Dive Deeper Into God's Love

 

Dive Deeper Into God’s Love

Dive Deeper Into God's Love - Audio/Visual 

And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God. (Eph. 3:18-19)

Francisco “Pipin” Ferreras wants to go deep. You and I are probably content with 10 or 20 feet of water. Certain risk-takers may descend 40, maybe 50 feet. But not Pipin. This legendary Cuban diver has descended into 561 feet of ocean water, armed with nothing but flippers, a wet suit, a strong resolve, and one breath of air. His round trip lasted three minutes and twelve seconds. To prepare for such a dive, he loads his lungs with 8.2 liters of air – nearly twice the capacity of a normal human being – inhaling and exhaling for several minutes, his windpipe sounding like a bicycle pump. He then wraps his knees around the crossbar of an aluminum sled that lowers him to the sea bottom. No free diver has gone farther. But still, he wants more. Though he's acquainted with water pressures that tested World War II submarines, it's not enough. The mystery of the deep calls him. He wants to go deeper.

Would you be interested in going deeper? Not a freedive into ocean waters, but into the limitless love of God. “May your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous love. And may you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love really is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is so great you will never fully understand it. Then you will be filled with the fullness of life and power that comes from God.” (Eph. 3:17-19) When Paul wants to describe the love of God, he can't avoid the word “deep.” Dig "deep into the soil of God's marvelous love." (v. 17) Discover "how deep his love really is." (v. 18)

Envision Pipin deep beneath the ocean’s surface. Having plunged the equivalent of a fifty-story skyscraper, where can he turn and not see water? To the right, to the left, beneath him, above him – the common consistency of his world is water. Water defines his dives, dictates his direction, liberates him, and limits him. His world is water. Can a person go equally deep into God's love? Sinking so deep that he or she sees nothing else?

For anyone desiring a descent into that kind of love, Scripture offers us an anchor. Grab hold of this verse and let it lower you down like the crossbar on Pipin’s aluminum sled: "God is love." (1 John 4:16) One word into the passage reveals the supreme surprise of God's love – that it has nothing to do with you. Others love you because of you – your dimples; your good looks; your rhetoric. But not God. He loves you because he’s God. He loves you because he decides to. Self-generated, uncaused and spontaneous, his constant-level love depends on his choice to give it. "The Lord did not set his affection on you and choose you because you were more numerous than other peoples, for you were the fewest of all peoples. But it was because the Lord loved you." (Deut. 7:7-8)

You don't influence God's love. For instance, you can't impact the “treeness” of a tree, or the “skyness” of the sky, or the “rockiness” of a rock. Nor can you affect the love of God. If you could, John would have used more ink: "God is occasional love," or "sporadic love," or "fair-weather love." If your actions altered his devotion, then God would not be love – he’d be human, because that’s human love. And we’ve all had enough of human love from time to time, haven't we? Enough guys wooing you with Elvis-impersonator sincerity. Enough tabloids telling you that true love is just a diet away. Enough helium-filled expectations of bosses, parents, and children. Enough mornings smelling like the mistakes you made while searching for love the night before.

Don't we need a fountain of love that won't run dry? Well, you'll find one on a stone-cropped hill outside Jerusalem's walls where Jesus hangs – cross-nailed and thorn-crowned. When you feel unloved, go to that spot. Meditate long and hard on heaven's love for you. Both eyes beaten shut, shoulders as raw as ground beef, lips bloody and split. Fists of hair yanked from his beard. Gasps of air escaping his lungs. As you peer into the crimsoned face of heaven's only Son, remember this: "God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners." (Rom. 5:8) Don't trust other yardsticks, although we often do. Because the sight of the healthy or successful prompts us to conclude, “God must really love her. She's so blessed with health, money, good looks and skill.” Or, we gravitate to the other extreme. Lonely and frail in the hospital bed, we deduce, “God doesn’t love him. How could he? Just look at the guy.”

