Thursday, January 31, 2013

Rest in Peace

~
Remember when you were small? I’d call you in from the backyard, we’d sit on the floor and have lunch, your favorite; peanut butter and jelly with tomato soup and lots of crackers. And then, I’d tell you it was time to rest so you’d grow big and strong. You’d complain about having to nap, but in the end I’d always win because you’d fall asleep watching Captain Kangaroo.


As you grew, when you’d come home from school I’d make you a snack, your favorite again, and then you’d run out to play. After supper and chores and homework, I’d say, “Bedtime, you need your rest, so you’ll be sharp in school.” You’d complain about it being so early, but in the end I’d always win because you’d fall asleep before I finished reading you a story.

And then, there was the time you came down with the fever. You asked “Daddy, am I going to heaven—to be with Mama?”

I said, “Not for a long, long time son. You’ll get well; you just need your rest.” Sure enough you recovered and grew to be a man.

And now here I sit, resting weary bones on this old familiar bench. Marble sentinels stand guard over loved ones; their cadence; R.I.P.

Words I’ve heard too often, rest in peace, echo in my mind. I wonder, what does that really mean?

And then, my quiet musing is interrupted by a man who sits down on the bench beside me and asks, “You doing alright, sir?”

I continue to stare at the fresh dirt, “What’s it mean, rest in peace?”

“Well,” he says, “There’s a rest we give our bodies, like naps, to grow big and strong. And there’s early to bed rest, so we’ll be sharp in school. And then, there’s the extra rest we need when we’re ill so we can heal. That kind of rest helps our bodies mend.” His eyes follow my gaze to the fresh dirt and he pats a book in his lap. “But, this kind of rest is different.”

I started to ask if he knew me, but he continued.

“This is rest for the soul. And it’s the most important kind of rest. It heals broken hearts, restores hope and provides peace. It’s available in this life,” he nods his head toward the marble, “and the next.” Then, he looks down. “But, few ever find it.”

“Peace?” I whisper and look at the gravestone nearest me.

I taught you all you needed to know about getting your piece of the pie in this life, but nothing about finding peace for your soul. And now, here you lie. The marker says Rest in peace, but I wonder if you ever will, you never learned how, I failed you.

If there’s rest for the soul—it’ll never be mine. I don’t deserve it. I’m sorry, my son.

I blink and pain leaks down my cheek. “That’s my boy” I nod toward the fresh dirt and simple stone. “Thirteen months ago was the last time we spoke. He called, crying. Divorce papers in hand, wife and kids were gone, something about being married to his job was the problem.” I taste salty wet on my lip. “I told him to get some rest because, you know, everything looks better in the morning after a good night’s rest. He screamed, ‘A nap won’t fix this Dad! I don’t need sleep. I need peace!’ Click. That was the last time I heard from him. I tried calling. He never answered. And then three days ago, I got the call from the hospital.”

The stranger opens his Bible.

“Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me’ for I am meek and lowly in heart” and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)


He looks deep into my soul. “Even if you’d told your son about this rest, you couldn’t have given it to him. Only One can do that. And no one deserves it. It’s a gift for all who humble themselves and come to Him. I have a message for you—your child is with Jesus—The Prince of Peace. I know, I was there, I heard him pray, watched him change, and carried him Home.

Your wife and son have found true rest. Whether you’ll see them again is up to you. This life is simply the waiting room to eternity. You choose where you go from here; His Eternal Rest or eternal unrest.”

I drop to my knees and close my eyes, I feel a gentle wind and it carries the sound of a choir singing an old familiar hymn. And in the choir, I’m sure I hear, the voices of my wife and child.


This song becomes my prayer…




Precious Lord, take my hand


Lead me on, let me stand


I am tired, I am weak, I am worn


Through the storm, through the night


Lead me on to the light


Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home




When my way grows drear


Precious Lord linger near


When my life is almost gone


Hear my cry, hear my call


Hold my hand lest I fall


Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home




When the darkness appears


And the night draws near


And the day is past and gone


At the river I stand


Guide my feet, hold my hand


Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home




Precious Lord, take my hand


Lead me on, let me stand


I'm tired, I'm weak, I'm lone


Through the storm, through the night


Lead me on to the light


Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home



Saturday, January 26, 2013

Night Watch

~
About this time of the evening, after supper, I’m usually making popcorn and getting ready to do some reading and/or writing or watch some T.V. but not tonight. I just made some tea, not the sleepy-time herb tea I usually make around this time of night, but the other kind, the kind that will probably keep me awake, and that’s okay, because tonight we’re on night watch.


