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Archive for the ‘God’s Faithfulness’ Category

caring hands cropped

A Stroke of Providence

One-hundred-fifty years ago or so, Charles Spurgeon penned the following words: “I would go to the deeps a hundred times to cheer a downcast spirit. It is good for me to have been afflicted, that I might know how to speak a word in season to one that is weary.” Heaven knows I have been afflicted more times than I can even recall, yet little did I know when I posted Spurgeon’s words one month ago that  they would be somewhat prophetic for what was soon to come; a mild stroke was on the horizon.

The emergency room doctor seemed very nonchalant about the whole thing. In all fairness, however, the waiting rooms were packed, and the good doctor did look like he had already been worn clean smooth, as they say in the south. A few questions and the compulsory, “Be sure to follow-up with your physician,” and off he went.

My physician seemed equally indifferent. Stroke damage is irreparable, he explained. When one has a stroke, that part of the brain that was damaged doesn’t ever come back to life. He also explained the probability for a future occurrence (which I don’t accept), prescribed a drug that “might” help lessen the odds, and sent me on my way.

Irreparable, my foot, I said to myself as I exited the building; I will come out on-top of this thing —watch me!

The damage was certainly noticeable, but not nearly as bad as it could have been. For a period of two weeks or so, I sounded like Porky the Pig. By way of explanation for international readers, Porky is a cartoon character who st-st-st-stutters. My thoughts were somewhat intact, but I couldn’t get my words to come out clearly for the life of me. What frustrated me the most, aside from not being able to clearly communicate, was that my left arm, which throbbed most of the time, lost all strength and tended to draw-up on me. There were other problems too, like migraines and repeated face numbness, but I kept reminding myself that God was still on His throne and that “this [challenge] too shall pass.”

I’m not taking the drug. As providence would have it, my family has been, for years, under the care of one of the best alternative wellness providers in the nation, a man who also happens to be one of the most godly men I know. He was, and is, working closely with me to find the root cause so that this doesn’t happen again. [Thanks again, Dr. Ben, I greatly appreciate you.]

I am also doing my part to expedite my healing. I reminded my body that I am more than a conqueror through Christ, my Lord (Romans 8:37) and I let my body know in no uncertain terms that I was going to call the shots, and not the other way around.

Day after day, I fumbled through tongue-twisters and other recitations, in order to force my thoughts and speech to connect. I also forced my arm to move, and work, even when it didn’t want to. It wasn’t always easy. I knocked a lot of things over, and spilled a lot, but still I persisted.

There is much more that I could say about this whole ordeal, but for time’s sake, I will jump to the good news; then share a few additional thoughts.

It has been just shy of one month since I had the stroke and I am currently feeling pretty good, almost back to normal. My speech may still have a few glitches in it, but I sound like myself again. My arm almost has full range of motion again, doesn’t throb and is regaining its strength, and the headaches are diminishing. God is faithful and He has acted on my behalf! I realize I still have a way to go, but I also know that He will continue to see me through. He who has begun a good work will be faithful to complete it.

And now, I want to share something interesting. In that first week or so following my trip to the emergency room, while I was st-str-struggling to get most words out, I could recite Scripture verses almost flawlessly. I marvel that the Word of God is more a part of me, than the very blood coursing through my veins.

I shared with my husband, through broken words, what was happening and how awesome I thought it was that my inner-spirit was not affected the way my body was. On the contrary, at a time when I could have easily been downcast, my faith effortlessly rose-up  in leaps and bounds.

My precious Lord showed me so many times, and in so many ways, through all of this that He was right there with me, communing with me, strengthening me. I had trouble remembering simple things, yet I easily remembered a great many verses to those old, beautiful hymns —verses that I hadn’t heard in many years. The Lord spoke to me, through those old hymns, especially. Song after song played through my mind effortlessly, as though I had  heard them only yesterday.

My theme song for those first few weeks was selected for me by my Heavenly Father. Time after time, I found myself singing or humming, Great is Thy Faithfulness.¹

“Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!”
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

I am not sharing all of this with you, dear reader, to boast of my spirituality —God forbid! No, I am sharing this with you to remind each and every one of you of God’s faithfulness. In fact, the song above was penned by Thomas Obediah Chisholm, a man whose health was so fragile that he was often confined to bed for long periods of time. The greatest hymns, it seems, were often penned by those who daily relied on God’s faithfulness to see them through great struggles and challenges.