Success signals God's love no more than struggles indicate the lack of it. The definitive, God-sanctioned gauge is not a good day or a bad break, but the dying hours of his Son. So, consider them often. Let the gap between trips to the cross diminish daily and accept this invitation from your Savior: "Abide in my love." (John 15:9)

When you abide somewhere, you live there. You grow familiar with the surroundings. You don't pull into the driveway and ask, "Where’s the garage?" Or, you don't consult the blueprint to find the kitchen. To abide is to be at home. To abide in Christ's love is to make his love your home – not a roadside park you occasionally visit, but your preferred dwelling. You rest in him. Eat in him. When thunderclaps frighten, you step beneath his roof. His walls secure you from the winds. His fireplace warms you from the winters of life. As John urged, "We take up permanent residence in a life of love." (1 John 4:16) You abandon the old house of false love and move into his home of real love.

But adapting to this new home can take some time. The first few nights in a new home and you can wake up and walk into a wall. I did. Climbed out of bed to get a glass of water, turned left and flattened my nose. The dimensions of the room were different. The dimensions of God's love are, too. You've lived a life in a house of imperfect love. As a result, you think God is going to cut you just like your coach did, or abandon you as your father did, or judge you as a false religion did, or curse you as your friend did. He won't. But it takes time to be convinced. For that reason, abide in him. Hang on to Christ the same way a branch clutches to the vine.

According to Jesus, the branch models his definition of “abiding.” "As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in me." (John 15:4) Does a branch ever release the vine? Only at the risk of death. Does the branch ever stop eating? Nope. It receives nutrients twenty-four hours a day. Then could you say that the branch is vine-dependent? I would. So, how well do you pass the vine test? Do you ever release yourself from Christ's love? Have you ever gone spiritually unnourished? Do you ever stop drinking from his reservoir? Do so and you’ll be at the peril of a roundworm’s existence.

By sealing itself off against the world, the roundworm can endure extended seasons of drought. It essentially shuts down all of its systems. Releasing water until it's as dry as a cotton ball, the roundworm enters a state known as anhydrobiosis, meaning "life without water." A quarter of its body weight is converted to a material that encircles and protects its inner organs. It then shrinks to about 7 percent of its normal size and waits out the dry spell. Scientists assure us that humans can't do this, but I'm not so sure. A wife leaves her husband – “Now that the kids are grown," she announces, "it's my time to have fun." Recent headlines reported on a man who murdered his estranged wife and kids. His justification? If he can't have them, no one will. Anhydrobiosis of the heart. In-drawn emotions. Callous souls. Coiled and re-coiled against the love drought of life. Hard shelled to survive the harsh desert.

But we were not made to live that way. So, what can we do? From the file entitled, "When donkeys fly," how about this suggestion. Let's make Christ's command a federal law. Everyone has to make God's love his or her home: “Let it herewith be stated and hereby declared: No person may walk out into the world to begin the day until he or she has stood beneath the cross to receive God's love.” Cabbies. Presidents. Preachers. Dentists and truck drivers. All are required to linger at the fountain of his favor until all their thirst is gone. I mean, a can't-drink-another-drop kind of satisfaction. All hearts hydrous. Then, and only then, are they permitted to enter the interstates, biology labs, classrooms and boardrooms of the world.

Can you imagine the change we'd see? Less honking and locking horns; more hugging and helping kids. We'd pass fewer judgments and more compliments. Forgiveness would skyrocket because how could you refuse to give someone a second chance when God has made your life one big mulligan? Doctors would replace prescribed sedatives with Scripture meditation: "Six times an hour reflect on God's promise: 'I have loved you with an everlasting love.'" (Jer. 31:3) And can't you just hear the media? "Since the implementation of the national love law, divorce rates have dropped, cases of runaway children have plummeted, and Republicans and Democrats have disbanded their parties and decided to work together." Wild idea? I agree – when donkey’s fly. Because God's love can't be legislated. But it can be chosen.

