Jeffie And Grandpa
Jeffie was in his playpen and he was crying. Tears were rolling down his little cheeks, his face was red as it could be. He was crying, and he looked pitiful in his little baseball T-shirt and a diaper.
Then Jeffie's Grandpa entered the room; Jeffie's little face lit up when he saw his Grandpa! He immediately reached out his little arms in supplication and said "Out Pa Pa out."
What is a Grandpa to do? How can someone resist that?
So Grandpa went over to the playpen, he bent over. He reached down to lift his little buddy from captivity and distress . . .
Just then "Law and Order" walked into the room.
Momma said "Jeffie, you stay right there! I'm punishing you because you have been naughty! Dad, leave Jeffie alone!"
What is a Grandpa to do?
Grandpa backs off and is thinking, "I can't just pick up a book and read it with Jeffie here. He would think I was uncaring and distant. I can't leave the room because he would feel like I have abandoned him."
What is a Grandpa to do?
But you know what? Love always finds a way. Since Grandpa couldn't take Jeffie out of the playpen, Grandpa climbed in with Jeffie!
Grandpa said "If you are in the playpen buddy, I'm in the playpen too. What are you in for? What is your sentence?"
Having Grandpa join him in his "prison cell" brought Jeffie great comfort and joy. In the midst of his captivity, Jeffie no longer felt so alone.
What Jeffie's Grandpa did is also a picture of what Jesus Christ did for us when He came to Earth as a baby.
God the Father yearned to reach down into our "playpen of captivity" and pull us out. He could not . . . because of our disobedience . . . because of our sin. What did God do?
God climbed into our "playpen" with us!
When Jesus Christ entered into our "playpen of captivity," He took the sin and disobedience that should have been ours alone, releasing us from our captivity . . . allowing us the opportunity to experience the fullness of life God has for us!
The message is simple, clear and personal: God with us . . . He loves you so much He sent His one and only Son, Jesus Christ!
"For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have Eternal Life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him. Whoever believes in Him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he has not believed in the name of God's one and only Son." John 3:16-18 (NIV)
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
August 27, 2007
FOR PARENTS THE FIRST DAY THEIR GIRLS GO TO SCHOOL:
I TRUST YOU’LL TREAT HER WELL
DEAR WORLD,
I BEQUEATH TO YOU TODAY ONE LITTLE GIRL IN A CRISPY DRESS WITH TWO BLUE EYES AND A HAPPY LAUGH THAT RIPPLES ALL DAY LONG AND A FLASH OF LIGHT BLOND HAIR THAT BOUNCES IN THE SUN WHEN SHE RUNS. I TRUST YOU'LL TREAT HER WELL.
SHE'S SLIPPING OUT OF THE BACKYARD OF MY HEART THIS MORNING AND SKIPPING OFF DOWN THE STREET TO HER FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. AND NEVER AGAIN WILL SHE BE COMPLETELY MINE. PRIM AND PROUD SHE'LL WAVE HER YOUNG AND INDEPENDENT HAND THIS MORNING AND SAY "GOODBYE" AND WALK WITH LITTLE LADY STEPS TO THE SCHOOLHOUSE.
NOW SHE'LL LEARN TO STAND IN LINES AND WAIT BY THE ALPHABET FOR HER NAME TO BE CALLED. SHE'LL LEARN TO TUNE HER EARS FOR THE SOUNDS OF SCHOOL-BELLS AND DEADLINES AND SHE'LL LEARN TO GIGGLE AND GOSSIP AND LOOK AT THE CEILING IN A DISINTERESTED WAY WHEN THE LITTLE BOY 'CROSS THE AISLE STICKS OUT HIS TONGUE AT HER. AND, NOW SHE'LL LEARN TO BE JEALOUS. AND NOW SHE'LL LEARN HOW IT IS TO FEEL HURT INSIDE.
AND NOW SHE'LL LEARN HOW NOT TO CRY.
NO LONGER WILL SHE HAVE TIME TO SIT ON THE FRONT PORCH STEPS ON A SUMMER DAY AND WATCH AN ANT SCURRY ACROSS THE CRACK IN THE SIDEWALK. NOR WILL SHE HAVE TIME TO POP OUT OF BED WITH THE DAWN AND KISS LILAC BLOOMS IN THE MORNING DEW. NO, NOW SHE'LL WORRY ABOUT THOSE IMPORTANT THINGS LIKE GRADES AND WHICH DRESS TO WEAR AND WHOSE BEST FRIEND IS WHOSE. AND THE MAGIC OF BOOKS AND LEARNING WILL REPLACE THE MAGIC OF HER BLOCKS AND DOLLS.
AND NOW SHE'LL FIND NEW HEROES.
FOR FIVE FULL YEARS NOW I'VE BEEN HER SAGE AND SANTA CLAUS AND PAL AND PLAYMATE AND FATHER AND FRIEND. NOW SHE'LL LEARN TO SHARE HER WORSHIP WITH HER TEACHERS WHICH IS ONLY RIGHT.
BUT, NO LONGER WILL I BE THE SMARTEST, GREATEST MAN IN THE WHOLE WORLD. TODAY WHEN THAT SCHOOL BELL RINGS FOR THE FIRST TIME SHE'LL LEARN WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A MEMBER OF THE GROUP WITH ALL ITS PRIVILEGES AND ITS DISADVANTAGES TOO.
SHE'LL LEARN IN TIME THAT PROPER YOUNG LADIES DO NOT LAUGH OUT LOUD OR KISS DOGS OR KEEP FROGS IN PICKLE JARS IN BEDROOMS OR EVEN WATCH ANTS SCURRY ACROSS CRACKS IN SIDEWALKS IN THE SUMMER.
TODAY SHE'LL LEARN FOR THE FIRST TIME THAT ALL WHO SMILE AT HER ARE NOT HER FRIENDS. AND I'LL STAND ON THE FRONT PORCH AND WATCH HER START OUT ON THE LONG, LONELY JOURNEY TO BECOMING A WOMAN.
SO, WORLD, I BEQUEATH TO YOU TODAY ONE LITTLE GIRL IN A CRISPY DRESS WITH TWO BLUE EYES AND A HAPPY LAUGH THAT RIPPLES ALL DAY LONG…AND A FLASH OF LIGHT BLOND HAIR THAT BOUNCES IN THE SUN WHEN SHE RUNS.
I TRUST YOU'LL TREAT HER WELL.
FOR PARENTS THE FIRST DAY THEIR GIRLS GO TO SCHOOL:
I TRUST YOU’LL TREAT HER WELL
DEAR WORLD,
I BEQUEATH TO YOU TODAY ONE LITTLE GIRL IN A CRISPY DRESS WITH TWO BLUE EYES AND A HAPPY LAUGH THAT RIPPLES ALL DAY LONG AND A FLASH OF LIGHT BLOND HAIR THAT BOUNCES IN THE SUN WHEN SHE RUNS. I TRUST YOU'LL TREAT HER WELL.
SHE'S SLIPPING OUT OF THE BACKYARD OF MY HEART THIS MORNING AND SKIPPING OFF DOWN THE STREET TO HER FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. AND NEVER AGAIN WILL SHE BE COMPLETELY MINE. PRIM AND PROUD SHE'LL WAVE HER YOUNG AND INDEPENDENT HAND THIS MORNING AND SAY "GOODBYE" AND WALK WITH LITTLE LADY STEPS TO THE SCHOOLHOUSE.
NOW SHE'LL LEARN TO STAND IN LINES AND WAIT BY THE ALPHABET FOR HER NAME TO BE CALLED. SHE'LL LEARN TO TUNE HER EARS FOR THE SOUNDS OF SCHOOL-BELLS AND DEADLINES AND SHE'LL LEARN TO GIGGLE AND GOSSIP AND LOOK AT THE CEILING IN A DISINTERESTED WAY WHEN THE LITTLE BOY 'CROSS THE AISLE STICKS OUT HIS TONGUE AT HER. AND, NOW SHE'LL LEARN TO BE JEALOUS. AND NOW SHE'LL LEARN HOW IT IS TO FEEL HURT INSIDE.
AND NOW SHE'LL LEARN HOW NOT TO CRY.
NO LONGER WILL SHE HAVE TIME TO SIT ON THE FRONT PORCH STEPS ON A SUMMER DAY AND WATCH AN ANT SCURRY ACROSS THE CRACK IN THE SIDEWALK. NOR WILL SHE HAVE TIME TO POP OUT OF BED WITH THE DAWN AND KISS LILAC BLOOMS IN THE MORNING DEW. NO, NOW SHE'LL WORRY ABOUT THOSE IMPORTANT THINGS LIKE GRADES AND WHICH DRESS TO WEAR AND WHOSE BEST FRIEND IS WHOSE. AND THE MAGIC OF BOOKS AND LEARNING WILL REPLACE THE MAGIC OF HER BLOCKS AND DOLLS.
AND NOW SHE'LL FIND NEW HEROES.
FOR FIVE FULL YEARS NOW I'VE BEEN HER SAGE AND SANTA CLAUS AND PAL AND PLAYMATE AND FATHER AND FRIEND. NOW SHE'LL LEARN TO SHARE HER WORSHIP WITH HER TEACHERS WHICH IS ONLY RIGHT.
BUT, NO LONGER WILL I BE THE SMARTEST, GREATEST MAN IN THE WHOLE WORLD. TODAY WHEN THAT SCHOOL BELL RINGS FOR THE FIRST TIME SHE'LL LEARN WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A MEMBER OF THE GROUP WITH ALL ITS PRIVILEGES AND ITS DISADVANTAGES TOO.
SHE'LL LEARN IN TIME THAT PROPER YOUNG LADIES DO NOT LAUGH OUT LOUD OR KISS DOGS OR KEEP FROGS IN PICKLE JARS IN BEDROOMS OR EVEN WATCH ANTS SCURRY ACROSS CRACKS IN SIDEWALKS IN THE SUMMER.
TODAY SHE'LL LEARN FOR THE FIRST TIME THAT ALL WHO SMILE AT HER ARE NOT HER FRIENDS. AND I'LL STAND ON THE FRONT PORCH AND WATCH HER START OUT ON THE LONG, LONELY JOURNEY TO BECOMING A WOMAN.
