It is bad enough to watch a dog vomit though by vomiting it may well expel that which ails it. Then it is a pleasant experience to behold a healthy creature. But bad is bad when one witnesses the return of a dog to its vomit only to lick it up again. I do not know of many more disgusting spectacles to witness in all of existence.
Up from the pits of Hell
Come the vilest of the vile;
These are the has-beens of yester-year,
Full of venom and guile.
These have known the truth of God;
They have known His love and power,
His mercy to loveless men;
His goodness has made them sour.
Why do angels fall?
Why do just men call
On gods who have nothing to give?
Why do fools choose death
In order that they may live?
Now here is a marvelous thing
That would make any devil sing:
It is easier to find
The seeing man crying to be blind
Than it is the blind to see.
Lethbridge, Alta., June 1985
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The Desert
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 ...
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 ...
Help
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...
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...
Humility
In my striving to be conscious of God and to hear His voice and walk with Him, I slowly learned that I do not get the Lord to speak simply by striving to listen. Nor is He always speaking and I hear or get to hear bits and pieces only as I succeed in efforts to “tune in” like a ham operator trying to pick up a frequency. No, the Lord speaks when it pleases Him, and when He speaks, He is fully capable of making Himself heard with or without any help or hindrance from us. Until we are humbled and repent of our arrogance, we will neither understand nor rest. Standing atop a mountain peak, I could not hear a sound. In vain I strained my ears to hear But nothing came except a tear Because I could not hear. Cold it grew and I withdrew To lower levels not by choice, And there I felt more comforted But silence remained the only voice And still I could not hear. “Am I dead?” in pain I asked myself, “Is there something wrong with me? I should think that on these wondrous heights Is where hearing and seeing ought to be.” And down I came again. Lower and lower and lower still, Not even ground level was to be my fill, But lower and lower and lower ’til The darkness smothered me out of sight And my only friends were sorrow and fright. But I was not alone. For in the nether of darkness and tether, Down where I had made my bed, And where I resigned to live and sleep, I heard the Voice instead: “Come up!” It said, “and into th...
In my striving to be conscious of God and to hear His voice and walk with Him, I slowly learned that I do not get the Lord to speak simply by striving to listen. Nor is He always speaking and I hear or get to hear bits and pieces only as I succeed in efforts to “tune in” like a ham operator trying to pick up a frequency. No, the Lord speaks when it pleases Him, and when He speaks, He is fully capable of making Himself heard with or without any help or hindrance from us. Until we are humbled and repent of our arrogance, we will neither understand nor rest. Standing atop a mountain peak, I could not hear a sound. In vain I strained my ears to hear But nothing came except a tear Because I could not hear. Cold it grew and I withdrew To lower levels not by choice, And there I felt more comforted But silence remained the only voice And still I could not hear. “Am I dead?” in pain I asked myself, “Is there something wrong with me? I should think that on these wondrous heights Is where hearing and seeing ought to be.” And down I came again. Lower and lower and lower still, Not even ground level was to be my fill, But lower and lower and lower ’til The darkness smothered me out of sight And my only friends were sorrow and fright. But I was not alone. For in the nether of darkness and tether, Down where I had made my bed, And where I resigned to live and sleep, I heard the Voice instead: “Come up!” It said, “and into th...