tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32868005817675541282024-03-15T17:51:43.417-07:00As the rock speaksdeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-46068874414050229332023-12-22T21:54:00.000-08:002023-12-22T22:01:50.083-08:00Christmas<p> Mary drew her Son close to her breast, the smell of His newborn skin enveloping her senses. She could feel His breath exhaled in a soft mist rising in the cold air of the manger. She looked at His face, now locked in a deep sleep she wanted to prolong for as long as possible. She counted His fingers and His toes, as she had done so many times, enjoying His firm grip on her finger. Looking at His tiny body wrapped in long strips of cloth, she felt like all the love of the universe had gathered and condensed in a blazing stream of tender affection that not even death would be able to extinguish. He was here, and she had grown overnight, her only mission now to nurture and protect the Baby resting in her arms. How gently He rested in her young embrace, His quiet sleep filling her with new assurance. She could see the moving of His tiny lungs with each rise and fall of the abdomen, His gentle purr filling her thoughts with wonder. </p><p>Nothing about His origin or His birth was ordinary. Mary pondered the time the Angel visited her, announcing His arrival. He would be conceived of the Holy Spirit, the angel told her, and the power of the Highest would overshadow her. "He will be great", the angel said, "and will be called the Son of the Highest". "You shall call His Name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins", the angel finally instructed. Mary trembled under the weight of the messenger's words, fear and unbelief filling her tender soul. For fifteen centuries, the prophets had spoken of the coming Messiah, and every Sabbath in synagogues across the land, the hearts of her people swelled with the expectation of His coming. Moses, David, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Micah... She had heard the prophecies read hundreds of times of God's Anointed One Who would come to save His people. Burdened by Roman rulers who outdid each other in cruel and barbaric acts toward her people, their expectation for Messiah was at an all-time high. And now, He would finally come...</p><p>A soft cry interrupted Mary's reveries, and she wrapped Him tighter in the meager strips of cloth to shield him from the encroaching coolness of the night. A few hours ago, wise men from the East had come in an astonishing procession, driven to the manger in the thick of night by a bright and guiding star. When they entered the stall, they knelt before the Baby, their aged eyes misting with tears. They bowed long and deep, their reverence filling the manger with the fragrance of the Holy. They spoke little and sang songs, their eyes transfixed on the tiny body in Whom the Godhead dwelt. Then, in a final act of worship, they laid before Him costly treasures: gold, frankincense and myrrh. </p><p>What a night it had been, Mary pondered in silence as she recounted the coming of the shepherds. After the wise men, the little manger filled with noise again as excited shepherds burst upon the humble stall. They had seen an angel in the sky, they said, His light shining around brighter than the day. "Do not be afraid", he said, "for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a savior, who is Christ the Lord". As soon as the angel finished speaking, the heavens exploded with song, and untold choirs of angels heralded the great news. The entire atmosphere was enveloped in light and in praise, and joy bathed and infused every fiber of their being. They had to come and see the newborn King, and, as they left, they loudly proclaimed the news about the Child.</p><p>Two thousand years have passed since God entered our world in the most vulnerable form, the body of a Baby. This Child grew and lived a life without spot or wrinkle - a perfect life. He never wrote a book, or led an army, or conquered an empire. And yet, since His advent, our world has never been the same. He came to save us from the sin that steals, and kills, and destroys. He came to show us that God knows us, loves us and wants us. He came to bring peace to a world forever at war. This Christmas, He will come again to every heart that makes Him room, and every chamber that is dark will explode with the life and light of His presence.</p><p><br /></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">"Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me."</span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-57877968324072491242023-09-21T21:36:00.003-07:002023-09-21T21:44:14.354-07:00Fall is coming...<p> For the last few weeks, fall has been stretching its chilly limbs into our atmosphere, warning us of things to come. No, we have not experienced an arctic blast or any cataclysmic weather inversion system. In fact, September has been unusually balmy, the skies have been blue, the sun darting quiet heat into midday hours. However, for someone who is highly sensitive to the the first and last embrace of light, the crispy mornings and brisk evenings have been a notably discernible change. </p><p>I seem to be in the minority with this nostalgia over summer's departure. The internet seems to have come alive with the changing of the leaves and the shedding of torrential heat as summer breaths its last. The blogosphere is ringing with delight tidings of all things pumpkin and sweater weather. The young and the young-at-heart are resetting their calendars, shifting focus and priorities with the demands of another school year. Apples of various shades and blends of sweet-versus-tart are offered where once blueberries filled market stands, and squashes of all stripes are replacing the delicate salad bunches that spelt summer with their chlorophyll. The bright colors mimicking summer gardens are replaced with hues of autumn's harvest and the earth that yields it. Even though Autumn is yet to make its official entrance this Saturday, she has marked her crisp territory in the landscape of our lives, some happily heralding the season's arrival for weeks now. </p><p>In climates other than where I live, fall is truly beautiful, turning forests into shades of red and yellow, bringing a welcome change to the dry exhale of summer. Even here, fall can put a pleasant face for a day or two or some other crumb of time. But, just as we begin to love fall back, a dramatic change cloaks the atmosphere with no respite in sight for many months to come. The skies clothe themselves in sackcloth, sending bone-chilling showers for what seems like endless days. Rain seems to be the only offering on Autumn's menu according to the laws of climate for our geographical location. I am sure that the west coast is the birthplace of seasonal affective disorder, also known as "I am tired of the rain" syndrome. Of course, please take my diagnosis with a grain of salt as I have no letter parade behind my name to qualify me for such pronouncements.</p><p>As dreary as fall can be on my morsel of the planet, I can still find joy in the rhythms of daily life if my heart is willing to receive it. A few days ago I baked the first apple dessert of the season, reminding me of the sweet gifts of autumn. Soft and juicy pears have been filling our fruit basket as Michal is a pear enthusiast, consuming them with the kind of glee I consume chocolate. Our house is comfortable at night, as previously the summer heat had dissected our sleep with restless tossings. The office is finally a pleasant haven for work for my extremely sensitive-to-heat husband. Fall has brought some welcome changes indeed...</p><p>I am learning that each season has an allotment of wisdom, and there are abundant gifts to be gleaned with the changing of the weather. I wish I had arrived at contentment amidst the graying landscapes earlier in life, but, "forgetting what is behind", I chose thankfulness today. "God has made everything beautiful for its own time", and He has blessed this season with the abundant yield of the earth. It is the time of harvesting the abundance of crops, of filling our barns with the fat of the land, of preparing and storing the fruit of men's toil and sweat since the scattering of seed. Thanksgiving is the pulse of this season, marking our calendars with the reminder that God is good, and that He "richly and ceaselessly provides us with everything for enjoyment". </p><p>Thanksgiving is the noble language of Autumn. </p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white;">"O give thanks unto the </span><span class="small-caps" face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal;">Lord</span><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white;">, for He is good: for His mercy endureth for ever" (Psalm 107:1)</span></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-46998430623600002282023-08-21T23:09:00.005-07:002023-08-22T00:24:36.107-07:00Lessons from the BC fires<p>I sat near the window staring at the once blue sky, now stained in particulate gray and orange hues. The day was young and hot, but the sun was hidden by the particles the fires breathe in their burning furry. The indoor air was stifling and unpleasant, teasing my trachea with a dry cough. Despite experiencing the fires of near and distant forests for a few years now, we were caught again without an air purifier. My airways were steadily protesting. "Costco will fix that tomorrow", I made a mental note. </p><p>Even though the air quality index had shifted a few digits to the right, we were in a fairly clean air bubble compared to my family. My sister's house is in the belly of the inferno, and for days she was left to wonder whether her home would survive the rapidly-encroaching blaze. In the rush to comply with the mandatory evacuation, she grabbed a few things for an overnight departure - or so she thought. The one overnight turned into several days, and she is still not home. Her few things proved insufficient for the unexpected exile, and she had to replenish her exile wardrobe with some necessary finds. </p><p>I thought about what I would take if the rush to evacuate came at an equally inopportune time as hers had come. I looked at my newly-covered Bible, its pages glowing with life eternal and great and precious promises. The Word will go first -anytime, anywhere - that was for sure. The books will stay - there might be blue horizons beyond the burning skies where letters and tea blend in a sweet marriage of senses to expand the wisdom of the soul. I scanned my wardrobe with my mind's eye, and I regretted that my green skirt would be ashes in this imaginary fire. For the last few years, green had become the color of my soul, and I treasured its hues in living nature and inanimate matter, hence my green skirt. </p><p>I scanned my possessions with my mind's eye, a dull sadness graying my thoughts. I spent so much time throughout my relatively short life acquiring things that brought momentary pleasure. I scoured stores and websites to fill an imaginary "need" to complement other imaginary "needs". And here stood a potential fire, hungry and devouring, waiting to devastate without discernment my life's acquisitions in a few brief hours...</p><p>Up to this moment, my sister's house has been spared the deadly tongue of this fire. Thankfully, the flames that consumed the books and the minutiae of my life remained confined to my imagination. The fire was a living threat to thousands of people including my loved ones, so it is not a far-fetched exercise to explore the "what" of the "if" happening at my doorstep. In fact, it seems like the entire globe is engulfed in fire - and the reasons are not as simplistic as the evening news would like us to believe - but that is the subject of a future rumination.</p><p>As I sit here writing under the soft hum of our newly-acquired air purifier, I am thankful that the atmosphere is slowly clearing and the air is becoming easier to breathe. The sky is still an amorphous, ashy ceiling hiding the horizon. I ventured for a walk tonight, and the absence of a cough confirmed that the air quality is improving, in case I needed a reliable confirmation. It seems like our area has been spared the way of our faraway neighbors who are still praying for a breath of clean air.</p><p>I am thankful that this deeply-wounded planet is not my terminal destination, and this structure that houses my possessions is not my home. I am made for eternity - made to dwell in a place so beautiful that the outer limits of my imagination cannot touch. I am made to love and be loved by God - to know His peace that passes all understanding in the midst of untold turmoil and tribulation. We are<b> all</b> made for Him - to know and to be known by Him. To be loved without limits in spite of our failings and our deeply-seated insecurities, and one day, when we breathe our last spoonful of air, to be more alive than ever in His presence. Today, when what we know is continually distorted or erased by the day's agenda, the love of God made flesh in Christ is the best news - and it is for everyone.</p><p><br /></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #001320; font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life". (John 3:16)</span></p><p><span face="Roboto, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #001320; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></p>deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-40273270388681038832020-07-01T22:41:00.001-07:002020-07-01T22:41:15.466-07:00Voices<br /><span class="p">Voices. so many voices... They are assailing our souls through the incessant stream of carefully-crafted news reports; through the billboards that tempt us to ignore the tenth commandment; through the violent invasion of media platforms that seek to mold us into the likeness of this age, to absorb us into the stream of this world until we act no longer as the image bearers of God. Voices savage in their call, sirens that lead to death of reason and ultimately eternal separation from God.</span><br />
