“What in the world is a rubber dummy?”
Jen is a computer programmer. She had been describing the process of developing a new commercial program. “Then,” she had explained, “when I think I’m all finished, I have to use a rubber dummy.” That’s when I interrupted her. “What in the world is a rubber dummy?”
“When I think I’m finished with the whole program, I have to make sure other people know what it’s all about and how to use it. I look for the least computer literate person. He or she becomes my rubber dummy. If I can explain things so that person understands, I can consider my job complete.”
It seems to me there are many times when God works like this. He brings us into what he is doing, not because he needs us, but because he wants us to see and understand what is happening. We become God’s rubber dummies. For example:
I was at Lighthouse of Hope camp in Russia’s Central Black Soil Region as part of the discipleship process for a group of teenagers who had recently given their lives to Jesus Christ. In our first meeting together, I wanted to give some of them the opportunity to verbalize the commitment they had made.
“Who wants to come up here and tell . . .” I hadn’t even completed the sentence before the figure jumped from the front row of seats and bounded onto the platform next to me. Not saying a word, she stood there looking at me with a knowing smile. I recognized her from photos of previous camps, but must have looked confused because she said, “Don’t you remember?”
I was still confused. Remember what? “The picnic table.” The picnic table! It came flooding back to me.
Two years before this, while visiting the same camp, I had been called off a construction project to fill in for another speaker who had been delayed. Since that had been an evangelistic camp, I probably challenged the kids to talk to their counselors about what it meant to follow Christ. I had finished up, spent a few minutes talking to people around the campfire, then headed back to my room at the Center.
Suddenly Irina, one of our interpreters, came running to me. “David, you have to come with me. Right now!” After a long and hard day, I was ready for bed, but had learned to trust Irina ‘s judgment. I followed her back toward the campground where she led me to a group of girls sitting around a picnic table.
Irina looked at the girls, who all seemed to be studying their hands in their laps or the top of the table. “Tell him,” she demanded in the Russian way. Hesitantly, one by one, six teenage girls told me that they had just invited Jesus Christ into their lives.
Wow! I didn’t quite know what to do. I asked them each to tell me about the experience, then sat with them for the next couple of hours, no longer concerned about getting to bed early. We talked about the decisions they had made, and what they meant in practical terms. I encouraged them. We prayed together.
Jump ahead two years and I was back at the discipleship camp, looking at this young lady, Masha, and picturing her sitting at that picnic table. “You.” I said in English. Masha understood and nodded at me. And before I knew it, she had turned to the whole group and began telling them what happened to her and how she had grown in Christ in the two years between that picnic table in this platform. What an amazing start to a week of helping these new believers walk with their Savior.
I was God’s rubber dummy! He certainly didn’t need me there, either when Masha came to know him or when she gave her testimony to the other campers. In both cases, he arranged the circumstances and actions to extend his kingdom and to bring glory to himself. He further arranged things to make sure that I would understand what he had done and how he had done it.
I guess I don’t mind being a rubber dummy in circumstances like this. I’m also somewhat of a storyteller. And what happens when you combine a rubber dummy and a storyteller? Well. . . You get something like what you’ve just read.