When I search the scriptures of Luke, the first chapter, I see my reflection.
Gabriel reveals news, marvelous news, to an old Zacharias:
...the angel said to him, "Do not be afraid Zacharias, for your prayer is heard; and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call his name John."
...he will be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother's womb. And he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God.
The promise of a Spirit-filled babe in belly is a beautiful thing. A miraculous thing.
But Zacharias in a ripe age, replies like the woman who types this would...
"How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is well advanced in years."
This angel, Gabriel, who stands in the presence of our very God who was sent to speak to Zacharias and bring him these glad tidings, answers....
"You will be mute and not able to speak until the day these things take place, because you did not believe my words which will be fulfilled in their own time."
There, in that verse above, is where I pass the mirror.
Zacharias was without words because he didn't believe The Word.
And perhaps this wasn't meant as a punishment - but as protection. For a person who doesn't believe that their God can and will do what He says He will do - that is a dangerous tongue to have speaking, (or even dangerous fingers to have writing) on His behalf.
For what good is a woman merely filled with her own words? What good is a woman counting on her own spirit to guide her? What good is a woman who hears only from her heart? Not good at all, actually...
He who trusts in his own heart is a fool.... Proverbs 28:26 says.
And isn't this so contrary to what the world would have us say? "Follow your heart!!! The answers are there!!! Vie for your own voice, woman!!! You are the source of your power." Is that not what our culture tells us?
Sweet friends, if I were to follow my heart - I would be following folly. I would be following merely flesh. And I'd be faint....in feeling, and in effectiveness.
To believe in the Word spoken over you, of you....this takes great faith. Faith that I can't find on my own - but faith that is revealed and given by the Spirit alone. Catch that. Belief in truth does not come from the depths of one's own heart....one's own spirit...one's own power. Rather, it is given as a gift and placed their in love by Grace. By The Spirit. Not your spirit.
And this is good. If it were all me - I'd be so puffed with pride and arrogance that my feet would never hit the ground.
But isn't this where he has us? Grounded. Going. Giving. Sharing. Telling. Shouting. Showing?
Indeed.
Oh Father. Help me to believe in Your words spoken over me. Help me to believe that You not only speak - but that you fulfill what's been spoken. Whether it be babes in wombs, or wild men in wildernesses, or floods under arks, or kings on thrones, or simply the wildest most seemingly impossible prophecy...when it's of You - let me believe it....
Because I want the words that slip down my tongue to only be dangerous to the Enemy - and only victorious for You.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
My Beloved
With one hand lifted high to heaven, and the other resting on the small of my back - he worships. With his palms he praises. With reverence and awe, he stands. And while doing this - he steadies me.
This man, this God-seeker, this worshiper - wears the wedding band that matches mine.
And when I see it there - up in the air - giving praise and gratitude and worship to the Father - thankfulness explodes.
Just typing this, tears form.
My husband is a man, changed. A man, transformed. A man taken, smitten, in love with Love Himself. And it shocks me. Startles me. Crumbles me to gratefulness.
To lay beside a man each eve who worships - this is grace.
I know where he's come from, and he, I. And our love is all the more because of this.
Even more....he knows where I still am. Where I still toil and struggle and sneer - and he pours on love even more in the uprisings of these weaknesses.
To rest next to the one who rests in Him - oh what a safe place. Under his wing.
His prayers over me cover me. And our babes see it. And they too have learned to come and place hands on head and bow in reverence and send prayers up lofting from sweet young lips. Because their Daddy has taught them so. And isn't this just right?
To the one I wed....
It's not lost on me.
The way you strive and the way you care and the way you love - I see.
In the midst of madness - in the midst of toddler cries and five year old fits and broken toilets and burnt dinners and dwindling bank accounts and worries wafting from a weary wife and....oh, I see a man of calm tenderness.
And it nourishes me.
For you - and all you are, and all you attain to be, and all your pure love, and all your never-ending patience, and all your working, and all your providing, and all your faith lived out....I am a bride who is in love, yes....but I am a broken bride made a bit more whole who.is.grateful.
Like an apple tree among the trees of the woods, so is my beloved among the sons....
This man, this God-seeker, this worshiper - wears the wedding band that matches mine.
And when I see it there - up in the air - giving praise and gratitude and worship to the Father - thankfulness explodes.
Just typing this, tears form.
My husband is a man, changed. A man, transformed. A man taken, smitten, in love with Love Himself. And it shocks me. Startles me. Crumbles me to gratefulness.
