God Heals

Exactly one month till Christmas! Christmas songs, excitement, gifts, and goodies, here I come!

Below are a couple of paragraphs by Max Lucado that rang true with me. It isn't the prayer that delivers you, it is the One to whom you pray.

We know that in everything God works for the good of those who love him. Romans 8:28 

Prayer isn’t what heals us. God heals, not prayer. A matter of semantics? No. If you think the power is in the prayer and not the One who hears the prayer, you fault the pray-er for unanswered prayer. If I had prayed more, better, differently.  It’s a depressing cycle. 

Don’t assume that the faithful will never suffer. 

Remember that Peter was in a storm before he walked on water. Lazarus was in a grave before he came out of it. In Matthew 26:39, Jesus himself prayed to be delivered from earthly pain. Please don’t interpret the presence of your disease as the absence of God’s love. I pray he heals you. And he will, ultimately.

Your and My Romances

Are you enjoying your romance with God? Read it again: Your. Ro. Mance. With. God.

Romance stories aren't unfamiliar to any of us. Most likely, we've all imagined ourselves as one of the lovers in a book. Or perhaps you like someone particularly much. (Be honest with yourself ;) Your thoughts drift towards them. You worry about them, can't wait to talk to them, and wish to know them better. You desire to share their glowing laughter and sorrowing pain. They fascinate you, and if you could, you'd spend all day with them. Or perhaps the rest of your life.

Is this your perspective of God?

The Bible supplies us with plenty of analogies to our relationship with God and Jesus: Father, Brother, the Good Shepherd, Friend. It uses the analogy of a bride and bridegroom to the church and Jesus. But for God and you to be lovers?

You were honest before, so I'll be honest now. Like all relationships, my relationship with God has all manners of ups and downs. As much as I wish I could say there aren't any downs, I can't. One thing I can say, however: He has never been the one to drift away. A few other points. God doesn't need me to worry about Him. And while I haven't carried much of His sadness, He certainly has carried mine. I want to share His laughter and know Him better. I'm fascinated by His majesty, love, mercy, and wisdom. I- I think I'd like to spend the rest of my life with Him. I have a sneaking suspicion it won't be a boring romance.

Something New

Dare the precipice of Something New.
Tread the edge, flirt with the ledge,
Stand where you’ve never stood before.
Let the wind whip
Past the treacherous lip
But don’t let slip
Till preparation and consideration are past.
Then brace yourself
And-
        P
          L
          U
          N
          G
          E
          !
Overload!
Up is down, left is right
Disorientation reigns your flight
Catch your stomach as it floats past
Flip-flop through free fall - fast!
Spin, spiral, swooping motion,
Solid ground is just a notion
Perhaps,
Perhaps your plunge won’t ever stop
Dizzy firmament, underneath, on top
So
Settle back on nothingness
Capture the view of upside down
Mesmerized in light-years sped
Enjoy your gently mangled head
From touchdown.
Touchdown! Congratulations on your survival!
No clean pants needed upon arrival
Expectations hardly met!
But you know what?
Something New wasn’t half bad!

Faded Rose

This is one of those "back-burner" thoughts. I've thought it strange that people would study a person that has died, finding out about their life, and maybe even idolizing them.

I've been thinking about my late grandfather, William Isaac. I have faint memories of him, but he died before I really got to know him. However, as I've gathered details of his life, I've become quite fascinated. And disappointed, too, that I couldn't have known him better. From what I've heard, he was different, and not in a bad way. He and Grandma always had time to listen to people. He was given first class service at the local china store because he would buy. He loved to give china to Grandma. He was an expert gardener. His favourite flower was a yellow rose; yellow because that was one colour that his colour-blindness didn't cheat him on. As Grandma's vision failed, he was the one that would cook for them. He replaced his Bibles not because he misused them or misplaced them, but because they actually wore out. 

I've found connections between his interests and my interests. I love skating, and my mom says that he was a wiz on skates. Biking was his favourite type of exercise, just as it is for me. I love to sing and so did he. He led songs until his hearing made it difficult to understand selections from the benches. He enjoyed writing and was a skilled writer, especially of poems. I find poetry difficult to conquer, but it doesn't stop me from enjoying writing. I think I get my "Isaac" walking posture from him as well. But best of all, he served the same God I do. By faith, I will see him again someday. 

Not surprisingly, people haven't mentioned his faults. I doubt he was faultless, but my fascination continues. So I want to say something to all of you that can still speak to your grandparents: get to know them, or get to know them better. And love them especially much for me.

The Escapades of the Swaddles

Someone wanted to show me "the clouds," so I stepped outside to see "the clouds." Instead, I saw him wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in the parking lot. With an apple on his head. I couldn't tell if he was coming or going. The white strips made him look like both a baby and a mummy (like the dead Egyptian kind). It was such a shameful waste of swaddles. You see, these weren't just your ordinary swaddles, but two-ply swaddles. But I managed to reuse them quite nicely. The apple, well...*sniff* it chokes me up a bit. It splatted on the ground in a subdued manner, spraying apple-flesh hither and yon. But, thinking on the bright side, the ants will enjoy it.

And that is my short story for the day.

Not Like Santa

Do you ever treat God like Santa? Sometimes I do.

