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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.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Then Haggai, the Lord’s messenger, spoke the Lord’s word to the people: “I am with you!” says the Lord. (Haggai 1:13)
I was on walkabout, as it’s called in Africa. The goal was a knobby peak about three hundred meters high. After climbing to the top, I tried a different route home. Hours later, I was lost. The last of my water was gone, and I slumped under a flat topped msasa tree.
“Lord, I can’t walk anymore. Where are you when I need you?”
I didn’t see where he came from, but a native smiled at me. He spoke no English, I spoke no Shona. He waited as though he wanted me to follow, so I rose and we walked together.
The circular logo on his hat read, “The Voice of God.” I pointed to the hat and asked about his faith. He raised a finger heavenward and grinned.
For many kilometers we shared unspoken camaraderie, as his pace encouraged mine.
The word angel means messenger of, or speaker for, God. Was that the same as the voice of God? It was time to get bold.
“I suppose you’re an angel sent to help me, but you’re not allowed to tell me?”
He smiled.
After the turn that put me on the right path, my new friend waved, swished into the savannah grass, and I saw him no more. We may not have been from the same species—his possibly being angelic—but I felt an overwhelming sense of fellowship with God’s own. I knew the Lord was with me.
Everyplace dirt holds believers up, God sends out his message, “I will never leave you and I will never abandon you” (Hebrews 13:5). Sometimes he uses angels, at other times it’s a song, or Bible verse, but the message is always the same, “I am with you.”
Prayer: Lord, thank you for your nearness.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
This is what the Sovereign LORD says: I am about to desecrate my sanctuary—the stronghold in which you take pride, the delight of your eyes, the object of your affection. (Ezekiel 24:21) (NIV)
When I was seven, Dad modified a used bicycle for me. He added a horizontal bar to make it into a boy’s bike and installed training wheels.
I jumped in excitement. It didn’t take long to outgrow the training wheels, and they were removed. Next came the dismount. I developed a system of circling our cul-de-sac and yelling, “Mom,” until she ran out and grabbed the bike so I didn’t fall over.
Now my heavenly Father is teaching me to pedal a faith that doesn’t need earthly affections. One by one he knocks away the training wheels until I am cruising on faith alone.
God told the Israelites he was about to desecrate the temple, the object of their affection. A temple was a sacred place ordained by God himself, but he was to be the target of their affections, not his temple. There are many wholesome gifts from God—family, ministries, traditions—but when my affections rest on them, instead of on the Lord, they are training wheels to remove.
Father asked me if he was enough for me. When I said yes, he asked me to quit my career so it wouldn’t come between us. Then he asked me to sell a beautiful house, then to leave a pastorate I enjoyed. He desecrated my temples. Today he asks me to hold ministry plans loosely so they don’t become the targets of my primary affection.
Affections are like pigeons seeking a place to land. Remove the tree and they’ll settle on the bench, remove the bench and they’ll circle around to the statue. My affections are always looking for something to land on, and I have to make sure they rest only on Jesus.
Prayer: Savior, remove my affections for everything except you.