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<span class="p">Most of the voices that seek to impose their authority on us have their origin in nefarious lords, kings of the underworld who walk among us in human form. They beguile to destroy, to separate, to confuse. Sure, they may fly their message with the silver wings of a dove, but their inner bellies are vultures of darkness and deceit. They are citizens of Babylon, and once again are uniting in their pursuit to reach a heaven without God, a salvation without the cross. </span><br />
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<span class="p">To everyone whose heart is yearning for a higher tune, a small and gentle voice still speaks, still seeks. This Voice is a call to love, a call to God, for God is love. Love that still walks the paths of a long-ago tainted garden, Love that replicates itself in sons and daughters of that firstly-blessed couple, Love whose hands and feet are The church. Jesus the Christ is The Word we are feverishly seeking for, the living water our burning souls thirst for. There is no clarity apart from His message, no unity outside His banner, no peace away from His rule. In Him there is no darkness-His robes are not the murky garb of deceit, but the brilliant vestment of truth. "I am the way, the truth and the life", He said-and to anyone willing to listen, His cross speaks a message of freedom and eternal life. To anyone willing to know things as they are, go to the first stream, the first word, the first cause. Seek Him in the Book that speaks salvation, the Book that unveils the plan of God, the Book that instructs in the paths of life. The gate is very narrow, and the road is difficult, but it is the only path to life. Draw away from the maddening throng, away from the noise, and you will hear that still, small voice, you will hear life -maybe for the first time.</span><br />
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<br /><span class="p">"Sanctify them by Your truth. Your word is truth." (John 17:17)</span><br />
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"Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.<span class="p">" (John 14:6)</span><br />
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<span class="p"><br /></span>deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-15408426082722725872020-04-18T23:41:00.001-07:002020-04-19T00:07:17.205-07:00SpringThis evening Michal and I took our usual walk through the neighborhood, with no deviation from our usual route encouraged. Across our complex, pink cherry blossoms with their delicate pastel flowers and liquid scent delight our eyes and fill our pleasure-chest. Along the way, dark pink magnolias strutting their bold flowers frolic with gentle wind and light. Red and white tulips with their cup-like flowers line the edges of white fences, intermingled with blue bell-shaped blooms. Lush green trees, some shyly revealing their infant flowers while others boldly flaunting large, white fingers of velvet and perfume, decorate gardens and alleys.<br />
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I have always loved summer with an unswerving commitment, but lately spring is the color of my soul. This winter seemed especially dreary with interminable days of rain, chilling atmosphere and flesh with a dampness that seems impossible to shake off. Months of grey skies have stirred a longing for sunshine, and warmth, and new life. Our tree was a melancholic tangle of barren branches, sighing along with me for the anthem of spring-the call to flower and bloom again. And now, after six months of charcoal clouds and liquid chill, the mantle of spring has cast its green breath on plants and people alike.<br />
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Probably the greatest symbol of spring is new life. After months of bareness, nature is bursting forth with an explosion of color and scent, filling the earth with pulse and rhythm once dormant under the deadness of winter. The occasional bird is warbling its happy melody under the spell of vibrant buds, and cotton-candy clouds are softly treading clear blue skies. Everything sings and dances its thanksgiving to God, the giver of spring miracles, the Seed of life bursting in every living thing.<br />
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To every child of God stopped in their spiritual ascent by the frigid winter of long trials, this is your season of new life. After every winter spring comes without fail-and as is in the natural, so is in the spiritual. "Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes with the morning", and our endurance will be richly rewarded with God's promise of favor. For every trial of fire God has a promise of turnaround for good, even if sometimes its fulfillment takes place once this life has played its final act. God gathers all our tears in a bottle and perfumes heaven with the scent of our unspoken cries and vociferous prayers. One morning, the dark will give way to the light of His presence and we will walk out of our former prison. No demon in hell will bar our exit, and no flood of opposition will drown our lapse to freedom's shore. So stand, my brother, knowing that your Savior is king over every seen and unseen realm, and He is descending in your pit with freedom in His wings. Stand, my sister, trusting that His promise to give you a future and a hope has been sealed with His blood. Soon-yes, very soon-our faith will finally be sight, and our eyes will behold The One our souls have adored and our affections embraced. As a hymn of the last century affectingly declares, "it will be worth it all when we see Jesus"...</div>
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"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us" (Romans 8:18)<br />
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"To all who mourn in Israel, He will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they be will be like great oaks that the LORD has planted for His own glory" (Isaiah 61:3).<br />
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deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-63360535565166744162020-04-18T21:39:00.001-07:002020-04-18T21:39:26.844-07:00EasterThis weekend much of the world celebrated Easter. Although many people did not necessarily celebrate it, most of the world was at least confronted with it by reason of it being a statutory holiday in nations with Christian roots. In a world unspoiled by COVID19, little hands would have eagerly hunted for the brightly-labelled chocolate eggs strewn across lawns, dropped down by helicopter (yes, this actually happened), or hidden and revealed by tightly-sealed clues by parents. Churches all across the world would welcome men and women, the young and the old, for a time of reflection and thanksgiving for the supernatural gift of Passover. Families would gather around the Passover meal with grateful hearts, experiencing anew the anguish of Good Friday, the victory of Resurrection Sunday, the contemplation of God's display of wrath and mercy through the means of a cross.<br />
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Easter is about a love story. A redemption story. It is not a clean, sterilized story that sparkles with the pastel colors we associate with Easter. It is messy, because it involves us, and we are messy, and broken, and utterly incapable of fixing ourselves. We are all infected with something far worse than COVID19. It is the virus of sin, and the mortality rate is one hundred percent. From the moment we are born, we exert a propensity toward rebellion, toward destruction. The human heart is the wellspring of great evil and suffering, as testified by two world wars, genocides of nations, and countless injustices performed daily by "good" people upon their fellow human beings. The human heart is anything but good, in spite of what our "enlightened" centers of learning would like us to believe. This sin-problem is so great that it separates us from our Creator God, a God whose eyes are so pure that He cannot behold evil. It is just that our sins be punished, and the punishment is nothing short of death-death physical and separation eternal. God cannot close His eyes and dismiss our lies, our blasphemy, our idolatry, and roll the red carpet into His house we know as heaven.<br />
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Why would God allow His Son to be humiliated, tortured, blasphemed and ultimately given over to die the death of a criminal? It begins with who God is. God IS love, and love gives, and forgives, and transforms. God loves every single one of us with a love that is independent of our stature or life journey, and in His love He yearns to commune with us now and forever. God's heart holds the perfect balance of justice and mercy and He can administer one without cancelling the other. When Jesus died, He died the death that you and I deserved for those sins that we so easily dismiss: our theft, our "white" lies, our hate, our lust... He was separated from God upon that tree so that we would not be eternally separated from Him. He endured God's wrath so we wouldn't have to. Before He gave up His breath, He cried "It is finished." We no longer have to build a stairway to heaven (not that we ever could). We no longer have to torture our bodies and souls in an effort to bridge the gulf between us and God. All our work to reach God, all our efforts to atone for our wrongs is finished. All that remains is faith -faith pure and unadulterated by human intervention.<br />
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God's Word says: "If you declare with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.<span class="p">" (Romans 10:9). It takes faith that Jesus Christ is God's final and only provision for our sins. It takes a spoken confession to make Jesus Christ Lord of our lives. He is not willing to share the throne of our hearts with other gods, such as materialism or new age philosophies. It takes humility and repentance to recognize that we are deeply polluted by sin and in need of rescuing, for </span><span class="p">“God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” </span><br />
