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- Written by: Don Goulding
And of this gospel I was appointed a herald… (2 Timothy 1:11) (NIV)
It was the official first day of spring in the northern hemisphere, but nature was a bit negligent about observing the human calendar. While the oaks, deer, and flowers didn’t get out of bed for the scheduled date, the breezes, grass, and creeks were early by several weeks. Only three animal families reveled on cue.
Frogs released months of pent up joy, belting out their croaks. Robins chirped about their jackpot of worms. Brown and white goats bleated staccato exaltations into the warming day. Thus was spring heralded to my ears.
I can’t detect spring in the air as the animals do, but, there’s another springtime swirling about that I can grasp. It’s the divine spring of new life carried by the Holy Spirit. The space about us sizzles with hope. Reach out with your spirit, sniff the heavenly realms, and sense the coming excitement. The Spirit of Jesus surrounds and enters us, ready to spark a holy passion for real life.
My species is the only one in the animal kingdom with the spiritual organs necessary to sense the eternal spring and herald its coming. So what is my part in the divine spring?
If the animals tried to announce the physical spring by pushing birds out of nests, or pawing the earth to expose sleeping frogs, we would conclude they’d gone bonkers. In the same way, if I thump heads with my Bible and shove others toward Christ, they’ll shun me as insane.
I must follow the animals who know the correct way to proclaim spring. They pull it into themselves until it bursts out of their lives with croaks, twirls, and bleats. In the same way, I must inhale the spiritual spring and let it strike the vocal cords of my choices, to reverberate in loud acts of mercy and kindness. I’m the herald of eternal springtime—not only by my lungs, but more importantly, with my lifestyle.
Prayer: Lord, may your life burst out of me.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
He will restore us in a very short time; he will heal us in a little while, so that we may live in his presence. (Hosea 6:2)
The cold tile of the hotel bathroom floor was a poor consolation for being too sick to crawl back to bed. I had food poisoning extraordinaire. Oddly, it’s a cherished memory because, as I curled up by the porcelain convenience, the Lord led me to an experiment. I invited his Spirit to join with mine. His presence spread across my heart, and I leaned into it. As each wave of pain washed in, I matched it with an exerted concentration on the nearness of Jesus.
That experience changed me. My heart declared my Savior was bigger than my pain. Suffering by itself couldn’t accomplish this. I had to take the beauty of God’s felt presence, and force it into the teeth of suffering. It allowed me to witness love and pain in face-to-face combat, and to see love win.
That was a minor trial, but any hurt, big or small, will yield to the reversal. Everything, from rejection to the death of a dear one, can become time in the closet pressed against Jesus. In fact, an injury not processed in his presence will leave an open wound in the soul. Only an embrace of the Holy Spirit can cover our exposed nerves with scar tissue that is stronger than the original skin.
Where was my spirit molested? Through prayer, I must relive that moment and, at the height of the devastation, turn to the Lord’s presence. His peace wafts through my soul. Then I shove the victory of God’s greater love into the face of my memory monster. This discipline reveals a truth missed during the original trauma—Jesus, the Comforter, was with me. The force of his presence drives the beast out of my heart.
The event is a nightmare I can shake off, because the love of Christ is my waking reality.
Prayer: Jesus, let me process every trial by the power of your presence.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
He answered, “I tell you, if they keep silent, the very stones will cry out.” (Luke 19:40)
At 4:00 a.m. I batted spiderwebs, and pushed my way into the black Fijian jungle. The source of intense chirping was near. It woke us every night, and I wanted to know, was it a frog, a bird, or what? The voice maintained a steady pulse—a one second whistle, then a one second rest—but the pitch rose to a fevered urgency. There, in a clump of secondary plants intertwined with a massive tree, the animal trumpeted his presence. He was high in the canopy, though, and I’d never know who filled the night air with his zealous call.
A biologist would probably listen to my mystery creature and say something like, “That’s a male Oceanic Warblecryer, calling for a mate.”
The scientist would be right, but I hear more. I hear another declaration as the animals of the earth squawk, croak, or roar. The same statement is made throughout nature, repeated in a myriad of voices. Planets circle their orbits, ocean surf booms, and cardiac pulses beat—all with redundancy that’s humorous, once you start listening. I hear them filling our time governed existence with a single message, “Our Creator is great.”
Jesus said that, if necessary, the stones would cry out to glorify him. So take a calcite rock for example. Because of its atomic bond pattern, it breaks into rhombohedral chunks. No matter how small you break the pieces, they will be rhombohedral. While they don’t do squat to heal humans, crystals, and even stones, declare the genius of their maker by their elegant structure.
Scientists will analyze nature’s repeating themes and see fundamental laws of physics at work. Artists will recognize beauty and passion, while philosophers may point to the logical necessity of repetition as an increase in the potential to thrive. What I hear are the stones, and every other created thing, shouting out the glory of God.
Prayer: Mighty God, I join all of nature to extoll you.