So why not choose it? For the sake of your heart. For the sake of your home. For Christ's sake, and yours, choose it. The prayer is as powerful as it is simple: "Lord, I receive your love. Nothing can separate me from your love." Be a Pipin. Go deeper. Take a breath and descend so deeply into his love that you see nothing else. Then you can join the psalmist in saying: “Who have I in heaven but you? I desire you more than anything on earth. My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak, but God remains the strength of my heart; he is mine forever . . . . My heart has heard you say, ‘Come and talk with me.’ And my heart responds, “Lord, I am coming.’" (Ps. 73:25-26; 27:8)

Dive deeper into God’s love – the experience is made sweeter the deeper you dive.

Grace,

Randy

Lost & Found

 

Lost & Found

Lost & Found - Audio/Visual 

I will rescue those who love me. I will protect those who trust in my name. When they call on me, I will answer; I will be with them in trouble. I will rescue them and honor them. I will satisfy them with a long life and give them my salvation. (Ps. 91:14-16)

I glanced at the sign as I drove past but wasn’t sure that I’d actually seen what I thought I’d just read. So, I drove back around for a second look. The announcement, taped to a wooden post, had a homemade look to it – yellow paper, thick letters and a picture. Rural neighbors in my community print and post all sorts of stuff. So, the sign didn't surprise me, but the words did. “Found: Potbellied Pig.” Two phone numbers followed – one to call during the day; the other at night. I'd never seen an announcement like that before. Similar ones, sure. “Found: Black Retriever,” or “Found: Pygmy Goat.” But "Found: Potbellied Pig"? Who loses a pig? Better yet, who owns a pig that sounds like a stove?

I know plenty of pet owners, but pet-pig owners? None that I can recall. Can you imagine caring for a pig? For instance, do pig owners invite dinner guests to pet their pig? Do they hang a sign on the gate – “Caution! Potbelly on Patrol"? This kind of pig owner must be a special breed, just like their pet. But the people who would rescue them? They’ve got to be another breed altogether, because the sign presupposes a curious moment – that someone would spot the pig lumbering down the road and think, "Poor thing. Climb in little piggy. The street is no place for a lonely sow like you. Come here. I'll take you home." Or, suppose a potbellied pig showed up on your porch. Hearing a snort at your front door, would you open it? A Yellow Lab? Sure. Cocker Spaniel? Absolutely. But a potbellied pig? Sorry. I'd leave him on the Jericho Road. I wouldn't claim one. But God would. And God did. God did when he claimed us.

We assume that God cares for the purebreds of the world. Those clean-nosed, tidy-living, convent-created souls. When God sees German Shepherds, or Huskies or even Pit Bulls wandering the streets, he swings his door open. But what about runts like us? And like that poor pig, we're prone to wander. We find ourselves far from home. Do we warrant his care? Psalm 91 offers a rousing, “Yes.” If you want to know the nature of God's lordship, nestle under the broad branches of David's poetry:

“Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty. This I declare of the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I am trusting him. For he will rescue you from every trap and protect you from the fatal plague. He will shield you with his wings. He will shelter you with his feathers. His faithful promises are your armor and protection. Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night, nor fear the dangers of the day, nor dread the plague that stalks in darkness, nor the disaster that strikes at midday. Though a thousand fall at your side, though ten thousand are dying around you, these evils will not touch you. But you will see it with your eyes; you will see how the wicked are punished. If you make the Lord your refuge, if you make the Most High your shelter, no evil will conquer you; no plague will come near your dwelling. For he orders his angels to protect you wherever you go. They will hold you with their hands to keep you from striking your foot on a stone. You will trample down lions and poisonous snakes; you will crush fierce lions and serpents under your feet! The Lord says, "I will rescue those who love me. I will protect those who trust in my name. When they call on me, I will answer; I will be with them in trouble. I will rescue them and honor them. I will satisfy them with a long life and give them my salvation." (Ps. 91:1-16)

