New Beginnings

 

"The Lord ' s lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,

For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning;

Great is Your faithfulness."

Lamentations 3:22,23

Today is the first day of the school year for many. I have so enjoyed seeing all the "Back To School" poses pictured online this morning. You can sense the freshness in each one . . . . neatly cut, perfectly arranged hair . . . . unscuffed shoes, not quite broken in yet . . . . newly purchased school clothes, carefully tucked and smoothed . . . . that perfect backpack, long-deliberated-over and finally chosen, bursting at the seams with beckoning, blank notebook pages, unbroken crayons, and  shiny yellow pencils, sharpened and ready for action.
 

But most of all I have loved seeing the bright smiles and sparkling eyes of the children, their eager faces revealing the hopeful expectation of good things to come . . . . the fresh promise of  finding new friendships,  gaining new understanding, and exploring new ideas. Everything feels . . . . well . . . . new!  On this first day of school there are no thoughts of bad grades, lost homework, tardy slips, playground bullies, or rainy day recesses . . . . only the excitement of starting  all over again.

I have always relished the feeling of fresh beginnings.  Maybe it's because I was a teacher for all those years . . . . or maybe it's because I've fallen flat on my face so many times . . . . perhaps it is merely because I am hardwired as the eternal optimist . . . .  but I always savor the idea of starting over again. I'm a sucker for Monday mornings and New Year's resolutions.  I revel in the first blooms of springtime and the smell of newborn babies, fresh from Heaven. 
 

There's something exhilarating about leaving the staleness of yesterday behind . . . . pulling up that anchor that would have me remain in the past . . . . detecting the subtle stirring of the breeze . . . . raising my sail to full mast . . . . setting my sites on a new horizon . . . . and giving myself over to the will of the Maker of land and sea and wind and all things . . . .letting the wind of His Spirit launch me where He wills. 

"For in Him we live and move and have our being."  

Acts 17:28

I've been pondering that verse a lot lately.  In Him . . . . in Him . . . . in Him . . . .  that phrase repeats itself again and again in my spirit. What does it mean to be in Him? The Bible says this of  us who believe: 
 

"For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God." 

Col 3:3
 

"Therefore if any man [be] in Christ, [he is] a new creature:

 old things are passed away;

behold, all things are become new." 

2 Cor 5:17
 

Our modern day culture focuses a lot on doing, but not so much on just being . . . . on gaining recognition and position and possessions, but not so much on losing our life in the One who IS our very life . . . . on insisting on our own way, and not so much on relinquishing control to Him who IS the Way. 
 

What if we were to allow every day to be like the first day of school . . . . filled with anticipation of everything good . . . .  overflowing with His new mercies and grace . . . . joyful hearts trusting as a child does that it's going to be just wonderful?  What if we were to let go of our own stubborn wills and allow Him to take us where He pleases and continually pour out our lives to the world around us?  What if we were to fully realize all that it means to "live and move and have our being" . . . . our very being . . . . in Him? 

Poppa, help us to really know and experience the depths of this mysterious but wonderful life hid in Christ that You have promised us.  Thank You for the hope of eternal life and for making all things new. Thank you for enrolling us in your school of the Spirit, where each day is richer than the day before. 

 

Overcomer

 

 

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace.

In this world you will have trouble.

But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

John 16:33

Yesterday was one of those tough days . . . . you know the ones I'm talking about.  I felt overwhelmed and weak and wavering and overcome by unseen enemies. How did I handle it? I asked several close friends for prayer . . . . I crawled up in "Poppa's Lap" . . . . and cried . . . . and worshipped . . . . and cried . . . . and worshipped . . . . and let His great Love comfort me and settle my troubled heart. Sometimes you've just got to be His little child and trust others to stand guard over you while you rest and recover. How beautiful is the Body of Christ . . . . and how vast is His love for us. 

