I began reading Scripture regularly my sophomore year at Norfolk State.  Most mornings, I woke up at 5:30, prayed, rushed to the campus gym to shoot around, returned home, showered, and then read my Bible with a cup of hot tea.  It was then that I picked up a good habit for devotional Bible reading: I began making an appointment with Scripture—not because I was so disciplined, but because the Word was so inspiring, so intriguing, so compelling, so gripping, because I couldn’t wait to hear what it had to say next. 

When you make an appointment, you meet at a certain place.  Many couples have their special place—their favorite restaurant or beach or mall or park.  Maybe it’s the place of their first date or kiss or dance or whatever.  Regardless of the details, this place is significant to them.  When they think of it, they stir up warm, fuzzy feelings.  Likewise, you and Scripture need a special place, a place for just the two of you—perhaps a special chair or room or couch or desk.  When you’re in that place, you’re able to give Scripture your undivided attention, so that you’re in a better position to receive, and focus on, its message for you.

When you make an appointment with Scripture, you also meet at a certain time.  If something is a priority, you get to it not just when you’re up to it, but when it’s time to get to it.  If you’re in school—and expect to do well—you can’t go to class only when you feel like it.  If class begins at 11:00, you better be there by 10:55, not 11:42.  If keeping your job is a priority, you won’t show up thirty minutes late everyday.  (Well, you shouldn’t.)  Important stuff is to be done at certain times, not just when you get around to it.  And time with Scripture, I believe, is important. 

Like the wife who competes with the dog or the playoffs or the gym for her husband’s attention, Scripture finds itself competing for quality time with us.  Because we’ve fallen prey to busyness—because we have places to go, things to do, and people to see—Scripture often takes a dip on our priority lists.  We have to go to work, get the oil changed, get our hair and nails and toes done, and buy so-and-so a birthday present.  We have to pick up the kids from daycare, wash the car, stop by the grocery store, put the groceries away, cook, do the dishes, cut the grass, do the laundry, iron our clothes for work tomorrow, pack the kids’ lunch, and then help them with their homework.  By the way, we’re in school ourselves—with a final next week and a term paper due the week after.  This Saturday, we’re hanging with the fellas and chilling with our girls.  And we can’t miss church on Sunday.  We could read Scripture after church, but by the time we get home from Olive Garden, we’ll be just in time for the Lakers' game.  And after the game, we have only a three-hour window before Desperate Housewives.  But that’s our time to rest and regroup for the week ahead.

We’re just too busy to read Scripture, right?  Well, not quite.  Surely, we have ten minutes or so a day to spare.  Let’s say we’re awake sixteen hours a day.  Ten minutes of sixteen hours equals 0.016% of our day.  True, we are busy.  But we aren’t that busy. 

As Diana noted earlier, sometimes we miss how the biblical world connects with our world, how that day pertains to our day.  Therefore, the Bible is often left to collect dust on the night stand, the dresser, the kitchen counter, the entertainment center, or the coffee table (next to the remote control).  That’s a sad sentence, but a true one.  It’s sad because there’s some good stuff in that Bible, stuff that’ll positively change our lives.  

After writing the first draft of the first chapter of my first book, I sought feedback from a friend.  Once he read it, he said, “Uh, it was good.”  His tone, however, contradicted his words.  So I asked, “What didn’t you like?”  He replied, “You talked a lot about the Bible.  I felt like I could’ve just read the Bible.  I liked your illustrations, though.”  Because I worked meticulously on that chapter, I was discouraged; I even considered quitting before giving Chapter Two a try.  And just the other day, another reader said this about my writings: “Larry, you start off really good in your chapters, talking about your life, but then you start talking about biblical principles.  Nobody wants to read about biblical principles.” 

I hope this person’s wrong, because I’m not budging—though I thought about it.  Because I was afraid I might bore or lose you along the way, I considered keeping this post between you and me, and keeping Scripture out of it.  But I can’t help myself.  Although I don’t always do what it says, I love Scripture.  We hooked up over twenty years ago.  I was seven; Scripture was in the thousands.  (But I wouldn’t know that until years later.)  I remember my parents reading it sometimes.  And they did something I thought was so cool: they underlined different verses.  Back then, I didn’t know why, but now I do.  And I longed for the day that I myself would have a marked up, raggedy Bible.  That day has come.  I also noticed a few biblical books that were pre-marked—in red.  That guy who spoke in red really knew what he was talking about; he was so much smarter than everybody else. 

