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- Written by: Don Goulding
For you need endurance in order to do God’s will and so receive what is promised. (Hebrews 10:36)
Fir, alder, and maple forest surround my father’s house in Washington State. Among the woodland critters are cliff swallows that, year after year, attempt to build mud nests above Dad’s door. For a while, he allowed the birds to summer there, but it was a bad location for all the parties. The chicks were subjected to human traffic, and the humans were dive-bombed with objectionable matter.
Every spring, Dad goes on swallow alert. A comical war is waged as he washes down any mud beginnings. Eventually, the birds relocate to the nearby trees and sea cliffs. It would appear Dad is more persistent, but the swallows are driven by deep instinct, and they’ll be back another year.
You and I have a deep instinct to unite with our Creator. That hope drives us. No matter how many times our nest of faith is knocked down, we rebuild. We can’t give up on Christ, for as Peter said, where would we go? No one else has the words of eternal life.
True endurance is more than maintaining the status quo. To stop running toward Christ on the treadmill of faith is to be swept back into unbelief. Even to stay in the one place of trusting Jesus requires an expenditure of calories. The longer we live with our heartaches, the harder it is to trust, because no answer appears to be forthcoming. Every day that I wake up and say, “In spite of all that is wrong, I’ll trust the Lord,” I’m enduring more than the day before.
I want to stubbornly rebuild my faith after every wash down, and be found doing so when Jesus returns.
Prayer: Mighty Savior, grant me joyous endurance, again today.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
The light of the full moon will be like the sun’s glare
and the sun’s glare will be seven times brighter,
like the light of seven days,
when the Lord binds up his people’s fractured bones
and heals their severe wound. (Isaiah 30:26)
Our moon is temperamental. One night she’s a coy thumbnail wrapped in wispy clouds, while on another she’s full and brazen. Her mysterious moods make her appear all the more beautiful.
In reality, our moon is a crater pocked ball of dust. She’s a blight who, in her hidden new moon phases, blocks any stars caught behind her.
How can the moon stop our hearts with splendor one night, and become a sterile obstruction another? The answer is in the sun. It’s his glorious reflection from the moon’s surface that captivates us. Gray barrenness transforms into white radiance. For her part, the moon has only to hold herself in the presence of the sun. Yet, if she refuses, the sun’s brilliant rays slip unnoticed into the blackness of space.
God declares a lesson in our moon. We are like her. Left to ourselves, we’re homely chunks of dirt. Our love is sterile, our lives sin pocked, our hearts cold and rocky. We block the beauty of God’s creation by the darkness of our presence.
Nevertheless, bring any pitiful, barren soul into the brilliance of the Son Jesus, and every contour of their heart becomes irresistibly attractive. Our weaknesses, temptations, and losses, when brought near him, are the very surfaces from which his light shines with white radiance.
Mirrors are made of layers. Only the foil-thin silver coating does the actual reflecting. Just so, it’s my micro faith that reflects the magnificence of God Almighty. There’s not much there to do the job—and yet, when I refuse to hold myself in the presence of Christ, the glory of God slips unnoticed into the blackness of space.
Prayer: Let your glory, oh God, shine from who I am.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
If you faint in the day of trouble,
your strength is small! (Proverbs 24:10)
On day twenty-six of rain, I hid behind the window, brooding over the wetness of my forest playground. Every green bough dripped water. Glass beads swelled, then fell to the ground, where they joined the soggy mat of last year’s pine needles. And still, the drops continued—shaped like millions of exclamation points taunting, “We’re not done yet.”
The trees didn’t complain. They anticipated the coming summer, held their arms wide, and said, “We’ll take all you’ve got, thank you.”
Even less daunted was a fat squirrel, merrily scurrying to the pinecones, and nibbling seeds. She didn’t seem to realize it was raining.
The rest of creation puts me to shame when it comes to resilience in adversity. God must wag his head at the frailty of my heart. Weather happens. It’s normal. Storms of pain, change, even death are part of the system I was born into. So why does losing my rights shock me? Even too much rain upsets my delicate equilibrium.
Taken as the totality of events, I could understand crumbling under earthly suffering. But good days follow bad ones. I’m given whatever strength I need to continue through inclement times. If all my days were filled with pain, they would still only constitute a short season. Summer follows winter in the physical, and in the spiritual realms. Paradise will swallow the earth’s winter.
Nature looked through the window, saw me dry and warm, and said, “Buck up Buttercup. You'll make it through with the Lord.”
Prayer: Savior, I will rest in your timing for making things right.