Finally, dear reader, may I say that I do not believe that it is the Lord’s desire that His children suffer. I do, however, believe that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28). I also believe that God can help us to draw upon our own experiences of suffering and trials in such a way that we can, in turn, be a blessing to others. Charles Spurgeon certainly understood that through our own afflictions, we gain the empathy to speak a word in season to another that is weary. May we follow in his footsteps.

¹Great is Thy Faithfulness. Words by Thomas Obediah Chisholm. 1923

fear not

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flood

Where have I been for the last few months, you might ask? Truthfully, I have been battling a rather serious health issue; one that has knocked me down more than once, but rest assured, I’m not down for the count. In fact, I plan to resume blogging now, despite my weakened condition. But first, I want to share a post from my archives because it seemed very appropriate amid the physical and emotional storms that so many are facing. I will share this post both here, and on my Polished Pearls page, but check back soon because no matter what, God’s mercies are too great to keep silent and I will, Lord willing, be adding new posts to both sites very soon.

Today, as I gazed upon the brightest, most beautiful sky that I have seen in weeks, I couldn’t help but think of those living in flood-ravaged areas; and right now, there are plenty of those. I also wept for a few dear friends who are going through some very devastating storms in their personal lives. It seems that so many of us are going through heavy storms of one type or another. Don’t give up, friends, even when those storms seem to come against you………..

LIKE A FLOOD

Sometimes God calms the storm. Sometimes He lets the storm rage and calms His child.

This past weekend, the weather here was horrendous. We were hit with the whole gamut of storm threats, including tornadoes, hail and flooding. In fact the hail stone pictured –or should I say hail boulder- was one of many that pounded this region. There was quite a bit of property loss in our area, but praise the LORD, there were no serious injuries.

hail

I thought of the second half of Isaiah 59:19: When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the LORD shall lift up a standard against him. However, the ancient Hebrew texts did not have commas, or paragraphs for that matter, so instead of reading:

When the enemy shall come in like a flood —the Spirit of the LORD shall lift up a standard against him

the verse could just as easily read

When the enemy shall come in —like a flood, the Spirit of the LORD shall lift up a standard against him.

What’s the difference? The difference is where you place the emphasis. Dear reader, when you are bombarded with the storms of life, do you focus more on the storm, or on the one who can calm it?

It is only natural to feel completely overwhelmed at times. Undoubtedly, many of the folks here that lost their homes in the tornadoes felt that way. I’m sure they could relate to the words of King David  when he penned the following:

My heart is in anguish within me;
the terrors of death have fallen on me.
Fear and trembling have beset me;
horror has overwhelmed me.
I said, “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest.
I would hurry to my place of shelter,
far from the tempest and storm.
Psalm 55:4-8 NIV

But David didn’t stop there, allowing his situation to flood him with despair. Instead, he confidently proclaimed, “As for me, I will call upon God; and the LORD shall save me” (verse 16).

Dear reader, I leave you with these encouraging words from the same Psalm; may they flood you with peace during your roughest storms.

“Cast thy burden upon the LORD, and he shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved (verse 22).

(Like a Flood originally posted April 2012)

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Could anyone ever doubt the artistic brilliance of Michelangelo? Though his architectural and engineering feats were prodigious, the paintings and sculptures of this Italian Renaissance man are yet considered to be amongst the most treasured works in all of art history.

It is rumored that the Pope, while admiring Michelangelo’s sculpture of David, asked “How do you know what to cut away?” To which the sculptor supposedly replied, “It’s simple. I just remove everything that doesn’t look like David.”

Whether this dialogue is true or not is uncertain, but it seems this principle was surely applied by Gutzon Borglum, whose artistic vision equaled Michelangelo’s, or possibly exceeded it. Borglum is the creative mastermind who gave South Dakota its legendary Mt. Rushmore National Memorial.

Four of America’s presidents have been immortalized there. Their granite faces gaze eternally over breathtaking South Dakota. And they are gazed upon. More than three-million tourists visit Mount Rushmore each year to marvel at America’s “Shrine of Democracy.”

The tourists are eager to learn of Gutzon Borglum, Rushmore’s fiercely determined sculptor. If not for his artistic genius and ingenuity, the Memorial may never have become a reality. But is it possible that one man could have single-handedly accomplished such a feat? Hardly.

Borglum may have been the brain of the project, and he may get the lion’s share of the glory, but let’s not forget the whole body of Americans who embraced the dream and worked towards its fulfillment. The first name on the Mount Rushmore roster is Doane Robinson. As secretary and historian of the South Dakota Historical Society, he was eager to draw sightseers to his beautiful state.

