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- Written by: Don Goulding
The one who covers his transgressions will not prosper,
but whoever confesses them and forsakes them will find mercy. (Proverbs 28:13)
I forced the blade of a utility knife through a plastic bucket, slipped, and stabbed my own leg. A friend used duct tape to wrap the wound until we could finish the project.
Later, a nurse prepped for stitches, but she left me to remove the tape from my hairy leg. After twenty minutes, she found me tugging in feeble increments. She grabbed the silver tape and ripped it free in one motion. Her method really didn’t hurt. I’d prolonged the agony by my lack of resolve.
I’m a spiritual Band-Aid baby, too. I expose only tiny bits of my old nature to the light at a time. But Jesus wants to shorten the torment with a ripping campaign.
Sin cuts. It doesn't matter if I slice myself, or if someone else knifes me. Either way, wrong choices cause heart wounds. The Spirit of Christ offers healing, but I cover my pain with Band-Aids—those easy fixes that never address root problems—and I never want to take them off.
Over time, my temporary bandages become a permanent part of my corrupt nature. I fear that if I remove them I’ll lose the attention I receive over my boo-boos, and it will lessen who I am. But I was never meant to assimilate false cures into my character.
True healing can’t happen if I hide. Anger will fester, and habits will rot, until I let Jesus in for surgery. Through meditative prayer, I must allow his touch to reach the depths of my wound. And to do that, my vague acknowledgment Band-Aids have to be torn off.
Prayer: Go ahead, Great Physician, rip away excuses and heal me deeply.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
See to it, brothers and sisters, that none of you has an evil, unbelieving heart that forsakes the living God. (Hebrews 3:12)
Sigmund Marx closed his eyes for the last time. As he labored through his final breaths, a sinister voice spoke to his mind.
“I hate you. You are loved by the One who keeps me in chains, so I hurt him by claiming you. You thought you were in control, but here you are listening to my voice, to the one who could never exist.
“So why reveal myself now? Because you can do nothing from that bed. By not choosing a side, you chose me, and now you’re mine forever, and my pain is yours. My father and I will feed on you through eternity.”
Sigmund understood the words but could only moan.
“Oh, I have so much to tell you. Do you remember that high school teacher who told you about life with God, paradise, and all that rot? You decided it would be nice if it were true, but if it wasn’t, you’d waste your life sacrificing pleasures.
“That was me. I planted that fear of a wasted life. You were so gullible. You exchanged heaven for a few miserable years on earth. People called you learned, but that’s just stupid. And now you join the ranks I’ve outsmarted through history.
“You were loved by God, you had authority over us, and you gave it all away for me. I take particular pleasure that, through all the years you served me, you never guessed I was there. Ha.
“Now I want you to know the name of the one who bested you. My name is Unbelief.”
Prayer: Mighty Jesus, let me never yield to doubt.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
The heavens declare the glory of God;
the sky displays his handiwork.
Day after day it speaks out;
night after night it reveals his greatness.
There is no actual speech or word,
nor is its voice literally heard.
Yet its voice echoes throughout the earth;
its words carry to the distant horizon. (Psalms 19:1-4)
In summer, I move my bed under the stars to learn from their God songs. One of their melodies is called “God Is Bigger Than I Think.” Snuggled in blankets, I see the Milky Way and countless sparkling pinpoints.
We merely taste of the elaborate banquet beyond. From my outdoor bed, I can only see about one thousand stars out of the many sextillions. Any one of those is a sphere so expansive it would level me in awe to see it up close. And yet, God sustains every star in every galaxy in the universe. Whatever concepts I hold about him are grossly understated. God is bigger than I think.
Another star chorus is “God Loves Beauty.” Drinking in the light from the night sky, I’m swept by joy. Each luminal beams steely-blue light that defines the blackness behind it. God might have left the sky empty, or made an ugly celestial goo to fill outer space—instead we see that God loves beauty.
The anthem of the stars, “God Bless Diversity,” reverberates around me. There are random sprays of gems, a cluster of petite sisters, reddish loners, and swirling mists. God is crazy wild with his pleasure in variety. My mind wants simple predictability, but he revels in the unique. Our God blesses diversity.
These are the lessons the stars sing out, and summer nights are made so we can hear their songs.
Prayer: Awesome Creator, I join the stars in worshiping you.