Sunday, May 22, 2016

Beautiful Gospel

For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is Godʼs power for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. (Romans 1:16 NET_FL)

“Stomp ‘em boys. You’ll win today because they don’t know what’s in here, in your heart. Do this for your team, your school, do it for the whole town.” 

I watched one of those sports movies where the underdogs make their big comeback. The plot is usually the same. At halftime the coach delivers a pivotal speech in the locker room before the players storm the field. However, the pep talks always sound hollow to my ears. No matter how impassioned the coach is, his message is weak. I mean come on, ‘Today is the day to spill your blood for this sport and this game?’ That’s pretty thin compared to the truly inspiring message in the gospel.

In my business days I traveled annually to Washington DC to lobby for our industry. I dreaded it when I was called on to speak to Congressmen and their aides. My voice trembled and I could barely get the facts out. 

Now I eagerly stand on a festival stage before thousands of skeptical foreigners and confidently tell them about my Lord. What makes the difference is the message. There is soul-rending, heart exploding power in the message of the gospel, and the delivery can come from any fumbler such as me. 

When people are enabled by the Holy Spirit to grasp the truth of the salvation offer, they beg to be told what to do. That’s what happened on the day of Pentecost, and it still happens when the gospel is explained.

To tell someone God loves you and sent his Son to die for you is by far the best possible news to deliver. It’s the message of ultimate love demonstrated through action. No other faith, empowerment seminar, or locker room rally is even in the same league.


Prayer: Holy Lord, allow my voice to spread your golden message.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Part of the Plan

Even some of the wise will stumble, resulting in their refinement, purification, and cleansing until the time of the end, for it is still for the appointed time. (Daniel 11:35 NET_FL)

Tambudzai, with her beautiful white smile, was from the Shona tribe. She worked as a housemother in the orphanage where we served in Zimbabwe. Dani gave Tambudzai yarn and discovered she could knit like no one we have ever known. She did it without written directions. Regardless of interruptions—fighting children, yammering coworkers, singing songs—Tambudzai never lost track. If she changed one stitch in the row, it was the beginning of a pattern that would crisscross other cables to end at the shoulder.

The details of our lives are part of a pattern God weaves into history. Every event loops another interlocking thread where it belongs. Life may appear random with its many disruptions, but God is sovereign, and he never misses a stitch. Human failings and demonic mutinies become contrast rows to raise up his beautiful purposes. The garment he is working has a predetermined shape and length.

Today, when I encounter difficulty, I need to remember I have a part in eternal history. The difficulty will not be an obscure error without meaning. It will be a refining stitch dropped on cue so my response can be included in the grand design. I pray my reaction will be one of trust and obedience. Today’s test is already on its way, and I set my intentions to bring glory to Jesus.


Prayer: Sovereign, I celebrate your artistry in weaving my life into history.


Monday, May 9, 2016

Worthy-to-Suffer Buzz

So they left the council rejoicing because they had been considered worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake of the name. (Acts 5:41 NET_FL)

As we ate breakfast in the predawn darkness, the cloud of sleep evaporated from my eight-year-old mind. I would spend the day on Grandpa’s construction site and I was giddy as a moth at a light bulb. I had my own lunch like Grandpa, and I would share his milky-brown sweet coffee from his thermos. 

“What are we building today, Grandpa? I can pound nails all the way in. Why do your teeth go into a glass at night?” I chattered a mockingbird’s repertoire inside his pickup truck.

Grandpa nodded his tired head and smirked at my enthusiasm. After all, we were only going to the muddy worksite he labored at six days a week.

How blessed I would be if I could bring some of my childhood excitement to the trials I now endure. God permits affliction so I might glorify Jesus by how I face it. Nothing exposes allegiance like hardship. A gracious Father hands me the opportunity to strike my mark into the tablet of eternity. I can be counted among those who did not crumble under suffering, who found strength in grace, and who would see only hope. My illnesses, disappointments, and temptations are fights as holy as anything the apostles faced.

Why not live enthused about what others dread? Why not do the unthinkable and look trials in the face, then choose joy by the power of the Spirit? Not a stiff-upper-lip-grind-it-out endurance, but a get-up-and-go-to-work-with-grandpa buzz because I’m glorifying Jesus.

