Earthly Glaze or Heavenly Gaze?

13 These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. 14 For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. 15 If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. 16 But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.
—Hebrews 11:13-16



Be honest. When was the last time you spent more than a fleeting few seconds thinking about heaven, much less allowing your heart the time and intemperance to actually desire it? Hopefully not, but perhaps you’re like me and it’s been awhile, a long while, longer than you can even recall. This morning, randomly (miraculously?), I’ve given it some thought. And while I’m by no means a guru on this subject or any, the Spirit has moved me enough to crack my laptop and write.

Another question: are there ever instances in this hectic, harried life when you stop, look around you at everyone and everything else whizzing past you a hundred miles an hour, and realize, in a moment of almost profound clarity, ‘I’m not from here’? I have, and I’ll admit, it’s eerie, even unsettling—so much so that my response is to quickly settle back into the ‘trance of the temporal’ I inhabited before being jarred from it.

Bumper-sticker junkie –noun, 1. One who is overly infatuated with bumper stickers, not so much so that their personal automobile is covered with them, but so much so that upon identifying their outline on another’s bumper they hit the gas as hard as necessary to get a better look. 2. See previous definition.

I am a bumper-sticker junkie. I take notice of any and all of them whenever I’m behind the wheel. Many I see nowadays are the Christian, ‘Not of This World’ logo (note: normally these are NOT adjacent to the classic, ‘Keep Honking…I’m Reloading). Don’t get me wrong—this one has a cool design and is artfully edgy—but it loses some of its punch when you look a little lower and realize its plastered on a Cadillac Escalade.

I’m not being a hater here—I have no right to be. The sticker is a start. It just can’t be the end. In the passage above the writer of Hebrews recaps reality for those highlighted in what’s referred to as the Hall of Faith. He makes a distinction about the life of people like Abraham, Noah, Joseph, even Enoch: their sandals would have aptly displayed, ‘Not of This World.’ They had a heartbeat for heaven. Out of it sprang other-worldly hope. And this hope was the very means by which they overcame the trials they encountered, the things of this world: injustice, ridicule, uncertainty, fear.

In all the instances where God allowed the people of Israel to be exiled from their homeland (there were many), there existed one common thread: ultimately there grew within the hearts of His people a strong desire to return home. At a point, they looked around their Gentile surroundings and fully realized they were strangers in a foreign land, not meant to stay there. They were God’s people, His elect, and He had prepared a place for them.

So it is with us.

C.S. Lewis wrote about hope (having a heart for heaven) as a theological virtue, in his renowned classic, Mere Christianity. I’ll conclude with it. But before I do, let me exhort us to live a life worthy of God’s calling (and worthy of the sticker). May we STOP, long enough to let our minds marinate on heaven…and mostly on Who’s there. Enough of this will incline our hearts toward hope—just the thing we need to run this raucous race in such a way as to get the prize.

Grace to you, to put away the Earthly glaze for a Heavenly gaze,

Voice of another

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Hope is one of the Theological virtues. This means that a continual looking forward to the eternal world is not (as some modern people think) a form of escapism or wishful thinking, but one of the things a Christian is meant to do. It does not mean that we are to leave the present world as it is. If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next. The Apostles themselves, who set on foot the conversion of the Roman Empire, the great men who built up the Middle Ages, the English Evangelicals who abolished the Slave Trade, all left their mark on Earth, precisely because their minds were occupied with Heaven. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this. Aim at Heaven and you will get earth ‘thrown in’: aim at earth and you will get neither.

-C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

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'Considering' Faith

11 By faith Sarah herself received power to conceive, even when she was past the age, since she considered him faithful who had promised.     —Hebrews 11:11

We’re back to the subject of faith, no, not because other topics are lacking or lackluster, I just can’t get past this one. Perhaps it’s because I have so little faith and want more. That’s certainly part of it. But aside from that, why it beckons our contemplation, it’s the thing which brings Him pleasure and us eternity. We do incredibly well, then, to meditate on it, in hopes of realizing His glorification and our gain. The book of Hebrews goes to great depths to explain what faith is, how to receive it, and what it tangibly looks like in the world. Considering, reread the verse above.

