- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
I tell you the solemn truth, the one who hears my message and believes the one who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned, but has crossed over from death to life. (John 5:24)
We live on the overlap. Amidst the expanse of existence, God holds a fabric with three-dimensional patterns of iridescent colors, set against a field of purest white. At the fabric’s edge, there’s a brief overlap of his enemy’s repulsive cloth. The textiles stretch side by side, one hem overlying the other, and we now live on the narrow overlap.
Here on the mixed fringes, we enjoy hints of spiritual gifts fully available to those who have stepped beyond and onto the bright cloth. Love, joy, peace—we witness muddy reflections of the luminescent graces in which they are bathed.
The borderland also holds the results of sin’s curse. The pain we experience is a sample of what the enemies of God will permanently suffer. For now, we’re caught on the introductions of two eternities, that we might learn to love the cloth of light, and recoil from the fabric of sin.
Our years on the overlap are necessary. Here the black fabric can horrify our souls. Our Father hates that anti existence, and he would have us see it for what it is. Let us be indelibly chiseled with the knowledge of what our future would have been without Christ.
We are to blame. We created the dark cloth when we misused our free will, and chose that which is not God, when we chose sin. But rather than point his finger, God gave us the overlap. He gave us the opportunity to learn the differences between our fabric and his, and to choose one for our eternal home before they fly apart.
Prayer: Gracious Father, I choose your perfect fabric, I choose you.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength… (Isaiah 30:15) (NIV)
The ball scampered from the tee, and tripped over itself to hide in the bushes.
My golf expert grandma calmly set out another ball. “Feet apart, knees bent, focus on the back of the ball.”
I lined up for another try. “Thwack.” Now that sounded right, it felt right.
“You sure hit far.” Granny placated as she squinted after my ball arching onto the wrong fairway.
I’d found the sweet spot on the ball.
There’s a sweet spot in Christian living, and I know well what it is to swing hard, and miss it. All too many times I’ve landed in the bushes of confusion, or the sand trap of sin. There’s no joy in those places. Ah, but when it all comes together, there’s an effortless connection where life in Christ fairly soars.
Right behind Jesus—that’s the sweet spot—after I’ve returned to hide in his grace. I come out of the wind and rest in back of his strength. I quit relying on my own savvy to get me through, and breathe in his goodness, like warm sandalwood.
Resting in Jesus is not the absence of activity. Abiding in him requires the most focused discipline in life. But when I do that, the result is the sweet spot, my salvation and strength—a relaxed life lived on his terms. It feels so right, my day soars.
Prayer: Mighty Jesus, help me hide in your sweet spot this whole day.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
Take my advice and buy gold from me refined by fire so you can become rich! (Revelation 3:18)
We were boys. One of our better campfires crackled and glowed its warmth through jackets and jeans—down to the bones. Then it began. A twig was strategically tossed where orange-red waves of translucent heat jitterbugged over the coals. There was an anticipatory moment when the sacrificial stick seemed unharmed. Yellow flares hissed about its skin. Then the helpless victim writhed until it became one with the embers.
“Cool,” we said in unison.
It was an experiment that bore repeating. Hence, the selection of our objects of peril escalated to pinecones and a coke can. We thought our fire so hot there was nothing it couldn’t transform. The search for an ultimate martyr culminated in the scientific placement of a glass bottle. Ample fuel and much waiting brought the reward. Suspended on a wire hanger in the night air, and surrounded by giddy oohs and ahs, was a blob of molten glass.
I have yet to outgrow my penchant for experimentation. Now I’m testing spiritual limitations. The theoretical inquiry—how many of my choices can I yield to God and see my heart transformed? I’d like to know.
I’ve thrown my afterlife into God’s fire and witnessed it refined into the gold of assurance. Cool, what’s next? I’ve tossed my financial needs into the fire. The results were surprising. The Lord burned off worry and greed, leaving the precious metal of peace. What else can I pitch in there? I put in career choices, but these were only beginner sticks and pinecones. How about my disappointments and habits? What about pastimes and conversations? I wonder what would happen if I let my thoughts be consumed by the Lord’s fire.
One by one, I plan to feed each of these into the crucible of yielding, to see what happens.
Prayer: Lord, what can I give you today?