Dressed For Victory

July 30, 2019 — Craig T. Owens

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power (Ephesians 6:10).

Not…

  • be strong in my own ability
  • be strong in the company of another warrior

But…

  • be strong in the Lord
  • be strong in the power of His might

The armor I wear has been battle-tested by the undefeated Champion. It’s armor emblazoned with the crimson red blood of Calvary. It’s armor gleaming brightly with the glow of Resurrection victory.

I wear Christ’s armor! 

  • The belt of truth—it’s the righteousness of Jesus (Isaiah 11:1-5)
  • The breastplate of righteousness—worn by the Messiah who defeated evil (Isaiah 59:15-17)
  • The helmet of salvation—worn by Jesus as He won salvation for us (Isaiah 59:16-17)
  • The shoes of the gospel of peace—worn by our Lord as He defeated our enemies (Isaiah 52:5-7)
  • The shield of faith—God says, “I am your shield” (Genesis 15:1)
  • The sword of the Spirit—what Jesus used to strike down satan’s temptations (Isaiah 49:1-2; Luke 4:4, 8, 12)

I must continually clothe myself in God’s armor. Then I keep the armor bright by prayer—

Restraining prayer, we cease to fight 
Prayer makes the Christian’s armor bright 
And satan trembles when he sees 
The weakest saint upon his knees. (William Cowper)


Holy God, may I be dressed in YOU at every moment. May I daily use YOUR battle-tested armor and weapons to strike a blow against satan! 


(Check out all the Scripture references above by clicking here.)








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Poetry Saturday—Where The Roses Never Fade

July 27, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




I am going to a city where the streets with gold are laid


Where the tree of life is blooming and the roses never fade.


Here they bloom but for a season—soon their beauty is decayed


But I am going to a city where the roses never fade. 




In this world we have our troubles, satan’s snares we must evade


We’ll be free from all temptation where the roses never fade.


Here they bloom but for a season—soon their beauty is decayed


But I am going to a city where the roses never fade. 




Loved one gone to be with Jesus in their robes of white arrayed


Now are waiting for my coming where the roses never fade.


Here they bloom but for a season—soon their beauty is decayed


But I am going to a city where the roses never fade. —variously attributed to Elsie Osborn, Jack Osborn, or Jim Miller (the handwritten copy is from Russell Coffield, my wife’s grandfather, and was read at his funeral) 








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Poetry Saturday—Walking With God

July 20, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




Alas, my God, that we should be


Such Strangers to each other!


O that as Friends we might agree,


And walk, and talk together!


Thou know’st my Soul doth dearly love


The Place of Thine Abode;


No Music drops so sweet a Sound,


As those two words, My God.




I long not for the Fruit that grows


Within these Gardens here;


I find no sweetness in their Rose


When Jesus is not near:


Thy gracious Presence, O my Christ


Can make a Paradise;


Ah, what are all the goodly Pearls


Unto this Pearl of Price!




May I taste that Communion, Lord,


Thy people have with Thee?


Thy Spirit daily talks with them,


O let it talk with me!


Like Enoch, let me walk with God,


And thus walk out my Day,


Attended with the Heavenly Guards


Upon the King’s High-way.




When wilt Thou come unto me, Lord?


O come, my Lord most dear!


Come near, come nearer, nearer still;


I’m well when Thou art near.


When wilt Thou come unto me, Lord?


I languish for Thy Sight;


Ten Thousand Suns, if Thou art Strange,


Are shades instead of Light.




When wilt Thou come unto me, Lord?


For, till Thou dost appear,


I count each Moment for a Day,


Each Minute for a Year.


Come, Lord and never from me go,


This World’s a darksome Place;


I find no Pleasure here below,


When Thou dost veil Thy Face.




There’s no such Thing as Pleasure here;


My JESUS is my All;


As Thou didst shine or disappear,


My pleasures rise and fall.


Come, spread Thy Savour on my Frame,


No sweetness is so sweet;


Till I get up to sing Thy Name,


Where all Thy Singers meet. —Thomas Shepherd








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Poetry Saturday—These Eyes Have Never Seen

July 13, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




Jesus, these eyes have never seen


that radiant form of Thine;


the veil of sense hangs dark between


Thy blessed face and mine.




I see Thee not, I hear Thee not,


yet art Thou oft with me;


and earth hath ne’er so dear a spot


as where I meet with Thee.




Yet, though I have not seen, and still


must rest in faith alone,


I love Thee, dearest Lord, and will,


unseen, but not unknown.




When death these mortal eyes shall seal,


and still this throbbing heart,


the rending veil shall Thee reveal


all glorious as Thou art. —Ray Palmer






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Poetry Saturday—Give Me The Love

July 6, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 






Give me the love that leads the way, 


The faith that nothing can dismay, 


The hope no disappointments tire, 


The passion that will burn like fire.


