wise things from wise people......

"because followers of Jesus are sent out to be signposts pointing to the reality of his eternal kingdom. People who are signposts are "sent ones" who go to show the world the truth about how God feels about them. To be signposts of the kingdom, we have to think creatively. After all, most of the issues we deal with don't exist in heaven.--no one is homeless there, no one is addicted, trapped in greed, a workaholic, or lonely. Sometimes heaven looks like a warm blanket on a cold sidewalk; sometimes like a college girl who keeps showing up to help you carry your baby and your sorrows. Paradoxically, signposts of the kingdom radiate the most beauty when they're planted in the middle of the most mess."

"But Kingdom life thrives also in the beautiful ordinary, not just when we're working at a church. If you're a writer, let God use your interests and abilities to grow His kingdom in you and through you. That doesn't require that you write only about Jesus or put a fish symbol on your manuscript. It means that you write as one who lives for and in another dimension.
If you're a businessperson, don't bow your knee to fame, money or making a name for yourself. Instead excel in your area of expertise so that people can see what good, true, and beautiful business looks like. If you're a musician, architect, at home mom, or the guy with the burrito cart down in Pioneer Square downtown, the kingdom of God is here and inviting you to collaborate with what God is doing in your real world. You have a permission slip. You can let performing and achieving and striving go. You can invite the life of God to rise up all around you. You can sing it into your everyday world. Experience the seed."

- Rick McKinley

"Our Father who is in heaven …” With these words Jesus escorts us into the Great House of God. Shall we follow him? There is so much to see. Every room reveals his heart, every stop will soothe your soul. And no room is as essential as this one we enter first. Walk behind him as he leads us into God’s living room.

Sit in the chair that was made for you and warm your hands by the fire which never fades. Take time to look at the framed photos and find yours. Be sure to pick up the scrapbook and find the story of your life. But please, before any of that, stand at the mantle and study the painting which hangs above it.

Your Father treasures the portrait. He has hung it where all can see.

Stand before it a thousand times and each gaze is as fresh as the first. Let a million look at the canvas and each one will see himself. And each will be right.

Captured in the portrait is a tender scene of a father and a son. Behind them is a great house on a hill. Beneath their feet is a narrow path. Down from the house the father has run. Up the trail the son has trudged. The two have met, here, at the gate.

We can’t see the face of the son; it’s buried in the chest of his father. No, we can’t see his face, but we can see his tattered robe and stringy hair. We can see the mud on the back of his legs, the filth on his shoulders and the empty purse on the ground. At one time the purse was full of money. At one time the boy was full of pride. But that was a dozen taverns ago. Now both the purse and the pride are depleted. The prodigal offers no gift or explanation. All he offers is the smell of pigs and a rehearsed apology: “Father, I have sinned against God and done wrong to you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son” (Luke 15:21).

He feels unworthy of his birthright. “Demote me. Punish me. Take my name off the mailbox and my initials off the family tree. I am willing to give up my place at your table.” The boy is content to be a hired hand. There is only one problem. Though the boy is willing to stop being a son, the father is not willing to stop being a father.

Though we can’t see the boy’s face in the painting, we can’t miss the father’s. Look at the tears glistening on the leathered cheeks, the smile shining through the silver beard. One arm holds the boy up so he won’t fall, the other holds the boy close so he won’t doubt.

“Hurry!” he shouts. “Bring the best clothes and put them on him. Also, put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get our fat calf and kill it so we can have a feast and celebrate. My son was dead, but now he is alive again! He was lost but now he is found!” (Luke 15:22–24).

How these words must have stunned the young man, “My son was dead …” He thought he’d lost his place in the home. After all, didn’t he abandon his father? Didn’t he waste his inheritance? The boy assumed he had forfeited his privilege to sonship. The father, however, doesn’t give up that easily. In his mind, his son is still a son. The child may have been out of the house, but he was never out of his father’s heart. He may have left the table, but he never left the family. Don’t miss the message here. You may be willing to stop being God’s child. But God is not willing to stop being your Father.

~Max Lucado