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- Written by: Don Goulding
Indeed, the Lord who commands armies has a plan, and who can possibly frustrate it? His hand is ready to strike, and who can possibly stop it. (Isaiah 14:27)
My sins, even the small ones, are an anathema to God. He loves me, but detests my treason.
“Do not do that,” he said.
I did it in his face.
Holy wrath stirs, and the mighty hand rises. It’s not some future event, it’s already moving against my anarchy. The hand is poised, twitching with readiness to sweep me into the hellfire I deserve. Yet it pauses. For a brief moment in history, it hovers. It is the moment of grace.
During the moment of grace, the hand of wrath is redirected against Jesus. By his wounds I am healed. I may run to the place of his punishment, and claim it as my own.
Because of the divine substitution, the outstretched hand will not harm me. It becomes a hand of protection. I take shelter beneath its reach, and love overshadows me. At the great judgment, the hand will fall against sin, but not against me. The wrath I deserve has long been spent on my Savior.
God warned of his intention, many times over. Now, the hand is outstretched, ready to slam down. To pretend everything is okay with man’s sin is to inflict the worst cruelty on the unsaved. I must cling to Jesus, and call others to do the same.
The hand will strike. Be ready!
Prayer: God of compassion, extend the moment of grace to save many.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ…Pray that I may proclaim it clearly, as I should. (Colossians 4:3, 4) (NIV)
The throbbing music that opened the service set a sharp contrast to the dead zone we now entered. Zimbabweans sat under the thatched ceiling, while the last sentence of my sermon fell dead on the church floor. I fumbled for my chair, and no one knew what to do. Finally, a farm worker offered closing words in Shona.
Lord, I’m sorry, it was a bad message, I prayed. But I lifted my head to see people slipping into a line spanning the front of the sanctuary.
“Brother, these people would like to accept Christ,” the farmer whispered.
I stared in unbelief, then realized that friends at home had been praying.
Regardless of the ineptitude of the messenger, when people pray, ministry happens. Every time I ask churches, prayer teams, and Internet contacts to plead for God’s help, wild, holy fun swirls through the heavenly realms.
To labor without prayer cover is to stand naked before the laughter of demonic hordes. But when dear servants of Jesus pray, I find I’m moving inside a bubble of spiritual potency. Unforeseen challenges still carry the bubble hither and yon, but, wherever it ends up, good things come about. Travel works out, divine appointments happen, boldness infuses my speech, hearts open, and the kingdom expands. Inside the bubble is heaven’s electricity.
Prayers like, “Lord, bless our pastor and all the missionaries,” are not much help. We need intercessors to step into the authority of Jesus and battle against the darkness in and around us.
The quiet warrior who lays prostrate in a hidden room, interceding for those who minister, causes a clash in the heavenly realms. The soldier battles until he knows the victory has gone to our King.
Some go and preach, some stay and pray, and the combination is as beautiful as it is unstoppable.
Prayer: Oh Lord, what an honor to partner in your field with prayer warriors.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
And we all, with unveiled faces reflecting the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another, which is from the Lord, who is the Spirit. (2 Corinthians 3:18)
I’m an onion.
The pungent sharpness of my personality stings the eyes of those around me. The other day I used words to slap down my son’s friendly conversation. When I later apologized, he didn’t recall the event. That only demonstrates the numbness he had to adopt to cope with my reek.
When God created man He said, “Let us make man in our image, in our likeness.” That likeness was nothing less than magnificent. Then sin corrupted our human splendor. The disease of rebellion infects every one of us.
Because the blood of Jesus cleanses me from all sin, I’m a saved onion. Every layer of my personality stands before God, redeemed. But the only thing more rancid than a human onion is one who accepts the gift of salvation, then continues to sit in his own foul odor. So Jesus offers to deonion me. It’s a painful process, but it’s the only way to replace my stench with his sweet aroma.
I must spend time alone with God’s word every day, and submit to the removal of the never-ending layers of my old self. My oniony heart has to be held under the Spirit’s influence until he tugs off the next sticky fault. Gradually, the clinging bonds of pride, self-centeredness, and fretfulness peel away. They yield to love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. It’s a lifelong process of replacing rotting personality traits with the fruit of God’s sweet character.
I return to the process day after day, because I really don’t like the smelly old me—apparently, no one else does either. How clean and right it feels to be transformed into his likeness with ever increasing glory.
Prayer: Lord Jesus, make me like you and don’t stop until it is done.