SO, WORLD, I BEQUEATH TO YOU TODAY ONE LITTLE GIRL IN A CRISPY DRESS WITH TWO BLUE EYES AND A HAPPY LAUGH THAT RIPPLES ALL DAY LONG…AND A FLASH OF LIGHT BLOND HAIR THAT BOUNCES IN THE SUN WHEN SHE RUNS.
I TRUST YOU'LL TREAT HER WELL.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Pick of the week 8/24/07
Guilt and Grace
by Max Lucado
Sometime ago I read a story of a youngster who was shooting rocks with a slingshot. He could never hit his target. As he returned to Grandma's backyard, he spied her pet duck. On impulse he took aim and let fly. The stone hit, and the duck was dead. The boy panicked and hid the bird in the woodpile, only to look up and see his sister watching.
After lunch that day, Grandma told Sally to help with the dishes. Sally responded, "Johnny told me he wanted to help in the kitchen today. Didn't you Johnny?" And she whispered to him, "Remember the duck!" So, Johnny did the dishes.
What choice did he have? For the next several weeks he was at the sink often. Sometimes for his duty, sometimes for his sin. "Remember the duck," Sally'd whisper when he objected.
So weary of the chore, he decided that any punishment would be better than washing more dishes, so he confessed to killing the duck. "I know, Johnny," his grandma said, giving him a hug. "I was standing at the window and saw the whole thing. Because I love you, I forgave you. I wondered how long you would let Sally make a slave out of you." (Steven Cole, "Forgiveness," Leadership Magazine, 1983, 86.)
He'd been pardoned, but he thought he was guilty. Why? He had listened to the words of his accuser. You have been accused as well. You have been accused of dishonesty. You've been accused of immorality. You've been accused of greed, anger, and arrogance.
Every moment of your life, your accuser is filing charges against you. Even his name, Diabolos, means "slanderer." Who is he? The devil.
As he speaks, you hang your head. You have no defense. His charges are fair. "I plead guilty, your honor," you mumble.
"The sentence?" Satan asks.
"The wages of sin is death," explains the judge, "but in this case the death has already occurred. For this one died with Christ."
Satan is suddenly silent. And you are suddenly jubilant. You realize that Satan cannot accuse you. No one can accuse you! Fingers may point and voices may demand, but the charges glance off like arrows hitting a shield. No more dirty dishwater. No more penance. No more nagging sisters. You have stood before the judge and heard him declare, "Not guilty."
From In the Grip of Grace
Guilt and Grace
by Max Lucado
Sometime ago I read a story of a youngster who was shooting rocks with a slingshot. He could never hit his target. As he returned to Grandma's backyard, he spied her pet duck. On impulse he took aim and let fly. The stone hit, and the duck was dead. The boy panicked and hid the bird in the woodpile, only to look up and see his sister watching.
After lunch that day, Grandma told Sally to help with the dishes. Sally responded, "Johnny told me he wanted to help in the kitchen today. Didn't you Johnny?" And she whispered to him, "Remember the duck!" So, Johnny did the dishes.
What choice did he have? For the next several weeks he was at the sink often. Sometimes for his duty, sometimes for his sin. "Remember the duck," Sally'd whisper when he objected.
So weary of the chore, he decided that any punishment would be better than washing more dishes, so he confessed to killing the duck. "I know, Johnny," his grandma said, giving him a hug. "I was standing at the window and saw the whole thing. Because I love you, I forgave you. I wondered how long you would let Sally make a slave out of you." (Steven Cole, "Forgiveness," Leadership Magazine, 1983, 86.)
He'd been pardoned, but he thought he was guilty. Why? He had listened to the words of his accuser. You have been accused as well. You have been accused of dishonesty. You've been accused of immorality. You've been accused of greed, anger, and arrogance.
Every moment of your life, your accuser is filing charges against you. Even his name, Diabolos, means "slanderer." Who is he? The devil.
As he speaks, you hang your head. You have no defense. His charges are fair. "I plead guilty, your honor," you mumble.
"The sentence?" Satan asks.
"The wages of sin is death," explains the judge, "but in this case the death has already occurred. For this one died with Christ."
Satan is suddenly silent. And you are suddenly jubilant. You realize that Satan cannot accuse you. No one can accuse you! Fingers may point and voices may demand, but the charges glance off like arrows hitting a shield. No more dirty dishwater. No more penance. No more nagging sisters. You have stood before the judge and heard him declare, "Not guilty."
From In the Grip of Grace
Friday, August 17, 2007
Something to Ponder pick of the week
A true story comes from an incident which occurred during a business training seminar. To illustrate motivation, the trainer asked one of the business executives in the audience to come forward.
The trainer said, "I want you to imagine that I have placed a wooden beam across the floor here and I would like for you to walk from one end of the beam to the other end. Would you do that for $20?"
The man said that he would.
Then leader continued, "Now, I want you to imagine that I take that same beam and raise it up to the top of a forty-story building and run it across the street to another tall building. Would you still walk across the beam for $20?"
This time the man answered that he would not.
"How about for a $100?"
"No!" the man emphasized.
The trainer forged ahead. "You have a child, right?"
"Yes."
"This time, what if I were to hold your child over the edge of the building and tell you that if you do not walk across the beam I will drop your child. Would you walk across?"
Surprisingly, the father hesitated for a beat, then smiled and asked, "Which child do you have?"
The trainer, of course, was right in assuming that a parent's devotion to a child is usually greater than almost any amount of fear associated with saving that child. Most parents love their children fiercely and would do anything possible to help them.
Are you spending some Quality time with your children?
A true story comes from an incident which occurred during a business training seminar. To illustrate motivation, the trainer asked one of the business executives in the audience to come forward.
The trainer said, "I want you to imagine that I have placed a wooden beam across the floor here and I would like for you to walk from one end of the beam to the other end. Would you do that for $20?"
The man said that he would.
Then leader continued, "Now, I want you to imagine that I take that same beam and raise it up to the top of a forty-story building and run it across the street to another tall building. Would you still walk across the beam for $20?"
This time the man answered that he would not.
"How about for a $100?"
"No!" the man emphasized.
The trainer forged ahead. "You have a child, right?"
"Yes."
"This time, what if I were to hold your child over the edge of the building and tell you that if you do not walk across the beam I will drop your child. Would you walk across?"
Surprisingly, the father hesitated for a beat, then smiled and asked, "Which child do you have?"
The trainer, of course, was right in assuming that a parent's devotion to a child is usually greater than almost any amount of fear associated with saving that child. Most parents love their children fiercely and would do anything possible to help them.
Are you spending some Quality time with your children?
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
August 15, 2007
The Parable of the Push-Ups
There was a boy by the name of Steve who was attending school in Utah. Brother Christianson taught at this particular school. He had an open-door policy and would take in any student that had been thrown out of another class as long as they would abide by his rules. Steve had been kicked out of his sixth period and no other teacher wanted him, so he went into Brother Christianson's class. Steve was told that he could not be late, so he arrived just seconds before the bell rang and he would sit in the very back of the room. He would also be the first to leave after the class was over. One day, Brother Christianson asked Steve to stay after class so he could talk with him. After class, Bro. Christianson pulled Steve aside and said, "You think you're pretty tough, don't you?"
Steve's answer was, "Yeah, I do."
Then Brother Christianson asked, "How many push-ups can you do?"
Steve said, "I do about 200 every night."
"200? That's pretty good, Steve," Brother Christianson said. "Do you think you could do 300?"
Steve replied, "I don't know... I've never done 300 at a time."
"Do you think you could?" Again asked Brother Christianson.
"Well, I can try," said Steve.
"Can you do 300 in sets of 10? I need you to do 300 in sets of ten for this to work. Can you do it? I need you to tell me you can do it," Brother Christianson said.
Steve said, "Well... I think I can... yeah, I can do it."
Brother Christianson said, "Good! I need you to do this on Friday."
Friday came and Steve got to class early and sat in the front of the room. When class started, Brother Christianson pulled out a big box of donuts. Now these weren't the normal kinds of donuts, they were the extra fancy BIG kind, with cream centers and frosting swirls. Everyone was pretty excited-it was Friday, the last class of the day, and they were going to get an early start on the weekend.
Bro. Christianson went to the first girl in the first row and asked, "Cynthia, do you want a donut?"
Cynthia said, "Yes."
Bro. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Cynthia can have a donut?"
Steve said, "Sure," and jumped down from his desk to do a quick ten.
Then Steve again sat in his desk. Bro. Christianson put a donut on Cynthia's desk. Bro. Christianson then went to Joe, the next person, and asked, "Joe do you want a donut?"
Joe said, "Yes."
Bro. Christianson asked, "Steve would you do ten push-ups so Joe can have a donut?" Steve did ten push-ups, Joe got a donut. And so it went, down the first aisle, Steve did ten pushups for every person before they got their donut. And down the second aisle, till Bro. Christianson came to Scott. Scott was captain of the football team and center of the basketball team. He was very popular and never lacking for female companionship. When Bro. Christianson asked, "Scott do you want a donut?" Scott's reply was, "Well, can I do my own pushups?"
Bro. Christianson said, "No, Steve has to do them."
Then Scott said, "Well, I don't want one then."
Bro. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked "Steve, would you do ten pushups so Scott can have a donut he doesn't want?"
Steve started to do ten pushups. Scott said, "HEY! I said I didn't want one!"
Bro. Christianson said, "Look, this is my classroom, my class, my desks, and my donuts. Just leave it on the desk if you don't want it." And he put a donut on Scott's desk.
Now by this time, Steve had begun to slow down a little. He just stayed on the floor between sets because it took too much effort to be getting up and down. You could start to see a little perspiration coming out around his brow. Bro. Christianson started down the third row. Now the students were beginning to get a little angry.
Bro. Christianson asked Jenny, "Jenny, do you want a donut?"
Jenny said, "No."
Then Bro. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so Jenny can have a donut that she doesn't want?" Steve did ten, Jenny got a donut.
By now, the students were beginning to say "No" and there were all these uneaten donuts on the desks. Steve was also having to really put forth a lot of effort to get these pushups done for each donut. There began to be a small pool of sweat on the floor beneath his face, his arms and brow were beginning to get red because of the physical effort involved. Bro. Christianson asked Robert to watch Steve to make sure he did ten pushups in a set because he couldn't bear to watch all of Steve's work for all of those uneaten donuts. So Robert began to watch Steve closely. Bro. Christianson started down the fourth row.