Though rarely quoted or commented on, Hebrews 11:11 stands out. It lays out a rather basic equation of how faith works, or at least should. Now Sarah gets a bad rap for laughing when Abraham told her God was giving them a child…and she did suggest her husband lie with a slave girl, but let’s not quickly dismiss what she went through here. She had been barren her entire life. No doubt this grieved her greatly. Because of this, it’s possible she felt worthless, rejected, even scorned. For most of her life Sarah might have been thinking, How could God withhold childbearing from me, a woman who wanted nothing more? Based on surface facts it’s easy to put Sarah on the periphery of the great cloud of witnesses, but the truth is, I want to emulate her faith.

Ultimately, Sarah did the one thing which gave her the faith to receive the power to conceive—she considered God. And in considering Him, she knew Him to be faithful, worthy of her trust. So she believed in God’s promise and bore Isaac—the wrinkled, grandma-aged woman whose womb was full of cobwebs, by faith, became the mother, if you will, of all nations.

When it comes down to it, having faith and acting upon it heavily involves ‘considering.’ Maybe you haven’t thought of it that way before. I hadn’t. Often when situations in my life have called for faith I’ve only momentarily or casually considered Him who is able to do more than I could ask or imagine. And I wonder why my faith is feeble? In a bizarre way, exactly when faith is required I have the tendency to first focus on myself instead of on the One who authors and perfects it.

Faith grows (awakens?) when we consider God, not the circumstance, and certainly not ourselves. But what do we think about when we consider Him? We should consider His characteristics and His promises, which are profound as they are many. Sarah considered the faithfulness of God, how He had shown Himself faithful to them in the past. So God’s exemplified love and sovereign plan gave her the faith to believe she would conceive. She wasn’t godly in her initial response (she, like me, probably thought of herself first), but she eventually considered the LORD and, in so doing, made it to the Hall of Faith!

While God’s attributes are many, there is one truth we should immediately and unquestioningly consider: He is the Lord of lords. Without sounding cheesy, He is the Master of the Universe—indeed, He literally holds it together by the power of His word. He is powerful to save our souls—certainly powerful to come through for us in our present need. And He is good. So good. His plan for us is for our gain, our eternal good, even in the face of a world trying to convince us otherwise.

In order to consider Him well, we have to know Him well. Without knowledge of Him, His ways, His purpose, it is difficult to act in faith. Sarah knew Him. She and Abraham talked to Him, communed with Him, and followed in His ways. Today, we have two ways to know Him. First, we have His Word. He has revealed Himself to us through the Bible. Our sole purpose in studying the Bible is to intimately know the Savior of our soul. Through it we become acquainted with the God of old—the One who is the same yesterday, today, forever. Second, we have His Spirit, who helps our once-blind heart see His hand in our life (whether we’ve acknowledged it or not, it’s been there!). By His grace I have seen multiple instances of His divine intervention—evidences of His sovereign (and unique) plan for my life. I harken back to them to consider Him who is faithful, giving me the faith to take heart and press on.

Last point: our faith in Him is for His glory. That’s why faith is so important. Sarah’s pregnancy and motherhood was ordained for the exultation of the Most High God. Just the same, when we have faith in God—in His purpose, His plan, His power and provision—we showcase His majesty to the watching world. That’s the beauty of it all. Circumstances couldn’t be more inconsequential—whether good or bad, happy or sad, we can have faith. When we do, He gets glory. And His purpose (ours too, if we’d only realize it!) is fulfilled.

So often life’s events make it difficult to trust, to fully and firmly believe in Him who is able. But that’s only due to our lack of knowledge and consideration. Of any, we have no reason to doubt, no reason to worry. We are His people, children of the King.

If two sparrows are sold for a penny, how much more valuable to Him are we?

