Saturday, April 2, 2005


We were working from a hand written map. Once we got used to the cryptic notes, we became proficient at deciphering them. As I read the sketchy maps, I was reminded of my childhood in Howland, Maine. As a boy I used to make maps and detailed drawings of forts. I would tear them up and hide them in pieces, building suspense and intrigue. One place that was special was a nearby island (I was sure Indians were still there in hiding) I drew maps of places I could cross the Penobscot river to get to this island. I mapped its shape and took note of its pecular topography. I buried stuff and came back later to dig it up.

The spirit of adventure is still strong in me. The older I get and more mature I become in my walk with God, the more I realize that He would not have me "bury" that spirit. I will not.

As I stood in the middle of a rice paddy reading those hand sketched maps, I realized that they were directing me to another treasure; I was digging through another layer of the glorious heart God gave me.

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