Moreover, concerning the problem with Scripture, last week I text-messaged a friend, Diana:

“Call me.”

            “Why?” she replied.

            “Cuz I want to know y people don’t read Scripture.  I wanted u to help me brainstorm.”

            “Sometimes ppl don’t understand it,” she said.

            “Good good good!” I replied.

            “And sometimes ppl don’t understand how the stories in the bible pertain to them and some ppl believe if they go to church that is enough.”

            “U smart homey,” I said.

            “Well u ask :-).”

I think Diana’s on to something.  In the next post, I’ll build upon her insight. 

I’m a youth counselor at a residential facility.  And this morning at work, while cleaning his room, my counselee was blasting Michael Jackson’s hit, “Man in the Mirror.”  While bobbing my head, I flashed back to the first time I heard it—twenty years ago.  I was a fourth-grader, and my parents had just bought the cassette—not the CD, but the cassette.  I remember rewinding the tape again and again to memorize the lyrics.  I remember singing before the mirror: “I’m starting with the man in the mirror…Ooh!”  Then he interrupted my trip down memory lane.  “Enis,” he yelled, “what you know bout dat Michael Jackson, yo?!”  I yelled back, “Yeah, that’s my jam!  That’s a classic, yo!”  Right then, to remind me to include this story in this chapter, I jotted this in my journal: “Scripture—A Classic—Blasting Man in the Mirror—Made me think of 3^rd/4^th grade.”

Like Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror,” the Bible is a classic, inasmuch as it has endured the test of time.  Literary classics are must-reads that were here yesterday, are here today, and will be here tomorrow.  Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, William Zinsser’s On Writing Well, Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, Toni Morrison’s Beloved, and Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline are classics.  Still, the Bible is the classic of classics.  As such, the Bible is relevant for our lives today.  In this classic book—this book of books, the Word of God—we may find comfort, inspiration, guidance, instructions, encouragement, entertainment, healing, answers, and more.  Nevertheless, many people—Christians and non-Christians alike—spend as much time reading Scripture as does a fish jaywalking down the street.  Consequently, they deny themselves the benefits listed two sentences ago.  Moreover, the next few posts will address many people’s “problem” with Scripture, consider the importance of spending time in Scripture, and offer a few benefits of Scripture.

Detours give us time to assess our present situations.  I’m twenty-nine.  And lately, I’ve been comparing where I am now with where I thought I’d be by now.  They don’t line up.  Just last week, I told my mentor, “Reverend, if I hadn’t taken time off from school, I’d be Dr. Larry Enis today.  I’d be graduating this month.”  The other day, while washing dishes on a call with Mom, I said, “I feel like it’s time for me to step my life up to another level, like I need to be more focused.  So I’m going to put all I have into finishing this Ph.D., and then move on to the next phase of my life.”  I wasn’t sulking—just assessing my situation.  When we ignore our present situations, we’re more likely to take what life gives us and less likely to take charge of our lives.  But when we assess our present situations, we revisit goals we had previously set and measure our progress toward reaching them.  We determine whether or not we need to step up our game or sharpen our focus or make adjustments.  So, that’s another advantage of detours: they compel us to reflect on our progress thus far, to reevaluate our priorities, to readjust our strategy—to assess our situations. 

Detours give us time to get ready for what we’re unready for.  In 2003, my senior year at the School of Theology at Virginia Union University, I applied to the Ph.D. program in Biblical Studies at Union Theological Seminary-Presbyterian School of Christian Education (Union-PSCE).  To my dismay, I didn’t get in because I didn’t have the required Hebrew reading proficiency under my belt.  I was, however, accepted into the school’s Master of Theology (Th.M.) program, a one-year program considered by many as a stepping-stone for doctoral level work.  That Th.M. year, I excelled not just in Hebrew, but in all my courses.  When I reapplied to the Ph.D. program, I was enthusiastically admitted and offered a full ride.  So, that Th.M. year, that detour, gave me time to prepare myself for doctoral level work.  It gave me time to get ready for what I was unready for. 