Grace to you, to awaken your faith by considering the King,

Voice of another

A Call from the Desert

pre·serve verb

verb (used with object)

      1.    to keep alive or in existence

      2.    to keep safe from harm or injury; protect or spare

      3.    to keep up; maintain

      4.    to keep possession of; retain

www.dictionary.com

I was listening to a certain Christian radio morning show not long ago and I tuned in just in time to hear one of the co-hosts describing a difficult relationship with a coworker. He went on and on about how unhealthy it was—how even the most routine interactions caused him to respond to this individual with raw contempt. His rambling finally ceased with the conclusion: ‘I prayed about it and had to discontinue the relationship altogether for the sake of self-preservation.’

Self-preservation. The concept lingered. How much of life is characterized by a striving for preservation, by a robust desire to retain and maintain? Think about it. We try to preserve youth, health, wealth, prosperity, comfort, safety, even sanity. In many ways, self-preservation is the overarching credo we ascribe to on a daily basis. We’re more than willing to do the uncomfortable to stay comfortable; we’re willing to sacrifice and save to maintain wealth; we’re even willing to endure pain to retain a prosperous life. And sometimes we do this under the guise of faith, or Christianity.

Notice how all four of the above definitions begin. ‘To keep…’

The nature of keeping—it’s done with motivation and intention. It brings certainty, perhaps security. It promotes stagnation. And it’s something that can be adored, even worshiped.

What does Jesus say about keeping (saving)?

35 For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it. 36 For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?

—Mark 8:35-36

He doesn’t seem to want us to preserve…or keep…or save this life. In fact, He calls us to do just the opposite.

But most often, when we meet trials of many kinds, as the Apostle James correctly predicted we would, our natural inclination is to ‘fight or flight’—to do anything we can to evade suffering and maintain (preserve) comfort, certainty, security. Why? Because they are most desirable. And we store them up as treasures.

James, however, encourages an entirely alternative approach. Take heed to his exhortation:

2 Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, 3 for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.

 —James 1:2-3

We fight. Or we take flight when there appears trouble. There’s another option: delight. We can embrace the suffering we’ll inevitably encounter, counting it joy. Not because we’re to be masochists—that would fly in the face of our holy God. No, because we can trust the sovereign purpose of our Father to refine our fledgling faith through it all.

God, who began a good work in each of His children, will carry it on to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. The work (sanctification) is, indeed, good—just far from easy. And this shouldn’t catch us as a surprise. Jesus himself said, ‘If anyone would come after Me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.’ (Mark 8:34) What about a trip down the Calvary road suggests comfort, safety and security? What here suggests simply preserving what we’ve got?

There’s another word that looks remarkably similar to the word ‘preserve.’

Persevere.

Grace to you, to lose your life, to embrace the refinement of faith through trials…and preserve your salvation.

Voice of another

Verse of the...Word

14 Behold, to the LORD your God belong heaven and the heaven of heavens, the earth with all that is in it. 15 Yet the LORD set his heart in love on your fathers and chose their offspring after them, you above all peoples, as you are this day. 16 Circumcise therefore the foreskin of your heart, and be no longer stubborn. 17 For the LORD your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who is not partial and takes no bribe. 18 He executes justice for the fatherless and the widow, and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing. 19 Love the sojourner, therefore, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt. 20 You shall fear the LORD your God. You shall serve him and hold fast to him, and by his name you shall swear. 21 He is your praise. He is your God, who has done for you these great and terrifying things that your eyes have seen. 22 Your fathers went down to Egypt seventy persons, and now the LORD your God has made you as numerous as the stars of heaven.

—Deuteronomy 10:14-22


Etymology is defined as the study of words, and while I’m far from an etymologist, I delight in their power and meaning. It’s a wonder, really, that the thoughtful and precise stringing together of words can both cause the most reticent man to break into tears and the most peaceful, passive country to break out in war. Even more significant, however, is their creator: God. He made spoken language—He therefore created words and gave them meaning. And it’s in their meaning, or better, in our understanding of their meaning, that we can process an intended message, be it written or spoken. Proper processing allows us to be appropriately impacted (and this impact necessarily leads to a response or action).

All this to say, words matter. Understanding their intended meaning matters. Especially when they describe, and/or are ascribed to, God. Even small discrepancies in our understanding of words can induce great compromises of truth (Truth).

