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God’s Metaphors for Our Freedom, Bought by His Son-Jesus

God’s Metaphors for Our Freedom, Bought by His Son-Jesus

Last updated on: September 29, 2024 at 5:25 am by Mark Williams

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God’s Metaphors for Our Freedom, Bought by His Son-Jesus 2024-09-29T05:25:02-07:00 Mark Williams

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Life’s struggles-God’s metaphors?/Williams

Why a Naked Man Running in a Field of Flowers Is the Perfect Metaphor for Freedom

A few days ago, I posted on my Facebook page a naked man running in a field of flowers, claiming it was me celebrating a break in the heat we live in here in Phoenix for months. His arms outstretched above his head in apparent celebration of some freedom obtained, beach or something beachy, in the background. Sure, it could be me, but those who know me well know I don’t run much anymore and I NEVER ran with my hands in the air like someone in a surrendering army. I’m not saying it’s me, but I’m not saying it’s not, okay? I can still run if I have too. Like in a fire in a mall, or a barn. I can hustle when I need to. I’d probably blow a hip, but I can do it.

Why a naked man running in flowers?

Why the naked man running in flowers? It’s a metaphor for Joy. Well, probably more Happiness than anything, but freedom-an expression by the runner they were free. We could be joyful and be in a firestorm. Joyfulness we can only get and find with a relationship with the God who invented it. Same with Freedom. This could also mean we get swallowed by the Great Fish, like our friend, Job. I was happy because the heat was gone, at least temporarily, and I was cold, so, I put on a sweatshirt. I mean, it must have been seventy-six degrees outside!

There are some worse places…

I live in Phoenix, Arizona. There are some worse places in the summer. My son, when he was deployed, said one day when we were talking, his knee pads all the troops wore, actually melted and stuck to the dashboard of his vehicle in Iraq. That was a bit extreme. But other than that, the Sahara, Death Valley, and Phoenix is right up there in the summer comparison. Like Milwaukee in the winter or Chicago along Lakeshore Drive. Add to the temp the rise in humidity, causing the early morning temperature not to get below 91 degrees for weeks, and you get downright giddy when the temp breaks. A couple of weeks ago, for about two days, it fell to where you could make it to your car and its air-conditioning without spontaneously combusting. Then, of course, it went back up. Way up.

…when I took the hounds out…

But if you were in my neighborhood the other morning, like around 4:15 when I took the hounds out to read the neighborhood doggy newspaper, you would have seen me in a sweatshirt. I was cold. I must admit, it was in the mid-seventies. But to a native in this city, it might as well have been snowing. On my way out of the house, I opened the hall closet just to take a quick stock of coats standing by to step in. The feeling was refreshing, joyful, boarding on happiness. It was a moment of feeling Free.

…it was a light sweatshirt.

Now in my defense, it was a light sweatshirt. Actually, I think it was some dead relative’s sleep shirt. I felt around for it in the dark and grabbed it. I don’t like to turn the lights on in the house, especially in the pre-dawn. It ruins my juju. I opened all the windows, moved the big box fan in front of the open front door, and turned it on full to suck outside air in. It dropped three degrees in fifteen minutes.

Then Dad steps in…

Now, I understand, it will be warm today and the thermometer is going back up. Just Nature’s way of kicking our collective asses before it breaks, usually the week before Halloween. It kind of caught me off guard. There have been a couple of coolish days the last three weeks then they went away. I was preparing for a couple more weeks of round the clock convection oven heat. Then Dad steps in and drops some coolness on us. So, I had to wear a sweatshirt this morning. I’m not now. But maybe again tomorrow.

Look, I can be tough when I have to be. Like when I rode my bike into the canal and broke my shoulder. Got my own ass out, and my bike, and rode home before driving to the emergency room. Sure, it hurt and I had to stuff my thumb in my pants to hold my arm there so it wouldn’t fall off, but you do what you gotta do. If I was in Michigan or Minnesota, I would try to crawl inside something warm-like a bear or maybe surround myself with a dozen wolves and be adopted into the pack. We would snuggle.

Why…

Why would God, who loves us so much, sending his son Jesus to die on a cross for us, let us live in something like this? Or, starve, or get sick-bad lingering kind of sickness, or divorce. Pick one. I liked the picture because sometimes, rarely but sometimes, I realize God is in it with me-at that very moment. He is right there, in my house, in my mind, in the truck I drive. We talk, well, usually it’s me talking. He listens. Then, when I ask a question, somehow I answer it. Then, He smiles and goes back to turning his glass of really good scotch with that little grin fathers get when their kid says something brilliant.

Without Jesus who took my place-your place on that cross for our sin, without that faith of receiving that grace from God, we are slaves to sin. Sin is everywhere. We live in an infected world. Jesus bought us. We are free. I just hope the guy in the picture was wearing shoes.

Forgiveness Brings Joy | Forgiveness Brings Joy (patheos.com)

Job NIV – Prologue – In the land of Uz there – Bible Gateway

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About Mark Williams

Mark Williams spent the first twenty-one years of his career as a Special Agent for the Organized Crime Division of the State Attorney General’s Office. As part of his duties, he investigated organized crime, homicides, and fraud cases submitted by other agencies to that office. He has traveled across the United States as an instructor for law enforcement in various capacities. After he retired, he became a high school English teacher at an inner-city school in central Phoenix where he is the fourth generation in his family to live in the valley. Mark was married for almost thirty-eight years and is a retired widower. He has three children and ten grandchildren. You can read more about the author here.

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