I feel an urgency to write—it almost feels like if I could just scratch through the whiteness of this paper, the words would suddenly burst forth.
But what subject?
There are so many things in my mind to get said . Words fight for the gate to get out but they get clogged up. It seems to be a mechanical impedance.
There are so many things that need words; hearts that need healing, gratitudes to be expressed, wrongs to be addressed, people needing hope—all waiting for words.
I wonder how He feels—the original Word Speaker. He started words. He wants His Words to bring life to everyone.
But, only those who have heard His Word can tell it to others. How saddened he must be to see that so many hear yet so few tell others.
We so easily become a mechanical impedance to the flow of the Word.
Fill your pens, run your presses, roll your cameras, sound into you recorders, amplify and multiply the Word in every way known to man!
Let the Word flow!
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
TROUBLED WATERS AND TROUBLED DAYS
Wholeness and new life awaited the eager plunger into Bethesda's troubled pool.
What fulfillment awaits the ones who eagerly plunge into these troubled days?
The efficacy was not in the troubled waters nor is it in the troubled days,
But, rather, the power flows as the Master speaks and we take up the challenge to walk, yes, even plunge into whatever circumstances we face!
What fulfillment awaits the ones who eagerly plunge into these troubled days?
The efficacy was not in the troubled waters nor is it in the troubled days,
But, rather, the power flows as the Master speaks and we take up the challenge to walk, yes, even plunge into whatever circumstances we face!
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Friday, February 24, 2006
EVIL MAKES EVEN ITS OBSERVER ITS VICTIM, EXCEPT WHEN…
“I’ll never forget it!”
“I couldn’t stand to watch.”
“Don’t look, it’s too much.”
“It made me physically sick.”
Come upon an accident or crime scene and you’ll hear these phrases.
Three and a half decades of brutal scenes in 106 countries have victimized my memory.
The enemy of peace and calm in your mind knows he can draw you into the scene with human, inborn morbid curiosity. He knows the scene will then steal from you, and make you a victim, too.
But, oh wonderful the thought, there is one crime scene where it works just the opposite. Far from making you a victim, one look can make you the victor. And whether they know it or not there is a cry in every human heart to visit the scene.
It’s the crime at Calvary, the cross.
The pattern began with Moses in the wilderness. God instructed him to put a brazen serpent upon a pole. If the snake-bitten people would but look upon the lifted-up brass snake, they would be made whole.
“Look and live,” they were told.
When I first thought into this I knew the brazen serpent on a pole was symbolic of Christ’s crucifixion, but I rebelled at the snake being the pattern for Christ.
Then, waves of guilt swept over me when I realized that the snake was, indeed, appropriate. The snake is symbolic of sin. Jesus who knew no sin, became sin for us on the cross. He took all our sins, my sins, to that lifted-up, atoning altar.
Guilt changed to praise when I looked to the cross.
“I couldn’t stand to watch.”
“Don’t look, it’s too much.”
“It made me physically sick.”
Come upon an accident or crime scene and you’ll hear these phrases.
Three and a half decades of brutal scenes in 106 countries have victimized my memory.
The enemy of peace and calm in your mind knows he can draw you into the scene with human, inborn morbid curiosity. He knows the scene will then steal from you, and make you a victim, too.
But, oh wonderful the thought, there is one crime scene where it works just the opposite. Far from making you a victim, one look can make you the victor. And whether they know it or not there is a cry in every human heart to visit the scene.
It’s the crime at Calvary, the cross.
The pattern began with Moses in the wilderness. God instructed him to put a brazen serpent upon a pole. If the snake-bitten people would but look upon the lifted-up brass snake, they would be made whole.
“Look and live,” they were told.
When I first thought into this I knew the brazen serpent on a pole was symbolic of Christ’s crucifixion, but I rebelled at the snake being the pattern for Christ.
Then, waves of guilt swept over me when I realized that the snake was, indeed, appropriate. The snake is symbolic of sin. Jesus who knew no sin, became sin for us on the cross. He took all our sins, my sins, to that lifted-up, atoning altar.
Guilt changed to praise when I looked to the cross.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
SHIELDED MINDS AND LOCKED UP HEARTS
Blindered eyes.
Shielded minds.
Locked-up hearts.
Blythe belief that if it’s ignored it will go away.
Who am I talking about?
First I’m talking about adults in third world countries being destroyed by AIDS.
Next I’m talking about many of “the church” in North America.
