After singing a few songs for a handful of people, some of them asked him if he wanted to go get some water. It was a warm sunny day, so that sounded like a great idea. He carefully set aside his guitar. They handed him a bucket and said, “let’s go.” He had no idea what he had volunteered to do. He thought he was just going for a short walk to get a drink.
It was a treacherous half hour hike down a steep hill with a five gallon bucket to get water for the family for the evening. When he got down to the water source he found many people there in line waiting to get water. Not waiting, actually, but fighting. In Haiti, after the earthquake, a bucket of water was so precious that people pushed and shoved to get their turn at the spigot.
He reached into his backpack and took out his water bottle and took a drink while watching and waiting. You see, he was an American musician, brought to Haiti by a Food Relief Organization, to see the need and carry the message back to America. He was supplied with water. The poor destitute people of the island were not. While waiting he noticed a young boy sitting patiently waiting his turn. The boy would just wait until all the fighting was over to get his turn. So the music man took the boy’s jug, along with the five gallon bucket he carried down the hill. He fought his way to the water pipe and filled them up. He handed the jug back to the boy, and then turned to head back up the hill with his few Haitian friends.
The climb down the hill had been difficult. The climb up the hill with an open pail of water was almost impossible. An hour later he made it. As they continued their walk back to the village he noticed the boy with the jug. He had climbed up just behind them. He was told that the boy had yet another hour walk back to his family. He made the trip every day, five or six hours, to get one jug of water for his family. One jug of water. The same amount of water we flush down the sewer every time we use the toilet in America.
When the music man returned to America he quickly got back into the hustle and bustle of his many responsibilities. He was stuck trying to sell his house during the recession that hit America. He complained to his wife about it. He was also concerned what to do with his investments, since he was taking a beating there, too. He went out into the yard to do a little yard work, set down, and remembered the trek for water in Haiti. It caused him to consider how far he would have to walk to get a drink. About ten steps. In fact, he counted up eleven different sources of water in and around his house where he could get a drink, in just a matter of minutes.
The music man told this story to the crowd at his concert. In summation he said, “We in America never ever give an ounce of energy thinking about where we will get water for our daily sustenance. We are blessed, we are truly, truly blessed.”
But I thought to myself differently. A different conclusion to the story. A different word. Perhaps, in reality, we are spoiled. Truly spoiled. I was reminded of the time I took a group of people to Monterey, Mexico to minister for a couple weeks. As soon as we crossed back into Texas we headed for McDonalds, and then half of the group checked into a motel for a cozy night’s sleep. The weeks before we had used toilets which we could not even flush for lack of water. We put a brush arbor roof on a poor widow’s home. We held an evening worship service in the poorest of poor communities, the City of Pigs. How soon we put it behind us. Peanut butter sandwiches weren’t good enough. Sleeping in tents at the KOA campground wasn’t good enough. We are spoiled. And we don’t even have a clue.
If wealth and ease of circumstance were God’s primary concern for me how perverted my heart would become – turned from love, and grace, and peace, to wanton selfishness. Nevertheless, that is what we want and expect from Him. We think, “I deserve it.” And then we wonder why our service and spiritual destiny are so fleeting and fruitless.
“Give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?” (Proverbs 30:8-9)
September 15, 2010
August 4, 2010
Handprint of the Holy Spirit
It might seem like just any ordinary effort to meet human need with an organized plan. An orphanage. But when Zoila ran from Terry in tears it proved to be a “God thing”. In fact, the handprint of the Holy Spirit showed up everywhere.
We marvel at God’s handprint in creation -- the beauty and wonder of the galaxies, the splendor of mountain peaks, the intricacy of living cells and human anatomy. But do we marvel at the handprint of the Holy Spirit in the events of our lives? Francis Chan, author and pastor, poses a question to ask of ourselves, “When was the last time I undeniably saw the Spirit at work in or around me?” (Forgotten God, p. 35)
Hogar De Gozo is an orphanage in San Pedro, Sonora, Mexico. It is a home of joy for some twenty children rescued from despair and desperate home situations. Its beginning, in the year 2009, is a marvelous story to consider.
A missionary in Sonora for some twenty years, Terry Lingle has helped to start several churches, an orphanage, a drug rehab center, and a camp. Pedro and Zoila were raised in the first orphanage he started. They were married and began to raise a family. While working for the Sonora state police Pedro also served as pastor of a church. He approached Terry and offered to help in any way needed, in appreciation for the years of loving care he had received at the orphanage. He helped with the camp, he helped with church ministry, and he helped with a new church plant that Terry began.
