Here he raised his Ebenezer.

Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen and called its name Ebenezer; for he said, “Till now the LORD has helped us.” (1 Samuel 7:12)

Was that the stone? He brushed the dust from his lashes with the back of his hand.  It was much smaller than he had expected.  He pulled a browning map from his satchel and examined it carefully.  He squinted, as if squinting would help him decipher Grandpa’s scrawled writing.  Time had begun to blur some of the writing, but according to all of Grandpa’s notes, this had to be the stone.

Homely and small, but tremendous in significance.  He was beginning to find that many things in life were like that.

Gazing now at Ebenezer, he could almost hear Grandpa’s voice, wavering with age but still strong, recounting the story of old, “My boy, thousands of our men fell in battle against the Philistines at Ebenezer!  The ark of God was also captured there, and in the end, all our mighty men took to their heels and fled to their homes!  Fear and grief and bitterness gripped us for some time.  But by and by, we repented and Samuel prayed.  Boy, how — he — prayed!  And God delivered!”

Grandpa would then pause, knead his brow with his forefinger and thumb, and say in a low voice, “Boy, Ebenezer was the place of bitter defeat, but as the LORD lives, Ebenezer later marked the place of victory.”

And his own boyish voice would ask, “But Grandpa?  How ’bout today?  Does God still help us today?”

Grandpa’s voice always rumbled then with explosive conviction, “My boy, yes!  As the LORD lives, yes!”

Tears fell as he suddenly missed Grandpa.  It was a year since Grandpa was buried.  Home was exceedingly difficult, and though he had turned 15 just a few months ago, he still wished he could hide in Grandpa’s firm grasp.  The tears fell more swiftly and freely, hitting the ground with light thuds.  He felt as though his heart would break under its burden.

But as he looked on Ebenezer, that “stone of help,” he remembered Grandpa’s words.

“My boy, yes!  As the LORD lives, yes!”

08.13.09

Better to lay the seed in the earth,
entrusting, investing,
praying this small death
might bring forth life a thousandfold.

Better to lay the seed in the earth,
hidden, far from reach,
away from birds that might snatch,
away from my own clutching grasp.

Better to lay the seed in the earth,
softened, broken,
sowing what He’s given in goodness,
that I might reap what been promised.

The gardener thinks little of the death,
but looks with faith to the bloom.
Let me this lesson from him learn:
Better to lay the seed in the earth.

None save Christ.

(A narrative.)

Her knees were pressed against her chest, and she was crying — her tears splashing on the unswept brick floor.  The hands wiping away the tears were coarse from years of hard labor.  The single deep crease between her brows told of years of unspoken suffering.

When she saw me, she quickly got up, and as she did, the shuffling of her feet drew my eyes to her house slippers.  They were smudged with cinder.  The soles were peeling apart, and empty metal prongs gaped back at me, telling of cheap gems lost in wear and tear.

By her feet was a browning, crumpled sheet of paper.  She would never tell me, but I already knew what was on it.

She had inquired all over town and failed to find what she was looking for.

What could I do for her?  I was her granddaughter.  I knew no trade.  I had no expertise, no knowledge.

None save Christ.

But I was told that is enough …

Geico the gecko.

My brother moved home a couple weeks ago, and he brought his pet gecko, Geico, with him.

Geico’s cool, but the crickets he eats … that’s a whole ‘nother story.  They are so loud.  On a warm summer night, hearing crickets in the distance is nice.  But hearing even one from the next room, with its “chirps” magnified because of the wooden floors, it sounds like a miniature smoke alarm that broke and won’t stop ringing.

Maybe I need to turn the temperature down.

… Actually, just as I finished that last sentence, the chirping completely stopped.  Maybe Geico ate him?  I wonder if Geico ate him just because he was too loud.  I would.

(Just kidding.)

Your soldier.

“No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him.” (2 Timothy 2:4)

Your gospel, my message.
Your name, my banner.
Your word, my sword.
Your faithfulness, my shield.
Your glory, my cause.
Your pleasure, my desire.
Your promise, my strength.
Your love, my refuge.
Your victory, my joy.
Your kingdom, my hope.
Your commendation, my prize.

03.20.08

Cravings, conflicts, wars within,
Ne’er fail finding peace in Him.

Be not clutching, loath to give,
But trust the Lord your heart to sieve.

Earthly treasures come & go,
Melting fast as winter’s snow.

Look to Him, your Treasure pure;
He is Good, His love–secure.

New Every Morning.

His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23).

Not used. Not just washed & wrung out. Not a hand-me-down. Not recycled. Not rusting on the inside corners. Not just wiped down & polished. Not just repainted.

New. Straight out of the box. The tag’s still on. The lid pops when you open it. Crisp as the blank pages of a journal. Stiff with want of wear. Still squeaky. The plastic seal is unbroken. It fizzes every time.

New. Like it’s never been used before. Like it’s the first time He’s giving it.

My dear Wormwood.