During his class, however, some students had wandered in and sat along the heaters located on the sides of the room. When Bro. Christianson realized this; he did a quick count and saw 34 students in the room. He started to worry if Steve would be able to make it.
Bro. Christianson went on to the next person and the next and the next. Near the end of that row, Steve was really having a rough time. He was taking a lot more time to complete each set.
Steve asked Bro. Christianson, "Do I have to make my nose touch on each one?"
Bro. Christianson thought for a moment, "Well, they're your pushups.. You can do them any way that you want." And Bro. Christianson went on.
A few moments later, Jason came to the room and was about to come in when all the students yelled, "NO! Don't come in! Stay out!"
Jason didn't know what was going on. Steve picked up his head and said, "No, let him come in."
Bro. Christianson said, "You realize that if Jason comes in you will have to do ten pushups for him."
Steve said, "Yes, let him come in."
Bro. Christianson said, "Okay, I'll let you get Jason's out of the way right now. Jason, do you want a donut?"
"Yes."
"Steve, will you do ten pushups so that Jason can have a donut?" Steve did ten pushups very slowly and with great effort. Jason, bewildered, was handed a donut and sat down.
Bro. Christianson finished the fourth row, then started among those seated on the heaters. Steve's arms were now shaking with each pushup in a struggle to lift himself against the force of gravity. Sweat was dropping off of his face and, by this time, there was not a dry eye in the room.
The very last two girls in the room were cheerleaders and very popular. Bro. Christianson went to Linda, the second to last, and asked, "Linda, do you want a doughnut? Linda said, very sadly, "No, thank you."
Bro. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so that Linda can have a donut she doesn't want?"
Grunting from the effort, Steve did ten very slow pushups for Linda..
Then Bro. Christianson turned to the last girl, Susan. "Susan, do you want a donut?" Susan, with tears flowing down her face, asked, "Bro. Christianson, can I help him?"
Bro. Christianson, with tears of his own, said, "No, he has to do it alone, Steve, would you do ten pushups so Susan can have a donut?"
As Steve very slowly finished his last pushup, with the understanding that he had accomplished all that was required of him, having done 350 pushups, his arms buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor.
Brother Christianson turned to the room and said.
"And so it was, that our Savior, Jesus Christ, plead to the Father, "Into thy hands I commend my spirit." With the understanding that He had done everything that was required of Him, he collapsed on the cross and died - even for those that didn't want His gift. And just like some of those in this room, many choose not to accept the gift that was provided for them.
The Parable of the Push-Ups
There was a boy by the name of Steve who was attending school in Utah. Brother Christianson taught at this particular school. He had an open-door policy and would take in any student that had been thrown out of another class as long as they would abide by his rules. Steve had been kicked out of his sixth period and no other teacher wanted him, so he went into Brother Christianson's class. Steve was told that he could not be late, so he arrived just seconds before the bell rang and he would sit in the very back of the room. He would also be the first to leave after the class was over. One day, Brother Christianson asked Steve to stay after class so he could talk with him. After class, Bro. Christianson pulled Steve aside and said, "You think you're pretty tough, don't you?"
Steve's answer was, "Yeah, I do."
Then Brother Christianson asked, "How many push-ups can you do?"
Steve said, "I do about 200 every night."
"200? That's pretty good, Steve," Brother Christianson said. "Do you think you could do 300?"
Steve replied, "I don't know... I've never done 300 at a time."
"Do you think you could?" Again asked Brother Christianson.
"Well, I can try," said Steve.
"Can you do 300 in sets of 10? I need you to do 300 in sets of ten for this to work. Can you do it? I need you to tell me you can do it," Brother Christianson said.
Steve said, "Well... I think I can... yeah, I can do it."
Brother Christianson said, "Good! I need you to do this on Friday."
Friday came and Steve got to class early and sat in the front of the room. When class started, Brother Christianson pulled out a big box of donuts. Now these weren't the normal kinds of donuts, they were the extra fancy BIG kind, with cream centers and frosting swirls. Everyone was pretty excited-it was Friday, the last class of the day, and they were going to get an early start on the weekend.
Bro. Christianson went to the first girl in the first row and asked, "Cynthia, do you want a donut?"
Cynthia said, "Yes."
Bro. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Cynthia can have a donut?"
Steve said, "Sure," and jumped down from his desk to do a quick ten.
Then Steve again sat in his desk. Bro. Christianson put a donut on Cynthia's desk. Bro. Christianson then went to Joe, the next person, and asked, "Joe do you want a donut?"
Joe said, "Yes."
Bro. Christianson asked, "Steve would you do ten push-ups so Joe can have a donut?" Steve did ten push-ups, Joe got a donut. And so it went, down the first aisle, Steve did ten pushups for every person before they got their donut. And down the second aisle, till Bro. Christianson came to Scott. Scott was captain of the football team and center of the basketball team. He was very popular and never lacking for female companionship. When Bro. Christianson asked, "Scott do you want a donut?" Scott's reply was, "Well, can I do my own pushups?"
Bro. Christianson said, "No, Steve has to do them."
Then Scott said, "Well, I don't want one then."
Bro. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked "Steve, would you do ten pushups so Scott can have a donut he doesn't want?"
Steve started to do ten pushups. Scott said, "HEY! I said I didn't want one!"
Bro. Christianson said, "Look, this is my classroom, my class, my desks, and my donuts. Just leave it on the desk if you don't want it." And he put a donut on Scott's desk.
Now by this time, Steve had begun to slow down a little. He just stayed on the floor between sets because it took too much effort to be getting up and down. You could start to see a little perspiration coming out around his brow. Bro. Christianson started down the third row. Now the students were beginning to get a little angry.
Bro. Christianson asked Jenny, "Jenny, do you want a donut?"
Jenny said, "No."
Then Bro. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so Jenny can have a donut that she doesn't want?" Steve did ten, Jenny got a donut.
By now, the students were beginning to say "No" and there were all these uneaten donuts on the desks. Steve was also having to really put forth a lot of effort to get these pushups done for each donut. There began to be a small pool of sweat on the floor beneath his face, his arms and brow were beginning to get red because of the physical effort involved. Bro. Christianson asked Robert to watch Steve to make sure he did ten pushups in a set because he couldn't bear to watch all of Steve's work for all of those uneaten donuts. So Robert began to watch Steve closely. Bro. Christianson started down the fourth row.
During his class, however, some students had wandered in and sat along the heaters located on the sides of the room. When Bro. Christianson realized this; he did a quick count and saw 34 students in the room. He started to worry if Steve would be able to make it.
Bro. Christianson went on to the next person and the next and the next. Near the end of that row, Steve was really having a rough time. He was taking a lot more time to complete each set.
Steve asked Bro. Christianson, "Do I have to make my nose touch on each one?"
Bro. Christianson thought for a moment, "Well, they're your pushups.. You can do them any way that you want." And Bro. Christianson went on.
A few moments later, Jason came to the room and was about to come in when all the students yelled, "NO! Don't come in! Stay out!"
Jason didn't know what was going on. Steve picked up his head and said, "No, let him come in."
Bro. Christianson said, "You realize that if Jason comes in you will have to do ten pushups for him."
Steve said, "Yes, let him come in."
Bro. Christianson said, "Okay, I'll let you get Jason's out of the way right now. Jason, do you want a donut?"
"Yes."
"Steve, will you do ten pushups so that Jason can have a donut?" Steve did ten pushups very slowly and with great effort. Jason, bewildered, was handed a donut and sat down.
Bro. Christianson finished the fourth row, then started among those seated on the heaters. Steve's arms were now shaking with each pushup in a struggle to lift himself against the force of gravity. Sweat was dropping off of his face and, by this time, there was not a dry eye in the room.
The very last two girls in the room were cheerleaders and very popular. Bro. Christianson went to Linda, the second to last, and asked, "Linda, do you want a doughnut? Linda said, very sadly, "No, thank you."
Bro. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so that Linda can have a donut she doesn't want?"
Grunting from the effort, Steve did ten very slow pushups for Linda..
Then Bro. Christianson turned to the last girl, Susan. "Susan, do you want a donut?" Susan, with tears flowing down her face, asked, "Bro. Christianson, can I help him?"
Bro. Christianson, with tears of his own, said, "No, he has to do it alone, Steve, would you do ten pushups so Susan can have a donut?"
As Steve very slowly finished his last pushup, with the understanding that he had accomplished all that was required of him, having done 350 pushups, his arms buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor.
Brother Christianson turned to the room and said.
"And so it was, that our Savior, Jesus Christ, plead to the Father, "Into thy hands I commend my spirit." With the understanding that He had done everything that was required of Him, he collapsed on the cross and died - even for those that didn't want His gift. And just like some of those in this room, many choose not to accept the gift that was provided for them.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Thursday August 9, 2007
It's The Most,,,,Wonderful Time...of the Year!!!!
No, not Christmas........Fantasy Football baby!!! (Grunt, Grunt, Grunt)
Once again it's time to draft your team wisely, try your best to get LT and then talk smack to the rest of the people who will finish beneath you! All in Christian Love of course.
The big question is........Can You Handle the WBFJ Fantasy Football League? All are invited........many will play........1 will win!
To get in on the fun I need you send me an email where I can send you the "official" invite. My email address is darren@wbfj.fm
Act quickly......the league will be created this weekend and the invites will go out next week.
Later,
Darren
It's The Most,,,,Wonderful Time...of the Year!!!!
No, not Christmas........Fantasy Football baby!!! (Grunt, Grunt, Grunt)
Once again it's time to draft your team wisely, try your best to get LT and then talk smack to the rest of the people who will finish beneath you! All in Christian Love of course.
The big question is........Can You Handle the WBFJ Fantasy Football League? All are invited........many will play........1 will win!
To get in on the fun I need you send me an email where I can send you the "official" invite. My email address is darren@wbfj.fm
Act quickly......the league will be created this weekend and the invites will go out next week.
Later,
Darren
Thursday August 9, 2007
STUART HAMBLIN
Back in the 50's there was a well known radio
host/comedian/song writer in Hollywood named
Stuart Hamblin who was noted for his drinking,
womanizing, partying, etc.
One of his bigger hits at the time was
"I won't go hunting with you Jake,
but I'll go chasing women."
One day, along came a young preacher holding
a tent revival. Hamblin had him on his radio show
presumably to poke fun at him.
