- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
For our momentary, light suffering is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison. (2 Corinthians 4:17)
“Tell them for me. Tell people what happened,” ten-year-old Tanaka rasped out her dying wish.
At age four, Tanaka was sold by her mother as a prostitute. When she was eight, she was rescued to a Zimbabwean orphanage. The fair skinned girl died of AIDS two years later.
My dog had a better earthly life than precious, beautiful Tanaka. So how do I reconcile the hell infested existence of a four-year-old daily rape victim to my soft life of ease? To pretend suffering is not real, or to think God ignores it, is to misunderstand reality. Pain is not initiated by God, nor is it permitted in his ordained future for his followers. It’s a aberration conjured by Satan and fallen humans working in collusion.
God is not bested. He transforms our brief earthly misery into opportunities for eternal glory. Jesus experienced both the pain of suffering, and the glory of paradise, and the two did not compare. Crucifixion pushed him down an inch, resurrection lifted him up a mile. The same exchange is planned for us.
Our God deals in justice and equity. Tanaka suffered in the strength of Jesus and now she is rewarded a thousandfold. God never forgot her torment. Instead, he used it for her glory, and his.
Prayer: Merciful Father, honor the downtrodden throughout eternity.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
Peter turned around and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them. (This was the disciple who had leaned back against Jesus’ chest at the meal and asked, “Lord, who is the one who is going to betray you.”) (John 21:20)
Knowing that Jesus was God incarnate, he shocks my notion of a distant Creator. I’m astounded he took children in his arms, let his feet be stroked with a sinful woman’s hair, and invited disciples to lean on his breast. I didn't expect this demonstration of intimate contact. It reminds me of the ancient stone architecture found in South America.
The Incas built walls using one hundred ton, angular stones that interlocked like jigsaw pieces. How the Indians maneuvered, shaped, and fitted the monoliths so closely that a razor blade can’t fit between them remains a mystery. About four kilometers away, archeologists have identified the quarry from which the blocks were hewn in the rough before dressing and fitting.
God found me buried deep inside the stone mountain of the world system. His generous eye measured out some potential in my raw form. By the work of the cross, he cut me free from the carnal mass in which I was forged. I was born anew, a being with a holy destiny. Yet, I was jagged and crude. Only God knew where I needed chipping so I might one day fit against the Cornerstone with absolute contact.
My edges still prevent me from nesting against my soul’s lover, and so the refinement continues. But the Lord is not forcing me into some mass-produced cube, so I’ll fit with the others. He wants the unique facets he created in me to interlock with him, for therein lies ultimate joy. He craves a surface to surface bond, so close no razor blade of unfulfillment can slip between us.
I yearn for that, too, and so I submit to the chisel.
Prayer: Thank you, Lord, for creating me for intimate contact with perfect you.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
But whenever you pray, go into your room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you. (Matthew 6:6)
I’m addicted, and I need my fix. Every day I sneak away for one-on-one time with the Creator of the universe. How could a frozen wanderer give up that patch of sunshine? Should I let deadlines, or travel, or guests invade our intimacy? Call me obsessive, but I’ll contrive a way to get what I crave.
It’s not that I’m disciplined—I’m desperate. When it comes to fighting temptation, I’m as weak as a trembling schoolgirl. Without a daily breath from the Lord, I’m sure to faint. So I draw near to him and inhale every morning, then I pray that puff will stay inside me all day.
Some years ago, the Lord led me to read two books by Christian role models who told how their lives changed when they had devotions at 5:00 a.m. I groaned and made a half-hearted commitment to try it. I didn’t set an alarm. The next few mornings I found myself awake at 5:00 a.m. and rose for my devotion time. Previously boring Scriptures now rang in my heart. On my face prayer emptied me of self, then filled me with the Spirit. Abba Father honored a sacrifice of time set apart while the world slept.
After several years, a new threat crept in. My mornings became disciplined for discipline’s sake, not for the Lord. Jesus wants obedience in joy, not a habit in drudgery. He knows I can’t live without our meetings, so now he sets the day’s schedule, which sometimes includes more than one quiet time.
That’s the secret compulsion I can’t shake. Inside my prayer closet, God gets on his knees, puts his mouth to my ear, and whispers his message. It’s an addiction I’ll never fight against.
Prayer: Lord, thank you for coming to me each day.