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- Written by: Don Goulding
… the mystery that has been kept hidden from ages and generations, but has now been revealed to his saints. God wanted to make known to them the glorious riches of this mystery among the Gentiles, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. (Colossians 1:26-27)
“Hey, look at me,” my five-year-old sister shouted.
Our family was on vacation in Utah and we floated in the Great Salt Lake as though we had lifejackets on. Our engineer father could explain how a salinity of eight times the ocean displaced objects, but we didn’t grasp all that. We were busy holding our heads, hands, and feet above the surface and giggling.
The grace of Christ is another mystery. It is the mystery of all mysteries. How can God accept me when I know, and I know he knows, the darkness in my heart? Theologians say it has to do with substitutional atonement, wherein my sin is transferred to the crucified body of Christ. I don’t grasp the depth of all that. I do know that when I fall into his grace, it holds me up.
I don’t float often enough. I make a mental acknowledgment that Jesus died for me, then return to proving my worth. My human nature wants to tread with self effort. But I have to face the reality that, without Christ, I’d plummet to the bottom. My only hope is to relax and trust his sufficiency.
Today, I need to make time for reposing in the buoyancy of grace. I must quiet my heart and delight in bobbing above spiritual drowning. Jesus around me, in me, through me—this is the greatest mystery of all time. I can’t understand it, I can only float in it, and giggle.
Prayer: Lord Jesus, I rest in the mystery of your love.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not rely on your own understanding. (Proverbs 3:5)
A starfish had one orange leg out of the tide pool and a squirrel sniffed the creature.
“Hello,” said the starfish.
The squirrel jumped back and chirped. “Oh, you scared me … what are you? … my name is Stella … I’m a gray squirrel … where are your eyes and how do you know where you are going?”
Stella waited for what seemed like an eternity while the starfish inched forward.
“My name is Sammy. I’m a starfish. I use these tiny feelers on the ends of my legs.”
“Well, how do you find your food with no eyes?” Stella chattered. “I store nuts under the roots of the oldest birch tree. That’s the best place for hiding delicious nuts … because in winter I will need to find them again … one nut I found today is the biggest I’ve ever found in any day … I just love nuts.”
When Stella took a breath, Sammy replied, “I don’t have to see because God takes care of me. I just reach for him, and voilà, he puts meals in front of me.”
Stella scratched her head with a back paw. “Don’t you ever worry you’ll run out of food? I always worry. Worrying is what I do best.”
“No, I trust God because I know he’s close.”
Stella’s new friend had something she very much wanted—peace. For the first time in her life, she had nothing to say.
As the two unlikely friends shared a wordless moment, Stella thought how her life was filled with anxiety because she alone was responsible for stashing away for the future. She had never considered trusting God. She was the one with the immeasurable advantage of eyes, and yet, it was the starfish who was content.
On the spot, Stella made an important decision. She turned, shut her eyes, and said, “Ok God, which way?”
Prayer: Loving Father, help me trust in your direction and not in my own understanding.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
The crucible is for refining silver and the furnace is for gold,
likewise the LORD tests hearts. (Proverbs 17:3)
The blacksmith pulls a glowing bar from the furnace. He examines both sides of the raw iron and compares it to the image of a sword he holds in his mind. Down comes the hammer and sparks fly. One blow at a time, the chunk is transformed into something useful.
Next comes tempering. The red hot metal is plunged into cooling oil. When one quench is complete, back into the fire the sword goes. The artist knows the unique molecular structure of this piece. Only repeated heat and controlled quenching can align the internal structure.
Eventually, the smith polishes a razor sharp, gleaming blue edge. He now has a formidable weapon with which he can fight the powers of evil.
I am inside God’s furnace. Everything in me resists his character forging process. Sickness, broken relationships, and moral failures all hammer my soul. As soon as one trial is quenched, another heats up.
God looks at my unformed heart. He foresees a soul dancing from joy and loving even toxic people. He anticipates a weapon in his hand that flashes against injustice. And so it is, with precise knowledge of every atom in my being, that he thrusts me into the fire again.
Prayer: Father, remake me by any means necessary.