- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain. Now if I am to go on living in the body, this will mean productive work for me, yet I don’t know which I prefer. (Philippians 1:21, 22)
“Please stop talking about death. I don’t like the thought of you leaving without me.” My wife decreed her moratorium on the subject.
Earlier in the week, I’d performed a memorial service for a deceased saint, which left me consumed with thoughts about paradise. To lock our sights on heaven is healthy, but I was ignoring a bigger reality.
The Bible discloses our life process. Once we accept God’s adoption, we’re marked as seed for inside the gates of the New Jerusalem. From adoption until death, refinements into Christlikeness pack genetic material into our seed. At resurrection, we burst into our full spiritual creation, patterned by the earthly kernel.
When my seed is called up for planting, these days will seem precious and few. More accurately, I’ll realize my earthly longevity was balanced between mercifully short and opportunely long.
My wife is right I can’t go yet. I’d transform to a feeble sapling. But even that would be okay, because I’d rather be a sprout in God’s courts than a giant sequoia trapped on earth.
Hallelujah, because I’ve been gifted a double blessing. The Lord gives me today to ready my seed, and eternity to celebrate the fruit of what he does in me. I have one undeserved honor stacked atop another.
Prayer: Lord, may every moment of every day be used to honor you into eternity.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
It is fitting to thank the Lord, and to sing praises to your name, O sovereign One! It is fitting to proclaim your loyal love in the morning, and your faithfulness during the night. (Psalms 92:1, 2)
I was skiing much faster than prudence and my meager ability would advise. My body, skis, and poles exploded into a cloud of white powder. The crash dislocated a shoulder, and my world went upside down with pain. Dani raced me to the hospital. The moment the doctors reset the humerus into its socket, relief swept my being.
I sometimes fly my spiritual life out of control. I leave my Bible unopened, and fail to draw on Jesus. Then an unexpected enticement tumbles me into sinful failure. The bones of my soul are knocked out of joint, and dysfunction taints every part of life.
I’m grateful the remedy is always available. It’s a cure that resets my dislocated spirit into rightness. The Rx is praise. Whenever I administer a dose of praise, my soul is swept with relief.
No life activity is truer than to extol God. The Lord is the definition of goodness, and when we praise him, we push aside all things defiled by imperfection to identify with ultimate good. In heaven and earth alike, created beings synchronize with the deepest reality when they glorify their Maker.
My ego convinces me my time is too important to waste in idle praise. Pride says, “God needs action and results.” Silly Pride, he forgets that Jesus already completed all the work on my behalf. While good deeds that bubble over from gratitude are vital, any time spent trying to earn God’s love would be far better invested by reposing on my bed in joyous praise.
Prayer: It is good to praise the LORD, O Most High, to proclaim your love.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace. (Numbers 6:24-26) (NIV)
One by one, the African pastors of each denomination pressed through the crowd to take a turn at praying for revival. A man, wearing a red and white clerical dress over his clothes, popped free of the crowd. He bowed in humility with a genuflect-like hand gesture, and began praying. Intercession gushed out to flood God’s feet with his pleas. His language was unintelligible to me, yet I knew heaven devoured every syllable.
The fact that this warrior was dressed as Alice in Wonderland did not soften his face. His brow was a bulwark, jutting forward in strength. Rock steady eyes drilled heaven from where they were set above flared nostrils and exotic cheekbones. His mouth was more than a hole with lips—it was a living organ that visibly shaped words as a potter throws clay. I sat transfixed by this fierce black face, engaged in the holy warfare of prayer.
The face is the portal for our being. Perception and stimuli flow in, and expression and conviction pour out. Here is the epicenter of life energy. It’s no wonder Moses was told that no man could see the face of God and live (Ex. 33:20). Who could endure an encounter with the nuclear reactor of so much glory? The hurricane of purity that blasts from the face of God sweeps away every debris of evil. What hope do I—with evil stirred all through me—have of standing before the face of God?
There is only one being in the universe capable of the following feat—He grabs hold of the face of the Almighty and says, “Father, please look at my friend.” He turns God’s face to gaze on me, and, as long as Jesus holds his Father’s face, beams of grace blend with the consuming light of glory. I don’t melt. Rather, I’m saturated with blessing under the stare of the Holy God.
Prayer: Father, through Jesus I revel in the worship of your face.