The sun came up this morning.
So,what's the big deal, you say. The sun comes up every morning.
That's true. But there are mornings when I have wondered how it can be that the sun comes up or that it continues to shine. Doesn't the sun know how my heart is aching? How can it be that, when my life feels like it's in shambles, the world can go about its daily business as if nothing is wrong? My pain and hurt feel so big it must surely leech out of me and stain everything around me. How can the sun come up? How can it shine on a day where it feels like the whole world must weep with the hurt I feel inside?
There are days when I wake up, and the weight of the unknown presses in on me. What will I do tomorrow? How will I cope? Where will I be? I hate goodbyes. I don't want to say them. I don't want the sun to come up. I want time to stop until I can catch up with it. I don't want to face what today will bring. I wish there could be a pause button on life.
Then there are those days when the sun comes up, and it matches my mood perfectly. The whole day is filled with radiant light and hope, not a cloud in sight, and I can't wait to get out into it. And then something goes wrong. Surely there should have been a hint. Rainstorms don't fall out of clear blue skies, and it seems only fair that the sky should have warned me. But it didn't. Unmoved by my happiness, unaffected by my sadness, unperterbed by my worry, the sun just rises, and shines, and sets.
So the sun came up today, as it does every morning. And I am glad.
Because it reminds me that God is on the throne. He is still in control. He is still holding all things together by his sovereign power. There is evening, and there is morning, another day, and it is good. Each day, God says to the sun, "Rise again." He says to my heart, "Beat again." He says to my lungs, "Draw breath again." Each day is a new creation.
My life is on the cusp of another major change. I hate the goodbyes that today will bring. I don't know what tomorrow will hold. In some ways, my life feels like it's in shambles. But God is on his throne. The sun has come up. The earth continues to spin on its axis. My heart is still beating, and my lungs are still drawing breath. The world has not come to a screeching halt because of what I face today, because God continues to sustain it. And the God who sustains this day will sustain me in this day. He is the Faithful One who rejoices in my happiness, comforts me in my sadness, and calls me to trust him with my worry.
"I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me" (Psalm 3:5).
God is on his throne. I know it. The sun came up this morning.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Thursday, 24 March 2011
The God Who Is?
Or the God I want?
Because, I'm going to be honest, they're not always the same.
I remember the first time that struggle became clear to me. At some level, I had been aware of it before, but never had the lines been so plainly drawn. I was sitting in the back of a Bible college class, and I listened to these startling words:
"I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.
Not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep,
but just enough to equal a cup of warm milk
or a snooze in the sunshine.
I don’t want enough of God to make me love a black man
or pick beets with a migrant.
I want ecstasy, not transformation.
I want the warmth of the womb, not a new birth.
I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack.
I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please."
Not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep,
but just enough to equal a cup of warm milk
or a snooze in the sunshine.
I don’t want enough of God to make me love a black man
or pick beets with a migrant.
I want ecstasy, not transformation.
I want the warmth of the womb, not a new birth.
I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack.
I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please."
-- Wilbur Reese
For the first time, I was really confronted with my $3 God, my $3 faith. I had to choose between the God I want, and the God who is. The God-I-want will do all he can to make me comfortable. The God-who-is asks me to do things that are uncomfortable. The God-I-want is gentle, benign, indulgent, safe. The God-who-is, is wild, uncontainable, uncompromising, uncontrollable -- frightening, at times. The God-I-want always wants me to be happy. The God-who-is has limits and boundaries and expectations that sometimes make me feel bad. The God-I-want would never let me be hurt. The God-who-is will allow me to suffer evil in order to bring about his greater good.
I like the God-I-want. I like the thought that there is this benevolent being up there whose only purpose is to make my life happy and comfortable. A cup of warm milk. A snooze in the sunshine. The warmth of the womb. I like the thrill I get from standing and singing in church -- ecstasy! I like the idea that all I have to do is pray and he will open up parking spots for me, mysteriously direct me to the greatest shoe sale in the mall (even though I can't really afford even the sale price), and make sure that the cake I'm baking for the church potluck rises nicely. It's kind of like having my own personal genie in a bottle.
Except that's not who God is.