Sixteen verses collaborate to give us a visual of just one image: God as our guardian. See if you can spot the most common word of the psalm: "Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest." "He will rescue you." "He will shield you." "He will shelter you." "Evils will not touch you." "They [angels] will hold you." "The Lord says, 'I will rescue.'" "I will protect." "I will answer." "I will be with them." “I will rescue.” “I will honor.” "I will satisfy." Got the hint? Then don't miss the point: God offers more than the possibility of protection, or even the likelihood of protection. Your serenity matters to heaven. God's presence encapsulates your life. Separating you from evil is God, your guardian.

He sizes up every person who comes your way. As you walk, he leads. As you sleep, he patrols. "He will shield you with his wings. He will shelter you with his feathers." (v. 4) The image of living beneath El Shaddai's shadow (God Almighty) reminds me of a picture I saw recently. Apparently, a heavy rain had preceded the photograph, and it was a picture of a mother bird, having been exposed to the elements, with her wings extended over her baby chicks – both of whom were sitting on the perch on either side of her. Apparently, the fierceness of the storm had prohibited her from leaving the confines of her perch, so she covered her children until the winds and rain had passed.

From what elements is God protecting you? His wing, at this moment, shields you – a slanderous critic heading toward your desk is interrupted by a phone call; a burglar in route to your house has a flat tire; a drunk driver runs out of gas before your car passes his. God, your guardian, protects you from "every trap" (v. 3); "the fatal plague" (v. 3); "the plague that stalks in darkness" (v. 6); "the terrors of the night . . . the dangers of the day." (v. 5) One translation boldly promises: "Nothing bad will happen to you." (v. 10 NCV) "Sure. Then why do bad things happen to me?" you ask. "Explain my job transfer. Or the bum who called himself my dad. Or the guttersnipe who used to be my husband. Or the death of our child." And here’s where our potbellied-pig thoughts begin to surface. Because God protects Golden Retrievers and miniature, long-haired Dachshunds. But mutts like me and you? If God is our guardian, then why do bad things happen to us? Well, have they? Have bad things really happened to you?

God may have a different definition for the word bad than you and me. Parents and children do. Look up the word bad in a high-schooler's dictionary and you'll read definitions like: "pimple on your nose;" "Friday night alone;" or "Pop quiz in geometry." "Dad, this is really, really bad," your child says. Mom and Dad however, having been around the block a time or two, think just a little differently. Pimples pass, and it won't be long before you'll treasure a quiet evening at home. Inconvenience? Yes. Misfortune? Sure. But bad? Save that adjective for emergency rooms and cemeteries. What's bad to a child isn't always bad to a Mom or a Dad. And what you and I might rate as an absolute disaster, God may rate as a pimple-level problem that will pass.

He views your life in much the same way as you may view a movie after you've read the book. When something bad happens, you can feel the air getting sucked right out of the theater. Everyone else gasps at the crisis on the screen. But not you. Why? You've read the book, of course. You know how the crisis resolves. You know how the good girl or guy gets out of the tight spot. God views your life with the same confidence. And, he's not only read your story . . . he wrote it. His perspective is different, and his purpose is clear. God uses struggles to toughen our spiritual skin. “Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don't try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work, so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.” (James 1:2-4)

Sometimes, one of God's cures for a weak faith is a good, healthy struggle. Many years ago, I joined my middle-schooler on a trip to Washington, D.C. During the trip, we had the opportunity to go to Colonial Williamsburg, a recreation of eighteenth-century America in Williamsburg, Virginia. And if you ever get a chance to visit, pay special attention to the work of the silversmith. The craftsman places an ingot of silver on an anvil and pounds it with a sledgehammer. Once the metal is flat enough to shape, into the furnace it goes. The artisan alternately heats and pounds the metal until it takes the shape of something he has in mind. Heating, pounding. Heating, pounding. Heating, pounding.

