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- Written by: Don Goulding
Today I invoke heaven and earth as a witness against you that I have set life and death, blessing and curse, before you. Therefore choose life so that you and your descendants may live! (Deuteronomy 30:19)
A South Pacific rendition of Amazing Grace flew loops inside my chest. Dancers swayed, and their fingers circled then sprang open, until all palms reached in supplication. The worship dance was elegant, emotion filled worship.
But union with God isn’t based on an emotional feeling.
When I was still thirtysomething, I devoured research about the historical validity of the New Testament. My knowledge lifted me out of the flatlands and into alpine spires. Datable fragments, textual validation, and historical confirmation towered about me. But acceptance from God isn’t based on intellectual conviction.
Emotion is a butterfly that lands for a moment and then flits away. Intellect is stone for anchoring as much as it is for drowning. Many academics are pulled down to self-reliant doom. What I need, what is required, is volition.
A volitional life duly considers options, decides, then takes action. My volition is my will, my decider. Emotion and intellect have consultations with volition, but volition is in charge of destiny.
I exercise volition when I act on my choice to receive forgiveness and journey with Christ. If my choice is based on emotion or intellect, then when my feelings or focus change, I’ll abandon conversion. But a volitional choice brings growth until the end.
The ability to act volitionally is what sets me apart from the animal kingdom. I’m gifted with a bit of sacred volition because I’m made in God’s image. My daily act of worship, then, is to decidedly admit my sin and order my life around God’s mercy.
Prayer: Mighty God, this day, I choose life, I choose forgiveness, I choose you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
So they left the council rejoicing because they had been considered worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake of the name. (Acts 5:41)
We ate breakfast in the predawn darkness, and the cloud of sleep evaporated from my eight-year-old mind. I would spend the day on Grandpa’s construction site. I was giddy as a monkey in a banana tree. I had my lunch like Grandpa, and I would share his thermos of milky sweet coffee.
“What are we building today, Grandpa? I can pound nails in. Why do your teeth go into a glass at night?” I chattered a mockingbird’s repertoire inside his pickup truck.
Grandpa nodded his tired head and smirked at my enthusiasm. After all, we were only going to the muddy worksite he labored at six days a week.
How blessed I would be if I could bring my childhood excitement to the trials I now face. A gracious Father permits affliction, so I’ll have the opportunity to strike my mark into the tablet of eternity. I can be counted among those who see hope through hardship. My illnesses, disappointments, and temptations are as holy as anything the apostles suffered.
Why not live enthused about what others dread? Why not do the unthinkable and look trials in the face, then choose joy by the power of the Spirit? Not a stiff-upper-lip-grind-it-out endurance, but a get-up-and-go-to-work-with-grandpa buzz because I’m glorifying Jesus.
Prayer: All wise King, make me joyful about withstanding adversity for you
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. (Luke 6:21)
“What are those children doing?” I said.
“Those are the youngest of their families.”
Our host in Africa navigated her Jeep between fields of harvested corn stubs.
“In times of starvation, the older members eat first. Those little ones are trying to club mice for food.”
I could hear the pain in the reply from a missionary who gave her life to help orphans and saw no end to the need.
The children in their rags stared at the dust billowing from our car. We had what they wanted.
I, too, am hungry. But mine is soul hunger. In my desperation, I shove whatever I can find into my heart—Bible verses, church services, even inspirational music.
Despite my intake, I’m never satisfied. I chew a promise, and it spikes a rush of joy, is digested and gone. I crave more.
Jesus watches over the children of the field. Still, many of them will depart this earth while hungry.
I will depart this earth with my hunger. Together, the children and I will ask God to fill us.
Then King will feast with us. We’ll break into song, dance around the throne, and absorb love. Filled in every way, we’ll fall into a laughing tangle and shout, “No more tears, emptiness, or hunger.”
We might get up and revel again—not because we’re hungry, but because of the overabundance from the Lamb.
The memory will return to our minds that it was Jesus who promised, “You will be satisfied.”
Prayer: Lord God, fill me and the children at your banqueting table.