And the God-who-is explodes my heart and soul and leaves them in shambles. When I catch the slightest glimpse of who he really is, I am driven to my knees, not in ecstasy but by an awareness of the weight of his glory. With Isaiah, I cry out, "Woe is me, for I am a person of unclean lips and I live among a people of unclean lips." He is mysterious and unpredictable. Sometimes he provides for my material needs, but sometimes he lets me suffer want in order to learn patience and trust. Sometimes he helps me to overcome a great difficulty even if I forget to ask for help, but sometimes he lets me muddle through so that I am reminded afresh just how small I am and how desperately I depend on him. Sometimes he rescues me, but sometimes he sits in the trouble with me to show me that he truly is enough. No genie in a bottle, this God-who-is. He is a whirlwind, and I am a speck of dust. He is a forest fire, and I am a dry leaf.
I don't always like this God-who-is.
But when I am honest with myself, I know that I could never devote my life to a $3-God. A God who makes it his mission to keep me happy is no bigger than what is inside my own skin. A pound of the eternal in a paper sack is the size of my imagination, and that's a petty object of worship indeed. But the God-who-is? The God who explodes my soul? This God says to me, "Your greatest joy is found not in my glorifying you, but in you glorifying me."
So I throw out my $3 God and I allow my soul to explode. I give up my illusions of safety with the God-I-want, and I enter the great unknown with the God-who-is. I embrace the whirlwind. I am consumed by the forest fire.
And I discover that the God-who-is is the God I want.
The God I need.
The only God I could love.
I don't always like this God-who-is.
But when I am honest with myself, I know that I could never devote my life to a $3-God. A God who makes it his mission to keep me happy is no bigger than what is inside my own skin. A pound of the eternal in a paper sack is the size of my imagination, and that's a petty object of worship indeed. But the God-who-is? The God who explodes my soul? This God says to me, "Your greatest joy is found not in my glorifying you, but in you glorifying me."
So I throw out my $3 God and I allow my soul to explode. I give up my illusions of safety with the God-I-want, and I enter the great unknown with the God-who-is. I embrace the whirlwind. I am consumed by the forest fire.
And I discover that the God-who-is is the God I want.
The God I need.
The only God I could love.
Saturday, 19 March 2011
When God Stays Silent
I don't think God always answers our prayers.
Oh, I've heard all the cliche answers about how God always answers all our prayers with yes, no, or later. But honestly, when it comes down to the everyday stuff, there are loads of times I don't hear a no, or a later. I hear nothing at all. Nothing changes. There is no answer. I could move on if I heard a no. I could wait paitently if I heard a "later". Instead, I'm left in limbo. Or things get even worse. Do I keep asking? Do I give up asking? After all, if God says no, but I keep asking, aren't I being disobedient? But if I give up praying for something for which the timing isn't quite right, aren't I demonstrating a lack of faith? And how do I know when to do what? Now, this is not some sort of theological treatise on the efficacy of prayer. I know all the academic reasons which try to explain away the seeming lack of response. That's not what this is about. It's simply the reflection of a follower of Jesus Christ coming to terms with what I see. Let's face it, the only time we really talk about God answering our prayers is when we get what we asked for. This whole "no or later" business just doesn't cut it.
And that's ok.
You see, my faith and my hope do not depend on how or when, or even IF God answers my prayers. If it does, then I'm in big trouble. I have been told many times, when I go through hard things, "God has a plan. He's got something much bigger and better for you. God is going to provide." And I believe that, at some level. He does have a plan -- I have no doubt about that. It is a plan to make me a better reflection of his Son. He will provide -- with absolutely everything I need to live a godly, Christ-like life. Beyond that, there are no guarantees. I can pray for God to do such-and-such, and perhaps my prayer is for a great and godly thing. But there are no guarantees that I will ever hear an answer. I waver between hoping that he will answer and doubting that he will. I limp between knowing that he could and believing that he will. I totter between fearing that my own doubts will jettison my prayers, and trusting that God has the outcome in hand regardless of my fears. I pray because I must, because I have to tell him what I'm thinking and feeling, and I know that he hears and cares. There is nothing academic about it. It is gritty and real. But my expectation -- or my doubt -- that God always answers my prayers is in no way a reflection of my faith.