Let me not sink to be a clod: 


make me Thy fuel, flame of God. —Amy Carmichael








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Poetry Saturday—A Good Confession

June 29, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




It seemed as if nothing less likely could be


Than that light should break in on a dungeon so deep;


To create a new world were less hard than to free


The slave from his bondage, the soul from its sleep.




But the Word had gone forth, and said, Let there be light,


And it flashed through my soul like a sharp passing smart;


One look to my Savior, and all that dark night,


Like a dream scarce remembered, was gone from my heart.




I cried out for mercy, and fell on my knees,


And confessed, while my heart with keen sorrow was wrung;


’Twas the labor of minutes, and years of disease


Fell as fast from my soul as the words from my tongue. —Frederick William Faber






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Poetry Saturday—Let It Be On Earth

June 22, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




Psalm 93


The Lord sits upright on His throne, 


draped in a mountain, rising through 


the clouds, forever changeless, new, 


eternally impervious to 


all storms or time, a growing stone 


of splendor and unmeasured girth:


As there, Lord, let it be on earth!




Psalm 45:6-8


What sweetness bathes our every sense!


What radiating gladness swells 


around us! What delightful smells 


engulf, what happy music tells


Your glory! Joys beyond expense 


from You and from Your throne pour forth:


As there, Lord, let it be on earth!




Psalm 47


They gather in Elysian Fields, 


a vast and varied, joyful host, 


with one objective uttermost—


their King to celebrate and toast!


There, casting down their crowns and shields, 


they tell His holy, matchless worth:


As there, Lord, let it be on earth!




Revelation 4, 5


Throughout the vast, far-flung expanse 


a chorus rises, joyous, strong:


Unnumbered hosts, an endless throng, 


their voices joined in glorious song, 


extol their King’s eminence, 


rejoicing in His matchless worth:


As there, Lord, let it be on earth!




Hebrews 12:1


Now let us focus on one saint, 


one from that boisterous crowd of those 


who prays together, dressed in clothes 


of linen white. See how he glows 


in mien and body! No restraint 


impedes his holy, joyful mirth:


As there, Lord, let it be on earth!




Hebrews 1:7 


Christ speaks, and angels all obey, 


and hurry off to implement


His Word. They are as servants sent, 


a holy, unseen regiment, 


to guard and guide us on our way.


Of faithfulness they know no dearth:


As there, Lord, let it be on earth!




Psalm 97:1-6


Fire flows to mark His path, and burns 


away His foes by righteousness 


and justice, oozing forth to bless 


the world and overpave the mess 


we men have made of things. He turns 


this way and that in all His worth:


As there, Lord, let it be on earth! —T.M. Moore






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Poetry Saturday—A Debtor To Mercy Alone

June 15, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




A debtor to mercy alone,


Of covenant mercy I sing,


Nor fear, with God’s righteousness on,


My person and off’rings to bring.


The terrors of law and of God


With me can have nothing to do;


My Savior’s obedience and blood


Hide all my transgression from view. 




The work which His goodness began,


The arm of His strength will complete;


His promise is Yea and Amen,


And never was forfeited yet.


Things future, nor things that are now,


Not all things below or above,


Can make Him His purpose forego,


Or sever my soul from His love. 




My name from the palms of His hands


Eternity will not erase;


Imprest on His heart, it remains


In marks of indelible grace.


Yes! I to the end shall endure,


As sure as the earnest is giv’n;


More happy, but not more secure,


When all earthly ties have been riv’n. —Augustus Toplady






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Poetry Saturday—Every Fallen Soul

June 8, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




Every fallen soul, by sinning,


Merits everlasting pain;


But Thy love without beginning,


Has redeem’d the world again:


Countless millions


Shall in life, through Jesus reign.




Pause, my soul, adore and wonder:


Ask, “Oh, why such love to me?” 


Grace hath put me in the number


Of the Saviour’s family:


Hallelujah!


Thanks, eternal thanks to Thee!




Since that love had no beginning,


And shall never, never cease;


Keep, oh, keep me, Lord, from sinning;


Guide me in the way of peace:


Make me walk in


All the paths of holiness.




When I quit this feeble mansion,


And my soul returns to Thee,


Let the power of Thy ascension


Manifest itself in me;


Through Thy Spirit,


Give the final victory.




When the angel sounds the trumpet;


When my soul and body join;


When my Saviour comes to judgment,


Bright in majesty divine,


Let me triumph


In Thy righteousness as mine. —Anonymous






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Poetry Saturday—If

June 1, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




If you can keep your head when all about you   


    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   


If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,


    But make allowance for their doubting too;   


If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,


    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,


Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,


    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:




If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   


    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   


If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster


    And treat those two impostors just the same;   


If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken


    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,


Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,


    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:




If you can make one heap of all your winnings


    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,


And lose, and start again at your beginnings


    And never breathe a word about your loss;


If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew


    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   


And so hold on when there is nothing in you


    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’




If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   


    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,


If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,


    If all men count with you, but none too much;


If you can fill the unforgiving minute


    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   


Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   


    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son! —Rudyard Kipling






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