Prayer: All-wise King, make me excited about what my trials can accomplish.


Monday, May 2, 2016

Enter That Rest

Thus we must make every effort to enter that rest… (Hebrews 4:11 NET_FL)

Trash, tumbleweeds, and the smell of excrement blew across the new foundation. It was the end of the first day, and the cement-encrusted teens admired their work. This would be the hardest of the four workdays, I knew because it was my 17th trip to build homes for poor families in Mexico. We were bone-tired with no prospects for a real shower for another week. So why did I return each year? Because it was the one place where my soul rested.

Real rest does not come from sleep, entertainment, or vacation. Those things may rest the body and never reach the mind and spirit. I only find deep peace when responsibility for life has been transferred to Jesus—Salvation, sanctification, protection, and direction. In spite of the mayhem in this world, we can trust God’s provision.

Each year, for the week I spent in Mexico, my agenda was shelved and knew I was where God wanted me—seven back-to-back days of dependence on him and release from me. There was finally some quiet in my heart.

It’s a nervy step to shut down the chugging of my self-reliance generator and switch onto God’s grid of unlimited resource. I’ve known the racket of that tired machine all my life. Once the motor is killed, the silence of a hundred now absent worries is shocking. As the fumes from my effort clear out, the fragrant peace of God blows in.

After creating the universe, God sat back and said, “It is very good.” Then he blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy. Through trust in Christ Jesus, I’m invited to enter his blessed, holy Sabbath, and join him in deep rest.

Prayer: Sovereign King, let me enter your Sabbath rest.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Inhale the Cure

So also it is written, “The first man, Adam, became a living person”; the last Adam became a life- giving spirit. (1 Corinthians 15:45 NET_FL)
So Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. Just as the Father has sent me, I also send you.” And after he said this, he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” (John 20:21-22 NET_FL)

I turned 360 degrees, analyzing each piece in the modern and contemporary art pavilion of the Seattle Art Museum. Above me cars tumbled through the air, beside me boxes of breakfast cereal rested on silk inside a glass case, and around me thought-fragments were regurgitated onto canvas then hung under lights for examination.

Art touches our emotions and the effect that room had on my feelings was shock. I was shocked how easily I identified with chaos, and sickened that we put a frame around our fractured reality and extol it. It didn’t matter that the collection was housed in a bedazzling skyscraper, or that the expenses were underwritten by the richest man on the planet (Gates), it was a brazen display of mankind’s brokenness, and without a remedy in sight.

No human or institution can return what we've forfeited since Eden. Only Jesus will do that. The first Adam received life when God breathed into him, now the last Adam breathes a second chance at life into us. Jesus breathes out, and I breathe in with childlike faith. When we both do our part, peace floods my squirming mind, my world makes sense, I know why I’m here, I’m ready to be sent out.

The choice is re-made with each new day. I can join the world’s homage of our disfunction, or inhale the breath, words, and life of Jesus. What will it be for today?


Prayer: Spirit of Jesus, breathe your cure into me.


Sunday, April 17, 2016

Radical Trust

Give us today our daily bread. (Matthew 6:11 NET_FL)

The biographies of Hudson Taylor and George Muller planted a bomb in my heart. These revolutionary Christians took God literally about depending on him for daily bread. I couldn’t ignore the ticking—I had to confront my own lack of trust.

Transportation was a good place to start. For thirty years, when I wanted to go somewhere, I never depended on supernatural intervention. I jumped in my car and went. This would be my experiment of radical trust.

I sold my snazzy yellow truck and bought a bicycle. Whenever I needed to go beyond the range of my bike, I prayed. God answered, and with bonuses.

An arranged ride left me waiting in front of the church. Then a family confrontation exploded around a dear friend and he randomly fled to the church. There I was sitting on the curb. We prayed. He healed. With a car I would have missed that divine appointment. My ride came and we got to our destination to find the people there were behind schedule. So we were right on time.

A few days later, I realized there was an important meeting the following day.

“Well, Lord, I guess this is your sign I need to get wheels of my own,” I prayed.

Not ten minutes after the amen, I discovered a note from my wife. If you need my car tomorrow you can use it because I’m working from home.

