Psalm 139:7-10 — Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.

Last Thursday our Bible and Life Group had a Pot Luck. Great fun! We were blessed by a presentation from two people that Myra and I are blessed to call friends. They told us about the genesis of their organization — Reciprocal Ministries International (RMI). For more about this remarkable enabling ministry PLEASE visit www.rminet.org.
In the early 1950’s, the 19 year old girl who would become Shirley Shoemaker first went to serve in a Christian mission in Haiti. That was the start of a lifelong ministry for Shirley, and Herb whom she eventually married. But there’s an interesting thing about their ministry experience …
It was often hard for Shirley and Herb to feel the significance of their work. Oftentimes there was a question about whether they should continue. Once they were even close to moving to a different mission field. Somehow, though, what Francis Thompson (and later C. S. Lewis) called the “Hound of Heaven” would not let them go. It was not until the 1970’s, with the inspiration came to launch RMI that the point of the Hound’s pursuit became clear.
The Hound of Heaven, in Thompson’s poem is the Holy Spirit.

I FLED Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind; and in the mist of tears I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped; and shot, precipitated, adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears, from those strong feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase, and unperturbèd pace, deliberate speed, majestic instancy, they beat—and a voice beat more instant than the Feet — ‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’

How is it that we can feel driven by the Holy Spirit, and yet not feel the significance in what we do? Or how — as it seems to many of us from time to time — how is it that we can be marooned, stuck where we are, doing what we are doing but not seeing the point?
The question of the value of what we do is mistaken. When I ask instead “what, of all I do, is there that God cannot do without me?” perhaps the answer becomes clear. There is nothing we can do that God can’t do. The point of all we do is not in the results. The point is to stop running from the Hound of Heaven and to obey. We run and run from love. When we stop, and obey — whether we go or stay, whatever the visible results, it is then that what we do is truly significant.