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- Written by: Don Goulding
For everyone who does evil deeds hates the light and does not come to the light, so that their deeds will not be exposed. But the one who practices the truth comes to the light, so that it may be plainly evident that his deeds have been done in God. (John 3:20-21)
Six-year-old Alexis ran giggling into her pastor’s arms, only to pinch her nose and say, “Pee yew, stinky breath.”
I was the pastor.
A three-year-old boy named Mateo was one of my best friends in Fiji, even though he often sat on my lap just so he could play with the waddle under my chin.
Children are painfully honest. They haven’t yet adopted our jaded and guarded worldview.
For us adults, the joy of living inside the bright circle of truth is only for the few who tenaciously pursue honesty. I must fully admit my past, present, and future mistakes. Sin left in the dark breeds a fungal power over my heart.
I must confess to myself first, and that with the brutal honesty of Alexis and Mateo. Second, I confess to God for forgiveness (1 John 1:9), because I need forgiveness more than I need my next breath. Finally, I go to a church shepherd, counselor, or partner who prays for my release from the secret’s bondage (James 5:16).
I’ve learned the hard way that blabbing my specific sins to everyone only gives the devil fodder for greater evil. But the fungus of shame will continue to plague me until the secret passes out of my mouth. So I must find a praying confidant and disclose every shred of guilt, nothing held back.
Honest living requires monumental work, but the reward is a return to the pure freedom of a child’s heart. And who wouldn’t want to live with the joy of Alexis and Mateo?
Prayer: Lord Jesus, help me live honestly in your light.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity to indulge your flesh, but through love serve one another. (Galatians 5:13)
I walked through San Francisco’s financial district wearing a custom tailored, sage-green suit. To the casual onlooker, I had the mark of success. I owned a respected business, loved a beautiful family, and gave liberally to charity. It was the American Christian dream.
In reality I was in bondage to the world system. I was a free son of the Most High God, voluntarily performing hard labor for my former warden. When Satan said worry, I lost sleep fretting. When he said act selfishly, I squandered my dignity on guilty pleasures. I had only given God my past and future, the devil controlled my present.
There are two brands of freedom. Only two. Freedom to serve a loving God or freedom to be enslaved to a vengeful devil. The version of freedom where we serve ourselves is false marketing, it’s Satan’s brand repackaged.
When I live within God’s moral boundaries, I’m liberated to love and dance inside a safely fenced yard. Those outside my protective barrier wag their heads and say I’m too hemmed in. But I tried living out there. I was tied up in fretfulness, snared by human acceptance, and a marionette beneath temporal pleasure.
I say, “No thank you,” to the devil’s brand. I am running to the one who calls me into his playground of freedom.
Prayer: Jesus, I choose freedom in you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
… Jesus stood up and shouted out, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink. Just as the scripture says, ‘From within him will flow rivers of living water.’” (John 7:37-38)
I looked out of the mission house in Zimbabwe to see twelve-year-old Pauline skipping up the driveway. She was coming to make strawberry jam with Dani. This African child was a beam of sunshine. She didn’t walk, she skipped. She didn’t grumble, she sang.
My skepticism doubted Pauline’s perfect joy and I plied the child with questions.
“What would you do if another girl was angry with you?”
“I’d show them the same love Jesus showed me.” A confident dimple punctuated her reply.
Pauline had every reason to be a sullen child. Her parents were taken by AIDS and she shared an orphanage room with fifteen other girls. She was a watering can made to carry God’s joy to thirsty flowers, but life riddled the can with shotgun holes. Rather than abandon her assignment, Pauline let the holes become sprinklers through which she spread more love to those along her path.
The people we are called to love are not only rare distant flowers, but also the commoners along our way. It’s those near me that I have the most difficulty loving. I can go into a developing nation and pour myself into the needy, but at home I struggle to love my neighbors. God’s kindness is for both the foreign bloom and the domestic weed.
If I’m truly carrying the living water of Jesus, it becomes an artesian spring I can’t deplete. I can afford to pour love over those far off and those along my path. I can, like Pauline, admit my dysfunction so friends and family see grace spilling through the holes.
Prayer: Jesus, help me carry your love to all people in every circumstance.