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 

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)



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)

Mercy's Lap

Or do you think lightly of the riches of His kindness and tolerance and patience,

not knowing that the kindness of God leads you to repentance?

Romans 2:4

I was reminiscing yesterday about a sweet childhood memory. It's funny to think upon it with such fondness. It actually could have been a traumatic event to recall had it been entrusted to a less discerning soul . . . . but Poppa, in His infinite wisdom and immeasurable kindness, allowed otherwise.   53 years later, I still consider it to be an important stone set in the foundation of my life.

Her name was Mrs. McKeithen, and she was my first grade teacher. Back in those days of the 1950's in my small, southern hometown, we had neither preschool nor kindergarten, so her class was my very first experience in school. What a kind and tenderhearted person she was. We didn't just learn "readin' and writin' and 'rithmetic", but we learned Christian values and respect for others.   Ahhhhhhh . . . . the good old days!  God had not yet been expelled from our schools at that point . . . . but that's another story.

Mrs. McKeithen was definitely not a "hireling".  She was a true shepherd . . . well, I guess technically she was a shepherdess . . . . who tenderly cared for her flock. She performed a ritual each day after lunch, a time when we came in hot and exhausted from our rambunctious recess romps. She would have us lay our heads on our desks and she would walk up and down the aisles, rubbing each tiny back, while she sang soothing lullabies over her lambs. We were so bathed in love! It was in this atmosphere that my foundation stone was laid.

I was a very impulsive child, with a contagious enthusiasm for life . . . . a delightful trait at times, I'm told, but a constant springboard for trouble! Not yet seasoned in the practice of self-control, I seldom weighed the consequences of my actions or words . . . I acted first and thought later.  Living in the moment . . . . that was me!

I do not remember the identity of the little girl who sat in front of me, but I can still see the shiny nickel balanced precariously on the edge of the book storage area underneath her desk that morning. A nickel could still buy quite a variety of things back then, and my desire to have it overruled any moral thought otherwise in that moment. You guessed it!  In one seamless movement, the nickel transferred from her possession to mine. No one was any the wiser as I slipped the treasure into my pocket . . . . or so I thought . . . .

At some point that morning, the child discovered her loss and the missing coin was reported to Mrs. McKeithen. A class-wide posse was formed and a search was initiated. It was at this point that another character flaw reared it's ugly head from my six year old being. I was already a thief, wracked with guilt and fear, struggling about what to do to correct the situation without adding total humiliation to the mix.  And now . . . . enter, deception!


An ingenious solution began to emerge . . . . instead of being labeled a criminal, I could instead be hailed as the class hero! I had to act quickly.  I hid the nickel in the palm of my hand and made a sweeping motion across the floor. I pretended to pick up the lost item as I announced, "Here it is! I found it!"   I handed the coin over to it's rightful owner, enjoyed my brief moment of fame, and returned to my desk.


Whew! My plan had worked . . . . my reputation remained untarnished and I was relieved of my guilt . . . . well, kind of . . . . only what was this dreadful gnawing sensation that was now growing in the pit of my belly?

The day continued on, the daily routine unfolded in the usual fashion, and eventually our sweet rest time arrived. On this day, after the usual songs and back rubs, Mrs. McKeithen seated herself in a chair in front of the room and summoned me to come to her. She lifted me up onto her lap, wrapped her arms around me, and began to rock. As she rocked, she whispered in my ear, "You took the nickel, didn't you honey?" The total absence of condemnation in her voice melted all my defenses, and I confessed my sin with tears of remorse. The release from shame that I experienced in that cocoon of unconditional love has never left me from that day to this.  That single act of kindness offered me the way out when I couldn't find it on my own.  She continued  holding me  through the remainder of our rest period and comforted me again in that reassuring voice of hers. "It's going to be okay," she whispered, "just don't do it again."

That was the first time I was ever held in Mercy's lap.  That was the first time I ever heard those same liberating words that the woman caught in adultery heard from the Master:  "Neither do I condemn you, go and sin no more."  That was my first encounter with the heart of God.


Was a potential lifetime of crime averted that day?  Maybe nothing as dramatic as that . . . . we'll never know.  But, I can tell you that even though I didn't have language to wrap around it at age six, the wisdom of that one woman allowed me to touch the reality of a spiritual truth that had existed throughout all the ages . . . . "mercy triumphs over judgement."  (James 2:13) 

She could have stood me up and made a public spectacle of me in front of my peers . . . . she could have punished me and held my crime and punishment up as an example . . . . she could have uncovered my sin to the world.  She could have pronounced judgement upon me . . . . it would have been justified . . . . I was guilty after all.  But she chose mercy, and that mercy stands triumphant even now. 

I've made thousands of mistakes since that day, falling often and failing in almost every way possible.  But my life had been launched on a course.  A compass had been set in my heart that would always cause me to seek out mercy in the same way that sailors navigate by  true north.  It would faithfully lead me home to safe harbor again and again to the place I love . . . . Mercy's lap.   

He said that you could come into his
Presence without fear
Into this holy place
Where His presence hovers near.

Come runnin' come runnin'
Come runnin' to the mercy seat
Where Jesus is callin' He said His grace would cover you.

His blood will flow freely it will provide the healin'
Come runnin' to the mercy seat

(Excerpt from lyrics to Mercy Seat by Vcki Yohe)

The LORD is gracious and merciful; Slow to anger and great in lovingkindness.

