It is cold with frost on the vine this morning. The sun is shining like a beacon at a lonely airport, slipping in through the limbs of the oaks on the property of the parsonage in which I live. It is a good morning, flying strong and true.
We're full of debate these days, debate about deficits and how to attack them. Full of chatter about cutting programs that millions count on. Full of problems in this country that seem far bigger than our capicity to fix them. People are broken and they don't even know it. Some are even well-aware of their problems but have given in to them.
I pray for them, for this country, but the advancement of those prayers doesn't seem to make it to the throne room for those problems seem, seem to be growing, not shrinking.
I have things to do today, handing out free water to patrons of the livestock show to show our church cares. I have a to-do list, a Bible study tonight. I do have projects. But I wonder if it's enough, always wonder if it's enough.
Today I pray I will stop for a moment to ponder who created the cold morning with frost on the vine. Who is it that produced the sun that is shining? Who?
I will stop to think that problems of material things are problems that are self-made. I will ponder that no one on this earth can fix that. I will reason that our future is a potentially cataclysmic one with none having answers but everyone shouting that they do.
Isaiah wrote, "Don't you understand the foundation of all things? God sits high above the round ball of earth. The people look like mere ants. He stretches out the skies like a canvas -- yes, like a tent canvas to live under. ... 'So -- who is like me? Who holds a candle to me?' says the Holy.
Therein lies the rub. Who indeed?
Who gave me this meager talent to write and to meagerly affect lives? Who called me to ministry and equipped me for it? Who even tells me my limitations so that I don't wander ahead of him?
Only God. Yes, God. The Holy.
If we don't turn back to him, one day we won't be. It has happened to every country in history. Every one.
Only god, my friends. The Holy.
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