Little Foxes and Wild Boars

I knew about the vineyard. I knew about the wall around it. And I knew about the little foxes that were destroying the vine in Song of Solomon 2:15.

I am not a farmer. Foxes have my sympathy. They get chased around the countryside by a pack of howling dogs and men on horses. And people post pictures of them on Faceboom looking cute. I don’t see the foxes as a threat.

Psalm 80:13 speaks not of foxes but of wild boars. The wall becomes a hedge and the damage to the vines is that much more destructive. They trample and uproot the vine. This is not minor small fox damage that can easily repaired. Without the protecting wall or hedge people were walking into the vineyard and just picking grapes for themselves.

Before Christmas, maybe November time, I went to visit a friend. She had phoned, perhaps. She had not been well for some time, and the medical profession had seriously let her down. When a person is diagnosed with mental health issues everything it explained by ti, it seems. I had visited. We talked and drank tea for s couple of hours.

God reminded me of the wall, and the foxes and the vulnerable vine. The boars had not registered at this point. My friend’s life was the vine, the wall or hedge was God’s protection around her but because she was not looking after her relationship with God things were broken and the enemy was stealing precious fruit. The way to mend the wall? I have always had a deep love and trust of God’s word and I have always seen the necessity to be a part of a vibrant church. I talked about her needing both the word and the support of a church. She nodded and said the right things, but I’ve been along this path before. Things don’t often change. We prayed together, and I left to walk home.

I am at fault here. I presumed things would not change and the prayer, if I am honest, although my heart was right in there, and it felt powerful – I had walked the road before and it did not occur to me that it would make a difference.

My friend phoned me a couple if days ago. I was having a tough time. Things were not panning out well, I didn’t feel I had the resources to deal with more tears and another round of building her up – and I said so to God. He was not sympathetic and told me to sort myself out. The precious word I had boasted about to her was mine too. So I set about sorting myself out.

Then it snowed and everything became icy and my shoes were gripless and I was sliding everywhere. I planned to go around to visit, but it was without enthusiasm.

Before I left the house, she phoned. She began talking about the wall, the vineyard and the little foxes and how that truth had so buried itself inside that she had started reading her Bible, making notes, asking for God’s help to find the treasure there. This was not the crying lady I have visited. Her voice was strong and confident.  She went on to tell me about what she had been reading, It was the story of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness and how he had answered the devil, not with a conversation, but with the word of God. She knew, because I had said then, and God had said that morning to her that she needed to know His word.

Right, yes, answered prayer. That was one mind blowing thing. But God so wanted this conversation to happen that He couldn’t wait for me to put on my shoes and walk around. I think He knew I might talk myself out of going.

The very story she had read and phoned me up to tell me was the same story I had read too. The truth that had touched her heart had also touched mine. We talked about Jesus and how confident and competent He was in the word. Unlike Eve in the Garden of Eden with the serpent and his questioning and hole-poking-into what God had said, Jesus spoke only the word. No conversation. No opportunity to pick away at what God had said. It was the word alone. It was a remarkable conversation we had, my friend and I.

‘See,’ said God afterwards, ‘I told you I have given you words of life to speak out. I told you there would be listening ears.’

This was a word God gave me a while back in an Aglow meeting. It was a word that, all to clearly, I had put down somewhere and forgotten. What a way to bring it to life and to stir in me again,

My friend and I are meeting today. I will not worry about the snow or the ice or my gripless shoes.