The verses above contain words rich with meaning. But before I break them down, let me just say the exercise is for the enhancement of my own understanding; far be it from me to suggest you need the same!

Deuteronomy 10 comes on the heels of the Israelites’ construction and worship of the golden calf while Moses was on Mount Sinai receiving the Ten Commandments. If you remember the flannel graph from Sunday school, an angry Moses chucked the original tablets at the idolatrous people, so he ascended the mountain a second time to get another set. Verse 14-22, then, is an excerpt from his message to the Israelites upon his return. He had already delivered the Ten Commandments once—this was an underscoring of them, a pointed reminder of the nature of their Author.

Read it again, but zero in on Verse 17. ‘For the Lord your God is God of gods, the Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God.’ In this context it’s not unclear what Moses means by great and awesome. However, there are plenty of instances where we hear or read about God’s greatness and are inclined to derive an altogether different, and incorrect, understanding. Imagine yourself in church, or even in Chapel, singing:

How great is our God, sing with me

How great is our God, and all will see

How great, how great is our God


It’s a great song, right? But are we really getting what Chris Tomlin is putting down? Chris means something very specific when He describes God as ‘great’. He doesn’t mean God is not just good, but great, in the sense that the new guy dating your little sister is a great guy, or the pizza joint down the street serves a great pie. I suppose God is great that way too. But the actual message here is that God is great—boundless, enormous, illustrious, remarkable, elevated, magnificent, extreme, momentous, powerful and prodigious. His greatness is in reference to His holiness, which itself is oft-misunderstood. God is set apart. His character, His qualities are transcendently different, above, and better than anyone or anything else. He is literally matchless—in every single way.

I don’t know what, if anything, this is conjuring in you, but even as I write I am in awe. Pondering Him in this way urges me to get off Starbucks’ comfortable leather chair and down on my knees on the hard tile.

Words. Matter.

I challenge you, then, as I do myself, to slow down and take them in, to not gloss over the carefully selected words authored by God Himself, or songwriters, or preachers of the Good News. You may come away knocked down, laid bare—surely God will come away praised.

Verse 21 begins with a profound sentence: ‘He is your praise.’

Let those words sink in for a bit.

He is our praise.

This great God is.



Grace to you, to understand, for the sake of your heart and His praise,

Voice of another

Significantly Insignificant

“All flesh is like grass,
and all its glory like the flower of grass.
The grass withers,
and the flower falls, but the word of the Lord remains forever.”           

—1 Peter 1:24-25

One thing I love about Scripture is its explicitness. It doesn’t mince words. Instead, it emphatically puts forth truth, unabashedly, in a manner in which we cannot deny its meaning or intent.

And we need that. Straight, to-the-point, undeniable truth—the kind that penetrates the hardest of hearts. Don’t we? Without it, we too easily rationalize it away, side-stepping anything that hints at personal accountability, anything that demands an answer for our wayward actions and attitudes.

All this to say that, without fail, the word of the Lord remains forever. Forever. I don’t know what thoughts this weighty statement impresses upon you, but to me it conveys the limitless power of our God. More than the Lamb of God, it portrays the Lion of Judah—whose sovereign plan comes to pass with full certainty and matchless authority. The world, which is perishable, will soon fade. The Word—never.

Let that sink in. We go about our days anxious of outcomes, worrying whether this or that will come to pass. No doubt that’s a derivative of our inherent fallibility. But God wills His perfect plan and it happens—there is nothing left to happenstance.

I’ll get to my point. Though this world and the life we live within it would never admit it, we are significantly insignificant. Just endeavor to wrap your mind around the size of our galaxy, let alone the vastness of the universe it inhabits. We are small. Tiny, actually. Pay close heed to how the late astronomer and religious skeptic, Carl Sagan, described us, and our planet—he was spot-on:

“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there—on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.”

Insignificant—you. And I.

And yet, God, whose word—in all its glory, it all its power—stands forever, cares. He cares for you. He cares for me. He concerns Himself with you, with your problems, with your shortfalls, with your worries and your doubts. And He does the same with me. It’s astounding, if we’d only stop to ponder it.

