Devotions Archive Archive: 1999 | 2000 | 2001 | 2002 | 2003 | 2004 | 2005 | 2006 | 2007 | 2008 | 2009 | 2010 | 2011 | 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 | 2016 | 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020 | 2021 | 2022 | 2023 | 2024 Search Archive Print This Article Morning wind Saturday, March 9, 2002 Hosea 6:1-6 Come, let us return to the Lord. He has torn us to pieces but he will heal us; he has injured us but he will bind up our wounds. After two days he will revive us; on the third day he will restore us, that we may live in his presence. Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth." "What can I do with you, Ephraim? What can I do with you, Judah? Your love is like the morning mist, like the early dew that disappears. Therefore I cut you in pieces with my prophets, I killed you with the words of my mouth; my judgments flashed like lightning upon you. For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings. When Jesus asked Peter if he would stay with him when others were leaving, Peter said, "Where else would I go?" That's what Jesus needed to hear. The weather changes, fortunes change, circumstances are sweet one day and sour the next, my perception of God's presence changes too. It is "like the early dew that disappears." How complicated can it be to acknowledge my dad? "Hi, Dad." Can I even forget to say such simple words as those? The morning is quiet, a few tires singing through the puddles on the wet street. Gray sky, family still in bed, black coffee, prayer. Chris has a sign in his room, "What is REALLY most important? I will pray 15 minutes everyday before I leave the house. Period." Suddenly now the wind is whipping against the house, 40 or 50 mile an hour gusts. The windows are actually shaking. "The quality of mercy is not strained; it droppeth as the gentle rain upon the place beneath."* No more gentle. Pellets of water sharp and hard, they scratch my face. They "tear me to pieces." God will get my attention. I must acknowledge him. Only out of these daily acknowledgments can mercy freely come, smooth endless flow of God's mercy through me, for me, all around me beautiful. You are God, and I am not. You are the beginning and the end. You are the only one I worship. Never the work of my hands, but only you. *Shakespeare, Portia, The Merchant of Venice "; Add      Edit    Delete