Whispers of Truth

My quiet time yesterday brought me to Psalm 90 written by Moses in the desert, and it found me again today as I opened my Bible to study Luke 16. I came across a phrase of Sproul’s in his commentary about Luke 16:19 about the shallowness of man’s repentance (at best) and it tumbled the two readings together for me. If you aren’t a poetry reader, feel free to skip past it, but if you want to read it, FIRST read Psalm 90 and Luke 16:19. Then it might make a fraction of sense. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Shallows Once again, I wade through the shallows Feeling cleaner than I was before I stepped in, Yet still lacking (without knowing my lack)  The fulness of repentance, The bliss of completely turning my back to my sin Instead of trying to cleanse myself  And feeling better about it for a little while. This holding on is not letting me go.  LORD, be my dwelling place, my h

If I could lock the doors to death, I would, yet even then it might creep through the windows, unstoppable, invading the sanctity of my home to steal any security I might possess. Like a thief, death is determined to enter, circling my home to find a way around my desire for life and the tenacious hold I have on it. Like a virus, it stealthily creeps inside, unseen, penetrating the fortress of skin and bone and wearing me down as I sit here thinking myself safe. Like an invading army sent by God to discipline stubborn necks held stiff, unrelenting, death steals the joy and peace I tried to make for myself. The threat of death,  the eternal, irredeemable nature of it convinces me to listen, to evaluate the security I thought I possessed. I hear the prophet boldly speak God's terrifying words, and seeing his zeal, I alone stop to listen and believing him,  I repent and live. When Death knocked, he took no prisoner in my home;  instead he found God with me  and moved to the next house

I always loved Robert Frost’s poetry, and I’d dare say many if not most Americans are familiar with his poem “The Road Not Taken,” as it is often taught in both middle and upper school curriculums. Possibly it is the imagery that sticks with us, and some might even envision themselves forging off into a path not already trodden down or beaten by the footsteps of life, even though Frost in his poem says that the two paths are equally worn. I commented to my husband the other day while riding in the woods that I wanted to come back when there was some fall foliage and take a picture at the place where the two roads divided because it made me think of the poem. It just sticks with you. It's evocative. The thing is, the more times I taught the poem and the older I got, especially knowing what I now know of Frost from researching and then teaching his background before reading his works, the more I doubt what I thought I used to know about the poem.  Reading poetry is not like reading

The will to get up came after the ruin (Luke 15:14).  He knew he was in troubled when he wished to eat what he was feeding the pigs and couldn’t. The work, this hunger for even the swill to fill his empty stomach . . . the sudden clarity of realizing where he was and whose he was, of realizing the scope of his sin—not just against his father, his older brother, himself, but most of all his sin against heaven itself, against God the Father. Like Isaiah, whose vision of God was seen in the temple (Is. 6:1-5), he too saw a vision, but his came looking up from the bottom of the swine pit. Instead of an absolutely terrifying vision of God in all His glory, this young man looked around and saw his own ruin because of choices made, his lack of worthiness to be called a son after his rebellion against the loving father who had reared him. He literally was a man of unclean lips living among a people of unclean lips. He, too, saw the horror of his sin. However, his sin was no bigger than Is

In perfect peace . That's how I want to live as a Christian. That's how I am supposed to live, daily trusting in His power to save me spiritually, to preserve me and help me persevere, to keep me physically, to take me home when this life is over.  The reality is that I often let my heart be troubled. The reality is that is doesn't have to be. The gap between those two is the problem. It is at that point I have imperfect peace .  The past few weeks have been a study in being illogical for me; it was a test, and I am pretty sure that for a good portion of eleven days I failed somewhat miserably. The test shouldn't have been unexpected. I have been reading, teaching, and speaking of this quite intensively, about trusting in the Lord, for the past few months. Elijah's departure from trust after seeing God whack 400 false prophets; the kings of Israel and Judah and their issues with trust when surrounded; the writing about trust in my last few posts; the encouraging of