THE TOWER has NO Foxhole!

October 10, 2012

“A tower of strength [is] the name of Jehovah, into it the righteous runneth, and is set on high.” (Proverbs 18:10 YLB)

      I chose to use Young’s Literal Version because of the phrase, “…and is set on high.”  Most bible versions use, “…and is safe.”  We are certainly safe and saved in our LORD’S *name yet the connotation ‘SAFE’ brings forth the mental image of a foxhole to some. 

     The LORD’S name is a high tower and while it provides the immense protection of a fortress it also advances and reveals a greater strategic value.  His name elevates us above our adversaries into the realm of OVER-coming power and authority. 

     To resist the enemy we must first *draw near to God.  However, nearness to God must never appear to devolve into defensive poses or passive postures.  Closeness with and IN our Father always confirms and/or manifests the utter defeat that our enemy already suffered at the hands of the LORD JESUS CHRIST, our Commander and Chief.   

     RISE Up!  (*Acts 4:12; James 4:7; Ps. 73:22; 2 Cor. 2:14; Col. 2:15)

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PRAYER: Father, thank You for bringing salvation to all who believe through the name of your Son, Jesus.  Thank You for setting His name as a TOWER in our hearts.  Remind us today that You raise us UP into Your own strategic victories when You rescue us.  Deliver us from foxhole, “Oh-pass-me-by” Lullabies.  Strengthen us into each new day, for the sake of The LAMB and for His saints.  Amen.

The NOTICE of God!

“Give unto the LORD the glory due unto His name: bring an offering, and come before Him: worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness.” (1 Chron. 16:29)

I saw some red flowers once while prayer walking on a residential street. I was the guest speaker that Sunday morning and was taking some time to quiet my spirit. Those red flowers screamed their crimson from the borders around the residence. I stared at that extraordinary red in those blooms until I noticed my reflection in one of the windows. It dawned on me that it might be unsettling to look out and see a stranger staring at your home.

I walked on and as I did the Spirit of the Lord spoke in my spirit, “you brought those flowers into their destiny.” “Really?” I asked in amazement. “You noticed them, took in their splendor and gave me the honor of gratitude for the experience of their beauty. That is why I made them.”

Since then I’ve realized that if God can do that with a flower, what might He do with a life that is consecrated to Him? NOTICE Up!

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PRAYER: Oh Father, thank You for all the beauty You created and prepared for our lives even before You created us to enjoy it. Such an awesome reminder of Your own beauty. Forgive us for making holiness about what clothes we put on or the style of haircut we require or anything of our own standard. Restore us to the Holiness that You gave to us in Your Son's complete obedience, and radiate His beauty through our own lives that men might have more opportunities to see You again. Amen.

COMPETITION STOPPED by a Tree!

COMPETITION Stopped by a Tree!

“And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.” (Psalm 1:3)

There is obviously room for more than one tree when the supply for growth includes ‘rivers of water’. The character of a tree includes diverse roots and branches. I mean diverse in the sense of size and length and their position in the tree. None of the roots compete against each other for water or nutrients in the soil. It is the same with the branches in their quest for the sun and air. The individual tree grows through the provision supplied in the place it is planted.

Since, in the LORD, our planting includes rivers of water there is also no need for competition between disciples who are the *trees of righteousness. The only way a believer could succumb to competition in the Spiritual walk is to NOT walk in the Spirit but to be deluded into walking in the old poison *tree. Delight in the LORD and our planting is lavish with provisions and our growth is an expression of God’s glorious design. RIVER Up! (*Isa. 61:3; Gen. 2:17)
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PRAYER: Father, thank You for planting us in Your Kingdom. Thank You for gardening the roots of our faith and bringing forth the fruit of Your character. Forgive us when we default to old nature poison patterns of competition driven by fear and pride. Help our hearts to break out of the soil patterns of human limits and breathe again the Son lit air of Your heavens. Amen.

Heat Waves

I'm reminded of CORE values when I experience motorcycle riding in temperatures at or above 95 degrees.

Most people realize without thinking that the real FUN times during summer heat waves are those times we get close to water. What we may not think about is how access to water, both swimming and drinking, keeps the CORE temperature of our bodies from over heating and causing serious health dangers. People die every year from heat stroke.

When I'm riding in heat the first thing I pay more attention to is what I'm drinking and make sure I drink more quantity. Soon, however, that is not enough. For the simple reason that 70 mph in 95+ degrees is like putting your body in a blast furnace. If there are no clouds, the road heat continues to intensify until one is riding on top of a skillet and inside a furnace. See what I mean? Oh, how shade is a blessing from God!

Most of the time, I simply design my travel to be in hours of the day that are under the 95 degree mark. When a trip requires that I spend more time in a high level of heat, I stop and put on a "wet-vest". I can soak it quickly in water and it acts as an evaporative cooler on my chest and back, keeping my core from overheating. It is quite effective and makes the ride extremely more pleasant.

However, the level of heat effects how quickly the vest dries out. I've had it work for over an hour and a half, and I've had it stop working and turn into thermal underwear in less than half an hour. Gotta pay attention to your CORE values.

If I extrapolate this into the Spiritual I recognize that we cannot depend upon the "letter" of a set of principles to guard our CORE values, (guard our Hearts). We need to pay attention to, however NOT focus upon, the level of 'evil' of any given day. Remember Jesus saying, "...each day has enough evil of its own...." (Matt. 6:34)

Personal devotions need to possess this same level of attention. They are fine as a discipline set at a particular time of day, but drawing upon the essence of fellowship with God is not necessarily finished just because we did our daily devotions.