While canvassing for the new church plant Terry was alerted to a home where three children were locked in, unfed, and uncared for. He located the mother and talked to her, but there was no way to help, since the orphanage was already full. So he and his wife, Lori, felt it was time to begin praying earnestly about starting a second orphanage.
Two weeks later, in April, at a street concert to help launch the church, Terry approached Pedro and Zoila. He asked them if they had ever considered the possibility of directing an orphanage. They did not respond… could not. Zoila burst into uncontrollable tears and turned and ran from Terry. He apologized to Pedro and assumed it must have been a poor time to bring up the subject.
A week later they got together again and Zoila apologized to Terry. Then she explained. When they had married they committed to God their desire to someday run an orphanage, similar to the one in which they had been blessed. They told God that Pedro would work as a policeman for ten years. By the end of that time they wanted God to clearly open the door for them and bring someone to them who would ask them to run an orphanage. They entrusted to God this desire of their heart, but told no one else. Then she said this, “last week was the first day of the tenth year. We prayed that morning and reminded God of our commitment and of our request that the Holy Spirit would make it manifestly clear by bringing someone to us. Nine hours later you asked us if we wanted to direct a new orphanage. That is why I turned and ran in tears.”
They decided to take two years to allow God to unfold his plan, waiting upon Him for direction and provision. But by June they had already found a perfect home, in the very community where they had wanted to start a second orphanage a few years earlier. That time, though, God shut the door. This time the house they found had a large ballroom added on the back, perfect for turning into two large dorms and a family room. They made an offer. A business man in Idaho loaned them the money, interest free. They closed on the property in September. Ten days later they had their first children, eight to start with, including the three that had been found locked in a home, alone. Pedro and Zoila live there, with their two children, plus many more, directing the new orphanage, House of Joy.
“After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort? Does God give you his Spirit and work miracles among you because of your great effort, or because you trust Him?” (Gal. 3:3,5, with a bit of paraphrase)
Moses, speaking to God: “How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?” (Exodus 33:16)
We may as well face it: the whole level of spirituality among us is low. We have measured ourselves by ourselves until the incentive to seek higher plateaus in the things of the Spirit is all but gone… We have imitated the world, sought popular favor… and produced a cheap and synthetic power to substitute for the power of the Holy Ghost. (A. W. Tozer)
We marvel at God’s handprint in creation -- the beauty and wonder of the galaxies, the splendor of mountain peaks, the intricacy of living cells and human anatomy. But do we marvel at the handprint of the Holy Spirit in the events of our lives? Francis Chan, author and pastor, poses a question to ask of ourselves, “When was the last time I undeniably saw the Spirit at work in or around me?” (Forgotten God, p. 35)
Hogar De Gozo is an orphanage in San Pedro, Sonora, Mexico. It is a home of joy for some twenty children rescued from despair and desperate home situations. Its beginning, in the year 2009, is a marvelous story to consider.
A missionary in Sonora for some twenty years, Terry Lingle has helped to start several churches, an orphanage, a drug rehab center, and a camp. Pedro and Zoila were raised in the first orphanage he started. They were married and began to raise a family. While working for the Sonora state police Pedro also served as pastor of a church. He approached Terry and offered to help in any way needed, in appreciation for the years of loving care he had received at the orphanage. He helped with the camp, he helped with church ministry, and he helped with a new church plant that Terry began.
While canvassing for the new church plant Terry was alerted to a home where three children were locked in, unfed, and uncared for. He located the mother and talked to her, but there was no way to help, since the orphanage was already full. So he and his wife, Lori, felt it was time to begin praying earnestly about starting a second orphanage.
Two weeks later, in April, at a street concert to help launch the church, Terry approached Pedro and Zoila. He asked them if they had ever considered the possibility of directing an orphanage. They did not respond… could not. Zoila burst into uncontrollable tears and turned and ran from Terry. He apologized to Pedro and assumed it must have been a poor time to bring up the subject.
A week later they got together again and Zoila apologized to Terry. Then she explained. When they had married they committed to God their desire to someday run an orphanage, similar to the one in which they had been blessed. They told God that Pedro would work as a policeman for ten years. By the end of that time they wanted God to clearly open the door for them and bring someone to them who would ask them to run an orphanage. They entrusted to God this desire of their heart, but told no one else. Then she said this, “last week was the first day of the tenth year. We prayed that morning and reminded God of our commitment and of our request that the Holy Spirit would make it manifestly clear by bringing someone to us. Nine hours later you asked us if we wanted to direct a new orphanage. That is why I turned and ran in tears.”