To lay beside a man each eve who worships - this is grace.
I know where he's come from, and he, I. And our love is all the more because of this.
Even more....he knows where I still am. Where I still toil and struggle and sneer - and he pours on love even more in the uprisings of these weaknesses.
To rest next to the one who rests in Him - oh what a safe place. Under his wing.
His prayers over me cover me. And our babes see it. And they too have learned to come and place hands on head and bow in reverence and send prayers up lofting from sweet young lips. Because their Daddy has taught them so. And isn't this just right?
To the one I wed....
It's not lost on me.
The way you strive and the way you care and the way you love - I see.
In the midst of madness - in the midst of toddler cries and five year old fits and broken toilets and burnt dinners and dwindling bank accounts and worries wafting from a weary wife and....oh, I see a man of calm tenderness.
And it nourishes me.
For you - and all you are, and all you attain to be, and all your pure love, and all your never-ending patience, and all your working, and all your providing, and all your faith lived out....I am a bride who is in love, yes....but I am a broken bride made a bit more whole who.is.grateful.
Like an apple tree among the trees of the woods, so is my beloved among the sons....
Song of Solomon 2:3
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Discipleship
A devotional I wrote for my church last week. Enjoy! Love and blessings and revelations to you all :)
A humble heart.
I truly believe that discipleship must start with a heart that exudes humbleness.
Think about it. Discipleship is the process of becoming more like Christ. It is the purposed journey of the believer. It is falling into cadence with the One we follow. It is falling in line, falling in character, and falling into…. His will.
Not ours. His.
And that takes humbleness. It begins with humbleness. Realizing our own need for Jesus and setting aside our own agenda and desires takes zeal, yes. It takes faith and passion and trust and resiliency, yes. But it also demands for us to yield to Him. Really, yield.
Because a Christ follower must move over. Die to self. And give way to The Way.
Once a person realizes this – and decides to soften to the gentle promptings of the Spirit – they find that instead of restriction or rule-keeping or religion – they experience contentment and peace and blessing. As a Christian steps up his or her game….decides to dive-in, build-up, and flow-out….our whole beings grow closer to the heart of Jesus. Our lives become ones of impact and influence and purpose….in our homes, work-places, relationships, community service endeavors, our speech, our thoughts, and so on.
Here’s a practical example: I’m from Texas and they have a lot of ‘service roads’ down there that run along highways. To get on or off of the freeway, one has to take a sharp exit ramp while yielding to fast-approaching, on-coming traffic. It can be tense to say the least. If a person decides not to yield…if a driver decides to demand his own way and will of the road – a collision will ensue – guaranteed.
The same is true on our journey with Jesus. If we decide that our way is best, that reverence for Scripture and Christian principles aren’t necessary for us, that we don’t need a Savior or saving, that what we desire is worth more to us than what He desires….we’re on course for a collision. A haughty heart can’t align with the humble heart of Jesus – making it impossible to become a disciple….a follower of His teachings and ways. And this leads to destruction – every time.
His way is always better. No matter how comfortable or fun or easy the lane you’re choosing to drive in may feel – what He has is better. As we embark on this adventure of discipleship – let’s begin with a humbleness of heart. God honors that. Always.
Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.- Proverbs 16:18
***************
A humble heart.
I truly believe that discipleship must start with a heart that exudes humbleness.
Think about it. Discipleship is the process of becoming more like Christ. It is the purposed journey of the believer. It is falling into cadence with the One we follow. It is falling in line, falling in character, and falling into…. His will.
Not ours. His.
And that takes humbleness. It begins with humbleness. Realizing our own need for Jesus and setting aside our own agenda and desires takes zeal, yes. It takes faith and passion and trust and resiliency, yes. But it also demands for us to yield to Him. Really, yield.
Because a Christ follower must move over. Die to self. And give way to The Way.
Once a person realizes this – and decides to soften to the gentle promptings of the Spirit – they find that instead of restriction or rule-keeping or religion – they experience contentment and peace and blessing. As a Christian steps up his or her game….decides to dive-in, build-up, and flow-out….our whole beings grow closer to the heart of Jesus. Our lives become ones of impact and influence and purpose….in our homes, work-places, relationships, community service endeavors, our speech, our thoughts, and so on.
Here’s a practical example: I’m from Texas and they have a lot of ‘service roads’ down there that run along highways. To get on or off of the freeway, one has to take a sharp exit ramp while yielding to fast-approaching, on-coming traffic. It can be tense to say the least. If a person decides not to yield…if a driver decides to demand his own way and will of the road – a collision will ensue – guaranteed.
