Every advance that I have made spiritually was preceded by an opportunity to die to self. The power in my life comes from where I have died to self and now live unto Christ.
Do you want to advance spiritually? The gateway to resurrection power is crucifixion. God will arrange opportunities for you to die to self. You must discern them. Dying to self and its ambition is the means of reaching true spiritual fulfillment. If you react to the opportunity to die with fleshly anger or resentment, you will fail to reach fulfillment. However, if you can maintain your vision even while your ambition dies, you will succeed.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Ambition
This is from Francis FrangipaneIt is part of an article on ambition.
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Decline of Language
I was skimming through a book on Winston Churchill this morning, published in 1963. The chapter headings were colorful and inviting. So was the text. Juicy bits of memories, on trains, in lecture halls, this author accompanied the giant of Britian and wrote a journal of their experiences.
As I flipped through the pages I began to notice that this 40+ year old book was filled with rich, descriptive language. I didn't even know what some of the words meant! (Was I the only one whose father would never tell you what a word meant, but simply say "Look it up. You'll never forget it!)
I realized that most of what I read today is "lingo-lite", geared for an audience with a junior high reading level. Not to mention the ever increasing dimunintion of words, propgated, no doubt by the use of text messages.
How sad.
I am also in the middle of a translation of Interior Castles by St. Teresa of Avila. A typical paragraph of her writings (16th century Spain)consists of one sentence! And the general syntax would probably not impress a modern high school English teacher. However, ingesting all this inspired woman wrote is a delightful meal, where I linger at the table, taking small portions and savoring each morcel.
This is a challenge to today's writers. Be adventurous in your compositon! Be innovative in your verbiage. Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite, until your ideas could sail into future centuries captured in the language of kings and poets.
As I flipped through the pages I began to notice that this 40+ year old book was filled with rich, descriptive language. I didn't even know what some of the words meant! (Was I the only one whose father would never tell you what a word meant, but simply say "Look it up. You'll never forget it!)
I realized that most of what I read today is "lingo-lite", geared for an audience with a junior high reading level. Not to mention the ever increasing dimunintion of words, propgated, no doubt by the use of text messages.
How sad.
I am also in the middle of a translation of Interior Castles by St. Teresa of Avila. A typical paragraph of her writings (16th century Spain)consists of one sentence! And the general syntax would probably not impress a modern high school English teacher. However, ingesting all this inspired woman wrote is a delightful meal, where I linger at the table, taking small portions and savoring each morcel.
This is a challenge to today's writers. Be adventurous in your compositon! Be innovative in your verbiage. Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite, until your ideas could sail into future centuries captured in the language of kings and poets.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Original Serenity Prayer
A friend was in the store today, and told me about the original version of what is commonly known as The Serenity Prayer.
I've copied it here.
Full Original Serenity Prayer
by Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971)
God, give us grace to accept with serenity
the things that cannot be changed,
Courage to change the things
which should be changed,
and the Wisdom to distinguish
the one from the other.
Living one day at a time,
Enjoying one moment at a time,
Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,
Taking, as Jesus did,
This sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right,
If I surrender to Your will,
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with You forever in the next.
Amen.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
You Are Home - An Allegory of the Soul
He came into the lovely home that he had built with his own hands. He stood for a moment in the doorway, and sighed with deep pleasure at the welcome with which the house seemed to embrace him.
Some thought the place too ornate, too extravagant. But he, having unlimited resources, spared no expense in the richness of woods, polished metals, Persian rugs, Austrian crystal and even precious gems. This palace was his sanctuary. He surrounded himself with beauty that reflected the state of his soul.
He gently closed the door behind him, feeling himself relax at the thought of being alone.
He headed straight for the parlor to light a fresh fire. This was his habit, on cold evenings.
The carefully chopped kindling lay ready by the hearth. He bent over the wood pile, gathering up an armful of oak planks and placed them in the fireplace. With skill, he ignited the pile, and smiled as the golden fire light lit the room. The heat kissed his chilled hands and face.
He was content here. No intrusions, no distractions. The gentle ticking of the mantle clock and an occasional crackling of wood from the fire place were the songs the house sang to him.