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<span class="p"><span class="p">There is no better news in all the world than the message of Easter. That we can be forgiven, restored and have peace with God is the greatest gift. It cost God His precious Son to give, and it costs us nothing to receive. It will cost us everything to ignore: eternal separation from God in a place called Hell-a place of torment, darkness and unending sorrow. Look to Calvary, and behold Love wounded and bruised for us. Look to the empty tomb, and see Love crowned with victory and majesty. Listen within, and you will hear Love calling, seeking, wooing. </span></span><br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-13126818474942837282020-04-14T21:59:00.001-07:002020-04-14T21:59:25.798-07:00Daily Word"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has
to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.<span class="p">" (1 John 18)</span><br />
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<span class="p">The world as a whole seems to be marinated in fear. Fear of a microscopic virus, namely COVID19, to which much power of destruction has been imputed. Fear of economic collapse as life has been forced to a standstill. Fear of loneliness, as small and large gatherings are prohibited. The fear of death seems heightened as this invisible enemy, this front-stage virus, attacks and infects without predictable pattern or thought-out reason. This fear has been greatly heightened by continuous news feeds that will not allow us to forget, to rest, to ponder the greater meaning of this season.</span><span class="p"> And in this murky water of confusion, a clear call emerges. A call to remember that God loves His children, that He holds us in the palm of His hands, that nothing happens without His knowledge or permissive will. When we know that God loves us, our hearts can be steadied and pacified, knowing that for every evil there is a Romans 8:28 solution, even if this ultimate good is only materialized in eternity. </span><span class="p"><span class="p">God still clothes the lilies and He still feeds the sparrows. </span>His eyes are continually upon us, administering His good and perfect gifts, renewing His mercies every morning. </span>deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-76670820336410127972020-02-28T21:05:00.000-08:002020-02-28T21:09:00.444-08:00Grandparents Day<br />
Last year, Michal and I were invited to participate in Grandparents' day organized by Joshua's school, as stand-ins for his far-away grandparents. Being assured twice by one of Joshua's classmates that we looked too young to be grandparents, we mingled freely with our beloved, honored to catch a glimpse of his scholastic world. Joshua was happy to immerse us in his newest projects, to explore with us the meaning behind drawings, posters and painted treasure chests. I sat at his desk and peered into his world through the objects hidden inside, awed at how far he has climbed mentally and emotionally since our baby-sitting days. <br />
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One of my earliest memories of Joshua is the first time I saw him step outside, on a summer day . He bent down, grabbed some blades of grass, and throwing them in the air, he exclaimed "wow!". I was bedazzled by his awe, for I never looked at grass with wonder, never swelled with marvel at its vibrant color. A few years down the road, when we would walk the sidewalk, me holding his hand and talking about the flowers, he would stop and exclaim again "wow"!. There were many things that wowed him in those days: birds dancing overhead, bees pollinating flowers, butterflies gliding beside us, large noisy vehicles... and the ice cream truck, of course. In fact, one time he was so fascinated and disturbed by the advent of ice cream from this box on wheels that it arrested his monologue for the entire afternoon. <br />
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One of his great pleasures was to open and close our shower door for as long as the supervising adult-me-could contain the absence of danger. Or emptying all our bathroom cupboards and examining with glee the mundane objects of grooming. Or pressing the button-in fact, any button-in the elevator, or the phone, or the dishwasher. There is something truly riveting about those buttons that I haven't apprehended yet, with all the knowledge that adulthood was supposed to grant me... Or taking the escalator as many times as the observing adult-me again-would deem respectable. Joshua's world was so small, yet so adventurous, so exciting...<br />
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Michal and I often talk about snippets of his childhood with a nostalgia that seeks to keep alive the first decade of his life. I was often convicted by how small my joy is at the pleasures of life: the smell of a rose, the aroma of freshly-cut papaya, the first snowfall... Every day, something in God's book of nature is a call for a burning-bush encounter, a call to remove my shoes of indifference and experience the awe of a great God painting my world with great things... Who else but God could move my heart with the warm, flaming colors of sunset, alive with wonder every evening? And just like Joshua crying "push the button again, auntie", I whisper "show me another sunset, Lord"... Who else but a great, good God could trigger my pleasure again and again with the rich taste of dark chocolate, or the roar of the waves pummeling the beach, or the velvety touch of spring blooms?<br />
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As Joshua advanced in age and maturity, he noticed less the life of the flowers or the waterfall elevator. However, as his understanding expanded, so did his capacity to taste and see the goodness of God, his pleasure quotient directly proportional to the magnitude of discovery. At the ripe age of almost preteen, he is mesmerized by beautifully-crafted words, the order of planets, his mini Schnauzer Coco.<br />
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God is big enough to sustain our wonder at any age, any stage of life. I can never exhaust the pleasure of morning promenades on the beach, or the warm evenings under the breath of the moon. He whispers His love through these and a thousand more gifts, inviting me to mingle my soul with the beauty revealed in the book of nature. I may not be wowed by the moist soil shielding the virgin blade of grass, or the trail of a plane in the translucent skies, like Joshua used to be; however, I am endlessly wowed by the gifts each new day brings - the kiss of Majesty upon a soul thirsty for the sacred beauty of life.<br />
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"The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.<span class="p">" (Lamentations 3:22.23)</span><span class="p"></span><br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-45287070853418413542019-05-18T11:18:00.001-07:002024-03-12T00:50:39.202-07:00Greater than SolomonLong before any of my contemporaries were born, there was a king who was known as the wisest man who ever lived. His name was Solomon, and He lived in the hottest real-estate city in the universe, Jerusalem. Unlike the pseudo-celebrities of today, who become overnight sensations by pushing the boundaries of decency through song, dress or conduct, Solomon had lasting star-power. Even a cursory look at his resume reveals a man who changed the landscape of history by his accomplishments. He built the temple of Jerusalem over a seven-year period, and over the next thirteen years he built the palace, the courthouse, and devised the building of pools that secured the city's water supply His diplomatic craft enabled him to establish co-operations with the most well-known rulers of his time, thus establishing an era of unprecedented calm and affluence. He amassed incredible wealth for him and for the people of Jerusalem. He established trade routes with other countries, imported horses from Egypt and made silver as plain as pebbles. The Bible says that Solomon "surpassed all the kings of the earth in riches and wisdom". His wisdom, recorded in The Book of Proverbs among other writings, continues to nurture excellence in individuals, cultures and nations today. <br />
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One of the world-stage players who became obsessed with Solomon's fame was the queen of Sheba. "Now when the queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon concerning the name of the Lord, she came to test him with hard questions" (1 Kings 10:1). Her pilgrimage was an incredibly challenging undertaking: this was a journey of 1400 miles across the desserts of Arabia, on camels that could barely travel twenty miles a day. The round trip would have taken her at least six months, and could extend to several years. Loaded with gifts and encumbered by great entourage, she arrived at Solomon's royal courts and unloaded the issues of her heart in the hearing of the great king. The queen had an uninhibited audience with the king, where she could ask him the difficult matters of life, the questions of existence that erode at inner rest and nightly sleep. "So Solomon answered all her questions; there was nothing so difficult for the king that he could not explain it to her" (1 Kings 10:5). Yes, all she had heard was indeed true, and double the greatness that rumors told. She saw all the splendor of Solomon's house, the excess of Solomon's feasts, the gold that dazzled his feasting tables, the glitter of the cloth the servants wore, and "there was no more spirit in her". <br />
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As great as Solomon was, there stands among us One who is greater. He invites us to probe the riches of His wisdom, to ask the tough questions of life, to seek the meaning in the tales of our lives. We may need to travel long and difficult journeys from far countries where we have wasted our spiritual inheritance. The road to the King may demand a sacrifice of time, a disturbing of our priorities, a surrender of preconceived notions. The steps to the kingly courts will require a surrender of the intellectual garb that puts man as ultimate judge of good and evil, truth and falsehood. The undisturbed audience with the King will require a sincere heart, a humble posture, a contrite spirit. We come to Him knowing full well that He holds all wisdom, all knowledge, all truth-He is truth. And as we behold Him in the mirror of His Word, we also testify that "eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him" (1 Cor.2:8). <br />
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The King longs to speak to us in the cool of the day, as the dew falls on the grass and the sun crosses the threshold of day. He yearns to impart to us the mysteries of His Word, to direct our steps, to give us the daily manna that sustains our joy. He desires to pour in the cup of our hearts, strength to battle the day's Goliath, hope to sustain our future. He has hidden the answers in the pages of His Word, and "has revealed them to us through His Spirit". Ablaze with the life of the Spirit, the Bible becomes alive, "sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart" (Heb.4:12). As we gaze intently at Him in the Word and in prayer,we are changed and we become world changers: "but we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord" (2 Cor 3:18). <br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-37745328162510975892019-05-16T18:24:00.000-07:002024-03-12T00:51:36.342-07:00Reason for words<br />
I have laid down my digital pen in slumber for far too long, choosing instead to convey my thoughts by such antiquated means as physical pen and paper. The great "I AM" is calling me out of digital silence, and bids me to follow Him in laid-down word. This exodus into the noise of the internet comes with a necessary but reluctant grace, as I have grown quite fond of the intimacy conferred by parallel lines of paper, where my soul can roam freely, unhindered by the fear of transparency and possible criticism. However, this blog is not about me. In fact, my opinions in themselves are really not that important. There are mountains of words towering on the landscape of the internet, erupting their flow from thousands of blogs, news channels and other sources. This blog was never meant to point to any perceived cleverness of mine, nor were my internal rumblings designed to stop the world in its tracks by any dust of wisdom my words my sprinkle on already saturated hearers. This blog is ultimately for Him and about Him. And He is inviting me to share that which He has graciously given to me, in the hope that at least one person may taste and see that God is good.<br />