While thoughts of tourism were freshly churning in his mind, Robinson read that Gutzon Borglum had been commissioned to carve a tribute to the confederacy into Georgia’s Stone Mountain. He thought of South Dakota’s grand mountains and envisioned “all the heroes of the old west peering out from them.” Fortunately for South Dakota, the Stone Mountain project washed out and Gutzon Borglum was free to sculpt elsewhere.

State forester, Theodore Shoemaker, escorted Borglum into the heart of the Black Hills. He felt that the renowned artist would be captivated by Mount Rushmore. Shoemaker was right on the mark. Once Borglum saw this “garden of the gods,” no other mountain would do. “Here is the place!” he announced. “American history shall march along that skyline!”

The dream took wings. From school children’s pennies to philanthropist contributions, monies and resources slowly trickled in. These invaluable contributions were the fuel that kept Borglum’s dream burning, as were the labors of the men who worked for Borglum: the men who drilled, blasted, and polished the Memorial into its present greatness.

When the plans to sculpt Mount Rushmore were first announced, unemployment was very high. Borglum easily gathered a beginning crew of twenty-two men. Most of them, being loggers, ranchers, and miners, knew nothing at all about carving. Yet they not only mastered the skill of stone carving, they did so while hanging over the side of the mountain in small chair-like “saddles.”

Even though the saddles were sturdy and dependable, the work was dangerous and stressful. Each day started with a taxing 506-step climb to the top of the mountain. The men, who were already exhausted, were then lowered down the side of the mountain to drill and chip the rock away bit by bit.

Borglum originally believed that the Memorial could be carved without dynamite, but he was wrong. Before Rushmore’s completion, 450,000 tons of rock was blasted off the mountain. “We have literally carved with dynamite,” Borglum later confessed.

Most of the men who worked on the mountain earned little pay and gained no recognition. So why did they do it? Initially, the men simply wanted to feed their families. Times were hard, jobs were scarce, and men were desperate. At some point, though, the men caught a glimpse of Borglum’s dream. ‘Red’ Anderson explained, “The longer we were there, the more we began to sense that we were building a truly great thing, and after a while all of us old hands became truly dedicated to it.” Through the years, more than 400 men would share the satisfaction of laboring to create the Memorial.

Gutzon Borglum certainly deserves a place of honor in the annals of artistic achievement. “I want somewhere in America,” he said, “ a few feet of stone that bears witness (to) the great things we accomplished as a nation, placed so high it won’t pay to pull it down for lesser purposes.” The Mount Rushmore National Memorial serves its purpose well.

For me, the past week has been life-changing. Many events, some good, some tragic, have caused me to reflect on my own life. In the end, I want my life to count for something. I don’t want to be famous and admired like the Mount Rushmore memorial, but I want to leave a legacy that encourages people to trust the Lord Jesus Christ. And, I want my life to bear witness of the inexpressibly wondrous things that the Lord has accomplished in me and through me.

I thought about the many people whom God has allowed to impact my life. Like the Rushmore workers, some have helped to gently chisel away some of my pain and imperfections. As Scripture says: As iron sharpens iron, So a man sharpens the countenance of his friend. (Proverbs 27:17).

The Lord has used less gentile people to shape me as well, some were believers and some were not. They, being tools in the Master Sculptor’s hands, were often more like a forceful blast of dynamite because the Lord was using them to reach the places where my heart was harder. Though I could not always see it, the Lord was working all things out for my good (Romans 8:28).

Circumstances, both good and bad, have also helped define me. More often than not, the circumstances have been those which leave me feeling blessed and enriched, but there have been more occasions than I care to remember, when the circumstances of life were also like the explosive charges that carved Mount Rushmore.

It never ceases to amaze me that Borglum was able to assess a mountain and, at the hands of his workers, blast away everything that did not look like a president. One misplaced charge and Washington could have lost his nose, or Roosevelt his ear. But every time the rubble crashed to the ground and the dust smoke cleared, it was evident that the extraordinary masterpiece was one step closer to its completion.

Look closely at the Rushmore Memorial, however, and you will note that it is not quite finished. I think that is a perfect analogy of the human life. We are all works in progress; and we will never be fully perfected in this life.

Even so, let us show forth God’s excellent craftsmanship in our lives by submitting to the Master Sculptor, Jesus. He knows how to skillfully chisel and dynamite all the hardened places in our hearts and lives until we show forth His glory.

