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- Written by: Don Goulding
By all these things, I have shown you that by working in this way we must help the weak, and remember the words of the Lord Jesus that he himself said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ (Acts 20:35)
A two inch bitterling swims among freshwater mussels to spawn. This sly minnow knows the mollusk shells will protect her eggs from predators. She selects an open host and inserts her breeding tube. The eggs settle between the mussel’s internal organs and the mother swims away. Next, a male bitterling releases his sperm, which are drawn into the mussel to fertilize the eggs.
At first, the bitterlings appear to be self-serving opportunists taking advantage of mussels. But the mussels see it differently. They eagerly await the arrival of bitterlings. The moment the fish show up, the mussels release their own larvae into the water to attach to the gills. After hitching a ride, the larvae drop to the ocean floor and develop a new neighborhood of mussels.
Like the bitterling and the mussel, God’s creatures provide symbiotic and contributory relationships at many levels. It keeps our planet ticking. Why is it, then, that humans so readily take more than they give?
The Holy Spirit is effervescent life in my heart. New bubbles form, which presents a problem. My blessings swell beyond my needs and I have to relieve my bloat by giving to others. I can give large things and small—earn a wage and economize to fund missions, help with chores, work with my hands, teach, administer, give cookies, counsel, smile, hug, or pray. Hoarding gratifies for a fleshly minute, while giving satisfies for a spiritual eternity.
It’s the ultimate symbiotic relationship—there are people in need, and I have a need to give.
Prayer: Jesus, change me from a taker into a giver.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
How delightful it is to see approaching over the mountains
the feet of a messenger who announces peace,
a messenger who brings good news, who announces deliverance,
who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.” (Isaiah 52:7)
“I’d like to introduce my daughter. She was intimidated to meet you, so I’m acting as an intermediary.” A Christian brother pointed to his daughter, a girl who sparkled with charm. Why was she afraid to meet dorky me?
Later, my mind replayed the conversation, and my ego worked out the explanation that the girl was intimidated because of my ministry skill. But then, even I was embarrassed at that line of thinking.
The reality my ego neglects is that all the good in me, or coming from me, is sourced by Jesus. All I contribute is the ore scrap that surrounds the gold of truth. My listeners must be miners, adept at excavating what is from the Spirit, and tossing everything else onto the slag pile.
Occasionally, there is gold in my words—rich, permanent truths that shine heaven into our decaying world. Bouncing the weight of those nuggets on our palm assures us of the solidity of God’s promises. Truths, like eternal adoption, peace with God, the New Jerusalem, and the fellowship of the Spirit, are a joy to pass from hand to hand. But how could I take pride in these treasures? I wouldn’t be able to conceive of Christ dying for sinners, let alone forge the event.
I’m the washroom servant, ignorant of all matters of state, but called before the throne for an errand. The King would have me deliver precious rings, engraved with “Forgiven,” to his wayward offspring. The only qualifications I meet are two feet for running and a hand for carrying. But oh, what a thrill, how exciting to be the knucklehead with the rings.
Prayer: Father, thank you for using me to carry your golden words.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Take pains with these things; be absorbed in them, so that everyone will see your progress. Be conscientious about how you live and what you teach. Persevere in this, because by doing so you will save both yourself and those who listen to you. (1 Timothy 4:15, 16)
“Brad, do you have me?” I yelled down to my climbing partner.
I trusted Brad with my life, but I was at the crux, and needed reassurance that he held the rope. My route petered out, so I traversed diagonally on a face barren of holds to a new line of ascent. Brad fed rope while I aimed for a fissure. An unsafe separation yawned between me and the last anchor. My fear practically melted the fraction of rock beneath each fingertip.
I reached the new crack exhausted and shaking. As I fumbled to set up a safety station, my toehold slipped and down I went. That off-center anchor—placed somewhere back in history—held, but scudded me across granite like a pendulum through a thirty foot drop. The results were cracked ribs, ample scrapes, and comically tattered shorts. Not to mention a significant loss of elevation.
I love climbing for one reason—topping out. Overcoming a route, especially a difficult one, yields a victory like nothing else. Not once has a great climb failed to elicit jumping and whooping. The perils melt away, and I can’t wait for the next climb.
My climb toward God has been one harrowing segment after another. I cling to ledges of truth with rubbery arms and legs. What if I fall? I know Jesus is trustworthy on the other end of the rope, but will my faith anchors prove too flimsy and pop off, one after the other, like a giant zipper? The last solid encounter I had with God is so far back I’m petrified. Even if the anchors hold, a moral fall could mean a brutal loss of elevation. Still, I inch upward.
Overriding the fear is the adrenalin rushing prospect of topping out in paradise. I see myself crawling over the final edge to find Jesus waiting with dancing and whoops.
Prayer: Jesus, victory with you is worth every risk.