“Wel-come, wel-come, wel-come”, ticked the old brass clock. And the fire would snap “You’re Home” and make him laugh.
The night was cold, and the sounds of the wind whipping across the roof and gables made the place creak. But like the clock and fire, the familiar sounds were music to him. There was nowhere else he would rather be. This famous man, friend to kings and presidents, was happiest here alone with his home.
As darkness tip toed about, he illuminated each room, some rooms with ancient oil lamps, some with pure bees wax candles. He treasured the old things, though he could easily afford the most modern conveniences. Instead, he surrounded himself with things that time and history had proven faithful. He was not as impressed with technology as he was with reliability.
Now he was ready for a meal. The kitchen was a merger of centuries. Old brick hearth, oak barrels, bone china, steel ovens. Each object had been carefully chosen, not only for its function, but for its beauty as well.
He opened the steel fronted refrigerator looking for the stew he’d made the day before.
Beside the stew pot sat a block of cheese and a ripe avocado. He took all of them out and laid them on the old wooden chopping block that sat in the center of the kitchen.
He put the stew on the stove, the avocado in the sink and the cheese sat alone on the chopping block. He whistled an old love song as he prepared his meal.
In an old maple hutch in the corner of the room sat a collection of bone china cups, plates and bowls. He gazed at them lovingly, choosing a blue Oriental pattern bowl and matching cup for his evening meal. As with everything in the house, one piece of china was from another era, and the very next piece was a modern work of art. Mixed in between was primitive pottery with all its fascinating imperfections. The only thing the collection had in common was he had chosen each piece himself.
Next he filled the copper kettle with water for tea. He would carry the pot of Irish tea to the parlor after dinner, where he would enjoy it throughout the evening as he read a favorite book.
****************************************************************************
Now consider this as you watch this man enjoying his lovely home: your soul is his house. All the lovely things inside are those truths, revelations, learnings that God has placed within you throughout your life. The most important thing about all of this is that there is nowhere else He would rather be than living inside of you.
Years ago there was a popular song called “From a Distance”. Bette Midler sang it. The melody was captivating, but its concept was tragic. The chorus went: God is watching us, God is watching us, from a distance.”
Just the opposite is true. He has found His favorite home, and it is you.
Some thought the place too ornate, too extravagant. But he, having unlimited resources, spared no expense in the richness of woods, polished metals, Persian rugs, Austrian crystal and even precious gems. This palace was his sanctuary. He surrounded himself with beauty that reflected the state of his soul.
He gently closed the door behind him, feeling himself relax at the thought of being alone.
He headed straight for the parlor to light a fresh fire. This was his habit, on cold evenings.
The carefully chopped kindling lay ready by the hearth. He bent over the wood pile, gathering up an armful of oak planks and placed them in the fireplace. With skill, he ignited the pile, and smiled as the golden fire light lit the room. The heat kissed his chilled hands and face.
He was content here. No intrusions, no distractions. The gentle ticking of the mantle clock and an occasional crackling of wood from the fire place were the songs the house sang to him.
“Wel-come, wel-come, wel-come”, ticked the old brass clock. And the fire would snap “You’re Home” and make him laugh.
The night was cold, and the sounds of the wind whipping across the roof and gables made the place creak. But like the clock and fire, the familiar sounds were music to him. There was nowhere else he would rather be. This famous man, friend to kings and presidents, was happiest here alone with his home.
As darkness tip toed about, he illuminated each room, some rooms with ancient oil lamps, some with pure bees wax candles. He treasured the old things, though he could easily afford the most modern conveniences. Instead, he surrounded himself with things that time and history had proven faithful. He was not as impressed with technology as he was with reliability.
Now he was ready for a meal. The kitchen was a merger of centuries. Old brick hearth, oak barrels, bone china, steel ovens. Each object had been carefully chosen, not only for its function, but for its beauty as well.
He opened the steel fronted refrigerator looking for the stew he’d made the day before.
Beside the stew pot sat a block of cheese and a ripe avocado. He took all of them out and laid them on the old wooden chopping block that sat in the center of the kitchen.
He put the stew on the stove, the avocado in the sink and the cheese sat alone on the chopping block. He whistled an old love song as he prepared his meal.