They decided to take two years to allow God to unfold his plan, waiting upon Him for direction and provision. But by June they had already found a perfect home, in the very community where they had wanted to start a second orphanage a few years earlier. That time, though, God shut the door. This time the house they found had a large ballroom added on the back, perfect for turning into two large dorms and a family room. They made an offer. A business man in Idaho loaned them the money, interest free. They closed on the property in September. Ten days later they had their first children, eight to start with, including the three that had been found locked in a home, alone. Pedro and Zoila live there, with their two children, plus many more, directing the new orphanage, House of Joy.
“After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort? Does God give you his Spirit and work miracles among you because of your great effort, or because you trust Him?” (Gal. 3:3,5, with a bit of paraphrase)
Moses, speaking to God: “How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?” (Exodus 33:16)
We may as well face it: the whole level of spirituality among us is low. We have measured ourselves by ourselves until the incentive to seek higher plateaus in the things of the Spirit is all but gone… We have imitated the world, sought popular favor… and produced a cheap and synthetic power to substitute for the power of the Holy Ghost. (A. W. Tozer)
July 26, 2010
Loves Me, Loves Me Not
When I was a boy we used to get a flower and pull the petals off, one by one. And as we pulled the petals we would say, alternatively, “She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not.” And the last petal would be the verdict. If it ended with “she loves me”, then the girlfriend of the moment was in love with us. But if the last petal ended with “she loves me not”, then we were out of luck. If it was someone we really, really liked then we would do it over and over until it ended the way we wanted it to end.
Why is love so difficult, so fleeting, so choosy? Why is it said of Christians that they are the only army that shoots their own? A young applicant for a summer camp ministry team was recently asked by the director, “Have you ever worked in ministry before? You need to know that we tend to eat our own.”
The story is told of a man walking across a bridge one evening, who happened upon another man, sitting on the railing, planning to jump off into the river below to end his life. The man on a stroll asked the despondent man some questions, hoping to calm him down and gain his trust, so as to help him out of his despair. He asked if he was a man of faith, and he was. He asked him what church he attended and they discovered that they were both Baptist. He asked which branch of the Baptist he was and again they found they were the same. So they began to rejoice, and drew close, like long lost brothers. They he asked him if he was in agreement with the view of the Southern Synod on the issue of ecclesiology. The man answered firmly, “No, I am not. I hold to the view of the Western Synod.” And with that the first man shoved him off the bridge.
Love is the greatest. The greatest gift, the greatest fruit, the greatest evidence, the greatest empowerment. But we tend to turn it on and turn it off at will. We pour it on when convenient, or when it is to our advantage. Then we turn it off for those whom we choose.
One of my favorite movies is “Princess Bride”. It has some classic quotes in it. “Never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line.” Or the one I have on a t-shirt that my wife got for me, “Inconceivable!” But the best ones have to do with love. “As you wish.” Or the doctor saying over the almost dead Wesley, “True love, now that’s a noble cause.” The movie appeals to me because it tells a story of true love, love that cannot be deterred or defeated, not by years as a pirate, not by torture or the deceit of a competing paramour, nor even by the duty and mission of war and revenge. Love is the greatest.
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…. These three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” ( I Corinthians 13)
My prayer is this. “Lord, you told us to love our enemies. But sometimes I find it easier to love my enemies than to love my brothers. And I am appalled at myself. Not great big moral differences, but simple little irritations cause me to avoid loving. I become negative, pessimistic, biting, or just plain silent. So help me Lord to love. To love like you love, full of grace and encouragement. When I get to the last petal of the flower it is not a 50/50 chance of love, but a choice. I choose to love.”
Why is love so difficult, so fleeting, so choosy? Why is it said of Christians that they are the only army that shoots their own? A young applicant for a summer camp ministry team was recently asked by the director, “Have you ever worked in ministry before? You need to know that we tend to eat our own.”
The story is told of a man walking across a bridge one evening, who happened upon another man, sitting on the railing, planning to jump off into the river below to end his life. The man on a stroll asked the despondent man some questions, hoping to calm him down and gain his trust, so as to help him out of his despair. He asked if he was a man of faith, and he was. He asked him what church he attended and they discovered that they were both Baptist. He asked which branch of the Baptist he was and again they found they were the same. So they began to rejoice, and drew close, like long lost brothers. They he asked him if he was in agreement with the view of the Southern Synod on the issue of ecclesiology. The man answered firmly, “No, I am not. I hold to the view of the Western Synod.” And with that the first man shoved him off the bridge.
