Scour

May 17, 1979
6:40 AM

Discipline involves following where one is led. There is always the struggle between “the leading” and one’s own mind, one’s own sense of “the way to go”. The mind, particularly, has “years of experience” and many hours each day of considering, making decisions, cerebrating. So the discipline of “letting the mind that is in Christ be in you” is a difficult, painstaking one.

The word “scour” comes, and I resist it as a theme because I know it has no spiritual, no theological merit. My mind rejects the “imperfect theme.” But it persists. I try to scour it from my consciousness. It persists. I want a mighty, grand title. I want to write words of lasting beauty and import. “Scour”. I want to bring messages that shall ring the hearts of believers… even non-believers. “Scour.” I want to be a channel of blessing. I have a vision… I want… I…

And the Lord, the Spirit says Scour. Don’t just wipe away. Don’t just clean up. Don’t just scrub clean. You have to scour.

Scouring takes effort and strength. But effort and strength are results of me. Or are they? Time is necessary. Time in each day, and time over time. Hearing in the third ear and writing the words, however they flow… unless, until the strength and effort are the Lord’s.

The sun shines on an ordinary pipe, an ordinary spider trail, and the ordinary become something new and beautiful. As the Son shines through me I shall move from the ordinary to the new and beautiful. So be it. Amen.

Another addendum for the record.

On Sunday, May 12, early in the morn after my hearing and writing time I went to Peter’s grave. This is neither an unusual nor a usual thing to do. It was no “pillar of fire” leading, but neither was it just a chance happening. After I had prayed a bit, and talked some to Peter I had this strong sense that he wanted me give Lenore some Mother’s Day flowers. There was one early brownish iris in the garden, and this was clearly the flower. But then he “told” me to pick four budding weeds on the way out of the pine grove… and then I had to go back for one more variant weed. I arranged them all, with the iris in the midst, and took it up to Lenore, still in bed. Tears came to my eyes as I said, “This is from Peter”.

This is what Peter would likely have done if he were still here in the earth. I guess he couldn’t resist showing a bit of that old, unusual concern that was his. An unusual, happy experience.

7:30 AM

(This is the seventh missive penned by Bob Russell after he “cut his deal” with God that he would dedicate the first hour of his day to a “writing meditation” for the next 30 days.
This missive was penned and written only by Bob Russell)