This morning I awoke bathed in His new mercies, with my much-needed cup of grace filled to overflowing. Since then I have been savoring  God's promises . . . . feeding my spirit with strength-giving nourishment, enabling it to once again take charge of my fickle emotions and line them up with God's Word.

Battles come so unexpectedly in this life! One moment we are walking in the joy of His favor and blessing, enjoying Him and all He has given . . . . then . . . . out of nowhere . . . . a storm of Biblical proportions looms overhead, blocking our vision, impeding our movement, threatening to knock us down and blow us completely away. 

 

What then are we to do in these inevitable, unavoidable battles?

 

Knowing that our Champion has already defeated every foe once and for all . . . . realizing that we can't follow in His footsteps without meeting some of those foes along the way so that we may learn to enforce His victory on the earth . . . . believing that He has already given us ALL we need to overcome in the situations that He, in His sovereignty, is allowing us to face. . . . All these things keep us moving firmly forward through the tough times . . . . through the bad reports . . . . through the long, dark nights . . . . through the stormy seasons . . . . without doubting His goodness or wavering in our faith, even if we are still sometimes trembling in our boots.  

 

Then . . . . reminding ourselves that we are fully clothed in Him . . . . knowing that it is impossible for Him to fail . . . . we force our gaze away from the circumstances, focus our attention on His throne, and attune our ears to hear the battle plan.  We hold up the shield of faith and the sword of the spirit and we stand  . . . . and we stand . . . . and then we stand some more . . . . and we face down our enemy in the strength of our LORD Jesus Christ . . . . Captain of the Hosts . . . . Mighty Warrior King . . . . and we know that in Him we are more than conquerors . . . .

 

and Poppa smiles . . . .

 

and the enemy loses . . . . again . . . .and again . . . . and again . . . .

and Poppa laughs! (Ps 2:4)
 

"And they overcame him because of the blood of the Lamb

and because of the word of their testimony,

and they did not love their life even when faced with death."

Revelation 12:11

Convergence

 

 

All flesh is grass,

And all its loveliness is like the flower of the field.

 The grass withers, the flower fades,

But the word of our God stands forever. 

Isaiah 40:6b, 8

 

I love it when God sends me flowers!

He knows how I cherish their unexpected arrival in the middle of an otherwise ordinary day. They burst onto the scene . . . . adorned in vibrant beauty . . . . releasing their intoxicating fragrance . . . . changing the atmosphere with their very presence.

Like Moses at the burning bush, I just have to stop whatever I'm doing and take it all in. . . . savor the experience fully . . . . graciously receive the costly offering they have lavished upon me, understanding that their moment of fullness has come . . . . that their destiny has now been fulfilled. . . . and that the time of their fading has begun. The two lives intersect for a moment in time, and each is changed by the other. . . . Their convergence is now complete.

God sent me a special flower today . . . . His gift to me was delightful, and though the encounter was brief . . . Her fragrance lingers still, even interrupting my sleep.

I had dreaded and put off a much-needed doctor's appointment for a couple of weeks, but I had promised myself that today was the day. The waiting room of our local rural health clinic is always packed wall-to-wall with weary souls, and today was no exception. I chose my spot in the crowded room and unpacked all the diversions I had brought along to distract myself. I settled down into my bunker and prepared to endure. To think, that in my narrowness of heart and self-absorption, I came close to missing out on the wonderful gift that was being delivered just for me . . . .

She walked in the door a short time later. I looked up from my iPad, smiled, and said, "Good Morning."  Noticing that there weren't many empty seats, I cleared the place next to me, and she sat down. There was no apparent common denominator between the two of us . . . . our ages were from different decades . . . . our skin colors were of contrasting hues . . . . our fashion styles clashed dramatically. . . . based on first impressions, it is likely that our social circles differed, as well as our bank accounts. But . . . . nevertheless . . . . in this most dreary, routine, and unceremonious setting . . . a moment of divine convergence was upon us. 

