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- Written by: Don Goulding
Sinners are afraid in Zion; panic grips the godless. They say, ‘Who among us can coexist with destructive fire? Who among us can coexist with unquenchable fire.’ (Isaiah 33:14)
To die to self and live for Christ is like jumping into a volcano. Nevertheless, I was so disillusioned with the world’s alternatives that I volunteered for the plunge. This is my report from inside the volcano.
My knees flexed, ready to spring out, but fear made me indecisive. I got scuffed as I slid down on my rear, and it wasn’t pretty. When you make your leap, don’t hesitate, it only makes the descent painful. Jump into the middle.
Now I’m falling and alive more than ever before. The heat intensifies as one plummets, and holy fire chars my impurities at each temperature gradient. Once I accept the tolerable loss, I realize the joy of cleansing outweighs what I suffer. It feels beautiful to soar free of those encumbrances.
Another observable phenomenon is that the deeper I fall, the more transparent the world appears, while the things of the Spirit are increasingly real. Those questions we used to discuss on the rim—is God in our details, does the Spirit still do miracles—in here, all that’s obvious.
I’m not there yet, but I can see down to the core of molten love. By the time I fall into its radiant heart, hopefully there won’t be so much of the old me left that I explode. My goal is immunity to heat as the love lava passes through my spirit in absolute completion. I can’t wait to get there.
Prayer: Holy Creator, let me fall into white-hot love with you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
But you, Daniel, close up and seal the words of the scroll until the time of the end. Many will go here and there to increase knowledge. (Daniel 12:4) (NIV)
One day a fountain pen decided he would write a letter, or perhaps even a thesis. He wanted the world to know he was important. The pen searched for facts that would be impressive on paper. He consulted a globe, a ruler, and books. Everyone was helpful in providing data. He learned a range of details about life and even the circumference of the world.
The pen couldn’t write without a hand gripping him and so he longed for someone to pick him up, that he might astonish readers with his knowledge.
When the master finally set out paper, the pen tried to think of something eloquent. Blips of information ran through his mind—two plus six equals eight and Magellan sailed around the world—but he had nothing truly significant to say. When he began to express himself, streaks and blotches appeared on the stationery.
The master stared at the pen, shook it and said, “What’s the matter with you?”
“I wanted to write brilliant phrases but I’m confused by the information I gathered.”
“Silly pen. Pens don’t write. That’s the master’s job. If you want to be valuable, stop exhausting yourself acquiring facts and know my heart. I need a pen that anticipates my loops and strokes until the words flow effortlessly onto the page. You and I can create breathtaking paragraphs, but only if you accept being a pen and let me be the author.”
Prayer: Holy Master, take my life in hand and write freely.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
But you have come to Mount Zion, the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to myriads of angels, to the assembly and congregation of the firstborn, who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous, who have been made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant … (Hebrews 12:22-24)
In rural Pakistan, I smiled at young girls playing with primped Barbie Dolls. The Middle Eastern layout of their dollhouse caught my attention. Cardboard boxes were separated inside a miniature walled compound. The Barbie mother was all beauty as she entertained royalty on a mat in the courtyard.
It dawned on my ethnocentric brain that, of course, the home would be fashioned like an extended family compound—what else had the darling builders ever known? Barbie didn’t notice anything was amiss as she carried out her perfect life, as she does in every child’s world.
Humans are born with a universal capacity for fantasies of love, victory, and heroism. Boys envision battles while girls dream of romance. Even our music and art reflect our imaginings of grandeur. We yearn for something more than this monochrome existence.
Because of Christ, we no longer need to deceive our hearts with science fiction or airport romance books. Our yearning for a bigger life is actualized. Instead of milking drama from the television, I am named as a character inside the most riveting storyline ever to exist. The Christian faith allows me to intertwine with ultimate beauty and bring down monsters through prayer.
It turns out that old, insignificant me isn’t so boring after all. Jesus pulls me into an epic drama where good defeats evil in unearthly dimensions.
Prayer: Valiant Jesus, with you the fantasy is real.