In order to gather more material for his show,
Hamblin showed up at one of the revival meetings.
Early in the service the preacher announced,
"There is one man in this audience who is a big fake."
There were probably others who thought the same thing,
but Hamblin was convinced that he was the one the preacher
was talking about (some would call that conviction)
but he was having none of that.
Still the words continued to haunt him until a couple
of nights later he showed up drunk at the preacher's
hotel door around 2AM demanding that the preacher
pray for him!
But the preacher refused, saying, "This is between you and God
and I'm not going to get in the middle of it."
But he did invite Stuart in and they talked until
about 5 AM at which point Stuart dropped to his
knees and with tears, cried out to God.
But that is not the end of the story.
Stuart quit drinking, quit chasing women,
quit everything that was 'fun.' Soon he began
to lose favor with the Hollywood crowd.
He was ultimately fired by the radio station when
he refused to accept a beer company as a sponsor.
Hard times were upon him. He tried writing a couple
of "Christian" songs but the only one that had
much success was "This Old House",
written for his friend Rosemary Clooney.
As he continued to struggle, a long time friend
named John took him aside and told him,
"All your troubles started when you 'got religion,'
Was it worth it all?"
Stuart answered simply, "Yes."
Then his friend asked, "You liked your booze so much,
don't you ever miss it?" And his answer was,
"No." John then said, "I don't understand how
you could give it up so easily."
And Stuart's response was, "It's no big secret.
All things are possible with God."
To this John said, "That's a catchy phrase.
You should write a song about it."
And as they say, "The rest is history."
The song Stuart wrote was "It Is No Secret."
"It is no secret what God can do.
What He's done for others, He'll do for you.
With arms wide open, He'll welcome you.
It is no secret, what God can do ..."
By the way ... the friend was John Wayne.
And the young preacher who refused to pray for Stuart Hamblen?
... That was Billy Graham.
STUART HAMBLIN
Back in the 50's there was a well known radio
host/comedian/song writer in Hollywood named
Stuart Hamblin who was noted for his drinking,
womanizing, partying, etc.
One of his bigger hits at the time was
"I won't go hunting with you Jake,
but I'll go chasing women."
One day, along came a young preacher holding
a tent revival. Hamblin had him on his radio show
presumably to poke fun at him.
In order to gather more material for his show,
Hamblin showed up at one of the revival meetings.
Early in the service the preacher announced,
"There is one man in this audience who is a big fake."
There were probably others who thought the same thing,
but Hamblin was convinced that he was the one the preacher
was talking about (some would call that conviction)
but he was having none of that.
Still the words continued to haunt him until a couple
of nights later he showed up drunk at the preacher's
hotel door around 2AM demanding that the preacher
pray for him!
But the preacher refused, saying, "This is between you and God
and I'm not going to get in the middle of it."
But he did invite Stuart in and they talked until
about 5 AM at which point Stuart dropped to his
knees and with tears, cried out to God.
But that is not the end of the story.
Stuart quit drinking, quit chasing women,
quit everything that was 'fun.' Soon he began
to lose favor with the Hollywood crowd.
He was ultimately fired by the radio station when
he refused to accept a beer company as a sponsor.
Hard times were upon him. He tried writing a couple
of "Christian" songs but the only one that had
much success was "This Old House",
written for his friend Rosemary Clooney.
As he continued to struggle, a long time friend
named John took him aside and told him,
"All your troubles started when you 'got religion,'
Was it worth it all?"
Stuart answered simply, "Yes."
Then his friend asked, "You liked your booze so much,
don't you ever miss it?" And his answer was,
"No." John then said, "I don't understand how
you could give it up so easily."
And Stuart's response was, "It's no big secret.
All things are possible with God."
To this John said, "That's a catchy phrase.
You should write a song about it."
And as they say, "The rest is history."
The song Stuart wrote was "It Is No Secret."
"It is no secret what God can do.
What He's done for others, He'll do for you.
With arms wide open, He'll welcome you.
It is no secret, what God can do ..."
By the way ... the friend was John Wayne.
And the young preacher who refused to pray for Stuart Hamblen?
... That was Billy Graham.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Monday August 6, 2007
Fractured Dictionary
Arbitrator \ar'-bi-tray-ter\: A cook that leaves Arby's to work at McDonald's.
Avoidable \uh-voy'-duh-buhl\: What a bullfighter tries to do.
Baloney \buh-lo'-nee\: Where some hemlines fall.
Bernadette \burn'-a-det\: The act of torching a mortgage.
Burglarize \bur'-gler-ize\: What a crook sees with.
Control \kon-trol'\: A short, ugly inmate.
Counterfeiters \kown-ter-fit-ers\: Workers who put together kitchen cabinets.
Eclipse \i-klips'\: what an English barber does for a living.
Eyedropper \i'-drop-ur\: a clumsy ophthalmologist.
Heroes \hee'-rhos\: what a guy in a boat does.
Left Bank \left' bangk'\: what the robber did when his bag was full of loot.
Misty \mis'-tee\: How some golfers create divots.
Paradox \par'-uh-doks\: two physicians.
Parasites \par'-uh-sites\: what you see from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Pharmacist \farm'-uh-sist\: a helper on the farm.
Polarize \po'-lur-ize\: what penguins see with.
Primate \pri'-mat\: removing your spouse from in front of the TV.
Relief \ree-leef'\: what trees do in the spring.
Rubberneck \rub'-er-nek\: what you do to relax your wife.
Seamstress \seem'-stres\: describes 250 pounds in a size six.
Selfish \sel'-fish\: what the owner of a seafood store does.
Subdued \sub-dood'\: like, a guy, like, works on one of those, like, submarines, man.
Sudafed \sood'-a-fed\: bringing litigation against a government.
Fractured Dictionary
Arbitrator \ar'-bi-tray-ter\: A cook that leaves Arby's to work at McDonald's.
Avoidable \uh-voy'-duh-buhl\: What a bullfighter tries to do.
Baloney \buh-lo'-nee\: Where some hemlines fall.
Bernadette \burn'-a-det\: The act of torching a mortgage.
Burglarize \bur'-gler-ize\: What a crook sees with.
Control \kon-trol'\: A short, ugly inmate.
Counterfeiters \kown-ter-fit-ers\: Workers who put together kitchen cabinets.
Eclipse \i-klips'\: what an English barber does for a living.
Eyedropper \i'-drop-ur\: a clumsy ophthalmologist.
Heroes \hee'-rhos\: what a guy in a boat does.
Left Bank \left' bangk'\: what the robber did when his bag was full of loot.
Misty \mis'-tee\: How some golfers create divots.
Paradox \par'-uh-doks\: two physicians.
Parasites \par'-uh-sites\: what you see from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Pharmacist \farm'-uh-sist\: a helper on the farm.
Polarize \po'-lur-ize\: what penguins see with.
Primate \pri'-mat\: removing your spouse from in front of the TV.
Relief \ree-leef'\: what trees do in the spring.
Rubberneck \rub'-er-nek\: what you do to relax your wife.
Seamstress \seem'-stres\: describes 250 pounds in a size six.
Selfish \sel'-fish\: what the owner of a seafood store does.
Subdued \sub-dood'\: like, a guy, like, works on one of those, like, submarines, man.
Sudafed \sood'-a-fed\: bringing litigation against a government.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Ponder of the Week 8/3/07
The Old Fisherman
Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic. One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see an awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought, as I looked at his shriveled body. His face was lopsided from swelling, as well as red and raw. Yet his voice was nice as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus till morning."
He said he'd been hunting for a room since noon, without any success. No one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor tells me with a few more treatments ..." For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me. "I could sleep in the rocking chair on the porch, he said. My bus leaves early in the morning." I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch.
I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag. When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take long to see this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body.
He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five kids, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury. He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was prefaced with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that he had no pain from his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, I put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a big favor, he said, "Could I please come stay here the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind." I said he was welcome to come again.
On his next trip the fisherman came a little after seven that morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 A.M., and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do that for us.
In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he made, the gifts were doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!" Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. Oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear. Our family always will be grateful to have known him -- from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God;for OUR blessings.
Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful flower of all; a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!"
My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing how beautiful this flower would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."
She may have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."
This all happened a long time ago -- and now, in God's garden, how "tall" this lovely soul must stand. Lets ALL see the contents, not the container.
The Old Fisherman
Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic. One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see an awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought, as I looked at his shriveled body. His face was lopsided from swelling, as well as red and raw. Yet his voice was nice as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus till morning."
He said he'd been hunting for a room since noon, without any success. No one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor tells me with a few more treatments ..." For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me. "I could sleep in the rocking chair on the porch, he said. My bus leaves early in the morning." I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch.
I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag. When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take long to see this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body.
He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five kids, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury. He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was prefaced with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that he had no pain from his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, I put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a big favor, he said, "Could I please come stay here the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind." I said he was welcome to come again.
On his next trip the fisherman came a little after seven that morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 A.M., and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do that for us.
In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he made, the gifts were doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!" Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. Oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear. Our family always will be grateful to have known him -- from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God;for OUR blessings.
Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful flower of all; a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!"
My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing how beautiful this flower would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."
She may have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."
This all happened a long time ago -- and now, in God's garden, how "tall" this lovely soul must stand. Lets ALL see the contents, not the container.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
July 25, 2007
Nevertheless…
by Max Lucado
And the king and his men… spoke to David, saying, “You shall not come in here; but the blind and the lame will repel you,” …Nevertheless David took the stronghold of Zion (that is, the City of David). - 2 Sam. 5:6–7
Did you see it? Most hurry past it. Let’s not. Pull out a pen and underline this twelve-letter masterpiece.
Nevertheless.
“Nevertheless David took the stronghold…”
Wouldn’t you love God to write a nevertheless in your biography? Born to alcoholics, nevertheless she led a sober life. Never went to college, nevertheless he mastered a trade. Didn’t read the Bible until retirement age, nevertheless he came to a deep and abiding faith.
We all need a nevertheless. And God has plenty to go around. Strongholds mean nothing to him. Remember Paul’s words? “We use God’s mighty weapons, not mere worldly weapons, to knock down the Devil’s strongholds” (2 Cor. 10:4 NLT).
You and I fight with toothpicks; God comes with battering rams and cannons. What he did for David, he can do for us. The question is, will we do what David did? The king models much here.