Even before our conversation began, I sensed the invisible, yet undeniable connection that already existed. . . . I heard the distinct rumblings of "deep calling to deep".  Within a few moments, we had both flung wide the doors of our hearts and begun to simultaneously spill out the contents.  It was as if we had been waiting for this moment in time to be able to release what had been held back. Life and truth, beauty and pain, shared experiences and lessons learned came rushing in torrents out of the two streams . . . . from two different perspectives . . . . from two different worlds . . . . yet now converging as one in a beautiful, cascading River of Life, so that one was lost in the other. I drank thirstily and unashamedly from her, and she from me.

It was such a lovely time, and I heard the sound of my name being called all too quickly. I stood to leave, but was compelled to turn around to embrace her for a moment. Sometimes you must simply bury your face in the bouquet to absorb all of it's essence. Poppa had so perfectly orchestrated this exchange, and it was hard to see His beautiful flower begin to fade from my sight . . . . But it's purpose was now complete . . . . two lives intersecting for a moment in time . . . . each forever changed by the other.

 

I completed the scheduled lab work that had brought me here this morning, paid my bill, and re-entered the front lobby.  I quickly scanned the room for the familiar face . . . . but, just as I had expected, she was no longer there . . .   I wished I had asked her name.

 

As I stepped outside into the morning sunshine, I was surprised to find her out on the front walk, stretching her legs for a bit.  My heart leaped for joy!  We once again eagerly connected, each expressing our thanks for the newly shared friendship. 

 

I said my final goodbye, began to head toward my car, and then suddenly remembered . . . . "Oh!  By the way, I am Melody . . . . What is your name?" I asked as I turned back around. 

"Lily", she replied, "my name is Lily." . . . . Of course . . . . big smile . . . . savor the moment . . . . take it all in.

I love it when God sends me flowers!

Now thanks be to God

who always leads us in triumph in Christ,

 and through us diffuses the fragrance

of His knowledge in every place.

II Corinthians 2:14 

Letting Go . . . .



Today was an odd day . . . . not sad or depressing or disappointing . . . . just a little disorienting . . . . or RE-orienting, maybe?

I had prepared myself ahead of time for change. I had purposefully fixed my mind on the many blessings in my life; I had reached out to some whom I felt might be struggling today; I had kept my heart in a state of thanksgiving. I realize now that I had been bracing myself for some unseen tsunami that I sensed might come from nowhere and sweep me away, never to be found again.

Today, on this first Mother's Day since her passing, I found myself alone in my mom's almost empty house . . . .wandering around the now unfamiliar rooms, stopping to bury my nose in her Youth Dew bath powder, running my fingers through some of her clothing still hanging in the closet . . . . desperately searching for something familiar to cling to. I found nothing. That house is just a building now and, strangely, I felt like an intruder there in that place I once called home.

Today was an important milestone in my life . . . .a day for burial . . . .a day for letting go . . . . a day for moving on. This was a day for plunging myself down deeper into the heart of Poppa God to gulp from the bottomless wells of His grace . . . . a day for flinging myself violently into all that He is and allowing myself to be swallowed up completely in His all-consuming Love.

Today, I learned anew that He is more than enough for me on any day, through any season, and in any situation. He is not only my Father, He is now my Mother. He is my Husband, my Best Friend, my Everything. My identity comes not from being someone's child or mother or wife or friend. My identity is not related to my hometown, my career, my possessions, or even the gifts He has given. My identity comes from Christ alone. Everything else will pass away . . . . all else will be shaken, burned up,  vaporized in an instant.  He alone is my Life.

Today was a very good day . . . .

"Whom have I in heaven but You? 
And besides You, I desire nothing on earth.
My flesh and my heart may fail, 
But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."

Psalms 73:25, 26 NASB

"For you have died 
and your life is hidden with Christ in God.
When Christ, who is our life, is revealed, 
then you also will be revealed with Him in glory."

Colossians 3:3, 4

Once Upon A Time . . . .

Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;
And in Your book were all written the days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them. 

