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- Written by: Don Goulding
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is worthy of respect, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if something is excellent or praiseworthy, think about these things. (Philippians 4:8)
A seedy thought runs through my mind. A small fear, a bite of hate, a worldly itch. My conscience rebukes my imagination, and the thought scurries toward the door. Before the exit, it ducks into the shadow and sneaks around to the front of my ideas. Round and round the thought courses my synapses, cutting a path deeper with each lap. Soon, an obsession is born.
Some obsessions wear white coats. Family, sports, and music are gifts from God. But when they displace worship of Jesus, they are black obsessions in white coats. Most anything or anybody can become an obsession. Whatever we spend the most time thinking about is our obsession. We’re an obsessive people. We should wear name badges that say, hello, my name is … my obsession is …
Obsessiveness can also be our best trait.
Jesus Christ, the crucified King, who defines love, is the one pure target of my obsession. I want to let thoughts of him swirl around my mind. I want his sacrifice and his majesty to consume me. He accepts me as I am, stays at my side, and whispers words of correction with love—this is the mental cud I’m meant to chew.
There is only one who can fulfill me. He is the one who is true, worthy of respect, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent, and praiseworthy. Jesus is the one I’m to think about—my true obsession.
Prayer: Jesus, may I fixate on you alone.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
I tell you the truth, unless you turn around and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven! Whoever then humbles himself like this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. (Matthew 18:3, 4)
In light of Christ’s strong words, I went to my two-year-old grandson for advice on being childlike. I caught up with Jaden as he finished breakfast in his highchair.
When I asked Jaden about his future plans, he banged a spoon on his bowl to hear the ceramic ringing sound. Okay, so this child was absorbed in the present and not worried about the future.
Oh, that I might be so trusting of my Father’s watchcare that I’d relax into the present. Lesson one, a child trusts.
I asked Jaden what his joys were. The cherub cheeks puckered as he produced the word, “egem.” His mother interpreted this as “eggs.” He loves eggs. Information from other sources revealed he also enjoys playing with trucks, balls, and loves his bath. Whatever simple joys are available are what he delights in.
This insight cuts a sharp contrast to the schemes I hatch for increasing pleasures. Lesson two, a child is grateful.
I asked Jaden to list his accomplishments. The only reply was, “Uh oh.” I believe the response was more reflective of his immediate challenge with eggs on his spoon, than it was of chagrin for not having founded a charity, led a cause, or gained international acclaim. To cover his modesty, his mother rattled off a list—walking, sleeping all night, eating solid foods, a 250 word vocabulary.
When I compared Jaden’s list to mine, the accomplishment where he had an edge was in humbly receiving the love that surrounded him. According to Jesus, this is the accomplishment that matters. Lesson three, a child loves.
Prayer: Father, grant me the trusting, grateful, loving heart of a child.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
But I have stilled and quieted my soul; like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child is my soul within me. (Psalms 131:2) (NIV)
In the shade of a date palm, a Polynesian mother held her precious two-year-old at arm’s length. A vee shaped wrinkle spoiled the toddler's brow. He swung a fist, but the mom caught the impact in her hand, and cooed assurances.
“Sorry, precious boy. No more milk. It’s time for real food, so you can grow big and strong.”
Later, as the first stars found the sky, the pair sat side by side. The mother stroked her son’s face. They shared a new and deeper bond. The child was weaned. He chose to love the giver, and live without the gift.
There were blessings in this life I expected to receive. When they were withheld, my heart grew dark. I didn’t see that God tried to move me on to richer blessings.
Father knew that when I was done with my whys, my accusations, and my fists, I’d fall into the peace of new knowledge. I’d love the giver more than the gift. That’s the only kind of love that will carry me out of Christian infancy.
It’s distressing to realize that as a middle aged ministry professional, I still respond to losses like a two-year-old weaning from mother’s milk. My old nature refuses to focus on what I have in God, instead of what I’ve lost of the world.
God never takes something from us unless he holds out something better. But, that something is often eternal and not temporal. My little, baby, narrow self refuses to look to anything better than what I can see, taste, or touch. So God has to force the weaning, and I drag it out for painful years.
It’s time to let go of my loss, seek out God’s replacement, and grab hold of that larger blessing.
Prayer: Father, grant the peace of surrender to you.