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What has happened in my life since I last wrote here? Nothing, and yet everything. Thankfully, no major tsunami has done any significant rearranging in the physical aspects of our lives, mine and Michal's. However, there are storms within my inner landscape, shaking long-seated apathy, disturbing minor and major trespasses, demolishing excuses and confronting denials. I have been looking long and hard into the mirror of God's Word, knowing full well that all the keys which open the doors to lasting change are hidden there. I have found abundant provision for the grace needed each day to live beyond the confines of self and yet die to its demands. I have found the peace that gives sweet sleep in the midst of incredible chaos and turbulence rocking our world. I know more than ever that the answer to the ills of our planet lies not in political solutions or social justice warriors, but in the love of God on full display at Calvary. And more than ever, I earn for His return, for being face to face with Him without interruptions, without sorrow, without end.<br />
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So this is why I write, to make Him known as He has made Himself known to me. All that ever needed to be said has already been said in The Book of ancient but current wisdom, alive and teeming with the revelation of God. My prayer is that my words will be a reflection of The Word, although a dim and lean one. I pray that the humble citations of my soul will cause an irrevocable hunger for The Way, The Truth and The Life, and that, through Him, one more soul will find its way home.<br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-10531915731460919062017-11-13T18:16:00.001-08:002017-11-13T18:26:33.734-08:00A world in fogToday I got new prescription glasses. Having barely left my thirties, I wasn't expecting the revenge of the forties to overtake me so soon. I have known I was in trouble for some time. Determining how much acrylic a garment has was no easy task from a label where the letters have grown so small lately. I had given up on finishing "A night to remember" and left the Titanic's passengers stranded in a fog of clouded letters that were too hard to member together. Having my eyes run from me is a frightening thing... focusing so hard, yet seeing nothing. Yes, the magnifying glass was in the kitchen, within easy grasp, but now I needed one in my bedroom, in the shower (which one's the shampoo and which is the conditioner?), in my car... Things were easier at work. The lit, magnifying orbits at each workstation make reading the petri plates a pleasure, and identifying each minute colony no small a victory. But at home... this is where the war begins and stays. This is where I have to admit that I am no longer twenty, the twenty where my eyes are free to roam the small print and rescue the aged from their prescription-bottle-label struggles.<br />
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I miss my twenty-year old eyes, when eyeglasses were practically unnecessary, except an optometrist thought it might prevent eye fatigue. I often wonder, would my eyes be better off now had I ignored his prescription and let my eyes see free? And why does this question even matter now, as if the undoing of twenty years of eyeglasses can be reversed, now that my eyes struggle through the nebulous, shrinking letters?<br />
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I miss my twenty-year old soul, too. I miss the innocence of the world that was mostly <i>white</i>, even though I had survived the <i>blackness</i> of communism in my first twelve years. There wasn't so much to sort through to get to the truth, there was no ministry of truth except in Orwell's world. There wasn't as much machinery fuelled by billions as if billions were pennies, to subtract the good and the sublime out of this world and to replace it with the unholy and the mediocre. <br />
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I miss my twenty-year old soul free from the distraction of the internet. I had no World Wide Web, no super-highway to expand my information bank with whatever morsel of knowledge I crave at any given time. At times, the internet invades me like a slow, numbing poison that dulls my reality into bites of ones and zeros and leaves me smaller, smaller. Without the internet life was beautiful, and connected, and quiet. Books-real books, not internet articles-were oasis of pleasure and rest, and lofty thought. <br />
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I would gladly renounce all this "progress" and go back to the era of my twenties, where birds were still flying and bees were not endangered. But the done cannot be undone, except in God's kingdom. Only at the Cross the stories of our lives can be done-over, as if a single letter had never been written. Only by The Blood of the One whose beginnings were not in man-plus-woman union can we know the way, the truth and the life. The ocean of His grace will heal us of regret, and rebellion will be intercepted by love in an ever-upward dance.<br />
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And thus I put on my God-lens and look at my barely-out-of-the-thirties self, knowing that nothing is really lost. Though my eyes seem to be running away from me and my food sensitivities are extra baggage from my twenties, I still swim in the same ocean of God's grace. His love still carries me through the currents of seismic change that move this earth toward apocalypse. I am still redeemed and my destination unchanged. Sure, the road has gotten a lot bumpier and the minefields more unpredictable since my starry-eyed twenties, but the same Holy Spirit holds my hand and lights my path. Together, we will make it out of this maze called life, and finally I will be able to see-no eyeglasses required.deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-5450832855133524462017-10-19T20:04:00.004-07:002024-03-12T00:54:00.090-07:00Kingdom comingAs I look at the world around and feel the rumblings of a monster storm, the likes of which history has no comparison, I contemplate it with mixed emotions. Just like the fabled king whole left eye was crying as the right one was laughing, so my heart holds both joy and sorrow.<br />
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If we had a giant time clock in the skies that counted down to the advent of Christ's second coming, its arms would probably be seconds away from midnight. We can almost hear His steps descending on Heaven's stairway into the Now that rushed and ordered itself into waves of matter and light expelled by His breath. We can sense Heaven getting ready to receive His bride, and a thousand times thousands wedding invitations are dispatched to fill the wedding halls with His image-bearers. We hear the Angel set pen to paper and, in eternal books, another name is engraved with ink that cannot lie, the scarlet fountain of His blood. Foundations are decorated in jasper, emerald and sapphire, streets are paved with gold, clear and shimmering like crystal. We see the party hats and the dazzling costumes and we hear the roar of hallelujahs as another prodigal has found the way home. We see His bride shake the sleep from her soul and her eyes, dressed in garments of faith and works, scanning the horizon night and day for His arrival. Looking upward, she girds herself for harvest, one last labor of love and suffering, even as the axe is set at the root of the tree for one last purging. <br />
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As heaven is busy preparing for the marriage supper of the Lamb, hell is excessively diligent in expanding its borders. We see a flood of demons descending on portals of filth, bathing the earth in violence and bloodshed. We hear the roar of hate masking itself as justice and good works, its cry hollow as "sounding brass or clinging cymbal". We see confusion and its dominion in man and nature, and we see evil crowned as good and good desecrated as evil. We hear man say, "let us make god in our image, in our likeness; and let him bow to our lust, let him glorify in our laws; let him follow us in our corruption, let him bless our covetousness, and let him give us what is right in our own sight". We see the young souls of the unborn sacrificed on the altar of self-gratification, and we see the lame and the maimed done away with in the name of mercy. We hear the growing darkness laboring the Antichrist into his kingdom, engaged in chasing Truth out of His universe.<br />
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My one eye is rejoicing because His coming is so, so close... He is coming to take us home, a place so magnificent that Paul, a birther of words, was destitute of letters at its threshold. I rejoice because our eyes will see The One our hearts have loved, and His eyes will brush the ashes from our souls. The time is coming when faith will be sight, when face-to-face encounter will replace dim mirror reflections.<br />
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My other eye is weeping because of the coming kingdom of black embodied in a man of great persuasion, and eloquence, and unquestioning authority. Under this man, "there will be greater anguish than at any time since the world began. And it will never be so great again." (Matthew 24:21). We are entering a time when "<span class="text Luke-21-26" id="en-NKJV-25853"><sup class="versenum"> </sup><span class="woj">men’s hearts [will be] failing them from fear and the expectation of those things which are coming on the earth, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken". (Luke 21:26) And the crowds are cheering, and ready, and waiting for this man to make his entrance. </span></span><br />
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<span class="p">The time of history's greatest upheaval is at hand. The Father is waiting for one more prodigal to come home, for one more guest to attend His wedding feast. "Today when you hear his voice, don't harden your hearts" but come and be born of water and of Spirit. The stakes are too high for anything but that. </span><span class="versiontext"></span><br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-33937518300903154382017-09-28T06:20:00.001-07:002024-03-12T00:55:54.162-07:00Worlds beyondA few weeks ago I spoke with someone who considered himself an atheist. In passionate tones, he told me his reason for denying the existence of God. The Bible has a specific message to people like him: "The fool says in his heart, 'There is no God.'" <br />
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If you are part of the rising militant army of atheists or the "closet" unbeliever, this is a gentle invitation to explore "the other side" of unbelief. I mean, why do you clutch so tightly to a few intellectually dishonest arguments in the face of overwhelming evidence? Have you saddled a chariot and traversed the breath of this limitless universe to find Him? Have you galloped through our solar system, have you touched the edges of our Milky Way? Have you hitched your wagon for the <span class="red">1,000,000,000,000,000,000</span> km journey it takes to explore your neighborhood galaxy? Umm, no. It takes about 100,000 light years to explore your cosmic backstreets, which, in our average eighty-year life span, pretty much spells immortality. If you could achieve the speed of NASA's Voyager of 17.3 km/s, it would take you over 1,700,000,000 years to explore it from one end to the other [1]. Still feeling grand much? <br />
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How about getting out of our comfortable little galaxy to explore other cosmic lands? If you could spare a few billion light years (more like 212 billion) in your pilgrimage, you could park for a while on the edge of NGC 6872, a galaxy five times the size of our Milky Way. Have a hearty breakfast and saddle your light-year horse, because it will take you 522,000 light years to explore the backwoods of this spiral And you haven't found Him yet!<br />
