Thoughts of Grace

Poppy, transplanted from Grandma Crain’s in March,
bloomed this spring.

Good Morning

Joel 2:32

And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the LORD shall be delivered: for in mount Zion and in Jerusalem shall be deliverance, as the LORD hath said, and in the remnant whom the LORD shall call.

Why do not I call on His name?
Why do I run to this neighbor and that when God is so near and will hear my faintest call?
Why d I sit down and devise schemes and invent plans?
Why not at once roll myself and my burden upon the Lord?

Straightforward is the best runner–why do not I run at once to the living Gd?
In vain shall I look for deliverance any where else;
but with God I shall find it;
for here I have His royal shall to make it sure.

I need not ask whether I may call on Him or not,
for that word “Whosoever” is a very wide and comprehensive one.
Whosoever means me,
for it means anybody and everybody who calls upon God.
I will therefore follow the leading of the text,
and at once call upon the glorious Lord who has made so large a promise.

My case is urgent, and I do not see how I am to be delivered,
but this is no business of mine.
He who makes the promise will find ways and means of keeping it.
It is mine to obey His commands;
it is not mine to direct His counsels.
I am His servant, not His solicitor.
I call upon Him and He will deliver. ~~C.H. Spurgeon

Calling on Him . . . Today
With my prayers, desiring yours, Leslie

What the cats thought of the visitor

Good Morning

“And he was restored and saw everyone clearly.” (Mark 8:25 NKJV)

OK, let’s pick back up on my episode at the intersection with the biker, banker, and bum.

Sitting there in my car waiting for the light to change, having just tagged three complete strangers with labels derived from my own prejudice, the Holy Spirit brought to my remembrance the story I related to you yesterday from Mark’s gospel.
It was then I sensed the Lord speak to my heart something to this effect, “James, you have blurred vision; you need another touch from Me in order to see clearly, without any prejudice.” On that day at the intersection I learned a lesson I have never forgotten. I saw men as trees, walking.

I had been duly exposed to just enough Bible trivia to become a man with rapid-fire religious opinions; a Bible “answer man” with little regard to how my views or opinions demeaned, depreciated, or damaged others. I just knew my view of scripture was right, and anybody not seeing it my way had to be wrong.

You know….Biker. Banker. Bum.

I had become quite adept at affixing my labels upon the various people groups in my little world. I saw Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians; Lutherans, Pentecostals, and Fundamentalists. I saw Protestants and Catholics. And I saw heretics, pagans, perverts and queers. And if memory serves me here, cross-eyed mosquitoes and bow-legged ants were in there somewhere.

I saw the good, the bad, and the ugly. I saw bikers, bankers, and bums.

Indeed, I needed another touch from Jesus. I needed Him to stay with the healing process that His grace had already begun in my life, and bring me to a place where I could see things clearly; to see people through His eyes, and not my own.
The truth be known — that was not a Biker cranking his Harley to warp 3 alongside me at the light; no, he was a man whom God dearly loves — a man for whom Jesus died. And that was not a Banker triumphantly strolling out of First National to cruise off in his Caddy; no, he was a man whom God dearly loves — a man for whom Jesus died. And that was not a Bum stumbling into another day of hopeless begging; no, he was a man whom God dearly loves — a man for whom Jesus died.

And, thankfully, I was not a bigot; a self-righteous know-it-all preacher dispensing judgment near and far; No. I, too, was a man whom God dearly loves — a man for whom Jesus died.

That day I got some spit in my eye, you might say, and from that day forward began to see everyone clearly. And that has made all the difference.
Are you getting the point?
Has the light changed yet? ~~Rylie

Wiping my eyes . . .Today
With my prayers, desiring yours, Leslie

A visitor at Cozy Acres

Good Morning

“And he was restored and saw everyone clearly.” (Mark 8:25 NKJV)

One day as Jesus and His disciples approached the city of Bethsaida, a group of people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. The Bible says, “He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, ‘Do you see anything?’ He looked up and said, ‘I see people; they look like trees walking around.’ Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly.” (Mark 8:23—26, NIV)

This unusual story has always held a certain fascination for me. First, I am intrigued that Jesus took the man away from the emotionally charged atmosphere of the crowd who brought him to be healed. Jesus did the miracle away from the crowd. This is so unlike many of the faith healers in our day, who do so much for show….and money.