Two types of thoughts continually vie for your attention. One proclaims God’s strengths; the other lists your failures. One longs to build you up; the other seeks to tear you down. And here’s the great news: you select the voice you hear. Why listen to the mockers? Why heed their voices? Why give ear to pea-brains and scoffers when you can, with the same ear, listen to the voice of God?
Do what David did.
Turn a deaf ear to the old voices.
Open a wide eye to the new choices.
Who knows, you may be a prayer away from a nevertheless. God loves to give them.
Peter stuck his foot in his mouth.
Joseph was imprisoned in Egypt.
The Samaritan woman had been married five times.
Jesus was dead in the grave …
Nevertheless, Peter preached, Joseph ruled, the woman shared, Jesus rose ??? and you?
You fill in the blank. Your nevertheless awaits you.
From Facing Your Giants
Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2006) Max Lucado
Nevertheless…
by Max Lucado
And the king and his men… spoke to David, saying, “You shall not come in here; but the blind and the lame will repel you,” …Nevertheless David took the stronghold of Zion (that is, the City of David). - 2 Sam. 5:6–7
Did you see it? Most hurry past it. Let’s not. Pull out a pen and underline this twelve-letter masterpiece.
Nevertheless.
“Nevertheless David took the stronghold…”
Wouldn’t you love God to write a nevertheless in your biography? Born to alcoholics, nevertheless she led a sober life. Never went to college, nevertheless he mastered a trade. Didn’t read the Bible until retirement age, nevertheless he came to a deep and abiding faith.
We all need a nevertheless. And God has plenty to go around. Strongholds mean nothing to him. Remember Paul’s words? “We use God’s mighty weapons, not mere worldly weapons, to knock down the Devil’s strongholds” (2 Cor. 10:4 NLT).
You and I fight with toothpicks; God comes with battering rams and cannons. What he did for David, he can do for us. The question is, will we do what David did? The king models much here.
Two types of thoughts continually vie for your attention. One proclaims God’s strengths; the other lists your failures. One longs to build you up; the other seeks to tear you down. And here’s the great news: you select the voice you hear. Why listen to the mockers? Why heed their voices? Why give ear to pea-brains and scoffers when you can, with the same ear, listen to the voice of God?
Do what David did.
Turn a deaf ear to the old voices.
Open a wide eye to the new choices.
Who knows, you may be a prayer away from a nevertheless. God loves to give them.
Peter stuck his foot in his mouth.
Joseph was imprisoned in Egypt.
The Samaritan woman had been married five times.
Jesus was dead in the grave …
Nevertheless, Peter preached, Joseph ruled, the woman shared, Jesus rose ??? and you?
You fill in the blank. Your nevertheless awaits you.
From Facing Your Giants
Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2006) Max Lucado
Friday, July 20, 2007
Ponder of the week for July 20, 2007
Frank Riddick's Bicycles
Clinton, KY -- When Frank Riddick was growing up on a farm in western Tennessee, having a bicycle seemed as remote a possibility as owning a new car. One of six children, he always had plenty to eat and wear, but there wasn't much left for luxuries.
Remembering those childhood longings, two years ago he decided to provide bicycles to youngsters whose families couldn't afford to buy them one for Christmas.
To initiate the effort, he turned to the county mission house. Supported by various churches, the Clinton-based ministry provides food and clothing to low-income residents of the area.
In October, he posted a sign there reading, "If your child doesn't have a bike and wants one, see me or Lula Bell (Puckett, the director)."
"I gave a few bikes away and told children if it broke down or they had a flat to call me," said Riddick, who retired from farming in 1995. "I didn't dream anything like this would happen."
What happened is a Christmas tale to touch the hardest of Scrooges. After buying 40 new bicycles and placing a classified ad seeking used ones, word quickly circulated. Donations of bikes started pouring in to his farm three miles north of town.
To date he has given away nearly 200 and has 100 more in his workshop. Each carries a license plate reading, "Jesus Loves You."
But he didn't stop with free bikes. Riddick gave the children his heart.
Although he had built a 1.5-acre playground on his farm for his grandchildren, three of the five now live out of state. After getting acquainted with youngsters in the community, he invited them out to the homemade attraction.
It includes a cable ride the length of a football field, with capacity for four riders; a 50-foot-high tree swing and a 61-foot slide. The latter is more than four times the length of conventional slides.
Among other features is a merry-go-round-like device that holds three small children. A group of high school seniors took pictures of the cable ride for their photo albums and some children have said they enjoy it as much as the old Opryland amusement park.
"It's a joy to know the Lord had in mind for these needy kids to come out," he said. "A lot of these children I'm dealing with are below poverty level. They live in bad environments, some are mistreated and, without the mission house, most would be without clothes.
"I'm sure every community has children like this, but I didn't know how bad it was until I started doing this," he noted.
Riddick's involvement also led him to buy a 15-passenger van. Though he uses it to shuttle children to Team Kid, he primarily got it to bring them to the playground.
Looking back, the member of First Baptist Church of Clinton appreciates how God spared his life three times. In the past decade he survived a bout with kidney cancer, getting electrocuted by a 7,200-volt power line, and a brain tumor that doctors thought was cancerous but turned out to be stress-related.
Still, he doesn't want any acclaim for what he does, saying the glory belongs to God.
"I cannot say I had a vision to do this," he said. "I had a longing in my heart. I constantly feel a need to help the needy in our community. I can look back and see how everything happening was directed by God. I just didn't have enough spiritual knowledge to know it."
What could you do to be a "Frank Riddick" in your hometown?
Frank Riddick's Bicycles
Clinton, KY -- When Frank Riddick was growing up on a farm in western Tennessee, having a bicycle seemed as remote a possibility as owning a new car. One of six children, he always had plenty to eat and wear, but there wasn't much left for luxuries.
Remembering those childhood longings, two years ago he decided to provide bicycles to youngsters whose families couldn't afford to buy them one for Christmas.
To initiate the effort, he turned to the county mission house. Supported by various churches, the Clinton-based ministry provides food and clothing to low-income residents of the area.
In October, he posted a sign there reading, "If your child doesn't have a bike and wants one, see me or Lula Bell (Puckett, the director)."
"I gave a few bikes away and told children if it broke down or they had a flat to call me," said Riddick, who retired from farming in 1995. "I didn't dream anything like this would happen."
What happened is a Christmas tale to touch the hardest of Scrooges. After buying 40 new bicycles and placing a classified ad seeking used ones, word quickly circulated. Donations of bikes started pouring in to his farm three miles north of town.
To date he has given away nearly 200 and has 100 more in his workshop. Each carries a license plate reading, "Jesus Loves You."
But he didn't stop with free bikes. Riddick gave the children his heart.
Although he had built a 1.5-acre playground on his farm for his grandchildren, three of the five now live out of state. After getting acquainted with youngsters in the community, he invited them out to the homemade attraction.
It includes a cable ride the length of a football field, with capacity for four riders; a 50-foot-high tree swing and a 61-foot slide. The latter is more than four times the length of conventional slides.
Among other features is a merry-go-round-like device that holds three small children. A group of high school seniors took pictures of the cable ride for their photo albums and some children have said they enjoy it as much as the old Opryland amusement park.
"It's a joy to know the Lord had in mind for these needy kids to come out," he said. "A lot of these children I'm dealing with are below poverty level. They live in bad environments, some are mistreated and, without the mission house, most would be without clothes.
"I'm sure every community has children like this, but I didn't know how bad it was until I started doing this," he noted.
Riddick's involvement also led him to buy a 15-passenger van. Though he uses it to shuttle children to Team Kid, he primarily got it to bring them to the playground.
Looking back, the member of First Baptist Church of Clinton appreciates how God spared his life three times. In the past decade he survived a bout with kidney cancer, getting electrocuted by a 7,200-volt power line, and a brain tumor that doctors thought was cancerous but turned out to be stress-related.
Still, he doesn't want any acclaim for what he does, saying the glory belongs to God.
"I cannot say I had a vision to do this," he said. "I had a longing in my heart. I constantly feel a need to help the needy in our community. I can look back and see how everything happening was directed by God. I just didn't have enough spiritual knowledge to know it."
What could you do to be a "Frank Riddick" in your hometown?
July 20, 2007
Please join me in remembering a great icon of the entertainment community.
The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma
complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71. Doughboy was
buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay
their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California
Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch. The grave
site was piled high with flours. Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and
lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded.
Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with
turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his
dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times he still
was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions.
Doughboy is survived by his wife Play Dough, two children, John Dough and Jane Dough,
plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father,
Pop Tart.
The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.
Please join me in remembering a great icon of the entertainment community.
The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma
complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71. Doughboy was
buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay
their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California
Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch. The grave
site was piled high with flours. Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and
lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded.
Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with
turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his
dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times he still
was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions.
Doughboy is survived by his wife Play Dough, two children, John Dough and Jane Dough,
plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father,
Pop Tart.
The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.
Friday, July 06, 2007
July 6, 2007 Ponder of the Week
Mom's Last Laugh
Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew I sitting on. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend - my mother. She finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense, I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, Mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak, comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire life.
When Mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an honor.
"What now, Lord?" I asked sitting in church. My life stretched out before me as an empty abyss. My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat slumped against her husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their child.
All so deeply grieving, no one noticed I sat alone. My place had been with our mother, preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible together. Now she was with the Lord. My work was finished, and I was alone. I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to sniffle.
"I'm late," he explained, though no explanation was necessary. After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, "Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of 'Margaret'? "0h" "Because that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary. No one called her 'Mary,' "I whispered. I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side of the church. He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway? "No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters." "That isn't who this is, I replied." "Isn't this the Lutheran church?" "No, the Lutheran church is across the street." "Oh." "I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir."
The solemnest of the occasion mixed with the realization of the man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my face, hoping it would be interpreted as sobs. The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious. I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me. He was laughing, too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit. I imagined Mother laughing. At the final "Amen," we darted out a door and into the parking lot.
"I do believe we'll be the talk of the town," he smiled. He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee. That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the right place. A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he was the assistant pastor.
This time we both arrived at the same church, right on time. In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. In place of loneliness, God gave me love. This past June we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary.
Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them, "Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's truly a match made in heaven."