When we receive what we’re unready for, we do like the Prodigal Son in Luke 15.  This son, the younger of two, asks his father for his inheritance.  When he receives it, he travels to a distant land.  But because he isn’t ready for what he asked for, he squanders all he has.  And sadly enough, we’re often unready for what we want God to do for us.  This may be a hard pill to swallow, but it’s true.  For this reason, God often delays our blessings.  God often leads us on detours, so that we may use this extra time to prepare ourselves for what we’re ill-prepared for, so that we’re ready when opportunity knocks.  But here’s the thing about opportunity: he’s notorious for making surprise visits.  

Many people, however, dislike surprise visits.  When I was in college, my girlfriend made it perfectly clear that she didn’t like such visits, saying, “Larry, don’t ever come by here unannounced.”  Although I laughed it off, I remembered those words.  But she’s not alone; I, too, hate surprise visits.  If you pop up by my place, I may peek out the blinds, but I may or may not answer the door.  Nevertheless, opportunity pops up when he’s good and ready, whether we like it or not.  But this is why detours are so important: they give us time to prepare and equip ourselves for opportunity’s surprise visits.  They give us time to get ready for what we’re unready for. 

Like a loving parent, God leads us on detours in order to protect us from what could potentially harm us.  Do you know parents like this?  When my little sister, Erika, and I were seven and eight, Mom and Dad went overboard to protect us.  Afraid for our safety, they wouldn’t even let us cross Grand Avenue on our own.  Let me explain.  We lived on Indiana Avenue, right off Grand, a busy street in Waukegan, IL.  The other kids on Indiana had a much shorter walk to school than we did: they’d walk to the corner of Indiana and Grand, scurry across Grand, stroll a block to Lorraine Avenue, and then march a mile down Lorraine to Hyde Park Elementary.  The Enis kids, however, weren’t so lucky.  When we hit Indiana and Grand, we couldn’t cross Grand, but had to trudge half-mile past Lorraine to the corner of New York Street and Grand, where the crossing guard would escort us across Grand.  Once we finally crossed Grand, we hiked our way back down to Lorraine, and then headed toward Hyde Park.  Our parents sent us on a detour not so other kids could tease us—though tease us they did—but to protect us from zooming traffic and crazy drivers.   

        Today, twenty-one years later, Erika is a loving parent herself.  And recently, she told me a bizarre story about her search for a daycare for my niece, Zeniah.  Shopping around for a bargain, Erika visited Nana’s Daycare, a home-based business.  Nana’s price was right but, for several reasons, Erika had a few reservations.  For starters, the application was handwritten on notebook paper.  True, we all have to start somewhere—but notebook paper?  And when Erika asked to see her license to run her business, Nana replied, “Huh?  A license?  I don’t know anything about a license.  I’m just Nana, and this is Nana’s Daycare.”  Believe it or not, it gets worse.  When Erika asked Nana how she handles scenarios when one kid reports that she’s been hit by another kid, Nana answered, “Well, I keep a switch.  If one kid hits, I whomp both of them.  I teach one not to hit, and I teach the other not to be a tattletale.”  Nana, are you serious?  Needless to say, Erika passed on Nana’s Daycare.  She passed because her job as a loving parent is to protect her daughter. 

        Similarly, God, as loving parent, protects us.  Oftentimes, that protection comes in the form of detours.  Thus, we need not fret when He sends us right, even when we want to go left.  When God is leading us by the roundabout way, let’s trust that He’s doing so not to hurt us, but to help us—to protect us from the zooming traffic, the crazy drivers, or people like Nana.  Let’s trust that we’ll make it where we need to be, where we’re supposed to be, when we’re supposed to be there.  

