Jean Coleman's Blog, page 2
August 2, 2014
THE SQUEEZER
Do all things really work together for good? I have become convinced that God can squeeze some good out of everything. In fact, there are even times when you can actually feel the squeezing taking place through various circumstances in your life. Remember what Job went through.
What comes to mind when you think of squeezing? Most probably an orange. The orange juice squeezer that we have at our house is a rather fearful-looking appliance and it has only one purpose—to squeeze the sweet juice out of the orange.
Poor orange! It has to go through a lot to have its juice extracted. First with a sharp knife it is sliced down through the middle. You can almost sense the pain as the knife is thrust in, dividing the orange in half. Then the orange is placed into the squeezing chamber, completely encased by metal walls that hold it firmly in their grasp as the pressure is applied.
The orange probably feels like it is being destroyed as more and more pressure is brought to bear. Finally when the orange has reached the point where it has been completely drained, the squeezing stops. And then guess what happens? The rind is tossed away with the garbage and all that remains is the juice that has been squeezed from it. It's not easy to be an orange that is destined to bring forth juice.
Have you been feeling a lot of pressure lately? Have you been through some crushing experiences as you are placed in the squeezer of the spirit? Is the Lord working in your life to divide soul from spirit and to remove the works of the flesh? Does God want to release from within you a flow of love, peace, grace, thankfulness, patience, faith and joy?
Like the orange, we need to yield to the pressures of life and allow the crushing to have its effect upon us. The goodness within can be loosed to bless those around you in your home and on the job. Often in these troubled days we are brought face to face with unbelievable pressures. It can seem that we spend the majority of our time in the squeezer. There are so many instruments God uses to do the crushing—family, co-workers, friends and neighbors all seem capable of putting their hand to the squeezer.
There is also the unrelenting pressure of meeting the needs of our family. Our children will occasionally cause us to face some crushing blows. Then there is the constant pressure of competition in the work place, along with the threat of ever-increasing unemployment. Pressure on the working mother is brought from all sides. Even our church commitment can bring almost overwhelming pressure at times.
But I am confident that we are only put into the squeezer with God's permission. He knows what is hidden away inside of each of us that can only be squeezed out and dealt with through pressure. The pressures of life can cause us to give forth something that the rind of fear was holding captive. As we allow our fears to be stripped from us, God will squeeze something good from the problem. What a great God we serve.
So when you feel like the pressures of life are crushing you, rejoice and be glad! You can know that the Master has you in His hand and is getting ready to bring forth something good and sweet that is trapped within you. Embrace the squeezer! It's an instrument prepared by God for your good. And remember that the orange juice never benefits the orange. What comes forth from the orange as a result of the squeezing is to bless and nourish others. Maybe the orange juice squeezer isn't so bad after all.
What comes to mind when you think of squeezing? Most probably an orange. The orange juice squeezer that we have at our house is a rather fearful-looking appliance and it has only one purpose—to squeeze the sweet juice out of the orange.
Poor orange! It has to go through a lot to have its juice extracted. First with a sharp knife it is sliced down through the middle. You can almost sense the pain as the knife is thrust in, dividing the orange in half. Then the orange is placed into the squeezing chamber, completely encased by metal walls that hold it firmly in their grasp as the pressure is applied.
The orange probably feels like it is being destroyed as more and more pressure is brought to bear. Finally when the orange has reached the point where it has been completely drained, the squeezing stops. And then guess what happens? The rind is tossed away with the garbage and all that remains is the juice that has been squeezed from it. It's not easy to be an orange that is destined to bring forth juice.
Have you been feeling a lot of pressure lately? Have you been through some crushing experiences as you are placed in the squeezer of the spirit? Is the Lord working in your life to divide soul from spirit and to remove the works of the flesh? Does God want to release from within you a flow of love, peace, grace, thankfulness, patience, faith and joy?
Like the orange, we need to yield to the pressures of life and allow the crushing to have its effect upon us. The goodness within can be loosed to bless those around you in your home and on the job. Often in these troubled days we are brought face to face with unbelievable pressures. It can seem that we spend the majority of our time in the squeezer. There are so many instruments God uses to do the crushing—family, co-workers, friends and neighbors all seem capable of putting their hand to the squeezer.
There is also the unrelenting pressure of meeting the needs of our family. Our children will occasionally cause us to face some crushing blows. Then there is the constant pressure of competition in the work place, along with the threat of ever-increasing unemployment. Pressure on the working mother is brought from all sides. Even our church commitment can bring almost overwhelming pressure at times.
But I am confident that we are only put into the squeezer with God's permission. He knows what is hidden away inside of each of us that can only be squeezed out and dealt with through pressure. The pressures of life can cause us to give forth something that the rind of fear was holding captive. As we allow our fears to be stripped from us, God will squeeze something good from the problem. What a great God we serve.
So when you feel like the pressures of life are crushing you, rejoice and be glad! You can know that the Master has you in His hand and is getting ready to bring forth something good and sweet that is trapped within you. Embrace the squeezer! It's an instrument prepared by God for your good. And remember that the orange juice never benefits the orange. What comes forth from the orange as a result of the squeezing is to bless and nourish others. Maybe the orange juice squeezer isn't so bad after all.
April 17, 2014
THE BIRTH ON THE CROSS
THE BIRTH ON THE CROSS
The miracle of birth! What can compare to this new life that is fearfully and wondrously made? A new life emerging from the darkness of the womb into the light. A mother laboring amid pain and suffering to bring forth a child made in her image and likeness.
Yet in the midst of her anguish, there is an air of expectancy, yes even joy, as she awaits the birth of the child that will soon be born. In the agony of her pain, suffering, sweat and blood, a thing of beauty is being brought forth—a newborn child.
"A woman when she is in travail has sorrow because her hour is come: but as soon as she is delivered of the child, she remembers no more the anguish for joy that a child is born into the world" (John 16:21).
A curse was placed upon woman back in the garden of Eden when she sinned. "In sorrow you will bring forth children" (Genesis 3:16). But then in the fullness of time, our Lord Jesus was made a curse for us, because it is written in the scriptures, "Cursed is everyone that hangs on a tree" (Galatians 3:13).
How often do we think of the cross as a delivery table? How often do we think of the man of sorrows hanging there on the cross as the One bearing the curse of childbirth's pain to bring forth His church—the child of promise conformed to His image and likeness? There on the cross was the Creator of the universe, stripped of His dignity, naked and exposed to the eyes of men giving birth to a new creation. "Jesus, who for the joy that was set before Him, endured the cross, despising the shame" (Hebrews 12:2).
