Open Hands, Open Heart

Waterlily in the Grassy Pond, Lake Park, GA 04/21/12
Photo credit: Matthew Gray

"Open hands should characterize the soul's attitude toward God---open to receive what He wants to give, open to give back what He wants to take.  Acceptance of the will of God means relinquishment of our own.  If our hands are full of our own plans, there isn't room to receive His.
The outer leaves of a flower make up what is called the calyx.  Like tiny hands it clasps the bud, holding tightly to the furled petals, but as the flower develops the hold is loosened, though still maintaining the power to contract.  In maturity there is a complete release, a letting go, and the mini-hands are folded back, past all power of closing." 
Elisabeth Elliot, A Path Through Suffering, 1990. 

That's My King by Dr. S.M. Lockridge~

His Robes for Mine~

 

    Resurrection Sunday, 2011 

His robes for mine: O wonderful exchange!
Clothed in my sin, Christ suffered ‘neath God’s rage.
Draped in His righteousness, I’m justified.
In Christ I live, for in my place He died.

Chorus:

I cling to Christ, and marvel at the cost:
Jesus forsaken, God estranged from God.
Bought by such love, my life is not my own.
My praise-my all-shall be for Christ alone.

His robes for mine: what cause have I for dread?
God’s daunting Law Christ mastered in my stead.
Faultless I stand with righteous works not mine,
Saved by my Lord’s vicarious death and life.

His robes for mine: God’s justice is appeased.
Jesus is crushed, and thus the Father’s pleased.
Christ drank God’s wrath on sin, then cried “‘Tis done!”
Sin’s wage is paid; propitiation won.

His robes for mine: such anguish none can know.
Christ, God’s beloved, condemned as though His foe.
He, as though I, accursed and left alone;
I, as though He, embraced and welcomed home!

          TEXT (by Chris Anderson)
 

Love so Amazing~

 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.

Words: Isaac Watts, 1707