Archive for the ‘From Paul’s Desk’ Category

Thursday, November 4th, 2010 by Paul

The Affective Side of Relationship with God

I have recently been in a little conversation and I thought you might enjoy being a part. My friend Drew Marshall, a professing Jesus follower for many years, has seriously put his belief in God on hold, his central question revolving around the lack of communication from God and the absence of any ‘feeling’ about the reality of relationship with God. This sort of question can take us in many directions and the following is only one, but I believe an important one. It is a written conversation between me and a blogger, Mags. She posted on Twitter and I followed the link to her blog (http://www.magsstorey.com/):

Why Drew’s Search for God Scares Me
Posted on October 26, 2010 by Mags

Drew Marshall’s (www.drewmarshall.com)  search for God scares me. Terrifies me actually. As it should him too.

Because what if God doesn’t come looking for him?

If the host of the self-titled Drew Marshall radio show doesn’t get a personal message from God, by his self imposed deadline of December 18, the faithful and true will probably conclude Drew was never really looking anyway.

But is that fair?

I’ve mentioned before that I grew up in the world of the spiritually mighty – as for that matter did Drew.  Like him, I sat through Sunday schools, youth groups and churches. I raised my hands. I fell to my knees. I honestly told God I wanted to know him, and wanted to be his child. And I meant it.

Yet I also know what Drew means when he says that his Heavenly Father feels like an absentee one. Sending him second-hand missives through others who seem to know him better.

When I interviewed Drew for ChristianWeek, he told me that you’d have to be “pretty thick” to somehow miss it if God was speaking directly to you. And judging by some of the responses I’ve been reading on his Twitter #droggle feed, plenty of people seem to think all blame lies with Drew. Maybe Drew is insincere. Maybe he’s insufficiently educated, or spiritually darkened. Maybe his faith has failed to reach even that minimal mustard seed level.

I’ll admit – that’s pretty much the response I would have had when I was younger. But that was before I really began admit what it’s like to fall on your knees and beg God for an answer. Or run into a church and get spiritually slapped in the face.

What it’s like to hear the echoing, infinite, silence of God. The silence barren Hannah heard for so many years when she went to the temple and sobbed. The silence Israel faced for years in exile. The silence Jesus heard when he asked his Father why he had forsaken him.

Maybe Drew’s faith isn’t “good enough” for God. But is mine? And is anyone’s really?

At the American Christian Fiction Writer’s Conference (ACFW) in September, Bug Man author Tim Downs pointed out the Bilble compared us to spouses who had left our first love.

“How would you win a lover back?” he asked.

Would you say, “Obviously they have forgotten how worthy I am to be praised” and send them a list of your finer attributes?

Would you say, “Obviously they have forgotten the way home” and send them a map?

Or would you woo them gently, in story and poem, unfolding who you are to them?

To me, it was a radical concept. Because I think in the church where I grew up, the presumption would be that if you somehow managed to get yourselves lost, you had to come to heel pretty darn fast before Got smote you down in your sin.

But I’d like to believe that God is more like Tim Down’s jilted lover. That God and Drew will work out something out, that only they need understand.

And that if I ever get too lost to even reach for the phone – God will take the time to find me too.

October 25, 2010


Here is the conversation that followed:

Hey Mag,
Love your thoughtful response. I also think there are things broken in our ‘receptors’ that Papa can’t forcefully heal without violating our side of the relationship; that God can’t cross without being a transgressor or becoming an abuser.

-appreciating you,

Paul

mags says:

October 27, 2010 at 4:53 pm

Dear Paul,

Thanks so much for dropping by! The Shack touched me quite deeply, and really appreciate the way you created such a powerful image of God’s love and person.

I find your comments about how God can not forcefully heal without violating our boundaries really challenging! Because on the one hand I do completely agree with them. I love that God shows us respect and models healthy boundaries. I love that God knocks, God waits, God whispers… It is because of that respect for our boundaries that those of us who have been abused can feel comfortable being loved by such a gentle God.

And yet, I still struggle with knowing many have a hard time hearing God because our receptors were forcibly broken by others.

We do not always chose broken receptors – and yet because of them we can not hear God or get healed?? That is not fair. It is bad enough to be hurt – how much worse when the actions of others keep us from being able to hear God.

Where is God’s mercy there? How does God reach out to those too broken to know how to even see God’s hand?

I know these are questions you have wrestled with too. And I’m thankful you have.