Psalm 139:16

Ye are an epistle of Christ . . . . written not with ink,
but with the Spirit of the living God;
not in tables of stone, but in tables that are hearts of flesh.

2 Cor 3:3

"What kind of Love is writing my story to the end.. . . With Mercy's pen?"

The above line from Natalie Grant's song, Alive, captured my heart a while back, and I've been pondering the imagery ever since.

Who doesn't love a good book, with a plot that grabs hold of you on the first page and carries you away hostage until you've reached the last?  The story haunts your thoughts for days afterwards, and you find yourself fondly remembering each character, wondering what they are doing now, and longing to spend time with them again.  Silly?  Maybe . . . . but you avid readers know exactly what I mean.

Books have transported me to ancient lands and distant shores.  I have tasted both victory and defeat in battle, taken my stand for justice as I championed a cause, been rescued by valiant heroes from certain doom, and swept off my feet by my one true love . . . . all while never leaving my favorite chair.  I have been inspired to the point of tears at triumphs of good over evil, and I have been devastated with disappointment over the human condition as the villain gains the upper hand and causes darkness to hijack the storyline.

Have you ever stopped to consider what makes some books so enjoyable while others seem to flop? 

Most stories have the same basic patterns: a setting is established, a conflict emerges, things go right, things go WRONG, there is a final breakthrough (a victory or defeat), and a conclusion. As the tale unfolds, the positive attributes as well as the personality flaws of the characters begin to be revealed and they become either dearly beloved or adamantly hated figures to the reader.

When I discover an author whose book I love, I look forward to reading his other works, as well.  I especially love a trilogy or series that allows me to follow a character or family through several generations and periods in history.  It is intriguing to see how decisions made by earlier characters leave a lasting and irrevocable impact on the family or the situation being presented. 

I can only conclude that the author must ultimately take sole responsibility for the success or failure of the tale he is penning.  He alone controls every element, after all, so only he can guide it to a satisfying outcome. Once the writer has signed his name to the final draft . . . . once he has leaned back in his chair, smiled,  and whispered to himself, "well done" . . . . only then can he entrust his work to the printers and wait for the reviews.  His masterpiece is now complete.  The rest, as they say, is history.

Okay . . . . back to the lyrics, "What kind of Love is writing my story to the end . . . . With Mercy's pen?" . . . . 

What if the ultimate author of your life's story is Almighty God?  He is, you know.  When He created you, He designed a specific setting just for you . . . . the perfect backdrop against which the plot would unfold.   He placed within you the necessary elements of your personality that were to help weave the most wonderful adventure.  He planned  epic battles for you to fight and the enemy of all enemies for you to overcome and vanquish.  And, of course there is the unmistakeable thread of the love story of the ages, woven throughout the saga from beginning to end.  This unique work is the first of a series as well, with the decisions that you make affecting the characters in future sequels as yet unwritten.  This has all the makings of a great masterpiece . . . . right?

But wait . . . . what is this I see? . . . . With all of Heaven looking on . . . . God does the most curious thing.  Quite deliberately . . . .  without a moment of uncertainty or hesitation . . . . He reaches down through the ages and places the pen solidly in YOUR hand!  Rather than being merely a passive participant in this work, you alone are now allowed to determine your role and to decide how the plot will unfold to the ending.  Shocking!

The gift of the human will . . . . this is the most dangerous gift that God ever bestowed upon His creation.  With it, we love and follow Him completely one moment only to turn away and rebel against Him and His beautiful plan the next.   Why would He take such a risk?  Why were we entrusted with the power to break His heart?  There are hidden mysteries in this that will take an eternity for us to explore, but let's begin with this:  God is Love and love does not EVER insist on it's own way.  This God who is Love . . . . this Author and Perfector of our faith . . . .  has given us everything we will ever need to become who He desires us to be, but He will never insist, never force, never control.  Instead, He waits patiently . . . . bearing with us . . . . believing in us . . . . hoping for us . . . . interceding for us . . . . ever waiting and watching for that breakthrough in the plot, the place where the reader cheers and knows that the ending is now going to be outstanding!

