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- Written by: Don Goulding
But it is God who establishes us together with you in Christ and who anointed us, who also sealed us and gave us the Spirit in our hearts as a down payment. (2 Corinthians 1:21, 22)
Gray mud seemed to morph from the creek into the dormant trunk of a buckeye tree. Beneath the frost of late winter, there were no signs of life, only decomposed leaves and soggy mire. What was the point of hiking in this dead wilderness?
My gaze ran up the buckeye’s dry bark to the twigs rattling in the wind. Out on the tips, tiny buds pushed into the sky. They looked like bursts of green popcorn pasted on by a clumsy florist.
I asked myself how these verdant, silky eruptions of life could come from so dead a thing as the inert tree. The answer was that in the heart of the sleeping shell lived an ooze of sap carrying the life that was to come.
I am that tree—a dormant shell of the life that will explode out of me when heaven’s spring finally reaches earth. All I see now are muddy roots, gray trunk, and lifeless branches. But I can’t doubt the coming change.
I hold a guarantee. The proof is in the word of God, in the buckeye, and in my heart. Inside me, the Holy Spirit gives an oozing trace of the life that will be. He pushes the sap of joy through my dry bones and broken circumstances. That private little knowledge is my deposit—my hint of the rapture found before the throne.
A buckeye tree in dark winter scarcely resembles the beauty of the same creation in summer bloom. Likewise, it’s a mistake for me to judge myself, or others, by this present form. I mustn’t look at the corrupted shell. It’s the ooze of the Holy Spirit hiding inside that defines future life.
Eternal spring is around the corner. To compare my winter self to my summer self is to compare night to day, a caterpillar to its butterfly, a gray stump to the leafed out, emerald and white, flowering buckeye. I’ll still be me, but oh, what a glorious, Christ filled me.
Prayer: Sweet Spirit, thank you for your holy deposit inside me.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Do not be anxious about anything. Instead, in every situation, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, tell your requests to God. And the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6, 7)
Josef’s chocolate colored, Fijian cheeks bulge with kissable baby fat. The universe revolves around the dimples of his smile. But right now, the bridge of his wide nose is furrowed as he lets out a low pitched cry, like he’s trying to hold it in, but can’t. At two years old, Josef doesn’t have words for why he’s hurting. He doesn’t even know the reason himself. If he knew what it was, he couldn’t fix the problem anyway. He is totally dependent on his mother, Losana.
Losana hears her son’s wail, and recognizes the problem. She knows her precious boy better than he knows himself. He recently ate, but now he’s tired, and nothing in his world is right when fatigue hits his little body. Losana knows what Josef needs, long before he does.
God knows my needs better than Losana knows Josef’s. I complain and cry, but only he knows what my eternal soul must have, even when I can’t articulate it myself. He knows my history, my circumstances, and my heart. Even if I fully understood my problems, I can’t fix them. I am totally dependent on him.
God knows better than I do what should be done for me. But will I let him, or will I stiffen and wail? Which Josef am I? The dimpled, smiling one, or the contorted, bawling one? Peace or resistance—I can only choose one.
Prayer: Father, I am small and you are great.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is worthy of respect, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if something is excellent or praiseworthy, think about these things. (Philippians 4:8)
A seedy thought runs through my mind. A small fear, a bite of hate, a worldly itch. My conscience rebukes my imagination, and the thought scurries toward the door. Before the exit, it ducks into the shadow and sneaks around to the front of my ideas. Round and round the thought courses my synapses, cutting a path deeper with each lap. Soon, an obsession is born.
Some obsessions wear white coats. Family, sports, and music are gifts from God. But when they displace worship of Jesus, they are black obsessions in white coats. Most anything or anybody can become an obsession. Whatever we spend the most time thinking about is our obsession. We’re an obsessive people. We should wear name badges that say, hello, my name is … my obsession is …
Obsessiveness can also be our best trait.
Jesus Christ, the crucified King, who defines love, is the one pure target of my obsession. I want to let thoughts of him swirl around my mind. I want his sacrifice and his majesty to consume me. He accepts me as I am, stays at my side, and whispers words of correction with love—this is the mental cud I’m meant to chew.
There is only one who can fulfill me. He is the one who is true, worthy of respect, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent, and praiseworthy. Jesus is the one I’m to think about—my true obsession.
Prayer: Jesus, may I fixate on you alone.