Borglum said, “The purpose of the (Rushmore) memorial is to communicate the founding, expansion, preservation, and unification of the United States…” However, we have an even greater calling than Borglum did. Our calling, our legacy to mankind, is to allow the Lord Jesus to communicate the founding, expansion, preservation, and unification of His kingdom through us.

Finally, let us never forget that His is a kingdom of people. I for one am thankful for all the people who God has used, whether chisel or dynamite, to help refine me. When I think of the rubble lying at my feet, which has been chipped and blasted away in order to make my life into something beautiful, I realize that the Lord’s masterpiece is one step closer to completion.

Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. (2 Corinthians 5:17).

As such, we are living memorials of our blessed redeemer. Praise God!

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Eagle takes flight over Grand Canyon USA

This week, my region’s wonderful sweatshirt- and-boots weather has been held at bay by a resurgence of warmer temperatures. Nothing new here; our local weather is somewhat bipolar. Only a few summers ago, my children were swimming one day, and the very next they needed to wear their coats. If there is one place in the world where glimpses of all four seasons can be experienced in the course of a single day, it is definitely here, smack in the middle of the good ole U.S.A.

Now that I’m slipping into my autumn years, I sometimes feel the same way emotionally. Those pesky hormonal changes have a way of diving-in and swinging the emotions of this menopausal woman like a pendulum, from happy tears over the least little thing, to unexplainable sadness over nothing, all in one fell swoop.

Speaking of “one fell swoop,” Whether Shakespeare first penned the phrase or merely borrowed it for his Tragedy, Macbeth is uncertain; but he certainly popularized it. The imagery of “one fell swoop” is that of the fierce, dreadful descent of the swoop (an English hunting bird) upon its prey.

If the Bible were to use the phrase, I Peter 5:8 would be a perfect Scripture for its insertion: Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour [in one fell swoop]. Thankfully, those who put their trust in Christ have been given an arsenal of spiritual weapons to fight, and to overcome, the devil’s all-out attacks.

If only the victory were always as simple as the Apostle James’ admonition to “Resist the devil, and he will flee from you!” Maybe I am only speaking for myself, but sometimes the enemy’s attacks are so strong and unrelenting that I simply wear out, to the point that my faith starts swinging on that same emotional pendulum as my “bipolar” menopausal emotions.

It is then I remind myself of the 91st Psalm:

1 Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
2 I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”
3 Surely he will save you
from the fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
4 He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
5 You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.
7 A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.
8 You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.
9 If you say, “The LORD is my refuge,”
and you make the Most High your dwelling,
10 no harm will overtake you,
no disaster will come near your tent.
11 For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;
12 they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
13 You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
you will trample the great lion and the serpent.
14 “Because he loves me,” says the LORD, “I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
15 He will call on me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.
16 With long life I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation.

Dear reader, it does not matter what challenges we are facing; nor does it matter how difficult the fight. Our King is Adonai Tzevaot – the LORD of hosts! In one fell swoop, He will rescue those who call upon His name!

pencil lady

⇒Disclaimer: My apologies for the following advertisement, if applicable. I would like this site to be an advertisement-free site, but I have to pay a fee for this. I plan to do so in future, but for now, please know that I have nothing to do with advertisements &/or advertisement selection.

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zuccini

When it comes to our thoughts, the age-old saying, “Garbage in, garbage out,” is certainly spot-on. As any gardener knows, however, the opposite is true of composting. It never ceases to amaze me how piles of organic waste, such as kitchen scraps or fallen leaves, can in due time, transform into the kind of rich, fertile fertilizer that causes plants to thrive.

My husband and I have a portable composter¹ that we move about our vegetable garden ever so often. Then, using a pitchfork, we redeposit the material, upside-down, to expedite the composting process. Since there is no bottom on the unit, some of the rich, organic material stays behind. Thus, we effortlessly condition different areas of soil while we wait for our veggie “food” to cook in the composter. This process is very simple, yet effective.

There are additional benefits to composting this way as well. Several weeks ago, we noticed that five new cucmber plants had begun to grow where the composter had last been. Since all of our produce scraps go into the composter, there were  some discarded seeds mixed into the pile. Apparently, the conditions were just right for some of those seeds to germinate. And I must admit, we were quite thankful for this little surprise, given that we were at the point in the season where the other plants had stopped producing; and we hadn’t gotten around to any later plantings to extend the harvest.

