To Eat from the Tree of Life 2

A while ago (4 years) I wrote an article about a truth God revealed to me. Fortunately, I now have a deeper understanding on it! The essence of what I understood before: all works, no matter how good it might seem are dead works (insufficient, unsatisfactory, meager) if it does not flow from the heart of God. But now I will explain my new/deeper understanding.

In short: I now understand that God establishes His character in us. With that, His seeds planted in us grow to maturity and bring forth fruit to eat. Thus, we are changed from a slave (who always waits for exact instructions from God), to a son who knows (the Truth) when to sow, when to reap and when to do that all the things (and more!) he saw the Father doing as he was busy growing up. But there are two very important things tied in with this, both feed into the fact that He is our daily bread:

  • As Jesus stated, we firstly need to love God our Father with all we have got – this means relationship.
  • We should be weary of when the cloud moves. More on this below.

To step back, before this deeper understanding I used to live in a space where I would sometimes feel self-condemnation. I felt some of my works were dead because they did not flow from an explicit prompting by the Holy Spirit. But now I know that where God has established His character in me, there will be good fruit to eat, and works flowing from that does not always have to originate with an explicit thought coming from Him. But I definitely still need my daily Bread to be able to live and be continously transformed in the areas in me that need to be taken from glory to glory! And Jesus stays our ‘head’ – we must always be sensitive and submit to His will/guidance no matter to what degree of glory He has transformed us.

Backing it up with scripture

God’s transformation of our character

It happens as we see the glory of the Lord revealed in us. Scripture states that as we walk in Him and we see His glory in us (we look in a mirror and see His glory) we are then transformed to that image by the Spirit of the Lord.

Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty [emancipation from bondage, true freedom]. 18 And we all, with unveiled face, continually seeing as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are progressively being transformed into His image from [one degree of] glory to [even more] glory, which comes from the Lord, [who is] the Spirit.

2Co 3:17-18

The son that expands upon the works of the Father

“Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father.

Joh 14:12

The cloud that moves

Just like the glory faded from Moses’ face, and God’s presence faded from the holiest of holies in the temple, we need to watch where God is moving and not stick to simple rhymes and structures (which God establishes initially and has great power/effect, but which fades or grows stale). Thus we need to steer away from the things we make laws (aka religion) to replace the Living God – and keep our focus on Him as he moves. Manna only lasted a day (well two if there was a Sabath) – see Exodus 16:21.

and we are not like Moses, who used to put a veil over his face so that the Israelites would not gaze at the end of the glory which was fading away.

2 Cor 3:13

The [presence of the] Lord was going before them by day in a pillar (column) of cloud to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night to give them light, so that they could travel by day and by night.

Exodus 13:21

Prevent Dead Works

“Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of My Father who is in heaven.22 Many will say to Me on that day [when I judge them], ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, and driven out demons in Your name, and done many miracles in Your name?’ 23 And then I will declare to them publicly, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me [you are banished from My presence], you who act wickedly [disregarding My commands].’

Mat 7:21-23

Putting God first, your neighbor (and yourself) second

and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul (life), and with all your mind (thought, understanding), and with all your strength.’ 31 This is the second: ‘You shall [unselfishly] love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”

Mar 12:30-31

End note

One of the most valuable experiences God blessed me with the past week, was stepping out of my comfort zone to share His love with the people that came across my path. The more I simply stepped out to share the love He has for those who do not know it (and even those who do), the more I experienced His love (in such a deep and almost unbelievable way) for myself. I can truly say it is blessed to give and step out in faith. I pray for all of us reading this that we would let His river of love run through us, and not simply keep it locked up inside. People are dying every day without ever getting to know the love of God.

Hartsdood

Waarom blyk haar tronk-gedompelde hart,
Onder die staat se standaard part;
‘n bloedbevlekte, brakbruin uniform,
so vrek naby aan die dood se dodenorm?