In an old maple hutch in the corner of the room sat a collection of bone china cups, plates and bowls. He gazed at them lovingly, choosing a blue Oriental pattern bowl and matching cup for his evening meal. As with everything in the house, one piece of china was from another era, and the very next piece was a modern work of art. Mixed in between was primitive pottery with all its fascinating imperfections. The only thing the collection had in common was he had chosen each piece himself.
Next he filled the copper kettle with water for tea. He would carry the pot of Irish tea to the parlor after dinner, where he would enjoy it throughout the evening as he read a favorite book.
****************************************************************************
Now consider this as you watch this man enjoying his lovely home: your soul is his house. All the lovely things inside are those truths, revelations, learnings that God has placed within you throughout your life. The most important thing about all of this is that there is nowhere else He would rather be than living inside of you.
Years ago there was a popular song called “From a Distance”. Bette Midler sang it. The melody was captivating, but its concept was tragic. The chorus went: God is watching us, God is watching us, from a distance.”
Just the opposite is true. He has found His favorite home, and it is you.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Union
I'm recommending a book. One that should come with a warning. Unless you want a holy invasion that will interrupt your agenda, perhaps even disable you from normal activity, and draw you like a love crazed fool into the arms of God - if you don't want all this, and even more, then I suggest you don't read it.
The book is "The Ecstacy of Loving God" by John Crowder (Destiny Image 2008) If you want the typical book synopsis click here It all seems tame on paper.
It was this one part in the book that did me in. It's about divine union. For many years I've studied the mystics, saints of old who experienced unspeakable delights in the presence of God. I had sort of resigned myself to the fact that the final goal of a spiritual union with God(which according to the mystics was possible here on earth)was probably beyond what I would ever achieve. I guess I looked it as an ascent higher than my weak heart would attain.
But this author not only suggests it's possible, he goes beyond it to "ecstacy".
Ever since I read this book, I have been drifting in and out (best way I can describe it) of the Lord's delightful presence. I feel a little tipsy.
Not sure what's ahead.
Oh, FYI, the author, John Crowder will be in the Tolland area this weekend. I don't know about him so much as I do that God is more real to me as I type this than I have ever experienced before...I pray as you read this He touches you.To order Ecstacy online click here
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
One Beautiful Boy
If you have seen the father, you have seen the son. No, I'm not being blasphemous, I'm describing my beautiful blue eyed, blond grandson. He's quiet like his daddy, and loves with such a big heart like his daddy too. He has an amazing vocabulary for a 2 1/2 year old male, and a second child at that. He has this wonderful way of speaking up for himself - not pushy, just putting himself out there enough to get his share. I love it.
He's non-stop movement, really not too crazy about shoes, or clothes in general. I have a mark on my wall where I measured his height this summer. It's pretty short, but when I look at it, I imagine him full grown coming to grammy's house and pointing to it saying, "Hard to believe I was once that small!" And I'll just smile and tell him all the wonderful things he said and did Christmas of 2008.
He's non-stop movement, really not too crazy about shoes, or clothes in general. I have a mark on my wall where I measured his height this summer. It's pretty short, but when I look at it, I imagine him full grown coming to grammy's house and pointing to it saying, "Hard to believe I was once that small!" And I'll just smile and tell him all the wonderful things he said and did Christmas of 2008.
A Mother's Answered Prayer
Mothers pray from the first day they hold their baby daughters that they will marry a good man. The one my daughter married is so far beyond what I ever dreamed. This man loves his wife and children so deeply, I am inspired to love more just watching him. This quiet gentle man changes diapers, folds laundry, plays many instruments, goes to work, goes to school, runs marathons and climbs mountains. And, no he isn't superman, but almost!
But in spite of all his accomplishments, it's the way he loves that has won my heart. He's real clear about it. Family first. Every mother's greatest prayer for her daughter.
Oh, and did I mention, he's a Yankee fan?
But in spite of all his accomplishments, it's the way he loves that has won my heart. He's real clear about it. Family first. Every mother's greatest prayer for her daughter.
Oh, and did I mention, he's a Yankee fan?
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