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Astronomers tell us that no one really knows how big the universe is, or even if there are other universes like ours "out there". We are talking about God-size measurements now, a God who grabs the universe between two fingers and scans it faster than your market's barcode reader. Isaiah 40:12 describes the kind of measuring stick God uses:<br />
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Who has scooped up the ocean<br />
in His two hands,<br />
or measured the sky between His thumb and little finger,<br />
Who has put all the earth’s dirt in one of his baskets,<br />
weighed each mountain and hill?<br />
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We are talking about a big, big God! He is so big that this universe cannot contain Him, yet so "small" that He can fit inside the heart of a child. <br />
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There is much more evidence for the existence of an infinite, all-powerful God who exhaled this universe into our existence, yet stooped down to stamp His image into you and me. I know that, for some, even the raising of the dead wouldn't be "proof" enough for the existence of God. Because, you know, He actually did arise from the grave! Thirty seconds before you die, you will know. The veil between the visible and the spirit realm will become transparent, and you will see the eternal abyss which you fought so hard to deny. Ask Voltaire, or Robert Ingersoll, or Thomas Hobbs. Thirty seconds before you die, your heart will be so hard from the unbelief you caressed over a lifetime, that all desire for repentance will be extinguished out of you. <br />
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If you are still alive, if there is a flicker of "what if" breathing inside of you, I invite you to bow your knee and acknowledge Him. Give Him your all-your sins, your failures, your disappointments. Turn from your rebellion and acknowledge Him as your Lord and Savior. He is waiting for you, ready to forgive, ready to embrace, ready to give you the best life on the other side of time. If you need help meeting Jesus, write me. It will be my great honor to introduce you to my Friend and Savior, Jesus Christ.<br />
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"For God so loved<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-26137A" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-26137A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></sup> the world that he gave<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-26137B" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-26137B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></sup> his one and only Son,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-26137C" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-26137C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)"></sup> that whoever believes<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-26137D" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-26137D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)"></sup> in him shall not perish but have eternal life."<br />
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[1] Numerical figures taken from NASA's website.deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-38880521065595836562017-09-27T06:09:00.000-07:002024-03-12T00:57:09.939-07:00ThreadsI have been absent from the world of words in the internet world for a long time. I am becoming increasingly aware that my silence is no less than sin against my Father God. No, there is no "thou shalt write" commandment hidden in the beautiful pages of my Bible. What it is, instead,is an inner urging to use my voice, the voice He has given me, to lay down reflections of His heart lived out in me. More than anything, I want this "pen" to bring glory to God, the One who has relentlessly loved me and kept me throughout my life.<br />
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Some of my reflections will seem incredibly "trifling", like my love for chocolate. Yes, you read it right. Yesterday I made a batch of raw chocolate fudge that looks deceptively healthy (no dairy, gluten-free, grain-free; I mean, it is practically a vegetable). "Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good...", cried the psalmist, and every time I serve my favorites in the food department, my tastebuds throw a party. The cocoa bean is His idea, and this small seed was designed for our pleasure!<br />
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At time, my reflections will read more like a journal. Today, Michal and I took a walk under the warm September sun, and my heart was filled with gratitude for autumn's day two that resembled summer's day one. The air was warm, the sun was incredibly bright, and a gentle breeze was swaying the auburn leaves in a dance of light and shadows. As evening drew near, He painted the skies with hues of orange, pink and gold-and He invited me to watch the dusk of today and the birth of tomorrow. <br />
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What do chocolate, and sunsets, and warm autumn walks have to do with anything, you ask? They are gifts that speak of a God who defines beauty, and joy, and pleasure. He is everywhere... if we only stop long enough to see Him. He fills our plates with the fat of the Earth, He colors our horizons with rainbow hues, He smiles in the glow of tepid September strolls. "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands..."Sometimes we will explore the breath of rocks, and other times we will ponder the big questions of life. Through it all, God will be our center, the Bible our teacher, and His goodness our anchor. <br />
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Oh, that we would stop and explore the beauty of God in the small and great gifts of life... "Give thanks to the LORD, for He is good" - I pray that this truth will be etched on the tablets of our hearts in colors of crimson. <span class="p"><br /></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-74929125668015816992016-04-06T10:28:00.000-07:002024-03-12T01:00:07.318-07:00Once upon a rabbitI had the privilege these last few days to spend some time with my nephew, Joshua. The little boy who used to laugh incessantly and wake up singing will be eight years old this summer. The years gone by have not erased the joy that marked his toddler years, nor diminished his gentleness. Joshua is a little gentleman: considerate of others' feelings, generous, politely-mannered.<br />
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One day he met me from school and enthusiastically showed me the prize he received. A small rabbit decoration, a much-anticipated prize that marked his reading one hundred books this school year, clung tightly in his hand. He was unbridled in his joy, his glance often resting on his prize. A while later, unaware of the whereabouts of the rabbit, I flung the blanket from the couch and in the process decapitated Rabbit. Joshua was devastated, and so was I. Through tears he whispered "it's okay, auntie", but I knew his disappointment would take a little longer to dissipate.<br />
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Driving home that day with a heavy heart, I cried. "That is silly", someone might say, "it's such a small thing." Sure, it may be a dollar store acquisition, but to Joshua it represented - even if he didn't quite verbalize that - the hard work he put in, the diligence of agonizing over new words and hard-to-grasp phrases. It was the fulfilment of a long-awaited reward which he barely had time to own, to savour the victory it represented.<br />
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That night, on my drive home, I cried for all the disappointments he would later experience. For the friends who would one day be indifferent. For the words which would cause him to loose sleep. For the sadness he would experience because of unmet expectations, and hurtful interactions, and for unanswerable question marks.<br />
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That night, I cried for the kids whose mothers didn't return from the hospital. For the husbands whose wives never held their newborn babies. And for the babies who never heard the soothing tones of their mothers' voice. I thought about the kids who lay graveless at the hands of soulless men. 'What does God think of all of this?', I wondered.<br />
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And then I saw Him standing before Lazarus' tomb, weeping. Jesus wept... John never tells us why. Maybe He cried the pain which sin deposits on the world in layers of heartbreak, and anguish, and despair. Jesus saw His friends drowned in grief - grief so deep that only wordless tears could comfort. He felt what they felt, and He didn't shy away from drinking the cup of sorrow. A short while later, He would drink all of it - the ocean of suffering drowning humanity - and in His death atone for its sin.<br />
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That night, I tasted anew the joy that only He can bring amidst the tears. As I pondered the suffering of the world - the small measure I knew of - I was feeling His heart. He ached for it long before I ever did - and He wept. He is not distant or disconnected from the hurting, but He walks among them. How else could we visit Him when He is sick, or feed Him when hungry, or go to Him when in prison?<br />
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I don't have all my questions answered on this side of heaven, and that's okay. What I know for sure is that, "even though I walk through the darkest valley, Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me." He loves me, He quiets my heart, He carries me when I cannot walk on my own. <br />
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On this side of the resurrection, that is very good news.<br />
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<span class="text 2Cor-4-16" id="en-NIV-28876"><sup class="versenum">" </sup>Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.</span> <span class="text 2Cor-4-17" id="en-NIV-28877"><sup></sup>For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.</span> <span class="text 2Cor-4-18" id="en-NIV-28878">So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)</span><br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-32869496149013311072016-03-03T19:37:00.001-08:002024-03-12T00:58:37.836-07:00Reason for the hopeI feel compelled to define, if only for myself, why I am a Christian and what difference it makes to my life. Maybe because there are so many notions and voices presented with a Christian label, I want to bring clarity to what it means to be a Christian.<br />
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First, I want to declare that, by being a Christian, I am not better than other people, no matter their religious or philosophical persuasion. In fact, ever since I had a supernatural encounter with Christ, I see my own failures, my deficiencies, my hypocrisy clearly, and I am grieved by my heart condition. Before Him, I thought I was "good", my reputation untarnished by murder, or sexual misconduct, or some audacious conflict. Before Him, I was blind- blind to the pride that "steps" over other people, blind to the grief my words brought, blind to the wounds my lies were effecting on myself and others. A that moment, when I looked in His eyes and His love flooded every atom of my being, I could see, for the first time, how utterly depraved I was and how much I needed His righteousness. He is God, and I am not - and I needed Him to save me and give me a new beginning.<br />
