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- Written by: Don Goulding
He will restore us in a very short time; he will heal us in a little while, so that we may live in his presence. (Hosea 6:2)
The cold tile of the hotel bathroom floor was a poor consolation for being too sick to crawl back to bed. I had food poisoning extraordinaire. Oddly, it’s a cherished memory because, as I curled up by the porcelain convenience, the Lord led me to an experiment. I invited his Spirit to join with mine. His presence spread across my heart, and I leaned into it. As each wave of pain washed in, I matched it with an exerted concentration on the nearness of Jesus.
That experience changed me. My heart declared my Savior was bigger than my pain. Suffering by itself couldn’t accomplish this. I had to take the beauty of God’s felt presence, and force it into the teeth of suffering. It allowed me to witness love and pain in face-to-face combat, and to see love win.
That was a minor trial, but any hurt, big or small, will yield to the reversal. Everything, from rejection to the death of a dear one, can become time in the closet pressed against Jesus. In fact, an injury not processed in his presence will leave an open wound in the soul. Only an embrace of the Holy Spirit can cover our exposed nerves with scar tissue that is stronger than the original skin.
Where was my spirit molested? Through prayer, I must relive that moment and, at the height of the devastation, turn to the Lord’s presence. His peace wafts through my soul. Then I shove the victory of God’s greater love into the face of my memory monster. This discipline reveals a truth missed during the original trauma—Jesus, the Comforter, was with me. The force of his presence drives the beast out of my heart.
The event is a nightmare I can shake off, because the love of Christ is my waking reality.
Prayer: Jesus, let me process every trial by the power of your presence.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
He answered, “I tell you, if they keep silent, the very stones will cry out.” (Luke 19:40)
At 4:00 a.m. I batted spiderwebs, and pushed my way into the black Fijian jungle. The source of intense chirping was near. It woke us every night, and I wanted to know, was it a frog, a bird, or what? The voice maintained a steady pulse—a one second whistle, then a one second rest—but the pitch rose to a fevered urgency. There, in a clump of secondary plants intertwined with a massive tree, the animal trumpeted his presence. He was high in the canopy, though, and I’d never know who filled the night air with his zealous call.
A biologist would probably listen to my mystery creature and say something like, “That’s a male Oceanic Warblecryer, calling for a mate.”
The scientist would be right, but I hear more. I hear another declaration as the animals of the earth squawk, croak, or roar. The same statement is made throughout nature, repeated in a myriad of voices. Planets circle their orbits, ocean surf booms, and cardiac pulses beat—all with redundancy that’s humorous, once you start listening. I hear them filling our time governed existence with a single message, “Our Creator is great.”
Jesus said that, if necessary, the stones would cry out to glorify him. So take a calcite rock for example. Because of its atomic bond pattern, it breaks into rhombohedral chunks. No matter how small you break the pieces, they will be rhombohedral. While they don’t do squat to heal humans, crystals, and even stones, declare the genius of their maker by their elegant structure.
Scientists will analyze nature’s repeating themes and see fundamental laws of physics at work. Artists will recognize beauty and passion, while philosophers may point to the logical necessity of repetition as an increase in the potential to thrive. What I hear are the stones, and every other created thing, shouting out the glory of God.
Prayer: Mighty God, I join all of nature to extoll you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
For you need endurance in order to do God’s will and so receive what is promised. (Hebrews 10:36)
Fir, alder, and maple forest surround my father’s house in Washington State. Among the woodland critters are cliff swallows that, year after year, attempt to build mud nests above Dad’s door. For a while, he allowed the birds to summer there, but it was a bad location for all the parties. The chicks were subjected to human traffic, and the humans were dive-bombed with objectionable matter.
Every spring, Dad goes on swallow alert. A comical war is waged as he washes down any mud beginnings. Eventually, the birds relocate to the nearby trees and sea cliffs. It would appear Dad is more persistent, but the swallows are driven by deep instinct, and they’ll be back another year.
You and I have a deep instinct to unite with our Creator. That hope drives us. No matter how many times our nest of faith is knocked down, we rebuild. We can’t give up on Christ, for as Peter said, where would we go? No one else has the words of eternal life.
True endurance is more than maintaining the status quo. To stop running toward Christ on the treadmill of faith is to be swept back into unbelief. Even to stay in the one place of trusting Jesus requires an expenditure of calories. The longer we live with our heartaches, the harder it is to trust, because no answer appears to be forthcoming. Every day that I wake up and say, “In spite of all that is wrong, I’ll trust the Lord,” I’m enduring more than the day before.
I want to stubbornly rebuild my faith after every wash down, and be found doing so when Jesus returns.
Prayer: Mighty Savior, grant me joyous endurance, again today.