The same is true on our journey with Jesus. If we decide that our way is best, that reverence for Scripture and Christian principles aren’t necessary for us, that we don’t need a Savior or saving, that what we desire is worth more to us than what He desires….we’re on course for a collision. A haughty heart can’t align with the humble heart of Jesus – making it impossible to become a disciple….a follower of His teachings and ways. And this leads to destruction – every time.
His way is always better. No matter how comfortable or fun or easy the lane you’re choosing to drive in may feel – what He has is better. As we embark on this adventure of discipleship – let’s begin with a humbleness of heart. God honors that. Always.
Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.- Proverbs 16:18
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
It Smelled of Heaven
I decided to go out and sit in the sun.
I needed it that day. My patience had run out before the dawn and I was pregnant weary and overwhelmed and needing light. And needing Light.
I plopped myself into a lawn chair and began to watch my two little cherubs enter into an outside world of wonder. I was calloused and showing it.
But as for them....from the moment they stepped off the concrete patio....they flew. Oh to be two again, five again. Free.
The both of them...the younger mimicking the older...spread their arms out wide, tilt their sweet heads back, knees lifted in a runners form....and yes, fly. Playing airplanes. Pretending to soar while their souls really do. Feet still on the earth's floor - but heart's climbing high towards heaven and faces showing it.
They're barefoot...unafraid of what might lay beneath their tiny feet - they frolic in faith. And they swing on skinny tree limbs and they flourish. They don't miss out. They won't let shoeless feet or thin tree branches keep them from divine discovery, from joy.
And it cuts away at my callousness a little.
As the young one guides a toy tractor along our fence post - the older one brings me a simple white flower from our landscaping. Almost out of duty, I stick my nose in the center ...not expecting to smell anything good, hope-empty, and void of expectancy. I take a careless whiff.
And I'm shocked at what my nose is telling me. With my boy still standing next to me - my eyes grow wide and I smell again. Hope arises. And I smell again. And I'm divinely reminded of beauty and goodness and grace. And I smell again. Faith is found in a simple white flower that has been planted outside my kitchen window for years. Yet, I had never sniffed of it.
It had the smell of jasmine and lilac and honeysuckle and sweetness all rolled into a white blossom. It was so unlike the headache-inducing bottled variety. It was pure. And undefiled. And beautifully pleasant.
Because of my doubt in Goodness - I was surprised by a scent. Because of their child-like faith - they weren't.
As the children realized my delight (for they had known it would smell of Him) they went over and with small hands continued to pick my faith flowers. They came and stuck them to my nose and then dropped them in my lap. Dozens of them. And dozens more. And delighted in watching their Mommy find Him.
With each whiff I heard a whisper...
"How did it get there, Kate? How do you think the sweet smell your inhaling got there? How? Tell Me, doubt-filled one. Tell Me. Where did the fragrance of flowers come from, child?"
And I almost cry. Because yes - it had to get there somehow. By Someone. Yes - the Flower Former Himself. How else could such a lovely fragrance waft from something born of seed in dirt? Yes - from Love.
Just like the fragrance of flowers can't be mocked or mimicked in a bottle...I can't describe what this simple pleasure did for my faith-less heart. I can't bottle it up into words.
And perhaps He didn't want me to. Perhaps it was meant just for me. (For He meets each one where they are - in surprising and undoing ways.)
As I look now - at those white flowers flourishing out my window....a fresh faith begins to emerge. Because the Flower Former is the Faith Filler, too. Faith is a grace gift. And I receive it.
And I believe.
And I'm unravelled. And I want to spread my arms out wide and soar and I want to run barefoot - baring soul - and I want to swing from risky tree limbs and I don't want to miss out on a thing.
Especially the faith flowers.
Because if I dare - if I'm brave enough to adventure into a world of wonder with the Whisperer - maybe, just maybe I'll get to a place in life....where I get to be the child-like, faith-filled one....picking faith flowers for other noses void of hope and dull in grace.
Make me more like them, Father. Like the two year old and the five year old fresh from You. They know You and trust You and see You and recognize You. Yes, Father - undo me....into a woman who continues to waft in and take whiffs of.... Grace. And while my feet are still planted here on earth's soil....let my faith soar! Let it take flight and furnish other unbelieving minds with the stuff of You! In Jesus...
John 1:1-13
Matthew 19:13-14
I needed it that day. My patience had run out before the dawn and I was pregnant weary and overwhelmed and needing light. And needing Light.