Just like deadlines, traffic. Arguments, disrespect. Loud sirens, silent phones. Heating, pounding. Heating, pounding. Did you know that the smith in silversmith comes from the old English word smite? Silversmiths are accomplished smiters. So is God. Because once the silversmith is satisfied with the form of his design and creation, he begins to planish and pumice it. Using smaller hammers and abrasive pads, he or she taps, rubs and decorates. And no one stops them. No one yanks the hammer out of their hand and says, "Hey, go easy on that silver. You've pounded it enough!" No, the craftsman buffets the metal until she or he is finished with it. Some silversmiths, we were told, kept polishing until they could see their face in their creation. So, when will God stop with you? Maybe when he sees his reflection . . . in you.

"The LORD will perfect that which concerns me." (Ps. 138:8) Jesus said, "My Father never stops working." (John 5:17) God guards those who turn to him. The pounding you feel isn’t a reflection of his distance; it proves his nearness. Trust his sovereignty. Hasn't he earned your trust? Has he ever spoken a word that proved to be false? Given a promise that proved to be a lie? Decades of following God led Joshua to conclude: "Not a word failed of any good thing which the Lord had spoken." (Josh. 21:45)

Look up reliability in heaven's dictionary and read its one-word definition: God. "If we are faithless, he always remains faithful. He cannot deny his own nature." (2 Tim. 2:13) For instance, go ahead and make a list of God’s mistakes. Pretty short list, right? Now, make a list of the times he has forgiven you for yours. So, who on earth has that kind of record? "The One who called you is completely dependable. If he said it, he'll do it!" (1 Thess. 5:24) You can depend on him because he is "the same yesterday and today and forever." (Heb. 13:8) And because he’s Lord, "He will be the stability of your times." (Isa. 33:6)

Trust him. "But when I am afraid, I put my trust in you." (Ps. 56:3). Join with Isaiah, who resolved, "I will trust in him and not be afraid." (Isa. 12:2) God is directing your steps and delighting in every detail of your life. (Ps. 37:23-24) It doesn't matter who you are. Whether potbellied pig or prized purebred, God sees no difference. He just sees you – the person that he made. “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful; I know that full well. (Psalm 139:13-14) God sought you out. He found you and then invited you in – you and all the other rescues on the road. You see, God’s in the rescue business and he loves to take in strays – even strays like you and me.

Grace,

Randy

Moms - Doing the Most with What You Do Best

 

Moms

Doing the Most with What You Do Best

Moms - Doing the Most with What You Do Best - Audio/Visual 

Be content with who you are, and don't put on airs. God's strong hand is on you; he'll promote you at the right time. (1 Peter 5:6)

A businessman bought popcorn from an old street vendor every day after lunch. One day, he found the peddler closing up his stand at noon. "Is something wrong?" he asked. A smile wrinkled the seller's leathery face. "By no means. All’s well." "Then why are you closing your stand?" "So I can go to my house, sit on my porch, and sip tea with my wife." The starched businessman objected. "But the day is still young. You can still sell." "No need to," the stand owner replied. "I've made enough money for today." "Enough? That’s absurd. You should keep working." The spry old man stopped and stared at his well-dressed visitor. "And why should I keep working?" "To sell more popcorn, of course." "And why sell more popcorn?" "Because the more popcorn you sell, the more money you make. The more money you make, the richer you become. And the richer you are, the more popcorn stands you can buy. And then when you have enough, you can stop working, sell your popcorn stands, stay home, and sit on the porch with your wife and drink tea." The vendor smiled. "I can do that today. So, I guess I have enough."

