Nine Word Sentences

Courage is often measured by risk. It takes courage to live out God’s Truth. The firm, unscalable walls of God’s absolutes are not gratefully embraced. To be the weakest flame of Truth shining in the midst of blackest deception requires the greatest courage. Accepting the possibility of rejection, misunderstanding, and even aggression, requires a risk-taker. His Truth is counterculture, uncomfortable, and razor-sharp. I submit to its Divine cuts and cures in my own life, and stand up for it in a world that prefers its own lies.

Hope is the expectation that what I say, and write, will find its way through the maze of fear, anger, disappointment, doubt, and rebellion that is in us all. Within me lies the hope that the Spirit of God will penetrate those walls. I hope that His word is not sullied by mine. Only His can change anything and anyone. And always there is the hope that the words He plants will change me first.

Action follows direction, or desire. Procrastination is a soft bed and a beckoning pillow. It beguiles, promising a better day tomorrow. But it is the enemy of the mission. I will do what I promised God to do, not hastily, but neither laggardly nor lazily. I must do what He commands, obedience being the ultimate end of love. I will not wait for others—neither for their companionship on the journey, nor for their affirmation. I will take the steps He orders and speak the words He commands.

Leaning doesn’t come easily. The past necessitated independence and initiative—a product both of heredity and environment. Now, decades later, with habits entrenched, it is hard to rest in the Lord, on the Lord, because of the Lord, and trust Him to do His work in me. It is not a question of doing nothing but of abiding in Him and allowing the “being” to morph into the “doing” that will bring Him glory.

Listening for His voice among a myriad of other voices, including my own, might be the greatest goal of all. The world makes too much noise, as though more volume could overwhelm the sickness that eats the soul. Then comes the still whisper of the only voice that matters, the only sound that counts. He speaks, sometimes in volumes, sometimes just a word—JESUS. When peace ceases, when hate rules, when sadness overwhelms, I will listen for His voice. I will listen hard. 

Encouragement, even its smallest grain, spurs me on though I hesitate to seek it. Somehow that seems too self-centred. But as a plant needs water to thrive so does the soul need encouragement to blossom, to strive, to find meaning. It seems that every time I want to quit, God comes along and send me just a smidgen of “Keep going! Don’t be discouraged!” I am so slow to catch on, too easily distracted and too easily disheartened, too overcome by fear. But I take what He has repeated over and over again and hug those words close to my heart, plant them in my head, and fortify my resolve.

Nourishment to my soul is Your Word, O Lord! It satisfies even the deepest needs. Yet how little time I truly spend at feeding from the bountiful table that You have laid out. I nibble when I should gorge. I pick when I should finish a full plate. I turn my nose up at the servings I don’t particularly like, forgetting that they too are all part of the same dish of “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling.”* Make my hunger for You more acute that my hunger for anything else.

Grace takes me back to that spot on a hill where, shadowed by a cross, I am told everything I need to know. The debt is paid, the account is closed. I am forgiven. I am free to be everything His sufficient grace has designed for me. Grace lifts me onto my Father’s knee.

Excellence, not perfection, is the endgame. Perfection doesn’t happen here, but excellence does. I will do my best with all that He provides. I will do my best, not to bring myself glory, but to bring glory to Him by bringing others just one step closer to Him. I will strive for excellence because He is excellent. Though the brightness of my efforts amounts to the barest twinkle of the smallest star, I pray my life will be a reflection of His.

*Charles Wesley

No Light, No Tunnel, No End

whateverhesays (Google Images)

I linger in the blackness, seemingly invisible to passersby. My night is cold and lonely, devoid of the warmth of human touch. There is only God, and though He speaks, I do not hear from Him what I desperately want to hear. He begs me to trust His will, but that will lies heavily upon me, like a shroud. His will is solitary. His will is hard. He bids me to be patient, but the fruitless, empty, years pass me by, heaping their rewards on others.

Shared laughter mocks me, as groups of two, three, and four, walk by. Their eyes seem to meet mine, but then slide past unseeing. I follow them, heading toward the open doors ahead that they are passing through. I long to cry out after them: “Look at me. See me. Hear me.” I don’t. They are busy with better, more productive, things. I bless the Lord for all their successes even as I envy them those blessings. Like a swift running current, they flow past my stagnant pool. It seems pointless to call out to them. Even if they saw and heard, there is nothing they can do. My path is beyond their reach. Only God can change the unchangeable.