A mother giving birth is a lonely figure. She labors alone. No one can do it for her. Her labor and her labor alone will bring forth the child. Others may stand by and watch her suffering, but in the hour of birth, she alone endures the pain. "My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46).
Hour upon hour of almost unbearable pain as the child is being delivered. Her body is being stretched and torn as the child makes its way down the birth canal. "Narrow is the way which leads to life" (Matthew 7:14).
She is exhausted, yet still the child has not come. Will the pain ever end? Mouth so dry—"I thirst" (John 19:28). She is held captive on the delivery table awaiting the imminent birth. The child must be born and there is no turning back.
And then suddenly, "It is finished!" (John 19:30). A perfectly formed child still covered with blood has come into the world. Joy of joy! A child has been born.
Children of God, never forget what Jesus endured that you might be born into the kingdom of God. For the church is the blood-covered child that our Lord brought forth that day on the cross. You are the result of His labor that day on Calvary. You have been delivered and placed into the arms of the One who loved you and gave Himself for you.
The Lord died in childbirth on what we call Good Friday. But hallelujah—the good news is that Jesus rose from the dead and He lives forevermore. And so we celebrate His resurrection on Easter Sunday. Jesus is alive! He lives! Let us rejoice and be glad.
Chapter 29 Revisited by Jean Coleman
The miracle of birth! What can compare to this new life that is fearfully and wondrously made? A new life emerging from the darkness of the womb into the light. A mother laboring amid pain and suffering to bring forth a child made in her image and likeness.
Yet in the midst of her anguish, there is an air of expectancy, yes even joy, as she awaits the birth of the child that will soon be born. In the agony of her pain, suffering, sweat and blood, a thing of beauty is being brought forth—a newborn child.
"A woman when she is in travail has sorrow because her hour is come: but as soon as she is delivered of the child, she remembers no more the anguish for joy that a child is born into the world" (John 16:21).
A curse was placed upon woman back in the garden of Eden when she sinned. "In sorrow you will bring forth children" (Genesis 3:16). But then in the fullness of time, our Lord Jesus was made a curse for us, because it is written in the scriptures, "Cursed is everyone that hangs on a tree" (Galatians 3:13).
How often do we think of the cross as a delivery table? How often do we think of the man of sorrows hanging there on the cross as the One bearing the curse of childbirth's pain to bring forth His church—the child of promise conformed to His image and likeness? There on the cross was the Creator of the universe, stripped of His dignity, naked and exposed to the eyes of men giving birth to a new creation. "Jesus, who for the joy that was set before Him, endured the cross, despising the shame" (Hebrews 12:2).
A mother giving birth is a lonely figure. She labors alone. No one can do it for her. Her labor and her labor alone will bring forth the child. Others may stand by and watch her suffering, but in the hour of birth, she alone endures the pain. "My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46).
Hour upon hour of almost unbearable pain as the child is being delivered. Her body is being stretched and torn as the child makes its way down the birth canal. "Narrow is the way which leads to life" (Matthew 7:14).
She is exhausted, yet still the child has not come. Will the pain ever end? Mouth so dry—"I thirst" (John 19:28). She is held captive on the delivery table awaiting the imminent birth. The child must be born and there is no turning back.
And then suddenly, "It is finished!" (John 19:30). A perfectly formed child still covered with blood has come into the world. Joy of joy! A child has been born.
Children of God, never forget what Jesus endured that you might be born into the kingdom of God. For the church is the blood-covered child that our Lord brought forth that day on the cross. You are the result of His labor that day on Calvary. You have been delivered and placed into the arms of the One who loved you and gave Himself for you.
The Lord died in childbirth on what we call Good Friday. But hallelujah—the good news is that Jesus rose from the dead and He lives forevermore. And so we celebrate His resurrection on Easter Sunday. Jesus is alive! He lives! Let us rejoice and be glad.
Chapter 29 Revisited by Jean Coleman
April 9, 2014
THE RESCUE
Dog pounds are depressing. We wandered through the rows of cages filled with dogs of every size, shape and description. Each cage bore a large cardboard sign stating the date telling when the dog had been impounded and also the date it would be put to sleep if not claimed. The atmosphere was heavy. It seemed as though even the dogs knew that their chances of survival were slim. Their only hope was that someone would come and pay the price for their release and give them a home. They needed a savior—a deliverer.
We were looking for a companion—a friend. That's really what most people are seeking in a dog. It's a great feeling to come home and find a tail-wagging bundle of fur who thinks you are the greatest person in the whole world. When you think about it, dogs don't actually serve much purpose except to show love and affection. And that's exactly what we were seeking on that cold winter's day at the shelter—a lovable friend.
The dog was sitting in the corner of his cage when we first saw him. Certainly there wasn't much to attract us to this particular dog. He was dirty, his fur was all matted and the dog was so thin you could actually see his ribs. It appeared that the poor thing hadn't eaten a good meal in weeks. But as we approached his cage, the dog stood up and began to enthusiastically wag his tail.
My husband crouched down on the floor next to the cage and held out his hand toward the dog. "Come here, boy," he called gently.
Without hesitation, the dog immediately came over to us. His tongue shot out through the links of the cage and he licked Jack's extended hand with wet signs of his affection. And in that moment he became our dog. He belonged to us. He was called and he was chosen. Our hearts were joined with this unlikely specimen of a dog. I guess you could almost call it love at first sight.
Before we could take the dog home, we had to pay the price to redeem him. Once the seventy-five dollars was paid, the cage was unlocked and he came bounding out into our arms. The dog had once been lost, but now he was found. The dog had a new owner, a new home and even a new name. He became Dennis—our chosen dog. His past was soon to be forgotten and a bright future loomed before him .
It was an exciting moment as we led Dennis into our home for the first time. Our home was now his home and the first item on the agenda was a good bath. When Dennis came out of the tub, he looked like a completely different dog. He was absolutely beautiful and smelled fresh and clean.
Next he was given a big bowl of dog food and some fresh water. "You'll never be hungry or thirsty again," we promised him. "We're going to take good care of you from now on."
When Dennis had finished eating, we put a leather collar around his neck with a tag that clearly stated his name along with our address and phone number. Dennis would never be lost again. He was clearly identified as belonging to us and had our promise of protection.
