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- Written by: Don Goulding
God is spirit, and the people who worship him must worship in spirit and truth. (John 4:24)
“Mr. Don, in Pakistan girls not learn bicycle.” Michelle looked at me with the brown eyes of a deer.
I was determined to give this child the thrill of cycling. I held on to the bike and ran after her, calling out winded advice. Michelle’s brothers watched me wear down until intervention was in order. They introduced the Middle Eastern method, which was to ride the bike myself, with the pupil perched in front, and let her gradually take over steering. It worked. Michelle quickly centered her weight, and felt the joy of gliding through space.
Cycling is learned experientially. You have to get on the thing and feel your way forward.
I spent much of my Christian life dodging encounters with the Holy Spirit. There was a nebulous fear that I might “fall off the bike” and look the fool, or it would take me someplace I never wanted to go. I satisfied myself with watching others, and judging their experiences.
In our age of reason we think we’ve given all when we mentally embrace the Trinity. But true worship requires more than a commitment of intellect. I must also lay my body, emotions, and spirit on the altar. A desire to have all of God finally drove me to step out from the sidelines and throw my leg over the bike, to learn experientially. With sweet reminiscence I can name the time and place where I first soared in the Spirit.
The body of Christ is diverse by design. It’s an error to conclude I worship in spirit and truth because someone else’s experiences have come to me. The correct measure is when I have moved out from behind my fears and said, “Unite with me, Lord, in whatever way you choose.” The deeper joy comes, not from receiving supernatural experiences, but from yielding to the Spirit of God.
Prayer: Sweet Spirit, break out of any limitations I have put on you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Those whom the Lord has ransomed will return;
they will enter Zion with a happy shout.
Unending joy will crown them,
happiness and joy will overwhelm them;
grief and suffering will disappear. (Isaiah 51:11)
My mind shoots up toward hope like a pinball, but then it U-turns back to despair. Thoughts arc through God’s sweet zone, only to succumb to the gravity of carnal habits and a bitter outlook.
Joy is the byproduct of obedience. Therefore, it is a choice. I can watch idly as my mind falls into negativity, or use the flippers and bumpers to propel myself upward. Under my right hand is the paddle of God’s word. Press that button and the bright promises of forgiveness and paradise launch my heart up to hope, where it belongs. In my left hand is prayer—reflexive taps send every temptation up the sovereignty ramp. Then there are the bumpers of praise, fellowship, and songs. Father gave me ample resources to keep my heart out of the gloom.
Joy is the natural disposition of God’s creation. Only here in this earthly pastime, does hell’s curse of negativity hold sway. We were not created for this box—for the downward pull of darkness. Our spiritual genetics are joy. We inherited that from our Father, who is joy.
The epicenter of all realms is God’s throne, surrounded by rejoicing creatures. We were meant to be permanent celebrants at that party, but Satan antagonized us into cashing in our birthright through disobedience. God couldn’t endure the death of our joy, so he gave us another chance through Jesus. He gave us the pinball game and free will to choose how we play.
One day Christ will lead me out of these arcade confines and into a place without physical or spiritual gravity. Nothing bad will tug on me, and I’ll float in God’s bliss. Until then, I have the levers, paddles, and bumpers to roll my heart back and forth over joy.
Prayer: Heavenly Father, I choose you, I choose joy.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
See what sort of love the Father has given to us: that we should be called God’s children- and indeed we are! (1 John 3:1)
I loved her. She was the apple of my eye. But she ran, skipped, and sang in her own bubble of contentment. I didn’t exist in her world. Then, right before I awoke, the small girl flashed a dimpled smile, and ran into my arms. That hug clung to me after I rose and went to my prayer room.
“You are that child,” the Holy Spirit said to my heart.
The dream allowed me to taste God’s heartache. He dotes on me, and I barely acknowledge him. All he wants is a return of a few drops of the love that throbs all through his heart. Dour service offered out of guilt is not what he’s after. There’s no need for another stone-faced sap earning his way toward heaven. It’s when I come as a joy filled child, vulnerable and dependent, that God flings his arms wide.
No father, especially the heavenly one, can resist a child spinning wildly, squealing in delight, and locking their eyes on him at every turn—as if to say, “Hi, I still love you.” God never rebuffs enthusiasm and adoration as he does pride and self-sufficiency.
My heavenly Father has an unjustified predisposition to choose me. With reckless love, I am in his heart and on his mind. He protects me and laughs with me. He’s infatuated with my joy.
God only wants a wink, a giggle, or a blown kiss as his child turns. How can I help but take time to make his heart happy? I want to dance to him, and relax with him. Most of all, I want to quit pretending I’m all grown up and just be his child.
Prayer: Abba (Daddy) Father, I love you.