I plopped myself into a lawn chair and began to watch my two little cherubs enter into an outside world of wonder. I was calloused and showing it.
But as for them....from the moment they stepped off the concrete patio....they flew. Oh to be two again, five again. Free.
The both of them...the younger mimicking the older...spread their arms out wide, tilt their sweet heads back, knees lifted in a runners form....and yes, fly. Playing airplanes. Pretending to soar while their souls really do. Feet still on the earth's floor - but heart's climbing high towards heaven and faces showing it.
They're barefoot...unafraid of what might lay beneath their tiny feet - they frolic in faith. And they swing on skinny tree limbs and they flourish. They don't miss out. They won't let shoeless feet or thin tree branches keep them from divine discovery, from joy.
And it cuts away at my callousness a little.
As the young one guides a toy tractor along our fence post - the older one brings me a simple white flower from our landscaping. Almost out of duty, I stick my nose in the center ...not expecting to smell anything good, hope-empty, and void of expectancy. I take a careless whiff.
And I'm shocked at what my nose is telling me. With my boy still standing next to me - my eyes grow wide and I smell again. Hope arises. And I smell again. And I'm divinely reminded of beauty and goodness and grace. And I smell again. Faith is found in a simple white flower that has been planted outside my kitchen window for years. Yet, I had never sniffed of it.
It had the smell of jasmine and lilac and honeysuckle and sweetness all rolled into a white blossom. It was so unlike the headache-inducing bottled variety. It was pure. And undefiled. And beautifully pleasant.
Because of my doubt in Goodness - I was surprised by a scent. Because of their child-like faith - they weren't.
As the children realized my delight (for they had known it would smell of Him) they went over and with small hands continued to pick my faith flowers. They came and stuck them to my nose and then dropped them in my lap. Dozens of them. And dozens more. And delighted in watching their Mommy find Him.
With each whiff I heard a whisper...
"How did it get there, Kate? How do you think the sweet smell your inhaling got there? How? Tell Me, doubt-filled one. Tell Me. Where did the fragrance of flowers come from, child?"
And I almost cry. Because yes - it had to get there somehow. By Someone. Yes - the Flower Former Himself. How else could such a lovely fragrance waft from something born of seed in dirt? Yes - from Love.
Just like the fragrance of flowers can't be mocked or mimicked in a bottle...I can't describe what this simple pleasure did for my faith-less heart. I can't bottle it up into words.
And perhaps He didn't want me to. Perhaps it was meant just for me. (For He meets each one where they are - in surprising and undoing ways.)
As I look now - at those white flowers flourishing out my window....a fresh faith begins to emerge. Because the Flower Former is the Faith Filler, too. Faith is a grace gift. And I receive it.
And I believe.
And I'm unravelled. And I want to spread my arms out wide and soar and I want to run barefoot - baring soul - and I want to swing from risky tree limbs and I don't want to miss out on a thing.
Especially the faith flowers.
Because if I dare - if I'm brave enough to adventure into a world of wonder with the Whisperer - maybe, just maybe I'll get to a place in life....where I get to be the child-like, faith-filled one....picking faith flowers for other noses void of hope and dull in grace.
Make me more like them, Father. Like the two year old and the five year old fresh from You. They know You and trust You and see You and recognize You. Yes, Father - undo me....into a woman who continues to waft in and take whiffs of.... Grace. And while my feet are still planted here on earth's soil....let my faith soar! Let it take flight and furnish other unbelieving minds with the stuff of You! In Jesus...
John 1:1-13
Matthew 19:13-14
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
For Mothers....and Fathers, too
I turn down the music.
Because the voices I hear bellowing through my window - is all the music I need right now.
Two voices - two little blonde heads - two laughs in unison. It's medicine.
The sounds of young hearts content in exploration and the splashing of water and the dance of their conversation - all mingling with cricket chirps and trees blowing. It's music.
And us Mama's are wise to not forget it. Wise to take note....of the notes playing right before us, of the rhythms that are bouncing off our very own walls, of the pitches of childhood glee.
Because pitter-pattering feet....make melodies if we let them.
The squeals and the loud laughter and the excited gasps that come from our own - these are the gifts that fill our days.
The yells, and the whines, and the shrills of toddler anger - these - these are presents, too. Presents - because they mean that we're alive. Presents...because they do tend to unwrap us a tad.