Earlier this year, I was running late for class, because I couldn’t turn away from the series finale of The Wire.  After learning that Michael had become the new Omar, Bubbles had gotten himself together, and McNulty had gotten away with “murders,” I jumped in and out the shower, dressed, grabbed an apple, and then dashed out the door.  Nine minutes before class, while blasting Kanye West (“Champion” on REPEAT), I noticed a traffic jam ahead.  The construction workers were doing—well—construction.  As I approached the cars stacked like sardines, the DETOUR sign sent me right, when I wanted to go left.  With sweat on my nose, I stopped bobbing my head and yelled, “Are you serious?!”  The sign was serious.  Grudgingly, I went right.  But, believe it or not, I was actually on time for class.  Despite the detour, I made it where I needed to be, where I was supposed to be, when I was supposed to be there. 

        A detour is an indirect, roundabout way to get from one point to another.  We all encounter detours—not just on the road, but in life.  When I look over my shoulder, I see that, more than once, life has sent me right, when I wanted to go left.  Often, when life detours us, when it sends us on what seems to be a runaround, we become frustrated, bitter, and, in extreme cases, depressed.  But this is the wrong way to respond to detours because, sometimes, God Himself leads us on detours.  Notice Exodus 13:17-18: “When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although that was nearer; for God thought, ‘If the people face war, they may change their minds and return to Egypt.’  So God led the people by the roundabout way of the wilderness toward the Red Sea” (italics mine).  Since God, who loves us unconditionally, who wants the very best for us, guides us down detours, then we need not fret when we encounter them.  What we should do, however, is ponder the benefits of detours. 

Vision requires waiting.  In Habakkuk 2:3, God instructs the prophet to wait for the vision expectantly, even though it seems to delay.  In the same way, God doesn’t want us to allow apparent delays to discourage us; rather He wants us to wait expectantly for the vision—to look out for it, to anticipate its arrival.  Here, I’m reminded of my three-year-old niece, Zeniah, who had been eagerly awaiting my visit to Mobile, AL for weeks.  As I type right now, I’m at my sister’s house in Mobile, while everybody else is fast asleep.  Prior to my arrival a few days ago, my phone conversations with Zeniah had been going like this: 

“Uncle Keiphy, when you coming?”  (“Keiphy” is the alias for my middle name, Lakeith….What’s so funny?!) 

“I’ll be there soon, Honey—in a few weeks,” I assured her. 

“A few weeks?  You promise?  I miss you, Uncle Keiphy.  You promise you coming?”

When she saw me at the airport, the glow on her face made it crystal clear that she had been waiting expectantly for my arrival.  Likewise, you should eagerly anticipate the manifestation of your God-inspired vision.  Just as writing your vision builds momentum, so your anticipation of the vision creates positive energy.  It invites God to do what seems impossible in your life. 

Even if your vision tarries, you can wait for it expectantly, because a God-inspired vision is a guarantee.  Notice God’s message to Habakkuk: “If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come” (2:3, italics mine).  God isn’t guessing or supposing; God guarantees the arrival of the vision.  A guarantee is something that will definitely happen.  It’s as certain as the law of gravity.  Sooner or later, your God-inspired vision will surely come. 

In Habakkuk 2:2, God instructs the prophet to write the vision clearly.  And to win at life, you must do the same.  Yes, you should commit the vision to paper.  When you write the vision, you’re more likely to pursue it.  When I write my God-inspired visions, I’m able to focus my life’s course.  A written vision helps me to see with my eyes what I sense in my mind and my spirit.  Because I never know when I’ll need to write something down—when God will give me a book idea, an illustration for a sermon or lesson or chapter, a new goal, or an answer to a prayer request—I carry my journal or planner with me everywhere I go. 

        When you write your vision, you build momentum.  You set God’s plan for your life in motion.  It’s like jumpstarting a stick shift car.  During my junior year of college, I bought my second car—a four-speed, 1986 Volvo 240 DL.  Every now and then, however, the thing wouldn’t start on its own.  To get it started, I would ask a friend to push the car while I turned the ignition and pressed the accelerator.  It was the momentum that would get the car going.  In the same way, you need momentum to lead a victorious life.  And a good way to build momentum, a good way to give yourself a boost toward a life worth living, is to write your vision.