?

It took only a few strides for the father to reach the little boy bedded down in the corner of that open upper room where evenings were more commonly spent in singing and games, until darkness sent the little family downstairs for sleep. Lemuel had tried to make their rooftop banishment into a game for his firstborn, and for a time Mishael played along as they counted stars together.

Remember what I told you, Mishael? Mama is working hard to give us a new baby tonight.

But why is she crying, Papa?

Lemuel lifted the frightened toddler into his arms and cuddled him close.

Because having babies is hard work, and – it hurts, my son, he replied. The words pulled at his heart as he thought of the struggle his dear wife was going through only feet beneath them. Don’t fret, little one – it will soon be over.

Please, God, let it soon be over!

And, as the prayer left Lemuel’s heart, a piercing cry threatened to bring the roof down. It was the beautiful sound of new life. Lemuel jumped to his feet and his prayers of thanksgiving were not silent as he and Mishael danced under the moon’s white light.

The baby’s cry was like heavenly music to Anah’s ears. And with the sound of pounding feet above her, she knew it had been heard up on the roof as well. There could surely be no greater delight than the bringing of joy to your family.

The long day had finally come to an end and the young mother dared to allow a smile to soften her haggard face as the midwife passed the infant to Lemuel’s mother.

It’s a boy, the local woman said quietly as she turned her attention back to Anah.

May God be praised, Anah replied. Lemuel will be pleased.

The continued crying sent the new mother’s heart racing as she leaned back into her sister’s arms. Every part of her body ached, but she knew that soon the birthing blocks would be removed and she would rest atop softer bedding to nurse her little son for the first time. Meanwhile, exhaustion tried hard to seduce her into sleep as she waited for her labour to complete.

In the corner of the small room she watched her mother-in-law wash the baby all over with a mixture of salt and wine, and take the strips of linen she had woven to swaddle his tiny limbs. The coolness of the night was soon excluded by the covering, and the baby’s crying subsided. In the stillness Anah became aware of something strange. The baby was not the only silent one in the room.

A sense of panic suddenly took hold of Anah. Something was wrong! Why was there no laughter, no delight visible in the faces of those women she trusted most? She had given birth to another son but her mother-in-law had not spoken in joy at the news. In fact, since she had taken the child into her arms she had not spoken at all! Neither had she kissed his greasy little forehead or recited a blessing over him.

What’s wrong? Anah cried, her voice strained from pushing. There’s something wrong – I know it – tell me! Is my baby dead?

No, no, Anah, her own mother replied, taking her sister’s place behind Anah while the midwife finished her business. You heard him cry – he has a strong cry, don’t you think?

Don’t lie to me! Something is wrong! There is no joy in this house of birth tonight.

But the room stayed silent – a silence that said more than a myriad of words.

Struck rigid with fear, the young mother demanded to see her son. Moments later, the midwife covered the few feet between them and placed the recently delivered bundle into Anah’s arms.

What did you do, Anah, to displease the Lord so, that He should judge you in this way?

The look of disgust on the midwife’s face burned into Anah’s soul, even before she had time to look into the face of her son.

As her eyes glanced downwards, Anah held her breath, such that she thought she would never be able to inhale again, for she was looking into the deformed face of a child born blind. No bright eyes greeted the one whose womb had held him secure for nine months. In their place, wizened eyelids squeezed shut over tiny eyeballs that would never see the light of day, or the blueness of the sky – or his mother’s face.

Noise filled the room once more, banishing the silence. Only this time it was weeping of a different kind that reached through the roof, like fingers grasping at Lemuel’s soul, filling him with terror.

What have we done? Anah screamed.

The anguish wrapped around his wife’s words sent Lemuel racing down the outside steps from the roof, with Mishael dangling from one arm like a sack.

What have we done, Lord, that you should punish us this way? she wept as Lemuel ran towards her.

The stonecutter stopped dead in his tracks. He could not speak. Neither did he ask if the baby was a boy or a girl as he looked into the lifeless eyes of his child. The sight before him said more than he ever wanted to know. His worst nightmare had come true. The child he had fathered was cursed by God, and would be rejected by man – filth in the eyes of his peers. The colour drained from Lemuel’s cheeks as he stood speechless by Anah’s side.

I’m sorry, Lemuel. I am so sorry! Anah pleaded. It must have been my fault – forgive me, please?

Lemuel pulled back as Anah reached out for him. Letting Mishael slip from his arms to the floor, he turned on his heel and left the horror behind. But the darkness cloaking Jerusalem that night could not hide the confusion in Lemuel’s mind and heart as he ran like a Roman steed through the narrow streets and beyond the city gates.

Back in the little room, which he had once called a happy home, Anah attempted to suckle the child whose arrival was tearing her family apart – the child that had brought the judgment of God on all their lives.

Show me my sin, Lord, the young woman begged. Show me my sin that I might repent and your judgment be lifted!

And even the tug on her breast brought no relief to the distress in her heart.

A whimpering noise wakened Anah from an unsettled sleep. She had been dreaming. A dreadful dream that she had hoped would have stayed in the shadows of the sleep she had wrestled with in the preceding hours.

I had the most awful dream, she said, recognizing her sister’s face hovering above her in dawn’s grey light.

It was no dream, my dear sister.

Anah struggled to haul her aching body into a sitting position, squinting in confusion at Miriam, who was reaching into the basket to lift the crying baby.

But I dreamed…

Anah’s words stopped abruptly as her gaze fell once more on the infant she had borne only a few hours earlier.

It’s true! Anah exclaimed. It wasn’t a dream – my son is blind!

A wave of sickness rushed over the young mother as darkness blotted out the meagre light in the room.

No – take him away – please! were the last words that Miriam could make out as her sister succumbed to a faint.

In the days following the birth Anah was grateful for her sibling’s help. Their home was unusually free of visitors: even Lemuel’s mother did not visit her new grandson – a shame on the family, she had called the little boy. Unwilling to blame her own son for the sin that had caused the child’s blindness, she resorted to blaming the child himself. He must have sinned before he was born to you, the older woman had snapped as she left the birth-house that night. The customary help of local women was not forthcoming either, and in her darker moments Anah imagined them gossiping as they fetched water from Siloam’s supply.

Even Lemuel had not yet held his new son, making excuses to leave earlier each day for work in the quarry and returning only after night had fallen. Yes, she thanked God for a sister who stood by her in these, the worst days of her life. She had lost count of the number of times Miriam had coaxed her to feed the child. The words of duty – He’s your son – winning over Anah’s feelings of rejection each time.

A week had passed since the little one had entered their home. Anah fought off the sleep that wanted to take her into its arms. The only arms she felt around her these days. She needed to talk to Lemuel, because the dawn would bring with it the eighth day. The child had