Will you take this gift He gave you . . . . your own will . . . . this divine "Pen" . . . . and place it back into His loving Hand?  Will you trust that His version of your manuscript will be perfect in every way . . . . even if it unfolds in a direction that you would never have chosen?  Will you allow "Mercy's pen" to write your story to the end, just as the song suggests?  Will His name be signed at the end as proof of His final approval?  Will you stand before Him on that day and hear those cherished and long-awaited words . . . . "Well done, good and faithful servant"?  (Matt. 25:23)  Will you see Him smile at His finished work?

Only then will you know that you ARE the masterpiece that He had always envisioned . . . . Only then will His heart be fully satisfied . . . . And only then, beloved, will your own heart be fully satisfied. 

For we are God’s masterpiece.

He has created us anew in Christ Jesus,

so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.

Eph 2:10 (NLV)



Broken and Restored

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face;

now I know in part, but then I will know fully

just as I also have been fully known.

1 Corinthians 13:12

 

 

I dropped my hand-held mirror this morning . . . . the one I use when putting on my makeup.  As you can see in the photo, it fractured into quite a few pieces, making it difficult for me to complete my task.  At first I felt irritated as I tried unsuccessfully to find a way to accurately see my reflection. I kept getting a distorted view as I sought to try a different angle.

As I continued, memories came flooding back from a time when my life was fractured just like this mirror . . . . a time when my heart was not an accurate reflection of the God who loves me so . . . . a time when I had a distorted view of Him and myself and everything in general . . . . a time when I tried and tried to look at life from a different "angle" only to end up more and more broken. 

As these memories unfolded, my attention began to shift from the natural to the spiritual . . . . my attitude began to shift from agitation to adoration . . . . and my heart began to respond in the way for which it was created . . . . in worship of the One who heals the brokenhearted and sets the captive free.  Oh how I love Him, because I was that captive and He has set me free! She who has been forgiven much, loves much. 

I don't want to focus on all the events which resulted in my broken life. Let's just say that I have an enemy who has always hated and sought to destroy me.  For a time I believed his lies and built my life on that false foundation.  I loved God and wanted to serve Him, but my understanding of His ways was so distorted by lies that all my efforts were in vain.

I can remember reading Jeremiah 29 over and over again during those dark times.   This chapter contains the message God gave the prophet to deliver to His people whom HE had CAUSED to be led away into captivity for a season. He was encouraging them in their final outcome and promising that, if they would search for Him with their WHOLE heart, they would indeed find Him. I would literally burst into tears each time I read this as I cried out to Him in my misery, "But, God, I don't HAVE a whole heart!!!  How will I ever find you?!?!  Please give me a whole heart!!"

For years I looked at Him through this shattered lens, but I never stopped crying out for Him to heal all the broken pieces of my heart.  According to His beautiful design and His perfect timing, He answered my tearful prayers.  All along He had been carefully working all things together for my good . . . . I just couldn't quite see it yet . . . . It was the fractured vision, you know . . . . it blinded me to the truth.  But, there came a day when His incredible love was revealed to my heart in a way that dealt a death blow to all those lies!  From that time on, the restoration was quick and it was solid. His love NEVER fails!  The promises in Isaiah 61 became my reality . . . . beauty for ashes . . . . praise instead of heaviness . . . . everlasting joy.  What response can we ever have to Him . . . . the One who rescues us with His great love . . . . other than neverending praise and worship?!

May I encourage you today to bring your broken pieces to Jesus. Stop trying to hold it all together . . . . you never will without Him.  He is the One who understands brokenness more than any other man.  He was rejected, stricken, wounded, pierced . . . . BROKEN . . . . on our behalf that we might be whole and free . . . blameless, without spot or wrinkle.  Keep crying out to Him for a whole heart . . . . He is creating a masterpiece of your life. It will reflect His glory in a unique way . . . . one which He created for you alone to display.

