- Details
- 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.
- Details
- 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.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
“Prophesy over these bones, and tell them: ʻDry bones, hear the word of the Lord. This is what the sovereign Lord says to these bones: Look, I am about to infuse breath into you and you will live.’” (Ezekiel 37:4-5 NET_FL)
“Holy God, we claim the space between these trees for your purposes today. We anoint the trunks with oil to represent your Holy Spirit and declare to the heavens that evil spirits and distractions against your truth are not permitted in this place.”
Several African brothers prayed with me to cordon off a meeting area in the middle of a village suffering from demonic attacks. That day, we challenged the tribals, “Burn your implements of witchcraft and see what God will do inside of one week.”
As we preached against charms and fetishes, I spied a chief slipping off his amulet. We then cleansed the village through prayer and God answered. The attacks ceased.
Why did we need to speak the words of God inside that village? Why not pray in silence from the mission station? Why did God take Ezekiel to the valley and tell him to prophesy so the bones would come to life? Could it be that our Father in heaven waits to work through the authoritative prayer warrior?
I get the false idea that prophecy is for guys with wild hair foretelling the future. In reality, to prophesy simply means to proclaim the truth of God against the dysfunction of the world. Every Christian is called to that ministry.
Where there is pain we are to lay hands on dry bones and pray for life. We are to call into existence the eternal healing that Jesus came to give. He could do it alone. Instead, he waits for the prophet to extend a hand, raise their voice, and proclaim, “Hear the word of the LORD. I am about to infuse breath into you, and you will live.”
Prayer: Holy Spirit, show me to whom I am to prophesy today.