Things Hard to Understand

One of the things that fascinates me is the mystical and hard-to-understand. Some people like everything described down to a t. They like their ducks in a row, they like to understand the logistics of everything.
I like things that make sense. Honestly, I do. But there is something very attractive about the Unseen, something comforting about things beyond me, something secure about things bigger than me.
Time is one of these things.
We Europeans persist in seeing time as a line. In fact, we have that word - timeline.

Past______________Present______________Future

And yet...
We understand day and night from the sun, which is spherical. We understand months from the moon, which spherical. We understand seasons and years from the planets and stars, which are spherical. If you are like me and are one of these people that picture things and also learned time on an analogue clock, then the passing of minutes and hours is circular. The moon circles the earth. The earth circles the sun.
You may, like me, have seen a diagram like this, depicting the eternity of God.

<----Eternity Past----------------------Eternity Future---->

God's existence is a never ending line... or is it?
Hey, face the irony of it. We've put God's timelessness on a TIMELINE. We have taken an Eternal Spirit Being and subjected Him to the narrowest field a human can conceive - two dimensions. Eternity is not time without beginning or end. It is timeLESS.

Seasons repeat themselves.
History, they say, repeats itself.
Maybe time looks like this




I personally believe this is what makes questions like election and predestination such difficult ones for some people. They struggle to believe that in the past

Past_______here_______Present________________Future

God ordained everything that would happen to them

Past____________Present___here___and___here____Future


We live in a world of height, length, and width. Time is the fourth dimension. So, even a 3D sphere does not do it justice. And we take the eternity of God and force it to submit to a degrading two dimensional line.


Rom 11:33-36 O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!
For who hath known the mind of the Lord? or who hath been his counsellor?
Or who hath first given to him, and it shall be recompensed unto him again?
For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen.

God is my Teacher

It seems to me that God has led me the full circle.
All my life I have had pivotal verses that seemed pertinent in different seasons; verses that I have mulled over and made my own as God has taught me.
I can become very possessive of these verses. They are so personal, I view them as mine. I would be most put out if a preacher pulled one out and destroyed all the beauty and fragrance of it with a heartless dissection of its theological merits or put a different slant on it than my Lord had put on it for me!
I would like to think I have grown and matured. But now I find myself led back to verses and passages that stir memories of past lessons, and past mullings, verses that I burrowed into, that I dwelt on.
Maybe this is a recap of grade one. Maybe this is my review. Oh, how dearly I want to hold onto those precious lessons! How many have I let slip? How much I want to ascend to grade two!

Therefore we ought to give the more earnest heed to the things which we have heard, lest at any time we should let them slip.

I am awed anew at the goodness and mercy of God.

Isaiah asks pitifully, almost fearfully, “Wilt thou refrain thyself for these things (our iniquities), O LORD? wilt thou hold thy peace, and afflict us very sore?”

The chapter ends there. The question appears unanswered. And it cannot but occur to one that He has every right to answer in the affirmative; every right to be indignant, angry, vengeful.

I have been brought back to one of the earliest of my dwelling passages, one of the ones that started me on my walk with God.

Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

I used to pray it. Often.

I have been challenged to do so again.

What is more remarkable is that the preacher who pulled this verse out revived in me so much of the old feelings that used to surround this verse before he even mentioned it. He maintained the poignant fragrance these verses had for me.

Unusual.

“Search me, O God…”

How frightened I used to be of God’s relentless inspection, but how badly I wanted Him to do it! I felt like a child in a crowd of grown-ups around an important person. How I wanted Him to notice me, and how afraid I was that He would!

And now… dare I believe it? Has He seen me?

Inspired to Soar

The following is a quote that has been with me for many years now. It first jumped out at me from a collection of sayings in a quaint calligraphic hand written by an elderly lady in our church who had us round and fed us the classiest meal my ten-year-old eyes had ever seen.




I still remember her house, her little round table that crowded our family of five around it, the glass dishes with the amazing slices, the living room filled with knick-knacks that would now fill my mother-of-toddlers heart with terror.

I still remember the thrill it gave me at the time, and I copied it out... somewhere. Somewhere in my personal stationary it stayed until I came across it again, and wanting to preserve it, I wrote it in my best handwriting in the cover of my small hand Bible that I still own today.

I suspect that dear old saint has gone to her reward now, and if she has, one of her rewards will be the influence she had on inspiring the relationship of a ten-year-old with an unfathomable God.