A few weeks ago some of the folks in our little community got robbed. On more than one occasion things turned up missing. Not huge losses, things like a few three-wheel bikes, some GPS systems a tool box, stuff like that, things easy to grab and run and sell for some quick cash. Probably kids.

I like our little village. We have a little government, of the people, by the people and for the people. They work together to handle the funds we generate with our various events and meals and things. They coordinate events so that everything is done decently and in order. It reminds me of a little America.

Well, after hearing about our friends and neighbors being violated by the thief in the night we took action.

We could have thrown our hands in the air and cried, “Somebody’s gotta do something!”

We could have relied on our ‘government’ to hire a group to study the situation and hire themselves to oversee the oversight of the group studying the situation until they hired a company to hire a security patrol team in which we would no longer be assaulted by the dangerous perps.

Of course the small print we wouldn’t read would indicate that all of this would cost more than all of the items stolen combined and would delete all of the funds in our accounts until we were overdrawn. But no worries because we could borrow against our good name and sleep at night knowing we were safe and not being robbed blind; all the while ignoring the fact that we were being robbed, not blind, but with our eyes wide open.

We could have argued that it was their own fault because they didn’t do this or that or the other thing.

But we didn’t do any of that. Thank God.

We just took a piece of paper and a thumb tack and poked it in the wall in the mail room. Then we told everybody to sign their name by the time slot they wanted. It didn’t cost a nickel and we’ve got a slick security system.

We don’t have a fancy security patrol car with flashing bells and whistles, it’s a golf-cart—the gas kind so it kinda stinks. It makes a lot of noise, it ain’t real pretty, but she sure is fast. Our security team is made up of…US, not high paid uniform wearing hirelings. We’re made up of regular folks like you and me. We’ve got at least one retired police officer, more than a few retired military veterans and several prayer warriors.

Sometimes, I hear them put-put-puttin’ through the night when I’m lying in bed. When I do, I whisper a prayer for them, for our little village and for our intruders if they come. And then I pray for our town, for our state and for our country and her leaders. By then I’ve fallen back to sleep.

We have a cross section of humanity from all over America and Canada in our little village. It seems to me that what works here for us, ought to work out there, too.

There’s no sign that says this is a “Christian” park, but as we do what Christians do, it starts to feel like one. We pray before our meals and we sing and laugh and play with a joy that makes others want to be a part of the family.

When we see a need—we fill it. We have a care-basket in the clubhouse for our local homeless shelter. My feet hurt from shopping with my wife today, because she had a bunch of coupons to buy all kinds of things to put in that basket. It’s what she does.

We all have blood in this fight. This is our little village. It may not be fancy, it may not be big, but it’s ours and we’ll do our part to protect her. We’re not going to ask someone else to do it. We’ll sign our name and take our place and fill in the gap, even if it wasn’t our stuff that got stolen, it was our neighbors and as far as I see it, that’s the same thing.

Well, I’ve got to get ready to run around lookin’ for bad guys…kinda makes me hungry for a donut .

~

I don’t know much about all this modern day techno-geeky stuff like—ipad, iphone, ipod, itunes, ibook, iCloud, iOS—but I do know how to use the best communication device known to man.

ipray4u

I’d love to pray for you—just leave me a message here or e-mail dougspurling@aol.com



Thanks for stopping by,

Doug

~

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

The Cup

~
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tock-tick…the hands on the clock never moved. White, everything, the walls, ceiling and floor, the door, the padded table upon which I sat and the cabinet, all white. The chill from a cold sweat made me shiver. The clock and my heart were the only sounds. The thought occurred to me that I should pray, but I brushed it off thinking it wouldn’t do any good, anyway.


Click, the door opened.

His eyes told the story before he spoke. “It’s your heart.”

“What…Doc, am I going to die?” The words from my lips sounded like they came from a stranger.