Admiring the healthy, vibrant young plants, I couldn’t help but think of the biblical parable of the sower, from the thirteenth chapter of Matthew. In a nutshell, the parable tells of a man who sowed seeds, some of which fell among thorns and stones and the like. These seeds did not grow to fruition. The seeds that fell upon good soil, however, did. Jesus explained to his disciples that the seed represented the Gospel; and the thorns, stones and fertile ground all represented the hearts of men. Some would receive the Gospel and grow in faith, others would not.

Today, as I watered those growing zucchini plants, another Scripture passage came to mind. The Apostle Paul was admonishing certain members of the church to continue in unity  in Christ, rather than aligning themselves with any particular leader. He likens his ministry, and that of Apollos, to jointly sowing and watering the seeds of the Gospel. “What, after all, is Apollos?” he asks, “And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe—as the Lord has assigned to each his task. I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. (I Co 3:5-7 NIV).

May this passage serve to remind us that all of the Gospel seeds we plant are in God’s hands. He is the master gardener! It is He that makes things grows.

Dear reader, perhaps you have sown seeds that have never come to fruition, so far as you know. Don’t lose hope, even though it may seem your precious kingdom seeds were somehow destroyed, as in the parable of the sower. You just never know where a seed may grow!

Above all, never pre-judge anyone. Sadly, there are certain people groups that have, for one reason or other, been deemed a complete waste when it comes to sowing Gospel seeds –those who passionately adhere to another, ungodly religion, for example. Friends, I trust you have never bought into that lie. Human nature easily assumes that any seeds of truth offered to the proverbial “unreachable” would be hotly discarded. But that judgment is not ours to make. We sow, we water; but it is God that makes things grow!

He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth the needy out of the dunghill; That he may set him with princes, even with the princes of his people. (Psalms 113:7-8a).

¹ Simple, portable composter:  Cut the bottom off of a trash can, then drill holes in all sides.  To keep birds and small animals out, top the can with either a lid made of cage wire, or the original can lid with larger holes drilled into it.?????????? This allows moisture  into the can and expedites the composting process.  For best result, make two or more composters so that you can compost in stages.

⇒Disclaimer: My apologies for the following advertisement, if applicable. I would like this site to be an advertisement-free site, but I have to pay a fee for this. I plan to do so in future, but for now, please know that I have nothing to do with advertisements &/or advertisement selection.

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cotton

Cotton isn’t harvested in a nice shady lawn, but anything can happen at my home; and ‘anything’ usually does. Today’s little mishap involved one of those mattress toppers filled with a few inches of soft, fluffy cotton. I thought washing it in a gentle cycle of cold water, then drying it on the outside clothes line, would not only clean and sanitize it, but re-fluff it as well. Despite my good intentions, however, the underside of the topper ripped, spilling some of its contents. I knew something had gone awry as soon as I spied a handful of cotton in the washing machine, but I carried it outside regardless and gave it a shake. Let’s just say that the rip was bigger than I thought, and picking cotton fluff was my next task.

Though I was tempted to let the next big gust of wind carry the cotton away, I knew gathering it was the wisest thing to do. Dogs will eat anything, and I didn’t want my little Maltese thinking some yummy manna had fallen from heaven for her dining pleasure. Had she noshed on the cotton, her little tummy would have been stuffed with fluff, and the results could have been life-threatening. So there I was, already in a hurry, with one more cotton-picking thing to do.

It was then that I realized how truly grumbly I sometimes am. The weather was hot, but I  certainly wasn’t stooped low in sweltering southern fields, plucking cotton from plants that can slash and cut. No, I was outside gathering up handfuls of soft, fluffy cotton from the grass, and I was in the shade to boot. Even so, I didn’t like picking that cotton one little bit.

The Spirit of the LORD spoke to me during those moments. He reminded me of the blood, sweat and tears that soaked the fields of the cotton plantations during the evil days of slavery. From the very old to the very young, from sun-up to sun-down, gentle souls toiled, with a burden too great to bear, in slavery too inhuman. They had no choice.

Migrant workers have also toiled endlessly in those punishing cotton fields. They may have earned some money, but never enough. In some ways, these migrant workers must have felt just as enslaved.

No doubt, the drudgery of those hot cotton fields birthed many a dream of freedom for most of the folks who toiled there. But they birthed something else as well; praise and thanksgiving. Countless numbers of Negro Spirituals –songs of praise– were birthed right there in those fields, under the harshest of conditions, many of which are still sung today. And thanksgiving; the toil was long, hard and excruciatingly hot, but those migrant workers were very thankful to even  have work, something that too many of us take for granted.