Het die lewe dalk ‘n skelm skoot geplant,
Of ‘n beenkrakende panzer-slag laat land,
Sodat die briesend-vriesende lug,
‘n gaping kon vind en in haar hart in vlug?

Of het die partydige – dalk vyandige – blik-koppe
Met hul hoë definisie fosfor gloeilampe
En knor van duisende krullende induktors
Haar neuronbane laat verander in gekruide wors?

Is dit dalk soos met ‘n klein pienk pasgeborene?
Verlang sy na die eenvoudigste vorme van menseverhoudinge;
Fisiese kontak, en die basuin van haar hart-sirene?
Sodat wie okal naby is haar net kan hoor en sus tot vrede.

Ek vermoed haar hart, soos myne vandag,
Benodig die eenvoudige wedersydse fluister se krag,
Tussen ons en ons Skepper, ons eerste Liefde,
Want daarsonder bly die diepste dele van ons harte klaarblyklik… Dood.

Overligstandig

Ek slaat my moë oë op na die vertes
en na die grys en blou gebergtes:
O van watter groen tit of bruin tuit
sal my noodhulp vandaan spruit?

Almal het hul sewe sakke sout om te sleep,
en die wêreld se kloue wat aan hul hakke vreet,
maar waarom sal ons onverstandig fluit,
en boonop als, nóg vlees-messe slyp?

Hoekom knor en bor ons soos dagblinde vyande,
en wurm ons ons hondsdolle stomp tande
in mekaar se snerpende seer snyplekke –
wat ons net verder onvergewend laat verskewe?

Wanneer spuug ons hemels-helende vuur,
gegenereer uit ons gees se natuur?
In plaas dat ons kwyl, met bruisende borrels,
wat lyk en ruik na jaaroue vleeskleurige kerriekots.

O my hulp spruit vanuit die liefdeshart van die Here,
die skepper van die nabye hemel en die verregaande aarde,
ja mag Hy die splinters en die balke in die niet in laat verdwyne.

Dark Macro

Introspeksie

Is dit verregaande, of vreemd, dat mens,
deur agteruit te kyk,
nuwe visie, en dalk hoop,
vir die pad vorentoe kan kry,
wanneer jy jou jakkalsdraaie styf vas knoop?

Of is dit beter om nét vorentoe te kyk,
in die wit mis van die toekoms
en voor te probeer berei
vir ‘n afdraand, of opdraand,
wat dalk net… ‘n dowwe draai pad bly?

Is wat die wysheid leer,
met enige balanseertoertjie,
op die lewenslange tou,
dat daar een luukse truuk is,
van Waarop mens sy blik kan hou –

ja almal se paaie meander…
en alles bly konstant verander…
so wat mens deurlopend staande
kan laat bly… is om mens se sig
te hou op waar Die voete trap

– vandag, nou?

Light Macro

Katjieklein Pitte

Die pennesteek van koue kennis,
prikkel die ballonne van hoop,
geloof en liefde. Dit beroof dit,
wat die harte aan mekaar wil knoop.

Vader skil daardie harde groen
doppe, sodat die kners van harde streep
koppe, sal vervang word met die deel
van soetsmaaklike vleespienk harte.

En die katjieklein pitte,
in sagte grond sal val,
om die Boom van die Lewe,
met sy genesende blare,
aan te vrug te stel.

Onpenbare Gedig

Met ‘n amper onhoorbare
gekners van flukse vlamme
sny die Skepper se latente lig
die stowwe diep binne drie berge.

Fluitend week en wasem,
die kole in die binnegrond balsem,
soos dit die rook uitdruklik uitasem,
en Sy karakter intiem inasem.

Dit is agter die woes en waansin,
waar Sy hande beitelend begin,
om Sy goue woorde in hul te ontgin –
elk ‘n ander gedig om te begryp en besin!

Maar Sý gedig is byna onpenbaar – valk-vlink!
Dit spring reg verby die bietjie dof en baie blink,
vinnger as wat enige oë se waterige idee-ink
die volle aktua’ daarvan identiek kan laat insink.