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Being a Christian does not mean that I am perfect. In fact, for as long as I live, I will struggle to choose between what I want -often what is easy, self-pleasing and void of sacrifice -and God's higher calling. He calls me to die daily -not physically, of course -but die to the pleasures that seek to ravage my soul and to ultimately separate me from the One I now love. I have discovered no greater joy than the nearness of His presence, no greater delight than the truth of His law. He is the pearl of great price, the treasure worth living and dying for - and the peace He gives transcends earthly afflictions.<br />
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Being a Christian means living a supernatural life. It means that, in my strength, I cannot live a life that honours God, because the enemy that I am fighting is much stronger than I. It is only as I remain connected to Him, drawing upon His strength and the fellowship of His presence, that I can rise above the call of my self-seeking, self-gratifying nature, and the invisible foe that seeks "to steal and kill and destroy" (John10:10).<br />
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Being a Christian means I have a new roadmap for my life, the Bible. The day I invited Him into my heart, I willingly surrendered the throne to the One in Whom all the treasures of love, beauty, and wisdom hide. I have relinquished my perceptions for His truth, my world view for His absolute, my shack for His kingdom. I gave Him the broken pieces of my life and He gave me life eternal, laughter for my tears, joy in my suffering. Knowing Him has been the greatest gift of my life.<br />
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Being a Christian means loving the kind and the unkind and blessing the ones who seek to hurt and malign me. It is because I am called to imitate Him - a loving God who died for the ones that tore and shred His flesh, and marred His face beyond recognition. "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good", He says -and today, as millions of Christians are forsaking retribution and vengeance, their children are beheaded, their homes are burnt, their <span class="p">lives turned into often irreversible upheaval. </span><br />
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<span class="p">Being a Christian means I have a permanent home beyond the confounds of the grave.</span><span class="p">
<style type="text/css">p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; direction: ltr; line-height: 120%; text-align: left; widows: 2; orphans: 2; }p.western { font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; }p.cjk { font-size: 12pt; }p.ctl { font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; </style>Death after a life of seventy, eighty years is not the end, but the beginning. This life is not the destination, but the journey to my permanent residence. For this reason Christians have been able to endure inexplicable tortures in their refusal to forsake Christ, because "</span><span class="text Heb-11-16" id="en-NIV-30189">they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one", a country worth pursuing to the point of death (Hebrews 11:16). In God's economy, they are the winners, the ones whose names will never be forgotten and whose sacrifices bring true riches: </span>"For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all" (2 Cor 4:17).<br />
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<span class="p">Being a Christian means being rescued from my sin and from an eternal destiny of hell. Sinning against God is no small thing, and the punishment is no small slap on the wrist. A holy God must punish sin, otherwise He would be unjust. A loving God took my punishment-and the whole world's-upon Himself, and His forgiveness makes me a citizen of heaven. </span><br />
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<span class="p"> </span><sup class="versenum">"</sup>For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son,<br />
that whoever believes in him shall not perish<br />
but have eternal life " (John 3:16)<br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-86643204479571015802014-10-18T20:59:00.000-07:002024-03-12T01:00:34.888-07:00It's all about HimRecently, one of the leaders of a mega-church in North America made the following statement:<br />
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"I just want to encourage every one of us to realize: When we obey God, we're not doing it for God. I mean, that's one way to look at it. We're doing it for ourselves. Because God takes pleasure when we're happy. That's the thing that gives him the greatest joy this morning. So I want you to know this morning, just do good for your own self. Do good 'cause God wants you to be happy. When you come to church, when you worship him, you're not doing it for God, really. You're doing it for yourself, because that's what makes God happy. Amen?"<br />
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It has been a couple of weeks ago since this statement has been heard in that church and subsequently around the world. I haven't been able to shake it off because, sadly, this statement seems to pervade through much of our theology and the way we perceive God's role in the lives of His creatures. God is here for us, orbiting around our little worlds, moving the machinery of heaven with one purpose alone: to bless us. To prosper us. To weed out every discomfort, to purge our minds and our souls of every ounce of suffering, to cancel the dust of poverty off the soles of our shoes. God exists for one reason alone: to inhale our troubles and our deficiencies and to exhale the goods filling our ever-expanding barns as testaments to His blessing. He is always near, thinking up new ways to pamper our bodies and stuff our barns, in hopes that our abundance will draw the world with chords of envy into our crystal citadel. This god requires no sacrifice, makes no demands on our flesh, and affirms our tireless pursuit of self-gratification.<br />
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I listen to the happiness gospel disturbed. Calvary looms over my life too large to synthesize it into a formula for worldly success. The suffering of Christ is too encompassing to reduce it to a feel-good patch or a get-more scheme. Jesus died -and His call to me and to us is a call to death (Galatians 2:20). A call to crucify our lust. Our desire for worldly acclaim. Calvary urges me to place the whole of my desires, the heart of my pursuits and the bent of my will on the altar of perpetual sacrifice (Romans12:1). Paul's admonishing to "glory in our sufferings", to "put to death the deeds of your sinful nature", to "fight the good fight of faith" are worlds away from the gospel of happiness. God does not exist to make our earthly sojourn a spa retreat where every star whispers our name and every atom collides to create our happiness. We were made for<em> Him</em>, to bring<em> Him</em> glory and to exalt the excellency of <em>Hi</em>s name. Everything-and everyone-is for<em> Him</em>, through<em> </em>Him, and by Him. One day, when He will write the final sentence of His story and seal our final chapter into eternity, the only name our lips will exalt will be His. <br />
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After all, it's all about Him.<br />
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<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">"</span></sup>The Son is the image<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29481AH" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29481AH" title="See cross-reference AH">AH</a>)"></sup> of the invisible God,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29481AI" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29481AI" title="See cross-reference AI">AI</a>)"></sup> the firstborn<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29481AJ" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29481AJ" title="See cross-reference AJ">AJ</a>)"></sup> over all creation. <span class="text Col-1-16" id="en-NIV-29482">For in him all things were created:<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29482AK" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29482AK" title="See cross-reference AK">AK</a>)"></sup> things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities;<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29482AL" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29482AL" title="See cross-reference AL">AL</a>)"></sup> all things have been created through him and for him.<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29482AM" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29482AM" title="See cross-reference AM">AM</a>)"></sup></span> <span class="text Col-1-17" id="en-NIV-29483"><sup class="versenum"> </sup>He is before all things,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29483AN" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29483AN" title="See cross-reference AN">AN</a>)"></sup> and in him all things hold together." (Colossians 1:15-17).</span><br />
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<span class="text Col-1-17">“You are worthy, our Lord and God,<br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Rev-4-11">to receive glory and honor and power,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30780A" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-30780A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></sup></span></span><br /><span class="text Rev-4-11">for you created all things,</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Rev-4-11">and by your will they were created</span></span></span><br />
<span class="text Col-1-17">and have their being" (Rev. 4:11)</span><br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-35065086776011675122014-09-21T21:08:00.000-07:002024-03-12T01:00:53.374-07:00Joy in lossI have recently read the journey of suffering of one blogger who had a miscarriage. With eloquence and tremendous sensibility, she describes the sadness, the fear and the sense of loss she felt throughout her ordeal. As I read her story, I cried. I cried for the child she never got to hold. For the thousands of women who, as I write, will not get to soothe a newborn's cry, or stroke their gentle cheeks. I cried for little bellies swollen from hunger, and shoeless feet bleeding from winter. And I cried for myself.<br />
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When I was very young-we are going back to the prehistoric era now- I believed that, if I loved God with all my heart and lived for Him, my life would be spared from suffering. The reward for my shiny existence would translate in a life free of chronic illness, or "complicated" relationships, or whatever other ailment affects the human race. Ten years into my struggle with digestive issues and beyond, I stand corrected in my doctrine. My struggles showed me that life is not as tidy and linear as my ideological lens had wished it would be. Life is often messy and difficult-but God is good.<br />
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My biblical heroes haven't exactly earned a free pass in their earthly pilgrimage, either. These people have toiled much, failed often and sorrowed deeply at times-yet God ushered them in heaven's hall of fame. Moses missed out on the Promised Land, his longing eyes beholding the very essence of his journey. For nearly a decade, David ran for his life, persecuted by the one whose torment he availed. Jeremiah wept at the destruction of Jerusalem and God's holy temple. Paul toiled with a thorn in his flesh -something that bothered him enough to plead God thrice for its removal. And Jesus... Jesus died. <br />
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I still remember the evening I knew something was wrong. One bite into a luscious Granny Smith apple, my throat was on fire. I lay down, and my abdomen felt like a load of rocks. For weeks and months following, my distended abdomen told the story of an invisible struggle that brought a new normal to my physical functions. Those were months of fearing, wandering a desert of question marks, and diet restrictions, and medication side effects. The "what if" and "if only" lurked constantly in my thoughts, preying on my fragile condition and threatening to collapse my world into despair.<br />
