All in God's glory
When I was a little child—well not really, but a teenager eager to know the Lord better—I memorized all 107 of the Westminster Shorter Catechism* precepts. To this day I remember two of them: #1, “Man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” And indeed, “to glorify God and enjoy Him forever” is the entire thrust of Scripture, you could even say of life.
The apostle Paul tells us to expect that God, who made light shine out of darkness at
the beginning of time, is at work making his light shine in our hearts today. His aim is for
us to possess the knowledge of the glory of God, His glory. His gift to us was Jesus in
whose face that glory was made clear.
So how to have the “simplicity of a child”* to hear from the Lord? It begins with genuine fear. Fear wraps itself around our imaginations in a number of ways. Yes, we wish to avoid the displeasure and discipline of God. But He is really asking for the kind of fear that envelops us in awe and reverence, bringing us into the place of true wisdom.
I forgot the wonder and mystery of life until I rocked a newborn, my great grandchild. I recalled my own children kicking and squirming in my tummy and the awe of holding their tiny faces next to mine. Only God can create a living being made in His image.What a marvelous mystery. What a marvelous gift.
A stroll through the familiar vineyard of John 15 today, ladies, should refresh our sense of the simplicity of life in Jesus.
Satan is powerless against God. God already won the battle and the war. No one and nothing can ever box God in.
Father, we celebrate the All-powerful God you are. We praise you for your wonderful deeds. Thank you for crushing Satan and offering us redemption.
The buds on the camelia outside my window survived the January frost again this year—a hint of full blossoms to come. During frosty troubles we too long for perfect days to bloom. “Somewhere deep within each of us is a desire, a longing for a world very different from our own. …The stunning beauty of a sunset, the awe of starry heavens, a deeply moving story or poem, can arouse within us for a brief moment an awareness and desire for our true home.”**
3am, 3:30, 3:45—what to do in the middle of the night? Oh how I do not like those wee small hours of no sleep. Up to the bathroom—no, I’ve done that already; toss and turn—maybe it’ll be better on my right side. Perhaps some hot tea. The clock ticks on before my very eyes.
In just a few weeks I anticipate the blessing of welcoming another generation of girls as I become a great grandmother. I pray that this little girl will also come to know Jesus Christ as her Savior, making six generations of Christian women I have known.
What a blessed Thanksgiving we had. Eight adults and 6 children at our table, the merriment delighted us. Soon, after everyone left and the clean up had taken place, out came the pre-lit Christmas tree. Much to my dismay, half of the lights did not shine.
A closer inspection turns to introspection, making me wonder if somehow I am exchanging my Glory, my precious Savior, for idols of my own making or my own imagination. Do I rely on people in my life to do for me what only God can do?
In 95 A.D. the apostle John, exiled on the isle of Patmos, was given a peek into the forever Heaven—after the return of Christ, after the “lake of fire” (20:14), when God will make His dwelling place with the redeemed (20:3).
Our young family moved twelve times. Each move felt more chaotic and unceremonious than the last. In comparison, move-in day for Solomon’s Temple must have transpired very differently! Enormous crowds, prayers, and a fourteen-day celebration marked the occasion. On the first day, Solomon asked an interesting question during his prayer of dedication: “But will God really dwell on earth? The heavens even the highest heaven cannot contain you. How much less this temple I have built” (1 Kings 8:27).
The compassion for God’s creation lingers as part of the legacy of St. Francis* of Assisi. In fact, a crumbling statue of St. Francis embracing a small bird graces my garden and reminds me of my own increasing sensitivities to God’s creation.
A perfect day for a drive through the country, my friend and I set out to find bluebonnets. We had heard about some good places to look, so with the GPS set for success, we headed out.
The giant and grasshopper mentality of the Israelites brought Moses to his knees once again, pleading. God’s reputation was at stake: “If you put these people to death all at one time, the nations who have heard this report about you (that you are with these people, v.14) will say, ‘The LORD was not able to bring these people into the land he promised them on oath; so he slaughtered them in the desert’” (14:14-16)
As I sorted boxes of my children’s artwork, I admired how their childhood imaginations defied rules of perspective and laws of nature. Time has since redirected their imaginations from free-form artwork to the demanding issues of adult problem-solving. However, a quote by Oswald Chamber recently challenged me to rekindle my own child-like imagination:
“Magnum opus”, meaning masterpiece or great work (Merriam Webster), is not a term that comes to my mind frequently. But when Erica Wiggenhorn called the transfiguration of Jesus a “magnum opus” moment in her study of Luke (Unexlainable Jesus, p.108) it caught my eye.
“Tida! What are these?” I glanced up to see to what my grandson referred. He had the strangest look as he pointed to his face. He then began touching his eyebrows as if he had never noticed them.