If I ride in heat that dries out my wet-vest and refuse to stop and re-soak it in water, I've chosen to take my core into even greater heat due to the vest becoming excess clothing. If we try and force 'snack-size' devotions into a living relationship with God, we only increase our dependence upon flesh and become more of what we were trying to overcome.

Hey, ride safe, pay attention, and I hope to see you, UP the road. Leo

A DIFFERENT COLD MEMORY

No ice skating rink with pros's and wannabes stuffed in the corner of a shopping mall. No, it was a real live POND. Central Iowa in the winter time has many places one could slide across ice on blades. I did it as a child but the adventures were not limited to the ice.

From where I lived in a newly established mobile home park. Notably different than a trailer park, mind you. In those days (early 50's) trailers were the cutting edge alternative homes. That was before the term "trailer trash" came to be. Anyway, from our home I walked about a half mile before the first adventure and then another mile or so to the second one. It was a mile or so beyond that to the Skating Pond.

Adventure one: It was about 2 acres of partially fenced junk yard with a house, of sorts, in the middle. I knew that it was partially fenced because of the quadruped leakage. I was 7 or 8 years old when I first learned about "meaner than a junk yard dog". About a gazillion angry, barking, slathering, demon-possessed, part wolf dogs came running at me like a hairy freight train. I was frozen in place and about to be transformed into kibbles and bits, when fear turned into desperation and I began to swing my ice skates around in an arch. I held the blade of one and the other swung out about 3 feet creating a 6' circle of silver dog death. I learned that day that dogs don't like the sound of "swishing" things. All the dogs screeched to a halt just out of reach of the screaming blade.

I pulled the roots of my fearful feet up and began to walk on. I was careful to keep the 6' arch around me, hoping that the shoe strings would not come un-tied. A couple hundred yards later I remembered to start breathing again. I was tired from fear and survival exertion, but had to keep going to the Pond cuz I didn't want to do the dogs again.

Adventure two: In a desire to save energy to skate, I decided to cut through the cemetery. A beautifully landscaped and rolling hill area. Nice enough to be dead in. Along the way my mind began to think in black & white horror movies. I could see the grass on graves start to mound up and knew bony hands wanted to break the surface. I picked up the pace and decreased my breathing again. Why do we stop breathing when fear assails? That cemetery went on for about 200 miles.

By the time I got to the POND, I was a couple years older and wondered of the purpose of my trip. Out of near duty, I laced up my skates. I got on the ice with a sigh and thoughts pounding me about the trek home. Within 20' of gliding on that ice, the previous adventures were swallowed up in the joy and freedom of movement.

Energy owned only by those in decade one flowed through my limbs and when I went home I was walking with a spring in my step. The dead were all sleeping and the dogs must have been too, because no one assailed me on my return trip. Other adventures, on and off the ice, were experienced, but the thrill of the movement still fills the lanes of my memory.

THE BIRTHING of DAYS

Over five years this time. It has been that long before. The first time was twenty three years. Nearly a quarter of a century before I touched the celebration with any depth from within my own life and love. Oh, I celebrated before but I usually tracked along with generic trappings standard in my culture, so I'm not sure I celebrated or just merged with other's ideas and called it happy.

It was a third year when it happened. My wife survived as He promised, and he was born. We gave him a name together, as best we could, only to find out later that much more than we imagined was involved in his naming. I told her family only when I knew she was OK. No one seemed to notice we'd been at the hospital over two days.

When we took him home, I could hold him in one hand. I did after he could balance his neck a little better. I'd hold his little rump in the palm of my hand, and he was about as tall as a football with appendages. We use to have a picture.

I was home and lucid for the moment he discovered his hand. It was nearly an accident, but I saw the moment. I thought of calling her, but I hesitated because I felt how delicate the moment was. When it continued, I called gently. She saw it too, I think. He looked at each finger, and focused upon one, drew it toward his mouth and touched his forehead instead. Drew his hand back, scrunched his face, drew his hand toward his mouth, MORE forehead..... a second or two and the moment ended. But not for me.

Years, decades have passed. Long he's been living his own life. This year we were able to intersect and celebrate together. We understand WHO brought us together and granted us love. We know WHO is celebrated. And we appreciate how much more precious it is when we can do so together.

Thank You, GOD, for our family.

CAN YOU SMELL IT?

A quote from Oswald Chambers caught my heart's attention recently. Here it is: "The call of God is like the call of the sea - No one hears it except the person who has the nature of the sea in him." It caught my inner attention and then I realized something. I get it. I really get that.

Once as a very young boy I was in the car with my family as we drove from Iowa to Oregon for a holiday. I remember being able to sleep in one of the back seat floor boards, resting my head on the bump. That's pretty young, right?

I remember we were stopped somewhere and my mom saying, "hush", putting her fingers to her mouth and casting her eyes into the sky. "Do you smell it?" she asked. Young noses lifted and sniffed, searching the air for chocolate and cotton candy, or anything sweet and edible. "Do you smell it?" she asked again. "Smell what?" came a small chorus of grubby, hungry faces. "I can smell the sea", she beamed with joy.

I didn't know much about travel, or the sea but I was aware that there wasn't any sea around. We were in Kansas or Wyoming and a LONG way from the sea. My dad said, "boys, your momma can smell the changes of salt in the air and if a wind carries any of the sea in it, your momma can smell it. She was born by the sea."

Oh, wow, my momma was born by the sea!! "what's the sea, daddy?" "I'll show you, son, when we get there." That's a story for another time, but the thing is, I started to smell it too. Turns out I was born by the sea like my momma. Different coast, but I still got salt water in my lungs.

I heard the sea when I was 12 and again when I was 22. Both times it wasn't the sea, it was the call of God. I think Oswald knew something when he said what he did about the call of God. Do you smell it? It's ever so slight comin' in on a gentle breeze.