We’ve watched the unbelievable phenomenon of parents emotionally detaching from their babies and toddlers. Some children are handed off after birth without even being named—handed off to wicked adults who will raise them as sex slaves. Parents are afraid of the pain that love of their children will bring as their children's little lives are crushed by AIDS in their own little bodies or in their loved ones.
It is disturbing to see that so many little ones are far past ever expecting their family—if they still have any left—to help. They wrest life a morsel at a time out of garbage cans and dumps, an occasional bit of food from a kind person, or whatever they can steal. I know of cases where sawdust and tree bark and sand were swallowed to ease the hunger pangs.
For these precious little ones (Jesus died for each of them) their whole life-plan and thoughts of the future are to just find the next bite to eat.
Skinny bodies and bloated little tummies are an unbearable rebuke to me for all the times I turned my heart away from them to pursue a personal comfort or possession. I remind myself, though, it is not wrong to provide safety and comfort for one’s family.
So then where is the line? Wherever I have drawn it has always been short of what I really could have done—and whatever I can do alone is not enough.
Can I ask you to close your eyes for a moment and look past the distractions of affluence and see a generation of little ones with eternal souls needing the barest necessities of life?
If your mind is shielded and your heart is locked, will you open up and make room for some hurting children?
Shielded minds.
Locked-up hearts.
Blythe belief that if it’s ignored it will go away.
Who am I talking about?
First I’m talking about adults in third world countries being destroyed by AIDS.
Next I’m talking about many of “the church” in North America.
We’ve watched the unbelievable phenomenon of parents emotionally detaching from their babies and toddlers. Some children are handed off after birth without even being named—handed off to wicked adults who will raise them as sex slaves. Parents are afraid of the pain that love of their children will bring as their children's little lives are crushed by AIDS in their own little bodies or in their loved ones.
It is disturbing to see that so many little ones are far past ever expecting their family—if they still have any left—to help. They wrest life a morsel at a time out of garbage cans and dumps, an occasional bit of food from a kind person, or whatever they can steal. I know of cases where sawdust and tree bark and sand were swallowed to ease the hunger pangs.
For these precious little ones (Jesus died for each of them) their whole life-plan and thoughts of the future are to just find the next bite to eat.
Skinny bodies and bloated little tummies are an unbearable rebuke to me for all the times I turned my heart away from them to pursue a personal comfort or possession. I remind myself, though, it is not wrong to provide safety and comfort for one’s family.
So then where is the line? Wherever I have drawn it has always been short of what I really could have done—and whatever I can do alone is not enough.
Can I ask you to close your eyes for a moment and look past the distractions of affluence and see a generation of little ones with eternal souls needing the barest necessities of life?
If your mind is shielded and your heart is locked, will you open up and make room for some hurting children?
Sunday, February 19, 2006
I FELT HIS HEARTBEAT!
(My daughter, Susan, when she was about 6 years old, and I wondered what it might have been like...)
My daddy and I were right in the front of the crowd. I could tell by the way people were gathering and listening this was a great man speaking, yet His words were so clear to me as a child. I knew His words were important.
And it seemed like He kept looking at me.
There were a lot of us children in the crowd. Could you imagine our thrill when He said, “Let the children come to me”?
Several kids—some of them I knew as playmates—immediately ran to Him, but I couldn’t move. It was like my legs were paralyzed. Oh, how I wanted to go but I just couldn’t do it.
“I know,” I thought, “the next time He looks at me I’ll go.” And right then He did just that—but I still stood there frozen.
Tears came but I brushed them away as I decided what I would do. I would count to ten and at ten I would step out and go to Him. I wouldn’t even think about it. It was already decided.
“One, two three.” My heart was beating faster and my throat was getting dry.
“Four, Five, six.” I was almost dizzy with the thought of being near Him.
“Seven, eight.” I could hardly breathe.
“Nine, ten, go!”
But my legs still wouldn’t move.
“Why can’t I go?” I silently cried.
I looked up to my daddy’s face and his eyes were teary, too. He gently pushed my shoulder and said, “It’s okay, go to Him.”
At that very same instant He looked right at me and kept looking. His eyes were saying, “Come.”
Oh, I ran. I ran as fast as I could to His side. He leaned over and put His arm around me and lifted me up to His lap. So strong and so gentle.
With His other hand He tenderly pulled my head to his chest. I felt his robe—it was coarse cloth like my own. It had the fresh scent of the fields on it.
And His beard had the faint scent of olive oil.
As He spoke I felt the power of His voice in His chest and in my heart.
And then I felt His heartbeat. Quick and urgent.
He looked into my eyes again for a long moment. Then He motioned for us all to go back to our families.
I ran to Daddy. I didn’t care that my tears were gushing.
