- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
I tell you the truth, unless you turn around and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven! Whoever then humbles himself like this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. (Matthew 18:3, 4)
In light of Christ’s strong words, I went to my two-year-old grandson for advice on being childlike. I caught up with Jaden as he finished breakfast in his highchair.
When I asked Jaden about his future plans, he banged a spoon on his bowl to hear the ceramic ringing sound. Okay, so this child was absorbed in the present and not worried about the future.
Oh, that I might be so trusting of my Father’s watchcare that I’d relax into the present. Lesson one, a child trusts.
I asked Jaden what his joys were. The cherub cheeks puckered as he produced the word, “egem.” His mother interpreted this as “eggs.” He loves eggs. Information from other sources revealed he also enjoys playing with trucks, balls, and loves his bath. Whatever simple joys are available are what he delights in.
This insight cuts a sharp contrast to the schemes I hatch for increasing pleasures. Lesson two, a child is grateful.
I asked Jaden to list his accomplishments. The only reply was, “Uh oh.” I believe the response was more reflective of his immediate challenge with eggs on his spoon, than it was of chagrin for not having founded a charity, led a cause, or gained international acclaim. To cover his modesty, his mother rattled off a list—walking, sleeping all night, eating solid foods, a 250 word vocabulary.
When I compared Jaden’s list to mine, the accomplishment where he had an edge was in humbly receiving the love that surrounded him. According to Jesus, this is the accomplishment that matters. Lesson three, a child loves.
Prayer: Father, grant me the trusting, grateful, loving heart of a child.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
But I have stilled and quieted my soul; like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child is my soul within me. (Psalms 131:2) (NIV)
In the shade of a date palm, a Polynesian mother held her precious two-year-old at arm’s length. A vee shaped wrinkle spoiled the toddler's brow. He swung a fist, but the mom caught the impact in her hand, and cooed assurances.
“Sorry, precious boy. No more milk. It’s time for real food, so you can grow big and strong.”
Later, as the first stars found the sky, the pair sat side by side. The mother stroked her son’s face. They shared a new and deeper bond. The child was weaned. He chose to love the giver, and live without the gift.
There were blessings in this life I expected to receive. When they were withheld, my heart grew dark. I didn’t see that God tried to move me on to richer blessings.
Father knew that when I was done with my whys, my accusations, and my fists, I’d fall into the peace of new knowledge. I’d love the giver more than the gift. That’s the only kind of love that will carry me out of Christian infancy.
It’s distressing to realize that as a middle aged ministry professional, I still respond to losses like a two-year-old weaning from mother’s milk. My old nature refuses to focus on what I have in God, instead of what I’ve lost of the world.
God never takes something from us unless he holds out something better. But, that something is often eternal and not temporal. My little, baby, narrow self refuses to look to anything better than what I can see, taste, or touch. So God has to force the weaning, and I drag it out for painful years.
It’s time to let go of my loss, seek out God’s replacement, and grab hold of that larger blessing.
Prayer: Father, grant the peace of surrender to you.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
An evil man is rebellious to the core. He does not fear God, for he is too proud to recognize and give up his sin. (Psalms 36:1-2)
In the expanse of our universe the only real estate where I’m sovereign is in the space of my mind. I may influence my world, but I don’t have the final say. Even my body is subjected to restrictions. But in my head, I’m free to do as I please. No one contradicts my private thoughts. I can fantasize in any direction I choose.
Inside my little kingdom, I’m always the hero. Ineptness and weak character are dubbed endearing personality traits. Sinful contemplations run opposite the reality around me, and I don’t police my conclusions. I’m too proud to recognize and give up the sin hidden inside my head.
Even on the rare occasions I try to clean up my brain pollution, I can’t do it. My only hope is to deed my mental real estate to Jesus. Let him remove the rubbish. With his word, he rakes my ungodly thoughts. With his role model, he readies piles for destruction. With his love, he burns what doesn’t belong. I’ll give him ownership, then move aside like the renter that I am, and watch him work.
When Jesus has made some progress with my thoughts, I’ll have no room for self-righteous judgment of others. He does all the work. I’m left with nothing to do but beg for grace for myself, and others.
The hard truth is that I’m not a king. Not even in the space between my ears. Jesus is the only Sovereign in the universe, and it’s time the tiny bit of acreage in my head stops living in rebellion.
Prayer: High King Jesus, clean up my thoughts.