The music that comes from little ones - is ointment. But we must apply it. It's meant to be rubbed in. We must do this day after day after day - and after a while we look back and we see sheets of songs lining the years and we see how we've grown and how we've changed and how we've been healed - all from the gift of tiny mouths making joyful noises in the midst of the mundane...in the midst of motherhood.
So let's tune in. He knows we will find healing and strength and laughter and thanksgiving and peace, in the lullaby's that come from our little, lovely blessings.
Because the voices I hear bellowing through my window - is all the music I need right now.
Two voices - two little blonde heads - two laughs in unison. It's medicine.
The sounds of young hearts content in exploration and the splashing of water and the dance of their conversation - all mingling with cricket chirps and trees blowing. It's music.
And us Mama's are wise to not forget it. Wise to take note....of the notes playing right before us, of the rhythms that are bouncing off our very own walls, of the pitches of childhood glee.
Because pitter-pattering feet....make melodies if we let them.
The squeals and the loud laughter and the excited gasps that come from our own - these are the gifts that fill our days.
The yells, and the whines, and the shrills of toddler anger - these - these are presents, too. Presents - because they mean that we're alive. Presents...because they do tend to unwrap us a tad.
The music that comes from little ones - is ointment. But we must apply it. It's meant to be rubbed in. We must do this day after day after day - and after a while we look back and we see sheets of songs lining the years and we see how we've grown and how we've changed and how we've been healed - all from the gift of tiny mouths making joyful noises in the midst of the mundane...in the midst of motherhood.
So let's tune in. He knows we will find healing and strength and laughter and thanksgiving and peace, in the lullaby's that come from our little, lovely blessings.
***********************************
P.S. Y'all should know....that yesterday while I was driving down the road with my two 'lovely blessings' - I turned UP the music. There was a situation in the back seat between the two blondes that was causing whines and screams - on their part, and angst - on my part. So while I'm fully aware of the precious open window moments I shared in this post today - I'm also fully aware of the days that call for a loud radio :)
Love to you all.
Monday, August 15, 2011
It's a Music Kind of Monday
'Shine' - The David Crowder Band
I sincerely hope that you have a marvelous Monday!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Eyes that see Love
"What words will you fill me with today, Father?"
I ask this question. And while its not always so clear.... numerous times over the last few weeks I've heard "Mark 12, child. Read Mark 12."
44 verses, parables, and quotes, and questions, and commandments, and examples....all pointing to love. All pointing to Love.
But this day - it's the vinedressers. It's their story that stirs me.
*(This passage is at the bottom of the post. But if you can, flip open the Scripts with your own hands and read with your own eyes, and be filled.)
I see myself there. Not in the vineyard owner (God). Not in the servants (God's faithful.) But in the vinedressers (those who reject God's message and His messengers.)
How many times have I done this? How many messengers of God have I rejected? Yes - his messengers still come by way of prophets and words and sermons - but also they come....
...in the eyes of a child. In those moments of escalating anger - how they open wide as if saying, "Mother, I'm watching you. Be careful - the way you live your life, Mama, can determine how I end up living mine. With Love or without Him."
...in the eyes of hunger. The child who isn't interested in a full toy box, but in a full tummy - has eyes that not only scrounge for food - but scrounge for the faithful, as if saying, "Who will have compassion on me? Who will show me His love? Anyone?"
...in the eyes of pain. The person who has known loss, affliction, addiction - their faces drawn and tired as if to say "Come to me in His name. Lighten my load even if just a little. All in the name of Love."
And how can I mention God's messengers - without mentioning beauty. Color. Life. Stare at a black-eyed susan....and the flower will stare back at you - as if to say, "See me. Do you see me? I exist. Beauty exists. And because of Him...I open wide my petals and give off glory that only comes from Glory."
I miss the messengers.
And then Jesus Himself....when He knocks (and He does knock) do I hear him? Or does the doubt, the distraction, the daily-grind drowned Him out? Or perhaps I hear Him - and choose to leave the door bolted shut. Rejecting - even Him.
The Cornerstone.
To my own eyes - this brings tears. I don't want to miss the messengers! I don't want anything to deafen my ears to the knocking!
And this.... it's up to me. I choose. Reject, recoil verses receive, rejoice. The choice is mine.
Oh Father - that you would open my eyes to the message. That you would open my ears to the knocking. That my mind would be tilted to the Maker. That I would catch the countenance of the chief cornerstone.
Let me not only see - but go looking. For You. In the utterances,and in the eyes - of the ones you send.
