The other day when Mary and I were walking onto the beach near my home, we noticed a bulge in the snow-covered dune about twelve feet long and four feet wide. What could be hiding there?

This beach is completely empty during three out of four seasons, used only during July and August. Summertime families store small sailboats and kayaks on the beach, tethered to posts driven into the sand. Netted bags of toys, low beach chairs and sand buckets are left, too, a testimony to the honest character of those using the beach.

Summer swimmers have no formal supervision, no life guard on duty, and we’re all fine with that. But what would happen in an emergency? Could people on the beach quickly reach a drowning swimmer if necessary? Would they be willing to dive in and try?

Thankfully that scenario hasn’t come up, but if it did, we have an ace in the hole: the lump under the snow. It’s an aluminum row boat lying bottom-up on the sand, currently out of sight like a hibernating bear. But come summer, the snow will melt and the boat will show itself, reminding us we have a way to rescue someone in crisis.

God sometimes operates in a similar way. Although he has a variety of solutions for our various rescue needs, he often keeps them covered until we’re desperate. (At least that’s what it seems like from our perspective.) When we’re desperate, we call to him for help, and that’s the key. If we don’t call, he may not rescue.

A recurring theme in Scripture is people recognizing their need for help, then acknowledging that God is their Source for it. If we search for help everywhere but in him, he’ll let us try to get it done on our own. When we acknowledge we can’t make it apart from him, he comes out of hiding.

Last fall when Jack and I walked the beach, I noticed a blue kayak still lying on the sand near its post well after all the other boats and items had been removed. I thought someone would eventually come for the kayak, a pricey-looking boat.

As September and October came and went, the autumn winds picked up, and gradually the kayak filled with sand. By Thanksgiving it was all but covered over, and before the first snow fell, it was completely hidden.

Now, it’s not even a lump. I believe I’m the only one who knows it’s buried there. If the owner arrived to retrieve his boat today, he’d sweep his eyes across the beach and say, “Someone must have taken it.” To his understanding, it would be gone.

Is this what happens to God’s rescue if I don’t appeal to him? Does he keep his plans a secret? I believe he often does. Knowing this, I’m motivated to dialog with him, cry out to him, recognize his role as my rescuer on a daily basis. He’s invited me to do this, specifically mentioning me by name, and I’d be a fool not to accept this invitation.

And in July, if someone posts a notice looking for a blue kayak, I’ll know what to do.

“I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name.” (Isaiah 45:3)

Here in the Midwest we’ve come to the part of winter we call the deep freeze. Moving from December to January is the difference between a cold refrigerator and a bitter-cold freezer. In December I can leave a can of Coke in the car overnight, and it’ll be delightfully cold for errand-running in the morning. In January it’ll be a Coke-brick.

Weathermen cheerfully tell us tonight’s wind chill will be fifteen below zero, which means when I’m walking Jack just before bedtime my nose will stick together and gloved fingers will sting. People my age who plan ahead are often settled in Arizona or Florida by this time of year, having forgotten all about down-filled coats and fur-lined boots. The rest of us are learning the definition of “hearty” and are finding out whether or not we are.

Today I decided to pick up the red Christmas welcome mat lying outside my front door. But when I grabbed it, it was stuck to the flagstone, frozen solid. Forcing it would have either ripped the rug or given me a bad back.

I could have flooded the area with boiling water, waited for the rug to thaw and then pulled it up just before it froze again. But that would have left the front step a danger zone of slippery ice. The wisest choice was to admit the time wasn’t right to pick up the rug and to wait for a thaw in the weather.

Most of us can “force an issue” prematurely with expertise. In the category of parenting alone, I can think of many examples. We force our kids to eat their broccoli, floss their teeth and read their Bibles before they’re ready, never giving them a chance to choose these good things on their own. We coax them to take music or sports lessons they may not want, and we promote friendships they don’t enjoy. We push them toward colleges they didn’t choose and are sure we know who would make the perfect marriage partner.

Our skill at doing things too soon also spills into our spiritual lives. We succumb to the temptation to tell God what he should and shouldn’t do in our lives based on what we see at the moment. Most often it’s to our benefit if he doesn’t comply but acts instead on his own long-range view.

Even as we pour out our needs to him, we should do so with caution, knowing we might be getting ahead of ourselves. We may say, “Give me traveling safety, Lord,” while he’s planning to use our upcoming fender-bender as a useful teaching tool.

We may get stuck wondering why God doesn’t give us our way, why the proverbial “rug” won’t come off the frozen ground right when we want it to. He’s probably just waiting for our hearts to thaw. When they finally do, and when he deems the time is just right, the “rug” will lift with virtually no effort at all.

As for my red welcome mat? I guess I’m ready for Valentine’s Day.

“God catches the wise in their own craftiness, and the schemes of the wily are brought to a quick end.” (Job 5:13)