This is not to say that Dennis didn't still have a lot to learn. The dog had never been housebroken, so it was very important that he quickly learned there were to be no messes inside our house. We also expected him to be obedient to all our commands. Dennis was trained to come when he was called and to stay right next to us when we went out for walks together. A tragic experience with a bedroom slipper taught him that things belonging to his master were to be treated with respect. Words can't express what a wonderful dog Dennis has become or the amount of joy that he has given us over the years. since we brought him home.
And I need to add that Dennis is a very privileged pooch. In the evening he stretches out on the couch between us with his head in my lap. He's our dog now, a part of our family, and we love him very much.
The story of Dennis is a simple parable of salvation that illustrates God's love for lost people. It's a message about the Master who was willing to pay the price to redeem them and make His home their home. How wonderful that the gospel can be expressed in such a way that even a child can understand that Jesus came to seek and to save that which was lost. I'm so glad that when I was lost, Jesus came and paid the price for me.
Chapter 29 Revisited
We were looking for a companion—a friend. That's really what most people are seeking in a dog. It's a great feeling to come home and find a tail-wagging bundle of fur who thinks you are the greatest person in the whole world. When you think about it, dogs don't actually serve much purpose except to show love and affection. And that's exactly what we were seeking on that cold winter's day at the shelter—a lovable friend.
The dog was sitting in the corner of his cage when we first saw him. Certainly there wasn't much to attract us to this particular dog. He was dirty, his fur was all matted and the dog was so thin you could actually see his ribs. It appeared that the poor thing hadn't eaten a good meal in weeks. But as we approached his cage, the dog stood up and began to enthusiastically wag his tail.
My husband crouched down on the floor next to the cage and held out his hand toward the dog. "Come here, boy," he called gently.
Without hesitation, the dog immediately came over to us. His tongue shot out through the links of the cage and he licked Jack's extended hand with wet signs of his affection. And in that moment he became our dog. He belonged to us. He was called and he was chosen. Our hearts were joined with this unlikely specimen of a dog. I guess you could almost call it love at first sight.
Before we could take the dog home, we had to pay the price to redeem him. Once the seventy-five dollars was paid, the cage was unlocked and he came bounding out into our arms. The dog had once been lost, but now he was found. The dog had a new owner, a new home and even a new name. He became Dennis—our chosen dog. His past was soon to be forgotten and a bright future loomed before him .
It was an exciting moment as we led Dennis into our home for the first time. Our home was now his home and the first item on the agenda was a good bath. When Dennis came out of the tub, he looked like a completely different dog. He was absolutely beautiful and smelled fresh and clean.
Next he was given a big bowl of dog food and some fresh water. "You'll never be hungry or thirsty again," we promised him. "We're going to take good care of you from now on."
When Dennis had finished eating, we put a leather collar around his neck with a tag that clearly stated his name along with our address and phone number. Dennis would never be lost again. He was clearly identified as belonging to us and had our promise of protection.
This is not to say that Dennis didn't still have a lot to learn. The dog had never been housebroken, so it was very important that he quickly learned there were to be no messes inside our house. We also expected him to be obedient to all our commands. Dennis was trained to come when he was called and to stay right next to us when we went out for walks together. A tragic experience with a bedroom slipper taught him that things belonging to his master were to be treated with respect. Words can't express what a wonderful dog Dennis has become or the amount of joy that he has given us over the years. since we brought him home.
And I need to add that Dennis is a very privileged pooch. In the evening he stretches out on the couch between us with his head in my lap. He's our dog now, a part of our family, and we love him very much.
The story of Dennis is a simple parable of salvation that illustrates God's love for lost people. It's a message about the Master who was willing to pay the price to redeem them and make His home their home. How wonderful that the gospel can be expressed in such a way that even a child can understand that Jesus came to seek and to save that which was lost. I'm so glad that when I was lost, Jesus came and paid the price for me.
Chapter 29 Revisited
March 10, 2014
MORE THAN ENOUGH
Her shopping completed, a young mother stood in front of the grocery store with her four small children and overflowing cart. It had been a long morning and the youngsters were tired and fussy. She sighed as she contemplated the challenge of getting the children and groceries into the car.
Just then she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find one of the older women from the church smiling at her. "You look like you have your hands full," her friend said. "I'm sure it isn't easy to raise four children in this day and age."
As the two women continued to talk together, the children stayed close to their mother's side. The smallest boy clutched the hem of her garment tightly in his hand like a security blanket. He wasn't about to let her out of his sight.
It was obvious that the mother was very much aware of her little brood at her feet. Every few moments she would stretch out her hand to stroke a child's hair or to hoist up a pair of drooping jeans. She opened her purse and took out a tissue to wipe a runny nose and a few minutes later she bent down to tie a shoelace. There was no doubt about it, she was love in action.
The older woman watched all of this mothering with great interest and finally asked a very pointed question: "How do you manage to divide your love among so many children?"
The young mother was instant in season with the answer. "I don't divide it. I multiply it. Then there's always plenty of love to go around."
What a tremendous number of children there are in the family of God. Our Heavenly Father has a multitude of sons and daughters composed of every kindred and tribe scattered all across the face of the earth. "How do you divide Your love among so many children, Lord?" we might be tempted to ask. And God replies, "I don't divide it. I multiply it!"
Isn't it wonderful that God has more than enough love to go around. There is always more than enough love for everyone. He gives and gives and still has more love to give.
And the Lord is always very much aware of those little ones who stand close to Him, holding tightly to His garment of righteous. His hand is always outstretched to comfort one of His children or to apply discipline when necessary. When the shoelaces of our lives get all tangled up, He is there to help us straighten things out.
Multiplied love! Jesus multiplied the loaves and the fish the day he fed the multitude and there was plenty of food for everyone. There was even enough food left over that the disciples were able to fill twelve baskets with the fragments. It's interesting to note that there were twelve baskets and also twelve disciples. Not a one of the disciples went away empty-handed or empty-hearted. The love of Jesus never runs out. It just keeps on multiplying.
As disciples we are also called upon to share a lot of love with others. We reach out to the hurting and wounded, loving them with the love of the Lord. The miracle is that we give and give and yet there is always more of God's love on reserve within us. The multiplying God never ceases to multiply His love in us and through us.
Our amazing God always has more than enough!
Just then she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find one of the older women from the church smiling at her. "You look like you have your hands full," her friend said. "I'm sure it isn't easy to raise four children in this day and age."
As the two women continued to talk together, the children stayed close to their mother's side. The smallest boy clutched the hem of her garment tightly in his hand like a security blanket. He wasn't about to let her out of his sight.
