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- Written by: Don Goulding
Like a lamb led to the slaughtering block,
like a sheep silent before her shearers,
he did not even open his mouth. (Isaiah 53:7)
I was bent over the bed, bare bottom exposed. “You,” here Dad stopped to administer a smack with the belt, “…will,” another pause and another swat, “…never,” spank, “…lie...”
Before the next stroke came, I stood bolt upright, yanked up my pants, and said, “Okay, I’ll never lie again.”
Needless to say, there were more swats to follow.
At Jesus’s flogging, each stroke came with a word that imparted my sin—hatred (crack), gossip (thump), hypocrisy (crunch). Then came the nails—evil thoughts (clang), pettiness (ching). I’m so glad he didn’t stop in the middle and say, “Okay, enough.” Instead, he remained silent, and absorbed every last, sin.
Jesus voluntarily remained on the cross as he was beaten, until he was no longer recognizable. He remained utterly silent as he was maimed for my sin. That silence knifes a truth to my heart—mature love is absorbent. With every cut of the whip, and each thud in his face, he took on more of my villainy.
Now, here I am, trying to love as I have been loved. I wrestle with temptation and struggle with trials, but the most difficult test is absorbing the evil of others. Can I be gracious when they cause injury with intent? Can I enter their world of pain and draw some of it away? Do I have absorbent love?
A dry sponge only pushes spills around. It must first be saturated, then wrung out. I’m of no use to God until I’m saturated with an awareness of my own guilt, and then have it wrung out of me by the work of the cross. I’m left emptied of my sin, but humble, malleable, and absorbent to others.
Prayer: Father, let me be a sponge in your hand, ready to absorb.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Give us today our daily bread. (Matthew 6:11)
The biographies of Hudson Taylor and George Muller planted a bomb in my heart. These revolutionary Christians took God literally about depending on him for daily bread. I couldn’t ignore the ticking—I had to confront my own lack of trust.
Transportation was a good place to start. For thirty years, when I wanted to go somewhere, I never depended on supernatural intervention. I jumped in my car and went. This would be my experiment of radical trust.
I sold my snazzy yellow truck and bought a bicycle. Whenever I needed to go beyond the range of my bike, I prayed. God answered, and with bonuses.
An arranged ride left me waiting in front of the church. Then a family confrontation exploded around a dear friend, and he randomly fled to the church. There I was, sitting on the curb. We prayed. He healed. With a car, I would have missed that divine appointment. My ride came, and we got to our destination to find the people there were behind schedule. So we were right on time.
A few days later, I realized there was an important meeting the following day.
“Well, Lord, I guess this is your sign I need to get wheels of my own,” I prayed.
Not ten minutes after the amen, I discovered a note from my wife. If you need my car tomorrow you can use it because I’m working from home.
Every time I pray, I get one of two results. Either, A) I don’t really need the trip or, B) a means of transportation is available.
Rather than defuse the bomb, my transportation experiment made it tick louder. In what other areas of my life have I missed seeing God’s provision? Now that I know it’s possible, I have to find new ways to trust.
Prayer: Father, lead me to the next level with you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Blessed are those whose lawless deeds are forgiven, and whose sins are covered; blessed is the one against whom the Lord will never count sin. (Romans 4:7, 8)
My life is broken. It cycles like this—sin, languish, repent, back to sin. To say I never backslide is to expose my misunderstanding of the definition of sin.
The truly dangerous part of the cycle is languishing. That’s where sin multiplies. Wallowing in the swamp of self defeat, thick with guilt and disappointment, I’m disgusted with myself, and figure God must be repulsed too. The mud sucks at my feet, holding me from repentance. My thoughts run to, I may as well stay and give in.
A bridge gleams with rays of gold over the mire. Its name is Grace. It was the most expensive bridge ever constructed, and also the most useful. I’m invited to skip directly from sin to repentance. I don’t have to spend another minute in the bog of languish.
The bridge is proof that I was wrong about God hating me. Even at the height of my rebellion, Father God loved me. As I still love my two-year-old child when she misbehaves, God, too, never pulls his love back. He wants me near him, even after I sin. That’s why he paid for the bridge—to carry me from sin to himself as fast as possible.
The rules of the bridge are simple. After I cross over, stop condemning myself and start thanking God. Stop acting self-sufficient, and start expecting Jesus to get me out of sin. Stop living for temporal pleasure, and start living for eternal love.
Above all, when I sin—and I will sin—be an adult about it. Get up, dust myself off, and run across the bridge to repentance. Bypass languish altogether.
Prayer: Father, when I sin, help me return to you.