When a child approaches the stove, you tell them not to touch it but sometimes they have to burn their finger to realize it’s a bad thing.

Proverbs chapter 5 says temptation is like the lips of an adulterous woman, dripping honey, her speech smoother than oil; but in the end, she is bitter as gall, sharp as a double-edged sword… Keep to a path far from her, do not go near the door of her house…

For if you travel too closely, she will entice you to with her fragrance; yet one step beyond her threshold finds you deep in a pit, whether it be a substance, an errant thought or whatever our particular weakness may be.

Evil knows what it is.

But so does God.

Oswald Chambers, in My Utmost For His Highest, March 14 – “Obedience” writes about how yielding to a temptation makes us quickly its slave because we chose it. The more you try to be good, the harder you fight, the more you pray for it to go away, it still consumes you because you allowed it to.

He continued:
“There is no release in human power at all but only in Redemption. You must yield yourself in utter humiliation to the only One Who can break the dominating power… the Lord Jesus Christ.”

To surrender fully.
A heart completely unmasked.
Unguarded.
Laid Bare.

Too often I fight, and scrape, and try to climb out on my own only to crumble in exhaustion. It’s only then I fully surrender and cry out to God.

Immediately, Jesus reached out His hand and caught me.

We can choose to lay our hearts bare

Before the tempter

Or before the One Who can truly break our chains.

Father,
Please forgive my weakness.
My stubbornness.
My foolishness.

Help me to call on You as my first option
long before You become my only option.

Amen…

If you spent any time at Sunday School, you know the story of Jonah. He ran away from God and ended up in the belly of a big fish. But a lot happened between the time Jonah stepped on the boat and when he went splash.

God told Jonah to go Nineveh and deliver some bad news, but he didn’t want to go. So, he hopped a ship and went the other way.

Then a great storm came. The sailors fought it but were afraid they would go under. They cried out their gods to save them. Then they cast lots to see whose fault it was and it pointed at Jonah who was sleeping below deck.

They asked Jonah who he was and where he was from. He answered, “I am Hebrew, and I worship the Lord, the God of Heaven, who made the sea and the dry land.”

Jonah admitted the storm was his fault because he was running from God. He said to cast him overboard and the sea would become calm. But the men continued to row until there was no other option.

They feared Jonah’s God and cried out that He wouldn’t hold them accountable for killing this innocent man.

As soon as Jonah splashed, the sea became calm. The sailors were in awe and offered sacrifices and vows to the Lord.

Now I don’t know how heartfelt their vows were or if they forgot their other gods, but they came face to face with the one true God, the only One Who could save them.

We chase other gods too.
Idols of gold and silver.
Desire for shiny things.

When storms rise, we look to them for safety, but realize they’re no more than cold, lifeless statues.

Like Jonah, we know we’ve turned away.

It’s not until we throw ourselves into the sea, completely surrender to the only true God, maker of all things, that we find the calm.

If we keep our focus solely on God and God alone, hopefully it won’t require

A Jonah splash.

The predawn morning had come to a sweaty end as a group of gladiators crushed a workout to prepare for the challenges ahead.

Our trainer suggested we air-five instead of slapping sweaty hands, but there’s a certain camaraderie in sharing sweat. If you survived August two-a-days or building fence sun-up to sundown, you get it.

Sharing sweat, or salt specifically, is an ancient tradition. Sharing salt in a meal represented family, fellowship, loyalty, commitment. Much of which gets me out of bed for these five am sessions.

But salt was much more. It was a valuable commodity. Not specifically used as currency but as a measure of what you were paid. Our word salary is rooted in the Latin word for salt and if you are worth your salt, it means you earned your keep.

I paused to catch my breath, my feet surrounded by puddles of what poured out of my body. As the oppressive summer sun reached its perch, evaporation left remnants… salt.

But anything worthwhile costs some of what you are.

Blood.
Sweat.
Or good old-fashioned elbow grease.

Jesus said, “You are the salt of the earth. But if salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It’s no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.” Matthew 5:13

I always thought Jesus meant salt as the seasoning.
But salt was used for preservation, purification, and covenant. It was valuable in so many ways.

You are the salt of the earth.
God made you to be.

But if you don’t live what makes you special, your salt will lose its taste. Salt in a shaker does nothing but stick to the bottom. It only has value when it’s poured out, whether that be on a plate or out of every inch of you as you fight the good fight.

Season all your grain offerings with salt. Do not leave the salt of the covenant of your God out of your grain offerings; add salt to all your offerings. Leviticus 2:13

Add salt to all your offerings.

Sacrifice costs us something.

Jesus sacrificed and it cost Him everything.

His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. Luke 22:44

Jesus shared His salt… all of it.

 

For us.

I was doing everything the doctor prescribed.
Exercise more.
Eat better.
Reduce stress.
Well, two out of three isn’t bad.

Taking a glance at my blood-work, most numbers were in a good range and the others weren’t far off.
I was feeling good.

Then came the day of reckoning.
Doctor’s office.
White coat syndrome.

My good was better, but…
Not good enough.

I was crushed.
I’d worked so hard.