In those few moments, I asked myself, was I thankful enough? Was I thankful that I had a nice shady yard to work in? Was I thankful to have a sweet little dog to care for and protect? Was I thankful for the nice house behind me; a house in which to escape the heat? And so on.

Those few short moments of frustration aside, my answer was yes. I had spent quite a bit of time earlier that day, and the one prior, thanking the LORD for all of the blessings He had bestowed upon me and my family. In fact, I have been replaying the hymn, Count Your Blessings¹, in my thoughts for quite some time now. Can you, dear reader, say the same? When was the last time you took the time to genuinely count yours?

Perhaps you often offer thanksgiving to the LORD for His many blessings, yet still feel enslaved by a heavy burden. I encourage you to remember afresh the following words, penned from this same hymn:

When upon life’s billows you are tempest tossed,
When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,
Count your many blessings, name them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done…..

So, amid the conflict whether great or small,
Do not be disheartened, God is over all;
Count your many blessings, angels will attend,
Help and comfort give you to your journey’s end.

¹Count Your Blessings. Johnson Oatman, Jr. Chicago, Illinois: 1897.

If you enjoyed this post, you might also enjoy this archived post: Danged Ole Yankees

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gorilla.1

These words are being penned from the gorilla enclosure at my local zoo. Sometimes, when I feel that my desire to write has been locked away in some inaccessible place, I come here for inspiration.

Lately, words just seem to elude me. What difference does it make? I asked myself. “All the difference in the world,” the LORD reminded me. “I called you to write,” He said, “to share with a frustrated world that I am very near to all; and I love them very much!”

Thus, I tucked away pen and paper, and a water bottle, and headed to my favorite place in this city, the zoo. I’ve heard others say that they hate zoos because they cannot stand to see animals caged in captivity, or mistreated in any way. I must say, however, that I am quite proud of my local zoo. The animals are truly cared for and they are, for the most part, far better off here than they would be in the wild. But that’s another topic altogether.

Entering the zoo today, I was immediately greeted by a beautiful chorus of flamingo song. It was as though these marvelous creatures, with feathers ranging from white to dark, vibrant pink, were welcoming me to their peaceful sanctuary where I could escape from the world for just a little while.

I had stopped at this very spot on many occasions, but this was the first time I paused to read the dedicatory inscription on the bench there. It read:

“Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval somewhere very near, just around the corner.” Henry Scott Holland

What an absolutely perfect sentiment for today! My thoughts revisited dormant dreams and desires. Though I have not yet seen their fulfillment, why should they be out of mind? Patience, I reminded myself; patience. I also thought of my great desire -an almost daily desire- for the LORD to quickly return.  He may currently be out of sight, but He is never out of mind.

Even the earth must remind herself of this. It is written, “…creation itself also will be set free from its slavery to corruption into the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now….”  (Romans 8:21-22).  The LORD will, sometime soon, return to make all things new, to restore them to a state of perfection. Till then,  LORD, “I am waiting for you,” knowing that your return is “Just around the corner.”

As I write these words, I am sitting on bench, positioned on one side of the large glass viewing windows. Twice, a young gorilla came to this spot and sat down right behind me, on the other side, and intently watched me write. This was so intriguing to the other visitors, that they gathered around me to watch the gorilla watch me.

I smiled. The fact that a gorilla found my writing to be of such interest is a very great encouragement to me. I only wish he could have read this message. He, like so many humans, feels that their lives are lived in captivity, yet all we need do is look up, for our redemption is draweth nigh – it is ‘just around the corner.’
Praise the LORD!

If you enjoyed this post, you might enjoy a related, archived message by clicking on the following link: Light Down Under

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photo:TomStuart.org

angel-unawares

The trip to the grocery store was a very brief one. Having just spent the last week sick in bed, I was feeling stir-crazy and decided that getting some fresh air would be beneficial. It didn’t take long to regret the decision, however; as walking the aisles for only a few moments drained me. I quickly made my exit with a small bag in each hand, head hung low.

I was immediately greeted by a very cold, but refreshing gust of wind, and the very warm smile of my sweet husband. As he often does, my beloved called home to see if I needed him to pick anything up on his way home from work. He could have gone straight home after hearing of my whereabouts, but he came instead to help me, knowing that I was still a bit weak. What a perfect example of how someone can say “I love you” without speaking a word.