My present darkness is His will, so I cannot pass through the doors that are open for others. At least I can press up against the windows and watch. The room they have entered is ablaze with light and resounds with music. It is crowded with people, laughing and chatting, making contact, sharing information, planting the seeds of ideas; a mutual admiration society. My aloneness deepens.

I should walk away. Why punish myself by remaining so close, but never close enough? Like the starving child with nose and palms pressed against the bakery window, I still need the crumbs that occasionally are tossed my way, even though they create in me a greater awareness of my deep hunger. So I linger.

How long, O Lord?

God says wait. He is carefully putting all the pieces of my life together. This solitary, shadowy corner is coming together just as He planned. Patience is not my strongest character trait. Sometimes, during the darkest moments of my night, I rail against Him and weep bitter tears. As quickly, I repent of the failure of my frail faith. Trust is, at times, an Everest that defies my best efforts to reach its summit. I know He makes no mistakes. I understand He has reasons—and good ones—for leaving me here. Like Job, I present my case and cry out for God to explain His.

Chattering voices and the chinking of glasses reach my ears. Toasts are being offered in celebration. A persistent voice whispers: “And who celebrates for you?” I push the thought away. I know it will return the next time some small victory comes my way and there is no one to share my happiness.

I shiver. There it is again, that subtle rejection of God’s will and presence. How often I have prayed that He would take away this desire for what isn’t part of His plan for me. He neither takes me from this darkness, nor does He remove my desire to be taken from it. That too is part of the plan.

I am ashamed. I turn back from the lighted window and look out into the darkness. As the Spirit of God adjusts my spiritual night vision, I weep again. The music from inside the room fades, replaced by the hoot of a nearby owl, the chirp of crickets, and the soft rustle of wind through barely visible trees. The air is heavy with the fragrance of lilac and gardenia. A million stars gleam overhead. I missed them in the glare of the light streaming from the windows. There is such beauty in the darkness. My shroud, whose folds hide the arms of God, embraces me. He is always good, and never as good as He is right now. I weep over my sins. Not content with the bounty of my night, I wanted more, even when He has given me so much. Thoughtless and unappreciative, I threw it back at Him.

Someone once said: “Never doubt in the dark what God told you in the light.” Not one promise He has made me has failed. Though they don’t disappear, the voices are muted, overtaken by the sounds of the night. The grass stirs at my feet. God walks here in the dark.

Abusing Grace

Alexi Harlamov

(Author's Note: Part of this morning's message at church reminded of this story. I thought I'd share.)

She lived on the streets, but she was not a vagrant or a streetwalker. Grace eagerly embraced the opportunity to be where people constantly passed, but she was not selling her services, or begging for leftovers. Unlike many forced to live exposed to the meaner things of life, Grace had chosen her path eagerly. Instead of darkness and despair, she radiated light and hope. As she walked the sidewalks and greeted each person who passed, those who bothered to pay even the slightest attention were impressed.

Day and night, summer and winter, Grace never abandoned her place in the thoroughfares of life. Most ignored her—an amazing error in judgment considering what she was offering. Her approach was never offensive though it often gave offense. People react oddly at times, so she discovered.

A few were tempted, but even among these there were some who thought her too good to be true, and walked away. They were half right: She was good, so good that she WAS true.

However, there were others who saw her charm, appreciated her willingness, saw the advantage of a closer relationship, and thought to take advantage.

"She's an easy mark. It shouldn't be hard to take her."

This from a shriveled little soul, with a slight green tinge around his mouth. He resented it when others had something he didn't. He wanted to be the first in line for this prize. However, the leader of his group enjoyed certain privileges, aided by his being a much bulkier man with weight to throw around. Calculation was etched on his face as he responded to his underling's prompting.

"Of course, adding her to our stables will represent a coup of huge proportions. She is special."

"Do you think her Master will object?"

"From what I hear, he wants us to take her."

The leader snorted. "Well, what did you expect? She's out walking the streets, offering herself to everyone who passes. My question is, how much is she worth?"

Another offered: "I heard he's offering her for free." He had left all his possibilities to pay for anything attached to a now-empty six-pack occupying space in a dumpster in a nearby alley. Free was a good thing as far as he was concerned.

That got the attention of a fourth member of the gang.

"What? She must be diseased, or undercover. Free? Impossible."