Mom's Last Laugh
Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew I sitting on. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend - my mother. She finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense, I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, Mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak, comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire life.
When Mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an honor.
"What now, Lord?" I asked sitting in church. My life stretched out before me as an empty abyss. My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat slumped against her husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their child.
All so deeply grieving, no one noticed I sat alone. My place had been with our mother, preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible together. Now she was with the Lord. My work was finished, and I was alone. I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to sniffle.
"I'm late," he explained, though no explanation was necessary. After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, "Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of 'Margaret'? "0h" "Because that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary. No one called her 'Mary,' "I whispered. I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side of the church. He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway? "No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters." "That isn't who this is, I replied." "Isn't this the Lutheran church?" "No, the Lutheran church is across the street." "Oh." "I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir."
The solemnest of the occasion mixed with the realization of the man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my face, hoping it would be interpreted as sobs. The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious. I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me. He was laughing, too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit. I imagined Mother laughing. At the final "Amen," we darted out a door and into the parking lot.
"I do believe we'll be the talk of the town," he smiled. He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee. That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the right place. A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he was the assistant pastor.
This time we both arrived at the same church, right on time. In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. In place of loneliness, God gave me love. This past June we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary.
Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them, "Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's truly a match made in heaven."
Friday, June 29, 2007
June 29, 2007
Why God Created Pets
A newly discovered chapter in the Book of Genesis has provided the answer to "Where do pets come from?" Adam said, "Lord, when I was in the garden, you walked with me everyday. Now I do not see you anymore. I am lonesome here and it is difficult for me to remember how much you love me." And God said, "No problem! I will create a companion for you that will be with you forever and who will be a reflection of my love for you, so that you will love me even when you cannot see me. Regardless of how selfish or childish or unlovable you may be, this new companion will accept you as you are and will love you as I do, in spite of yourself." And God created a new animal to be a companion for Adam. And it was a good animal. And God was pleased.
And the new animal was pleased to be with Adam and he wagged his tail. And Adam said, "Lord, I have already named all the animals in the Kingdom and I cannot think of a name for this new animal." And God said, "No problem! Because I have created this new animal to be a reflection of my love for you, his name will be a reflection of my own name, and you will call him DOG." And Dog lived with Adam and was a companion to him and loved him. And Adam was comforted. And God was pleased. And Dog was content and wagged his tail.
After a while, it came to pass that Adam's guardian angel came to the Lord and said, "Lord, Adam has become filled with pride. He struts and preens like a peacock and he believes he is worthy of adoration. Dog has indeed taught him that he is loved, but perhaps too well." And the Lord said, "No problem! I will create for him a companion who will be with him forever and who will see him as he is. The companion will remind him of his limitations, so he will know that he is not always worthy of adoration." And God created CAT to be a companion to Adam. And Cat would not obey Adam. And when Adam gazed into Cat's eyes, he was reminded that he was not the supreme being. And Adam learned humility. And God was pleased. And Adam was greatly improved. And Dog was happy. And the Cat didn't give a hoot one way or the other.
Why God Created Pets
A newly discovered chapter in the Book of Genesis has provided the answer to "Where do pets come from?" Adam said, "Lord, when I was in the garden, you walked with me everyday. Now I do not see you anymore. I am lonesome here and it is difficult for me to remember how much you love me." And God said, "No problem! I will create a companion for you that will be with you forever and who will be a reflection of my love for you, so that you will love me even when you cannot see me. Regardless of how selfish or childish or unlovable you may be, this new companion will accept you as you are and will love you as I do, in spite of yourself." And God created a new animal to be a companion for Adam. And it was a good animal. And God was pleased.
And the new animal was pleased to be with Adam and he wagged his tail. And Adam said, "Lord, I have already named all the animals in the Kingdom and I cannot think of a name for this new animal." And God said, "No problem! Because I have created this new animal to be a reflection of my love for you, his name will be a reflection of my own name, and you will call him DOG." And Dog lived with Adam and was a companion to him and loved him. And Adam was comforted. And God was pleased. And Dog was content and wagged his tail.
After a while, it came to pass that Adam's guardian angel came to the Lord and said, "Lord, Adam has become filled with pride. He struts and preens like a peacock and he believes he is worthy of adoration. Dog has indeed taught him that he is loved, but perhaps too well." And the Lord said, "No problem! I will create for him a companion who will be with him forever and who will see him as he is. The companion will remind him of his limitations, so he will know that he is not always worthy of adoration." And God created CAT to be a companion to Adam. And Cat would not obey Adam. And when Adam gazed into Cat's eyes, he was reminded that he was not the supreme being. And Adam learned humility. And God was pleased. And Adam was greatly improved. And Dog was happy. And the Cat didn't give a hoot one way or the other.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
June 28, 2007
The Birth Order Of Children
Your Clothes:
1st baby: You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your OB/GYN confirms your pregnancy.
2nd baby: You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby: Your maternity clothes ARE your regular clothes.
Preparing for the Birth:
1st baby: You practice your breathing religiously.
2nd baby: You don't bother because you remember that last time, breathing didn't do a thing.
3rd baby: You ask for an epidural in your eighth month.
The Layette:
1st baby: You pre-wash newborn's clothes, color-coordinate them, and fold them neatly in the baby's little bureau.
2nd baby: You check to make sure that the clothes are clean and discard only the ones with the darkest stains.
3rd baby: Boys can wear pink, can't they?
Worries:
1st baby: At the first sign of distress--a whimper, a frown--you pick up the baby.
2nd baby: You pick the baby up when his/her wails threaten to wake your firstborn.
3rd baby: You teach your three-year-old how to rewind the mechanical swing.
Pacifier:
1st baby: If the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away until you can go home and wash and boil it.
2nd baby: When the pacifier falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice from the baby's bottle.
3rd baby: You wipe it off on your shirt and pop it back in.
Diapering:
1st baby: You change your baby's diapers every hour, whether they need it or not.
2nd baby: You change their diaper every two to three hours, if needed.
3rd baby: You try to change their diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging to their knees.
Activities:
1st baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics, Baby Swing, and Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby: You take your infant to the supermarket and the dry cleaner.
Going Out:
1st baby: The first time you leave your baby with a sitter, you call home five times.
2nd baby: Just before you walk out the door, you remember to leave a number where you can be reached.
3rd baby: You leave instructions for the sitter to call only if she sees blood.
At Home:
1st baby: You spend a good bit of every day just gazing at the baby.
2nd baby: You spend a bit of everyday watching to be sure your older child isn't squeezing, poking, or hitting the baby.
3rd baby: You spend a little bit of every day hiding from the children.
Swallowing Coins:
1st child: When first child swallows a coin, you rush the child to the hospital and demand x-rays.
2nd child: When second child swallows a coin, you carefully watch for the coin to pass.
3rd child: When third child swallows a coin you deduct it from his allowance!!
Pass this on to everyone you know who has children... or everyone who KNOWS someone who has had children... (the older the mother, the funnier this is !)
GRANDCHILDREN: ...God's reward for allowing your children to live.
The Birth Order Of Children
Your Clothes:
1st baby: You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your OB/GYN confirms your pregnancy.
2nd baby: You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby: Your maternity clothes ARE your regular clothes.
Preparing for the Birth:
1st baby: You practice your breathing religiously.
2nd baby: You don't bother because you remember that last time, breathing didn't do a thing.
3rd baby: You ask for an epidural in your eighth month.
The Layette:
1st baby: You pre-wash newborn's clothes, color-coordinate them, and fold them neatly in the baby's little bureau.
2nd baby: You check to make sure that the clothes are clean and discard only the ones with the darkest stains.
3rd baby: Boys can wear pink, can't they?
Worries:
1st baby: At the first sign of distress--a whimper, a frown--you pick up the baby.
2nd baby: You pick the baby up when his/her wails threaten to wake your firstborn.
3rd baby: You teach your three-year-old how to rewind the mechanical swing.
Pacifier:
1st baby: If the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away until you can go home and wash and boil it.
2nd baby: When the pacifier falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice from the baby's bottle.
3rd baby: You wipe it off on your shirt and pop it back in.
Diapering:
1st baby: You change your baby's diapers every hour, whether they need it or not.
2nd baby: You change their diaper every two to three hours, if needed.
3rd baby: You try to change their diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging to their knees.
Activities:
1st baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics, Baby Swing, and Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby: You take your infant to the supermarket and the dry cleaner.
Going Out:
1st baby: The first time you leave your baby with a sitter, you call home five times.
2nd baby: Just before you walk out the door, you remember to leave a number where you can be reached.
3rd baby: You leave instructions for the sitter to call only if she sees blood.
At Home:
1st baby: You spend a good bit of every day just gazing at the baby.
2nd baby: You spend a bit of everyday watching to be sure your older child isn't squeezing, poking, or hitting the baby.
3rd baby: You spend a little bit of every day hiding from the children.
Swallowing Coins:
1st child: When first child swallows a coin, you rush the child to the hospital and demand x-rays.
2nd child: When second child swallows a coin, you carefully watch for the coin to pass.
3rd child: When third child swallows a coin you deduct it from his allowance!!
Pass this on to everyone you know who has children... or everyone who KNOWS someone who has had children... (the older the mother, the funnier this is !)
GRANDCHILDREN: ...God's reward for allowing your children to live.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
June 21, 2007
Little Piece
A fourteenth-century Italian stained-glass artist was summoned to design and create a huge portrait for the window of a cathedral in Chartres, France, a place well known for its stained-glass work. He laid all of the pieces he was going to use out on the floor of the cathedral. They were beautiful to behold; most of them were large and colorful. Some of the colors from that time cannot even be reproduced today. Among these awesome pieces of glass was a small, clear piece about as big as your fingernail. As the stained-glass portrait was assembled, that little piece remained on the floor. Only the big colorful pieces of glass were used.
On the day of the window's completion, the little piece of clear glass was still lying on the ground. The entire city gathered to witness the unveiling of the brilliant and beautiful stained-glass portrait. The artist stood in front of the crowd, made his speech, and dramatically pulled down the cloth cover. The crowd gasped at the beauty of the colorful window glowing in the sunlight.
After a few seconds, however, the crowd grew silent. They sensed that something was missing, that the portrait was unfinished. The great artist then walked over to where the little clear piece of glass lay, picked it up, and placed it in the portrait, right in the center of Jesus' eye. As the sun hit that little piece, it gave off a dazzling sparkle.
