When wings are clipped, spirit dies.
When hearts are freed, soul rises.
Only in Christ can we fly.
Oil and Dew
Thoughts & Musings
When wings are clipped, spirit dies.
When hearts are freed, soul rises.
Only in Christ can we fly.
The anchor of ancient wisdom holds.
Run to the fount!
Ad fontis.
Full obedience requires unconditional surrender.
Joy comes from the absolute.
God never withholds favor toward His faithful ones.
Faith runs from a stream of bold humility.
It breaks away from the ignorance of discernment.
A single step is taken leading towards freedom.
Our hearts are bare naked from within.
God speaks through to shatter our pretensions.
No amount of caffeine halts this.
Forgiveness gives the sinner the voucher of reparation.
Bitterness rolls away with the sweet tide of reimbursement.
Ask for mercy and then quickly return whatever was taken.
The element of pursuit is directly proportional to its motivation.
Race to win.
Beat the wind for Christ's acclaim.
The wealth of fellowship is deep.
Strangers become brothers.
Twined by the blood of the Lamb.
All work thrives from a push.
When the True Narrator is excluded from the conversation, boredom settles.
The inverse is true: Christ rocks every trust.
When we see our work in light of God's purpose, we recognize that we are merely fingers of His divine care for the common good.
It is from this perspective that we are called to excel not for ourselves or for others but to sow careful craft in His behalf.
All mind, heart, and tool come freely from this divine labor.
The land you live in is a gift from God.
Engage its opulent wonders.
Work well.
Every push towards the goal is measured by heart rate.
The finish happens when the will yields to a point.
Imago Dei.
Work done in secret for Christ's glory receives the applause of heaven.
Walking through streets of gold while revealing true worth.
Wonder begins when all we do speaks of God.
When a man zips through the age barrier and soars, one wonders how eternity feels like.
At age 65, this kid breaks with a sick crossover, springs for a quick jumper and ends the game with a smile.
Thank you for prompting me to hoop again.
In this present darkness, we are caught in a frenzy of cosmetic change.
Filtered machinations abound to cover our pain.
We hide in languish.
Until ...
We enter the sanctuary of God
and ...
Embrace the nearness of Christ.
Stuff happens.
It pulls our allegiance towards the inanimate.
I must fight to live among the dead.
Growth is always preceded by a willingness to unravel one's hidden foibles.
Once the mask is traded for scrutiny, a most unusual profundity ensues.
One finds himself.
All my violations towards God had been altered by one deliberate blow: the substitutionary death of my Savior at the cross of Golgotha.
When my memory lingers back to the haunting darkness of sin, the lumens of His gracious pursuit melt all seductive doubts.
God reasons with His wooing love for me: although your sins are as red as crimson, I will wash them and become like snow.
Work is a sacred grant.
We were crafted to heed our Creator's bidding.
Joy is its wage.
The only way for me to acquire solid strength is when I relinquish my reins for Christ to hold.
The Vine holds my feebleness and covers it with staggering competence.
I can do nothing apart from my Redeemer.
© 2016 Oil and Dew Ltd