“I'm rich enough” – that’s a phrase going the way of the dinosaur. We love to super-size our French fries, television screens, even our closets. Who could disagree with Linda Kulman, who wrote: “We are a nation that believes in having it all. In 1950, American families owned one car and saved for a second. In 2000, nearly 1 in 5 families owned three cars or more. . . . Americans shell out more for garbage bags than 90 of the world's 210 countries spend for everything. Indeed, America has double the number of shopping malls as it does high schools.” Here’s another stat. In 1900 the average person living in the United States wanted 72 different things and considered 18 of them essential. Today the average person wants 500 different things and considers 100 of them absolutely essential.

And our obsession with stuff carries a hefty price tag. The average American family devotes a full one-fourth of its disposable income to pay outstanding debt, and we spend 110 percent of that same spendable income trying to manage debt. Who can keep up? We no longer measure ourselves against the “Joneses” next door, but against the star on the screen, or the stud on the magazine cover. Hollywood's diamonds make yours look like a Cracker Jack toy. Who can ever satisfy Madison Avenue? No one. For that reason, Jesus warns, "Be on your guard against every form of greed." (Luke 12:15)

The lack of contentment, or greed, comes in many forms. Greed for approval. Greed for attention. Greed for applause. Greed for status. Greed for the prettiest shoes, or the fanciest purse. Greed may have many faces, but it speaks just one language: the language of more. Epicurus noted, "Nothing is enough for the man to whom enough is too little." And what did John D. Rockefeller say? When asked, "How much money is enough?" he responded, "Just a little bit more." Wise was the one who wrote, "Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income." (Eccles. 5:10) Greed has a growling stomach. Feed it, and you risk more than budget-busting debt. You risk losing your purpose. Greed can seduce you right out of your sweet spot.

You've seen it happen, haven’t you? The popcorn peddler has one stand and one job and manages both with great skill. But though his daily sales meet his needs, they don't meet his tastes. So, to make more money, he buys more stands; to supervise the stands, he abandons his own. The street vendor no longer sells; he manages. Which is fine . . . if he was made to manage. But suppose he was made to sell. Suppose he swaps the open street and the river of people and personalities for four walls, a desk and green eye-shades. Will he give up more than he gains? God's answer to that very question lies in Scripture's first parable. However, long before readers pondered the stories of the prodigal son and the Good Samaritan, they reflected on the parable of the trees. Jotham tells the story.

Jotham was one of Gideon’s sons, and the sole survivor of a seventy-man massacre. Abimelech, Jotham’s brother, authorized the slaughter. He sought to kill anyone who would keep him from the throne. Jotham comes out of hiding just long enough to address the citizens of Israel and tell them this story: “Once upon a time the trees decided to elect a king. First, they said to the olive tree, ‘Be our king!’ But it refused, saying, ‘Should I quit producing the olive oil that blesses both God and people, just to wave back and forth over the trees?’ Then they said to the fig tree, ‘You be our king!’ But the fig tree also refused, saying, ‘Should I quit producing my sweet fruit just to wave back and forth over the trees?’ Then they said to the grapevine, ‘You be our king!’ But the grapevine replied, ‘Should I quit producing the wine that cheers both God and people, just to wave back and forth over the trees?’ Then all the trees finally turned to the thornbush and said, ‘Come, you be our king!’ And the thornbush replied, ‘If you truly want to make me your king, come and take shelter in my shade. If not, let fire come out from me and devour the cedars of Lebanon.’" (Judg. 9:8-15)

Using the parable, Jotham warned the Israelites against the thorny Abimelech. And using this same parable, God warns us against greed-driven promotions. The trees entice the olive tree, fig tree, and grapevine with a throne-room invitation: "Be our king!" One by one they refuse the offer. The olive tree wants to keep giving oil. The fig tree wants to keep giving figs, and the vine wants to keep bearing grapes. All refuse to pay the price of promotion. These plants take pride in their posts. Why abandon fruitfulness? In the end, only the thornbush takes the offer. Be careful, the story instructs – in a desire to be great, one might cease being any good. And what good is a thornbush? Not much unless you like getting stuck. Not every teacher is equipped to be a principal. Not every carpenter has the skill to head a crew. Not every musician should conduct an orchestra. Promotions might promote a person right out of his or her sweet spot. For the love of more, we might lose our purpose. If trees offer you royalty, you don't have to take it. And just because a king gives you armor, you don't have to wear it. David didn't.