The magnificent stained glass window still draws visitors. The first thing they see is that sparkle in Jesus' eye.
Do you ever feel like that little piece of clear glass? Left out. Untalented. A disappointment. You doubt you can ever do anything for God. Let the story of that last little piece remind you that God thinks of you as the apple of his eye (Psalm 17:8). No matter that in your eyes you don't measure up to others; you are important to God. That is why He sent His Son Jesus to die for you.
Remember: For with God, nothing shall be impossible. (Luke 1:37)
Little Piece
A fourteenth-century Italian stained-glass artist was summoned to design and create a huge portrait for the window of a cathedral in Chartres, France, a place well known for its stained-glass work. He laid all of the pieces he was going to use out on the floor of the cathedral. They were beautiful to behold; most of them were large and colorful. Some of the colors from that time cannot even be reproduced today. Among these awesome pieces of glass was a small, clear piece about as big as your fingernail. As the stained-glass portrait was assembled, that little piece remained on the floor. Only the big colorful pieces of glass were used.
On the day of the window's completion, the little piece of clear glass was still lying on the ground. The entire city gathered to witness the unveiling of the brilliant and beautiful stained-glass portrait. The artist stood in front of the crowd, made his speech, and dramatically pulled down the cloth cover. The crowd gasped at the beauty of the colorful window glowing in the sunlight.
After a few seconds, however, the crowd grew silent. They sensed that something was missing, that the portrait was unfinished. The great artist then walked over to where the little clear piece of glass lay, picked it up, and placed it in the portrait, right in the center of Jesus' eye. As the sun hit that little piece, it gave off a dazzling sparkle.
The magnificent stained glass window still draws visitors. The first thing they see is that sparkle in Jesus' eye.
Do you ever feel like that little piece of clear glass? Left out. Untalented. A disappointment. You doubt you can ever do anything for God. Let the story of that last little piece remind you that God thinks of you as the apple of his eye (Psalm 17:8). No matter that in your eyes you don't measure up to others; you are important to God. That is why He sent His Son Jesus to die for you.
Remember: For with God, nothing shall be impossible. (Luke 1:37)
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
June 20, 2007
A Little Girls Prayer
Helen Roseveare, a missionary doctor from England to Zaire Africa, told this as it happened to her in Africa.
"One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator. (We had no electricity to run an incubator.) We also had no special feeding facilities.
Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. "And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed.
As in the West it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.
"All right," I said, "Put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. "Your job is to keep the baby warm."
The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. "Please, God," she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon."
While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of a corollary, "And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?"
As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen?" I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything. The Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas -- that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.... could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out -- yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle!
I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!"
Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted. Looking up at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"
That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child -- five months before -- in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that afternoon."
"Before they call, I will answer!" Isa 65:24
A Little Girls Prayer
Helen Roseveare, a missionary doctor from England to Zaire Africa, told this as it happened to her in Africa.
"One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator. (We had no electricity to run an incubator.) We also had no special feeding facilities.
Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. "And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed.
As in the West it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.
"All right," I said, "Put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. "Your job is to keep the baby warm."
The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. "Please, God," she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon."
While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of a corollary, "And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?"
As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen?" I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything. The Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas -- that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.... could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out -- yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle!
I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!"
Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted. Looking up at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"
That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child -- five months before -- in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that afternoon."
"Before they call, I will answer!" Isa 65:24
Monday, June 18, 2007
Creating Fathers
When the good Lord was creating fathers, He started with a tall frame. A female angel nearby said, "What kind of father is that? If you're going to make children so close to the ground, why have you put fathers up so high? He won't be able to shoot marbles without kneeling, tuck a child in bed without bending or even kiss a child without a lot of stooping.
And God smiled and said, "Yes, but if I make him childsize, who would children have to look up to?"
And when God made a father's hands, they were large and sinewy. The angel shook her head sadly and said, "Large hands are clumsy. They can't manage diaper pins, small buttons, rubber bands on ponytails or even remove splinters caused by sticks used as baseball bats."
And God smiled and said, "I know, but they're large enough to hold everything a small boy empties from his pockets at the end of a day, yet small enough to cup a child's face."
And then God molded long, slim legs and broad shoulders. The angel nearly had a heart attack. "Boy, this is the end of the week, all right," she clucked. "Do you realize you just made a father without a lap? How is he going to pull a child close to him without the kid falling between his legs?"
And God smiled and said, "A mother needs a lap. A father needs strong shoulders to pull a sled, balance a boy on a bicycle or hold a sleepy head on the way home from the circus."
God was in the middle of creating two of the largest feet anyone had ever seen when the angel could contain herself no longer. "That's not fair. Do you honestly think those large boats are going to dig out of bed early in the morning when the baby cries? Or walk through a small birthday party without crushing at least three of the guests?"
And God smiled and said, "They'll work. You'll see. They'll support a small child who wants to ride a horse to Banbury Cross or scare off mice at the summer cabin or display shoes that will be a challenge to fill."
God worked on, giving the father few words but a firm, authoritive voice and eyes that saw everything but remained calm and tolerant. Finally, almost as an afterthought, He added tears. Then He turned to the angel and said, "Now, are you satisfied that he can love as much as a mother?"
The angel shutteth up ....
This originally appeared in a newspaper column by Erma Bombeck. She was a well-known humorist and author. She died April 22, 1996 in San Francisco, California.
When the good Lord was creating fathers, He started with a tall frame. A female angel nearby said, "What kind of father is that? If you're going to make children so close to the ground, why have you put fathers up so high? He won't be able to shoot marbles without kneeling, tuck a child in bed without bending or even kiss a child without a lot of stooping.
And God smiled and said, "Yes, but if I make him childsize, who would children have to look up to?"
And when God made a father's hands, they were large and sinewy. The angel shook her head sadly and said, "Large hands are clumsy. They can't manage diaper pins, small buttons, rubber bands on ponytails or even remove splinters caused by sticks used as baseball bats."
And God smiled and said, "I know, but they're large enough to hold everything a small boy empties from his pockets at the end of a day, yet small enough to cup a child's face."
And then God molded long, slim legs and broad shoulders. The angel nearly had a heart attack. "Boy, this is the end of the week, all right," she clucked. "Do you realize you just made a father without a lap? How is he going to pull a child close to him without the kid falling between his legs?"
And God smiled and said, "A mother needs a lap. A father needs strong shoulders to pull a sled, balance a boy on a bicycle or hold a sleepy head on the way home from the circus."
God was in the middle of creating two of the largest feet anyone had ever seen when the angel could contain herself no longer. "That's not fair. Do you honestly think those large boats are going to dig out of bed early in the morning when the baby cries? Or walk through a small birthday party without crushing at least three of the guests?"
And God smiled and said, "They'll work. You'll see. They'll support a small child who wants to ride a horse to Banbury Cross or scare off mice at the summer cabin or display shoes that will be a challenge to fill."
God worked on, giving the father few words but a firm, authoritive voice and eyes that saw everything but remained calm and tolerant. Finally, almost as an afterthought, He added tears. Then He turned to the angel and said, "Now, are you satisfied that he can love as much as a mother?"
The angel shutteth up ....
This originally appeared in a newspaper column by Erma Bombeck. She was a well-known humorist and author. She died April 22, 1996 in San Francisco, California.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
June 6, 2007
The Choice
He placed one scoop of clay upon another until a form lay lifeless on the ground.
All of the Garden's inhabitants paused to witness the event. Hawks hovered. Giraffes stretched. Trees bowed. Butterflies paused on petals and watched.
"You will love me, nature," God said. "I made you that way. You will obey me, universe. For you were designed to do so. You will reflect my glory, skies, for that is how you were created. But this one will be like me. This one will be able to choose."
All were silent as the Creator reached into himself and removed something yet unseen. A seed. "It's called 'choice.' The seed of choice."
Creation stood in silence and gazed upon the lifeless form.
An angel spoke, "But what if he..."
"What if he chooses not to love?" the Creator finished. "Come, I will show you." Unbound by today, God and the angel walked into the realm of tomorrow. "There, see the fruit of the seed of choice, both the sweet and the bitter."
The angel gasped at what he saw. Spontaneous love. Voluntary devotion. Chosen tenderness. Never had he seen anything like these. He felt the love of the Adams. He heard the joy of Eve and her daughters.
He saw the food and the burdens shared. He absorbed the kindness and marveled at the warmth.
"Heaven has never seen such beauty, my Lord. Truly, this is your greatest creation."
"Ah, but you've only seen the sweet. Now witness the bitter." A stench enveloped the pair. The angel turned in horror and proclaimed,
"What is it?"
The Creator spoke only one word: "Selfishness."
The angel stood speechless as they passed through centuries of repugnance. Never had he seen such filth. Rotten hearts. Ruptured promises. Forgotten loyalties. Children of the creation wandering blindly in lonely labyrinths.
"This is the result of choice? the angel asked.
"Yes."
"They will forget you?"
"Yes."
"They will reject you?"
"Yes."
They will never come back?
"Some will. Most won't."
"What will it take to make them listen?"
The Creator walked on in time, further and further into the future, until he stood by a tree. A tree that would be fashioned into a cradle. Even then he could smell the hay that would surround him.
With another step into the future, he paused before another tree. It stood alone, a stubborn ruler on a bald hill. The trunk was thick, and the wood was strong. Soon it would be cut. Soon it would be trimmed. Soon it would be mounted on the stony brow of another hill. And soon he would be hung on it.
He felt the wood rub against a back he did not yet wear.
"Will you go down there?" the angel asked.
"I will."
"Is there no other way?"
"There is not."
"Wouldn't it be easier to not plant the seed? Wouldn't it be easier to not give the choice?"
"It would," the Creator spoke slowly. "But to remove the choice is to remove the love."
He look around the hill and foresaw a scene. Three figures hung on three crosses. Arms spread. Heads fallen forward. They moaned with the wind. Men clad in soldier's garb sat on the ground near the trio. They played games in the dirt and laughed.
Men clad in religion stood off to one side. They smiled. Arrogant, cocky. They had protected God, they thought by killing this false one.
Women clad in sorrow huddled at the foot of the hill. Speechless. Faces tear streaked. Eyes downward. One put her arm around another and tried to lead her away. She wouldn't leave. "I will stay," she said softly, "I will stay."
