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- Written by: Don Goulding
Things that no eye has seen, or ear heard, or mind imagined, are the things God has prepared for those who love him.” God has revealed these to us by the Spirit. (1 Corinthians 2:9-10 NET_FL)
Twin rushes of air erupted from the cobalt sea. My kayak was a mile from the shore of my home in Washington State when two killer whales breached. They exhaled and thrust their dorsal fins above the water. My heart pounded as I took in every bend and scar on the triangular fins. The magnificent creatures dove again and I made an adrenaline pumped race into their swirling water.
Then it hit me. I only saw the seven-foot dorsal fins and not the enormous animals below the waterline. Alone in the open water, I didn’t want to run into whales, only to see more dorsals.
I often approach the crucifixion of Jesus like I approached those whales. I want to know the historic facts of his death and resurrection but I run from an encounter that could destroy the old me. A safe redemption at the surface is fine but don’t take me down to where my heart must reform.
Instead of paddling off to secondary doctrines, prophecies, and worship styles, it’s time to man-up and meet the enormity of the gospel. By the discipline of meditation, the Holy Spirit carries my heart to depths where I can’t depend on physical life, to where love becomes the medium around me, and the reality that God died for men is shocking in its magnitude.
Beneath the waterline of grace, I can’t contribute to salvation, defend myself, or even breathe. I can only stare in wonder at God’s death for me. Minuscule flailing sinner that I am, I lose every hope of survival except by the beneficence of the whale before me.
That massive carnivorous entity might easily swallow me. Instead, he nudges me to the surface. When I break through, I have something new, not more head knowledge but more love. For who can be spared by that majestic creature and not love in return?
Prayer: Spirit of God, embolden my heart to plunge the depths of grace.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide yourselves purses that do not wear out - a treasure in heaven that never decreases, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. Luke 12:33 (NETFull)
My esteem of hummingbirds is downgraded. I used to be enchanted by their reaching beaks, emerald backs, and shimmering red throats. Zipping about the flora, they were miniature ornaments of joy on God’s Christmas tree.
Then we hung a feeder by our window. One little guy took to the nectar with enthusiasm and moved his permanent address to our yard. My delight began to wane when he accosted visitors to one of his six feeding ports, including me when I refilled the bottle. I nicknamed him Hummer Scrooge.
My old nature easily slips into a hummingbird mentality. On the outside I act cute and friendly, on the inside I want the best and I want it for myself. I accost any who would dare ask about my overabundance, never mind that God provides it all.
I never found life in that place and I’m not going back there. I’m only open to receive love and laughter when I give my life away. I don’t mean doling out surplus in a tithe but trusting God until I systematically leverage my physical blessings into the spread grace and truth. It sounds irresponsible to our worldly ears but it’s actually natural, the way we were intended to live.
When I keep a fear of giving too deeply I also keep preoccupied stress. My days are consumed with acquiring and maintaining. Possessions own me while I hide behind the rationalization that one needs to be prudent.
Too many words on this subject is just another dodge of the real point. It’s time we come to the question—Am I acting on Jesus’ statement to sell my possessions and give to the poor, or am I another Hummer Scrooge?
Prayer: Father, help me give like you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Do not judge so that you will not be judged. Matthew 7:1 (NETFull)
Every surface of the cell oozed with self-righteousness. Along with my fellow prisoners, I combed the Scriptures deciding whom to denounce outside our bars. By incremental arguments, we redefined acceptable to mean just like us. We wrote out the names of those we exposed and chanted their infractions. The name of our dungeon was Judgmental.
One morning the door scraped open and a shaft of light cut through the gloom. My grinning Savior strode to the corner with his hand extended.
“All right friend, enough of this nastiness. Let’s get you out of here.”
He led me into a world of glimmering beauty. There were bright skies, pounding waterfalls, and space—open space everywhere. My Lord proclaimed me forgiven and showed me laughter and music.
I knew so little of what free people did that I felt out of place. Seeking the door of my prison, I found my cronies still there. They had my name on their lists. To appease them, I found my old notebook and read some names aloud. But the fetid air began to take its toll and I had to get out.
Tucking the notebook under my arm, I pushed the door until a strong hand stopped it halfway. I peered into the face of my shining Friend.
“Not with that thing you don’t.” He nodded at the list. “You can stay in there to condemn others, or you can live free out here. But what you cannot do is accept my forgiveness, live in my land, and keep that notebook. Not one page or a single accusation, they must all stay behind. Choose.”
Prayer: Lord Jesus, I choose to let you be the Judge.