Every time I pray I get one of two results. Either A) I don’t really need the trip or, B) a means of transportation is available.

Rather than defuse the bomb, my transportation experiment made it tick louder. What other areas in my life have I missed seeing God’s provision? Now that I know it’s possible, I have to find new ways to trust.


Prayer: Father, lead me to the next level with you.


Sunday, April 10, 2016

No Comparison

For our momentary, light suffering is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison. (2 Corinthians 4:17 NET_FL)

“Tell them for me. Tell people what happened,” ten-year-old Tanaka rasped out her dying wish.

At age four, Tanaka was sold by her mother as a prostitute. When she was eight, she was rescued to a Zimbabwean orphanage. The fair-skinned girl died of AIDS two years later.

My dog had a better earthly life than precious, beautiful Tanaka. So how do I reconcile the hell-infested existence of a four-year-old daily rape victim to my soft life of ease? To pretend suffering is not real, or to think God ignores it, is to misunderstand reality. Pain is not initiated by God nor is it permitted in his ordained future for his followers. It’s an aberration conjured by Satan and fallen humans. 

God, however, is not bested. He transforms our earthly misery into opportunities for eternal glory. Jesus experienced both the pain of suffering and the glory of paradise and the two did not compare. Crucifixion pushed him down an inch, resurrection lifted him up a mile. The same exchange is planned for us.

Our God deals in justice and equity. Tanaka suffered in the strength of Jesus and now she is rewarded a thousand-fold. God never forgot her torment, instead he used it for her glory and his. Hallelujah!


Prayer: Merciful Father, honor the downtrodden throughout eternity.



Sunday, April 3, 2016

The Bridge

“Blessed are those whose lawless deeds are forgiven, and whose sins are covered; blessed is the one against whom the Lord will never count sin.” (Romans 4:7-8 NET_FL)

My life is broken. It cycles like thissin, languish, repent, back to sin. The truly dangerous part is languishing. That’s where sin multiplies. Wallowing in the swamp of self-defeat, thick with guilt and disappointment, I hate myself and figure God must be repulsed too. The mud sucks at my feet and holds me back from repentance. I feel too weak to ever leave the bog. I may as well stay and give in to sin.

A bridge gleams with rays of gold over the sulfurous mire. Its name is Grace. It was the most expensive bridge ever constructed, and also the most useful. I’m invited to skip directly from sin to repentance. I don’t have to spend another minute in languish.

The bridge is proof that I was wrong about God hating me. Even at the height of my rebellion, Father-God loved me. As I still love my two-year old child when she misbehaves, God, too, never pulls his love back. He wants me near him, even after I sin. That’s why he paid for the bridge—to carry me from sin to himself as fast as possible.

Jesus was over-qualified for the job on the cross. His death excessively cures my sin. After transference to him, I’m not only clean but I have a brilliant shine. I’m ultra-hyper-extra-free of any and all sin—free to begin over with new rules.

The rules of the bridge are simple. After I cross over, stop condemning myself and start thanking God. Stop acting self-sufficient and start expecting Jesus to get me out of sin. Stop living for temporal pleasure and start living for eternal love.

Above all, when I sin (and I will sin), be an adult about it. Get up, dust myself off, and run across the bridge to repentance—bypassing languish altogether.


Prayer: Father, when I sin, help me return to you.

Sunday, March 27, 2016

Personal Fit

Peter turned around and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them. (This was the disciple who had leaned back against Jesusʼ chest at the meal and asked, “Lord, who is the one who is going to betray you.” (John 21:20 NET_FL)

Knowing that Jesus was God incarnate, he shocks my notion of a distant Creator. I’m astounded he took children in his arms, let his feet be stroked with a sinful woman’s hair, and invited disciples to lean on his breast. I didn't expect this penchant for intimate contact. It reminds me of the ancient stone architecture found in South America.

The Incas built walls using one-hundred-ton angular stones that interlocked like jigsaw pieces. How the Indians maneuvered, shaped, and fitted the monoliths so closely that a razorblade can’t fit between them remains a mystery. About four kilometers away, archeologists have identified the quarry from which the blocks were hewn in the rough before transport, final dressing, and fitting.

