The Breath of God

There is a reason they call him "The Wind," or "The Breath of God." He fills the earth and there is no vacuum. He stris, he rustles, and things happen. He breathes and we live or die. He settles smooth over life like air settles thick and full over fields, mountains, streams and cities. He gusts and blows and nations topple or habits break or someone changes her mind about God.

He is the Holy Spirit.

I call him "The Wind" -- "The Breath of God" -- because in the languages of both Old and New Testaments the word for "wind" or "breath" is identical to the word for "spirit." What is spirit? It is wind, breeze, the breath of life.

So I picture God's Spirit as "the wind," covering the earth, carrying the goodness of God on its breezes. It fills everything, touches everything, reaches everyone. It is everywhere and inescapable. I picture God's Spirit as "The Breath of God." Without him, life suffocates.

The imagery of God's Spirit as wind and breath is apt. We might try to close ourselves off from him, slam the door and close the windows against his breezes. But there always seems to be a draft under the door, reminding us of his presence and his patient but persistent desire to enter our stale and stuffy lives. Those who are wise not only throw open the door, but also inhale deeply.

© 2005

Assembling the Puzzle of Joy

You open the box and empty its contents on the table. There, before you, are hundreds of individual pieces that, when fitted together, will create something that makes sense. A complete picture. You pick up individual pieces, look at them from different angles, and try your best to fit them together with other pieces. Slowly, the project takes shape, as you compare the puzzle on the table with the picture on the box -- your only guide to what the puzzle is to become.

Your life is such a project. In time, hundreds -- thousands -- of individual details will somehow fit together. When the puzzle is at least complete, you will be satisfied with the result. Until then, the process of figuring out the place of each piece can be annoying, a seemingly endless trial of your patience.

The encouraging difference between these two puzzles is this: The puzzle that is your life, God is assembling. Each individual piece -- whether hardship or happiness -- God will fit together with flawless skill. When the process is complete, your life will perfectly match the picture in his mind -- the precise image of what you can become.

© 2005

Stars and Sand

A promise to Abraham
A promise to us

God made a promise to his friend Abraham. Though he was old, his wife unable to conceive, he would father the Nation, the people of the promise. Abraham, whose descendants are "as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sand on the seashore" held onto the unlikely promise.

Faith. Hold on to the promise.

Even today, God may seem distant, his promise a faint memory. But faith holds on to the promises of our Friend.

Sometimes faith means remembering, when everything inside you and around you screams for attention and will most certainly distract you and drown out the voice of memory, and cloud your vision of the better things God has promised.

So do this: On a clear night, go out and find a place away from the light pollution. Look up and start counting stars. You are linked to the promise, the promise God made to Abraham. You are an heir to that promise by faith. You are one of those stars. But what is one star among so many?

It is a flame of promise and potential known by an infinite and omniscient God.

Take a pilgrimage, in your imagination if not in reality. Make your way to the coast. Stand at the shoreline. Look out at the vast, immeasurable stretch of ocean. And look down at your feet and all around you. Stoop down and fill your fist with sand. Let the grains filter through your fingers. But hold one. Look at it. Keep it. Imagine its place amoung all the coastlines of the world. You are that one grain of sand. You are nothing. What do you matter?

No, remind yourself that you are known. That which seems insignificant and forgotten, that appears lost in the infinity of stuff, is known by God. You, the single star -- you, the solitary grain of sand -- are part of the promise and are known and loved by your Creator.

© 2005

Show Time

You enter a dark movie theater and take a seat. The curtain rises and the screen comes to life. For the next two hours you will watch a motion-picture depiction of reality.

Someone has written a script, but the limitations of the medium have dictated certain things. Let's say the story covers a span of three years; the movie will run 120 minutes. Obviously, much will be omitted from the story. The events will be abbreviated, as will the characters. People will be depicted, but the movie will fail to capture the full, rich complexity of real life. The best characterizations will remain caricatures, compared to reality, and the sequence of events as the movie related them will, of necessity, be distilled to simpler form.

The best of screenplays falls far short of the real story.

Even so, you watch the movie, captivated by spectacular effects, yet scarcely aware of them. You're so engrossed in the production that you're not distracted by the mechanics of simulating reality. If it's a good story, told well, it will touch your emotions and provoke reflection. You will not be quite the same when, finally, the closing credits begin to roll.

Then, as the lights brighten and you step through the exit, you enter what Hollywood has spent millions characterizing and you have just spent two hours escaping: reality.

It will be similar when we exit this life. We will look back on time as a gripping and convincing drama, but it will suddenly feel flat and simplified in the true and eternal light of day.

© 2005

A Place Called Forever

Time is a room in a place called Forever.

We live in that room.

Eternity is outside and all around us. Four walls, a floor and a roof hide Forever from view.

But something has punched a hole in the wall of this room called Time. God has installed a window.

Look through that window. Always look through that window, and let the great outdoors called Forever give perspective to all that happens in these cramped quarters we call Time. Then pause and thank the Builder for flooding your life with light.

* * * * *

Time is a room in a place called Forever.

We live in that room.

But one day, and soon, I suspect, the roof will fly off, the walls will fall, the floor will dissolve beneath our feet. Time will be consumed by the Eternity that has always surrounded it.

What will we do with the sudden brightness and the brisk winds that blow across Forever?

I imagine some will wither under that sun, shrivel up and blow away.

Others will be only warmed and invigorated, as if truly alive for the first time.

© 2005