His words were slow. “Your heart is infected.” His voice soft, “and yes, it could kill you.”

My world tilted, and all oxygen spilled from the room. I swallowed a lump of dry air. “Infected? How? ”

“It’s inherited.” His eyes pooled wet and spilled. “You were born with it.”

“Inherited…but, but I feel good. There must be some mistake. There’s no heart trouble in my family.”

He held a cup and slowly raised it toward me. “There’s no doubt. You’re infected. But if you’ll—”

I stood and held up my hands. “No. I can’t believe this. I don’t. I won’t!”

He swallowed and inhaled deep, “I’ve seen this before. Please believe me, your heart is ill.” The corners of his mouth lifted a bit. “But, the good news is, I have the cure.” He stretched out his hand holding the cup; his eyes urged me to take it.

“So, let me get this straight. I have an infected heart that will kill me, and you have the cure?” I looked at the cup, but didn’t take it. “And… I’m guessing the cure, is in there?”

He wiped a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand and smiled. “If you accept this, you’ll not die.”

“Doc, this sounds too easy, too weird. You don’t expect me to really believe it—do you?”

“Yes, I do. Actually, unless you believe you cannot receive.”

“That’s it. I’m outta here. I’m gonna get a second opinion. And if you’re right—I’ll just pick up a gallon of that miracle cure and give it to my whole family.”

He lowered his hand and sighed. “I am the only one that holds the cure. Anyone who wants to be saved from this disease must come to me and drink from this cup. There is no other way.”

“How can simply drinking from that cup cure a deadly disease?”

“Because I drank first from the cup that was given to me, now you can receive this cup and be set free from your disease.” Something in his eyes told me it was true—even though it didn’t make sense.

I remembered a time when I was a kid taking communion in Sunday school and I just knew I could trust him, even though I didn’t understand why.

“I might be crazy but—what’ve I got to lose, right? Gimme that. Oh, and Doc—I don’t know why, but— I believe you.” I took the cup and before I had a chance to change my mind, gulped it in one quick swig. “What’s in this stuff anyway?”

He whispered, “My blood.”

I thought I would gag, but just then my eyes started playing tricks on me. He started to sweat… a lot. I mean, it was bad sweat—it looked like he was sweating blood. His white garments started to soak through red right before my very eyes. “Uh, Doc—what’s going on? Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare…or hell? Am I dead?”

“I died, so you could live.”He stretched out his arms—blood dripping everywhere—and wheezed, “IT IS FINISHED.”

I jerked awake in a cold sweat; the room no longer white, but dark. Must have been the half eaten pizza giving me some creepy nightmare, I thought. I rubbed my pounding head and noticed the wine bottle I’d just opened, was empty and laying on its side. Directly below the bottle a dim light shimmered. What little was left in the bottle had dripped through the wicker table and landed on a book; Mama’s Bible, before she died.

I could still hear Mama say, “Son, everyday over this Bible I have communion with my Jesus, and say a prayer for you.” I’d just laugh and walk away.

I wiped wine mingled dust off the cover, and opened the Book for the first time in years. Blood red wine had mixed with Mama’s tears and run across the pages that said:

Then He took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you. For this is My blood of the new covenant, which is shed for many for the remission of sins …O My Father, if this cup cannot pass away from Me unless I drink it, Your will be done” (Matthew 26:27, 28, 42 NKJV).

I knelt before the Great Physician and Mama’s prayers were answered.



I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the LORD. (Ps 116:13 NIV)


 
~



I don’t know much about all this modern day techno-geeky stuff like—ipad, iphone, ipod, itunes, ibook, iCloud, iOS—but I do know how to use the best communication device known to man.

ipray4u

I’d love to pray for you—just leave me a message here or e-mail dougspurling@aol.com



Thanks for stopping by,

Doug

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Lexi

~
I’m a bit dazed. I received a message that put me in shock. A small shock, it’s nothing to worry about

…but everything to think about.


The message was regarding our granddaughter, Lexi. She used to spend lots of time with us. She was so small and cute and funny. She bounced around like a little Lucky Charms leprechaun, so I called her my little Lexichaun. “Carry me on your shoulders Papa,” she’d say with a giggle. I’d hoist her up and away we’d go; me and my little Lexichaun. She was—and still is—so ticklish that just the threat of tickling her makes her crack-up. She’s taught me a lot about laughing and living with her ever present smile and constant giggle. She taught me that the laugh of a child is the closest thing this side of heaven to hearing an angel sing.