God found me buried deep inside the stone mountain of the world system. His generous eye measured out some potential in my raw form. By the work of the cross, he cut me free from the carnal mass in which I was forged. I was born anew, a being with a holy destiny, however, I was jagged and crude. Only God knew where I needed chipping and chiseling so I might one day fit against the Cornerstone with absolute contact.

My edges and corners still prevent me from nesting against my soul’s lover, and so the refinement continues. However, the Lord is not forcing me into some mass-produced cube so I’ll fit with all the others. He knows the exact dimensions and beautiful angles of his own stone, and he knows the true me will fit perfectly against that surface. 

Jesus wants every unique facet he created in me to completely interlock with him, for therein lies ultimate joy. He craves a heady surface-to-surface bond, so close no razorblade of un-fulfillment can slip between us. I yearn for that, too, and so I submit to the chisel.


Prayer: Thank you, Lord, for creating me for intimate contact with perfect you.


Sunday, March 20, 2016

Addicted

But whenever you pray, go into your room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you. (Matthew 6:6 NET_FL)

I’m addicted and I need my fix. Everyday I sneak away for one-on-one time with the Creator of the universe. How could a frozen wanderer give up that patch of sunshine? Should I let deadlines, or travel, or guests invade our intimacy? Call me obsessive, but I’ll contrive a way to get what I crave.

It’s not that I’m disciplined—I’m desperate. When it comes to fighting temptation I’m as fierce as a trembling schoolgirl. Without a daily breath from the Lord, I’m sure to faint. So I draw near to him and inhale every morning, then I pray that puff will stay inside me.

Some years ago the Lord led me to two books by Christian role models who told how their lives changed when they had devotions at 5:00 a.m. I groaned and made a half-hearted commitment to try it. I didn’t set an alarm. The next few mornings I found myself awake at 5:00 a.m. and rose for my devotion time. Previously boring Scriptures now rang in my heart. On-my-face prayer emptied me of self then filled me with the Spirit. Abba Father honored a sacrifice of time set apart while the world slept.

After several years, a new threat crept in. My mornings became disciplined for discipline’s sake, not for the Lord. Jesus wants obedience in joy, not habit in drudgery. He knows I can’t live without our meetings so now he sets the day’s schedule, which sometimes includes more than one quiet time.

That’s the secret compulsion I can’t shake. Inside my prayer closet, God gets on his knees, puts his mouth to my ear, and whispers his message. It’s an addiction I’ll never fight.


Prayer: Lord, thank you for coming to me each day.

Sunday, March 13, 2016

Pain Vs. The Presence

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 NET_FL)

The cold tile of the hotel bathroom was poor consolation for being too sick to crawl back to bed. I had food poisoning extraordinaire. It’s a cherished memory, however, 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 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 meditation I must re-live 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 exercise 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.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Endurance

 For you need endurance in order to do Godʼs will and so receive what is promised. (Hebrews 10:36 NET_FL)

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 people 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 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 and be delivered from the curse. 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.

Endurance, however, is more than maintaining the status quo. To stop running toward Christ on the treadmill of faith is to be swept backwards 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 I wake up and say, “In spite of all that is wrong, I’ll trust the Lord,” I’m enduring more today than yesterday.

When I get to paradise I’ll be able to trade my endurance for the commodity my heart will most desire, victories with which to honor Jesus through eternity.


Prayer: Mighty Savior, help me trust you today.

Sunday, February 28, 2016

Better Than a Dream

More than that, I now regard all things as liabilities compared to the far greater value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things- indeed, I regard them as dung! (Philippians 3:8 NET_FL)

I drew the energy of the stars into a business plan for a human resources company. We would do everything God’s way. This company would treat people with dignity and donate profits to Christian missions. A baby company was conceived.

There were sharp labor pains. I invested everything, and borrowed beyond prudence. There were contractions of litigation and lack of market share. After much travail, the new company wiggled in excitement. We nursed it to profitability. During the company’s teenage years, however, sleepless nights returned. Clients failed to pay, and finances grew rebellious.

“You’ve had your dream, now wake up. I’ll show you real life,” God said. 

My eyes came open. Up to that point, I had no true purpose, eternal possessions, or real power. I sold the business at a loss and was ordained into the pastorate. Now I deal in commodities of truth, store treasures in heaven, and wrestle demons for human souls.

