Varför är du angelägen
om en tjänst?

By Grantley Morris

(Denna webbsida finns tillgänglig på engelska)


Tänk dig vinrankor i en vingård,
hur de växer;
de varken stretar eller strävar,
och ändå säger jag dig
att inte all människans teknologi
kan ge sådan frukt som en av dessa.

Om Gud ger sådan frukt åt vinrankor,
som är vid liv idag
och i morgon kastas i elden,
är det inte än mer säkert
att han kommer att ge frukt av ditt liv,
du trossvage?
Så knota inte och säg:
'Hur ska jag åstadkomma något gott?'
eller, 'Hur ska jag sätta spår i den här världen?'
ty efter sådan tillfredsställelse längtar hedningarna
och din himmelska Far vet ditt behov av det.

Vem av er,
när en son ber att få hjälpa till,
skulle alltid avvisa gåvan?
Eller om han vill uppnå något gott,
skulle någon låta hans liv slösas bort
hellre än att hjälpa honom lyckas?
Om nu ni som är onda
förstår att älska era barn,
så mycket mer ska då er Far i himlen
ge ett uppdrag till den som söker ett.

'Om någon är kvar i mig...
bär han rik frukt...
Min far förhärligas.'

Fler webbsidor på svenska

Du kan finna kärleken: Vad dina drömmar avslöjar

I väntan på Den Stora Uppgiften: Jakten på drömmars uppfyllelser


Divine impatience

When the doubled-over woman met Jesus he could have said, 'See me at sundown.' That was the end of the Jewish Sabbath and presumably no more than twelve hours away - a mere 0.0076% extension to her eighteen-year wait for healing. To heal on the Sabbath was to gush petroleum upon the smouldering wrath of his enemies. The inferno could even offend sincere believers and convince the undecided that his powers were Satanic. But to the eternal Son of God those few uneventful hours in the life of a nameless woman - a 0.0076% deferral - was too high a price.

For the One to whom a thousand years are as a day, one day is like a thousand years. Infinite Love will restrain himself until the perfect time, but not one second longer.

Like vine branches, we are not continually laden with fruit. That would be unnatural. For a significant portion of its life, a grapevine is nothing but a dry, twisted stick; fruitless, useless for shade, worthless as timber; to all appearances fit only to be ripped from the ground and burned. Yet those barren times are as vital in the life of the vine, as the seasons of fruit.

If spring could tip-toe passed nature without stirring it from its winter slumber; if the sun could slip through the sky without dispelling the night; if rain could fall to the ground without bringing life to the desert - only then should you fear dry times, dark times, lean times. Though you feel as useless as a fur coat in a heat-wave, the time will come when your warmth is treasured. To everything there is a season.

Your name is on God's calendar.


. . . from a fascinating web book crammed with goodies
View the web book



Copyright, Grantley Morris. All rights reserved.


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