All heaven stood to fight. All nature rose to rescue. All eternity poised to protect. But the Creator gave no command.
"It must be done...," he said, and withdrew.
But as he stepped in time, he heard the cry that he would someday scream: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" He wrenched at tomorrow's agony.
The angel spoke again. "It would be less painful........"
The Creator interrupted softly. "But it wouldn't be love."
They stepped into the Garden again. The Maker looked earnestly at the clay creation. A monsoon of love swelled up within him. He had died for the creation before he had made him. God's form bent over the sculptured face and breathed. Dust stirred on the lips of the new one. The chest rose, cracking the red mud. The cheeks fleshened. A finger moved. And an eye opened.
But more incredible than the moving of the flesh was the stirring of the spirit. Those who could see the unseen gasped. Perhaps it was the wind that said it first. Perhaps what the star saw that moment is what has made it blink ever since. Maybe it was left to an angel to whisper it:
"It looks like ... it appears to so much like ... it is him!"
The angel wasn't speaking of the face, the features, or the body. He was looking inside - at the soul.
"It's eternal!" gasped another.
Within the man, God has placed a divine seed. A seed of his self (A seed of choice). The God of might had created earth's mightiest... And the One who had chosen to love had created one who could love in return.
Now it's our choice.
The Choice
He placed one scoop of clay upon another until a form lay lifeless on the ground.
All of the Garden's inhabitants paused to witness the event. Hawks hovered. Giraffes stretched. Trees bowed. Butterflies paused on petals and watched.
"You will love me, nature," God said. "I made you that way. You will obey me, universe. For you were designed to do so. You will reflect my glory, skies, for that is how you were created. But this one will be like me. This one will be able to choose."
All were silent as the Creator reached into himself and removed something yet unseen. A seed. "It's called 'choice.' The seed of choice."
Creation stood in silence and gazed upon the lifeless form.
An angel spoke, "But what if he..."
"What if he chooses not to love?" the Creator finished. "Come, I will show you." Unbound by today, God and the angel walked into the realm of tomorrow. "There, see the fruit of the seed of choice, both the sweet and the bitter."
The angel gasped at what he saw. Spontaneous love. Voluntary devotion. Chosen tenderness. Never had he seen anything like these. He felt the love of the Adams. He heard the joy of Eve and her daughters.
He saw the food and the burdens shared. He absorbed the kindness and marveled at the warmth.
"Heaven has never seen such beauty, my Lord. Truly, this is your greatest creation."
"Ah, but you've only seen the sweet. Now witness the bitter." A stench enveloped the pair. The angel turned in horror and proclaimed,
"What is it?"
The Creator spoke only one word: "Selfishness."
The angel stood speechless as they passed through centuries of repugnance. Never had he seen such filth. Rotten hearts. Ruptured promises. Forgotten loyalties. Children of the creation wandering blindly in lonely labyrinths.
"This is the result of choice? the angel asked.
"Yes."
"They will forget you?"
"Yes."
"They will reject you?"
"Yes."
They will never come back?
"Some will. Most won't."
"What will it take to make them listen?"
The Creator walked on in time, further and further into the future, until he stood by a tree. A tree that would be fashioned into a cradle. Even then he could smell the hay that would surround him.
With another step into the future, he paused before another tree. It stood alone, a stubborn ruler on a bald hill. The trunk was thick, and the wood was strong. Soon it would be cut. Soon it would be trimmed. Soon it would be mounted on the stony brow of another hill. And soon he would be hung on it.
He felt the wood rub against a back he did not yet wear.
"Will you go down there?" the angel asked.
"I will."
"Is there no other way?"
"There is not."
"Wouldn't it be easier to not plant the seed? Wouldn't it be easier to not give the choice?"
"It would," the Creator spoke slowly. "But to remove the choice is to remove the love."
He look around the hill and foresaw a scene. Three figures hung on three crosses. Arms spread. Heads fallen forward. They moaned with the wind. Men clad in soldier's garb sat on the ground near the trio. They played games in the dirt and laughed.
Men clad in religion stood off to one side. They smiled. Arrogant, cocky. They had protected God, they thought by killing this false one.
Women clad in sorrow huddled at the foot of the hill. Speechless. Faces tear streaked. Eyes downward. One put her arm around another and tried to lead her away. She wouldn't leave. "I will stay," she said softly, "I will stay."
All heaven stood to fight. All nature rose to rescue. All eternity poised to protect. But the Creator gave no command.
"It must be done...," he said, and withdrew.
But as he stepped in time, he heard the cry that he would someday scream: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" He wrenched at tomorrow's agony.
The angel spoke again. "It would be less painful........"
The Creator interrupted softly. "But it wouldn't be love."
They stepped into the Garden again. The Maker looked earnestly at the clay creation. A monsoon of love swelled up within him. He had died for the creation before he had made him. God's form bent over the sculptured face and breathed. Dust stirred on the lips of the new one. The chest rose, cracking the red mud. The cheeks fleshened. A finger moved. And an eye opened.
But more incredible than the moving of the flesh was the stirring of the spirit. Those who could see the unseen gasped. Perhaps it was the wind that said it first. Perhaps what the star saw that moment is what has made it blink ever since. Maybe it was left to an angel to whisper it:
"It looks like ... it appears to so much like ... it is him!"
The angel wasn't speaking of the face, the features, or the body. He was looking inside - at the soul.
"It's eternal!" gasped another.
Within the man, God has placed a divine seed. A seed of his self (A seed of choice). The God of might had created earth's mightiest... And the One who had chosen to love had created one who could love in return.
Now it's our choice.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
June 5, 2007
Request For Transfer
TO: Commander-in-Chief Spiritual Armed Forces, Jesus Christ
Dear Lord:
I am writing this to You to request a transfer to a desk job. I herewith present my reasons: I began my career as a private, but because of the intensity of the battle You have quickly moved me up in the ranks. You have made me an officer and given me a tremendous amount of responsibility. There are many soldiers and recruits under my charge. I am constantly being called upon to dispense wisdom, make judgments, and find solutions to complex problems. You have placed me in a position to function as an officer, when in my heart I know I have only the skills of a private.
I realize that You have promised to supply all I would need for the battle. But Sir, I must present You a realistic picture of my situation. My uniform, once so crisp and starched, is now stained with tears and blood of those I have tried to assist. The soles of my boots are cracked and worn from the miles I have walked trying to enlist, encourage, and instruct the troops. My weapons are marred, tarnished and chipped from constant battle against the enemy. Even the Book of Regulations I was issued has been torn and tattered from endless use. The words are now smeared.
You have promised You would be with me throughout, but when the noise of the battle is so loud and the confusion is so great, I can neither see nor hear You. I feel so alone. I'm tired. I'm discouraged. I have Battle Fatigue. I would never ask You for a discharge. I love being in Your service. But I humbly request a demotion and transfer. I'll file papers or clean latrines. Just get me out of the battle -- please, Sir.
Your Faithful, but tired, Warrior.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TO: Faithful, but tired, Soldier, Spiritual Armed Forces
LOCATION: The Battlefield
SUBJECT: Transfer
Dear Soldier:
Your request for transfer has been denied. I herewith present My reasons: You are needed in this battle. I have selected you, and I will keep My Word to supply your needs. You do not need a demotion and transfer. Besides, you'd never cut it on latrine duty anyway. You need a period of "R & R" (Renewal and Rekindling). I am setting aside a place on the battlefield that is insulated and fully protected from the enemy. I will meet you there and I will give you rest. I will remove your old equipment and "make all things new."
You have been wounded in the battle, My soldier. Your wounds are not visible, but you have received grave internal injuries. You need to be healed. I will heal you. Also, you have been weakened in the battle. You need to be strengthened. I will strengthen you and be your strength. I will instill in you confidence and ability. My Words will be rekindled within you, giving you renewed love, zeal and enthusiasm. Report to Me tattered and empty. I will replenish you.
Compassionately,
Your Commander-in-Chief, Jesus Christ
Request For Transfer
TO: Commander-in-Chief Spiritual Armed Forces, Jesus Christ
Dear Lord:
I am writing this to You to request a transfer to a desk job. I herewith present my reasons: I began my career as a private, but because of the intensity of the battle You have quickly moved me up in the ranks. You have made me an officer and given me a tremendous amount of responsibility. There are many soldiers and recruits under my charge. I am constantly being called upon to dispense wisdom, make judgments, and find solutions to complex problems. You have placed me in a position to function as an officer, when in my heart I know I have only the skills of a private.
I realize that You have promised to supply all I would need for the battle. But Sir, I must present You a realistic picture of my situation. My uniform, once so crisp and starched, is now stained with tears and blood of those I have tried to assist. The soles of my boots are cracked and worn from the miles I have walked trying to enlist, encourage, and instruct the troops. My weapons are marred, tarnished and chipped from constant battle against the enemy. Even the Book of Regulations I was issued has been torn and tattered from endless use. The words are now smeared.
You have promised You would be with me throughout, but when the noise of the battle is so loud and the confusion is so great, I can neither see nor hear You. I feel so alone. I'm tired. I'm discouraged. I have Battle Fatigue. I would never ask You for a discharge. I love being in Your service. But I humbly request a demotion and transfer. I'll file papers or clean latrines. Just get me out of the battle -- please, Sir.
Your Faithful, but tired, Warrior.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TO: Faithful, but tired, Soldier, Spiritual Armed Forces
LOCATION: The Battlefield
SUBJECT: Transfer
Dear Soldier:
Your request for transfer has been denied. I herewith present My reasons: You are needed in this battle. I have selected you, and I will keep My Word to supply your needs. You do not need a demotion and transfer. Besides, you'd never cut it on latrine duty anyway. You need a period of "R & R" (Renewal and Rekindling). I am setting aside a place on the battlefield that is insulated and fully protected from the enemy. I will meet you there and I will give you rest. I will remove your old equipment and "make all things new."
You have been wounded in the battle, My soldier. Your wounds are not visible, but you have received grave internal injuries. You need to be healed. I will heal you. Also, you have been weakened in the battle. You need to be strengthened. I will strengthen you and be your strength. I will instill in you confidence and ability. My Words will be rekindled within you, giving you renewed love, zeal and enthusiasm. Report to Me tattered and empty. I will replenish you.
Compassionately,
Your Commander-in-Chief, Jesus Christ
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