My vain dream was to build a company until I achieved material prosperity while honoring God on the side. My waking life is an ever-mounting adventure of ministry centered on faith, hope, and love. The death of my self-wrought dream was my greatest loss, and my greatest gain.


Prayer: Jesus, help me lose everything for a bigger life with you.

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Cyclone of Sin


And have mercy on those who waver; save others by snatching them out of the fire; have mercy on others, coupled with a fear of God, hating even the clothes stained by the flesh. (Jude 1:22-23 NET_FL)

Dani and I hunkered over a tea candle as another blast shook the house. Our eyes widened in awe of the wind’s power. Cyclone Winston was the largest in South Pacific history. The eye passed between the islands but we felt the wrath of radiating bands of horizontal rain. Every tree was shredded, many buildings collapsed, most brave hearts trembled.

Sin is like a cyclone. It shreds life. No one escapes the devastating consequences. Sometimes we are caught in the eye where the source of our suffering is clear. A drunk driver runs over a toddler. The sin of drunkenness destroyed a child.

Other times bands radiate from sin to cause general misery. A father is addicted to alcohol and his children inherit the curse down to the third generation. Abuse, codependency, and addictions haunt the extended family The source of the pain goes undiagnosed and is absorbed into the morass of a dysfunctional planet. It’s the radiating bands of hardship and we’re not sure of the exact epicenter.

Whether it’s the natural consequences of a specific sin or the general trials of life in a cursed world, every sin results in suffering. Even my petty gossip and callous indifference cause anguish for myself and others.

It’s time for me to weep over the devastation around me. To weep for the suffering souls I know, to weep for my own hurts, and most of all, to weep because I’m part of the problem. I have to recognize the terrible results of sin and hate rebellion even as God hates it. A spiritual cyclone is destroying those I love and this life is my only chance to defy it.

Prayer: Mighty Christ, let me stand against the cyclone of sin.


Sunday, February 14, 2016

Peace or Resistance

Do not be anxious about anything. Instead, in every situation, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, tell your requests to God. And the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7 NET_FL)

Josef’s brown Fijian cheeks bulge with kissable baby fat. The universe spins around the dimples of his smile. Right now, however, his wide nose and fuzzy head are furrowed as he lets out a low-pitched cry, like he’s trying to hold it in but can’t. At two years old, he doesn’t have words for why he’s hurting, doesn’t even know the reason himself. If he knew what it was, he couldn’t fix the problem anyway. He is totally dependent on his mother, Losana.

Losana, hears her son’s wail and recognizes the problem. She knows her precious son better than he knows himself. He recently ate, but now he’s tired and nothing in his world is right when fatigue hits his little body. Losana knows what Josef needs long before he does.

God knows my needs better than Losana knows Josef’s. I complain and cry, but he knows what my eternal soul needs most, even when I can’t articulate it myself. He knows my history, my circumstances, and my heart. Even if I fully understood my problems, I couldn’t fix them. I’m totally dependent on him.

God knows better than me what to do for me. But will I let him, or will I stiffen and wail? Peace or resistance, I can only choose one. Do I have God’s peace concerning my trials, or am I resisting his timing and methods? Which Josef am I? The dimpled smiling one, or the contorted bawling one?


Prayer: Father, I am small, you are great.




Sunday, February 7, 2016

Obsession

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 NET_FL)

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, however, 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. 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, however, 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.

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Mental Real Estate

An evil man is rebellious to the core. He does not fear God, for he is too proud to recognize and give up his sin. (Psalms 36:1-2 NET_FL)

In the expanse of our universe the only real estate where I’m sovereign is in the space of my mind. I may influence my environment, but I don’t have the final say. Even my body is subjected to restrictions. In my head, however, I’m free to do as I please. Unless my thoughts are expressed, no one contradicts me. I can fantasize in any direction I choose.
Inside my little kingdom I can do no wrong. Ineptness and weak character are dubbed endearing personality traits. Sinful contemplations run opposite the reality around me and I don’t police my conclusions. I’m too proud to recognize and give up the sin hidden inside my head.
 Even on the rare occasions I try to cleanup my brain pollution, I can’t do it. My only hope is to deed my mental real estate to Jesus. Let him remove the rubbish. With his word he rakes my ungodly thoughts. With his role model he readies piles for destruction. With his love he burns what doesn’t belong. I’ll give him ownership, then move aside like the renter that I am, and watch him work.
When Jesus has made some progress with my thoughts, I’ll have no room for self-righteous judgment. He does all the work. I’m left with nothing but to beg for grace for myself and others.
The reality is than I’m not a king, not even in the space between my ears. Jesus is the only Sovereign in the universe and its time the tiny acreage in my head stops living in rebellion.


