Whether it’s in a flurry of family joy or a day of quiet, cold calm, my prayer for you on this day is that you would experience deep connection to the faith that calls you to rest, the hope that calls you to aspire, and the love that calls you to serve.
I pray that in believing you find an abiding place for your anxious or distracted thoughts. A place to believe that God is still good, and that the riches of His grace are forever inexhaustible.
I pray that in the midst of your uncertainties and insecurities, your fatigue and your failures, you find your way back to the Still, Small Voice.
and in the wilderness where you saw how the LORD your God carried you, just as a man carries his son, in all the way which you have walked until you came to this place. (Deuteronomy 1:31)
You thought you were walking.
You thought you were slogging on, one trudging step at a time.
You thought the miles were your miles, your blisters and callouses also.
You thought it was your unpleasant surprises.
Your frightful experiences.
Your daily grind.
But you may have missed another viewpoint… one rooted in a higher story. [click to continue…]
Woke up this morning thinking about Ethel and Velma. These two ladies, who shared the same last name, lived together. Velma had been married to Ethel’s brother, who had died sometime earlier. Ethel never married. So in their latter years, these two sisters-in-law shared a house, along with a lot of family love and memories.
And quite a love for God.
Whenever I would go see them, it always felt like holy ground. It was that classic case of going to be a blessing and winding up leaving with the greater blessing. Each was in her own way a marvelous encourager, and each in her own way a hell-stopping intercessor.
As time and age took their toll, eventually death came calling, and Ethel answered the door. I went by to see Velma, who had encouraged me so many times, to try to be an encouragement to her. While I was there, someone else came by, and I’ll never forget Velma’s first words to them. In her beautiful Southern drawl, Velma asked rhetorically, “What we gonna do without Ethel?” [click to continue…]
Travel with me to an ancient version of Death Row. A lonely old man sits in isolation – a rare occurrence for a life so well-traveled and surrounded with people. And he awaits his fate.
He’s a dead man walking.
Yet even though his body is scarred and his bones crooked from a hardened life, he doesn’t have the same despair or desperation that’s typical of someone living under a death sentence. In fact, he has – dare I say it? – a sense of satisfaction. Fulfillment. Maybe even a touch of pride.
How do I know? His own words.
For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing (2 Timothy 4:6-8).
Those words from Paul have carried a new fascination for me recently. Here was a man who know what his life was about, and lived it. He followed the course laid out for him, and he finished it.
Put in other language, Paul had a vision, and throughout his life he stubbornly, doggedly, faithfully pursued that vision. Doing so was costly in the short run. He was routinely run out of town, beaten to a pulp, deserted by his friends, and bedeviled by danger. But to him it was a price worth paying, to get to the end of his life with two things: [click to continue…]
A Colorado highway director went out to see firsthand the aftermath of a sudden blizzard that struck just at the start of a holiday weekend.
Some vehicles had slid off the road into a ditch or snow bank. Without help they were powerless to move.
Other cars were on the shoulder. Their engines were still running for the time being, but they were not moving forward at all.
Some cars were in the slow lane, cautiously moving forward, but at a pace that made timely arrival at their destination virtually impossible.
Still other vehicles were equipped to drive in the fast lane – some going steadily, some quickly, some dangerously fast, but all headed for their destination.
A.W. Tozer, in commenting on the difference between a yesterday and a today faith, wrote this:
We habitually stand in our now and look back by faith to see the past filled with God. We look forward and see Him inhabiting our future; but our now is uninhabited except for ourselves. Thus we are guilty of a kind of [temporary] atheism which leaves us alone in the universe while, for the time, God is not. We talk of Him much and loudly, but we secretly think of Him as being absent, and we think of ourselves as inhabiting a parenthetic interval between the God who was and the God who will be. And we are lonely with an ancient and cosmic loneliness.
Your capacity to believe God is the gateway to a life of power, usefulness, and joy. And yet during his earthly ministry, nothing caught Jesus by surprise more than the “people of God” or so-called “believers” not believing – living with that cosmic loneliness that Tozer wrote about.