It's simple, really. Not very comforting if I'm looking for a guarantee, but simple. If my faith is in what God does for me, then there is a whole lot more than an answer to prayer at stake. Then if things do not turn out the way I think they should, I am forced to conclude, "I trusted God to provide for me in such-and-such a way, and he didn't, so maybe he's not trustworthy." My very faith is shaken. But that's not where my faith rests. God is trustworthy no matter what. He is worthy of my worship if he never again answers another prayer I ever utter. He is worthy of worship simply because He Is. That's where my faith lies -- not in what he does, but in who he is.
So what does that mean? My hope is not that God always answers my prayers. He might . . . or he might not. Whether he does or not, he remains the same: trustworthy, loving, worthy of all praise and worship, good, upright, just, merciful, gracious, faithful, steadfast. He is who he says he is no matter what happens.
And that's where my hope and my faith rest. It's that simple.
Even when God stays silent.
Oh, I've heard all the cliche answers about how God always answers all our prayers with yes, no, or later. But honestly, when it comes down to the everyday stuff, there are loads of times I don't hear a no, or a later. I hear nothing at all. Nothing changes. There is no answer. I could move on if I heard a no. I could wait paitently if I heard a "later". Instead, I'm left in limbo. Or things get even worse. Do I keep asking? Do I give up asking? After all, if God says no, but I keep asking, aren't I being disobedient? But if I give up praying for something for which the timing isn't quite right, aren't I demonstrating a lack of faith? And how do I know when to do what? Now, this is not some sort of theological treatise on the efficacy of prayer. I know all the academic reasons which try to explain away the seeming lack of response. That's not what this is about. It's simply the reflection of a follower of Jesus Christ coming to terms with what I see. Let's face it, the only time we really talk about God answering our prayers is when we get what we asked for. This whole "no or later" business just doesn't cut it.
And that's ok.
You see, my faith and my hope do not depend on how or when, or even IF God answers my prayers. If it does, then I'm in big trouble. I have been told many times, when I go through hard things, "God has a plan. He's got something much bigger and better for you. God is going to provide." And I believe that, at some level. He does have a plan -- I have no doubt about that. It is a plan to make me a better reflection of his Son. He will provide -- with absolutely everything I need to live a godly, Christ-like life. Beyond that, there are no guarantees. I can pray for God to do such-and-such, and perhaps my prayer is for a great and godly thing. But there are no guarantees that I will ever hear an answer. I waver between hoping that he will answer and doubting that he will. I limp between knowing that he could and believing that he will. I totter between fearing that my own doubts will jettison my prayers, and trusting that God has the outcome in hand regardless of my fears. I pray because I must, because I have to tell him what I'm thinking and feeling, and I know that he hears and cares. There is nothing academic about it. It is gritty and real. But my expectation -- or my doubt -- that God always answers my prayers is in no way a reflection of my faith.
It's simple, really. Not very comforting if I'm looking for a guarantee, but simple. If my faith is in what God does for me, then there is a whole lot more than an answer to prayer at stake. Then if things do not turn out the way I think they should, I am forced to conclude, "I trusted God to provide for me in such-and-such a way, and he didn't, so maybe he's not trustworthy." My very faith is shaken. But that's not where my faith rests. God is trustworthy no matter what. He is worthy of my worship if he never again answers another prayer I ever utter. He is worthy of worship simply because He Is. That's where my faith lies -- not in what he does, but in who he is.
So what does that mean? My hope is not that God always answers my prayers. He might . . . or he might not. Whether he does or not, he remains the same: trustworthy, loving, worthy of all praise and worship, good, upright, just, merciful, gracious, faithful, steadfast. He is who he says he is no matter what happens.
And that's where my hope and my faith rest. It's that simple.
Even when God stays silent.
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Yelling at God
I have a confession to make.
Sometimes I yell at God.
I don't just mean that I politely petition him, or even that I venture to think angry thoughts toward him. I mean that I yell, out loud, sometimes so loudly that my throat hurts.
God, where are you? Where are you? Why does it seem like you just don't care? Why does it seem like you've totally abandoned me?
I demand things of God.
