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The Musings of a Stubborn Believer

Category: inspiration (page 4 of 7)

Worthy?

Twelve words throb strong in my heart this morning.

What? How is that possible– now? Ever…?
Forever?
I tear myself away from my Bible to proceed with my day, only to have my to-do list constantly interrupted by staring-off-into-space moments…
So I’m back.
To tell you.
The promise for tomorrow, and for today
“…And they shall walk with Me in white: for they are worthy.”
Revelation 3:4  

Aim Higher

Seems like these days, to be a “Christian” is to try resist temptation (most of the time),

to try to figure out how to be the same while being different,
and to make pilgrimage plans based on the weather report.
I’ve had enough of that.

So I aim to reclaim the name Christian. 
To reclaim a life of perpetual resistance, and perfect obedience.
To realize that to make a mark one must be different… 
And instead of waiting for fair weather, to run into darkness. 
Because that’s where shining makes a difference.
And because that’s what Christians do.

“Behold, a king shall reign in righteousness, and princes shall rule in judgment. 
And a man shall be as an hiding place from the wind and a covert from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land…” (Is 32:1,2 Emphasis added)

Above the timber line: looking down from Arizona’s tallest peak.

People Cry

I have one question. 
And my question is why.
Beads of sweat glistening on my brow, three-fourths of the way down the field on a mission to plunder noxious weeds– I stop. I stare horrified at nothingness as the agonized words of my friend pound home. 
“Why!?! . . .  People cry over little stories of cats and dogs–“

“Mhm”

“But there’s no weeping over the cross.” 
“No sorrow over the sacrifice.”
“Right. Why?…”

The Audacity!

There I am, backed into a corner.

By my weakness.
My track record.
My sin.

It’s not the first time, either.

My heart pounds.

What is going on?

But then through the darkness of another failure kept fresh by my enemy’s brazen taunts, I remember:
I do not for one second believe that the power of darkness is greater than the power of Grace.

Not for one second.

Greater than me, yes.

But Grace abounds…

The audacity!
Audacity of Grace…

The Kingdom belongs to those who believe in the power of God’s dreams.

And keep believing
Especially in dark corners.

Hallelujah!

“For a just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again…” Pro 24:16



“The stars do not change, Monsieur.”

My God is a constant.

Through an incessant flickering of transients too numerous to compute,
from people and places, to promises forgotten–

I see the Lord high and lifted up,
sitting on His throne.

He never changes.
Ever.

Comforting when that truth is driven home.

Almost overwhelming when it’s driven home by faithful, albeit frail human flesh.

This evening I rejoice in the mercy of just such faithfulness.

My sister’s head resting on my shoulder; from my mouth come words quoted from a cherished tale of Huguenot fidelity:

“‘The stars do not change, Monsieur…'”

and my little sister finishes:

“‘Nor do the angels in Paradise.”

National Geographic


Hope is My Prison, Lord

It’s been one of those weeks…
You know, when every 20 minutes there was another I-should-blog-that moment. And indeed, I would have posted more, had the luxury of time been afforded me. 
Instead, I transformed the office into a recording studio/mastering suite and ran through life from summit to valley to next summit (every twenty minutes!) taking it all in faster than I could even journal about it. 


Then yesterday afternoon it all came together. 


I haven’t written a song in over a year… (Though I’ve half-written at least half a dozen)
And it wasn’t because I didn’t really want to. Just something would get me halfway through, and then drop me. 
I got to the point where I was nearly convinced I’d written my last song. 


Until this week. 


Then I recognized a sweet little melody woven through everything…


– Through the boxes and boxes delivered by our friend the UPS man
– Through fists wrapped around a taught barbed wire while starring into the canyon, and talking to a God that’s a million lightyears away, and still within easy reach.
– Through middle-of-the-night prayers for a friend’s safety
– Through reality checks
– Through emails not so easy to read  
– Through prayers for you– my blog friends. (I pray for you by name– all of you) 
– Through reminders of loss
– Through conversations with my little sister…
– Through hours spent pacing over dust and rocks fighting darkness and finding light…


Here’s just an excerpt. Maybe the melody will never be published, I don’t know…
But I’ll always pray the prayer.


— 


Water Your dreams my Lord, 
  with tears I shed
Feed hungry children Lord, 
  my promised bread
Send me to darkness Lord, 
  teach me to pray
Through fire or freezing cold, 
  I’ll smile and say–
. . . 
Hope is my prison Lord, 
  love is my chain
If I can serve You Lord, 
  my loss is gain
I am a soldier Lord, 
  called by Thy name
Let me walk worthy Lord, 
  worthy of Your name…

Privileged: Part 2

I’m reminded…

In death, there is life. 