When he volunteered to go mano-a-mano with Goliath, King Saul tried to clothe the shepherd boy with a soldier's armor. After all, Goliath stood over nine feet tall. He wore a bronze helmet and a 125-pound coat of mail. He had bronze leggings and carried a javelin and a spear with a 15-pound head. (1 Sam. 17:4-7) And David? David had a slingshot. That’s like a VW Bug playing chicken with an eighteen-wheeler; a salmon daring the grizzly to bring it on. When Saul saw David, pimpled, and Goliath, rippled, he did what any Iron Age king would do. "Saul gave David his own armor – a bronze helmet and a coat of mail." (1 Sam. 17:38) But David refused it. Look at this wise young man. "David put it on, strapped the sword over it, and took a step or two to see what it was like, for he had never worn such things before. 'I can't go in these,' he protested. 'I'm not used to them.' So, he took them off again." (v. 39)

David rejected the armor, selected the stones, lobotomized the giant, and taught us a powerful lesson: what fits others might not fit you. Just because someone hands you armor, you don't have to wear it. Just because someone gives you advice, a job, or a promotion, you don't have to accept it. Let your uniqueness define your path in life. "You, LORD, give perfect peace to those who keep their purpose firm and put their trust in you." (Isa. 26:3) Examine your gifts; know your strengths. "Have a sane estimate of your capabilities." (Rom. 12:3) Don't heed greed. Greed makes a poor job counselor. She tells fig trees to bear no figs, olive trees to bear no oil, and vines to bear no grapes. Don't consult her. "Don't be obsessed with getting more material things. Be relaxed with what you have." (Heb. 13:5)

Isn’t the right job with a little better than the wrong job with a lot? "It is better to have little with fear for the LORD than to have great treasure with turmoil." (Prov. 15:16) As the Japanese proverb says, "Even if you sleep in a thousand-mat room, you can only sleep on one mat." Don't let the itch for things, or the ear for applause derail you from your God-intended design. In his book Money: A User's Manual, Bob Russell describes a farmer who once grew discontent with his farm. He griped about the lake on his property always needing to be stocked and managed. The hills humped his roads, forcing him to drive up and down. And those fat cows lumbered through his pasture. All the fencing and feeding – it was a massive headache. So, he decided to sell the place and move somewhere nice. He called a real-estate agent and made plans to list the farm for sale.

A few days later the agent phoned seeking the seller’s approval of the advertisement she intended to place in the local paper. She read the ad to the farmer. It described a lovely farm in an ideal location – quiet and peaceful, contoured with rolling hills, carpeted with soft meadows, nourished by a fresh lake, and blessed with well-bred livestock. The farmer said, "Read that ad to me again, would you?" After hearing it a second time, he said, "You know, I've changed my mind. I'm not going to sell after all. I've been looking for a place just like that my entire life." Paul would have applauded that farmer. He learned the same lesson: "I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content." (Phil. 4:11)

Before you change your job title, examine your perspective on life. Success is not defined by position or pay scale, but by doing the most with what you do the best. Parents would do well to give that counsel to their kids; tell them to do what they love to do so well that someone pays them to do it. And spouses would do equally well to urge their mate to choose satisfaction over salary. Better to be married to a happy person who has a thin wallet than a miserable person with a thick one. Besides, "a pretentious, showy life is an empty life; a plain and simple life is a full life." (Prov. 13:7) Pursue the virtue of contentment. "Godliness with contentment is great gain." (1 Tim. 6:6) When choosing or changing jobs, be careful. Consult your design and then consult your Designer. Don’t consult your greed – it’s a poor life coach.

Happy Mother’s Day,

Randy