Dragging myself to the office was no help.
Business comes and goes in cycles.
One day, we don’t have enough work.
The next, we have too much.
There is no happy medium.

My effort is the same.
It’s just the nature of the business.

And again… my good was not good enough.

It seems no matter how hard I charge forward, there’s always something pulling me back.
Like a tail trying to wag the dog.

My heart sank until the Lord reminded me
I’m not alone in this.

There is no one that does good. Not even one… for all have sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God.

But it continues that

all are justified through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. Romans 3:10, 23-24

Yeah.

Medical reports.
Quarterly reports.
My internal report card (no gold stars there.)

They’re just symptoms.
Not the cure.

And the last I checked, reports were not sitting on the Throne.

I had lost sight of the scale that measures my worth, my value.

But God demonstrated His Own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8

He knows my value, so much so that He died on the cross as an atonement for my sins, and yours.

No.
My good will never be good enough.

But His Good will always be.

Amen…

 

If you would like to know more about my writing, visit LiftedKeys.com

There are two rivers.

The One, clean and pure.
Flowing from the Temple.

The other, I know too well.
Brackish and muddy.
Filled with pain, doubts and regret.

Ezekiel is led through his water, ankle deep.
I forced my way through mine, relying on my own strength.

Ezekiel’s river became knee deep.
Not by incoming streams or tributaries, but by the immeasurable presence of God.|
My river pressed against my knees as I fought the current, longing to reach the other river, but sadly failing.

Ezekiel waded through his river waist deep, its cool waters refreshing.
I am waist deep in fear, and failure. The chains that tie me down.

Ezekiel saw the river had become deep enough to swim, large enough that no one could pass through.

I, on the other hand, am up to my neck in the waters of my own weakness, inadequacy, and my own understanding. Struggling to keep my head above water.

My river leads to dark sea. Cold and lifeless. I have no control over the swirling undertow that drags me there.

Ezekiel was led to the bank of his river and saw a great number of trees on each side. When it emptied into the Dead Sea, the salty water became fresh.

Swarms of living creatures will live wherever the river flows. Fruit trees of all kinds will grow on both banks of the river. Their leaves will not wither, nor will their fruit fail. Every month they will bear fruit, because the water of the sanctuary flows to them. Their fruit will serve as food and their leaves for healing. Ezekiel 47:9, 12

I could see the Glory of the great river in the distance. But I, in my pride, stepped out of the boat to walk on my waters alone, only to succumb to the waves.

But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me.” Immediately, Jesus reached out His hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” He said. “Why did you doubt?” Matthew 14:30-31

The storm died down.
The water became pure.

I lowered my gaze in shame.
Who am I to think I could walk those waves alone?

Then Jesus said, “Lift up your eyes. Look at Me.”

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. And when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you… For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. Isaiah 43:2-3

Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the Glory of God?” John 11:40

Jesus led me to the bank of the great river.
We sat in the shade of the trees and ate of their fruit.
We dipped our toes into the cool water.

 

If you would like to know more about my writing, visit LiftedKeys.com

Recent travels through the friendly skies, between stress and exhaustion, left little to do but calculate and recalculate arrival times and connecting flights. The rest was just the cluttered attic residing between my ears.

Stepping over chairs I may fix one day or boxes I probably should go through, I reached the dusty corners, filled with cobwebs and who knows what else. Grabbing a broom, I swept things that hid in the shadows into the light of a flickering bulb.

When you sweep a floor, it’s hard to get all the dirt. It looks clean. But in a certain light, there’s a streak left behind by broom strokes, and there’s always a little line of dirt that just won’t get into the dustpan. The problem is not that there is still dirt, it’s that you’ve exposed it to the light of day.

My pile of dust is made up of wrongs and perceived wrongs, some by others, most of my own making. And I’m consumed by the specks I just can’t seem to get rid of.

The dirt grows from a dusting, to a pile, to a mountain.
Covering me in its shadow.

If you have a hurt still lying in the corners, please forgive me. I’m reaching as far as I can.

Then the Lord reminded me:
… whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure… think about such things. Philippians 4:8

But kicked-up dust floats and recollects back into corners. It just won’t come clean. And I’m consumed once more.

You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitudes of your minds; and to put on a new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness. Ephesians 4:22-24

One day, there will be nothing left to clean.
Not because I cleaned it, but
the Master of the house finished what I could not.

Until then, I’m sweeping as fast as I can.

 

If you would like to know more about my writing, visit LiftedKeys.com

In Texas, we get big rain, hard and fast, then it is gone. We run for cover because it can be ushered in by lightning and hail.

In the Upper Northwest, cold, soft rain falls between the spires of towering cedars. An all-day kinda rain.

It was typical Seattle summer day.
50 degrees and 85% chance of rain.
If Texas forecasted 85%, we probably would end up in the other 15%. Not so in Seattle.

I walked out into what they consider a downpour and saw people in raincoats, going about their business as if it was just another day.

A four-year-old, with yellow umbrella and matching rain boots, giggled as she splashed in puddles. I watched her skip through the water next to Mommy enjoying each trickle and wet spot.

When I was that age, we had to run through a sprinkler to have such fun but there she was, a water park at her doorstep.