Prayer: High King Jesus, cleanup my thoughts.

Testimony Video

Click here to watch a video of my testimony as a missionary: https://youtu.be/fSK1MakeAjA

Sunday, January 24, 2016

True Fasting

Then Esther sent this reply to Mordecai: “Go, assemble all the Jews who are found in Susa and fast in my behalf. Donʼt eat and donʼt drink for three days, night or day. My female attendants and I will also fast in the same way.” (Esther 4:15-16 NET_FL)

In Zimbabwe we had difficulty getting water from the wells. In my bumbling attempt to fix the plumbing, I needed a pipe fitting from the shed. The gardener had the key, but he was sulking over a fight and couldn’t be found. After searching out the begrudging gardener, key, and fitting, I needed a wrench. I scrounged enough fuel to push start the broken motorcycle, rode to the repair shop, borrowed a wrench, then spent thirty minutes looking for a tool to fix the broken wrench. Compared to western efficiency, the challenges of the Third-world can be a source of frustration or hilarity.
The following thirty hours were committed to fasting and prayer. It wasn’t a day off, but my most productive work. After the fast, life at the mission compound blossomed. Relationships healed, tools were in their proper places, and water gushed into the reservoirs.
Before Moses received the Old Covenant laws from God, he fasted. When Queen Esther’s people faced extermination, she fasted. Before Jesus began his ministry, he fasted. When the Holy Spirit told the disciples to set apart Paul and Barnabas, they were fasting. Intercession is our most effective activity, and fasting draws prayers from the middle of God’s river.
Fasting is not manipulation of the Almighty wherein we convince him to help because he feels sorry for our self-imposed hunger. Rather, true fasting clears the way for our spirit to take primacy and engage with the Spirit of God in the holy work of praying his will.

Prayer: Father in heaven, let me enter into your prayers through fasting.

Sunday, January 17, 2016

The Outstretched Hand

Indeed, the Lord who commands armies has a plan, and who can possibly frustrate it? His hand is ready to strike, and who can possibly stop it. (Isaiah 14:27 NET_FL)

My sins, even the small ones, are anathema to God. He loves me but detests my treason.
“Do not do that,” he said. 
I did it in his face.
Holy wrath stirs and the mighty hand rises. It’s not some future event, it’s already moving against my corruption. The hand is poised, twitching with readiness to sweep me into the hellfire I deserve. Yet, it pauses. For a brief moment in history, it hovers. It is the moment of grace.
The hand of wrath was redirected against Jesus. By his wounds I am healed. During the moment of grace I may run to the place of his decimation and claim it as my own.
Because of the divine substitution, the outstretched hand will not harm me. It becomes a hand of protection and I take shelter beneath its reach. Love overshadows me. The hand will still fall soon, however, it will only crush my remaining sin. I myself will be safe with Christ.
God made his plan, foretold his intention, and began his fulfillment. Already the hand is outstretched. I cannot fein surprise when it slams down. I must hold myself in readiness, willing that God should release his might against evil and destroy every rebellion, including my own.

Prayer: Lord Almighty, let your hand fall.

Donations

Dear Supporters:

The details for tax-exempt donations has changed from what we sent last week in our newsletter. The address for prayers remains the same because God Almighty never changes.

Donations go to our forwarding agent:

Goulding C/O Jeanne Hartman
PO Box 2433
Grass Valley, CA 95945

For tax exempt donations:

Pioneers
10123 William Carey Dr.
Orlando, FL 32832

Please Memo:
Account no: 132113
Operation Fd –OARF (Goulding/Schultz)

On-line Donations go to:
pioneers.org
Account no: 132113

Don Goulding