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- Written by: Don Goulding
Jesus said to him, “If you wish to be perfect, go sell your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” (Matthew 19:21)
Rory Ervine had great stories about the African war, piloting planes in the bush, tracking game, and playing professional cricket. As we settled with our rooibos tea under his thatched veranda in Zimbabwe, he launched into one of his best sagas.
“Jude and I had a tough decision to make. We farmed tobacco, but the Lord convicted us about contributing to addictions. The banks wouldn’t loan money for anything except growing tobacco. We obeyed the Lord, but lost the farm.” He ran his hand across his tan forehead. “Right after that, the corrupt government confiscated white owned land.”
Judy added, “We sold the farm before it was forced out of our hands for nothing, and the Lord replaced it with this ministry.” She swept her arm to include the orphanage, its farm that Rory managed, and the clinic she headed as a nurse.
Many thousands of whites were forced off their homesteads in bitterness, but, to the Ervines, letting the farm go was part of God’s plan to protect their hearts.
Rory and Judy made me see that voluntarily giving up what we can have, often leads to greater contentment. Using worldly assets to buy kingdom treasure opens a pathway directly to Jesus.
To occupy myself with toys, possessions, and comforts is to stop climbing toward God and stay on my plateau. I confess I spent considerable time there. But the grand life in Christ is higher up.
Now I’m pushing manmade treasures off the edge by simplifying what I own. If I have material distractions around, I’ll be tempted to climb back down to the plateau, and I really want to live up where Rory and Judy are.
Prayer: Holy Spirit, help me push out the debris.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Sarah said, “God has made me laugh. Everyone who hears about this will laugh with me.” (Genesis 21:6)
The first time I conducted a funeral, the mortician told me to wait until the music stopped, then begin the service. Wearing my new black suit, I faced the grieving audience, but couldn’t think how to begin. I finally chirped, “How is everybody this morning?”
The mourners shot horrified glances toward the family, and it occurred to me that those were not the most appropriate words.
Life would be a lot more fun if I’d learn to laugh at myself. In heaven, they must chuckle at earthly blunders. To join the humor of paradise, I need a deeper understanding of how grace frees me from a need to project the right image. The reality is that I’m completely accepted because of Christ’s work, and I don’t need any image at all. I’m so radically free that laughter is precisely the correct response.
Why not enjoy more of heaven’s laughter now? There is a time for serious contemplation, and there’s nothing funny about rebellion against God. Moreover, the glory of the Lord shuts my mouth to superfluous utterances. But when it comes to infighting over nonessential theology, or opinions on how mankind can solve his problems, or concern about my self-important reputation, I need to see my life from eternity’s perspective and laugh.
Even better than derisive laughter, there is a richer, truer humor in which I can abandon my heart. What God has done for me—taken a worthless sinner and anointed me with a perfect future—is so outlandishly wonderful that I have to laugh from deep within.
Prayer: Lord Jesus, I’m laughing in delight over my rescue.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
I tell you the solemn truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains by itself alone. But if it dies, it produces much grain. (John 12:24)
Twenty-eight-year-old Jim Elliot, and four companions, peered through ferns toward the Auca village. A squawking parrot flew up and set their nerves on edge. All Jim’s hopes were focused on bringing the gospel to this unreached tribe in the Ecuadorian jungle. Until now, these natives had only one greeting for outsiders—murder. As Jim waited amidst hungry mosquitoes, he wondered if the gifts they had air dropped would pacify, or if this was to be a hostile meeting.
Blood curdling war cries tore the silence as painted warriors swarmed. The missionaries were committed to winning friends, so they waved greetings instead of their guns. Spears flew with deadly accuracy. The five kernels were slain to the ground and a harvest was sown.
While I’m inspired by Jim’s sacrifice, I acknowledge that his wife, Elizabeth, took the more difficult path. After the 1956 massacre, she went to live with the Ecuadorian Indians. She offered forgiveness and a second chance at the gospel. Many, including Aucas, came to salvation.
Jim died at the end of the spear, but Elizabeth lived at the end of the spear. She teaches me that it may be more heroic to live for others, than to die for Christ. With each night she slept in a hammock, and every meal of jungle food, she brought the tip of the spear to her own chest, for a tribe of murdering Indians.
How could the Elliots make such enormous sacrifices? It’s simple. They basked in the love light streaming from Jesus, then did what comes naturally. Only the unquenchable peace of Christ gives us courage to live at the end of the spear.
Prayer: Lord of the Harvest, multiply my life through death to self.