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- Written by: Don Goulding
And yearn like newborn infants for pure, spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up to salvation, if you have experienced the Lord’s kindness. (1 Peter 2:2-3)
Large black hooves and spindly legs emerged from the mama giraffe. Soon, a whole calf tumbled onto the savannah grass. Within thirty minutes the baby was up and walking, an apricot and blonde patchwork masterpiece.
Eagles fly at twelve weeks of age, baby elephants follow their herd when they are three days old, and dolphins communicate with clicks and squeals from birth. Comparatively, we humans have a long childhood. Some even suggest we are born too soon because of a mistake in evolution. We would have a higher survival rate, they say, if gestation were twenty-one months instead of nine. Try saying that to a pregnant mother.
There is no mistake here. It’s by design that we take longer to mature because God loves children. He delights in keeping us in the innocence of childhood for an extended season. We all need to grow up eventually, but maturity in Christ means a return to the childlike qualities God most treasures.
Advancement of the soul is the reverse of physical development. The older I get in Christ, the more dependent I should be in my faith. I am to return to the source of my life, suckle his nourishment, and hide in his protection. I must become less reliant on myself and the world and be more sustained by Jesus.
That kind of maturity is something that even my old heart can reach for.
Prayer: Father above, grow me into union with you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
For the wise man, like the fool, will not be long remembered; in days to come both will be forgotten. Like the fool, the wise man too must die! (Ecclesiastes 2:16)
My great-grandfather came west in a covered wagon to develop the raw the California desert. When I was a boy, his barn was knocked down and apartments were put up. Great-granddad is gone—a whole life is as though it never was. I don’t remember his name.
There are currently more than eight billion people on earth, and at least another fifty billion have come and gone. That’s fifty-eight billion sets of life experience all forgotten or marginally remembered. I don’t despair, however, because I possess an indestructible treasure that will outlive even the end of time.
I own the hope diamond. Not the one in the Smithsonian in Washington D.C., but the real hope diamond. The one in the museum should be called the Hopeless Diamond. Discovered in India, it was fashioned into the eye of a Hindu idol. When it was later stolen, a curse supposedly brought grief to everyone who owned it, including the beheaded Marie Antoinette. That Hope Diamond has a bitter past and a bleak future in the final blaze.
The hope diamond I own is the bright, translucent love of Christ. It sits atop the dark pile of human endeavors and shines indigo rays of beauty. I will live my brief span with enthusiasm, not because of some evaporative legacy, but because my name will never be forgotten in heaven. My hope is my one legitimate reason for joy.
Prayer: Resplendent Lord Jesus, your love is my bright reason for living.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Sinners are afraid in Zion; panic grips the godless. They say, ‘Who among us can coexist with destructive fire? Who among us can coexist with unquenchable fire.’ (Isaiah 33:14)
To die to self and live for Christ is like jumping into a volcano. Nevertheless, I was so disillusioned with the world’s alternatives that I volunteered for the plunge. This is my report from inside the volcano.
My knees flexed, ready to spring out, but fear made me indecisive. I got scuffed as I slid down on my rear, and it wasn’t pretty. When you make your leap, don’t hesitate, it only makes the descent painful. Jump into the middle.
Now I’m falling and alive more than ever before. The heat intensifies as one plummets, and holy fire chars my impurities at each temperature gradient. Once I accept the tolerable loss, I realize the joy of cleansing outweighs what I suffer. It feels beautiful to soar free of those encumbrances.
Another observable phenomenon is that the deeper I fall, the more transparent the world appears, while the things of the Spirit are increasingly real. Those questions we used to discuss on the rim—is God in our details, does the Spirit still do miracles—in here, all that’s obvious.
I’m not there yet, but I can see down to the core of molten love. By the time I fall into its radiant heart, hopefully there won’t be so much of the old me left that I explode. My goal is immunity to heat as the love lava passes through my spirit in absolute completion. I can’t wait to get there.
Prayer: Holy Creator, let me fall into white-hot love with you.