Love is the greatest. The greatest gift, the greatest fruit, the greatest evidence, the greatest empowerment. But we tend to turn it on and turn it off at will. We pour it on when convenient, or when it is to our advantage. Then we turn it off for those whom we choose.
One of my favorite movies is “Princess Bride”. It has some classic quotes in it. “Never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line.” Or the one I have on a t-shirt that my wife got for me, “Inconceivable!” But the best ones have to do with love. “As you wish.” Or the doctor saying over the almost dead Wesley, “True love, now that’s a noble cause.” The movie appeals to me because it tells a story of true love, love that cannot be deterred or defeated, not by years as a pirate, not by torture or the deceit of a competing paramour, nor even by the duty and mission of war and revenge. Love is the greatest.
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…. These three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” ( I Corinthians 13)
My prayer is this. “Lord, you told us to love our enemies. But sometimes I find it easier to love my enemies than to love my brothers. And I am appalled at myself. Not great big moral differences, but simple little irritations cause me to avoid loving. I become negative, pessimistic, biting, or just plain silent. So help me Lord to love. To love like you love, full of grace and encouragement. When I get to the last petal of the flower it is not a 50/50 chance of love, but a choice. I choose to love.”
July 10, 2010
Makor
“Always go to the source. That’s my rule. Always go to the source.” He was a lawyer. We were talking, trying to sort out a “character assassination”. What he meant was that unless, and until, you go to the source you will have only opinion, rumor, misinformation, and confusion. “Go to the source.” And I never forgot his advice.
Makor is the Hebrew word for source, usually applied to a fountain, a spring, a well, a source of fresh, living water. This source has nothing to do with getting accurate information, though. Rather, it has everything to do with spiritual life. But the advice is the same, “Go to the source.”
I woke up from a dream with a single word, makor, the focal point. In the dream a group was reading and studying Revelation. Spontaneously, everyone got excited and started pointing at a verse, thumping their Bibles, and exclaiming, “Makor, Makor.” The context of the dream wasn’t important, but the word was, I knew for sure. So I began to study and research the word. It turned out to be a Hebrew word, and I have never studied Hebrew. After several weeks, and many pages of “bunny trail” notes, my wife Carol got up early one morning and interrupted my study and told me that she just had a dream.
She was driving along a highway and crossed over a beautiful, inviting stream. She stopped her car, got out, and went to the stream. Others were there, and they said that the stream was a natural spring-fed stream, and very refreshing. So she knelt down and scooped up several handfuls of water to drink. As she started back to the car, her curiosity drew her to want to go up to see the spring. But there was no road, only a trail. So she had to hike. Alone.
When she got there she found a large cave with a pure lake of water inside of it. The stream flowed from the cave. She walked into the large cave. Inside she noticed an old red and white pickup truck parked beside the lake. Behind the truck was an opening into a smaller cave, from which flowed water into the lake of the large cave. A man walked out from the smaller cave and began to talk with her. He said that it was his job to take care of the spring, to watch over it. He enjoyed having a visitor and had lots to say about the spring water. He enjoyed explaining and sharing his knowledge. He said that he wished others would come up to learn about the water, the source of the stream.
When she finished telling me her dream I was both amazed and relieved. Excited to have a word picture of “makor” In jest, I said to Carol, it’s not fair that I study for weeks to know what God is trying to get into my pea brain and you get a beautiful word-picture dream in ten minutes. The other thing I said was to ask her, how did that man get a truck up there in the cave if there was no road? Before she could respond I answered myself. “Well, I guess if you’re the Holy Spirit you don’t need a road, you can just plop down your pickup wherever you want to.”
Psalm 36:9 – “For with you is the fountain of life.”
Jeremiah 2:13 – “My people have committed two sins: they have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.”
John 4:14 – “Whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
John 7:38 – “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him. By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive.”
Revelation 7:17 – “For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their Shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water.”
Revelation 22:1,17 – “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb… Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes let him take the free gift of the water of life.”