Let's pretend it is close to Christmas and we are going to see Santa. We want to see him before he visits us with his slide down the chimney, so off to the mall we go. Unfortunately, the mall isn't simply next door. We have to drive, and it takes a long time to get there. When our journey ends, we get to wait some more, this time in line with lots of other people. Finally, finally, our turn to see Santa comes. We excitedly tell him the many things we would like from him. And then it's over.

Is that sometimes the way we approach God?

Except God isn't like that at all. I don't have to drive a long way to see Him. I don't have to wait for Him to come down my chimney. As a Christian, God is with me all the time, wherever I go. In fact, part of Him lives inside of me. I don't have to stand in line and wait my turn. He turns His head my way as soon as I speak; sometime before. Most importantly, talking with God isn't simply asking Him for the things I want. Who says one of us has to talk? Have you ever sat in silence with God?

I think God enjoys talking to me even more than I enjoy talking to Him. The first thing God says when I start listening to Him is "I love you." The second thing He says is "I love you." And then the third thing He says is "I love you." You see, He knows that I forget how much He loves me, and that I don't always trust His love.

I've been reading an inspiring book by Max Lucado called Just Like Jesus. I really like his writing style, but the subject he writes about is even better. Here's a quote that I'll share with you. It made me cry inside a bit.

"Conclude the day as you began it: talking to God. Thank him for the good parts. Question him about the hard parts. Seek his mercy. Seek his strength. And as you close your eyes, take assurance in the promise: 'He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.' (Ps. 121:4) If you fall asleep as you pray, don't worry. What better place to doze off than in the arms of your Father."

Working in the Light

I did something new yesterday. I wandered around telling people about the One who "came to touch the hardness of our hearts." I didn't approach it without apprehension, but as I'm finding more and more, the little fears never materialized. As the bundle in my hand shrank, the bundle in my head expanded. Have I ever said that my mind is bursting with thoughts? Nah, I didn't think so.

It could hardly have been a more beautiful day. I used to think nothing was prettier than a sunny summer day. That was before I tasted the vibrancy of dusty clear day of Indian summer. And when you mix in some twilight too... Which is why I went walking with a friend a couple evenings ago. The sights and sounds we discovered! A pumpkin cat sitting silently on a fence. Geese honking, wings whirring, floating blackly on a pale sky. Trees blushing at their reflection on still water. Lights glowing and beckoning through the dim. However, I have a question. Why do beautiful things hurt?

If Indian summer was a beverage, what colour would it be? Perhaps light blue with wisps of white and swirled with orange. Or maybe layered yellow, orange, and red. The only problem being if the colours mixed completely, you'd end up with a lovely brown hue. Appetizing! Or what would it taste like? Dying leaves? Dirt? Apple cider? Apple cider! I think it would be sweet and tangy and bitter. But no matter what, a shot of twilight would top it off perfectly. I wish I could fill of bottle with this delight and savour it year-round. Except I'm afraid the secret to its sweetness is its scarcity.

Too Much Green

If only this radar could detect aircraft. A certain POTUS and First Lord of the Admiralty wouldn't have believed it for a moment. In fact, they might have dropped dead. Even a contemporary air traffic controller would be shocked at the volume of information this thing displays. Alas, that is the essence of the problem. So perceptible and sensitive, it picks up everything. Unfortunately, "everything" is too much. If only there was a way to dismantle it, or leave it behind, or something. Good grief, even an off button would be rather handy.

The targets never suspect its presence. In most cases, they don't realize it exists. But woe to the carrier in an environment crowded with targets. The green blips will multiply. They will invade the screen. Every minute detail will appear. Only there are too many of them. The information will come faster and faster. No time to sort, process, or absorb it. This torrent will build up into a creeping pool of green. Don't underestimate its power to overwhelm. Perhaps it will drown you. The only way to reduce the flow is to reduce the number of targets. Flee! Except after you have vacated the zone, the echos will come. And then you will remember that you forgot to forget the instrument. Hurray. Perhaps there is a flip side.

If you identify, my condolences. If you don't, my congratulations.

-radar kid

Changing

Every day is a miracle. Today it was the drive to work. If I would have imagined hard enough, I could have pulled back gently on the wheel and floated up to tumble though the clouds. Mystical, magical, majestic clouds. Into a world of mixed contrasts: light and dark, sanguine and melancholy, stormy and calm. Willow-y wisps caressed towering grandeur. But today I was earth-bound. So I explored the clouds' footprints and watched them play cloud-games and do the hula laugh. Through the aged sunlit fields, under the arching burnished trees. The light and shadows drifted here and there, ever changing as they went. Dynamic-ism!

All the foliage was tired. But, strikingly, it didn't care. Rather it reveled in its ancientness; enjoyed it, even.  How? People always seem to dread getting old. They loose their beauty; but perhaps they're blind to the new beauty ancientness has given them.

Two Thoughts

No one is completely open-minded. And I doubt anyone is completely close-minded. Are you open-minded enough to accept your close-mindedness?

Now onto a different thought, here's a beautiful paragraph from the Max Lucado Daily, titled "The Same Hands."

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” (Revelation 21:4) Someday God will wipe away your tears. The same hands that stretched the heavens will touch your cheeks. The same hands that formed the mountains will caress your face. The same hands that curled in agony as the Roman spike cut through will someday cup your face and brush away your tears.