It was obvious that the mother was very much aware of her little brood at her feet. Every few moments she would stretch out her hand to stroke a child's hair or to hoist up a pair of drooping jeans. She opened her purse and took out a tissue to wipe a runny nose and a few minutes later she bent down to tie a shoelace. There was no doubt about it, she was love in action.
The older woman watched all of this mothering with great interest and finally asked a very pointed question: "How do you manage to divide your love among so many children?"
The young mother was instant in season with the answer. "I don't divide it. I multiply it. Then there's always plenty of love to go around."
What a tremendous number of children there are in the family of God. Our Heavenly Father has a multitude of sons and daughters composed of every kindred and tribe scattered all across the face of the earth. "How do you divide Your love among so many children, Lord?" we might be tempted to ask. And God replies, "I don't divide it. I multiply it!"
Isn't it wonderful that God has more than enough love to go around. There is always more than enough love for everyone. He gives and gives and still has more love to give.
And the Lord is always very much aware of those little ones who stand close to Him, holding tightly to His garment of righteous. His hand is always outstretched to comfort one of His children or to apply discipline when necessary. When the shoelaces of our lives get all tangled up, He is there to help us straighten things out.
Multiplied love! Jesus multiplied the loaves and the fish the day he fed the multitude and there was plenty of food for everyone. There was even enough food left over that the disciples were able to fill twelve baskets with the fragments. It's interesting to note that there were twelve baskets and also twelve disciples. Not a one of the disciples went away empty-handed or empty-hearted. The love of Jesus never runs out. It just keeps on multiplying.
As disciples we are also called upon to share a lot of love with others. We reach out to the hurting and wounded, loving them with the love of the Lord. The miracle is that we give and give and yet there is always more of God's love on reserve within us. The multiplying God never ceases to multiply His love in us and through us.
Our amazing God always has more than enough!
February 27, 2014
THE BEAUTIFUL SHOES
It had been a long hard week. Not only was I exhausted but I was discouraged as well. My husband seemed to sense my mood. "Why don't we just stop by a restaurant for something to eat on our way home?" he asked as we got into the car after church. His suggestion was truly an answer to my prayer. What a blessing.
But the Lord was taking me to a restaurant for more than a meal. There was someone waiting there for me who was going to shine into my life bringing a transforming word that would put joy back into my heart. His chosen messenger was a little girl about six years old who was sitting at the next table, a most unlikely angel in disguise.
The tables were fairly close together and at first I thought it was my imagination, but it soon became apparent that the little girl was staring directly at me. In fact, her eyes had been upon me from the minute we had followed the hostess across the room to be seated. While I was reading the menu, I noticed that the little girl was whispering to her mother and then pointing directly at me. I couldn't make out what was being said, but it was obvious that I was the object of the conversation. Fighting self-consciousness, I kept my eyes on the menu, trying to ignore all the attention that I seemed to be attracting.
A short time later as the family at the adjacent table finally stood up to leave, the little girl suddenly came running over to where I was seated. Looking down at my feet, she exclaimed, "Those are the most beautiful shoes that I have ever seen in my whole life. They must be the most beautiful shoes in the whole world. I just love them!"
Her words had an amazing effect on me. I felt like Dorothy skipping down the yellow brick road with the ruby slippers upon her feet. "Well, thank you very much," I responded. "They're brand new shoes. In fact this is the first time I'm wearing them. I'm so glad that you like them."
With a smile and a wave of her hand, she was gone. But she had left something wonderful behind. I was no longer feeling tired and discouraged. I was a woman who was wearing the most beautiful shoes in the world. The words of this child had revived me and given me a different perspective of myself. I glanced down at my feet. She was right. They were beautiful shoes and I felt beautiful wearing them. And at the close of our meal, when I stood up to leave the restaurant, my step was light. I was once more walking with joy in my heart. An encourager had encouraged me. A little child had shown me the beauty in little things that we often don't even notice.
Perhaps this may sound silly, but from that time on whenever I put those shoes upon my feet, I felt good. I felt confident. After all, I was wearing the most beautiful shoes in the world. They were no longer just plain, ordinary black high-heeled shoes with little bows attached. They were special shoes that made me feel special.
This happened many years ago and ultimately the shoes wore out and went the way of all old shoes. But the memory of the little girl who made me feel special will always remain. I learned an important lesson that day in the restaurant. I learned the value of encouragement.
How many lives would be transformed if there were more encouragers in the world? We need to begin to speak words of blessing, words that build up instead of tear down. The ministry of encouragement is a dynamic ministry. Don't ever underestimate the power of an encouraging word.
by Jean Coleman
Author of "Chapter 29 Revisited"
www.facebook.com/chapter29
But the Lord was taking me to a restaurant for more than a meal. There was someone waiting there for me who was going to shine into my life bringing a transforming word that would put joy back into my heart. His chosen messenger was a little girl about six years old who was sitting at the next table, a most unlikely angel in disguise.
The tables were fairly close together and at first I thought it was my imagination, but it soon became apparent that the little girl was staring directly at me. In fact, her eyes had been upon me from the minute we had followed the hostess across the room to be seated. While I was reading the menu, I noticed that the little girl was whispering to her mother and then pointing directly at me. I couldn't make out what was being said, but it was obvious that I was the object of the conversation. Fighting self-consciousness, I kept my eyes on the menu, trying to ignore all the attention that I seemed to be attracting.
A short time later as the family at the adjacent table finally stood up to leave, the little girl suddenly came running over to where I was seated. Looking down at my feet, she exclaimed, "Those are the most beautiful shoes that I have ever seen in my whole life. They must be the most beautiful shoes in the whole world. I just love them!"
Her words had an amazing effect on me. I felt like Dorothy skipping down the yellow brick road with the ruby slippers upon her feet. "Well, thank you very much," I responded. "They're brand new shoes. In fact this is the first time I'm wearing them. I'm so glad that you like them."
With a smile and a wave of her hand, she was gone. But she had left something wonderful behind. I was no longer feeling tired and discouraged. I was a woman who was wearing the most beautiful shoes in the world. The words of this child had revived me and given me a different perspective of myself. I glanced down at my feet. She was right. They were beautiful shoes and I felt beautiful wearing them. And at the close of our meal, when I stood up to leave the restaurant, my step was light. I was once more walking with joy in my heart. An encourager had encouraged me. A little child had shown me the beauty in little things that we often don't even notice.