Here are some questions to ponder:
The concept of “fountains of living water” is common throughout the Bible. Do we understand it as a word picture, an illustration of spiritual thirsting after the source of abundant life, namely, Jesus and the Holy Spirit? Or do we view it as a label on a bottle of tonic water, something to be ingested through the mouth? Did you notice, in Carol’s dream, that she never even took a drink from the source of water flowing from the small cave, but rather she fellowshipped with the mystical man of the red and white pickup truck? If I, Jesus, came to you personally, how would you drink of the living water I continually offer you? How did the woman at the well of Sychar (John 4) drink of the living water I offered her? Or did you miss that fact (John 4:39-42)?
Which seems more living? A drink from a spring-fed stream several miles from its source, after it has flowed through stagnant little eddies, and through pastures polluted by animal waste and other contaminants? Or a drink from the source of that stream? Is the hike up the little trail worth it, away from the highway and group watering hole? Or worse yet, how often do we seek to satisfy our spiritual thirst with cistern water, pots of water drawn from the stream but stored for quick and easy access? Is it even possible to store up the source of life in a putrid cistern?
How often do you ever get thirsty? With water instantly available at the turn of a faucet can we contemplate and appreciate how valuable the wells were that Isaac and Jacob dug in the land of promise? Can we even relate then to the word picture of spiritual thirsting for the source of living water? For what do you thirst in your inner being? How often do you drink of Jesus, joyfully and worshipfully reliant on Him and upon the Holy Spirit, whom Jesus poured out in us in power and love, a river of life?
Are you one who thinks that fellowshipping with the man in the cave by the red and white pickup is far too mystical? Do you view the Word of God as the only source of living water? Then you must ask yourself, in all honesty, is the Word living and powerful to you (Hebrews 4:12), or has it become lifeless, a mere icon? Have you allowed the incessant verbiage of books and teachers to shape your inner person rather than the living truth of the living Word of God? Is it possible that the Word of God can become an end in itself rather than a conduit to the Source (see John 5:39-40)?
You are not full until you are overflowing. First you must thirst, then you must be filled, then the fountain of living water will flow out of you (John 7:38).
Makor is the Hebrew word for source, usually applied to a fountain, a spring, a well, a source of fresh, living water. This source has nothing to do with getting accurate information, though. Rather, it has everything to do with spiritual life. But the advice is the same, “Go to the source.”
I woke up from a dream with a single word, makor, the focal point. In the dream a group was reading and studying Revelation. Spontaneously, everyone got excited and started pointing at a verse, thumping their Bibles, and exclaiming, “Makor, Makor.” The context of the dream wasn’t important, but the word was, I knew for sure. So I began to study and research the word. It turned out to be a Hebrew word, and I have never studied Hebrew. After several weeks, and many pages of “bunny trail” notes, my wife Carol got up early one morning and interrupted my study and told me that she just had a dream.
She was driving along a highway and crossed over a beautiful, inviting stream. She stopped her car, got out, and went to the stream. Others were there, and they said that the stream was a natural spring-fed stream, and very refreshing. So she knelt down and scooped up several handfuls of water to drink. As she started back to the car, her curiosity drew her to want to go up to see the spring. But there was no road, only a trail. So she had to hike. Alone.
When she got there she found a large cave with a pure lake of water inside of it. The stream flowed from the cave. She walked into the large cave. Inside she noticed an old red and white pickup truck parked beside the lake. Behind the truck was an opening into a smaller cave, from which flowed water into the lake of the large cave. A man walked out from the smaller cave and began to talk with her. He said that it was his job to take care of the spring, to watch over it. He enjoyed having a visitor and had lots to say about the spring water. He enjoyed explaining and sharing his knowledge. He said that he wished others would come up to learn about the water, the source of the stream.
When she finished telling me her dream I was both amazed and relieved. Excited to have a word picture of “makor” In jest, I said to Carol, it’s not fair that I study for weeks to know what God is trying to get into my pea brain and you get a beautiful word-picture dream in ten minutes. The other thing I said was to ask her, how did that man get a truck up there in the cave if there was no road? Before she could respond I answered myself. “Well, I guess if you’re the Holy Spirit you don’t need a road, you can just plop down your pickup wherever you want to.”
Psalm 36:9 – “For with you is the fountain of life.”
Jeremiah 2:13 – “My people have committed two sins: they have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.”
John 4:14 – “Whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
John 7:38 – “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him. By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive.”
Revelation 7:17 – “For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their Shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water.”
Revelation 22:1,17 – “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb… Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes let him take the free gift of the water of life.”