And, second, I am bemused by the oddity of Jesus spitting directly in the man’s eyes in order to heal him. I wonder why the Lord did that; and I wonder how the guy felt about that. On another occasion Jesus had spit on the ground and made a mudpack, which He then placed on a blind man’s eyes. Upon washing the mud away, the man could see. But here Jesus spits directly into the man’s eyes!

Could it be that Jesus, by not doing it the same way twice, is thereby showing us that God deals with each of us as unique individuals? There are no pat answers to life’s complex challenges; no cookie-cutter solutions to humanity’s diverse need for God’s saving grace and healing mercy. One gets a mudpack; another gets spit in the eye! Either way, the miracle comes, and God gets all the glory.

And then, finally, I’m stumped by the fact that the miracle didn’t take at first; I mean, it didn’t work. The man could indeed see, but his vision was as yet distorted. “I see men as trees, walking,” he said. Jesus had to touch him a second time in order for him to see everything clearly.

This is to me the most intriguing feature of this event. One would think that spit in the eye — especially if put there by the Son of God Himself — would certainly be potent enough to perform a miracle of healing. But the story tells us that while eyesight was restored, it was still somewhat foggy. The guy needed a second touch for the miracle to fully set in.

OK, so tomorrow I’ll pick back up at the intersection where I was waiting for the light to change, and wrap this episode all together.Rylie

Creamy yellow iris from Sister Peg

Good Morning

Biker, Banker, Bum (Part 1)

“And he was restored and saw everyone clearly.” (Mark 8:25 NKJV)

A few years ago while sitting in my car waiting for the light to change on a midsummer’s morning in Boulder, Colorado, my attention was abruptly seized by the earth-shaking roar of an unmuffled Harley pulling alongside my car. I slowly turned to look at the rider hanging on his chopper like a baboon in a tree, and I easily sized him up in an instant.
Long blond greasy hair tied in a ponytail; sweaty, red bandana headband; Fu Manchu mustache; offensive tattoos etched on every square inch of his neck and arms; and an undeniable fury swirling about his head like wasps around an agitated nest. “Now there’s a biker,” I thought to myself. “Better give him a wide berth!”

Turning back to see if the light had changed I couldn’t help but notice a smartly dressed gentleman coming out of First National Bank, carrying an expensive leather attaché and walking briskly toward a brand new Cadillac. His was a bright look of capital conquest; king of all he surveyed. “Now there’s a banker,” I automatically concluded. “It sure would be nice to have a guy like that interested in my ministry.”

The light had not changed yet so I risked one more guarded glance toward the biker. In doing so my eyes caught sight of a ruffled old man staggering out of a thick hedge of shrubs bordering the city park. He had spent the night burrowed in the bushes, and I think the Harley woke him up.

He was days unshaven, weeks unshowered, and years unsure. Brushing the leaves out of his matted hair, and squinting so as to ease the flood of sunshine into his blood shot eyes — the homeless man stumbled into yet another meaningless day with patented indifference. “And there is a bum if ever I saw one,” I casually thought to myself. “What a waste.”
Then it hit me. Biker, banker, bum.

The unintended symmetry in my spur-of-the-moment opinions startled me. And as these words replayed in my mind, a quiet sense of conviction began to settle upon me. Somehow I could tell that the Lord was examining me in that moment, and that what had just happened was not exactly what I wanted Him to see. For right then — without any sense of forethought, discernment, or compassion — I had labeled three people I didn’t even know; and had done so with a cavalier sense of self-certainty: “Biker, Banker, Bum.”

I tell you what — let me step aside until tomorrow, and I’ll tell you of an event in the life of Jesus that relates to this awkward moment. We’ll come back to my experience at the intersection a little later. It’s a long light anyway; we have time….Rylie

Open my eyes . . . Today
With my prayers, desiring yours, Leslie