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- Written by: Don Goulding
So they left the council rejoicing because they had been considered worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake of the name. (Acts 5:41)
We ate breakfast in the predawn darkness, and the cloud of sleep evaporated from my eight-year-old mind. I would spend the day on Grandpa’s construction site. I was giddy as a monkey in a banana tree. I had my lunch like Grandpa, and I would share his thermos of milky sweet coffee.
“What are we building today, Grandpa? I can pound nails in. Why do your teeth go into a glass at night?” I chattered a mockingbird’s repertoire inside his pickup truck.
Grandpa nodded his tired head and smirked at my enthusiasm. After all, we were only going to the muddy worksite he labored at six days a week.
How blessed I would be if I could bring my childhood excitement to the trials I now face. A gracious Father permits affliction, so I’ll have the opportunity to strike my mark into the tablet of eternity. I can be counted among those who see hope through hardship. My illnesses, disappointments, and temptations are as holy as anything the apostles suffered.
Why not live enthused about what others dread? Why not do the unthinkable and look trials in the face, then choose joy by the power of the Spirit? Not a stiff-upper-lip-grind-it-out endurance, but a get-up-and-go-to-work-with-grandpa buzz because I’m glorifying Jesus.
Prayer: All wise King, make me joyful about withstanding adversity for you
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. (Luke 6:21)
“What are those children doing?” I said.
“Those are the youngest of their families.”
Our host in Africa navigated her Jeep between fields of harvested corn stubs.
“In times of starvation, the older members eat first. Those little ones are trying to club mice for food.”
I could hear the pain in the reply from a missionary who gave her life to help orphans and saw no end to the need.
The children in their rags stared at the dust billowing from our car. We had what they wanted.
I, too, am hungry. But mine is soul hunger. In my desperation, I shove whatever I can find into my heart—Bible verses, church services, even inspirational music.
Despite my intake, I’m never satisfied. I chew a promise, and it spikes a rush of joy, is digested and gone. I crave more.
Jesus watches over the children of the field. Still, many of them will depart this earth while hungry.
I will depart this earth with my hunger. Together, the children and I will ask God to fill us.
Then King will feast with us. We’ll break into song, dance around the throne, and absorb love. Filled in every way, we’ll fall into a laughing tangle and shout, “No more tears, emptiness, or hunger.”
We might get up and revel again—not because we’re hungry, but because of the overabundance from the Lamb.
The memory will return to our minds that it was Jesus who promised, “You will be satisfied.”
Prayer: Lord God, fill me and the children at your banqueting table.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Jesus replied, “Who is my mother and who are my brothers?” And pointing toward his disciples he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.” (Matthew 12:48-50)
Two Zimbabwean grandmothers hoisted their venerable personages over my truck’s tailgate. I thought to myself, In my own country I’d never think of schlepping elderly women around in the truck bed.
The women had walked five miles to church, stayed after so I could baptize one of them, and were expecting to walk back home again. Even though it was countercultural, I coaxed them into the cab with my interpreter. With three natives and one Anglo crammed in the small truck, I was an ostrich among black swans.
At their village, the eldest matriarch pointed an arthritic finger and asked if she could sing for me. Sweet African lyrics poured from her eighty-seven-year-old face. Her voice was no longer smooth, but her joy was young and spry. The song translated, “This is not home. I’m only passing through. I have a place waiting in heaven.”
The old saint pushed a gift of joyful music past our wide differences and into my lap. I recognized the source of her offering and knew we had identical twins of our most prized possession—faith in Jesus.
The moment my adoption in Christ was sealed, while I still dripped baptismal water, I inherited an enormous family. I now have more in common with remote foreigners who love Jesus than I do with the siblings with whom I shared chicken pox and crazy uncles.
The color of my skin, the language I speak, and the food I eat don’t define me any more than a peel defines an apple. I don’t identify as much with those who are like me in the paper-thin externals, as I do with those who share the same juices, constitution, and core through the Spirit of Christ.
Prayer: Father, thank you for our exciting forever family.