God, you've got to help me. You've got to help me! Do you want me to fail? Do you want to see me totally destroyed? Because if you're not going to help me with this, you might as well just kill me! Why can't I just die now, and get it over and done with?
I don't say these things quietly, or philosophically. I yell them. It's ugly, when I yell. It's raw, and anguished, and filled with hurt and frustration. Because that's how I feel.
I've been told that it's wrong to yell at God. It shows a lack of faith, a lack of trust. I've been told that if anger comes out, it's because there is "bad stuff" inside. And sometimes that's true. I'll be the first to admit that there's plenty of "bad stuff" in there that sometimes comes out. But sometimes I get the idea that there is this expectation that being a Christian means that when bad stuff happens, I'm supposed to maintain a zen-like Buddhist indifference, and smile benignly throughout. I'm fine, just fine, thanks.
But I'm not feeling really zen-like. I'm mad. I'm sad and hurt and angry and confused. I don't think that those feelings indicate a lack of faith. I think they demonstrate that I am a living, breathing human being dealing with lots of hard questions. If you prick me, I will bleed.
I can pretend that the feelings aren't there, but that is a lie, and God knows it. If I can't be real with God, then with whom can I be real? If I can't take those feelings to God, then where am I supposed to take them? If God's not big enough to handle my biggest emotions, doesn't that mean that there are parts of myself that are too big for God? That's a pretty frightening thought, that things about me could actually be bigger than God. But I don't believe that my anger or sadness or any of my feelings threaten God in any way. Nothing about me is ever bigger than he can handle.
So I yell at God, and when the yelling is over, and the tears are spent, I remind myself of the truths that I know so well, and which are always, always a reality in my life: he is good, and all that comes from his hand is goodness. He is on the throne, and nothing in my life is taking him by surprise. He is working all things for my good: to make me more like Jesus. I know this with every beat of my heart. I say to him, "God, I'm not letting go. I love you, and I'm following you, no matter what. You are worthy of my worship, no matter what. No deal breakers. I'm in it for the long haul."
I've been told that yelling at God is wrong. But I think that, if after I had finished yelling, I wrote down the words I had just yelled, they might sound something like this:
"How long, O LORD? Will you forget me for ever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, O LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me." (Psalm 13)
I have a confession to make.
I think yelling at God is actually pretty biblical. I think he's the one I'm supposed to yell at, because he's the one who is big enough to handle the depth of my emotion.
And I, for one, am glad.
Sometimes I yell at God.
I don't just mean that I politely petition him, or even that I venture to think angry thoughts toward him. I mean that I yell, out loud, sometimes so loudly that my throat hurts.
God, where are you? Where are you? Why does it seem like you just don't care? Why does it seem like you've totally abandoned me?
I demand things of God.
God, you've got to help me. You've got to help me! Do you want me to fail? Do you want to see me totally destroyed? Because if you're not going to help me with this, you might as well just kill me! Why can't I just die now, and get it over and done with?
I don't say these things quietly, or philosophically. I yell them. It's ugly, when I yell. It's raw, and anguished, and filled with hurt and frustration. Because that's how I feel.
I've been told that it's wrong to yell at God. It shows a lack of faith, a lack of trust. I've been told that if anger comes out, it's because there is "bad stuff" inside. And sometimes that's true. I'll be the first to admit that there's plenty of "bad stuff" in there that sometimes comes out. But sometimes I get the idea that there is this expectation that being a Christian means that when bad stuff happens, I'm supposed to maintain a zen-like Buddhist indifference, and smile benignly throughout. I'm fine, just fine, thanks.
But I'm not feeling really zen-like. I'm mad. I'm sad and hurt and angry and confused. I don't think that those feelings indicate a lack of faith. I think they demonstrate that I am a living, breathing human being dealing with lots of hard questions. If you prick me, I will bleed.
I can pretend that the feelings aren't there, but that is a lie, and God knows it. If I can't be real with God, then with whom can I be real? If I can't take those feelings to God, then where am I supposed to take them? If God's not big enough to handle my biggest emotions, doesn't that mean that there are parts of myself that are too big for God? That's a pretty frightening thought, that things about me could actually be bigger than God. But I don't believe that my anger or sadness or any of my feelings threaten God in any way. Nothing about me is ever bigger than he can handle.