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Ten years later, I might still be wandering the same desert, pounding at the same question marks, stroking the same "what if"s-but Christ changed everything. He came and moped my tear-stained soul with strokes of light and laughter. He taught me how to walk again -hope again- laugh again. He held my heart on solitary walks and nourished it with rainbows and The scrolls. He came arrayed with strength and comfort - and what He spoke, I became. In His presence, I believe all things, hope all things, endure all things. <br />
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Christ changes <em>everything</em>.<br />
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"For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, works for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen, for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal." (2 Cor.4:17,18)<span class="p"><br /></span><span class="versiontext"></span><span class="p"><br /></span><br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-78216512142056558382014-09-12T10:38:00.001-07:002024-03-12T01:02:09.053-07:00And then there was summerMichal and I have been in our townhouse for over a year now, and our décor is still a work in progress. After numerous trips to Home Sense, a hundred purchases and a hundred minus one returns, I am still looking. For what? For that perfect, flawless "thing" that will accentuate the square corners of my dining room table or the reflective surface of my mirrored dresser. That structure that will fill my empty nook underneath the small living room window. That artwork that will dress the airy grey walls in hues of warmth and summer-eternal summer. It is no secret in my circle that I am obsessed with all things sparkling. My eyes light up when light shatters into rainbow as it pierces through a crystal chandelier. I love the way diamonds explode with flames of color as the sun bursts through brilliant facets. My cheeks and my hands tremble at the caress of soft and furry blankets. And the pulse of all these likes is color- explosions of vibrant, deep tones of reds, blues and gold.<br />
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Perhaps my obsession with all things colored and shiny can be traced to the elements of summer. This season of non-stop sunshine has always been my favorite. In summer, the whole of creation is flooded and fed by consuming, fiery sunlight. Seagulls and dolphins, ocean and sky roar their acoustics beneath the gallop of the sun. Everything is full of life, everything glows... I enjoy beyond words the thousand shades of green bursting toward the translucent skies. My fingers delight in the soft texture of flower petals as they brazenly chase the knight of the firmaments. My palate is continually stimulated by soft, ripened fruit that will restore the nutrients winter stole. All I want to do is be outside-cradled by warmth and infused by light until my every cell is nourished and restored by its healing rays.<br />
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My obsession with summer can in turn be traced to my desire for God. God is light-at all times, in all seasons, everywhere. Because of Him, the birds outside my window fill my ears with their continual chirp of joy. He is the author of the resident splendor of roses, and dahlias, and linden. It was His idea-and only His- to fill the oceans with creatures ornate with iridescent sheen. It was His creative genius that endowed the tiger both his fur stripes and his predatory moan. It was in His heart to fill the skies with wings and the air with aromas - to fill our ears and our lungs with transparent joy.<br />
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This parcel of the Milky Way which is our home-and the galaxies beyond- are an unveiling of Him. We marvel before the wonders we taste and see and smell - and they are all a reflection of His limitless command. He spoke that which was within Him-and it came: extravagant, overflowing, overwhelming majesty. "The heavens declare the glory of God.." -glory that every being made in the likeness of Adam can behold with unveiled faces. He is beautiful, and our desire for all things lovely authenticates our origin in Him.<br />
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I am enjoying the last morsel of summer with the window open, the birds continually serenading me with their song. Soon, the rains will start and the glow of summer will be a faint memory on my fading tan and my birdless tree. My hunt for the perfect "thing" to dress up my living room will continue. It's okay, I have come to realize, to like all things sparkly and shiny, soft and velvety. These small treasures remind me of Him - His awesome wonder, His brilliance, His joy. I see the auburn maple and the lilac in my neighbor's yard, I hear the chatter of the birds and I long for Him. Summer will soon pass away and my heart is at rest-in all seasons, at all times, everywhere, He remains.<br />
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"The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows his handiwork." (Psalm 19:1)<span class="p"><br /></span><br />
<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-74375147328970420202014-08-22T11:50:00.000-07:002024-03-12T01:12:36.794-07:00Sound of many watersMichal and I recently returned from a trip on Vancouver Island, specifically the rainforest of Pacific Rim National Park. For three days, we walked the verdant trails colored in a thousand shades of green, breathing in the pulse of the forest. We unplugged ourselves from the attachment of all things electronic and we planted our souls and our feet on the hallowed ground of the centuries-old sanctuary of giant evergreens, their branches embracing the sky. Silvery cedars, weathered and stressed by time and rain, stretched their twisted trunks on our paths across several feet. Old Man's beard linches, appropriately named due to their hairy, silvery appearance, hung like tinsel from branches of fir and hemlock, their delicate strands supplying the machinery for photosynthesis. Sometimes the canopy of branches was so thick and the foliage so dense that sunlight was off limits on these trails. Above us, branches covered in moss and fungus contorted their silhouettes in intricate, asymmetrical shapes. Below us, banana slugs unveiled their black-speckled contours as rain was falling gently on the ground. And the ocean always in our ears... We walked excitedly, allured by the restless buffeting of the waves calling us to praise the One whose voice is like the sound of many waters. Sometimes we would hear its billows from far away, unleashing their grand fury against the sentinel of rocks. Ah, if we could hear the secrets of the great waters within the anger of their poundings! If the ears of our hearts could decipher the agony of the billows... <br />
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Walking beneath the cupola of the luscious forest, the ocean beating against a nearby shore, our hearts were melting in thanksgiving to the One who created such grandeur for our delight. The heavens declare the glory of God -and how vividly we saw His creative majesty in this unparalleled panorama of surreal beauty. He reveals Himself in the firmament above, in the luxuriant shades of green around us, in the force of the ocean reverberating within us. How awesome God must be to have authored such splendor! How extravagant in beauty my God must be to have birthed such grandeur... how pregnant with creative energy is His word to have spoken such a world into existence! Oh, that the whole world may praise Him for His wonderful works!<br />
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I can still smell the colors of the forest as it came alive under a gentle mist that afternoon of August. I close my eyes and I see the ocean crashing with unstoppable might against the gentle sands of the shore. I hear the seagulls in their dance across the waters, their delicate song a fit complement to the roar of the waves. I see God's heart pulsating with beauty and love in this extraordinary unfolding of color and sound. Verily it is well with my soul...<br />
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"For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God" (Romans 1:20)<br />
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"Oh that men would praise the LORD for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!" (Psalm 107:15)<span class="p"><br /></span><br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-6936427701748383972014-03-05T23:28:00.000-08:002024-03-12T01:02:35.956-07:00Wonderfully madeToday is the first day I have felt a considerable measurable of relief from the symptoms that have plagued me these last few days. I have been in physical agony of such intensity that a simple task such as getting a glass of water exhausted all my resolve. This virus was more virulent than any other that had previously attacked my system. It held me captive to my couch and deprived me of rest and sleep both day and night. I thank God for having crossed to the other side-the place where healing is finally accomplishing its work.<br />
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There might the occasional soul who may be confounded by my joyous declaration of physical restoration. "It's just the flu, Delia, no reason to make a big deal about it. Of course you would snap out of it eventually... " Ahh, maybe... I have been in health-care long enough to see people come into the hospital with a simple cold and hours later their lungs shut down and they toggle between life and death. Nobody knows why, or how. The trip to intensive care is often paved with questions that elude answers. Eternity is but a breath away...<br />
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There is great relief sweeping over me at having "overcome" the offending microorganism. I have never experienced this sentiment before... I always took healing for granted. Today I am more aware of the complex world of viruses and bacteria that constantly seem to shift and mutate their structure, making them more difficult to eradicate by our present means. I also appreciate how "fearfully and wonderfully" my body is in its design: cells perpetually standing in attention to fight off incoming invaders; a heart that beats without my input, directing litters of blood to circuit throughout the body every minute of every day... lungs that inhale, independent of my command, life-giving oxygen that keeps the entire machinery of life going, pulsing, beating... Yet, amidst the complexities and incredibly intricate mechanisms of the body, there is potential for great peril. One simple clot in a blood-carrying vessel and this life would expire... one super-invader overcoming invisible defense barriers and this story would be terminated... Eternity is so, so close...<br />
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As I am enjoying rest on the other side of this debilitating flu, I thank God for the gift of life; for a body that triggered the right responses in its defense; for its ability to rebuild and reconstruct, and forge protective pathways. It is in Him that I breathe, and move, and have my being.<br />
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<span class="text Ps-139-13" id="en-NIV-16253">For you created my inmost being;</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-139-13">you knit me together in my mother’s womb.</span></span><br /><span class="text Ps-139-14" id="en-NIV-16254"><sup class="versenum">14 </sup>I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-139-14">your works are wonderful,</span></span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-139-14">I know that full well.</span></span><br /><span class="text Ps-139-15" id="en-NIV-16255"><sup class="versenum">15 </sup>My frame was not hidden from you</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-139-15">when I was made in the secret place,</span></span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-139-15">when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.</span></span><span class="text Ps-139-16" id="en-NIV-16256">Your eyes saw my unformed body;</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-139-16">all the days ordained for me were written in your book</span></span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-139-16">before one of them came to be.</span></span><br />