Here are some questions to ponder:
The concept of “fountains of living water” is common throughout the Bible. Do we understand it as a word picture, an illustration of spiritual thirsting after the source of abundant life, namely, Jesus and the Holy Spirit? Or do we view it as a label on a bottle of tonic water, something to be ingested through the mouth? Did you notice, in Carol’s dream, that she never even took a drink from the source of water flowing from the small cave, but rather she fellowshipped with the mystical man of the red and white pickup truck? If I, Jesus, came to you personally, how would you drink of the living water I continually offer you? How did the woman at the well of Sychar (John 4) drink of the living water I offered her? Or did you miss that fact (John 4:39-42)?
Which seems more living? A drink from a spring-fed stream several miles from its source, after it has flowed through stagnant little eddies, and through pastures polluted by animal waste and other contaminants? Or a drink from the source of that stream? Is the hike up the little trail worth it, away from the highway and group watering hole? Or worse yet, how often do we seek to satisfy our spiritual thirst with cistern water, pots of water drawn from the stream but stored for quick and easy access? Is it even possible to store up the source of life in a putrid cistern?
How often do you ever get thirsty? With water instantly available at the turn of a faucet can we contemplate and appreciate how valuable the wells were that Isaac and Jacob dug in the land of promise? Can we even relate then to the word picture of spiritual thirsting for the source of living water? For what do you thirst in your inner being? How often do you drink of Jesus, joyfully and worshipfully reliant on Him and upon the Holy Spirit, whom Jesus poured out in us in power and love, a river of life?
Are you one who thinks that fellowshipping with the man in the cave by the red and white pickup is far too mystical? Do you view the Word of God as the only source of living water? Then you must ask yourself, in all honesty, is the Word living and powerful to you (Hebrews 4:12), or has it become lifeless, a mere icon? Have you allowed the incessant verbiage of books and teachers to shape your inner person rather than the living truth of the living Word of God? Is it possible that the Word of God can become an end in itself rather than a conduit to the Source (see John 5:39-40)?
You are not full until you are overflowing. First you must thirst, then you must be filled, then the fountain of living water will flow out of you (John 7:38).
June 23, 2010
A Tale of Two Farms
Jacob’s farm was the best. For miles and miles around it was the best. Choice piece of land – level, fertile, and accessible. Fenced and cross-fenced, with plenty of roads. Roads that were graveled, not muddy, well drained and maintained. Big beautiful barns – some for equipment, some for storage, some for processing. Immaculately manicured. Nice new tractors. Plenty of wells and water rights. And productive. Buyers, sellers, employees – a bustling, busy productive farm.
Ben was a farm hand for Jacob. It was a great place to work. Ben was happy, well-cared for, satisfied, almost pampered. He had no reason, no need, no ambition to look elsewhere or otherwise. Jacob was known for miles around, just like the farm. He was the best. He knew all the facts and procedures, kept a tight reign, and paid promptly. He really had his act together.
But one day that all changed. Not the farm, but for Ben. It’s amazing how one letter, a single mystery could change the whole course of one’s life. He had heard recent accounts of a few brave souls who had begun to settle in a wild valley over the mountains in the next great watershed. But he thought they were foolish to leave the comfort, the ease, the security of working for the great plantation farms such as Jacob’s. But what slipped out of the envelope that day was a deed. A deed for eighty acres, written out in his name. A half section of land was his, for free. The letter with the deed simply read, “Please accept my gift. You can do it. I know. I’ll be looking in on you. The land isn’t the only thing that will change. Take courage, my friend. Blessings!”
Ben wrestled and debated, deep in his heart, struggling to make a decision. He hadn’t a friend or confidant on the farm whom he could trust to give him counsel, for they would all consider it foolish to accept the deed and start from scratch. But out of struggle and turmoil arises courage and determination.. His life was set upon a new mission, a destiny hatched by a mysterious letter with a gracious deed.
When the day came to announce his decision and bid farewell, Jacob begged and bartered with Ben to stay. The offers were enticing. But Ben’s heart was unshakeable. So Jacob told him he was always welcome to return. “Come back anytime,” he said, fully expecting that he would see him again soon.
The task that Ben set upon was daunting. The work was hard. Trees to fall, stumps to remove, brush to clear, earth to prepare. It seemed that the process was so slow. Piece by piece, acre upon acre. But sometimes it felt as though he was making no progress at all. Others in the valley were doing the same, and they would help each other out constantly. The friendship that developed was so kindred that Ben wondered if he had ever really had a true friend back at Jacob’s farm. Each day Ben would pause to reflect upon what was transpiring, starting with the deed, resulting in an unquenchable sense of hope, of adventure, and purpose. Each morning he seemed to be renewed with power and guidance. What seemed impossible he found he could accomplish. What he had always been told to do by Jacob he now had to figure out for himself – the why, the when, the how. Crop selection, planting, tilling, herbicides and pesticides, thinning and trimming, hiring and training, harvesting, marketing.