Wm Paul Young writes:

October 27, 2010 at 7:04 pm

Thank you for the honesty and the glimpse of some of your heart hurt. My father, for example, participated in destroying my receptors, not just to God, but to love and affirmation in the eyes of others, to any sense of self value, to honor and beauty. In part this is such a revelation of ‘respect’, that God did not ‘stop’ my father, or his father who did it to him, or his…. God submits to what we bring to the table, and then begins to weave possibilities out of the shreds of what should have been so natural, so easy, so normal. But I come a heap of hopelessness, hardly able to raise my gaze, deaf and dumb. Fair? In no way. Fair that I then turn and blame God for my inability to hear, that I have no words to heal myself or that the sensors that should be open to his Presence have been shattered into little bits of darkness. In no way fair. But thankfully, God is not petulant but understanding. So in my life God began to find small sounds that I somehow still had the capacity to hear, and for me it was often inside music, combinations of lyric, melody and harmony that put bits of me back together, let me feel and hear some wonder that lay just beyond my sight, sounds that echoed deep in the precious little that mysteriously was still alive. Then there were the surprises, like the blistering rainstorms that always pushed me into the surprise of joy and a sense of hearing something grand that some encompassed my own skin, drenching my deaf ears in hints of beyond and above. And then we demand that God talk to us in the same ways and manners that damaged us in the first place. Perhaps we hope in the certainty of the pain and its prison that we have known for so long, rather than take the risks in the new and incremental. Perhaps we would rather have God as our advertisement than our friend, our trophy rather than our lover and escape the obvious direction toward the bended knee and the torn asunder but healed heart with its ears that are beginning to pick up the simplest syllables of affection.

Monday, April 12th, 2010 by Paul

Day 3 – Papa’s Fire

IMG_4068

I have a friend. Her name is Jennie and a couple years ago, this is the email that I received from her.

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Tuesday, June 10th, 2008 by Paul

June 2008, Letter from Pastor Lawrence Rae

I get about 100 emails a day, plus regular mail, notes, cards etc.  I really do try and get to them all, and I am only a couple thousand behind – thank you for your grace and patience.  I received the following letter just a day or two ago and thought I would like to share it with you.  It is a devotional journal entry dated May 27, 2008, written by Pastor Lawrene Rae.  There is a simplicity and yet a depth that I appreciate very much, as well as insight into Papa’s heart.  This is posted with permission.

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Saturday, March 22nd, 2008 by Paul

The Beauty of Ambiguity (Mystery)

I am back in the warmth of the cabin, watching through the window as early spring rains drench the surrounding landscape, low hanging clouds darkening the day. A late snow is coming, but not quite yet. Even though the fire crackles and snaps as it eats through its main course, I still snuggle deeper into the heaviness of the quilt that Papa left for me. She is soon back with a cup of tea, something that smells of wood and mint and a hint of jasmine. I grin. She knows me best, and whatever it is that she is handing me, I trust.

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Tuesday, December 18th, 2007 by admin

Fiction, Truth, Reality and all that stuff…

It has been a long day; a lot of walking and talking.  Not enough eating if you ask me.  These crowds seem to be getting bigger every day especially as the rumors about  Jesus have stirred up things.  He pays no mind, as if a reputation is nothing of any real value; nothing that required any attention to maintain.  So as near I can tell, he has none, but still everyone shows up; as many people as motives.

Me, I tend to stay in the background.  Not very fond of the attention we’re getting, so I hang around the fringes; suits me just fine.  I’m not one to put myself out there, like some of the others.  To be honest, I’m not very brave and not above being disappointed.  But here is the strange thing.  I don’t know what it is about me, maybe because of my baby face (I’ve never been able to grow a full beard), whatever it is I seem to attract the strange ones.  You know the ones, that hang around the fringes of everything that is going on, people who don’t really have the want or nerve to approach Jesus directly.  So they seek me out. 

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Monday, November 26th, 2007 by admin

Do You Think They Brought Everything They Have? Pt 2

She was gone as silently as she had come, stepping to the side to let the successful people and their entourages loudly enter the treasury area that she had just vacated.  From somewhere the recorder appeared with scroll and writing instrument, probably summoned by the noise.  it was his job to record the gifts that were given and he smiled broadly to see the groups approaching.  These were known people, pillars of the community and they were the ones the temple professionals felt most dependent upon and obligated to.  Three groups had entered almost at the same time and there was a moment of awkward hesitation as each giver politely acknowledged the others, almost hiding the consternation brewing just beneath controlled expressions.  No strangers here. 