Perhaps this may sound silly, but from that time on whenever I put those shoes upon my feet, I felt good. I felt confident. After all, I was wearing the most beautiful shoes in the world. They were no longer just plain, ordinary black high-heeled shoes with little bows attached. They were special shoes that made me feel special.
This happened many years ago and ultimately the shoes wore out and went the way of all old shoes. But the memory of the little girl who made me feel special will always remain. I learned an important lesson that day in the restaurant. I learned the value of encouragement.
How many lives would be transformed if there were more encouragers in the world? We need to begin to speak words of blessing, words that build up instead of tear down. The ministry of encouragement is a dynamic ministry. Don't ever underestimate the power of an encouraging word.
by Jean Coleman
Author of "Chapter 29 Revisited"
www.facebook.com/chapter29
February 21, 2014
THE WOUND THAT WOULDN'T HEAL
The water had been boiling for several minutes before I finally walked over to the stove and picked up the tea kettle. It was the usual morning rush to get breakfast on the table and I was distracted by a multitude of things. I must admit that my mind really wasn't on the kettle as I reached for it and inadvertently I placed my wrist directly over the steam that was issuing forth from the spout.
Immediately the pain shot down to my fingertips and all the way up to my shoulder. It was all I could do to replace the kettle on the burner without dropping it. Within seconds my entire wrist had turned a brilliant red and a large blister had begun to form. I held my throbbing wound under the cold water faucet and fervently prayed for speedy relief from the pain.
Miraculously the pain subsided, but the wound remained as a visible reminder of my encounter with the tea kettle. For the first day or two I taped a gauze pad over the wound, peeking under the edges of the bandage occasionally to scrutinize the mammoth blister. Finally I decided to take the healing into my own hands and with a needle popped the blister and applied a clean band-aid.
But I still couldn't resist the urge to see what was happening to my burn, so I carefully removed one end of the tape for a quick look. But when I did, not only did the tape come off, but also the protective layer of skin that was covering the blister. The pain that had miraculously disappeared earlier now returned with a new intensity.
But that was only the beginning of my troubles. Within a few days an enormous scab appeared over the wound. Every time I glanced down at my wrist, the scab stared back at me. It was obvious that healing of my burn was beginning to take place.
I hated seeing the ugly scab and made the decision that it wasn't going to stay on my wrist any longer than absolutely necessary.
"Don't pick at your scab," my husband would say, but I paid him no heed. And every time I picked at the scab, it would start to bleed. And every time it started bleeding, the scab just grew bigger and bigger and uglier and uglier. I knew it was never going to heal if I didn't let it alone, but I kept on picking at it anyway.
It took three months for the open wound to finally heal when it should have only taken two weeks at most. Today I bear a large scar on my wrist that really should never have been there. The scar remains because I stubbornly refused to allow the healing to occur.
Have you ever been burned? Not all of our burns come from tea kettles. Some of our deepest wounds are caused from close contact with people. A few hot words spoken in anger can bring pain and anguish beyond description.
What's the answer? First apply the water of the Spirit to the wound and cover it tightly with forgiveness. Then don't look under the covering. Don't keep replaying the memory of what happened by picking at the scab and making it bleed. You will be healed and there won't even be a scar.
However, even if a scar does remain, don't ever forget that a scar is simply the evidence that healing has taken place. So be healed in Jesus' name. Let the Master Physician bind up your wounds and then give them time to heal completely. Don't pick at the scabs or even peek under the spiritual covering. Even the deepest wounds will heal with time and patience and the soothing balm of the Spirit. That is, if you'll let them heal.
by Jean Coleman
Author of "Chapter 29 Revisited"
www.facebook.com/chapter29
Immediately the pain shot down to my fingertips and all the way up to my shoulder. It was all I could do to replace the kettle on the burner without dropping it. Within seconds my entire wrist had turned a brilliant red and a large blister had begun to form. I held my throbbing wound under the cold water faucet and fervently prayed for speedy relief from the pain.
Miraculously the pain subsided, but the wound remained as a visible reminder of my encounter with the tea kettle. For the first day or two I taped a gauze pad over the wound, peeking under the edges of the bandage occasionally to scrutinize the mammoth blister. Finally I decided to take the healing into my own hands and with a needle popped the blister and applied a clean band-aid.
But I still couldn't resist the urge to see what was happening to my burn, so I carefully removed one end of the tape for a quick look. But when I did, not only did the tape come off, but also the protective layer of skin that was covering the blister. The pain that had miraculously disappeared earlier now returned with a new intensity.
But that was only the beginning of my troubles. Within a few days an enormous scab appeared over the wound. Every time I glanced down at my wrist, the scab stared back at me. It was obvious that healing of my burn was beginning to take place.
I hated seeing the ugly scab and made the decision that it wasn't going to stay on my wrist any longer than absolutely necessary.
"Don't pick at your scab," my husband would say, but I paid him no heed. And every time I picked at the scab, it would start to bleed. And every time it started bleeding, the scab just grew bigger and bigger and uglier and uglier. I knew it was never going to heal if I didn't let it alone, but I kept on picking at it anyway.
It took three months for the open wound to finally heal when it should have only taken two weeks at most. Today I bear a large scar on my wrist that really should never have been there. The scar remains because I stubbornly refused to allow the healing to occur.
Have you ever been burned? Not all of our burns come from tea kettles. Some of our deepest wounds are caused from close contact with people. A few hot words spoken in anger can bring pain and anguish beyond description.
What's the answer? First apply the water of the Spirit to the wound and cover it tightly with forgiveness. Then don't look under the covering. Don't keep replaying the memory of what happened by picking at the scab and making it bleed. You will be healed and there won't even be a scar.
However, even if a scar does remain, don't ever forget that a scar is simply the evidence that healing has taken place. So be healed in Jesus' name. Let the Master Physician bind up your wounds and then give them time to heal completely. Don't pick at the scabs or even peek under the spiritual covering. Even the deepest wounds will heal with time and patience and the soothing balm of the Spirit. That is, if you'll let them heal.
by Jean Coleman
Author of "Chapter 29 Revisited"
www.facebook.com/chapter29
February 13, 2014
THE BURNT BACON
It was the first meal I had cooked for my brand new husband and I must admit that I was somewhat nervous. I wanted everything to turn out just right for this special occasion--the eggs over easy, the bacon done to perfection, the toast golden brown. I wanted our first breakfast together to be a masterpiece, a true love offering.