And take time to behold Him daily . . . . in worship . . . . in His word.  For . . . .as we behold Him . . . . we are changed into His very image.  What an amazing promise!



But we all, with unveiled face,

beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord,

are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory,

just as from the Lord, the Spirit.

2 Corinthians 3:18

I Believe I Can Fly!!

 

Do not be afraid any longer, only believe. Mark 5:36

 

Grounded . . . . I don't know exactly when it happened . . . . I don't recall a single event or major life trauma that triggered the downward spiral.  In all likelihood, my personal free-fall  from wide-eyed wonder and wild abandon  to squinty-eyed suspicion and paralyzing fear went completely unnoticed by the casual observer.  I only know that once upon a time I believed I could fly . . . . and I did fly. 

I was born for adventure . . . . and born TO an adventurer.  My dad was a visionary, a man who was always looking upward and away toward a distant horizon . . . . forever pondering the next unconquered frontier.  When Bill Latham caught a glimpse of something in his sites, it was like an itch that had to be scratched.  You could bet that something exciting was about to happen.   He was my hero . . . . and it was he who taught me to fly.

One of my earliest memories as a youngster revolves around the thrilling, death-defying (well, to a three-year-old anyway) feat which  routinely took place in our kitchen.  My daddy would place me up on top of the refrigerator, step back a couple of feet, hold both hands out in front of him, and shout, "Jump!"  At his command, I would sail off into thin air with complete fearlessness, assured that I would always land in his reliable embrace.  He would beam proudly, I would squeal with delight and immediately demand, "Do it again, Daddy!" 

Trust came so easily then . . . . I knew nothing of falling . . . . My reality was shaped by the confidence in his voice, the safety of his arms, and the joy that we shared together in those moments.

My father was always interested in flying, and I was his flying buddy.  Years  later he did obtain his pilot's license and even had his own airplane, but some of his early flight experiences were with his friend, Burl Poole, who flew a small, open-cockpit "cropduster".  I would tug at my daddy's pants leg and beg him to take me to fly with "Air" Poole, as I had dubbed him.  I still remember the feeling of exhilaration as we lifted off the ground and took to the sky, my long brown hair blowing wildly about in the wind!  Daddy would hold my small frame tightly to keep me confined to that space, but my little spirit would soar so high that nothing could contain it. 

Years passed by, life got busy, I became too big for the refrigerator trick, and I 'm not sure what happened to the crop-duster adventures.  Gradually, along with the passing of time, came the entrance of other voices into my life, with messages far different from the one I had come to trust.  These voices must have been either very loud, very convincing, or very consistant, because they soon drowned out the familiar one which had always made me believe that I could do anything.  Oh, my daddy was still there, encouraging and building me up, but inside I began to doubt him and believe my accusers.  There did, after all, seem to be growing evidence to back up their claims of my failures.

As fears and insecurities mounted, my spirit sank lower and lower.  Soon I was so defined by these internal struggles that I shrank back from trying new things.  One of the many anxieties that emerged during that time, of all things, was a crippling fear of heights! My feet were now bound by invisible chains which kept me tethered to the lower regions of existence.  I no longer gazed upward . . . . and heaven forbid that I should ever be required to look down from even a modest elevation! 

But . . . .  deep within the core of my being, there beat the heart of an eagle.  You see, God had placed it there at my creation, and it had always recognized that my destiny was to soar the heights of the heavens.  So . . . . at night, while my tormented mind rested from its troubling thoughts . . . . my spirit would rise above it all and reignite my passion.

. . . . The dream was always the same, and it was repeated again and again during those earthbound years . . . . I would see myself standing perfectly still on the edge of a scenic, green hillside with arms outstretched, and my face pointed toward the sky.  I wouldn't do anything else . . . . I'd just wait . . . . but at some point in the waiting, a breeze would begin to stir and increase, and it would invariably lift me above the ground.  To my great delight, I would begin to glide effortlessly around the sky above the hillside.  The sensation was like no other, and I would always awaken from the dream, deeply satisfied and longing for the freedom I had just experienced. 

