"He must increase, but I must decrease. John 3:30

The Wait Poem

Desperately, helplessly, longingly, I cried;

Quietly, patiently, lovingly, God replied.
I pled and I wept for a clue to my fate …
And the Master so gently said,”Wait.”

“Wait? You say wait?” my indignant reply.
“Lord, I need answers, I need to know why!”
Is your hand shortened? Or have you not heard?
By faith I have asked, and I’m claiming your Word.

My future and all to which I relate,
Hangs in the balance, and you tell me to Wait?”
I’m needing a ‘yes,’ a go-ahead sign.
Or even a ‘no,’ to which I’ll resign.

You promised, dear Lord, that if we believe,
We need but to ask, and we shall receive.
Lord, I’ve been asking, and this is my cry:
I’m weary of asking! I need a reply.

Then quietly, softly, I learned of my fate,
As my Master replied again, “Wait.”
So I slumped in my chair, defeated and taut,
And grumbled to God, “So, I’m waiting … for what?”

He seemed then to kneel, and His eyes met with mine …
And He tenderly said, “I could give you a sign.
I could shake the heavens and darken the sun.
I could raise the dead and cause mountains to run.

I could give all you seek and pleased you would be.
You’d have what you want, but you wouldn’t know Me.
You’d not know the depth of My love for each saint.
You’d not know the power that I give to the faint.

You’d not learn to see through clouds of despair;
You’d not learn to trust just by knowing I’m there.
You’d not know the joy of resting in Me,
When darkness and silence are all you can see.

You’d never experience the fullness of love,
When the peace of My spirit descends like a dove.
You would know that I give, and I save, for a start,
But you’d not know the depth of the beat of My heart.

The glow of My comfort late into the night,
The faith that I give when you walk without sight.
The depth that’s beyond getting just what you ask,
From an infinite God who makes what you have last.

You’d never know should your pain quickly flee,
What it means that My grace is sufficient for thee.
Yes, your dearest dreams overnight would come true,
But oh, the loss if I lost what I’m doing in you.

So, be silent, my child, and in time you will see,
That the greatest of gifts is to truly know me.
And though often My answers seem terribly late,
My most precious answer of all is still “WAIT”.

– Russell Kelfer

Anonymous asked: What inspires you to take those beautiful pictures? :)

His wondrous works :)

Something Worth Losing Everything For

“Imagine walking in a field and stumbling upon a treasure that is more valuable than anything else you could work for or find in this life. It is more valuable than all you have now or will ever have in the future.

“You look around and notice that no one else realizes the treasure is here, so you cover it up quickly and walk away, pretending you haven’t seen anything. You go into town and begin to sell off all your possessions to have enough money to buy that field. The world thinks you’re crazy. “What are you thinking?” your friends and family ask you.

“You tell them, “I’m buying that field over there.”

“They look at you in disbelief. “That’s a ridiculous investment,” they say. “Why are you giving away everything you have?”

“You respond, “I have a hunch,” and you smile to yourself as you walk away.

“You smile because you know. You know that in the end you are not really giving away anything at all. Instead you are gaining. Yes, you are abandoning everything you have, but you are also gaining more than you could have in any other way. So with joy—with joy!—you sell it all, you abandon it all. Why? Because you have found something worth losing everything else for.

“This is the picture of Jesus in the gospel. He is something—someone—worth losing everything for. And if we walk away from the Jesus of the gospel, we walk away from eternal riches. The cost of nondiscipleship is profoundly greater for us than the cost of discipleship. For when we abandon the trinkets of this world and respond to the radical invitation of Jesus, we discover the infinite treasure of knowing and experiencing him.”

by David Platt (Radical)