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- Written by: Don Goulding
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he refreshes my soul. (Psalms 23:2, 3) (NIV)
Our family had a kite and we flew it in California’s Yosemite Valley. We reclined in a sun-filled meadow and felt the yellow aerobat tug into the blue. The world’s madness disappeared behind waving grass, contented oaks, and granite sentries.
Then we discovered a secret beach. A kaleidoscope of greens danced in the river, while birch trees dipped their rooty toes in the water. Behind grasslands with the color variations of a mango, a waterfall cavorted like a playful billy goat.
It seemed that deadlines and worries were unable to live on Yosemite’s crystalline air.
By trusting my Shepherd, I can lie in interior pastures far greener and by waters much quieter than those in Yosemite. Jesus calls me to a stress free life. I am to heed heaven’s music and tune out the nonsense of the world.
The Gospels repeatedly tell how Jesus ignored the placations of Nicodemus, the evasions of the woman at the well, and the accusations of the Pharisees. He jumped directly to conversations of wholeness. He lives within the peace of God, and he invites us to bask there with him.
There’s no need for constant dialogue about what went wrong in the past, or how we’ll make it in the future, or a thousand other needless anxieties. Nine-tenths of what the world has to say has no bearing on my true existence. I glance at social media out of pity, but I must not allow mankind’s fears to reach me. I’m in a green meadow of provision and by a quiet stream of love, and the name of both of them is Jesus.
Prayer: Jehovah Rohi (The Lord Our Shepherd), make my heart a quiet place.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
“… yet he did not leave himself without a witness by doing good, by giving you rain from heaven and fruitful seasons, satisfying you with food and your hearts with joy.” (Acts 14:17)
The artist filled his canvas with pewter clouds, and anything alive hid from the storm. He smeared his finger sideways, mixing white and gray with a gusty stroke. Then his masterpiece napped as a snowy blanket floated down, and left only hints of the contours below. Serenity waltzed with beauty.
Beads from the night’s rain clung to spring grass. Sunlight lit every drop until they radiated colors from the spectrum—rubies and emeralds cast among diamonds. Each bead sang a perfect solo—together, they made a glorious chorus.
Chest high ears of durum wheat stood in the summer warmth. The field smelled of tilled earth and nutty kernels. An interruption rustled among the stocks. Rows of wheat bowed their heads as an invisible personage blew past—perhaps their wonderful King.
“Honk, honk,” bicycle horns squeezed overhead. A vee formation of trumpeter geese soared through the pines, white necks stretched into conifer-green. The elegant friends laughed their way southward. “We’re playing tag, and winter is chasing us. Honk, honk.”
It’s all too wonderful. Creation, with its seasonal faces, envelops me in God’s splendor. God is not nature any more than I’m a song I write or a sandcastle I build. But in what he has made, I learn something of his wild creativity and his passionate joy.
Prayer: Alpha and Omega, your creation fills me with joy for who you are.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
“The kingdom of heaven is like a person who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat and went away.” (Matthew 13:24, 25)
While Africa slept, the tip of a thorny mimosa root pushed around a cassava tuber. Its sinister goal—shared by thousands of pale tendrils—was to choke the cassava plants to death.
By morning light, I admired the communal garden beside the airstrip in Calabar, Nigeria. I never suspected the savagery hidden underfoot. Nigeria is home to one in five Africans. To exist, the people farm cassava anywhere they can. This white fleshed staple keeps them alive, but not if thorny mimosa kills it first.
Most people don’t suspect the invisible war waged against Christians. We hear about the odd demon manifestation or the detestable rites of Satanists, and these are indeed too pervasive. But the real harm from the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms is done while we sleep, that is, while we’re not paying attention.
A tendril of fear, a root hair of doubt, a vine of materialism stretches around our convictions, and closes so gradually we don’t notice. From the outside, everything looks green and harmonious, but a ruthless war is underway. Hatred and pride are weeds looking to destroy our faith. These are not random, unguided events. Living demons, foul spirits playing for the opposing team, strategize how they’ll sneak ideas into our heads that strangle our love of Christ.
As much as I hate the chore of weeding, the garden must be worked daily. Thankfully, I don’t labor alone. The Master Gardener tugs a flaw, then looks to me. I nod permission and he whacks it off. Working in harmony with him, I have a fighting chance against the weeds of my heart.
Prayer: Lord Jesus, uproot whatever the enemy has sown in me.