The shopping was finished, so I thankfully embraced him and headed home. Just seeing my husband’s face brought me comfort and warmed my heart so that the cold was barely noticeable after. I thought to myself, it is as though I had just seen the face of angel.

He didn’t look the way one expects an angel to look, though. Having come from work, my hard-working man had mud smeared all over his coveralls. His winter beard was shaggy on his neck to protect him from the cold, and his stocking cap was pulled low, nearly to his eyes, concealing what skin the beard didn’t. Nevertheless, despite his unkempt wintry appearance, my aged knight, in not-so-shiny armor, stood there as handsome and angelic as ever, at least to me.

Dear reader, when is the last time you encountered an angel? Not the winged, celestial kind; although they do sometimes come to help us whether we realize it or not. (Hebrews 13:2). I’m speaking of those ordinary human beings that willfully choose to be a help and a blessing to others. For example, a few weeks ago, a complete stranger loaded a very heavy bag of dog food into the back of my vehicle for me when he saw that I was struggling with it. That may not seem like much, but it was definitely an answer to prayer.

Perhaps you are thinking that attributing the term angel to one’s own loving spouse, or a stranger in a parking lot, is a bit far-fetched. However, the biblical use of the term angel does not always refer to a heavenly spirit being. Sometimes, the word is used to refer to an earthly messenger or ambassador.

Consider Psalm 103, for instance. Here, the psalmist exhorts angels — those who obey His commandments and minister to others—to bless the LORD.

Bless the LORD, ye his angels, that excel in strength, that do his commandments, hearkening unto the voice of his word. Bless ye the LORD, all ye his hosts; ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure.

Obviously, the psalmist also recognizes that ‘angels’ are often mere human beings who simply reflect the light and love of God; obedient servants, through whom His love and compassion are extended. And these, he notes, are pleasing to God.

I’m certain that we are all very thankful for every angel that God sends to help us in our time of need, whether human or celestial. Yet I earnestly pray  that amongst all of these blessings, we are never neglectful  to be a blessing — an angel, an ambassador of heaven, to the multitudes.

We cannot all be missionaries to third-world countries, we cannot all fund major evangelical works, but every  person, no matter their personal circumstance, can choose to bless others anywhere, any time. Who knows, perhaps this week we might all have the opportunity to be an angel in a parking lot.

** If you enjoyed this post, you might also enjoy Knights in Daze

The angel photo above was taken from TomStuart.org  To read his article about entertaining angels unaware, click this link: Entertaining Angels Without Knowing It

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Because I am a D.C.D (directionally challenged driver), I often jest that “North is the front of the car.” This means, of course, that I prefer that people direct me to turn left or right instead of north, south, east or west. This may seem odd to some of you but I grew up in Nowhere, U.S.A. There, our idea of a traffic jam was two cars stuck behind a slow-moving tractor. When my family did finally move to the big city, (population 4,000) we didn’t even have stop lights, let alone the nonsensical stuff like one-way streets –which, for the record, are not at all safe for D.C.D’s!

You would think that I, of all people, would have a GPS in my vehicle, but oddly I don’t. One of those gadgets would probably make me crazy anyway; I don’t think I’d like to hear some faceless voice assuring me that she is “recalculating” every time I miss a turn. I did try a dash-mounted compass once, but that only messed me up more –trust me, it’s possible.

Fortunately for me, God blessed me with a help-mate. He frequently prevents me from ending up in Timbuktku —which is in Africa I think— by making me a very detailed, step-by-step map every time I drive someplace new. Normally, I can’t find a lit candle in the dark, but I can follow my beloved’s instructions easily, even if north is the front of the car.

After I married, my husband and I did not just move to the city, we moved to another world (population far too many). To this country hick, everything was foreign and uncomfortable. But I can gladly say that after all these years I finally feel somewhat confident that I can find my way around the place. However, if it were up to me, I would rename this city “Road Construction Ahead.” We wouldn’t even have to spend money on new signs; there are plenty that have those very words on them everywhere you look. And you know what that means; detours. Yep, that’s just what a D.C.D needs.

Then there are the streets that are located in at least three different parts of the city, those nasty one-ways, traffic circles, and worst of all; rude drivers who don’t let you get over into the turn lane until it’s too late, forcing you to miss your turn. Recalculating.

