Whose time is it and how do you spend it?
David Manuel writes: Lately Iíve been convicted of my lack of generosity. Not with money; I seem to be getting the hang of that right-hand, left-hand thing. With time. Mine is precious, and I donít like giving it up.
But Iím coming to see that itís not a matter of time. Because there is no ďmyĒ time; there is only His time. What Iím really balking at is giving up control Ė of how I spend that time (whosever it is).
Example: Tomorrow there's a special call to prayer for those of us who have been praying for Boston, at Lion of Judah, from 9:00 until 12:00. It takes close to an hour to drive there, and another to drive home Ė five hours out of the middle of a deadlined work-day. In the natural, I have ample excuse not to attend. But in the supernatural, where those of us with a heart for Revival are supposed to be living. . . I asked God, if He wanted me to go. He did.
And what about the day after tomorrow? Thatís Wednesday, the Noon Hour. But itís also the day that the State Legislature decides whether itís going to vote on putting the marriage amendment on the ballot. If they do vote, this will be the tipping point towards which all of our prayers have been focused for the past three years. Kris Mineau, the head of Vote on Marriage, has asked everyone to be there, who can possibly come. The doors open at 8:00.
In the natural, I say, Whoa! Enough is enough! Weíll pray for that bunch at the Noon Hour. But in the supernatural. . . But I asked God, and guess what? Enough is not enough. So we'll go early and be prepared to stay late.
This coming Sunday late afternoon and evening, there's another event at the Statehouse (a miracle, as that venue has never been available for such a convocation). ďA Time to Bless IsraelĒ [see attached flyer] will be a demonstration of solidarity with a land and a people who need all the encouragement and prayer support we can give them, just now.
My natural reaction? No way! Sunday afternoon is my time, the only time all week to just kick back and relax! Besides, itís Motherís Day; no one will come. But in the supernatural. . . well, I asked God (as I hope you will, now, and pass this along to whomever).
Once I knew I was going, I wrote a poem about it.
On this Motherí Day,
A Motherís Heart is Breaking
The Holy Land of Israel
has seen her children scattered
to the four corners of the world.
Some still care, but many have forgotten.
And now she faces the greatest peril
since her neighbors sought
to annihilate her
thirty-four years ago.
At home, confusion reigns at her table;
abroad, her former friends abandon her,
even as her neighbors send martyr-children
to kill as many of her children, as they can.
But she still has friends
who will never forget
and who will stand by her,
come what may.
If you are one, chosen or grafted,
then gather with us
as we stand with her
on Motherís Day.
Your presence will bless her
more than you can possibly imagine!
"Next year in Jerusalem,"
but this year in Boston!