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Tuesday, November 6th, 2007 by Paul

Do You Think They Brought Everything They Have? Pt 1

So…here I am in this situation that is not the most comfortable.  I am listening to a conversation between a speaker and a group of friends and strangers.  The subject being dialogued doesn’t even matter…well it does, but not to what I am writing to you about.  What is important is that I was sitting there, not saying anything, and pretty much disagreeing with what is being said.  Now trust me, this is not a ‘new’ situation for me; I regularly am in conversations or am listening to someone presenting ideas or thoughts that are contrary to my own.  No big deal.  I know I have no corner on truth or wisdom, just ask Kim.  But today I am agitated.  The speaker seems to be creating a river of words that seem all wrong, and I am watching everybody just jump in and splash about as if they are totally unaware that there is a waterfall right around the next couple bends.

One of my best friends is sitting next to me and without looking, I can feel him glance occasionally at me.  He knows that this particular subject is one that is near and dear to my heart, and he has heard a few of my rants and raves about it from time to time.  Thankfully, I am sitting at the back and doing a fairly good job, I think, of controlling my body language.  Inside I am a mix of emotions.  Part of me wants to stand up and define in no uncertain terms that the conversation is filled with bovine waste material.  Part of me knows better, that such a declaration rarely produces anything that changes the aroma of said waste material, in fact, to do so usually simply adds to the pile.   But finally, I lean over and whisper to my friend my perspective on the agrarial nature of the discussion.  His response shoves me back into the river of grace where he knows I would rather swim.

My friend leans back, and whispers a question, "Do you think they brought everything they have?"

The walls disappeared, the conversation evaporated and I was standing at the back of a crowd of men.  Conversations were muted and everyone was turning to look in the direction that Jesus was pointing.  With his other hand to his lips, he motioned silence, and a few final but hushed words trailed out into nothing.  At first, I had no idea what I was looking for and in fact heard her before I even saw her.  The sense of anticipation was palpable, elevated even higher by the fixed gaze of Jesus in the direction of the approaching sound.  I found that I was holding my breath as her approach neared and when she emerged I was stunned.  One feeble, little old lady shuffling toward the place where offerings were given.  Along with a number of the others, I glanced at Jesus, a little put off, a little surprised, a little disappointed.  But he only had eyes for her and his gaze forced ours back to watch her finish the final part of her journey.  She was ordinary, she was old, she dragged one leg a bit…not completely well, mostly blind it appeared.  It seemed that as far as she was concerned she was alone, neither acknowleging nor considering our presence.  She stopped at the box and reached up to draw a wisp of gray hair that had tumbled out from under her tunic.  Her face seems is etched by the unkindness of life, but her eyes flash with life and youthfulness, even if mostly blinded by the pain of sorrows.  She then reached into her dress and pulled out an old leather pouch, painfully slow in untying the draw strings and tipping it upside down onto her other hand.  Two small coins drop.  Hiding the pouch again inside the folds of clothing, she picked up the mites from her other hand, holding them between her thumb and forefinger.  Slowly she lifted it up, her face breaking across laugh lines into a radiant smile.  Then her cloudy eyes opened wide, her eyebrows raised as if she had heard something remarkable.  She snapped her gaze right to Jesus, and I glanced at him just in time to see him smile and bow a little to her.  Somehow she knew in whose presence she was…and it was enough.  The sound of approaching voices and she quickly wiped some tears that had begun to fall, dropped the coin and shuffled out of the way of busier people, leaving untraced and unnoticed, except by one who mattered.  And me, I was looking at my own feet, wishing that I was brave enough to take off my shoes.  And his voice of love gently pieced me like a blade, "Brothers, do you think she brought everything she has?"

