Day Twenty Seven

Time — pre­cious time.

“I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” John 9:4–5

Today was quite relax­ing.  There’s a cer­tain ben­e­fit to hav­ing your com­puter quar­an­tined.  I was able to fin­ish get­ting my lap­top set back up and ready to write tonight, and put on my annointed Fri­day attire (the Hawai­ian shirt, of course).  I must admit I failed this morn­ing to prop­erly devote time to read my Bible and pray as planned.  I did how­ever man­age to spend a just a minute or two ask­ing God’s for­give­ness for my for­get­full­ness and ask­ing in advance for for­give­ness for any stu­pid choices I might make.  Tonight, I did read and I will pray again before I pil­low my head — I found this today, blend­ing in nicely with the revival meet­ing ear­lier this week: 

“Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men  Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away” Proverbs 4:14–1

Hal High­tower preached ear­lier this week on avoid­ing sin and gave some help­ful advice.  First of all, God will always make a way to escape.  Some­times, the way has already been made.  Other times, the way is being made and God is just about to show you where it is.  One way to help avoid sin is to sim­ply remem­ber the act of love that cov­ered your sin on the cross.  Right before you think the thought, click the mouse or wan­der into one of the devil’s traps, sim­ply remem­ber the crown of thorns beaten onto Christ’s head; the mock­ery and blas­phemy of His name; the whips and weapons used to scar His body; the blood that flowed from His hands and feet; and the spear thrust into His side.  Just think — and escape.

When I sur­vey the won­drous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My rich­est gain I count but loss,
And pour con­tempt on all my pride.

For­bid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sac­ri­fice them to His blood.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sor­row and love flow min­gled down!
Did e’er such love and sor­row meet,
Or thorns com­pose so rich a crown?

His dying crim­son, like a robe,
Spreads o’er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amaz­ing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

“When I Sur­vey the Won­drous Cross” — Issac Watts