And then a few years later, she showed me how little kids can be brave as soldiers and forgiving as saints. We were in the boat. It happened years ago, and the memory is a bit faded, but I can still hear the quick zip of line peeling off Shyloh’s reel as she swung her pole to cast. You know; the sound a reel makes when you hook a big one and he makes a run for it. Well, this time the fish wasn’t a fish, but a Lexichaun. My favorite lure covered Lexi’s left eye. Our daughter Shyloh kept sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” One barb from the treble hook of a Mepps Spinner buried deep into her eyebrow. I thought, Thank you Jesus it’s not in her eye.

We cut the line and made our way to the nearest shore. Lexi didn’t flinch. And I think an angel must have met us because a lady appeared and drove us some fifteen miles to the hospital.

Shyloh was hooked deeper with remorse than the hole in Lexi’s brow, but the little girl held no malice and their tearful, giggly hug removed every barb.

Doc used a simple wire cutters and removed the lure just above the skin. And then, with a tiny rod he pulled back the skin where the hook had entered and slid it out. I thought—I coulda done that— but that was after thinking—man, he ruined my favorite lure—um…of course that was only after thinking—thank you Jesus, he got it out.

And then believe it or not Lexichaun apologized to me—to me. “Papa,” she said with a funny looking stitch over her left eye, “sorry I ruined your favorite lure.”

“It’s okay,” I patter her head. “Maybe we ought to call you, Hook-Eye.”

I’ve since replaced my Mepps and Lexi healed up just fine, you can hardly even tell where she was hooked. And Shyloh? Well, she’s the safest caster you ever want to meet.

And then it happened, overnight it seems. Lexi became—God help us—a teenager. Days of our little Lexichaun staying with us grew few and far between. She got busy with school and sports and texting and, possibly but hopefully not, boys.

I figured she was too busy to even think of us, we were too old, too slow, too boring.


But then…

“How come Papa’s written about everyone but me?” She asked her mom.

I didn’t think she noticed that I wrote at all—let alone what or who I wrote about.

But once again, my little Hook-Eyed Lexichaun taught me something new. Kids are watching. They may not want us to know it—but they really do.

~

Lord, help us keep our eyes on You and let it influence how we live, because others have eyes on us and it influences how they live too.