Friday, October 12th, 2007 by Paul

A Story of Gifts – loosely based on Matthew 8

I walk out onto the dock. Three canoes tied along the waters edge. Sun warm in the early afternoon of Indian summer while a breeze tugs playfully at my clothing. I amble out to the furthest point of the dock and sit down, taking off shoes and socks and then carefully inserting my feet into the water that laps only a foot below. Its cold and send shivers through me, but after a little splashing my toes are numb enough to stand the frigid blue. I don’t even turn to look as he sits down next to me. I know who it is. I’ve been here plenty of times before.
“Hey, Jesus.”
“Hey, precious one.” I can’t help but smile. Even after all this time, I’m not used to hear him greet me that way. Without looking I can feel him grinning. He knows. I shift a little so that I can feel his shoulder touching mine, and I relax a bit into his presence. For a time we both sit quietly and watch the sun splinter into diamonds on the surface of the lake and listen to the humming of autumn insects busy about their agendas. I think I could sit here like this for hours, except I have come here with a purpose. As I think about what is bothering me, I can feel the emotions surface and my mind tangles searching for words.
“Take your time,” he offers gently. I take a deep breath and when I feel ready I start.
“I’m frustrated,” I begin. “I have all these people in my life right now who are obligating me to drop whatever I’m doing and meet their expectations. They are so demanding and I’m really tired and overwhelmed by it. They act like I owe them something, and sometimes I guess that I do, which doesn’t help. And what thanks do I get? Nothing! I just feel like I am getting walked on, taken advantage of. Don’t I have any rights? How much is enough? They aren’t doing anything for me, why should I do something for them, except when I have to?
“Hmmm, doesn’t seem fair at all,” Jesus offered.
“It’s not!” I state a little more emphatically than I had anticipated.
“Anyone or any situation in particular bothering you right now?”
I know just what he is doing; drawing me out and into the light, but I don’t care. “Yes! At work I am supposed to do everything that is in my job description plus stuff that my supervisor adds to the pile, that I don’t have the time to do, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be possible. The whole place is just messed up and…”
He lets me ramble and rant for the next however long, and finally I run out of words and silence drops between us. Even though I don’t need to, I do feel a little foolish, as if I have said too much and spoken with emotion unsuited to the present company. I am quiet now, wondering what he will say. I don’t wait long.
“Thank you for trusting me with your emotions…you do realize that this is something rather new for you and me?”
I nod, watching the water dance while I try to anticipate his next words. He surprises me.
“I think we need to get you a pig.”
“What?” I look over at him and he’s grinning. “What do you mean, get me a pig?”
“Not just any pig,” he laughs, “You need one of those critters that can sniff out truffles under the ground. Only you need a pig that can root out all the lies you believe.”
“So, I believe a lot of lies, do I?” I am not surprised at my inner bristling when I hear something that sounds like I’ve failed to live up to some external standard. But I know that he understands; we’ve been down this road plenty of times before.
He drapes his arm over my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “That’s an observation, not a value statement.”
“I know.” I lean into his hug to communicate that I understand.   “I just don’t like all this process stuff. Don’t you have a blue or a red pill that I could take that would make me think right?” I lie back onto the dock and look up at the cloud formations breezing their way across the azure sky. He does the same, but points to the horizon where a congregation of cumulus seems to have fashioned a billowing butterfly emerging from its chrysalis.
“That’s funny,” I mutter a little sarcastically. “Did you do that?”
“Nope, but I know who did!” He pauses, and then continues. “This is a journey not a performance and this is not about the destination as much as it is about the company you keep. It is quite an intricate process…this transformation. The battle is largely in and for your mind. Lies are often like slivers in the mind that have to work their way out over time.”
“It’s the over time part that I’m not so wild about. I just want to be able to react better…properly…and now would be good.”
I can still feel him grinning, but his voice comes clear and tender. “It’s not so much about reacting properly to people and circumstances, as it is responding to and with my Spirit that lives inside of you.”
“Okay, I understand that.” I pause. “You mentioned that there are lies I believe that have me cornered?”
“Remember the process of transformation is, in part, exchanging lies for Truth. So let’s talk about something that is Truth about your concerns; Truth even though it may not appear to be.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly, not sure if this is going to help.
“What do you think you are surrounded by? You think it is demands and expectations, grumpy people and work piling up, right? You think that people are taking advantage of you, using you and being inconsiderate and thankless?”
“I’d say that pretty much sums it up.”
“What if I told you that the Truth is that you are surrounded by gifts, and furthermore, that you are gift to all these people, often unopened, but a gift nonetheless?”
“If I didn’t know you were God, I’d think you were nuts.” At that Jesus laughs and so do I.   “Seriously,” I continue, “How can any of what I told you be a gift? I need a little help here.”
“Let me put it to you this way…each of those events, demands, people, expectations…each exposes a window into your inner world revealing areas that need healing and restoration. You still believe the lie that experiencing life and being in relationship with me is about your performance. Even the person who wrongs you, or the one who places an unjust burden on you, or the one who makes you feel in their debt…any of these are a gift to you, if for no other reason than they expose what you work so hard to hide.”
“And you are saying that is a good thing?”
“Absolutely! When the crap is forced to the surface by circumstance or people or someone else’s agenda, it is a wonderful thing because…”
“You just said ‘crap’.” I interrupt.
“I know…let it go.   It is a wonderful thing because now the crap can be worked on and healed. Why shouldn’t we consider the person or situation that is the catalyst, a gift?”
“They don’t deserve to be gifts.” It comes out harsh but resonates with how I feel.
“Hmm, back to deserving are we? Remember, how you feel doesn’t always tell you the Truth.”
We are quiet as I think about what he has said. My emotions are not happy about it, but I understand, and just that allows me some room to move away from the weight of what I had been lost inside.
“I understand now how these can be considered gifts…”
“Can be embraced as gifts.” He is pushing me, but it’s okay.
“Alright, embraced as gifts, but you said that I was a gift to them? And you said I was mostly unopened?”
“Exactly!” I turned a little surprised at the note of excitement in his voice. “Here is the fun part. If you want, you and I can turn a debt, an obligation, a demand into something unexpected…into a gift.”
“I can?”
“No, we can.”
“How exactly?” I ask, now intrigued.
“Remember when I told the disciples that if a soldier demanded that they carry a pack for a mile, to go ahead and carry it two?”
“Sure, but I always thought you would be smarter if you just avoided the soldiers in the first place.”
“And miss out on the fun? Are you kidding me? Just think, what do you imagine that conversation was like the second mile?” He winked. “Do you want to know?”
I was stunned. “You mean… you?” I stammered.
“Of course! Do you think I ever asked anyone to do something that I had not? That second mile he told me all about his family, especially his new baby. He told me how hard it was here and about his disappointment with the political situation. I actually walked with him almost four more miles before we said goodbye. We did not part as enemies and even if we had, what I had done would have made no sense to him and would have pestered his conscience. Such is the power of love. It can disarm anything or at least bring important questions to the surface whether openly acknowledged or not.”
“I had no idea.”
Jesus reached out and lifted my face to his. “You want to know the coolest part?”
“Please.”
“Years later, when his servant was deathly ill, he came, found me and asked me to heal. But he wouldn’t let me walk one step to do it. He knew I had already done all the walking that was needed.”
Now I couldn’t talk as the tears began rolling down my face.   He reached and gently wiped them. “Precious one, you are surrounded by gifts. Allow others to open you into their lives. I promise…it will be worth it.”

