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.

The water is clear and safe in the shallow end. The deeper it gets, the darker it gets, until you can’t reach the bottom. Then it’s sink or swim.

Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, the earth falls away into the Mariana Trench, nearly seven miles down. So deep, sunlight has never reached it. The pressure so strong that none could survive there.

Looking into a well, light fades into darkness long before it reaches the water.

There is depth.
And it is dark.

But nothing like the deepest corners of a heart, broken by
Great loss.
Greater struggle.
Constant failure.
Sin that won’t let go.
Inadequacy.

There is depth.
And it is dark.

You grasp, and scrape, and climb only to find you haven’t moved.

The walls are too steep.
The darkness too thick.
The distance too far.

And the worst part is knowing you dug some of it yourself.

Memories of the light are but a childhood dream fading into the mist like a vapor.

You hear a voice calling from the depths. You’ve lived so long in the darkness you don’t know how to listen for anything else.

Yet there is another voice.
One you knew long ago.
One Who could never forget nor forsake you.

Where can I go from Your Spirit? Where can I flee from Your presence? If I go to the heavens, You are there. If I make my bed in the depths, You are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there, Your hand will guide me, Your right hand will hold me fast. Psalm 139:7-10

There is no distance too far that the Hand of God cannot rescue you.

There is no stain so dark that the blood of Christ cannot cleanse you.

There is no cry so deep that the Heart of God cannot hear you.

Seek the Lord while He may be found; call upon Him while He is near. Isaiah 55:6

Peter began to sink beneath the crashing waves and cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Jesus immediately reached out His hand and took hold of him. Matthew 14:31

Immediately.

The Hand that pulled Peter from the waves can reach deeper… much deeper… as deep as you have fallen.

Father, I pray You will gather the hearts lost in the darkness and draw them back into Your loving arms.

Amen…

If these words have been a blessing, pass them along to another who needs to hear. Reach out to me at John@LiftedKeys.com and tell me your story. I would love to know where and in what way God has guided His words through my pen.

My father would say:
“You have two eyes, two ears, and one mouth. Use them in that order and in that proportion.”

But as is usually the case, his wisdom came well after I had done the opposite.

I have a friend who while exchanging pleasantries said they were okay. Consumed by thoughts of the business at hand, the subject quickly changed.

It wasn’t until we parted ways that the weight of our encounter hit me. Was there more to okay than just okay? How blind was I not to notice? How trivial was our discussion in the light of eternity? Or in the state of their heart… or mine?

Reaching deeper could have offered the opportunity to speak of things that mattered.
Or just a kind shoulder to lean on if only for a moment.

I felt the pain of not listening beyond the words.

 

Then my morning prayers read:

Lay not the misusing of my morning hours to my charge. While there is yet time, let me bring the day to victory.
May I forget myself and work the work of Him who sent me here.
Deliver us from all unkindness, from offense given or taken.
May my soul never murmur at Thine gentle chastisement and Fatherly correction.

Regret settled in deeper.

Perhaps there was more I should have said.

But therein lies the problem.

Perhaps there was more the Lord would have had me say… or not.

Father, please forgive my weakness. Help me make amends for my carelessness and to do what You would have me do.

To learn.

To listen.

 

Reach out to me at John@LiftedKeys.com and tell me your story. I would love to know where and in what way God has guided His words through my pen.