~

Train up a child in the way he should go,

And when he is old he will not depart from it. Prov. 22:6

~~~

I don’t know much about all this modern day techno-geeky stuff like—ipad, iphone, ipod, itunes, ibook, iCloud, iOS—but I do know how to use the best communication device known to man.

ipray4u

I’d love to pray for you—just leave me a message here or e-mail dougspurling@aol.com



Thanks for stopping by,

Doug

~

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Out of the mouth of babes

~
Joe looked away and let out a quivering breath. He lifted the water glass and a tear traced down his cheek. He had finally agreed that God didn’t cause evil, but still questioned why bad things like cancer happen to innocent children.

I had told Joe all about my granddaughter with epilepsy, and how my son didn’t blame God but counted his blessings even through the hurt.

And I told him about the girl who asked me to pray for her dad’s car to break down. She said, “It’s embarrassing. He drives me to school in that car, and the door I get out is a different color than the rest of the car. It’s soooo ugly.” She felt like her embarrassment was the biggest problem in the world. But I knew her father. I knew he was a good man that loved his family and was doing his best. No matter how ugly their car door, they were rich in what was of value. His daughter just didn’t see the big picture.

I said, "We can’t see the big picture either. But we can trust that our Father loves us and will always do what’s best for us. And in that we are rich—no matter how ugly the doors we have to walk through."

I talked and talked and talked. I just wanted to comfort my hurting friend, but I was running out of things to say.

Joe made a sad laugh. “Thims—that’s what I called her. She was a premie. No bigger than a thimble.”

I smiled and nodded and took another sip of water.

He rubbed wet from his eyes with the back of his hand. “We’d play ring-around-the-rosy. She loved that game.” He shook his head and stared back in time. “We played so much it made me dizzy.” Joe choked out a sad sound and I could barely make out the words. “Today woulda been Thims birthday.”

Oh God…help. I prayed inside.

About that the door clicked and my granddaughter bounced out, singing to herself she skipped toward the yard. I was glad. I didn’t want to be bothered with her non-stop chatter right now. But, too late. She stopped her skipping and singing when she saw the look on Joe’s face. She stared at Joe but walked to me and crawled into my lap. “What-a-matter with that man?” She whispered through cupped hands into my ear.” Her whisper was loud enough for Joe to hear, too.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward as if to get up. But I found my voice.

“Joe is sad cuz he misses his granddaughter, she was about your age and she got real bad sick and…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish.

Her little hands cupped my face and she looked me square in the eyes. “Did she die?” How could her innocent voice udder such a question? I gave her a tiny nod. She slid off my lap and said,“Was she one of them school kids that got dead cuz of that bad man?”

How does she know about that? I wondered.

“Teacher told us ‘bout it at church.” She answered my question before I could ask. “And I know somethin’ else.” She placed her little hand on Joe’s big weathered farm hand. “Them’s not dead.”

Joe startled and started to pull his hand away from hers, but stopped. They just stared at each other forever—or for a few seconds. I couldn’t tell. Time. Stood. Still. She patted his hand ever so slightly. Joe’s lips quivered, “Thim?”

“Yep, them’s not dead. Little kids don’t die you know—they go to heaven and play ring-'round-the-rosy with Jesus, that’s all.” She patted his hand harder. “So don’t be sad.”

He scooped her up in his arms. I thought she’d be scared but instead she smiled and simply patted Joe on the back of his head.

I had to laugh—and cry just a little.

The next thing you know she slid down and asked Joe, “Will you play ring-'round-the-rosy with me?”


He did. We did. And we laughed until we were dizzy and then we all falled down—because after all, them’s not dead.

~

Out of the mouth of babes thou hast perfected praise. Mt. 21:16
~

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Lights

~

We sipped ice water. The creaking rocking chairs made the only sound. Quiet and peaceful—just the way I liked it. But I knew it wouldn’t last. Fireworks were going off inside of Joe. And I just prayed I’d be able to keep them under control when they came out.

“I wouldn’t let it happen.” Joe broke the silence. “If I could’ve I’d have stopped it—all of it. Sure as hell wouldn’t sit by and do nothin’. It ain’t right and you know it.” Joe was hot, but not from the sun. He was mad at God.

I rocked forward and placed my glass on the table between us. “Me too, if I could’ve, I’d have stopped it. But I couldn’t. And neither could—”

“Exactly! We couldn’t but I know Someone who could. And He did nothing. Maybe He is nothing. I ought to have my head examined. Believin’ and prayin’ my whole life—and for what? If I had the power to stop innocent children—” his voice cracked and his eyes went wet but didn’t quite spill over. He shook his head hard once and cleared his throat. “If I had the power to stop those kids from getting hurt and I stood by and did nothing—I’d be…I’d be…I don’t know—I’d be as bad as the one who done it!”

I leaned back in the rocker and nodded. “True.” I whispered, not exactly sure why sure why I said it. I only believed part of what he had said. I figured he needed to keep going until he got it all out.

“True? True what?” He gulped a quick swig of water, wiped his mouth and smirked. “I know—that I should get my head examined—right?”

I sucked in a deep breath relieved for a break in his intensity. “Um, true that if we can stop evil and don’t, well then, we’re assisting it.”