Friday, September 21st, 2007 by Paul

Future Tripping and the Presence of Joy (Peace)

The reason that ‘Peace’ is in the title of this post, is because for some of us the issue of ‘peace’ in our lives is more tangible and crucial right now than the presence of ‘joy’.  So wherever you see the word ‘joy’ please feel free to substitute the word ‘peace’, not because they are the same but because every thing I want to say about ‘joy’ equally applies to ‘peace’.

First, let me explain the term ‘future tripping’.  I love good science fiction writing.  A book like Perelandra, by CS Lewis, or Ender’s Game, by Orson Scott Card…they just take me someplace where the imagination is allowed to roam more freely than in most other literary genres.  Some folks think such writing is silly and adolescent…oh well…sorry.  I will tell you that Orson Scott Card’s book, Speaker for the Dead, taught me more about conducting a funeral than anything else I have ever read (but that’s another story).

I’ve been thinking I could make a good case that every human being is a science fiction writer; that we each develop an incredibly powerful ability to create imaginations of the future, usually our own. Unfortunately, we are almost as good at horror or tragedy; our imaginations of the future are rife with catastrophes and difficulties.

A little more than two years ago, ‘Joy’ became my constant companion rather than an occasional acquaintance.  This was totally unexpected and more than a little remarkable.  Many times in my life I had experienced Joy dropping in, ‘surprising me’, and then leaving…sometimes within a couple days, but usually within hours or minutes.  I loved the visits but instinctively knew that Joy must have other (probably better) things to do but had stopped by long enough to bless me with a touch of encouragement in a difficult time, or a taste of something wonderful when the world seemed particularly grey and flavorless.  Usually the sudden presence of Joy had no rhyme or reason, at least, not that I could tell…a surprise visitor who was always welcome, slept in the guest bedroom and was normally gone before the first light of day, bed made up, a note that said ‘thank you’ and ‘see you again soon’.

