There is a place for each of us. There is a path laid out that we can call “our own”. Rarely is it easily discerned. The fog of future covers it. It’s a bit frightening to look out into that fog; but that’s where we belong—that path which feet will tramp and things yet to be discovered lie.
There it is! And here God demands my faith. Either I am in His hands or I am not. Which will I believe? He promises to fulfill the purpose that He has for us. Tender hand of His, will not be feared by me.
Step off the cliff into that great unknown, for therein hope lies. And hope is such a sweet taste to the soul. Adventure waits, and trouble, and joy and heartache both . . . but that is life!
Artwork: Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog by Friedrich
All creation is constantly speaking about God. It's actually groaning in wait for His return. What love this is! That even creation longs to be reconciled to God is proof of His furious love.
We hear no words. We hear no voice. Yet creation’s voice sings out through days and nights a lovely song of glory, a song of praise to the One who made all things. The song never ends. Crickets sing it, whales sing it, and even the trees sway to its sound. The voice of creation is everywhere. Its hidden voice rises up to the heavens where God’s heart is filled with its praises. And He laughs with the joy of it, the sound of it!
God loves to sing. He loves to laugh. He is a more joyful being than all men put together. And creation echoes his joy in waterfalls shouting and vivid colors springing from the earth. He is a most winsome God and His creation loves Him. Artwork: Rainbow Pond © 2008 Kent Wallishttp://www.txartgallery.com/wallis.htm
Amazed! I'm ever amazed at the depth of legalism buried in the heart of the church. It is not Christ’s heart, to be sure. “Sin!” they cry. “Do not taste this, do not touch that!” What fol-de-rah! What nonsense. The religious spirit has become their close companion. And they so love to entangle others in its grasp.
But I am free, and shall remain so. Yet the religious spirit tramps on, ever spitting out its accusations and instilling false fear into the hearts of man. It so hates to see dissenters to its view.
But do not come again under the yoke of slavery. Once Christ has set you free—stay free! Resist all temptation to crumble beneath the stern gaze of the legalists. They would yet chain you if they could . . . and then your heart would wither. But they would say, “There, our job is done, and you are so much more pleasing to God this way.”Artwork: Hope In the Prison of Despair by Morgan
There is a place for each of us. There is a path laid out that we can call “our own”. Rarely is it easily discerned. The fog of future covers it. It’s a bit frightening to look out into that fog; but that’s where we belong—that path which feet will tramp and things yet to be discovered lie.