Joe pointed his finger at me, and I watched a vein in his forehead surface. “Then why’d He let it happen?” Joe pointed up and then back to me as he said it. I knew we were talking about Sandy Hook on the surface, but underneath Joe was wrestling the cancer demon that buried his little granddaughter.

I squirmed a little, reached for the water glass and took a sip. I was moving slow and praying fast. “Joe,” I said real slow and quiet, “He didn’t let it happen. We did—”

He leaned back and threw up his hands. “Don’t give me that crap about watching too much violence on TV and such. That’s a cop-out. If God is God, He could-a and should-a stopped it, but He didn’t. You said it yourself. ‘If we can stop evil and don’t we’re assisting it.’ Doesn’t the Bible talk about Cain killing Abel? Think about it. The first born of Adam and Eve killed the second born. How crazy is that? I don’t reckon he watched too many violent movies, or got brain washed by listening to the wrong kind of music.” Joe stared at a spot on the floor between his feet and shook his head. “And God couldn’t have been too busy—or too ticked off. There weren’t that many people on the planet. And still, He let Cain knock off his brother. It just don’t make sense.”

I nodded. Although, I felt there was some validity to the idea that what we watch and listen to affects our thoughts and behaviors, he did have a “good point. Violence on TV or through music or environment surely didn’t encourage Cain to kill his brother.” I smiled a half smile. “Maybe they needed tighter gun control. I mean rock control. I mean club control. No, that couldn’t be. Why’d he do it then? Why do we still do it? Every day folks get killed, raped, abused. You think God created us just so He could watch us slaughter each other?”

“Yes. NO. I don’t think God created us for that. But I was always told God is love and He hates evil. I was taught, He created everything. Well, why’d He create evil—something He hated? That was stupid if you ask me.”

“He did create everything. But, He didn’t create evil. Evil is not a thing. Evil is the child of an unbridled thought.

We were told not to touch the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. God is love and love doesn’t force, so we had the freedom to choose. We accepted a thought, a thought we knew we should reject, a thought we had the power to reject. But instead, we chose to disobey and invited evil into our world…and into that school in Sandy Hook.

Since before Cain killed Abel it’s always been, and always will be, a heart issue. God didn’t sit by and watch it happen either. God always makes the first move. He went to Cain before he killed Abel and said something like; ‘Cain, what’s wrong?’ Cain was ticked off because God accepted Abel’s gift, and not his. I suppose Abel brought his best offering, with a thankful and willing heart, whereas, Cain brought some left over, used-tea-bag type gift, grudgingly. And then, rather than acknowledging his sin, Cain got mad about it—like a lazy person despises the hard worker who gets promoted.

God, of course, knew what was wrong and went to Cain to help. ‘Why are you so sad? If you do well, you’ll be accepted. But if you don’t, sin lies at your door. Its’ desire is to control you but you should rule over it.’ (Genesis 4:7)

The first recorded counsel for fighting evil is to ‘do well and rule over it.’ It’s not complicated. It’s not rules, it’s not control. God tried to avoid the murder with proactive counsel. Cain rejected Godly advice, and acted of his own free to do evil, and he didn’t need an assault rifle to do it.

If we could pull back the curtain and see behind the scenes, we would find countless times where God has prompted people to act, to do well, to pray and stand against evil. And sadly enough, we would see that too many times we refused to act, and thus, allowed evil to prevail. All it takes for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing.

Joe, do you remember when the power went out in the Club House? Everything went black. Over a hundred of us blinded all at once, until one little lightning bug started to glow. No matter how dark the darkness, over a hundred sets of eyes could see that little bug lighting up. That’s all we need to do. Just shine. And there’s no telling how many will see the light, no matter how dark it gets. Light always extinguishes darkness. God is light.


As a kid in Sunday School we sang this song:



“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,

this little light of mine I’m gonna let it shine,


Jesus said: ‘Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’ (Matthew 5:14-16).


What if someone would have been reaching out with the light of Christ to that family? Don’t you think a simple change of heart could have avoided the whole tragedy?


Joe sat in silence. One drop was followed by a water fall.


Who says grown men don’t cry?


***
Next: “Okay, I get that. Evil sucks and we should fight it. But what about—” the flood gates threatened to open again but he choked back a sob. “What about blindsided, undeserved sickness? You know…” he whispered the next word, “cancer. And all that?”

***
12 Blessed is the man who endures temptation; for when he has been approved, he will receive the crown of life which the Lord has promised to those who love Him. 13 Let no one say when he is tempted, “I am tempted by God”; for God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does He Himself tempt anyone. 14 But each one is tempted when he is drawn away by his own desires and enticed. 15 Then, when desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, brings forth death.

16 Do not be deceived, my beloved brethren. 17 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning. (NKJV) James 1:12-17

This is the message which we have heard from Him and declare to you, that God is light and in Him is no darkness at all. (NKJV) 1 John 1:5

~