Psalm 145:8

Righteousness and justice are the foundation of Your throne;

mercy and loving-kindness and truth go before Your face.

Psalm 89:14 AMP 

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 . . . .

The Apple of His Eye

"The Lord is gracious and full of compassion,

slow to anger and abounding in mercy and loving-kindness.

The Lord is good to all, and His tender mercies are over all His works."

Psalm 145: 8,9

How many times have you heard the statement, "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree"?  Many times this is used in a negative way in reference to those who repeat the mistakes of their parents.  It's another way of saying, "he's a chip off the old block" or "like father, like son."

I had the privilege of having a wonderful earthly father.  Many times I think that this is why it is so easy for me to approach and enjoy my Poppa God.  Unfortunately, this is not always the case for some.  To them, the word "father" may bring painful images to mind--images of fathers who are harsh, demanding, absent, or even abusive.  These individuals may have a more difficult journey into the heart of Father God . . . . but, the good news is that Poppa loves to walk with us through experiences which will lead us to Him!

Psalm 145 gives us a wonderful glimpse into God's nature . . . . a snapshot of His heart toward His creation  . . . . and all from David, the one whom God called, "a man after My own heart."  What are His characteristics?  He is  . . . . gracious . . . . full of compassion . . . . slow to anger . . . . abounding in mercy and lovingkindness . . . . good to all.  This is not the picture of an overbearing Father who is just waiting for His children to make mistakes so that He can show them a thing or two.  No, this is a Father who tenderly loves His children--even those who have wandered far away because they have feared Him or not understood His love.

God so LOVED the world, that He sent His son . . . .  to bring us back into His own household.  God, who delivered us out of the power of darkness, and translated us into the kingdom of the SON OF HIS LOVE . . . . THIS is the Poppa I love and who loves me!  Because I am born of Him, I have His same nature--His "DNA" is my "DNA"!

I love the movie ,A Walk in the Clouds, for many reasons.  One of my favorite scenes in the movie takes place after the family's huge vineyard has been destroyed by fire.  The main character runs back to the "Father Tree"--the tree from which the fruit of the entire orchard had been derived--and finds that it has survived the fire and is still alive.  He knows then that the life in that tree can be reproduced to bring forth many more trees, and that the vineyard can live again . . . . it's fruitfulness can continue on and on for other generations to enjoy.

God placed this principle in His creation from the very beginning.  We read about it in Genesis 1:29 when God told Adam and Eve:  Behold I have given you every herb bearing seed upon the earth, and all trees that have in themselves seed of their own kind, to be your meat.  This was part of God's original covenant with man, in which He promised that seedtime and harvest would remain as long as the earth endures.  (Gen 8:22)  This was to be a natural picture of a greater spiritual truth.

So let's step back, focus our gaze,  and take a fresh look at this amazing circle of Life and Love . . . .

LOVE WITH NO BEGINNING OR END
"God IS love."  I John 4:8

LOVE INCARNATE
"For God so loved the world that He sent His only begotten Son . . ."   John 3:16
"The Son is the radiance of His glory and the exact representation of His nature"  Heb 1:3

LOVE EXPRESSED
"And Jesus went about doing good . . . ." Acts 10:38
" . . . whatever the Father does the Son also does.  For the Father loves the Son and shows him all he does." John 5:19,20

LOVE'S ULTIMATE SACRIFICE
"No greater love hath any man than this: that He lay down His life for His friends."  John 15:13
 " . . . unless a grain of wheat [seed] falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." John 12:24

LOVE REUNITED TO ITS SOURCE
"As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us."John 17:21

LOVE REBORN
"For whom he foreknew, he also foreordained to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren." Romans 8:29 

LOVE REPRODUCED IN US
"if we love one another, God abides in us, and His love is perfected in us."
I John 4:12

LOVE FULLY MATURED
"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control." Gal 5:22
               

Hmmmm . . . . that mature fruit sounds an awful lot like Poppa's heart . . . . indeed, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree! 

And so this beautiful demonstration is repeated over and over again across the ages:  the ceaseless giving and receiving of love . . . . reproducing the Life of the Father in many sons and daughters, who in turn lavish it again upon Him and upon His beloved children.  What a mystery . . . .what a Love!

Blessings,
Melody

Psalm 17:8

Come To Poppa

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart:

and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Matthew 11:28

Have you ever felt like a ship adrift at sea . . . . tossed about by the winds and waves . . . . driven by turmoil and unrest?  Where is the compass that will direct us home to safe harbor?  Where is the anchor that will still our constant motion?  Where is the voice that can cause the storm to instantly cease and bring us into calm waters?  Thankfully, the peace and rest that we seek . . . . the direction that we so desperately need . . . . the place of refuge that we long for . . . . these are only a heartbeat away when we call upon the name of Jesus.

Jesus was sent to earth to show us what Father God is like and to bring us back Home to Him. He alone can reveal to us Poppa's heart, and He simply says. . . . . come.  He doesn't set prerequisites, He just says to come.  Could it really be that easy? 

It has been said that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.  Come . . . . come . . . . come to Me and I'll give you rest.  Come to Me and I'll teach you everything you need to know.  Come to Me and I'll bear the burdens that you were never meant to carry.  Come . . . . come to Me. 

He is waiting.  Will you step out on the invitation which sounds too good to be true?  Will you lay down your own struggling and striving and settle down into His love for you?  Will you simply come?  He's waiting with open arms.  Come to Poppa.

Melody

"Jesus answered, 'I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.'"  John 14:6

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