*1 Then He began to speak to them in parables: “A man planted a vineyard and set a hedge around it, dug a place for the wine vat and built a tower. And he leased it to vinedressers and went into a far country. 2 Now at vintage-time he sent a servant to the vinedressers, that he might receive some of the fruit of the vineyard from the vinedressers. 3 And they took him and beat him and sent him away empty-handed. 4 Again he sent them another servant, and at him they threw stones, wounded him in the head, and sent him away shamefully treated. 5 And again he sent another, and him they killed; and many others, beating some and killing some. 6 Therefore still having one son, his beloved, he also sent him to them last, saying, ‘They will respect my son.’ 7 But those vinedressers said among themselves, ‘This is the heir. Come, let us kill him, and the inheritance will be ours.’ 8 So they took him and killed him and cast him out of the vineyard.
9 “Therefore what will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy the vinedressers, and give the vineyard to others. 10 Have you not even read this Scripture:
'The stone which the builders rejected
Has become the chief cornerstone.
This was the Lord's doing,
And it is marvelous in our eyes'?"
(New King James Version)
I ask this question. And while its not always so clear.... numerous times over the last few weeks I've heard "Mark 12, child. Read Mark 12."
44 verses, parables, and quotes, and questions, and commandments, and examples....all pointing to love. All pointing to Love.
But this day - it's the vinedressers. It's their story that stirs me.
*(This passage is at the bottom of the post. But if you can, flip open the Scripts with your own hands and read with your own eyes, and be filled.)
I see myself there. Not in the vineyard owner (God). Not in the servants (God's faithful.) But in the vinedressers (those who reject God's message and His messengers.)
How many times have I done this? How many messengers of God have I rejected? Yes - his messengers still come by way of prophets and words and sermons - but also they come....
...in the eyes of a child. In those moments of escalating anger - how they open wide as if saying, "Mother, I'm watching you. Be careful - the way you live your life, Mama, can determine how I end up living mine. With Love or without Him."
...in the eyes of hunger. The child who isn't interested in a full toy box, but in a full tummy - has eyes that not only scrounge for food - but scrounge for the faithful, as if saying, "Who will have compassion on me? Who will show me His love? Anyone?"
...in the eyes of pain. The person who has known loss, affliction, addiction - their faces drawn and tired as if to say "Come to me in His name. Lighten my load even if just a little. All in the name of Love."
And how can I mention God's messengers - without mentioning beauty. Color. Life. Stare at a black-eyed susan....and the flower will stare back at you - as if to say, "See me. Do you see me? I exist. Beauty exists. And because of Him...I open wide my petals and give off glory that only comes from Glory."
I miss the messengers.
And then Jesus Himself....when He knocks (and He does knock) do I hear him? Or does the doubt, the distraction, the daily-grind drowned Him out? Or perhaps I hear Him - and choose to leave the door bolted shut. Rejecting - even Him.
The Cornerstone.
To my own eyes - this brings tears. I don't want to miss the messengers! I don't want anything to deafen my ears to the knocking!
And this.... it's up to me. I choose. Reject, recoil verses receive, rejoice. The choice is mine.
Oh Father - that you would open my eyes to the message. That you would open my ears to the knocking. That my mind would be tilted to the Maker. That I would catch the countenance of the chief cornerstone.
Let me not only see - but go looking. For You. In the utterances,and in the eyes - of the ones you send.
"The only way to see God manifested in the world around is with the eyes of Jesus within."
- Ann Voskamp - One Thousand Gifts
*************************************************
*1 Then He began to speak to them in parables: “A man planted a vineyard and set a hedge around it, dug a place for the wine vat and built a tower. And he leased it to vinedressers and went into a far country. 2 Now at vintage-time he sent a servant to the vinedressers, that he might receive some of the fruit of the vineyard from the vinedressers. 3 And they took him and beat him and sent him away empty-handed. 4 Again he sent them another servant, and at him they threw stones, wounded him in the head, and sent him away shamefully treated. 5 And again he sent another, and him they killed; and many others, beating some and killing some. 6 Therefore still having one son, his beloved, he also sent him to them last, saying, ‘They will respect my son.’ 7 But those vinedressers said among themselves, ‘This is the heir. Come, let us kill him, and the inheritance will be ours.’ 8 So they took him and killed him and cast him out of the vineyard.
9 “Therefore what will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy the vinedressers, and give the vineyard to others. 10 Have you not even read this Scripture:
'The stone which the builders rejected
Has become the chief cornerstone.
This was the Lord's doing,
And it is marvelous in our eyes'?"
(New King James Version)
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