(Inspired by C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters — fictional letters from a much-experienced uncle demon, Screwtape, to his amateur nephew demon, Wormwood. Their “Enemy”, of course, is God.)

My dear Wormwood,

In all these months of correspondence, have you learned nothing from me? Have you done nothing with the books I’ve sent you? Read, you fool! Begin with The Art of Deception. Don’t you know you must be more well-read than those you plan to deceive?

What does it matter if, for the past week, that woman has been victorious over the temptations you’ve placed in her way? Just wait until she begins to even venture to entertain thoughts of self-applauding. Then fill her mind with more thoughts that will begin to make her really believe that these triumphs are actually her own doing rather than the Enemy’s.

This is yet the stealthiest weapon we possess: Pride. It is a small seed, smaller even than the mustard seed, yet it can grow rapidly & with little nurture. Remember that little speech our Enemy gave to the people about having Faith as small as a mustard seed so as to move mountains? Well, just remember that there is always the seed of Pride in the human heart (that is, ever since the Fall). It does not take much to rouse it, & if you can nurture that Pride to even the size of a mustard seed, you can soon condition that human’s heart to cross any mountain of Conscience to commit any number of other sins. I have yet to see this tactic fail.

In fact, Pride is the surest way of keeping that Christian woman far from our Enemy’s grounds. Perhaps it is better that we keep the Way easy & comfortable for her. Then Pride will be easier to nurture in her heart & we need not even exert ourselves in making the Way difficult with trials & other obstacles, because she, with Pride as her compass, will turn to the left & to the right. Her own feet will delay her travels with their wanderings!

Do all you can, Wormwood, to nurture Pride. The Christian may, if she thinks of it, sterilize the seed of Pride by prayer & the reading of our Enemy’s Word, but just keep at your work. Our only hope is that she would one day forget to pray. Take Gall with you to distract her in her prayers or reading of Scripture; while he distracts her, you can throw scraps like delight in man’s praises, vanity, unforgiveness, bitterness, self-pity, & self-righteousness on the seed of Pride. One of those will surely cause Pride to grow & flourish in her heart. Remember, the more Pride grows, the more she will be unaware of it!

You also expressed concern about her resolution to begin a more intensive, extensive study of our Enemy & His character. Give it a few weeks. She will soon forget the fervor & determination with which she made that resolution. Or see if you can get her to rely on her own resolve to accomplish that; then she will quickly fail.

If, in a few weeks, she has not forgotten but persists to continue in that vile study, then see to it that she thinks often about the Enemy yet forgets Him completely. Do you understand what I mean by this? Have her think about Him often, but only in an academic or “theological” manner; make sure she never thinks of Him as an actual Person.

In my past dealings with these Christians, I’ve seen that the most dangerous topic of study they can engage in is the study of the Enemy’s love for them. If she begins to study this topic, see to it that she learns many things about His love but divorces these things from her own daily living. Keep her knowledge of Him bound only to books, so that once she shelves her books, she will shelf her thoughts of Him as well.

Let her warm up her mind with these studies. Your only task, dear Wormwood, is to make sure her heart remains cold. Whatever you do, you cannot allow her knowledge about the love of God lead to a deeper knowledge of the God of love. Do you understand? This will be detrimental (absolutely disastrous) to our cause.

I hope to hear good news from you soon about another victory for our side.

Your affectionate uncle,
SCREWTAPE

. . .

“So that we would not be outwitted by Satan; for we are not ignorant of his designs.” (2 Corinthians 2:11 — see preceding verses for context)

“Little children, you are from God & have overcome them, for He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world.” (I John 4:4)

Your slate.

My life is Your slate, clean (in Christ);
Your handed is poised
to etch in Your perfect plan.
Here I’ve written my plans in chalk;
Often I’ve tried to keep the wind
& Your breath
from blowing away my self-created course.
I’ve hovered over my plans,
covered them with my hands,
unwilling to see them erased.
Your hand is yet poised,
in readiness to do Your perfect will,
in Your perfect timing.
I bow my head,
my head following the reality in my heart (or so I pray).
Father, glorify Thy name.
I fix my eyes not only on the movement of Your hand,
but on Your dear face.
I am content to wait
in the stillness,
to do what I’m called to do now
& not look ahead to days that are not guaranteed.
The Hand I may often wonder at,
but the Face I pray to know & trust
& love,
more & more.
As for You, my God,
Your way is perfect.
I shall not want,
Beginning & End.

I love You, Lord.

Not self.
Not this world.
Not the fleeting pleasures of this world.
Not earthly treasures & wealth.
Not fame.
Not power.
Not reputation for piety.
Not rusting trophies and faded ribbons.
Not men’s praises.
Not knowledge for its own sake.
Not endless controversies & philosophies.
Not comfort, nor ease.
Not recognition.
Not idols or false gods.
Not the glory of another.
Not a self-created view of who I would like You to be.

You.

(Purify this heart’s love for You.)