What a small thing she did that day! She fed us a beautiful meal. She let us look through her collection of sayings. But I still remember the thrill those words gave me and the way they wrapped themselves around my heart, echoing like bells in a clear night.

It inspired me to Know Christ.

We are Wrapped in Water

Song of Solomon 4:16 Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.

Sometimes I think we can be so wrapped up in ourselves we are as a fish that doesn't even know it's wet. We flatter ourselves that Jesus died to make us comfortable in our after life. We fool ourselves into thinking that the universe revolves around us. We were so important! So important that God Himself would endure such contradiction just for us!

Hebrews 12:2 "For the joy set before Him, (He) endured the cross." What was that joy? "Well, my salvation, of course!" And wherefore? "So I wouldn't have to suffer in hell!" Subtle, isn't it? Are you wet?

An Indian had made a monk some moccasins. The good friar was trying them out, and when upbraided by the Father Superior, said, "But Father, they are very comfortable!"
"Brother! You did not join this monastery to be comfortable!"

We belittle the purpose of God by assuming our comfort to be of primary importance. God did not foreordain your comfort before the foundation of the world. It was Christ and His glory.

It is God who works in us both to will and to do of His good pleasure (note: not our pleasure or comfort!). Psalm 115:3 But our God is in the heavens: he hath done whatsoever he hath pleased.
We can view God like tourists view a lion in a zoo. From the safety of our own little perspective, God can seem quite safe, but we forget, He is not a tame lion. We, my friend, are of little consequence! The fruit in our lives is so that He might enjoy it, that He might consume it, for He deserves it. He is worthy.

We begin to understand when we can say, like the horse to the lion, "Sir, you are so beautiful, I'd rather be eaten by you than fed by anybody else."

Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits. We are for His consumption.

Song of Solomon 5:16 His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

The Master’s Estate

In a time long ago, when lords were as powerful on their own lands as kings were in their kingdom, a lord left his one of his estates in the hands of a steward while he himself departed to attend the court of the king.

While some questioned the wisdom of the lord’s absence, the lord himself was content to leave the management and expansion of his estates in the hands of his tenants. From these he picked particular ones who were told off as stewards and overseers. Faithful service was often rewarded by a promotion of responsibilities, and as is human nature, some coveted the position but not the burden, others shouldered the burden without aspiring to the position, while many eschewed the appearance of burdens altogether. To keep himself informed of his affairs, the lord appointed a scribe who remained detached and disinterested and whose sole work was to keep an account of the day to day doings of the tenants and their overseer.

The overseer of this particular estate was a man faithful and courageous, who saw his task as his special duty, and he bore the burden with a deep sense of responsibility, oft times with toil and tears, shudderings, and a healthy fear of his master’s return. He knew he would be called in question for every deed done beneath his care.

The tenants went about their daily business, providing for themselves and their families. Strictly, they were not to leave the estate without the master’s express command to do so, but many thought light of it, and the discontents came and went, grumbling at the heavy hand of the conscientious overseer, or fighting amongst themselves. In vain the overseer remonstrated with such. He had to admit to himself that the estate was better off without dissentious, discontented tenants, but his heart ached to see them go. He knew that no master could be better than theirs, and with pain he watched them go where the oversight was lighter, but the aloof master was uncaring and unforgiving.

There were many tenants. There were those that were faithful and strove to daily improve their service for their master, there were those that did enough good as was convenient, and those that thought of little but what was good for themselves. Some excelled and were promoted to other estates of their master, and at times some were sent away in disgrace, though that was rare. Wayward tenants often left of their own accord.

There was one tenant, a poor man with a wife and children, who laboured to be faithful. This man, our friend, did not seek to rule over others, for he was a humble man, but he longed that his service might be of the measure that would give his master delight, and he longed to be worthy to do greater deeds for his lord. He was very aware of the maxim, “He that is faithful in little will also be faithful in much.” With this proverb always before him, he, with his good wife beside him, strove to be faithful in all things, with a conscientious attention to detail. Over time, this man watched many others gain promotion, attain greater responsibility, and achieve great things for the master, while he himself remained, faithful, but stationary, tilling the same field morn and night, returning to the same little cottage for his rest and meals. He, like his overseer, had an urgency driven by the expectancy of his lord’s return and the opening of the books so carefully kept by the scribe, and he strove to be in every way pleasing.

