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- Written by: Don Goulding
For we are his workmanship, having been created in Christ Jesus for good works that God prepared beforehand so we may do them. (Ephesians 2:10)
An invisible wave slammed my body, forcing its way through every molecule, front to back. The phenomenon stopped time for me, but left others moving in a blur. People fast-forwarded, trailing semitransparent colors.
A gentleman in a plaid vest hobbled along. Unlike the rushers, he was solid with sharp detail, existing in the realm into which I’d been pulled. He bent to pat a child on the head and the action froze in our dimension. The man’s tender hand on the curly head remained a living statue, vivid against the vaporous surroundings.
There were other such monuments to charity. Here was a mouth frozen in place as it spoke a kind word into an ear at the needed moment. There was a radiant cup of water caught as it passed through prison bars. They were testaments cemented through time in honor of good deeds.
Amidst the hurry of our world, there are moments when God’s will is played out into eternal solidity. Everything else is vain temporal haze. To a generation of rushers going nowhere fast, God’s pace seems painfully immobile. I seldom pray, wait, and trust, and yet, those are the keys to real progress.
It’s a mystery that God uses humans in his eternal accomplishments. He rejoices at making us the tools of his effort, thereby adding dignity to our lives. In response, I often start doing things for God on my own. But self wrought deeds only add to the useless fog.
I must wait for the Spirit’s direction and power. Only then does the next permanent act occur, effortlessly, and on the tick of the ordained second. A monument is erected in paradise. And God smiles.
Prayer: Sovereign One, I yield to the flow of your workmanship.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? (Matthew 27:46)
I stared over the edge of a precipice that dropped into despair. Behind me was the theory of peace with the God who cared. Wavering between the pit and the theory, I asked that God would speak. The returning silence sickened my heart.
With my toes over the edge, I examined thought trails down the cliff—did I have a purpose? Was joy snuffed by pain? The more I thought, the less clear was the difference between the silent God behind me, and the void of puzzles below. Insanity seemed the natural conclusion of reasonable contemplation.
It’s called the dark night of the soul. Both classical and contemporary teachers speak of times when God withholds his presence and forces us to depend on the promises of Scripture alone. It can last for days, months, even years. Often, the reasons our loving Father chooses to subject us to spiritual vacuums are only revealed much later.
For me, the nearness of Jesus flowed through the fuel line to my spirit until I took it for granted. When a bubble of deprivation slipped into the line, I sputtered and reeled, sucking on the air of my own thoughts. Too much thinking about me is always perilous. I experienced the pointlessness of life without an awareness of the Holy Spirit.
Teetering on the brink of that abyss, I smelled rancid breath calling me downward. It horrified me out of complacency. I fell to my knees and begged God to whisper. Then I waited, and waited some more.
The faintest movement of hope blew and I said, “Good enough, I’ll take it.”
Prayer: Father, may I never go into that night again, but if I do, even then will I trust you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and the regaining of sight to the blind,
to set free those who are oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. (Luke 4:18, 19)
“Four of my children died before the age of five.” Tandiwe’s African head sank in grief. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder at the pudgy infant tied to her back.
“Will she be next? Is God punishing me? Do you think a witch has done this?” A cesspool of bitter questions boiled from a stricken heart.
Most missionary newsletters focus on accomplishments—one hundred converts baptized, ribbon cut on the new building, discovery of a tribe that never heard of Jesus. Yes, God is at work in the spectacular, but he pours his heart into the pathetic. The content of God’s newsletter would be about the silent revival in confused, hurting souls.
I laid a hand on Tandiwe’s head, then listened for the Lord to show us how to minister. God’s word for the young mother came out of Romans, chapter eight. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor heavenly rulers, nor things that are present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
“Don’t misinterpret the deaths,” I said. “God has not abandoned you. No witch or demon can touch the souls of your babies.”
Tandiwe didn’t move. What we saw next was subtle. With those few words spoken, something happened in the deepest part of Tandiwe. She looked us in the eyes and lifted her shoulders. We witnessed a sacred moment as the silent revival resurrected another life.
This is the business God is about, all around us every day. If we’ll only tap into God’s silent revival, the power of a spiritual tsunami is available.
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Prayer: Father, open my eyes to what you accomplish on the inside. |