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- Written by: Don Goulding
Every living creature which swarms where the river flows will live; there will be many fish, for these waters flow there. It will become fresh and everything will live where the river flows. (Ezekiel 47:9)
Dani and I sat outside a thatched chalet, watching the Zambezi River. A one kilometer wide mass of liquid silver roiled past. Hippos, monkeys, and a dozen species of birds feasted on the river’s life source. A giant reptilian monitor crawled out of the reeds and flashed his forked tongue. Twenty-four hours a day, every day of the year, the mighty Zambezi carries life across the heart of Africa.
In his vision, Ezekiel saw a river flowing from under God’s throne and across thirsty land. Ezekiel’s river was a spiritual abundance that turned back salty corruption.
Watching the Zambezi made me realize how virile is the grace of God. Nothing deters the flow. It rolls over deception and confusion. It breaks through man’s waywardness and every dam Satan might try. Day after day, grace marches deep and wide, silent and unstoppable across the arid sins of life.
Where grace flows, man may drink. I’m invited to lower to my knees in humility and slake my thirst, and then to immerse. Upon entering the mighty flow, I’m swept into holy living. I try to keep one foot on the shore, but there’s no staying put. I must abandon the world, float solely in grace, and let it carry my character to a new place.
No other source brings the life that flows with such unstoppable volume in the river of grace.
Prayer: Father, saturate me in grace.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
For we are his workmanship, having been created in Christ Jesus for good works that God prepared beforehand so we may do them. (Ephesians 2:10)
An invisible wave slammed my body, forcing its way through every molecule, front to back. The phenomenon stopped time for me, but left others moving in a blur. People fast-forwarded, trailing semitransparent colors.
A gentleman in a plaid vest hobbled along. Unlike the rushers, he was solid with sharp detail, existing in the realm into which I’d been pulled. He bent to pat a child on the head and the action froze in our dimension. The man’s tender hand on the curly head remained a living statue, vivid against the vaporous surroundings.
There were other such monuments to charity. Here was a mouth frozen in place as it spoke a kind word into an ear at the needed moment. There was a radiant cup of water caught as it passed through prison bars. They were testaments cemented through time in honor of good deeds.
Amidst the hurry of our world, there are moments when God’s will is played out into eternal solidity. Everything else is vain temporal haze. To a generation of rushers going nowhere fast, God’s pace seems painfully immobile. I seldom pray, wait, and trust, and yet, those are the keys to real progress.
It’s a mystery that God uses humans in his eternal accomplishments. He rejoices at making us the tools of his effort, thereby adding dignity to our lives. In response, I often start doing things for God on my own. But self wrought deeds only add to the useless fog.
I must wait for the Spirit’s direction and power. Only then does the next permanent act occur, effortlessly, and on the tick of the ordained second. A monument is erected in paradise. And God smiles.
Prayer: Sovereign One, I yield to the flow of your workmanship.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? (Matthew 27:46)
I stared over the edge of a precipice that dropped into despair. Behind me was the theory of peace with the God who cared. Wavering between the pit and the theory, I asked that God would speak. The returning silence sickened my heart.
With my toes over the edge, I examined thought trails down the cliff—did I have a purpose? Was joy snuffed by pain? The more I thought, the less clear was the difference between the silent God behind me, and the void of puzzles below. Insanity seemed the natural conclusion of reasonable contemplation.
It’s called the dark night of the soul. Both classical and contemporary teachers speak of times when God withholds his presence and forces us to depend on the promises of Scripture alone. It can last for days, months, even years. Often, the reasons our loving Father chooses to subject us to spiritual vacuums are only revealed much later.
For me, the nearness of Jesus flowed through the fuel line to my spirit until I took it for granted. When a bubble of deprivation slipped into the line, I sputtered and reeled, sucking on the air of my own thoughts. Too much thinking about me is always perilous. I experienced the pointlessness of life without an awareness of the Holy Spirit.
Teetering on the brink of that abyss, I smelled rancid breath calling me downward. It horrified me out of complacency. I fell to my knees and begged God to whisper. Then I waited, and waited some more.
The faintest movement of hope blew and I said, “Good enough, I’ll take it.”
Prayer: Father, may I never go into that night again, but if I do, even then will I trust you.