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- Written by: Don Goulding
I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. (Galatians 2:20)
We camped in Africa’s Zambezi Valley as hyenas yipped about their devilish pranks, lions roared with proud grunts, and crocodiles held their deadly silence. But the creation that arrested my attention was a curious tree. Clumps of pale-green leaves looked tired amidst the canopy. Fat shoots ran down the original trunk and fanned to the soil. Two trees melded into one.
Our host explained that it was a strangler fig. It began as a common acacia, but a fig tree grew around the host, taking over nutrients and water until it assumed the shape of the old tree. The strangler became a verdant habitat for everything from honeybees to monkeys.
I used to be a homely acacia. I had a second rate existence. Then the Spirit blew his seed into the axis of my branches, the hollow point of my greatest need. The gospel germinated and roots drew up truth. A new form of life grew on top of the old. I still have my unique shape, but now my days are full of abundance.
Tufts of the original me poke out. They agree in theory that the fig self is better, but they won’t volunteer for the upgrade. Each branch, every leaf must be choked, then regrown. Fear must expire under the strength of trust, and hatred must die by the hand of love. It’s a slow but needed strangulation of a lesser me.
The fig me stands tall and majestic, but there’s no room for pride in the fruit, or in the habitat for the hurting. The new life of the fig is the life of Jesus and the boast is in him.
Prayer: Jesus, take over and live strong.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Whatever you are doing, work at it with enthusiasm, as to the Lord and not for people, because you know that you will receive your inheritance from the Lord as the reward. (Colossians 3:23, 24)
Rick and Rachael work for ministries in opposite corners of the world. Rick came out of retirement as the school principal in his home town. Now he serves as the janitor. His secret occupation is prayer warrior over the students, teachers and their rooms. As he polishes floors, he routs demons and builds foundations of redemption through the zeal of the Holy Spirit.
Rachael is a missionary in the South Pacific islands. She complains about the locals and toils to curb their immorality. “I don’t think she likes us,” is how Rachael’s nationals summarize her work. Rachael counts the days to retirement.
Who has the more fulfilling job, Rick the janitor or Rachael the missionary? The point of this real life comparison is that what honors God is how we go about whatever task he gives us. He wants us to do everything in fellowship with him, moving in his Spirit.
In my pride, I often think God needs my service for him. I’m a child who shows up with his plastic sandbox shovel to help dig the Panama Canal. It’s ridiculous to think God needs my help. Yet he lets me dig beside him because it brings him joy that I want to work in his presence.
I can be Rick and store treasure in paradise, or I can be Rachael and receive the vain recognition of others as my only reward. Regardless of my corner of the world, I have to choose how I work, like Rick or like Rachael.
Prayer: Tender Father, I love working alongside you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
You are the God who performs miracles;
you display your power among the peoples.
With your mighty arm you redeemed your people,
the descendants of Jacob and Joseph. (Psalms 77:14, 15) (NIV)
“If you only look for the Holy Spirit in the supernatural, you’ll miss ninety percent of what he’s doing,” my mentor said. His wisdom came from serving as a missionary in Africa for fifty years.
I used to think that a miracle, if I ever saw one, would be accompanied by heavenly sparks and angelic choirs. I didn’t think I would ever see one. Then one day I did.
I drove my children to an appointment and the slip of paper with the address went missing. We pulled to the roadside and searched everywhere, even under the floor mats. My eight-year-old daughter wanted to pray, so we closed our eyes.
“Jesus, please help us find the note so we’re not late.”
We opened our eyes, and the paper lay at her feet. No psychedelic colors or singing, just the paper. We drove on like nothing unusual happened.
I’ve begun to recognize that God can and does work with dramatics, but his favorite medium is to integrate into the common—a sacrificial ram caught in the thicket for Abraham, a soggy fleece to give Gideon courage, the King of the Universe born in a sheep manger. These events teach us to expect God’s intervention in any circumstance.
In Africa we asked for a miracle of the first order, so the churches would come together to launch revival. We organized prayer and put up posters. There were no angelic invasions or tongues of fire, but people filed in until the largest meeting ever held in the history of Doma, Zimbabwe was for the purpose of lifting up Jesus Christ.
Miracles are common in the common.
Prayer: Lord, bring your power into every corner of my average life.