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(Psalm 139)<br />
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deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-9605128966260457912014-03-01T13:17:00.001-08:002024-03-12T01:03:08.317-07:00Small joysAs I am sitting here sipping on my thyme and cinnamon-honey tea (a strange combination indeed), I am so grateful for the small pleasures of life. Under normal circumstances, such a combination of tea ingredients would not exactly produce feelings of exaltation; however, as I am doing all I can to empower my body in its fight against a menacing virus, thyme is what the "family doctor" prescribed (ie. my sister, and she is a nurse).<br />
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This morning has been full of gratuitous yet significant luxuries already. My husband saved the last square of sea salt chocolate for me, an indulgence that has elevated my pleasure quotient and I am sure will contribute to a speedier recovery. Just minutes ago, I had a long phone conversation with my five-year old nephew (me, asking questions, he, dutifully answering). Although Joshua has transitioned to the "small boy" phase in which he asserts his independence every time I run to help him with some task, in my eyes he is still the toddler who needs me at every turn. I still want to tie his shoelaces, or wash his face after breakfast, or-alas, even worse!- feed him when he gets distracted. I still want to pick his clothes and dress him on the rare occasion I get to baby-sit him. To my disappointment (I know, a most selfish sentiment), Joshua has now taken charge of these daily tasks which have given me such immense satisfaction in the past. However, our relationship is as precious as it was when he couldn't pronounce my name or jump the stairs like a bunny. Now that Joshua can translate his surroundings into words and can therefore specifically instruct me about how to play a certain game (customization is not encouraged), I am enjoying the depth that comes with verbalizing moments that will be rendered immortal in the treasure chest of my heart. <br />
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As I am rediscovering this morning, joy can come from the simplest-and often unappreciated-places. A cup of warm tea on a winter morning. A hidden square of chocolate in a fridge full of vegetables. A sweet conversation with a child (in my case, time with Joshua is both therapeutic and magical). A walk in the rain forest. God is perpetually delighting my spirit with His gifts. He has colored the skies with serene hues of blue and injected the grass with vibrant shades of chlorophyll so we would taste and see how good He is. Because of Him and through him, life has merit and pleasure. La vita e bella, indeed...<br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-55654076170223314152014-02-27T22:51:00.000-08:002024-03-12T01:03:55.038-07:00Dressed in whiteAs I look outside my window, I see snow-covered trees and rooftops. This panorama is so rare where I live that it may not be duplicated again this year, or even next year. White, fresh, falling like a dream, snowflakes dance in unison to form a powdery blanket of wonder and joy. Soon, children will step onto the streets, their cheeks rosy with the excitement of a snow fight or the labor of erecting a snowman.<br />
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Although I greatly enjoy the ethereal beauty that covers the city with each snowfall, I soon feel the need to snap out of the magic. Maybe because of my not-so-twenty-something age, I compute the difficulties of miry roads, icy driveways and frost-filled air to conclude that maybe all this fleeting wonder is overrated. Or maybe it is because the aftermath of such a snowfall, summed up in slushy, dirty grounds is an adequate parallel to the dirt sin leaves behind on my white and shiny dress.<br />
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The moment I received the salvation of Jesus Christ into my soul, He placed a beautiful white robe of righteousness upon me. Everything was new, and clean, and bright, much like this first snowfall. I sparkled and glowed as I danced around in my new dress, the light of His love bathing me in jewels. It was so blindingly white! But the mire followed closely. A gossip session. A harsh phrase. A condemning glare. Soon my garment had no trace of white in it.<br />
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I know that, because I live and move and breathe in Him, positionally I am still white. My robe still sparkles and glows because He washes it in His blood as I humbly plead His forgiveness. However, I don't feel so white most days. In fact, the voices in my head remind me day by day (sometimes second by second) of my many failures. My heart is prone to wander and, in my wander, to hide my face from Him. However, the more I run from Him, the louder the condemning rattle grows. It is only when I face the noise of my trespasses that freedom and forgiveness come.<br />
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I am realizing that my feelings are completely irrelevant when it comes to my positional righteousness. It doesn't matter if some days I feel like I have stepped out of a mud bath. It is also equally unimpressive if at times I feel like the magic eraser has rubbed me spotless. I am righteous because He said I am. End of story. Let all other voices be silent where He has spoken. Let Him be the beginning and the end of my righteousness. Everything else is simply background noise. <br />
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<i>"Come now, and let us reason together," Says the LORD, "Though your sins
are as scarlet, They will be as white as snow; Though they are red like
crimson, They will be like wool." </i> Isaiah 1:18<br />
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"<i>For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes.</i>"<br />
(Romans 10:4) <br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-10619123740673091952013-04-09T23:54:00.000-07:002024-03-12T01:04:39.179-07:00Home away from HomeMichal and I are in the process of purchasing our first home together. As I look through various listings that match our budget, my heart is yearning for a place of warmth and romance, a place that my dreams call home.<br />
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In my imagination, our house is contained on a lush slice of space, where the verdant lawn feeds our sight and the pink blossoms soothe our senses. This tract is far removed from the chaos of rowdy engines and blaring sirens, on a street with no end and no commercial clutter. Children are playing outside, free from dread and full of glee. A soft wind rustles through the linden tree, and a bright sun smiles its approval through the kitchen window. Everywhere I look, there is a morsel of green to stimulate the soul and purify the air. This patch of grass and blossoms is a place of perpetual vacation for our thoughts and an inspiration for our heavenly ascent.<br />
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As much as I nurture this recess of my dreams, our present circumstances remind me that such a place is outside our reach (pending a miracle, of course). As vivid as this reality of unfulfilled dreams is, as clearer the substance of heaven emerges. This space of disordered byways and jammed pavements is not my home. This minute corner of the Milky Way galaxy, a speck of dust in the blueprint of a measureless universe, is not my destiny. I am designed and commissioned for heaven. My residence is a place of proportions that exhaust my understanding and sink my imagination. <br />
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Heaven is the atmosphere of joy-an ocean always flowing and never tainted by melancholy. Tears, or worry, or want are outside the scope of paradise reality. There is no want for treasures or titles, nor is there loss or end. There we need not hide from elements of rain or dust, nor retire under the canopy of night. Its currency is love, and its light is the Face of God. God penetrates everything and everyone-thus only His followers, in holiness and purity, will secure their address there. <br />
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The place we will likely call home here is stratospheres away from my dreams. However, I am content with that. This ride of measured moments is not the final station. My gaze is upward, my hope is inward. God's glory is the end and the beginning.<br />
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"And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away."<br />
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"Blessed are those who do His commandments, that they may have the right to the tree of life, and may enter through the gates into the city."<br />
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<br />deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3286800581767554128.post-47937631626729797862013-04-07T21:41:00.001-07:002024-03-12T01:04:58.605-07:00My fatherThis week my father celebrated sixty years of life under the sun.<br />
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It is hard to summarize the impact my dad has had upon my life and those closest to him. He has touched us in so many ways, and has left his imprints upon such vast corridors of our hearts. My best attempt to detail his influence could only be marginal in scope, for the man that I call Dad is more complex than my impoverished words may shape him to be.<br />
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I can remember, as a child, my father reciting Romanian poems such as "The Queen of Ostrogots", "Night of May", and "El Zorab". These sessions of recital unleashed in me a flood of desire for the
nobility of words and their power to elevate the threshold of beauty in
the human heart. Listening to his voice, I could feel the anguish of a dispossessed queen, the sorrow of a widowed wife, the flutter of a lover's heart, the weight of age upon one's mind... My father's voice, at times soft with whisper, at times thunderous with feeling, gave breath to history's most tumultuous figures, worlds away in character and struggles. We, the hearers, were changed-at least for the moment-and aroused to seek elegance of thought and feeling in our otherwise mundane existence.<br />
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Later in my teens, as my father had a life-changing encounter with God, he once again became a primary agent in shaping my destiny. Late at night, as we were all in bed, I would hear my father agonizing for hours in prayer for the eternal salvation of souls. He prayed for his loved ones by name, every night. He poured out his soul like water for God's revival upon his village, a place he still speaks of often with tears of compassion. God answered, and our faith grew. I became hooked to the God of my father, the God who became my Lord and my Friend, to whom I owe my breath and my devotion.<br />
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As an adult and with a family of my own, I continue to look to my father for help. Talking to him, even about the mundane events of everyday life, is soothing. Sometimes words aren't necessary-being around him is enough to calm my storms and encourage my spirit. God has been most generous to give me a father who loves Him and intercedes daily for his daughters and the world far beyond his loved ones. My father is living a life of excellence as He serves his God wholeheartedly, loves his family impartially and seeks the eternal and physical well-being of those around him. My desire is to emulate his passion for God and love for the souls of men as he lives a life of purpose of fruitfulness.<br />
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Happy birthday Dad-and thank you. <br />
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deliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12996942642408137149noreply@blogger.com