I won't go into a detailed account here of my liberation from all that held me down.  I will just tell you that Deep does call out unto deep (Psalm 42:7), and Perfect Love does indeed cast out fear. (1 John 4:18)  Poppa God has been faithfully cutting away all that has weighed me down, removing all that has hindered my ability to ascend to the heights for which I was created.  He is faithful, and I am His child.  I am confident that He who began this good work in me will see it through to completion.  (Phil. 1:6)

The process was there all along in the recurring dream . . . . the waiting . . . . the face turned toward Him . . . . the wind of His Spirit sent to lift me up . . . . and the ultimate freedom from the downward pull of this world.

Dreams really do come true, you know.  I need only to believe . . . . I need only to respond with childlike faith to His voice each time He says, "Jump!"  His everlasting arms have never once failed to receive me, and so I sail off  again and again into His embrace . . . . and the joy that we share in those moments is unspeakable and full of glory. 

As always, the cry of my heart is . . . . "Do it again, Poppa!"  

And . . . . once again, my spirit takes flight . . . .

But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength;

they shall mount up with wings as eagles;

they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

Isaiah 40:31


I used to think that I could not go on
And life was nothing but an awful song
But now I know the meaning of true love
I'm leaning on the Everlasting Arms

If I can see it, then I can do it
If I just believe it, there's nothing to it

I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day
Spread my wings and fly away
I believe I can soar
I see me running through that open Door
I believe I can fly

(Excerpt from lyrics to I Believe I Can Fly, written by R Kelly)

Rooted and Grounded in Love

". . . . that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory,

to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man,

so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you,

being rooted and grounded in love,

may be able to comprehend with all the saints

what is the breadth and length and height and depth of that love,

and to know the love of Christ which surpasses mere knowledge

that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God."  Eph. 3: 16-19

One of my favorite spots on this earth is the beautiful, Southern-style porch on the front of our 100+ year old home.  I have spent many quiet, blissful hours there . . . . listening to God, enjoying the beauty of His creation, and reflecting upon what He is speaking to my heart. 

Lately my attention has been drawn to the ancient oak trees on the property.  I try to imagine the size of the root system beneath the ground needed to support the enormous load that each tree creates by it's height and breadth.  I've been told that the size of the root system of a live oak tree mirrors the size of the tree that you can see above the ground.  That is almost unfathomable to perceive!!

Those trees are so tall that you must bend backwards to see the treetops overhead.  Their branches stretch out to unbelievable lengths, providing shade to the lawn and a haven for various creatures, and even a swing for my grandchildren. I love the trunks and branches and limbs and leaves. . . .they are beautiful through every season of the year.  But I truly appreciate those roots . . . . the tremendous bases which support the weight of those trees. . . . and all the more when an inescapable storm front rages through.  One toppled tree would irreparably damage our house.  But those massive, hidden root systems have provided the stability that the trees need in order to have withstood over 100 years of even the most violent of storms.

In the prayer above, Paul expresses his desire for the church at Ephesus to be rooted and grounded in love.  It is absolutely vital that our roots go down deep and wide into Poppa's love (for He IS love, you know) and draw all of our life from His Life.  Only then can we be grounded . . . . to lay the foundation, to found; to make stable, to establish . . . . enough to really be able to explore and enjoy the breadth, the length, the height, and the depth of that same love.  Incomprehensible . . . .yet, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, Paul prays that we be able to comprehend it.  Yes . . . . may it be!!!

All the fullness of God?!?!?!!  Wow!!!!