There were times, you must know, when Ben made mistakes. Costly, blundering mistakes. And times when he sat on a stump and just let the tears pour out. There were even times when the memory of Jacob’s farm overwhelmed poor Ben. One time he even drove up to the hilltop to gaze down at all the beautiful farms, all laid out so nice and orderly, with various crops, farmers, foremen, and laborers all doing their part. He dreamt of going back, but only momentarily. Then he closed his eyes and thought back to the mystery that started him on this new venture. He was so thankful for the deed, for the donor, for the land, for the progress. But most of all for the mystery of the envelope that had long since morphed into a greater mystery, a heart that was totally reliant on a living source of strength, peace, hope, and purpose. Yes, even an intangible sense of love. An inwardly empowering love and an outgoing love that encouraged everyone that came into his circle – neighbors, employees, family, and clients. No, his farm was not easy, and it was far from perfect. But this wild valley farm was his joy, his life.
Ben was a farm hand for Jacob. It was a great place to work. Ben was happy, well-cared for, satisfied, almost pampered. He had no reason, no need, no ambition to look elsewhere or otherwise. Jacob was known for miles around, just like the farm. He was the best. He knew all the facts and procedures, kept a tight reign, and paid promptly. He really had his act together.
But one day that all changed. Not the farm, but for Ben. It’s amazing how one letter, a single mystery could change the whole course of one’s life. He had heard recent accounts of a few brave souls who had begun to settle in a wild valley over the mountains in the next great watershed. But he thought they were foolish to leave the comfort, the ease, the security of working for the great plantation farms such as Jacob’s. But what slipped out of the envelope that day was a deed. A deed for eighty acres, written out in his name. A half section of land was his, for free. The letter with the deed simply read, “Please accept my gift. You can do it. I know. I’ll be looking in on you. The land isn’t the only thing that will change. Take courage, my friend. Blessings!”
Ben wrestled and debated, deep in his heart, struggling to make a decision. He hadn’t a friend or confidant on the farm whom he could trust to give him counsel, for they would all consider it foolish to accept the deed and start from scratch. But out of struggle and turmoil arises courage and determination.. His life was set upon a new mission, a destiny hatched by a mysterious letter with a gracious deed.
When the day came to announce his decision and bid farewell, Jacob begged and bartered with Ben to stay. The offers were enticing. But Ben’s heart was unshakeable. So Jacob told him he was always welcome to return. “Come back anytime,” he said, fully expecting that he would see him again soon.
The task that Ben set upon was daunting. The work was hard. Trees to fall, stumps to remove, brush to clear, earth to prepare. It seemed that the process was so slow. Piece by piece, acre upon acre. But sometimes it felt as though he was making no progress at all. Others in the valley were doing the same, and they would help each other out constantly. The friendship that developed was so kindred that Ben wondered if he had ever really had a true friend back at Jacob’s farm. Each day Ben would pause to reflect upon what was transpiring, starting with the deed, resulting in an unquenchable sense of hope, of adventure, and purpose. Each morning he seemed to be renewed with power and guidance. What seemed impossible he found he could accomplish. What he had always been told to do by Jacob he now had to figure out for himself – the why, the when, the how. Crop selection, planting, tilling, herbicides and pesticides, thinning and trimming, hiring and training, harvesting, marketing.
There were times, you must know, when Ben made mistakes. Costly, blundering mistakes. And times when he sat on a stump and just let the tears pour out. There were even times when the memory of Jacob’s farm overwhelmed poor Ben. One time he even drove up to the hilltop to gaze down at all the beautiful farms, all laid out so nice and orderly, with various crops, farmers, foremen, and laborers all doing their part. He dreamt of going back, but only momentarily. Then he closed his eyes and thought back to the mystery that started him on this new venture. He was so thankful for the deed, for the donor, for the land, for the progress. But most of all for the mystery of the envelope that had long since morphed into a greater mystery, a heart that was totally reliant on a living source of strength, peace, hope, and purpose. Yes, even an intangible sense of love. An inwardly empowering love and an outgoing love that encouraged everyone that came into his circle – neighbors, employees, family, and clients. No, his farm was not easy, and it was far from perfect. But this wild valley farm was his joy, his life.