So I yell at God, and when the yelling is over, and the tears are spent, I remind myself of the truths that I know so well, and which are always, always a reality in my life: he is good, and all that comes from his hand is goodness. He is on the throne, and nothing in my life is taking him by surprise. He is working all things for my good: to make me more like Jesus. I know this with every beat of my heart. I say to him, "God, I'm not letting go. I love you, and I'm following you, no matter what. You are worthy of my worship, no matter what. No deal breakers. I'm in it for the long haul."
I've been told that yelling at God is wrong. But I think that, if after I had finished yelling, I wrote down the words I had just yelled, they might sound something like this:
"How long, O LORD? Will you forget me for ever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, O LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me." (Psalm 13)
I have a confession to make.
I think yelling at God is actually pretty biblical. I think he's the one I'm supposed to yell at, because he's the one who is big enough to handle the depth of my emotion.
And I, for one, am glad.
Thursday, 10 March 2011
Now, But Not Yet
I hate this time of year.
Oh, not spring. I love spring. But I hate this in-between time when it's not really winter anymore, but spring hasn't yet arrived. The snow slumps in tired, grimy heaps, everything is just brown and grey and mushy, and all the trash that lay hidden by the snow is revealed for the world to see. It's like the weather can't make up its mind if it wants to run back and hide in winter, or venture out into spring. I know, it's not forever, and spring is just around the corner. But right now, it's elusive. And I hate the mushy, in-between time when it's spring but not yet spring in all its fresh, sunshiny glory.
But, inexorably, the earth's tilt is turning us toward the sun again. Every day brings us a little closer. The change may be imperceptible to me: a minute or two of extra daylight each day, a slight upward trend in the temperature, the swelling of buds that I see only if I take the time to really look. But the signs are there. And one day, spring will erupt in all its beauty.
That gives me hope. Because my life is so often like this time of year. I feel stuck in something in-between. Even the world as we know it is like that. Theologians call it "now-but-not-yet." It means that the Kingdom of God has come. It's here. It's current reality. God is on the throne, and he has all things in his hands. The powers of sin and darkness have been defeated. Death has lost its sting. Winter is broken. And yet . . . sometimes it sure doesn't seem that way. When I'm in the middle of the rain and the gloom, and everything is mush and mud, it's hard to believe that winter is broken. Things are so terribly wrong. There is so much injustice, so much hurt, and so much that isn't really anyone's fault, but just really stinks anyway. Really, God? Are you really on the throne? Has the evil one really been defeated? Has death truly lost its sting? Is your Kingdom really real? Is it true you care? Because right now, it sure doesn't seem that way. I feel lost in an expired winter that can't quite find its way to spring.
But it is that way. Jesus has come. He died and rose again. Winter is broken. The Kingdom of God is here. But not in its fullness. Now-but-not-yet. One day, Jesus will return, more certainly than the northern hemisphere is turning back toward the sun. And on that day, anything "not-yet" will become fully "now". New heavens and a new earth. No more sadness, no more pain, no more waiting and longing and dreaming of spring. We'll be done with the slushy, mushy, indecisive, indistinct in-between time. Spring will be revealed in all its Sonshiny glory.
I am longing for spring.
Oh, not spring. I love spring. But I hate this in-between time when it's not really winter anymore, but spring hasn't yet arrived. The snow slumps in tired, grimy heaps, everything is just brown and grey and mushy, and all the trash that lay hidden by the snow is revealed for the world to see. It's like the weather can't make up its mind if it wants to run back and hide in winter, or venture out into spring. I know, it's not forever, and spring is just around the corner. But right now, it's elusive. And I hate the mushy, in-between time when it's spring but not yet spring in all its fresh, sunshiny glory.
But, inexorably, the earth's tilt is turning us toward the sun again. Every day brings us a little closer. The change may be imperceptible to me: a minute or two of extra daylight each day, a slight upward trend in the temperature, the swelling of buds that I see only if I take the time to really look. But the signs are there. And one day, spring will erupt in all its beauty.