This comment came from a sly slip of a man who hoped that his suggestions, based on absolutely no facts, would divert the attention of the rest. He could use a piece of the action himself.

He continued: "Can't be as good as she looks, then. There's no such thing as a free ride, a free lunch, or "

The greenish man ruefully added: "Nope, seems legit. I know some people who know her intimately. Never seen such a haphapless bunch."

He had been about to use the words "happy" and "healthy," but caught himself in time. Such positive remarks about the band's rivals would earn him a cuff across the back of the head.

The comments bounced back and forth until at last, tired of talking, the parties came to a decision.

"Well, let's try her out. We don't have anything to lose."

They were wrong.

The gang approached Grace. The girl was sitting on the broad, stone steps of a church. She was well dressed, her hair shone in the sun, and she smiled invitingly at each person who passed by. As the men sauntered up to her, Grace looked up and smiled.

"Good morning."

She said nothing more, waiting.

The leader reached out and took her hand in his and pulled her up, toward him. She didn't resist, but continued to smile, her brilliant eyes meeting his in open invitation.

"Come with me, baby—your beauty to my beast. We'll make beautiful music together."

"I'd love to go with you—with all of you."

Hopes rose. This should be easy pickings.

"But " Grace hesitated, pausing to bestow a warm look on each face that met hers. She then continued: " though I specialize in beasts, I don't do beastlies. You'll have to leave those behind."

Objections spewed from three sets of lips.

"What?"

"Honey, I am what I am. I don't change for nobody."

"Freebies can't be fussy."

To this point, the leader of the band had been silent. When everyone else had finished protesting, he grasped Grace's arms in a vise-like grip.

"Look, little girl. Your boss sent you out on the streets looking for people like us. Joining the gang will make you look good, attract business your way, so to speak."

A piece like her on my arm would turn heads.

"Besides, a beast isn't a beast without his beastlies."

Grace's smile broadened.

"Precisely."

"So?"

"So, to have me, you have to let my Master deal with the beastlies."

The green-tinged man grew greener.

Another shook his head, thinking his drink-induced fog must be affecting his hearing.

"You're lying," objected a third. It takes one to know one, he added to himself.

Their leader released Grace, holding up his hand to signal silence among his companions.

"You do charge for your services then. Word on the street is that you are free, that your Master is offering you to any, and to all who want you."

"My services are free. But you are mistaken about the relationship. It's not me hanging around with you; it's you hanging on to me. You won't make me look good; your knowing me will make you not only look good, but be good. Your life will change from the moment you accept my Master's offer. You won't want the beastlies anymore."

Horror rose like smoke from hell at her words.

"What? Not want what I want? Impossible."

"Not be what I am? Nothin' doin'."

"Lose my identity for you? Dream on."

Grace picked up on the last comment, fixing her beautiful eyes on the bowed figure peering from behind his master's tattered dungarees.

"Do you honestly believe that what you are now is what you were meant to be? My Master's offer is to restore to you your true identity; that of a child of the King and a citizen of Heaven, free from beastlies and reborn to beauty."

Sensing the weakening resolve of his compatriots, the leader of the pack signaled his henchmen away from Grace. She sighed, sadness tempering her features. Reluctantly she returned to her duties on the street corner, amazed as she always was that people preferred a fatal disease to perfect health.

"Excuse me."

Grace sensed his approach and was already turning as he spoke.

"Yes?"

"I heard what you said. I'd like to sign on, sign up, volunteer, joinwhatever the appropriate word is for taking advantage of your offer."

Grace made no judgment calls; that was neither her job nor her nature. If she had been one to distinguish between people, she would have preferred this one to her previous companions. He was well-dressed, casual but neat, sincerity gripping the hand of politeness.

"You understand the terms and conditions?"

"Oh yes. I want to be a child of the King and a citizen of heaven. I beg forgiveness and renounce "

He listed an impressive number of beastlies, the mention of each one broadened Grace's smile just a little more. As he finished his list, she touched his arm. A current passed from her to him, something like a rush of swift water over rocks. She linked her arm in his. Together they walked to the door of the church where Grace had been sitting not long before.

"Go in there, and they will teach you more of what you need to know about my Master and the step you have taken today."

He smiled and opening the door, disappeared from view.

Four pairs of eyes watched from an alleyway close to the church.

"There's another one gone," said the liar. "The big boss will not be pleased."

His comment was followed by a snort of disbelief from the leader of the gang.