June 9, 2010
And The Winner Is
There’s a saying, “He who dies with the most toys, wins.” And another, “The difference between a man and a boy is merely the size of his toys.”
I watched in amazement, over the course of several years, as my grandparents grew older and eventually passed on to be with the Lord. My grandfather was a rugged logger in Washington, back in the day when they cut down old growth trees that were six to eight feet in diameter. He homesteaded a property near Elma, clearing the land, with primitive tools and horses. And he built a barn and home by his own two hands. No chainsaws, no electric power tools, no nail guns. Maybe some dynamite. But no excavator. Eventually he moved to the big city to work for Lockheed, building airplanes.
When I really got to know him was when he retired to Kingman, Arizona. He wasn’t there long because he moved back up to his “home”, near Elma, and bought a modest little house with a big shop and several acres to plant trees. At eighty years of age he still felt compelled to plant fir trees, knowing that someone else would someday be the benefactor of harvesting the lumber.
When he got to the point that he couldn’t keep up with the little farm they sold it and moved into an apartment in Olympia. They had a huge estate sale to get rid of so, so much of their tools, furniture, housewares, and belongings. In just a few short years my Grandmother passed on. So Grandpa got rid of more stuff and moved into an assisted care center. He wasn’t there long before he went back to Arizona to live with his daughter, my mother and father.
The memory that made such an impression on my mind was when he boarded the plane to leave his home state of Washington to live his last few months or years in Arizona. He had with him one suitcase. All his worldly possessions were whittled down, step by step, to just one suitcase.
And when we leave this earth, bound for eternity, we won’t be taking even a single suitcase.
In America, land of the free and the brave, the wealthiest nation ever to live on planet Earth, we view possessions and ownership far different than most other people. I was only twenty-five years old when a church sent a man to Oregon to move me down to Arizona to begin ministry there. We nearly filled up an entire U-haul truck. His comment to me has stuck with me ever since. “I’m impressed with how much stuff you have – tools, collections, furniture. That tells me you must be quite a guy.” Rather than flattering me it humbled me. It caused me to change my heart, and begin to try to buck the culture. I would rather God be impressed than men – impressed by how much I give away and by how much I share, not by how much I possess.
“So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:31-33)
“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (Philippians 4:12)
I watched in amazement, over the course of several years, as my grandparents grew older and eventually passed on to be with the Lord. My grandfather was a rugged logger in Washington, back in the day when they cut down old growth trees that were six to eight feet in diameter. He homesteaded a property near Elma, clearing the land, with primitive tools and horses. And he built a barn and home by his own two hands. No chainsaws, no electric power tools, no nail guns. Maybe some dynamite. But no excavator. Eventually he moved to the big city to work for Lockheed, building airplanes.
When I really got to know him was when he retired to Kingman, Arizona. He wasn’t there long because he moved back up to his “home”, near Elma, and bought a modest little house with a big shop and several acres to plant trees. At eighty years of age he still felt compelled to plant fir trees, knowing that someone else would someday be the benefactor of harvesting the lumber.
When he got to the point that he couldn’t keep up with the little farm they sold it and moved into an apartment in Olympia. They had a huge estate sale to get rid of so, so much of their tools, furniture, housewares, and belongings. In just a few short years my Grandmother passed on. So Grandpa got rid of more stuff and moved into an assisted care center. He wasn’t there long before he went back to Arizona to live with his daughter, my mother and father.
The memory that made such an impression on my mind was when he boarded the plane to leave his home state of Washington to live his last few months or years in Arizona. He had with him one suitcase. All his worldly possessions were whittled down, step by step, to just one suitcase.
And when we leave this earth, bound for eternity, we won’t be taking even a single suitcase.
In America, land of the free and the brave, the wealthiest nation ever to live on planet Earth, we view possessions and ownership far different than most other people. I was only twenty-five years old when a church sent a man to Oregon to move me down to Arizona to begin ministry there. We nearly filled up an entire U-haul truck. His comment to me has stuck with me ever since. “I’m impressed with how much stuff you have – tools, collections, furniture. That tells me you must be quite a guy.” Rather than flattering me it humbled me. It caused me to change my heart, and begin to try to buck the culture. I would rather God be impressed than men – impressed by how much I give away and by how much I share, not by how much I possess.
“So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:31-33)
“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (Philippians 4:12)
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