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- Written by: Don Goulding
But to Adam he said, “Because you obeyed your wife and ate from the tree about which I commanded you, ‘You must not eat from it,’ cursed is the ground thanks to you …” Genesis 3:17
I squatted by a campfire with African refugees in an Ivory Coast shantytown. I drew two parallel lines in the sand to show the gulf of sin. A stick figure depicted man on one side and a radiant cloud represented God on the other. As I added a cross over the gap, my interpreter relayed the gospel.
A Liberian man in his thirties crawled from under the plastic tarp of his hovel to join our group. His living space was one meter high by one meter wide. He made no claim on Jesus that day, but hopefully a seed was planted, because he must have more. I wanted him to understand the offer of salvation, so that his squalor might be replaced by paradise.
As we talked, children played around the ramshackle camp. I asked myself how they could be so nonchalant about their circumstances. But the little ones had no clue they were the poorest of the poor. They were too young to remember anything except fleeing war and bivouacking.
I, too, fail to grasp how cursed is my preliminary existence here on earth, because it’s all I’ve known. I have a hard time imagining life without brokenness. Everything is infected by the curse of Adam. Rivers writhe with microscopic terrorists, animals and humans eat one another, and my own thoughts can’t remain pure. Nothing I experience today will be whole, and still I go on laughing.
It’s okay to be at peace because Jesus has a scheduled plan for remaking heaven and earth. It’s not okay to be content with this life as it is. This is not God’s final work. That refugee man must have more, and so must I.
Prayer: Spirit of Jesus, separate my heart from the corruption of life.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Look! The Lord is coming from his dwelling place;
he comes down and treads on the heights of the earth. (Micah 1:3) (NIV)
During the beginning phases of revival in the Makonde district of Zimbabwe, the Lord spoke through this verse in Micah. About every ten kilometers, the green-brown savannah is broken by sizable hills called kopjes. For generations, natives worshiped ancestors from these high places. The Spirit of the Most High revealed that dark forces administered misery from these strongholds, and it was time for a purge.
For the next several months, prayer warriors made the rounds to climb the kopjes, throw down false altars, and reclaim the surrounding villages for Jesus. Demons fled and the Spirit of God restored hearts and called new believers.
There is a personal application for the reclamation of high places. When I look across my life, what dominates? Where do my thoughts run to most often? Those are my high places. They might be wholesome, like family and ministry, or sinful, like addiction and anger. Wholesome or sinful, it doesn’t matter because God alone belongs on the sacred high places. It’s time to purge these centers of worship, and reclaim them for God Almighty.
I bow my heart before the Savior. I know the primary focus of my devotion has not been on him. Something else is on top of my kopje. Holding this high place before him, I acknowledge the desecration.
“Please God, cleanse this place and name it as your own.”
Then I wait in silence.
In the spiritual realm, a low rumble begins.
The mountains melt beneath him
and the valleys split apart,
like wax before the fire,
like water rushing down a slope. (Micah 1:4) (NIV)
My heart is reduced to nothing but Jesus, and he seals my altar with his name. It is confirmed, my high place belongs to the LORD Most High. Righteousness and peace return to their rightful places.
Prayer: Mighty Redeemer, reclaim the high places in my heart.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
This is the solemn pronouncement of the Holy One, the True One, who holds the key of David, who opens doors no one can shut, and shuts doors no one can open … (Revelation 3:7)
For thousands of years, men searched for the key. Music and laughter streamed from under the door, but outside in the stinging cold, judgment waited in darkness.
Abraham, Moses, and David hungered after the key. In Solomon’s day, the door was still shut. He had untold wealth and the finest intellect on earth, but none of those would crack the door. Solomon’s conclusion—“‘Meaningless! Meaningless!’ says the Teacher. ‘Everything is meaningless!’” (Ecclesiastes 12:8) (NIV)
Then, at the perfect moment in history, after men had exhausted every effort to open the lock, the key fell from heaven. Tumblers fell into place, and the door swung wide. Death stayed outside. And along with eternal life, the Messiah opened purpose and hope, growth and love. Every tumbler of life was released where it engaged Jesus.
It’s been one hundred generations since the key fell, and now it’s my turn on the timeline of history. What those before me sought with tears, I take for granted. I was born with the key in my hand, so I don’t even bother to fit it into the lock. Apathy is my most infernal curse.
I have the key. The Key! I have access to every answer. All of life is open to me for a twist of my wrist. Solomon, with his wealth and brains, didn’t have what I have—the key that opens life’s meaning.
But will I turn the lock and go in?
Prayer: Lord Jesus, come unlock every part of my life.