I'm not sure how it happened. Perhaps the temperature on the burner was turned up too high or maybe I was so intent on cooking the eggs that I took my eyes off of the bacon for a minute. How it happened doesn't really matter, but when I went to take the bacon from the pan, it was burnt! As I placed the three slices of bacon on Jack's plate with the eggs, they were basically cremated. Instead of a love offering, I was presenting him with a burnt offering.
My eyes filled with tears as I set the plate before my husband. "I'm so sorry, Honey," I informed him, "but I burnt your bacon."
He looked down at the bacon lying crisply on the plate and then gazed up at me with love in his eyes. "I like my bacon crispy," he responded. "This is just the way I like it cooked. Don't worry about it. The bacon is perfect!"
That was the first of many breakfasts that we would be sharing together. And every day I would take my bacon from the pan when it was hot and sizzling and golden brown. Then I would leave Jack's bacon frying in the pan until it was burnt to a crisp because that's the way he told me that he liked it.
We had been married about six months when Jack came over to the stove one morning as I was fixing breakfast and put his arm around me. "Please don't burn my bacon today," he pleaded. "I actually like my bacon cooked just the same way that you fry yours."
I was amazed! "But you told me you liked burnt bacon! That's why I always make your bacon so well done," I explained. "I take great care to be sure your bacon is always burnt at least a little before I serve it to you."
Jack smiled at me sheepishly. "I've always hated burnt bacon," he admitted. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings that first day when you accidentally burnt it, so I just told you that I liked it." He paused for a minute and then continued with his confession. "After that I didn't know what to do or say, so I just kept on eating the burnt bacon you fixed for me every day. But please--no more burnt bacon!"
Yes, love is kind and love endures all things, but love also ministers the truth in love. Sometimes we are so afraid of hurting the feelings of others that we allow irritants and incidents to destroy relationships. We live with situations that could easily be resolved because we are afraid to confront the problem. We go on day after day saying nothing because it just seems easier that way. But sooner or later you must deal with it and bring it into the open.
And many times the dreaded confrontation is not really that difficult. When we go in the right spirit and minister the truth in love, healing is often instantaneous. Bring it out in the open where you can both look at it and work together toward a solution.
There's no reason to go on eating burnt bacon week after week and month after month. Perhaps the other person doesn't even know that there's a problem until you tell him. I never burn Jack's bacon anymore. I know the truth now and the truth has set him free--free from any more burnt bacon.
I'm not sure how it happened. Perhaps the temperature on the burner was turned up too high or maybe I was so intent on cooking the eggs that I took my eyes off of the bacon for a minute. How it happened doesn't really matter, but when I went to take the bacon from the pan, it was burnt! As I placed the three slices of bacon on Jack's plate with the eggs, they were basically cremated. Instead of a love offering, I was presenting him with a burnt offering.
My eyes filled with tears as I set the plate before my husband. "I'm so sorry, Honey," I informed him, "but I burnt your bacon."
He looked down at the bacon lying crisply on the plate and then gazed up at me with love in his eyes. "I like my bacon crispy," he responded. "This is just the way I like it cooked. Don't worry about it. The bacon is perfect!"
That was the first of many breakfasts that we would be sharing together. And every day I would take my bacon from the pan when it was hot and sizzling and golden brown. Then I would leave Jack's bacon frying in the pan until it was burnt to a crisp because that's the way he told me that he liked it.
We had been married about six months when Jack came over to the stove one morning as I was fixing breakfast and put his arm around me. "Please don't burn my bacon today," he pleaded. "I actually like my bacon cooked just the same way that you fry yours."
I was amazed! "But you told me you liked burnt bacon! That's why I always make your bacon so well done," I explained. "I take great care to be sure your bacon is always burnt at least a little before I serve it to you."
Jack smiled at me sheepishly. "I've always hated burnt bacon," he admitted. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings that first day when you accidentally burnt it, so I just told you that I liked it." He paused for a minute and then continued with his confession. "After that I didn't know what to do or say, so I just kept on eating the burnt bacon you fixed for me every day. But please--no more burnt bacon!"
Yes, love is kind and love endures all things, but love also ministers the truth in love. Sometimes we are so afraid of hurting the feelings of others that we allow irritants and incidents to destroy relationships. We live with situations that could easily be resolved because we are afraid to confront the problem. We go on day after day saying nothing because it just seems easier that way. But sooner or later you must deal with it and bring it into the open.
And many times the dreaded confrontation is not really that difficult. When we go in the right spirit and minister the truth in love, healing is often instantaneous. Bring it out in the open where you can both look at it and work together toward a solution.
There's no reason to go on eating burnt bacon week after week and month after month. Perhaps the other person doesn't even know that there's a problem until you tell him. I never burn Jack's bacon anymore. I know the truth now and the truth has set him free--free from any more burnt bacon.
THE BURNT BACON
It was the first meal I had cooked for my brand new husband and I must admit that I was somewhat nervous. I wanted everything to turn out just right for this special occasion--the eggs over easy, the bacon done to perfection, the toast golden brown. I wanted our first breakfast together to be a masterpiece, a true love offering.
I'm not sure how it happened. Perhaps the temperature on the burner was turned up too high or maybe I was so intent on cooking the eggs that I took my eyes off of the bacon for a minute. How it happened doesn't really matter, but when I went to take the bacon from the pan, it was burnt! As I placed the three slices of bacon on Jack's plate with the eggs, they were basically cremated. Instead of a love offering, I was presenting him with a burnt offering.
My eyes filled with tears as I set the plate before my husband. "I'm so sorry, Honey," I informed him, "but I burnt the bacon."
He looked down at the bacon lying crisply on the plate and then gazed up at me with love in his eyes. "I like my bacon crispy," he responded. "This is just the way I like it cooked. Don't worry about it. The bacon is perfect!"
That was the first of many breakfasts that we would be sharing together. And every day I would take my bacon from the pan when it was hot and sizzling and golden brown. Then I would leave Jack's bacon frying in the pan until it was burnt to a crisp because that's the way he told me that he liked it.
We had been married about six months when Jack came over to the stove one morning as I was fixing breakfast and put his arm around me. "Please don't burn my bacon today," he pleaded. "I actually like my bacon cooked just the same way that you fry yours."
I was amazed! "But you told me you liked burnt bacon! That's why I always fry your bacon so well done," I explained. "I take great care to be sure your bacon is always burnt at least a little before I serve it to you."