Life can be like that too. We pretty much know where we are heading, but sometimes we simply get confused and don’t know which way to turn, or we get hit with unexpected detours. At times like that, we need a very detailed roadmap. Fortunately for us, God provided us with one —it’s called the Holy Bible. He loved us enough to give us step-by-step directions to help us travel through this life so that we can arrive at our destination (eternity) safe and sound.

Additionally, God knew that some of us would be a little directionally challenged so he gave us a Helper. Jesus promised:

…the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all things that I said to you. (John 14:26 NKJV)

Dear reader, if you feel lost or frustrated in your life, I would like to encourage you get to know this helper by spending time reading the Bible. Its directions are clear and easy to follow. If you look on a map, north is ‘up.’ Scripture says to look up, for your redemption is near (Luke 21:28). In the vehicle of life, Jesus is north. That being the case, I am proud to say that north is the front of my car, and I plan to keep it that way.

“Sink the Bible to the bottom of the sea, and man’s obligation to God would be unchanged. He would have the same path to tread, only his lamp and his guide would be gone; he would have the same voyage to make, only his compass and chart would be overboard.”
~ Henry Ward Beecher

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100 dollars

And the wealth of the sinner is stored up for the righteous.
Proverbs 13:22b.

I’m pretty sure that the foolish blunder of a certain young man is not what the LORD had in mind when He inspired the psalmist to pen those words. Still, I can’t help but think of this verse every time I think about an incident that happened at my home one summer evening.

This is a true story –everything on this site is.

It so happened that my family and I, and a house full of guests, were wrapping-up a really awesome Bible study. Even the smallest of children were very much involved. Truthfully, I was always awed by the insight that small children have in spiritual matters, and even more awed by that simple, child-like faith that Scripture speaks of –-the kind of faith that would be put into action that night.

During prayer time, the men gathered around my husband and prayed for healing. He had injured his back and was hurting rather badly. Everyone in the study group knew that my beloved had already missed a great deal of work, and trusted that he would be healed and able to work again soon, but they didn’t realize that my husband’s employers don’t offer any paid sick days. Needless to say, we were really feeling the crunch of missing a few paychecks, but we didn’t mention it, knowing that some of those assembled would offer us money they could not afford to spare. None of our friends knew that there was no money for groceries that week.

Even so, one of the little girls, a precious three-year-old with the faith to move mountains, suddenly declared, in her cute little drawl, “Well, I’ll jus’ pray for Y’shua (Jesus) to give you some money.” And pray she did!

I’ve never seen the Lord answer prayer so fast. In no time at all, there was a commotion outside our house. Being closest to the door, I was the one to check it out. Without being too graphic, let me just say that a car full of drunken young men had parked out front and the driver, who was apparently afraid of having a potty accident in his car, decided to water our lawn instead. My timing was awful. Not only did I see what the young man was doing, my presence at the door gave him cause to behave even more indecently and obnoxious. Of course, I didn’t stick around for the show, so I didn’t see what happened next. Somehow, during all his stumbling, and fumbling with his clothes, he accidentally dropped a $100 bill.

After things quieted down, my boys went outside, which was highly unusual because we were getting ready to fellowship and nosh (snack). But my youngest son insisted that he needed a breath of fresh air and his brother wanted to join him. Normally, they would have gone out back, as we rarely use the front yard, but God had a plan, and we know that to them that love God all things work together for good, even to them that are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28).  Thus, the boys found the $100 bill almost immediately.

There is no doubt that the bill was dropped by the drunken young man; he came back to look for it later that night. Everyone had long since gone to bed when I heard the unfamiliar sound that caused me to look outside. The same young man, this time alone, had parked his car in the same spot as before, and was frantically searching for the money. However, before I could react, he staggered back to his car and drove away. I could not have returned the money even if I had wanted to.

I’m just guessing here, but once the young man realized what he had done, he probably regretted his lewd and irresponsible behavior. After all, $100 is a pretty big chunk of change to lose for such a foolish act. But this was a Proverbs 13: 22 moment; the young man was reaping from the seeds of iniquity he had sown, but my family, on the other hand, was able to go grocery shopping and pay a small bill.

Did I feel badly for the young man? Yes. But at the same time, I rejoiced in God’s provision. I would never have guessed in a million years that the LORD would have provided for my family in such a unique way, but perhaps God used that young man’s indecent behavior to provide for him as well. After all, valuable life-lessons, with their consequences, can be just as profitable to one man as a financial blessing is to another.

Dear reader, I pray that this will be a week of blessing for you as well, no matter your need, or how God chooses to get that blessing to you. May this be a week to expect the unexpected.

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