Dew drops
The point of this blog is simple. To obey what God has put in my heart and to be what He has made me. I am a writer. When I speak my words become all stiff and awkward. They lack focus and eloquence. There is no, evangelist or public speaker on my tongue. I am only a poet when I read aloud what I have first written. I have little talent as a singer. My leadership skills are profoundly limited. I can not heal, or build, or fix things that are broken. I am not a fair judge and where I am concerned, Solomon's Wisdom remains solely his own.
But when I write God reveals His presence in me and I begin to feel the light of His glory rolling over me. He comes to me when I write in a way far different from my prayers. I feel His delight. Even now He stands by dancing. Why does it give Him such joy? I am in His will. Even at this very moment. This is His calling over me, this is His charge; that I might spread His love abroad through written word.
So perfect is this obedience to Him that I see most clearly it is my path home. I imagine my death, if it could be seen in spirit would look like this: All the words of praise and love that I have ever written of Him, and all the manuscripts written in obedience to His majesty; would all rise up and come alive. They would fall upon my expiring form, blanketing me in a thick glistening shroud, like dew drops shimmering in the morning sun. As my final breath escaped, they would take flight and lift my longing spirit up out of my body to carry me away to His waiting arms.
So I must write to ensure my journey home is swift. And indeed I have done so. But one thing is lacking. I have not very often shared it. If my purpose is to write. Then the purpose of what I write, is to be read. The candle has long been under the bushel. And what is this bushel? I fear that I am not good enough. I lack skill. My spelling is terrible. I never know where to put punctuation. My vocabulary is lacking. I read the words of others and see how woefully inadequate I am. My bushel is pride.
One would think that pride would make me arrogant so that I would be eager to show off. That I would look at others and say, "I can do better than that!" But this peculiar strain of pride that infects me is one that strives to avoid failure. For if I never try, the possibilities for success remain endless... in my mind at least. But if I put myself out there, I become vulnerable. People may criticize. They will think me a religious nut, a worthless stereotype, or worse... a hack.
I wonder what would have happened had that unfruitful servant, the one with the single gold coin, acted differently. What if he had overcome his fear of failure with a love for His master and done the best he could with what he had. Suppose he had invested, and lost it all - the very fear that made him bury it. I imagine he might have thrown himself at his master's feet and cried, "Lord, for love of you I took what thou gavest me and invested it. I hoped only to increase thy treasure. But, lo I have lost even that. Have mercy on me, for the weakness was mine. But my love for thee abideth still." Can we think that the master would have seen his servants love and obedient intent and not forgiven his failure?
It is this this mercy that I am now counting on. I will cast aside the bushel and invest this talent by offering it up in love and obedience. And this now my prayer: "Lord, for love of you I now take what you have given me and offer it up. I long only to increase your kingdom. And where I fall short, have mercy on me, for the weakness is mine. But my love for you abides." For if I speak His words of loving kindness, then they will not return to Him empty. God is a sure thing investment.
I am seeing now that these gifts of ours, whatever they be, must be offered up. And the most important of these gifts are the ones that make God dance. These are the ones that bring us to Him. For some it is music, or song, or dance. It could be sport, acting, building, raising children, managing money, leadership, mathematics, science, growing things, cleaning bathrooms, ... the list is endless. Everything is not God, but God is in everything. Everything is sacred to Him. We must therefore bring our everything to Him, no matter how worthless we think it. For He takes this straw and spins it upon the wheel of His grace into threads of purest gold. And these threads He weaves into His coat of Everlasting Glory. "The Glory of God is man fully alive," the saying goes. Dare I be the one to take my handful of straw to a place apart and burn it?
But when I write God reveals His presence in me and I begin to feel the light of His glory rolling over me. He comes to me when I write in a way far different from my prayers. I feel His delight. Even now He stands by dancing. Why does it give Him such joy? I am in His will. Even at this very moment. This is His calling over me, this is His charge; that I might spread His love abroad through written word.
So I must write to ensure my journey home is swift. And indeed I have done so. But one thing is lacking. I have not very often shared it. If my purpose is to write. Then the purpose of what I write, is to be read. The candle has long been under the bushel. And what is this bushel? I fear that I am not good enough. I lack skill. My spelling is terrible. I never know where to put punctuation. My vocabulary is lacking. I read the words of others and see how woefully inadequate I am. My bushel is pride.
One would think that pride would make me arrogant so that I would be eager to show off. That I would look at others and say, "I can do better than that!" But this peculiar strain of pride that infects me is one that strives to avoid failure. For if I never try, the possibilities for success remain endless... in my mind at least. But if I put myself out there, I become vulnerable. People may criticize. They will think me a religious nut, a worthless stereotype, or worse... a hack.
Matthew 25: 24-25
Then the man who had received one bag of gold came. ‘Master,’ he said, ‘I
knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering
where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid and went out and hid your
gold in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.’
I wonder what would have happened had that unfruitful servant, the one with the single gold coin, acted differently. What if he had overcome his fear of failure with a love for His master and done the best he could with what he had. Suppose he had invested, and lost it all - the very fear that made him bury it. I imagine he might have thrown himself at his master's feet and cried, "Lord, for love of you I took what thou gavest me and invested it. I hoped only to increase thy treasure. But, lo I have lost even that. Have mercy on me, for the weakness was mine. But my love for thee abideth still." Can we think that the master would have seen his servants love and obedient intent and not forgiven his failure?
It is this this mercy that I am now counting on. I will cast aside the bushel and invest this talent by offering it up in love and obedience. And this now my prayer: "Lord, for love of you I now take what you have given me and offer it up. I long only to increase your kingdom. And where I fall short, have mercy on me, for the weakness is mine. But my love for you abides." For if I speak His words of loving kindness, then they will not return to Him empty. God is a sure thing investment.
I am seeing now that these gifts of ours, whatever they be, must be offered up. And the most important of these gifts are the ones that make God dance. These are the ones that bring us to Him. For some it is music, or song, or dance. It could be sport, acting, building, raising children, managing money, leadership, mathematics, science, growing things, cleaning bathrooms, ... the list is endless. Everything is not God, but God is in everything. Everything is sacred to Him. We must therefore bring our everything to Him, no matter how worthless we think it. For He takes this straw and spins it upon the wheel of His grace into threads of purest gold. And these threads He weaves into His coat of Everlasting Glory. "The Glory of God is man fully alive," the saying goes. Dare I be the one to take my handful of straw to a place apart and burn it?
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