Jack smiled at me sheepishly. "I've always hated burnt bacon," he admitted, "but I didn't want to hurt your feelings that first day when you burnt it, so I just told you that I liked it." He paused for a minute and then continued with his confession. "After that I didn't know what to do, so I just kept on eating the burnt bacon you fixed for me every day. But please--no more burnt bacon!"
Yes, love is kind and love endures all things, but love also ministers the truth in love. Sometimes we are so afraid of hurting the feelings of others that we allow irritants and incidents to destroy relationships. We live with situations that could easily be resolved because we are afraid to confront the problem. We go on day after day saying nothing because it just seems easier that way. But sooner or later you must deal with it and bring it into the open.
And many times the dreaded confrontation is not really that difficult. When we go in the right spirit and minister the truth in love, healing is often instantaneous. Bring it out in the open where you can both look at it and work together toward a solution.
There's no reason to go on eating burnt bacon week after week and month after month. Perhaps the other person doesn't even know that there's a problem until you tell him. I never burn Jack's bacon anymore. I know the truth and the truth has set him free--free from burnt bacon.
I'm not sure how it happened. Perhaps the temperature on the burner was turned up too high or maybe I was so intent on cooking the eggs that I took my eyes off of the bacon for a minute. How it happened doesn't really matter, but when I went to take the bacon from the pan, it was burnt! As I placed the three slices of bacon on Jack's plate with the eggs, they were basically cremated. Instead of a love offering, I was presenting him with a burnt offering.
My eyes filled with tears as I set the plate before my husband. "I'm so sorry, Honey," I informed him, "but I burnt the bacon."
He looked down at the bacon lying crisply on the plate and then gazed up at me with love in his eyes. "I like my bacon crispy," he responded. "This is just the way I like it cooked. Don't worry about it. The bacon is perfect!"
That was the first of many breakfasts that we would be sharing together. And every day I would take my bacon from the pan when it was hot and sizzling and golden brown. Then I would leave Jack's bacon frying in the pan until it was burnt to a crisp because that's the way he told me that he liked it.
We had been married about six months when Jack came over to the stove one morning as I was fixing breakfast and put his arm around me. "Please don't burn my bacon today," he pleaded. "I actually like my bacon cooked just the same way that you fry yours."
I was amazed! "But you told me you liked burnt bacon! That's why I always fry your bacon so well done," I explained. "I take great care to be sure your bacon is always burnt at least a little before I serve it to you."
Jack smiled at me sheepishly. "I've always hated burnt bacon," he admitted, "but I didn't want to hurt your feelings that first day when you burnt it, so I just told you that I liked it." He paused for a minute and then continued with his confession. "After that I didn't know what to do, so I just kept on eating the burnt bacon you fixed for me every day. But please--no more burnt bacon!"
Yes, love is kind and love endures all things, but love also ministers the truth in love. Sometimes we are so afraid of hurting the feelings of others that we allow irritants and incidents to destroy relationships. We live with situations that could easily be resolved because we are afraid to confront the problem. We go on day after day saying nothing because it just seems easier that way. But sooner or later you must deal with it and bring it into the open.
And many times the dreaded confrontation is not really that difficult. When we go in the right spirit and minister the truth in love, healing is often instantaneous. Bring it out in the open where you can both look at it and work together toward a solution.
There's no reason to go on eating burnt bacon week after week and month after month. Perhaps the other person doesn't even know that there's a problem until you tell him. I never burn Jack's bacon anymore. I know the truth and the truth has set him free--free from burnt bacon.
February 7, 2014
THE CHOCOLATE LAMB
Several years ago I was invited to be the guest speaker at a weekend conference in Pennsylvania. They treated me like royalty with deluxe accommodations in a lovely motel. The room was spacious and tastefully decorated lacking nothing. The crowning touch was a large basket of fresh fruit on the dresser. It was a definitely a fruit-lovers delight. The basket was filled with large apples, juicy oranges, a bunch of grapes and a few bananas. There were even some nuts and hard candy scattered throughout the basket.
But wait! There was something in the basket that I had missed. Wrapped in a piece of yellow cellophane was a little lamb. Pulling aside the covering a bit, I could see that it was a white chocolate lamb, the kind you purchase at the grocery store around Easter time. My mouth watered when I saw the lamb because I have a passion for anything chocolate.
Forget the apples, oranges and bananas! As I started to completely remove the lamb from his colorful wrapping, I suddenly remembered my recent vow to abstain from chocolate. Just a few days earlier I had openly declared, "I'm not going to indulge in chocolate-eating binges anymore. No more chocolate."
And here I was with the chocolate lamb in my hand and nearly in my mouth! Where was my will power? Was I some sort of chocolate addict? Of course not! With determination, I tucked the cellophane tightly back around the lamb and returned it to the fruit basket. Greater was He that was in me than that chocolate lamb that was in the fruit basket. My mind was made up. I would not give in to temptation, but would stand fast in my decision. I would have victory over the white chocolate lamb.
The chocolate lamb and I continued to share the same room over the weekend. Every time I passed by the fruit basket, it was always there. Sometimes it seemed like I could even smell the rich aroma of chocolate filling the room and hear the lamb calling out to me. But I remained firm in my resolve. I ate an apple and a banana and even a few of the grapes, but I didn't even touch the chocolate lamb.
The conference ended on Sunday afternoon and it was time to pack my suitcase for the trip home. I decided to leave the remaining fruit behind in the room along with the basket. But the big question remained, what I should do with the little white chocolate lamb?
"Perhaps I should take it home and give it to my grandchildren," I convinced myself. Reaching into the basket, I quickly removed the lamb from among the fruit. It was a fatal mistake. "One bite won't hurt anything," I reasoned. "I won't eat it all--just the ears."
There was the lamb, finally removed from its protective wrapping. "Just the ears," I promised myself again. With expectancy I closed my teeth over the lamb's ears and bit down hard.
Ugggh! The lamb wasn't made of white chocolate after all. It was a bar of soap! What a rotten trick! It was a bar of soap molded into the shape of a lamb! I couldn't believe what had happened. My mouth was filled with the acrid taste of soap instead of sweet white milk chocolate.
Sin may appear pleasant, but it will always leave a bad taste in your mouth. Don't judge by outward appearances. Beware of deception. Resist temptation. Flee your lusts. Remember your vows. You can certainly learn a lesson very quickly when God washes your mouth out with soap.
But wait! There was something in the basket that I had missed. Wrapped in a piece of yellow cellophane was a little lamb. Pulling aside the covering a bit, I could see that it was a white chocolate lamb, the kind you purchase at the grocery store around Easter time. My mouth watered when I saw the lamb because I have a passion for anything chocolate.