One would need to look no further than the nighttime sky to grasp how wide and deep and long is the love of the God of the universe—that He would willingly and purposefully sacrifice His own Son for our eternal salvation.

It seems rather silly, then, doesn’t it, to allow our hearts to be filled with distrust? In light of His mighty, enduring word, to let our minds be consumed with disbelief?

Thankfully the God whose word reigns in unending triumph is the same God who readily offers unrelenting grace. To you, and me—significantly insignificant inhabitants on a mote of dust suspended on a sunbeam.

Grace to you, to fathom simultaneously the infinite God and His intimate care,

Voice of another

'Psalms for the poor?'

‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’
—Matthew 5:3


 I believe this particular statement Jesus made as much as any. Poor in spirit? Spiritually impoverished. Spiritually flat broke. Bankrupt.

When Jesus saw the crowds and sat down to teach them, He saw me. And He saw you.

Crazy, isn’t it, how He saw us, from almost 2,000 years ago, from halfway around the world? I have no doubt His sermon on the mount was directed right there. At us. Apparently, His vision knew no limits. He was able to perceive, with amazing clarity, the spiritual ineptitude each of us knows so well. And perhaps crazier, in the face of such a sight He unhesitatingly offered that promise: that ours would be the kingdom of heaven.

Truly, it’s the most poignant picture of grace: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us, forever securing our place in the kingdom of heaven.

Grace. It’s a word tossed around in church, amongst those who affiliate with a ‘religious’ circle. No doubt one need not stray far from a Sunday pulpit to hear of it, but even then, taking it in, on a personal level, is as simple as getting real with God. It’s me, and you, being honest about the wrath we know we deserve, and yet, without fail, escape entirely by the blood of the Lamb. We can be, and stay, caught in its unrelenting grip, so long as we bank on it wholly, by His gift of faith.

Like broken beggars, sitting roadside in our tattered rags, we are, time and again, afforded the opportunity to effectually plead with our King, as did David before us: ‘Psalms for the poor, good Lord, Psalms for the poor?’


Psalm 51

Have mercy on me, O God,

according to your steadfast love;

according to your abundant mercy

blot out my transgressions.

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,

and cleanse me from my sin!

For I know my transgressions,

and my sin is ever before me.

Against you, you only, have I sinned

and done what is evil in your sight,

so that you may be justified in your words

and blameless in your judgment.

Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity,

and in sin did my mother conceive me.

Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being,

and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;

wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Let me hear joy and gladness;

let the bones that you have broken rejoice.

Hide your face from my sins,

and blot out all my iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from your presence,

and take not your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation,

and uphold me with a willing spirit.


To the world, poverty is the surest sign of weakness—the epitome of helpless dependence, that which is to be pitied above all. But to Jesus, it couldn’t be more different. To Him, it’s the foolproof recipe for redemption.

Read the Psalm again. It says according to His great mercy, well-deserved wrath is lifted. According to His longsuffering love, all sin is wiped away, transforming our tattered rags into majestic robes.

I bank on this Psalm, I do, even as I write. And in so doing I get real with God about my destitution, to realize my blood-bought restitution.

Would you too?

Let go of the façade of self-sufficiency and fully embrace His matchless grace—both for the sake of your salvation and His glorification.

And then, and really only then, respond with David, in-kind:



Lord,

Then I will teach transgressors your ways,

and sinners will return to you.

Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God,

O God of my salvation,

and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness.

O Lord, open my lips,

and my mouth will declare your praise.



Father in heaven, I have sinned against You, and You alone. I lay prostrate before You—guilty, broken, and utterly poor. LORD, according to the riches of Your mercy, forgive me, forgive my striving, my futile attempts to earn righteousness, and grant me the humility to fall hopelessly into the arms of Your saving grace. I pray this, Father, in Your Name, and for the sake of Your Renown, Amen.


Grace to you, to plead, with me, 'Psalms for the poor?'

