Praise God for churns full of milk and honey. Every day in the evenings before my drive home, I find it necessary to walk through the office and touch each individual order going out. First, a hymn of gratitude and second, a prayer that our attempts to wash feet would find their mark and that I would prevail at being a funnel for God’s resources, scripting blank checks with this vapor of a life I’ve been given.
As some of you may know, one of our rental properties was destroyed earlier this year. We hired a team of professionals to help reconstruct and enhance the premises. To little surprise, we had an offer before the restoration work was completed. During the negotiation period I struggled with a willingness to adjust the value having invested a small fortune in the remodel process. Every voice from the investment portfolio lens encouraged me to make as much money as I possibly could. Every layer of flesh seemed to remind me of just how deserving I was standing firm on the asking price. Every voice seemed to speak for God, pushing me to make a good “business” decision no matter the heavenly consequences.
Here’s what I’ve come to note – not a single stitch of this is mine. Not a single twinge of it was ever mine. I am merely a manager in charge of a section of the vineyard, working the land and pruning the grapes waiting anxiously for the rightful Owner to return. Any thought that voices something different, no matter how closely it resembles an object of good or some piece of truth on this side of the fence, is one of pure refuse and a lie straight from the pit of hell. The voice that tells me I’m justified in my desire for another $5000 and the voice that tells me to give the church 2% instead of 12% belongs in the lake of fire. The voice that tells me to hold that money for a little longer, at the expense of someone else, in order to gain another interest point or two, is garbage and born from Satan’s muzzle.
Praise God, He does not treat me the same way. His land seems to forever flow with goodness and kindness. His cup pours like a river into my life void of regulation. His fields harbor never ending water and never ending nutrients. His Holy Spirit reminds me daily that I came into this world with nothing, and I will leave with nothing and as I close the door to head out for the evening, a whisper over my shoulder says, “let’s get to writing.”