 Though pain, and toil, and sacrifice are the lot of the soldier, 

And though it may appear that for this time he gets no pay,

Remember that God has not asked anyone to serve Him here
without promising him an inheritance hereafter

There has never been a night
that was not followed by the morning…


“With the sovereignty of God is bound up the well-being of man. The glory of God is the joy and the blessing of all created beings. When we seek to promote His glory we are seeking for ourselves the highest good which it is possible for us to receive. . . . God calls for the consecration to His service of every faculty, of every gift you have received from Him. He wants you to say, with David: ‘All things come of Thee, and of Thine own have we given Thee.'” 

God’s Amazing Grace, Feb 22
Photo: Joshua Nebblett







Grace is Power…

Just four young adults and a veteran Toyota Corolla sporting new snow tires… 
That was us a few weeks ago. The trip was originally planned for 6, but God had other ideas. 

It was a trip like none other. We sorely missed having our parents along, but even in that I see the hand of Providence. He wanted this trip to be different. and different it was.

Our world is changing. I mean, the world of 4 young people from the edge of nowhere who love to work together, pray together, play together, serve together, sing together… And cry on each other’s shoulders. 


We hear the tread of armies. Constantly.


And we see the gleams of a golden morning…

All at once we are noting in the world around us things that we’ve never perceived before. 

Some things that not that long ago had little or no influence on our personal lives are fast becoming our reasons for living.


I have no way to explain it, other than the fact that we’ve been captivated by Grace.

In all my years I cannot remember another time when the four of us have jumped into the car after a day on the slopes with young friends, pulled off our helmets (hair to the four winds) and had nothing to talk about all the way down the mountain but Jesus… 


He is so irresistible. And every time I turned around, I was looking into the face of another long-time friend and seeing the same thing written there. (for the first time)



I can’t remember another time when one moment, I could be speeding down an icy road on a sled, surrounded by shouts of laughter and high spirits, and the next moment be on my back looking up at the blue sky saying “My Jesus, I love You…” (And the next moment be speeding down the icy hill again.)

I have never seen so much of Jesus in His children… Everywhere I turned, I caught another glimpse of His face. 

Our world is changing…
Or maybe not.
Maybe we’re just tasting more of His grace… And He’s changing the things we love, and the things we live for. Maybe that’s why we don’t pray for happiness, but for usefulness. Why we gladly exchange fun times for the pursuit of His glory…



I never imagined that broken pieces could be this happy… 


Grace is power. 
What it touches, changes. 


Eternal Weight of Glory, serving You is joy unspeakable!
Please keep us in Your hand…







Scars

Deep sigh. 
Silence.
Staring at nothingness. 
I leaned back in my desk chair while the reality settled in… 
“…He is pleading His wounds—‘My hands, my hands!’ ‘I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands.’”*
And all at once I closed my eyes and I could almost see Him… 
–See Him standing in the throne room, turning for just a moment from the painful sight of yet another failure, to face His Father.
With tears in His eyes, and tears in His voice–
“Abba–
 Abba, My hands…
Look at My hands!”
*  *  *  *  *  *  *  
You and I know those beautiful hands were forever ruined saving us. A friend of mine once noted that they might be more than just perpetually scabbed. What if they are permanently disfigured? 
My hands tremble, and my eyes fill with tears, even as I type. 
But you know what moves me yet more?
It’s the second part. 
“I have graven thee…” 
It’s my name that is carved on His beautiful hands. Carved with a Roman nail.   
My name is a scar on His perfect Person. 
But He is not ashamed of me. 
Indeed not. Rather, He holds me up before His Father, and says “Look at My hands…”
And “swift angels are sent to minister to fallen man, to lift up and to sustain.”*
This is Love. 
Only love can call scars trophies. 

*{RH January 4, 1887, par. 15}

Love is Life…

When we get to Heaven, come find me in the library at the University of the Universe…
I’ll be studying two things: 


Love, and music…




“Love is oneness– oh, how sweet
   To obey this law,
The unlovely we may meet
  Need our love the more.
Make us one, O love, we plead
With men’s sorrow and their need.


We are one in needing love,
  (Let us true love show)
Only love’s sun from above
  Makes our spirits grow.
‘Love us!’ this is our heart’s need,
‘Let us love’ –and live indeed!


We are also one in this, 
  We must love or die,
Loving others is true bliss,
  Self-love is a lie!
Love of self is inward strive, 
Love turned outward is true life.


Let us love and fruitful be,
  Love is God’s own breath,
Love will kindle love and see
  New life born from death.
Nowhere is a heaven more sweet
Than where loving spirits meet.”


Mountains of Spices: pages 46-47 

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