Do Not Get Comfortable

Kicking and screaming, I had my own idea of what I wanted to do. I had my own plans to seek out to accomplish. God’s will was getting in my way.

I was blind, sick, hungry, and poor.  He did everything, it was not of me. I can not turn on a light when I do not even know that I am in darkness. My mind was awakened to my depravity. He is everything, everything to me. 

I gave him my plans for his. This is not a relationship to fit into pop-culture.  This is not a religion to make myself look good. I give him that, my acceptance and my image.

“A civil war.  A rebellion, and that we are living in a part of the universe occupied by the rebel. Enemy occupied territory, that is what this world is.  Christianity is the story of how the rightful king has landed…and is calling us all to take part in a great campaign of sabotage.” CS Lewis, Mere Christianity

Do I want to move in and make myself at home?  Do I want to be a rogue soldier that has defected from my country?  Heaven is my home and I am getting ready. My God has more than supplied my needs. I show up and he does the work. I am present and he is the power. This is a rescue mission. There is family to save.  

Do not seek comfort  in this world that can not give it. Do not be surprised when the enemy attacks. He lies in secret and waits for me.  Do not try to fit in. Do not fear this evil that has already been defeated. The outcome is victory.  I am a soldier in a battle. I am here on a mission. This world is not my home. It is enemy territory. 

Weakest Praise

At first glance, it is a dark cloud consuming the horizon. Darker than the night, devouring the day. The storm rushes on destroying peace, shanging hope, raping truth, slaying life. 

The darkness is not clouds, not dust or electricity. Demons, demonic forces traveling the earth. Slithering into the mind, controlling the body, their power travels forth until they have traveled through the Galaxy, blotted out the sun, and made its shelter in the fiery rings of Jupiter. 

Pressing on to earth, of all the expanse, its goal presumption, such satisfaction in the blood of the soul. Dripping, bleeding, leaving waste in their path. Finding its fill in pain and destruction, marching, racing on. 

Explosions of sunlight, burning their spirit. Shrieks, scowls, flung into confusion. No weapon could stop them, no hope was left. Why does this cloud evaporate?  Why do these demons scatter?  Why does the light now shine?  Who could have defeated such a force?  Who could control their ruin?

Look on, squint your eyes. In the far distance, zoom in more. There, in the grass, playing among the flowers of the earth. A young babe. A child of eight. She sings. She softly laughs and continues her song, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.  Little ones to Him belong, they are weak, but He is strong.”

Out of the mouth of babies and infants, you have established strength because of your foes, to still the enemy and the avenger. 

Glory!  Glory!  His truth is marching on!