Forget the apples, oranges and bananas! As I started to completely remove the lamb from his colorful wrapping, I suddenly remembered my recent vow to abstain from chocolate. Just a few days earlier I had openly declared, "I'm not going to indulge in chocolate-eating binges anymore. No more chocolate."
And here I was with the chocolate lamb in my hand and nearly in my mouth! Where was my will power? Was I some sort of chocolate addict? Of course not! With determination, I tucked the cellophane tightly back around the lamb and returned it to the fruit basket. Greater was He that was in me than that chocolate lamb that was in the fruit basket. My mind was made up. I would not give in to temptation, but would stand fast in my decision. I would have victory over the white chocolate lamb.
The chocolate lamb and I continued to share the same room over the weekend. Every time I passed by the fruit basket, it was always there. Sometimes it seemed like I could even smell the rich aroma of chocolate filling the room and hear the lamb calling out to me. But I remained firm in my resolve. I ate an apple and a banana and even a few of the grapes, but I didn't even touch the chocolate lamb.
The conference ended on Sunday afternoon and it was time to pack my suitcase for the trip home. I decided to leave the remaining fruit behind in the room along with the basket. But the big question remained, what I should do with the little white chocolate lamb?
"Perhaps I should take it home and give it to my grandchildren," I convinced myself. Reaching into the basket, I quickly removed the lamb from among the fruit. It was a fatal mistake. "One bite won't hurt anything," I reasoned. "I won't eat it all--just the ears."
There was the lamb, finally removed from its protective wrapping. "Just the ears," I promised myself again. With expectancy I closed my teeth over the lamb's ears and bit down hard.
Ugggh! The lamb wasn't made of white chocolate after all. It was a bar of soap! What a rotten trick! It was a bar of soap molded into the shape of a lamb! I couldn't believe what had happened. My mouth was filled with the acrid taste of soap instead of sweet white milk chocolate.
Sin may appear pleasant, but it will always leave a bad taste in your mouth. Don't judge by outward appearances. Beware of deception. Resist temptation. Flee your lusts. Remember your vows. You can certainly learn a lesson very quickly when God washes your mouth out with soap.
THE LITTLE WHITE GOAT
I glanced out of the window and spotted the colorful poster on the stone wall across the street from our hotel. We were celebrities! The large poster advertising our nightly meetings in Khammam, India featured flattering photos along with puzzling words written in the Telugu language. How exciting to think that our pictures were posted all over the town. I found myself frequently drawn to the window where I would gaze with fascination upon the poster. And occasionally, as I watched, people would even stop and carefully study it, reading with interest the mystery words. I prayed that they would be drawn to the meetings.
The following morning I awoke early and the first thing I did was open the curtains to let in the sunlight. Imagine my surprise when I looked across the street and saw that a little white goat was standing by the wall devouring the poster. He had started at the left corner of the poster and bite by bite it was disappearing from the wall. I watched as the hungry animal nibbled on my photo, completely consuming it within a matter of seconds.
"Look what this goat is doing!" I called out to my husband. "The silly thing is eating our poster. See, he's starting in on your picture right now!" But by the time that Jack got to the window, it was all over. Nothing of the poster remained. Our claim to fame had vanished right before our eyes.
"I don't think it was anything personal," Jack chuckled. "That little goat was probably just after the glue on the back of the poster."
Through that experience I certainly learned first hand that "pride goes before destruction" (Proverbs 16:18). How very fleeting is success. It's also very interesting to note that God has a way of sending two-legged goats into our lives to bring us down to size when we begin to think of ourselves more highly than we ought to think. There is always someone available who will come along to nibble you right off the wall (Biblical rendering--humble you) when you need to be brought down a notch or two. A spirit of pride can quickly be devoured by a few fitly spoken words of criticism or disapproval.
When an attitude of self-confidence and vainglory is lifted up in your heart, you can be sure that the Lord will not allow this evidence of pride to be displayed on the wall of His kingdom. It must come down. And the Lord has appointed "goats" in our midst who are more than willing to do the work of removing every vestige of vanity and conceit.
When the Lord's blessings begin to flow it really isn't difficult to become puffed up and prideful. Unless we're very careful, we can find ourselves attempting to infringe on God's glory. Let me assure you that the Lord loves us way too much to allow that to happen. So when you encounter criticism and condemnation, perhaps these are only hungry goats that the Lord is using to do a deep work in your life. Let them nibble away. Remember, they probably don't have anything against you personally. They're just after that icky pride that's clinging to you.
The following morning I awoke early and the first thing I did was open the curtains to let in the sunlight. Imagine my surprise when I looked across the street and saw that a little white goat was standing by the wall devouring the poster. He had started at the left corner of the poster and bite by bite it was disappearing from the wall. I watched as the hungry animal nibbled on my photo, completely consuming it within a matter of seconds.
"Look what this goat is doing!" I called out to my husband. "The silly thing is eating our poster. See, he's starting in on your picture right now!" But by the time that Jack got to the window, it was all over. Nothing of the poster remained. Our claim to fame had vanished right before our eyes.
"I don't think it was anything personal," Jack chuckled. "That little goat was probably just after the glue on the back of the poster."
Through that experience I certainly learned first hand that "pride goes before destruction" (Proverbs 16:18). How very fleeting is success. It's also very interesting to note that God has a way of sending two-legged goats into our lives to bring us down to size when we begin to think of ourselves more highly than we ought to think. There is always someone available who will come along to nibble you right off the wall (Biblical rendering--humble you) when you need to be brought down a notch or two. A spirit of pride can quickly be devoured by a few fitly spoken words of criticism or disapproval.
When an attitude of self-confidence and vainglory is lifted up in your heart, you can be sure that the Lord will not allow this evidence of pride to be displayed on the wall of His kingdom. It must come down. And the Lord has appointed "goats" in our midst who are more than willing to do the work of removing every vestige of vanity and conceit.
When the Lord's blessings begin to flow it really isn't difficult to become puffed up and prideful. Unless we're very careful, we can find ourselves attempting to infringe on God's glory. Let me assure you that the Lord loves us way too much to allow that to happen. So when you encounter criticism and condemnation, perhaps these are only hungry goats that the Lord is using to do a deep work in your life. Let them nibble away. Remember, they probably don't have anything against you personally. They're just after that icky pride that's clinging to you.