After many years, the master sent a courier to announce his imminent return. He was due the day following, and all were to appear at the manor and present themselves in the great hall.
The set day arrived, and the tenants crowded about the manor, waiting to be let in. None had seen the long awaited master. Some murmured that he had not come. Others were confident he would keep his word and was now within the hall, shortly to command the opening of the doors. Some of the tenants were trembling and eager, others outwardly confident, but inwardly quailing, some were reasoning there was no cause to fear, others justifying their neglect, and some were openly cowering.

The great doors were opened, and the tenants were bidden to enter. The tenants now became three distinct groups. There were those who hung back, wanting to escape notice, willing to merely slink into the back of the hall. There were those who hesitated, fearing the calling of the accounts, hoping they had done well, done enough to gain approval, but apprehensive of the result; they thought only of themselves. But many surged forward, regardless of their accounts, wanting only to see the face of the beloved lord for whom they had laboured so long. Indeed, so long had his absence been that many had no recollection of him whatsoever, and all they knew of him was what they read of his instructions and heard from the overseer. They crowded into the great hall before him whom having not seen, they loved.

Among these was our poor tenant and his wife, and for some time they stood utterly unconscious of all proceedings, content only to drink in the sight of the master who was seated on the raised dais. They became aware, after some time, of the motion of the master’s hand, the scribe taking up a scroll to read all that was recorded therein. The master would then pronounce judgement on the tenant thus called to account. There was praise and blame, reward and punishment, and the couple watched in awe and with a painful, growing awareness of their own lack of accomplishments.

The overseer was given gentle words of reproof for his failings and strong praise for bearing his burden well, and the weary, soul-torn man, after labouring for many years under great difficulties and handicaps was given rest, and every touch of the master’s hand, and the depth of the light in his eye, his compassion, and his gentle smiles were noted and coveted by the poor tenant and his yearning wife. How they wished they had seen the way to great deeds!
The master gestured again, and another account was unfurled, the scroll read, and the tenant was graciously given his due. This happened many times before the master’s eye fell on our friend, and the man knew his time had come.

Instead of the royal beckoning of the hand, the master rose and walked to the pile of scrolls before the scribe, and putting forth his own hand, he took one to himself.

“To whom much is given, much is required,” he said gravely. “But he that is faithful in little will also be faithful in much.”

But I have been faithful in so many little things, the man wanted to cry. How could I have missed my Much? Where was it?

Instead of resuming his seat, the regal lord took a step down closer to the crowd before him. Instead of handing the scroll to be read by the scribe, he broke the seal himself. Then with a crackle of the paper that was echoed in the gasp of the beholding tenants, he shook the scroll out into the aisle of the great hall. And before our tenant’s wondering eyes, the scroll unfurled and rolled itself down the carpeted aisle.

And it rolled, and it rolled, and it rolled. And there, before the stunned gaze of the tenantry was a record of more little things than anyone had imagined possible.

“They are little things,” the Master acknowledged. His eyes met those of his shocked tenant as he pronounced his judgement. “But they are much.”

©2008 Kim Blight

My Autobiography

"Hey, Kim, what was that quote we were talking about the other day?" Samuel called to me from his conversation with a friend.

I balanced baby Ira and a cup of tea on the couch while trying to remember, "Uh... something like, 'Women that behave themselves never make history.'"

Sam's friend laughed. "I suppose it's true," he mused.

"Most of the women in the Bible were in exceptional circumstances," someone else pursued, "and some were exceptions in themselves; Mary for example, Esther, and so on."

Sam's friend smiled at me from his keen brown eyes, "You'll have to write an autobiography, some day."

Ira was trying to reach Nana's tea trolley in a manner that would soon send him flip-flopping over the arm of the couch, and my tea with it in the attempted rescue. I mentally wondered where 'four children and hoping for more' was going to allow time for an autobiography, let alone something worth putting in it.

"My biography is in my children."

And maybe that's the answer. Abraham Lincoln said he owed all that he was to his mother.

Why do we strive for recognition? Why would so many look at the above quote and say, "That isn't true, that isn't fair, that shouldn't be!"? There are people everywhere, wanting to make their lives count. But they are not willing to be hidden.

Hid with Christ in God. Christ Himself is hidden. Col 3:3 For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.

So then... is it beneath us to be hidden also?