Fruit Born In Season

I did this one afternoon last week for the daughter of a friend.

Originally, it was just going to be a decorative piece of art for her new condo.

I was thinking, something like a fleur-de lis.

But as I began to work on it, God changed the outcome.

She is a tree.

"A tree?"

Yes.

"Okay," I answered as I started the trunk and worked my way up.

Spend more time on the roots.

"The roots? Isn't that kind of, well, gothic-y?"

The roots are the foundation for the growth of a tree. Her foundation goes deep.

I began painting the root system.

Some of the roots need to fade away. Her past has been redeemed, and those roots no longer tie her to future growth.

"Wow, Lord, You're being really specific. What about the leaves?"

I plucked her from the desert with My own hand. Her leaves will not wither because I have planted her by Living Water. Paint one solitary fruit. She is only now beginning to see what I have in store for her. Her fruit will be born in season, sweetened by the tears she has sown, seasoned by her commitment to be found faithful.

When we gave it to the young lady for her housewarming, I explained what God had shown me as I painted and prayed.

She thanked me and cried.

We both knew it had to be the Lord, because I've met her maybe twice, in passing.

Jesus will go to any length to prove His love for us.

"(She) shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also shall not wither; And whatever (she) does shall prosper." Psalm 1:3

Beautiful Feet

A couple nights ago, I noticed Drummer Boy had something on the soles of his feet.

Somethings.

Actually, it looked like a bunch of freckles.

"What are these?" I asked him.

"Oh, probably some prickles I walked in from the yard."

(I love his use of probably. More often than not, he uses this word when he knows exactly why.)

"You stepped in prickles today?" I continued.

"No, the other day I think," he answered nonchalantly.

I felt like the world's worst mom for:

a) only noticing days later my son had prickles imbedded so far into his foot that the skin was actually smooth to the touch,

b) what now needed to take place as a result of the aformentioned maternal negligence.

The following pictures show Biker Man's surgical prowess.

I cringe even now looking at them.

But it got me to thinking.

Sometimes in my walk with God, I walk where I shouldn't, following my own wisdom, and not the Holy Spirit's leading.

In the process, I get sidetracked, Walking where I shouldn't.

Junk gets stuck in my feet, and remains there until I stop and tell God about it and ask Him to remove it.

Only He can.

Then I can walk unhindered and in obedience to bring His Good News to those He sends me to.

Then I'll have beautiful feet.

How beautiful on the mountains
are the feet of those who bring good news,
who proclaim peace,
who bring good tidings,
who proclaim salvation,
who say to Zion,
“Your God reigns!”

Isaiah 52:7

That Doesn't Mean You're Going To Hell

Drummer Boy tries to take on the big issues all by himself.

All alone.

I'm glad he doesn't hold it all in. He shares his opinions with us.

Freely.

But today, he broke my heart.

"I'm probably going to hell," he sobbed, as we sat on the couch together.
"Why would you say that, son?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Because I never get picked for anything in kids' church!" He wailed, falling into my arms.

Okay. We have a big children's ministry. There is no way they can pick everyone. It's a great children's church. Second to none.
And also, wow, what a leap of theology to make all on your own.

I turned to him immediately and said, "Son, you're not going to hell."
"How do you know?" he sniffled.
"Because, you asked Jesus into your heart, right?"
"Uh huh," he nodded.
"And you're living for Him, and talking to Him everyday?"
"Yes," he looked up at me hopefully.
"And when you disobey, do you ask Him for forgiveness?"
"I do!"
"Well then," I explained, "You are going to Heaven, because the Bible says that if you believe in Jesus, ask Him to be Lord of your life, and live your life with Him as the Center, you are going to Heaven."
"But then, why don't they pick me at church?" (He just wouldn't let that go.)
"Maybe because you're jumping around when it's time to be quiet?" I tried.
"Well, I do get excited when I go up there," he admitted reluctantly.
"The most important thing is learning about Jesus, and worshiping Him, not getting picked," I told him.
"And I'm not going to hell!" Drummer Boy proclaimed triumphantly.

That was easy enough to explain to my son, but how many times do I impose what has happened to me in The Church as what God thinks of me? Making up theology based on your personal experience alone, is always dangerous, especially if you don't check it out with God's infallible Word.

I'm just saying.