Gelukkig in vandag se tik en tyd,
sal die berge se (an)atomiese klokke ontploffend ontsluit,
en deur die warboel waarskynlikheid
dele van Hom onthul – en Sy gedigte bruid!

Daar is nou vier wat in die bergvuur-waarheid wandel,
geeneen kreun, of dra ‘n langgerekte letsel,
en die voorkoms van die vierde skyn warempel
‘n godeglans van die bonatuurlike Skepsel.

Die Skepsel skryf met Sy vlam-vinger op die harte se sand,
“Julle is duidelike briewe van Christus in die land,
geskrywe nie met ink nie, maar deur my ‘hand’;
die Gees van die lewendige God wat in jul brand.”

Hy het die sterk Suid-ooster en die ou bakoond beveel,
om die as van vervalle kliptafels vaarwel te vee,
en die vlammende vleestafels ‘n galery gee,
sodat Sy briewe kan betoon word aan elke sout see.

Ja die see kyk dalk ‘n berg se rollende kaalvoet klip,
sy balanserende bome en sy lopende lip
heeltemal mis, maar kan nie die kabbelende kus,
en wat in die sand se hart geskryf is met enige marge mis.

The Chamber – Part 2

<Continued from Part 1>

The soft sound of my breathing floated and settled like cold dew on the floor around me. The only other discernible sound was a faint wheeze as the wind tried to crawl through the room’s cracks… oh the sorely familiar whine of death’s breathing.

But… it felt different.

I felt (and could almost taste) the honey of life’s florescent buzz as it caressed my skin. But as gentle as it seemed, the flood of perfect white raged outside my eyelids; it was like a strong gust that forced my windowpane-like eyes shut every time I tried to open them. I obediently kept my eyes shut as I waited.

I waited… but… for what?

Out of the blue a rabid thought, with its blood hungry intent and foaming mouth snapped me from out of nowhere – this must be another ungodly dream! I demanded that the embrace die off quickly. This broken dream has fooled me for too long already! But, against my moral thought, the bleaching luminance continued its warm embrace… It settled over my body like graceful feathers poured from a sun-baked pillow.

The closed ecosystem of species spread over my limbs suffered in dismay from the drenching limelight. I felt scattered tingles as small things drilled as far back into my body as they possibly can. It was somewhere between the multitude of sharp and painful needle pricks that I distinctly heard a rusty screw, or some tainted marble, start to roll across the rutted planks of the forgotten floor. Its wailing started from where the door was at earlier. It continued with a smooth and lonely sob around the room for a while, then it seemed to bump into other things, which also started a few other tickers and moans. The miserable slow clap the screw started soon turned to an agitated avalanche.

The turmoil of what sounded like objects flying around me soon stirred up a slight breeze. I felt thin layers of dust being sliced off of me.

Could it be?

I still couldn’t see anything! Why was the anger pulsing through my veins not enough to wake me!?

It was no longer simply dust being scraped off of my rock-like body. Small pieces of flying objects started ticking me. The ticks grew into larger, louder tocks. I could feel small cracks form on my hard skin.

“What the h-” I started to scream, but the surrounding noise overwhelmed my excuse for a voice.

Small pieces broke off of me and crumbled off to feed the gnashing teeth of hungry floor.

I was getting nailed in my coffin by everything that made it mine. It was awfully, fiercely painful.

“Please… just take me…” I sobbed, inaudibly – then everything stopped – the inferno around me hushed into the softest floats of ash.

I could… move? I had forgotten how to! Phantom chains held my limbs in place. I could only sit stiffly on the heap of rubble that had always been a part of me; the remnants of the tomb that endured me all these eons.

I could finally open my eyes, which immediately welled up with tears.

There it was…

In the blur in front of me, I recognized the outlines of the love from my youth.

<Continued in Part 3>

Raw