But to ‘move in’ and stay…that was unexpected.  For the first six months I was a little on edge about the whole ‘new’ relationship.  It seemed that it would be rather rude to simply ask, "Okay, why exactly are you still here?"  Perhaps, I was a little apprehensive that such a question would remind Joy that there were more important things to do than hang around me, and off Joy would go.  But I liked it…the presence of Joy…a lot!

So what happened?  Why had Joy decided to stick around and permeate my every day, even the really tough gut wrenching ones?  Even as I write this, Joy is standing just over my shoulder, leaning on me just enough so that I know… and watching (with a grin) what I am writing.

Okay…I am nuts, that must be it!  But I am not…so back to my question.  What happened?

As I mulled this incongruity over and talked with friends and family I began to understand part of the reason for Joy’s permanence in my life.  A couple of years ago, I decided to stop ‘future tripping’.  ‘Future Tripping’ is ‘taking thought for tomorrow’, it is creating imaginations of what is going to happen and then actually take a mental and emotional trip to live there for a bit.  It is ‘what am I going to do if _________ (fill in the blank), what am I going to say if __________, what would our family go through if _____________.  I confess to you that I have experienced many un-realities and their attendant emotions this way.  I have repeatedly suffered huge financial losses, ended up living under one of the city bridges, been abandoned by my family, suffered the loss of each of my children, had my closest friends turn out to be villains, embarrassed myself in public, was put on the spot and said something stupid, been to my own funeral (more than once), unsuccessfully tried to stop something horrible from happening, failed repeatedly to live up to somebody’s expectations, been horribly maimed in every kind of imaginable accident known to man, lost all my teeth, lost every job I ever had, came down with every disease possible, regularly looked like an idiot, got my lights punched out for no reason, explained my driving to a police officer, lost my friends, went to school and found out I wasn’t wearing anything, got mugged, imagined the situation that I currently was in was permanent…that nothing could ever or would ever change…

…you get the idea.  I have written volumes of imaginations in my own head, things that have no substance, no reality, and are empty, vain imaginations.  But I treat them as if they are real.  I feel all kinds of terrifying and horrible emotions, and scramble to control my life so that these imaginations won’t actually come to pass.  THESE IMAGINATIONS ARE NOT REAL!!!!  But I had spent most of my life in or around them.  GOD DOES NOT DWELL IN ANYTHING THAT IS NOT REAL!!!  In these imaginations, Papa is conspicuously absent.  Why?  Because Papa has no interest in living inside something that isn’t even real to begin with.  So in my ‘vain’ empty imaginations, I am the only ‘god’ there is.  I have to fix things, make sure things turn out right, try to get a handle on people and events…and frankly, I do a very poor job of it…this playing god thing.  So, my life tended to be gripped by fear and I worked hard to get some ‘control’ to prevent these imaginations that I feared.  I had a habit of treating something that had no reality or substance as if it were truly real.

A couple years ago I stopped this insanity.  And here is what I discovered.  JOY has a name.  Joy is not only a fruit of the Spirit of God, but a manifestation of the presence of the very ‘real’ Jesus who dwells inside of us.  In fact, JOY had ‘never’ left me at all; it was me that continually left Joy, to run into some imagined future and resultant fear.  It had never been Joy that was the occasional acquaintance…it was me that had been the visitor.

For two years now I have stayed inside the confines of the grace that is for ‘today’.  Today is where Papa dwells with me; today is where ‘eternity’ intersects my life, and even when I get to tomorrow, it is still ‘today’ when I get there.  If grace, in part, is what energizes me to sense Papa’s presence, to hear his voice…I was obviously wasting what grace was given me for the ‘real’ day on imaginations that weren’t even real, had no substance and were empty (every vain imagination that raises itself up against the knowing of God).

Do I make plans for tomorrow?  Sure, but they are held loosely and with an open hand…and I don’t live there.  I live in his present(ce), which is TODAY.  How many times are Grace and Peace, or Grace and Joy linked together in the New Testament?  If you try and hoard up grace for more than the Day, you will end up with something that is rotting and can’t be lived on.  If you run away to empty imaginations you will neither sense his present(ce) or hear his voice. 

I read Joy’s blog the other day, and it began…"A couple years ago Paul became my constant companion rather than an occasional acquaintance…"  Sweeeeeet!

-paul

 

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