Our farmhouse basement had a dirt floor and stone walls. I never thought of it as a cosy spot, and I spent as little time there as possible. It was great for cold storage of vegetables, canned fruit, and homemade pickles, but, trust me, I never wanted to actually make them down there.

Still, basements are sometimes useful. Some people do their wash down there, or build apartments in them, or create playrooms for the kids, but I hope that we all yearn for ground level and sunshine.

When we worship our own man-made gods, we are living in the basement. Don't tell me that you don't have any, because we all do. Our gods are anything that we put before the true, living Lord.

Basement living is the pits. Our God does not live there.

Psalm 115:3-8 – Our God is in heaven doing whatever he wants to do. Their gods are metal and wood, handmade in a basement shop: carved mouths that can't talk, painted eyes that can't see, tin ears that can't hear, molded noses that can't smell, hands that can't grasp, feet that can't walk or run, throats that never utter a sound. Those who make them have become just like them, have become just like the gods they trust. (MSG)

I invite you to come out into the Sonshine … by setting aside that which is not Him.

Prayer: Lord, we all coddle something or someone that is not You. Point it out to us, direct us into the Sonshine, and make us willing to go there. In Jesus' name, we pray. Amen.

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About the author:

Brenda Wood <brenda.w@nextcom.ca>
Sandycove Acres, Innisfil, Ontario, Canada
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