As she moved on to bigger puddles, I twirled for a moment, soaked to the bone. Onlookers laughed at an old fool dancing in the rain.

In Texas, we find a dry place and listen to the power of Almighty God in thunder.
In Seattle, it’s more of a gentle voice, telling me to breathe, to listen and enjoy the blessing of rain.

Cleansing in a way.

Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge Him. As surely as the sun rises, He will come to us like winter rains, like spring rains that water the earth. Hosea 6:3

Today was like that.
Tears from heaven.

Washing off the dust of life that weighed me down.

When I return to the parched landscape of home, and when storm clouds gather, I will remember a gentle walk in the rain.

 

Remembering
To breathe
To listen

To dance like a fool in the blessings of rain.

Headed to an early morning meeting, I anticipated challenges and distractions that may lie ahead. I’ve faced them before and when not prepared, failed miserably.

Arriving, I found the greatest threat had been called away to put out a fire across town (or cause one).
I took a breath, grateful, maybe even a little disappointed because I thought I was ready.

But how random was the random call that pulled them away? More than likely, I wasn’t as prepared as I needed to be. Thank you, Jesus.

On a random Tuesday, like any other Tuesday, I went to my usual breakfast/bible study spot. An older couple came in. Their usual table, their usual breakfast. I hadn’t seen them in a year or so, and I knew their health had been failing, so seeing them lifted my spirits.

On a random Tuesday, perhaps they got up and decided it was a good day to go out for breakfast.
I was running behind due to random traffic and randomly spending a few extra minutes in a hot shower, but there we were.

Conversation was good. Good for me. Hopefully good for them too.

But how random was all the random that led us there at the same time?

How much random do we see as random when it’s really not random, but the Hand of God?

How much random gets moved out of the way before we randomly get where we’re going?

 

Then there are other randoms.
COVID randomly took one and not the other.
Cancer seems to act the same way.
Brokenness strikes without warning and lingers without reason.

When and how the Lord heals such things may feel random too, but

HE is not random.

His Love for us is not random.
His Grace is not random.
His Sacrifice was not random.

The Truth is not random.

And we know that is all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. Roman 8:28

Our affections vary.
God does not.

Our patience fails.
God does not.

There is purpose in all He leads us to and through.

Though we don’t understand,
God asks us to trust.

Not too comforting in the middle of it,
But we don’t know how far He’s carried us to this point.

One day we will look back and see that all the random was not truly random.

Just God placing the pieces.

 

His plan.
His time.

Kindness is a seed planted in a garden we may never see. – adapted from a Greek proverb.

I was traveling a well-worn path of my own making, at times wondering why. Not as much doubt, as complacency.

In the faded pages of an old prayer book, Walter Rauschenbush thanked God for those who are masters of form and color and sound, who have the power to unlock in us the vast spaces of emotion. He prayed God would save them from the temptations which beset their powers.

Now, I consider myself an apprentice of many things and master of none, but the temptation to be drawn away from what I know is right and true? That I know too well.

Pastor Rauschenbusch prayed for me more than a hundred years ago, not knowing I would need it today.

I’m still learning from sermons Oswald Chambers wrote around the same time. A hundred years or more.

And letters the Apostle Paul wrote nearly two thousand years ago:

Let us not grow weary of doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Galatians 6:9

Giving up is not an option, as my trainer would say, but passion? That’s another thing entirely.

The Greek proverb speaks of old men planting trees whose shade they will never sit beneath.

My scribbles may touch a heart in the moment and fade away, or perhaps reappear in a thousand years. Only God knows where He is taking it.

There is value in doing good, just for the sake of doing good. It’s what we are called to do.

So as long as the Lord lends a voice to the whispers in my heart, I will continue to pass them along.

Kindness.
Caring.
Gentle words.

We all have them to offer.

Planting seeds in gardens of His choosing.

You expect to miss them on the big days.

Christmas.
Thanksgiving.
Easter.

But no one tells you about the smallest moments.

For me and my father, it was a Cowboy’s game. Now tears and Cowboy’s fans are not anything new, but this was different. For the first time, even in different houses, or even states, we were not watching the same game.

With my mother, it was a situation that required her left-handed hammer, an odd position where only a strong left hand would do.

Today, it was about pasta.

A friend had made her special sauce and spaghetti. She looked across the empty table and fussed at her late husband. “I made your favorite. You were supposed to be here to eat it. Do you know how hard it is to make pasta for one?”

Small moments.
Small, quiet moments.

Jesus said to consider the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, insignificant to some, but beautifully made and cared for.

The smallest of things.

But not a tear is wasted. Psalm 56 says God puts my tears in a bottle, preserving something precious.

Jesus sat opposite the place where the crowd put money in the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts, but a poor widow placed two small copper coins.

Calling His disciples to Him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything. All she had to live on.” Mark 12:43-44

God is with you in the smallest of things.
The smallest of moments.
Your tears are not overlooked.
Not forgotten.

He keeps them in His bottle.

He writes them in His book.

God remembers them.

 

It may not make eating pasta for one easier.

But I pray, one day it will.

 

If these words have been a blessing, pass them along to another who needs to hear.