"A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in a setting of silver." Proverbs 25:11
Gold was the metal of royalty during the days of King Solomon in 950 BC. Even 3000 years later gold has held its costly value. Two of the contributing factors to this are its beauty and rarity. Like gold, our words have the potential to cover others in loveliness. In our fast paced, me-centered culture it's sometimes difficult to slow down and think before we speak. A fitly spoken word is a rare word in the modern world. A fitly spoken word is a rare word at the grocery store checkout. A fitly spoken word is a rare word at home. A fitly spoken word is a rare word on the soccer field. A fitly spoken word is a rare word in a restaurant. A fitly spoken word is a rare word on the internet. Not only what we say but when we say it determines a word's weight and worth. Let's speak slowly and wisely today.
0 Comments
Today is just one of those days.
Usually that phrase has a negative connotation. You read it accompanied with a sigh, knowing whatever follows is going to be a downer. Not today! Today is just one of those days I am thankful. Even better, I feel thankful. My heart is full of affection. It feels like that day in elementary school when Spring was just beginning to peak out its head from the corner of Winter. Your teacher opened the windows halfway to let fresh air in-- and you were hooked. Spring gently blew the ends of your hair and swirled its fresh cut grass aroma in from the lower yard. The whole classroom came alive. Sunlight was creeping along the floor toward your desk. No longer paying attention to the math speed drills, you slipped one shoe off to let your foot dance around warm and bare in the sunlight. Lungs filled up bigger than they had all day with the heady breeze of the outdoors. You felt alive. And in that moment, you were thankful with every part of your being. Today is just one of those days, and I am thankful for life. It is hard and messy and unknown and devastating and exciting and beautiful. Life is rich. If nothing else it has provided and continues to provide a treasure trove of delights, hardships, and frustrations producing deeper trust in my God. Getting to know him and trust him is the most difficult adventure I've yet embarked on. I am grateful for this imperfect life. Without it I would not be afforded the opportunity to see the faithfulness of God this side of eternity. And his faithfulness is the most glorious thing to behold. This earth is bursting with the rhythms of his promise keeping nature. As Spring begins to creep into my apartment today I am witness to the steadfastness of our God. He is good. He does only good. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life. 1 John 5:12 The quiet land laid desolate. Cursed by the curse of righteousness unknown, ancient Israel's hope suffocated under the draping of imperial robes. Their ears were filled with Heaven's silence of four hundred vacant years. That's ten generations of straining and waiting. Just one word or maybe two of the promised king would suffice, but the most they got was nothing. The land was filled with empty scrolls and silent prophets.Still they waited, salvation their only hope.
Subtly stalking in the shadowy souls of men lurked an oppression more deadly than Rome. The poisonous lullaby of an age old Enemy gently laced their hearts with dark deep slumber. The quiet earth was lulled fast asleep. An unsung birth broke under crudely hewn gables. By the notice of stars and angels Righteousness emerged from eternity to spend his first night in a manger. The voice of Heaven finally spoke into the deafening silence! The curse was lifted; Righteousness arrived to be known! But despite the waiting, only few were listening. Unknown birth, how could this be? Not our king, no, not he! Sleep blinded eyes but whitewashed over, they heralded the Christ with scoff, scorn and hatred. How could this be the promised One? Adorned with crown thorns and nailed to a tree Jesus faced the Father's just wrath over mankind's sin and satisfied it for all eternity. Fifty generations later and little has changed. No real righteousness, none good not one. The same wicked lullaby coats our hearts with sleepy pride and calloused good works. Who needs a savior? I'm good enough! We refuse to accept we do not suffice, for if that's the case we lose our autonomy. I long to be God; I covet his control. Alas, through stubborn trial by error I've proven over and again I make the worst idol. Wake up, sleepy earth! Shake off your slumber! Or rather. Holy Spirit, do for us what we cannot do for ourselves. Unstop our ears. Soften our hearts. Show us the Christ. Speak loudly and gently, whisper shouts of truth until we cannot but hear. Rejoice and recognize. Emmanuel has come; God is among us. He is coming once more. This time let's be watching and waiting. I scrawled this on a scrap of paper in an airplane on the way home to Vienna last month...