"Don't believe everything you hear. Just watch and wait. Grace thinks she so smart. She ought to develop a little more savvy about the people she deals with."

"She saw through us, didn't ?"

Three turned on the fourth with savage disgust.

"Shut up!"

The leader of the band loosened the grip he had held around the throat of his talkative follower. He cocked a crooked smile. Then, looking back around the corner, said:

"Wait. You'll see. Keep Grace in sight."

And so they did. Day and night they watched. Days passed and so did they. They stopped to talk to her as she spoke to the passersby. She always looked at them with hopeful eyes, and renewed her offer. If they thought to waiver and consider what she said, their leader was quick to smash the idea to smithereens with his fists or his tongue during their nightly consultations at the back of the alley.

Time passed. They noticed that the man with whom Grace had spoken on that fateful day, entered and exited the church quite frequently. He stopped to talk to Grace and she would touch him again, just as she had done the first time. She often entered the building as well.

Then one day, the little green one sidled up to his boss. He had something to report.

"Hey, man. Gracie is looking a little peaked."

Sure enough, four pairs of eyes peering around the corner of the church all noticed the same thing. It was the same Grace, but different. Her dress was smudged. A tiny rip showed in her sleeve and her stockings had a run in them.

"I told you so," crowed the leader of the group, his eyes crinkled up with glee. "Now, listen."

Four pairs of ears became fined tuned to the conversation on the street. People passed Grace by. More than a few took a look at her bedraggled appearance and laughed. Some who seemed as though they wanted to stop and talk with her, moved away, doubt marking their faces. The only ones who lingered were some of the people from the church. They came more frequently than ever. Oddly enough, they were less polite now, and the silver of sincerity seemed more than slightly tarnished.

Grace began to look more ragged, though the brilliance of her eyes and her manner never changed. The rips were longer, the dirt more pronounced, and there was blood on a bruised thigh.

"Let's go. Let's find out if Gracie hasn't swallowed some of her pride. Maybe she'll like our terms and conditions better now."

The band of miscreants sauntered down the street, past the church, and stopped on the corner where Grace was working.

"Well, well, look what we have here. If it isn't our friend, Grace. Looks like you've been having a bad day, or should I say bad days?"

Chuckles followed the wisecrack of their leader.

She smiled too—without the evil intent.

"So, your new friends aren't treating you too well. Maybe you should call a cop, or better yet, report them to your Master. Looks like business is dropping off too. Looks like you've lost a little of that credibility stuff. People are convinced that you're too easy? Or cheap? Or ineffective? Give it up, Gracie, your grace-nics aren't livin' up to the advertising."

Not content with having the boss hog all the action, her cohorts chimed in.

"Yah, they're comin' too often "

" and takin' you too lightly."

"I hear they like studying Tai Chi more than theolo-chi in there," chortled another.

"Face it, Grace, they think you're a joke—and so do all the people who know them and see you. Those people in there don't care, Grace. So much for your 'terms and conditions.'"

"So much for them givin' up the beastlies."

"So much for even wantin' to give up the beastlies. Your Master's plan don't work. They took what they wanted and only gave up what didn't matter to 'em."

"They lied," exulted the liar, looking with friendly, longing eyes toward the church.

"They used yah and abused yah, Cheap Grace."

The insults and taunts at last brought tears to Grace's beautiful eyes. Nevertheless, though bruised by her own and battered by those she longed to make her own, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, straightened her skirt, and her spine.

"I know. But I'll still be on this street this afternoon, tomorrow, and the day after that."

"You're the perfect victim, Gracie," sneered the head bully. "If I try harder, things will get better," he mocked.

"If you're so concerned about me, why don't you accept my Master's offer and make the difference? Yes, there are some who claim to follow in his light, but are still blanketed by your darkness. But right now you're here, and they're not. You could show them what walking in the true Light is really like. Take what I offer—what He offers. Take it with a whole heart."

Stunned silence responded to the gentle words. Before the band's incredulous eyes, the rips faded, the stains softened. The blood on Grace's leg glowed scarlet, pulsing with life. The light from those beautiful eyes pierced through layers of evil to strike at souls long shriveled and dry.

"You you still make this offer in spite of the abuse that you have taken?"

Grace smiled gently. The voice that then spoke was not hers. Deeper, and overwhelming in its compassionate, it reached down from the heavenlies and said:

"Yes, come."