When you are given to see the incarnation of bitterness concentrated in your direction, I doubt that there can be a more hideous spectacle, especially when residing in one whom you have known intimately for decades and who is supposed to have the opposite, love, toward you. This comes by revelation but also by outer manifestation in the end for, all things must come to light and be dealt with, and are in the “last days.” Only understanding of God can give one the encouragement to forgive, and faith to persevere.
But bitterness is the lot of every believer and everyone must come to terms with it once and for all in the end. This is the “wicked one being revealed” and dealt the death blow. While it is the worst time of all, yet there is cause for those who believe to lift up their heads because redemption is near at hand. The manifestation of that mysterious man of bitterness is a token of the Lord present for it is in His coming that the son of perdition is exposed and destroyed. But destroyed how? By being redeemed, transformed, resurrected, reconciled to God through the Son of God. It is a great and terrible event.
Bitterness cries, “You owe me!”
And she will not rest until
She gets what she wants.
She’ll not be persuaded otherwise
Nor will a substitute do.
“I disagree with You!” she cries to God.
“Either You don’t know what You’re doing
Or, You cannot do what’s right.
So I have to do it!
I have to take control of things;
I have to protect myself
And get what I want.
Nobody else can be trusted to do it for me.
But I know I can’t,
Yet I have to try
And try and try until
You will finally see it my way.
I am wise in my own eyes.”
Bitterness is stubborn;
She shuts her eyes and stops her ears.
She sees what she wants to see;
She tells herself what she wants to hear,
Yet is deceived in believing
That which is not true.
Her heart worships her ambition and desire
Perceived incarnated in this world’s promise.
Nothing can persuade her otherwise.
And the Lord comes
And grants her all her desire
And more than she asks.
He opens her eyes to see
And she closes them, seeing.
Brokenness cries, “I owe you!”
And cannot rest until
The debt is settled once for all.
He opens her eyes to see
And she rests, pacified.
Content is her new name.
Moon River Estates, Jan. 11 and
Read The Bane
This was written at a time when we lived in a literal desert in Israel and I could feel all the things expressed, within my soul, because we were also in a desert in our spiritual lives, a desert through which all pilgrims on the journey to the city of God must pass. This writing was also prophetic of events that would shortly come to pass as we spoke the Word of God to Paul, whom the Lord had given us to be our friend. As a matter of coincidental fact, the day of this introductory writing (Oct. 9) is, I believe, the very anniversary almost to the hour, of Paul forsaking his wife in obedience to the Lord, to walk in the Way of Life. The desert is dry and parched, and I am hot and thirsty; We two have been matched as partners in this stretch of our history. The sun’s scorching face is forceful enough; from it I can find no escape, No shade, no water, no nightfall to comfort my soul in its wearisome journey. Miles and miles of burning sand, I scarcely know where it began… It started with greenery, then greenery and sand, and now it is sand upon sand. Yet after some miles I’ve trodden and feel I can go no farther, A trickle of water comes out of a rock, destined for that very hour. With leanness of soul and hungering for life, not a soul for months have I seen, And all my possessions have slowly been lost, ’til much lighter my journey has been. It’s strange how the harder the trials, the sweeter the life becomes; The easier the life filled with comforts, the more ...
We are all in need of help. But is it the noun or the verb we need? Woe is me! How can this be? Where is that help I have sought? Nothing but wretched know-it-alls Come to disturb my thought - and my peace. Peace? What peace? What am I saying? Who am I trying to kid? If this is peace then give me war And I shall rest and sleep and snore. Time passed on and matters grew worse. I soon lost all that I had. My friends had gone their merry old ways, My family too was gone. My business failed, uncertainty prevailed; I slowly began to wrestle with myself For a change. What's this? A knock? A tiny knock? I haven't had a knock since that beggar came by! I wonder who it might be? Eh? A whimper? A sniffing? A sobbing? More trouble! Add fuel to the fire! Is there no rest for the wicked?! I opened the door and there stood a boy, One hand over his eyes and one on his knee, From where trickled blood to my doorstep! Sir! the lad cried with tear-stained face, I stumbled and fell just in front of your place. I have nobody to help me. Are you a doctor or someone to bind my wound? Angered at first at the gory mess, I nearly chased him away. But though I knew I was only a laborer, He had flattered me with his question. Fancy me a doctor!? “Lad, you have saved your knee,” I thought. “Oh, very well, come in, come in. We'll see what to do with your wound.” I bound up his leg and sent him away, Not...
Living with loose ends that seem perpetual is one of the difficult facts of life, especially if those ends were not expected to be loose and most of all if those loose ends had at first appeared to have the promise of completion upon which we set our hopes. As we press on toward the mark we gradually begin to learn that those things we counted important, achievable and our destiny were really only elements of a process. With the process complete in any of its stages, we discover firstly a change in ourselves and then the elements we once considered so important are cancelled with our ready consent. The destination is not without but within. When once the work is done within, those outward things we sought fade away, no longer perceived as desirable or important. How many times have I thought I arrived only to discover I was just beginning! That which was is no longer relevant, as a fading flower that falls to the ground. One must come to the sobering truth that all we do is vanity. The greatest works of men upon earth are entirely vain. What's more, as much can be accomplished and\or learned in the most mundane and simple things and activities of our existence as in what we perceive to be higher and more noble works. Who has the measure? The issue is not one of what we do or how well we do it but one of motive and attitude. There is the key of deliverance from Periphery. Periphery, Periphery, Your victims going round, Seeing, smelling, Even tou...