Raging against the dark night: Lessons I learned after being robbed at LAX.

 

 

Raging against the dark night: Lessons I learned after being robbed at LAX.

Okay, for those of you that heard about this on radio in LA. It is true, I was robbed inside of the Los Angeles International Airport.  Somebody came up in a crowded gate area and snatched my briefcase with all my credit cards, laptop computer and cell phone.  I was supposed to go on TBN within a few hours.  I had no way of knowing if I was going to make it on the telecast. 

Sitting in LAX all of those hours some unfamiliar feelings surfaced in me. Frankly, I was traumatized and felt stupid, helpless, and violated.  It felt as if the grace to travel had just lifted off of me.  The thought of boarding another plane became unbearable.  In case any of you were wondering why I seemed a little, shall we say distracted on the program, well now you know.

I assumed I could shake this off when I got home but no. My son was actually able to track my  phone online.  In fact, we had the address of the individual in Gardena who we are pretty sure has my phone and everything else.  However, the police said that they could not go over there.  They wanted me to go over and then call them from the house.  New feelings were surfacing in me beyond the violation, fear of traveling, and stupidity.  Now I felt like I was being humiliated.

God showed me what this attack had started long before I was robbed at LAX.  He showed me that I was chafing under the fresh mandate to buy a tent and win a million young souls. He showed me that I was weary of controversy. Most of all, He showed me that the devil was calling me out.  Just like a schoolyard bully, he was calling me out.  He was telling me to power down and accept new limits on my life.

 Then I was haunted by the an opening stanza by Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” His father had been a robust, militant man most of his life, and when in his eighties, he became blind and weak, his son was disturbed seeing his father become “soft” or “gentle.” In this poem, Thomas is rousing his father to continue being the fierce man he had previously been.

 Sitting in prayer it felt as if the younger me had come to visit the current me.  That fiery rebel who took the Gospel to Berkeley must not become an venerated elder statesman…I must remain a fierce man.

This younger me knew why I must continue to speak out and make Satan pay whenever he hits me.  The younger me understands why people are wrong to want a more harmless version of Mario.

 I must march into jets, pulpits, and into the business of those who want to destroy our precious freedoms.  I must, many times more, face the mini death in meetings where I surrender to the signs and wonders of the Holy Spirit.  If you are squeamish about confronting our president and his destructive plans for our nation then this is fair warning…I must rage against the unspeakable dark night of his second term on office.