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Written by: Don Goulding

Published: 15 August 2022

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and the regaining of sight to the blind,
to set free those who are oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. (Luke 4:18, 19)

“Four of my children died before the age of five.” Tandiwe’s African head sank in grief. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder at the pudgy infant tied to her back. 

“Will she be next? Is God punishing me? Do you think a witch has done this?” A cesspool of bitter questions boiled from a stricken heart.

Most missionary newsletters focus on accomplishments—one hundred converts baptized, ribbon cut on the new building, discovery of a tribe that never heard of Jesus. Yes, God is at work in the spectacular, but he pours his heart into the pathetic. The content of God’s newsletter would be about the silent revival in confused, hurting souls.

I laid a hand on Tandiwe’s head, then listened for the Lord to show us how to minister. God’s word for the young mother came out of Romans, chapter eight. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor heavenly rulers, nor things that are present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

“Don’t misinterpret the deaths,” I said. “God has not abandoned you. No witch or demon can touch the souls of your babies.”

Tandiwe didn’t move. What we saw next was subtle. With those few words spoken, something happened in the deepest part of Tandiwe. She looked us in the eyes and lifted her shoulders. We witnessed a sacred moment as the silent revival resurrected another life.

This is the business God is about, all around us every day. If we’ll only tap into God’s silent revival, the power of a spiritual tsunami is available.

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Written by: Don Goulding

Published: 08 August 2022

For I decided to be concerned about nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified. (1 Corinthians 2:2)

The clouds below looked like cotton balls. Perhaps if our team jumped from the airplane, we’d only bounce. We were flying home from a missions trip in Hungary. Staring out the window, I was in the same spiritual funk I had experienced after my previous twenty-five foreign trips. We hadn’t changed the people. Our leaders had changed, the teens in our group matured, but we hadn’t penetrated the hearts of Eastern Europeans. We’d bounced.

At the beginning of the trip, on the flight across the Atlantic, I’d held a different attitude. I’d assumed I had much to give. After all, I had a heritage of spiritual freedom, years of biblical exposition, and cutting edge technology. In a word, I had pride—the sworn enemy of the Gospel.

Staring into the clouds after that twenty-sixth trip, I realized my way of living is no more significant than others. Affluence doesn’t equate to fulfillment. In fact, in the qualities of life that truly matter—trust, relationship, love—I lag behind.

My culture—the way I eat, speak, dress, even the way I worship—is nothing but a glass that holds the water of truth. The glass is not the truth, it’s merely the culture through which I hold and view truth. A cultural glass of some shape and coloration is necessary, but pride in that culture will disappear as I’m filled with truth.

The only pure culture exists in heaven, where God’s will is done in full. And the only mission that brought real cultural help was when Jesus came into our world. He is the water in the glass. What I take to others should be pure Jesus Christ. All the rest is useless cultural bias.

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Written by: Don Goulding

Published: 01 August 2022

… because we are not looking at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen. For what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:18)

Take a single atom and enlarge it to the size of a football stadium. The nucleus is in the center, and proportionately, it’s the size of a pearl. The electrons, far smaller than the nucleus, create a cloud shell at the perimeter of the stadium. The void between the pearl and the electrons is empty. Such is the amount of pressurized space in atoms, and atoms are the building blocks for our physical world.

The significance of this truth is that everything we encounter is made up almost entirely of space. Were we to remove the space from every atom in the earth, the compressed package would easily fit inside a football stadium.

I tend to conclude that the world I see, taste, touch, smell, and hear is solid. It’s not. Our existence is empty space, temporarily held in order by Christ. What is truly lasting is God’s kingdom. The values of that dominion shall govern our final destiny. Thus, love slices through human ambition, and peace is an iron wall to earth’s vaporous gains.

Praise God that I don’t have to live under the hopelessness that existence is over when Christ stops allocating the spaces. My temporary atomic body is occupied by my permanent eternal spirit. Therefore, the mission is to ready my spirit for the day my atoms will fall away. I’m given this time to replace whatever is corruptible with all that is Christlike.