- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
… How faint is the whisper we hear of him! (Job 26:14)
To my right, gentle freshets rang as they jumped across moss covered rocks. I stood on a bridge, and the creek slid beneath my feet to resume its jig on the left. There was no one to comment on the eccentricity of my standing stock still, wearing a look of pained concentration. Curiosity led me to experiment, focusing my hearing toward one side, and then the other, without moving my head. By sheer focus I could switch channels at will.
On the left, were the incessant plops of a boy rolling marbles down the crease of his book into a fishbowl. Much softer, on the right side, came the applause of a crowd small enough to pick out individual claps.
The two sides of the bridge might represent God’s kingdom and the world. By the exercise of my will, I choose which domain I hear. The loud crashes of the world tend to drown out the whispers of heaven.
The invisible kingdom surrounds me—it is more real, more permanent, and more my home than the visible. Yet, the Holy Spirit’s gossamer words are meant for spiritual ears, and mine are scarcely functional. The subtlety of the encounter is redeemed by the intensity of its tranquility. I am left with an unshakable desire for more of God’s kingdom.
It’s a comfort to know that no matter where I am or what distractions clamor, I can be still and hear ultimate love carried on unseen breezes.
Prayer: Beautiful Holy Spirit, touch me with your sweet presence.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
“The wind blows wherever it will, and you hear the sound it makes, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” (John 3:8)
I pushed my toes into the white sand of an island off the coast of Belize in Central America. A towheaded missionary boy made a sailboat from half a coconut shell and a stick mast that skewered a leaf. It was a pastoral sight—the tan child grinning as his invention skittered across the lagoon and disappeared into the blue horizon.
What I couldn’t see was the wind that carried the tiny craft. I knew neither the source nor the destination of that enchanted breeze. Nevertheless, the boat’s progress, and the boy’s smile, were positive testimonies to its presence.
The Holy Spirit is a breeze blowing empowerment and fragrant joy. This wind leaves flags and trees untouched and is only seen when receptive hearts flutter.
Oh, that I might have a responsive heart. For frustrating years I pointed my boat where I thought it should go, and prayed for God to move it. Not much happened.
The success of the coconut boat was in its bowl shaped hull that created no resistance in any direction. It zigzagged in response to every wisp. That’s where I need to be, finished with my worldly ballast and my rudder of self-direction, and responsive to every whim of the Spirit.
The pinnacle of my island serenity was the boy’s grin. He held no expectations for his creation’s progress. The coconut danced with the wind, and the boy rejoiced.
Likewise, God poses no demands for accomplishments from my own power. He only wants me to raise my sail and allow my boat to be carried by him. Then he smiles.
Prayer: Holy Spirit, help me respond to your every breath.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
For he will deliver the needy who cry out,
the afflicted who have no one to help.
He will take pity on the weak and the needy
and save the needy from death.
He will rescue them from oppression and violence,
for precious is their blood in his sight. (Psalms 72:12-14) (NIV)
A rickety bus dropped our team where pavement gave way to ruts. This was a Muslim slum in Abidjan, Côte d’Ivoire, Africa. The schoolroom filled with those wanting to learn English, in hopes it would edge them out of poverty. There were demure women, glassy eyed men, and eager children whose disillusionment would only come later.
Outside the classroom, my heart grieved at the sight below, a sea of corrugated steel huts and plastic tarps over mud walls. There might have been one hundred thousand souls crowded into that valley. Sewage waited in gutters for the next storm.
“Not long ago,” a resident pointed to the hovels, “soldiers stood here and shot at the refugees. Used them for target practice.”
I gasped, then grew nauseous.
When I look behind the tourist photos in developing nations and realize how the masses live, it’s difficult to continue.
What keeps me going is the knowledge that the horror covering the majority of our earth does not go unnoticed by the Great Rewarder. In that valley in Abidjan were drops of unjustly spilled blood that were precious to God. The great Jehovah is not one to sit by without action. Soon, just around the corner of our era, the Lord God will rescue the downtrodden who cry out to him, and anoint them with eternal blessings through Christ.
It is this coming reality that inspires me to help the needy now, to treat them with the dignity demanded for sons and daughters of the Most High King. There will be a final reckoning and I’m accountable for my contributions to their misery by my action, or inaction. Staying home to lick my own wounds is not an option, not while they’re out there still suffering today.
Prayer: Father of Justice, use me to love your mistreated children.