Daddy pulled me up into his arms and hugged me tight. He was crying, too.
“Oh, Daddy, this is the most important thing that has ever happened to me. I felt His heartbeat. I will obey His words and serve him forever.”
Daddy squeezed me harder and tried to say something but his voice was choked by tears of love and joy.
He just nodded and then managed to whisper, “Me, too.”
My daddy and I were right in the front of the crowd. I could tell by the way people were gathering and listening this was a great man speaking, yet His words were so clear to me as a child. I knew His words were important.
And it seemed like He kept looking at me.
There were a lot of us children in the crowd. Could you imagine our thrill when He said, “Let the children come to me”?
Several kids—some of them I knew as playmates—immediately ran to Him, but I couldn’t move. It was like my legs were paralyzed. Oh, how I wanted to go but I just couldn’t do it.
“I know,” I thought, “the next time He looks at me I’ll go.” And right then He did just that—but I still stood there frozen.
Tears came but I brushed them away as I decided what I would do. I would count to ten and at ten I would step out and go to Him. I wouldn’t even think about it. It was already decided.
“One, two three.” My heart was beating faster and my throat was getting dry.
“Four, Five, six.” I was almost dizzy with the thought of being near Him.
“Seven, eight.” I could hardly breathe.
“Nine, ten, go!”
But my legs still wouldn’t move.
“Why can’t I go?” I silently cried.
I looked up to my daddy’s face and his eyes were teary, too. He gently pushed my shoulder and said, “It’s okay, go to Him.”
At that very same instant He looked right at me and kept looking. His eyes were saying, “Come.”
Oh, I ran. I ran as fast as I could to His side. He leaned over and put His arm around me and lifted me up to His lap. So strong and so gentle.
With His other hand He tenderly pulled my head to his chest. I felt his robe—it was coarse cloth like my own. It had the fresh scent of the fields on it.
And His beard had the faint scent of olive oil.
As He spoke I felt the power of His voice in His chest and in my heart.
And then I felt His heartbeat. Quick and urgent.
He looked into my eyes again for a long moment. Then He motioned for us all to go back to our families.
I ran to Daddy. I didn’t care that my tears were gushing.
Daddy pulled me up into his arms and hugged me tight. He was crying, too.
“Oh, Daddy, this is the most important thing that has ever happened to me. I felt His heartbeat. I will obey His words and serve him forever.”
Daddy squeezed me harder and tried to say something but his voice was choked by tears of love and joy.
He just nodded and then managed to whisper, “Me, too.”
LOVE ON THE CROSS
The fury of the cross was conquered by love.
Willingly, He set aside His regal crown and took instead the plaited thorns—each thorn unlocking a rivulet of Love.
Compassionately, He bared His back so the angry lashes could rip and tear the fleshly mantle from the Love that now heals disease and cancels pain.
Anxiously, He opened His hands to receive the nails that would open streams of Love—streams that still flow as those hands reach out to touch us and make us whole.
Expectantly, He steadied His feet against the splintered plank to feel the rusty spike of sin pinion Him to the cross and open yet another crimson fount of Love.
Agonizingly, yet excitedly, as the climax neared, His eyes searched the generations of mankind and rested on me, on you, on each soul that has known or will know life. He saw that only His crimson Love could cleanse our filth.
Oh, how His bosom surged with the swelling tide of Love. His very being wretched against the nails as He sought to fully release the cleansing tide.
The vilest, yet most meaningful of all deeds was climaxed, and in a final metaphor event, the spear opened His bosom into a spillway and released a flood of Love that engulfs all humanity.
His words were, “It is finished!”
His part in redemption was accomplished.
There remains our part—ours is not yet finished.
Sad, burning eyes search for but a glimpse of that fountain of Love.
Parched souls crave the dew of Love.
Fevered minds scream for the cool release of Love.
In a frenzied, dissonant concert, mankind is crying out its hunger and thirst for Calvary’s Love.
Willingly, He set aside His regal crown and took instead the plaited thorns—each thorn unlocking a rivulet of Love.
Compassionately, He bared His back so the angry lashes could rip and tear the fleshly mantle from the Love that now heals disease and cancels pain.
Anxiously, He opened His hands to receive the nails that would open streams of Love—streams that still flow as those hands reach out to touch us and make us whole.
Expectantly, He steadied His feet against the splintered plank to feel the rusty spike of sin pinion Him to the cross and open yet another crimson fount of Love.
Agonizingly, yet excitedly, as the climax neared, His eyes searched the generations of mankind and rested on me, on you, on each soul that has known or will know life. He saw that only His crimson Love could cleanse our filth.