To some he is Jesus. To others Yesu. To some 耶稣. To one group his name is never heard, only signed as their finger touches palm in reference to his nail beaten hands. Although the name of Christ has never vibrated past their eardrums, to the deaf this name above all names is no less powerful, no less awe invoking because it is unheard. It was my privilege to spend last night worshiping with the deaf church of Gran Canaria, Spain. Delightfully genuine hugs and embarassingly passionate smiles were lavished on us as soon as we stepped through the door. To most we would have been considered strangers, to them.. priceless family. The night began with a song of praise to our most Beloved. I witnessed my first 'unsung' song led by the Pastor's beautiful wife who was also deaf. Never before have I seen such passion radiate from a worshiper. The whole room was heavy with an inexplicable joy so thick you could almost reach out and grab it amidst off beat claps and expressive stomping dance. Jesus was in that place last night. I could feel his ravishing pleasure smiling over his most lovely poetry. Hours later. We completed our simple dramas and painting, exchanged everlasting goodbye embraces, and floated out of the tiny building into the crisp, late night island air. Although the plan had been to encourage this little church family, I left more humbled, challenged, and excited than by anything I've yet seen in Europe. My little, dark human heart never ceases to expand and burst with the light of worship as time and time again I see the amazing grace of Christ evidenced in the weakness of those he existed to die for. His name will be glorified for all of time in every language and culture, even in those never heard or spoken. His name cannot help but transcend every difficulty, weakness, and pain this world can ever boast to hand out. Now, I sit in a plane flying along the coast of Africa on to my next adventure. The night is black darkness broken up by fog wisps rolling through its exhaustive expanse. As my tired eyes look out the window next to me, a brilliantly huge and glowing full moon shines down on the vast coast. Tiny pinpoints of city light valiantly throw their glow upwards seemingly unaware of just how feeble their light is compared to the shining ornament so masterfully hung in the sky above them. For these few moments time stands still, and it is only me, the night sky, and our God. As I get lost in the silvery moon brilliance I am reminded of the expansive love of the Creator for his tiny creation. He has placed reminders all around us and it is through these love letters I am inspired to join with all creation and express (whether heard or not) my adoration of the One who first adored me. snow. snow. snow. snow. icicles. frost. snow. snow. frost. snow. icicles. snow.
I am watching snow furiously dance outside the frosted windows of an ancient guesthouse in the foothills of the Austrian alps. It's been snowing for six days now with drifts piled high as my chin. This week has been both grueling and exhilarating. Plainly realistic and yet strangely dreamlike. Four times a year, we the VCC staff, travel up to our church's guesthouse to cook for, clean, and serve a 150 European pastors while they participate in week-long classes advancing them toward Bible degrees. This week was one of them. Never-ending-dishes-three-times-a-day and blister-flaming-meat-chopping, paired nicely with seven girls on mattresses shoved in an old seminar room for a week should spell a recipe for nasty memories and cranky exhaustion. However, as the week dragged on I began to notice less and less my blisters and sleepy eyes and notice more and more how much beauty and possibility surrounded me on every side. It is interesting how when you remove your focus from yourself, if even for a moment, perspectives instantly change and widen. It's as if winter windows shut against the bitter cold are suddenly opened to feel brand new colors and cool, shadowy grass in the most unexpected of places. Last night, after finishing responsibilities, I ventured next door and quietly stole a place in the back of the pastors' meeting hall. They happened to be right at the end of their evening service, finishing up with song. A balding, middle age pastor from Azerbaijan with smiling eyes who reminded me of my dad stood at the front with guitar in hand leading songs in English and Russian. At one point he dropped his pick, at another forgot some words, but oh how in those moments surrounded by people of different cultures, languages, and backgrounds my soul came alive! It is nothing short of exhilarating to be a part of something intrinsically much bigger than myself. What comfort to know my faith is skillfully woven into the fabric of every culture of this Earth, seamlessly bringing us together against all odds as one. Jesus was in the room that night. As we sang a simple, wordless tune to finish off the evening, my heart beat fast and tears jumped into my eyes because for an instant I saw the Church, the Bride of Christ as God sees her. Imperfectly perfect, awe-inspiringly unified, delightful in every way. I saw a reflection of God’s glory on a snow covered mountain in an old guesthouse in Austria surrounded by people the world tells me I shouldn’t naturally connect with and love. This is a Christ love. In no one else to be found the world over. Serbia. Czech. Ukraine. Poland. Norway. Sweden. Portugal. Azerbaijan. Austria. Russia. Germany. Bulgaria. America. All represented. All One. The night closed with old wooden sleds piled high with new found friends from around the world flying down hills of powdery snow under a blanket of singing stars and dancing snow flakes. Hallelujah! Praise God from heaven, praise him from the mountaintops… Fire and hail, snow and ice, hurricanes obeying his orders; Mountains and all hills… Earth's kings and all races, leaders and important people, Robust men and women in their prime, and yes, graybeards and little children. Let them praise the name of God-- it's the only Name worth praising. His radiance exceeds anything in earth and sky; he's built a monument—his very own people! Praise from all who love God! Israel's children, intimate friends of God. Hallelujah! Psalm 148. |
welcome Audrey DeFord is an artist, illustrator, wife, momma, believer. But not in that order. She currently resides in Texas with her husband Sam, baby girl Flora, French bully Shortstack, & 12
chickens. Categories
All
Archives
January 2016
|