That gives me hope. Because my life is so often like this time of year. I feel stuck in something in-between. Even the world as we know it is like that. Theologians call it "now-but-not-yet." It means that the Kingdom of God has come. It's here. It's current reality. God is on the throne, and he has all things in his hands. The powers of sin and darkness have been defeated. Death has lost its sting. Winter is broken. And yet . . . sometimes it sure doesn't seem that way. When I'm in the middle of the rain and the gloom, and everything is mush and mud, it's hard to believe that winter is broken. Things are so terribly wrong. There is so much injustice, so much hurt, and so much that isn't really anyone's fault, but just really stinks anyway. Really, God? Are you really on the throne? Has the evil one really been defeated? Has death truly lost its sting? Is your Kingdom really real? Is it true you care? Because right now, it sure doesn't seem that way. I feel lost in an expired winter that can't quite find its way to spring.
But it is that way. Jesus has come. He died and rose again. Winter is broken. The Kingdom of God is here. But not in its fullness. Now-but-not-yet. One day, Jesus will return, more certainly than the northern hemisphere is turning back toward the sun. And on that day, anything "not-yet" will become fully "now". New heavens and a new earth. No more sadness, no more pain, no more waiting and longing and dreaming of spring. We'll be done with the slushy, mushy, indecisive, indistinct in-between time. Spring will be revealed in all its Sonshiny glory.
I am longing for spring.
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
Venturing Out
"In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the LORD . . . " (Isaiah 6:1)
A blog? Me? Why? There are millions of blogs out there, and I can count on two fingers the number of them that I actually bother to read. Besides that, it strikes me as a somewhat narcissistic endeavour -- to put my random thoughts "out there" as if they are worth the time it would take for someone else to read them; trust me, they're not.
And then there's the whole privacy thing. How comfortable am I, really, with the thought that the whole wide world can become privy to my thoughts and musings and mental ramblings? Oh, I write. I write and I lock my words up behind passwords and encryption codes which my brother assures me can be bypassed by the average 4-year-old, but which allow me to rest in my illusion of privacy. But a blog? Written for the whole world to see? That's another story entirely.
But here I am. First it was Facebook. Now this. A digital immigrant struggling to learn the language of this new country.
It's been a long time coming. People have told me for years, "You should write." I've laughed them off. I've changed the topic. I don't "write". I write for myself, not for others. But life is a funny thing. Things change. And if everything else is changing, maybe this needs to change, too.
What would I "write"? My life is actually pretty ordinary -- far too tedious to bore the world with its details. No one wants to know what I ate for breakfast or supper; we get plenty of that on Facebook. But maybe, if I could show people glimpses of the King, maybe that would be something worth writing about.
Isaiah caught a glimpse of him, and it changed his life. It was a time when things were going from bad to worse. Uzziah, king of Judah, had just died. He'd been an ok king. He made a few mistakes, but the Bible tells us that he "did what was right in the eyes of the LORD." Now he was gone, and the king coming behind him was a different story. Judah was facing religious apathy, political unrest, and war. Not a great time to be a prophet of God. But Isaiah caught a glimpse of the King, the LORD, seated on his throne, and it changed him. It broke him and brought him to his knees, and then it gave him the courage to respond.
That text has always steadied me when I am facing my own changes. It reminds me that the God I serve is high and exalted, that he is holy, holy, holy, and that before him, I am one of unclean lips desperately in need of his redemption -- and miracle of miracles, he provides it! It drives me forward into things that make me horribly uncomfortable; when he asks, "Who shall I send, and who will go for us," I find myself answering, "Here am I; send me." Not because I am brave or worthy or capable of completing the task, but only because he is high and exalted and the train of his robe fills the temple, and he is surrounded by seraphs crying, "Holy, Holy, Holy is the LORD Almighty! The whole earth is filled with his glory!" Isaiah 6 reminds me that the veil between daily living and eternal reality is thin. If only I have eyes to look, I will catch glimpses of the King as I go about the business of living my life as a follower of Jesus Christ.
So these will be glimpses of the King. Thoughts and ideas about how earthly living and heavenly glory intersect. I hope it will change me. At best, maybe it will help you think about things differently, too. At worst, it is just one more blog you can ignore.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)