Oh, how His bosom surged with the swelling tide of Love. His very being wretched against the nails as He sought to fully release the cleansing tide.
The vilest, yet most meaningful of all deeds was climaxed, and in a final metaphor event, the spear opened His bosom into a spillway and released a flood of Love that engulfs all humanity.
His words were, “It is finished!”
His part in redemption was accomplished.
There remains our part—ours is not yet finished.
Sad, burning eyes search for but a glimpse of that fountain of Love.
Parched souls crave the dew of Love.
Fevered minds scream for the cool release of Love.
In a frenzied, dissonant concert, mankind is crying out its hunger and thirst for Calvary’s Love.
Friday, February 17, 2006
"ANY DEALDY THING..." Urgent need to pray
Terror raced through the nurse's mind. Blood from a child's wound had splattered into her eye.
The nurse is part of a medical team from America here this week treating children at our Children's Cup Care Points in Swaziland. Statistically, about half the children we care for are HIV positive.
Did this child's blood carry the deadly virus into the nurses body?
Another nurse treating another child was accidentally pricked by a syringe just used to give a child a shot.
Instant terror followed by deep dread followed by prayer. Was this child HIV positive?
These two nurses came to Swaziland out of compassion for suffering children. Now they have several week's of dreadful wait to see if they became infected with life stealing AIDS.
Unexplainable cultural protocols and medical regulations keep us from testing the children the nurses were treating to see if they were HIV positive--a gut wrenching, senseless denial of information. The nurses must wait about four weeks before they know if they are victims.
Mark 16:18 declares God's power over "...any deadly thing..."
Please pray with us for these nurses that God will, indeed, protect them from any possibility of being harmed by "any deadly thing." Let's ask God to give each of them a quiet peace and confidence in Him.
The nurse is part of a medical team from America here this week treating children at our Children's Cup Care Points in Swaziland. Statistically, about half the children we care for are HIV positive.
Did this child's blood carry the deadly virus into the nurses body?
Another nurse treating another child was accidentally pricked by a syringe just used to give a child a shot.
Instant terror followed by deep dread followed by prayer. Was this child HIV positive?
These two nurses came to Swaziland out of compassion for suffering children. Now they have several week's of dreadful wait to see if they became infected with life stealing AIDS.
Unexplainable cultural protocols and medical regulations keep us from testing the children the nurses were treating to see if they were HIV positive--a gut wrenching, senseless denial of information. The nurses must wait about four weeks before they know if they are victims.
Mark 16:18 declares God's power over "...any deadly thing..."
Please pray with us for these nurses that God will, indeed, protect them from any possibility of being harmed by "any deadly thing." Let's ask God to give each of them a quiet peace and confidence in Him.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
RWANDA HEALING
She looked across the table at a church fellowship potluck dinner into the eyes of the people who had butchered her family--and left her for dead at Rwandan massacre site. She had lain among the dead for three days until a passerby noticed her twitching and took her to help.
And then she saw a family bringing food to the table in what had been her mother’s favorite dishes—looted trophies of the macabre event.
Now she ate with them in forgiving fellowship with Christ.
Children’s Cup missionary David Van Rensburg, “Beano,” is helping coordinate preparations in Kigali, Rwanda, for the Joyce Meyer Crusade—part of the Hundred Days of Healing projects of Hillsong and many major ministries.
As the lady told Beano about the potluck encounter he could easily see how she was disfigured by the machete chops, yet he also saw a radiant presence of God in her life. Her scars had become badges of God’s grace.
Healing is coming to Rwanda. It is coming because hurting people on both sides have turned their hurting place into a forgiving place and God is making it a healing place.
Please pray with us as we seek God’s direction for Children’s Cup’s onward involvement in Rwanda.
And then she saw a family bringing food to the table in what had been her mother’s favorite dishes—looted trophies of the macabre event.
Now she ate with them in forgiving fellowship with Christ.
Children’s Cup missionary David Van Rensburg, “Beano,” is helping coordinate preparations in Kigali, Rwanda, for the Joyce Meyer Crusade—part of the Hundred Days of Healing projects of Hillsong and many major ministries.
As the lady told Beano about the potluck encounter he could easily see how she was disfigured by the machete chops, yet he also saw a radiant presence of God in her life. Her scars had become badges of God’s grace.
Healing is coming to Rwanda. It is coming because hurting people on both sides have turned their hurting place into a forgiving place and God is making it a healing place.
Please pray with us as we seek God’s direction for Children’s Cup’s onward involvement in Rwanda.
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