Father, plunge us once again today into the depths of Your Love.  Increase both the size and the capacity of our root systems so that we may be able to draw deeply from that love through every season of life.  You alone ARE our life and in You alone do we live and move and have our being.  And as we become established in Your Love, may we come to fully know and experience all the dimensions of what that Love means to us and in us and through us.  As our roots go down into Your Heart, may our branches extend to others, providing for them all that Your love makes possible.  And when the inevitable storms come, we thank you that Your Love cannot fail.  Thank you, dear Poppa!

So they will be called oaks of righteousness,

the planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified. Is 61:3

For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life,

nor angels, nor principalities,

nor things present, nor things to come,

nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature,

shall be able to separate us from the love of God,

which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.   Rom 8:38-39



The Waiting Room

Our inner selves wait [earnestly] for the Lord; He is our Help and our Shield. For in Him does our heart rejoice, because we have trusted (relied on and been confident) in His holy name. Let Your mercy and loving-kindness, O Lord, be upon us,
in proportion to our waiting and hoping for You.  

                                                                             Psalm 33:20-22 AMP

I have had a song "stuck" in my head for a week or so now.  When that happens, I begin to play or sing it over and over.  An amazing thing then begins to happen:  it slowly drops from my head to my heart.  This is exactly what has taken place with the song, "Resting Place."  Here are the words to the chorus:

Here, oh Lord, have I prepared for You a home
Long have I desired for You to dwell
Here, oh Lord, have I prepared a resting place
Here, oh Lord, I wait for You alone

Since man was created, God has always desired to dwell with his beloved children. We read in Genesis that He prepared a perfect dwelling place, a garden, with every possible provision for his first children, Adam and Eve.  All that they could ever have desired was there for them . . . . and He, Himself, was present in their midst. 

We read later about how He sent Moses, the deliverer, to free His children from their captivity.  Once again, He provided everything that they needed, this time not in a garden, but in a barren place.  He saved them from their enemies; He rained manna daily from Heaven for their sustenance; He provided water from a rock; He protected them from the elements by manifesting as a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. 

Then we see an amazing plan unfold from Poppa's heart.  Moses was summoned up to Mt. Sinai, where the presence of the LORD was.  This was a terrifying place, but Moses ascended the mount to wait to hear what God would say.  He was given many instructions during his forty days of waiting there, including a marvelous blueprint for the building of the tabernacle, which would be the place where God would literally dwell in the midst of His people. Moses followed the blueprint precisely, and prepared a place for the presence of the LORD.  God's manifest presence did come after the place had been made ready, and He dwelled there among His people for the entire forty years in the wilderness and later in the Promised Land.  He was there, in the corporate sense, in their midst.  Did his children honor His presence, or did they count it as common?

Now Moses used to take the tent and pitch it outside the camp, a good distance from the camp, and he called it the tent of meeting . . . . when Moses entered the tent, the pillar of cloud would descend and stand at the entrance of the tent; and the LORD would speak with Moses . . . . Thus the LORD used to speak to Moses face to face, just as a man speaks to his friend.  Exodus 33:7, 9, 11

What I see here is that Moses was not satisfied to merely experience God's provision nor His presence in a corporate sense, but that He made a place to personally meet with the LORD.  One of the marks of his life was waiting:  waiting forty years on the back side of the wilderness before His encounter with God in the burning bush; waiting forty days on Mt. Sinai on two separate occasions; and even in the forty year period of wandering in the wilderness . . . .  he daily made a practice of waiting upon the LORD. 

Do you provide a place to daily meet with the LORD . . . . a waiting room . . . . to honor His presence and to communicate with Him?  This is more than just a physical space in your house, or a space of time in your schedule, but this waiting room is a place in your heart where you continually posture yourself before Him for instruction . . . . for wisdom . . . . for communion . . . .  for Life itself.  Or has His presence become common to you as it was to the Israelites? 

There is much more to be said on this topic, but we will save it for another post.  In the  meantime, will you consider preparing a waiting room and meeting with Him there?  This has always been His heart's desire.  He has made every provision for you.  Will you make the provision for Him? 

He is waiting . . . .