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- Written by: Don Goulding
So you are no longer a slave but a son, and if you are a son, then you are also an heir through God. (Galatians 4:7)
As a young boy, I refused to clean up my mess, and was introduced to the business end of Dad’s belt. When I was a bit older, I spread the news that Dad and Big Sis were the culprits of a long secreted house toilet papering caper. There was plenty of strife in our home on that day. And as a rebellious teenager, I spent a night in jail. Dad was not happy.
Now my father is aging into a sweet, easy disposition. We made it through every threat to our relationship, and we’re still friends, because never once did either of us say we wanted out of the family union.
When I accepted the sacrifice of Jesus as my own, God adopted me as his son. We now have a family bond that compels us to stand by one another, no matter what happens.
One purpose of families is to provide a safe environment where we learn to work out our differences. A certain amount of tension means I’m part of a functioning family, and not orphaned. We offend each other, fight, then forgive. That’s what families do.
Angst comes between God and me when I sin. It’s a natural tension that arises when a sinner tries to share the temple of his body with a holy God. These tensions don’t make me lose my adoption into heaven. On the contrary, they mean I’m still part of God’s family, and not orphaned. I eventually repent, we move on, and hopefully I grow.
Silence is more worrisome than confrontation. The absence of correction from the Holy Spirit is the most perilous. If he no longer convicts my conscience, or spikes my joy, it might be because I’ve walked away. Abandonment of one’s place in God’s family is a crime of epic foolishness.
I’m often disloyal to God, but I’ve never been daft enough to say, nor will I ever say by word or lifestyle, “You’re no longer my Father.”
Likewise, as long as I cling to Jesus, God is happy to call me his son. Nothing in heaven, on earth, or in hell can reverse my adoption. I’m the only one with the authority to defect by an exercise of free will, and I have no intention of giving up my adopted birthright.
Prayer: Heavenly Parent, I repent of ever doubting my adoption.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
The eye is the lamp of the body. If then your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is diseased, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness! (Matthew 6:22, 23)
In Andhra Pradesh, I worked with an East Indian who was a triple rarity—a woman evangelist with blue eyes. Persecution winnows Indian Christians down to very few evangelists, and women evangelists are even more scarce. Besides their beauty, this saint’s eyes spoke of passion for Jesus and hurt for the lost.
Eyes are God’s crowning addition to physical man. Pleasure and pain, innocence and corruption, kindness and abuse, they all flood through our eyes. But if I indiscriminately take in every visual input, I pollute my soul.
Our fallen world cannot grasp how sacred the human race is meant to be. We aren’t created so the perversion of mutilation or sexual degradation can flood through our eyes. True, we can’t ignore the horror around us, but we must use care that the filth doesn’t stick to the walls of the temple that is us. We are cathedrals of the Spirit of God, not haunts for the demons of Satan.
Sometimes Jesus says, “Have pity for those you see trapped in sin.” Other times he warns, “Shut your eyes to this shame,” or, “Note the glory revealed here.” His Spirit must govern what comes into the temple, and what stays out.
Our eyes are stained glass windows to the sanctuary of our soul. If the light they let in is pure, then, like my blue eyed Indian sister, the light they illuminate in the dark world will be beautiful as well.
Prayer: Lord, guide my sight by your Spirit.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Dear friends, do not be astonished that a trial by fire is occurring among you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice in the degree that you have shared in the sufferings of Christ, so that when his glory is revealed you may also rejoice and be glad. (1 Peter 4:12, 13)
We were newly married, and evening shadows met across the slopes where Dani and I backpacked in the San Gorgonio Wilderness of California. We arrived at the backcountry camp, tired, but spirited by the pine scented air. A quick dinner over a Primus stove left just enough time to string a rope through our plastic tube tent before the rain fell.
The next morning our gear was wet, but then the sun made a few surprise appearances. Mist rode through the fir trees like a child sledding into the rounded valley. I could scarcely hike a hundred feet before stopping, over and over, to photograph rainbows set against hunter-green forests.
It didn’t matter to us that we had slept on the ground, eaten dehydrated soup, and steamed through damp clothes the next day, the backpacking trip exceeded our expectations.
Expectations define satisfaction. If a hotel tried to offer the conditions we enjoyed while backpacking, I’d be irate and demand my money back.
I need to adjust my ambitions to the reality of my current situation. I’m a spiritual soldier in a war zone, behind enemy lines, with a mission to infiltrate and liberate. Now is not the time to seek a soft living. Today I’ll encounter the groans of nature, attacks from demons, and friends broken in grief. It won't be easy going.
The glorious appearing of Christ will come soon. So I need to adjust my expectations, and lay hold of spoils before I’m withdrawn home. Because how I spend my remaining hours of deployment is critical.
Prayer: Mighty Warrior Jesus, let me expect nothing but a glorious fight today.