Voice of another

Verse of the Week

For me, writing has always been responsive, more contemplative reflection than mindless ritual. That’s how I’ve always preferred it anyway. If too habitual, goes the thought, authenticity could suffer, rendering the writing more a pursuit of vanity than an honest attempt at influencing eyes to see. As such, it’s been such a drought of late the cobwebs had to be cleared from my keyboard. And honestly, even as I type I’m not certain my blog still holds a place in cyberspace.

What brings me back? Nothing less than God’s grace. He has again poured living water into the broken cistern that is my heart, turning parched, dusty ground into a refreshed pool, shallow as it may be. As the water collects, so too do my thoughts, and for the first time in almost a year, there’s enough volume to have something to say. You be the judge of how profound or influential—I’m just glad the rainy season appears to have returned.

Without further adieu, let me expound on faith—something close to the heart of Jesus, as reiterated again and again in Scripture; an object often far from reach for sinners like you and me, as evidenced again and again in our wayward lives. Now there are many facets to faith, so the following exposition shouldn’t be taken as comprehensive, not even close—simply, it endeavors to dig into just a sliver of a most abundant and delectable pie.



19 For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. 20 I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. 21 I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose.

—Galatians 2:19-21



These particular verses in Paul’s letter to the Galatians set the table quite nicely for the point I wish to make about faith. Focus on the latter half of Verse 20, where the Apostle purports that his faith in the sacrificial love of his Savior is the driver behind the life he ‘now lives in the flesh.’ I take it as incredibly significant that he didn’t limit his statement to, ‘…the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God.’ Apparently Paul felt that would’ve been incomplete, so he tags on the phrase, ‘who loved me and gave himself for me.’ That matters. That matters a great deal. Here, Paul’s added quill strokes glorify the object of his faith--Jesus--by ascribing to Him a quality of love unrealized in this life, even by the closest of friends, and a sacrifice compelled by and attached to that transcendent love, one which is literally the epitome of true love (‘Greater love has no man than this…’). And not only does it glorify the Son, it characterizes Paul’s faith in the Son. Mine too.

Disclaimer: what I’m about to say may sound exceptionally pompous, but I honestly believe it to be true.

Not unlike David, I am a man after God’s own heart. I believe God made me that way (as He has undoubtedly made others), with a heart after His own. That is to say, our relationship is based upon, through good and through bad and through, at times, awful, the connection between our hearts, not upon religious ritual or simple subscription to a commonly held creed. I have heartfelt faith in Him, though it waxes and wanes seemingly as often as the monthly cycle of the moon. But the point is, when it’s there, it’s really there—faith in His faithfulness despite the lack of my own. And when it’s not, it’s really not—so no need to feign it.

Before declaring me blasphemous, consider David. He was genuine with God, at times exuberant in joy, at others inconsolable in his disappointment and frustration. His life was far from perfect (like mine!), but his relationship with God was real, raw, unencumbered by pious façade—the only way He wants it anyway.

Back to faith. My faith. I’ve always had this sense that the heart of the matter of faith is that it’s the heart that matters most. And that’s why love is the foundation upon which genuine faith stands. God wants our heart. Nothing less. For better, for worse. And our faith in Him, as imperfect and frail and feeble as it can be, must be rooted there, if it’s authentic…and ultimately productive. James said faith without fruit is counterfeit (paraphrasing here), but faith can only yield fruit out of a fertile heart (think about the direct correlation between obedience and love).

The heart is wild—at one moment in passionate pursuit of its Maker, at another (the next?) swooned by the harlotry of the world. But it is true; the heart does not lie—which is why frank faith originates only from there. And, why our faith in Him matters to Him, above all else.

One more quick point. If faith flows out of the heart, put stock in a desire for God, as slight as it may begin. Another reason for my hiatus: I was waiting on the more significant details of a reinvigorated faith. Results, actually. And it’s not that those aren’t important—they should be the end of such authentic belief. But there’s something captivating, even enchanting, about the moment unadulterated desire for the God of the Universe is sparked. Savor that. Value it the same as your Maker does.



Grace to you, to find satisfaction in the heartfelt desire of faith, even before the details are figured,

Voice of another