Everywhere I look around I see the big 4/10 glaring at me, reminding me of what the day use to be, and what it is missing now. It is hard to believe that is has already been two years since my dear dad passed from this life to heaven. Today marks the second birthday that he has missed here on the earth. Two years ago this day was a much bigger occasion, what with all the baking we did of eclairs, his favorite!, or of a chocolate cake or some other goody that always put a smile on his face. It was exactly two years ago today that I saw my daddy smiling for the last time, as I skyped him, while the rest of my family was in the room with him at the nursing facility. Though he seemed very weak, and a bit out of sorts, he was still my sweet dad, looking back at me through the phone, wondering at the technology that allowed him to see me and my children's faces looking back at him when we were so many miles away. I watched him relish his eclair, all the while praying that he would hold it down so he could for once enjoy a meal without feeling sick afterwards. He opened his presents and smiled at me when he saw the CD of music I had made for him to listen to in the quiet of his room. He was very tired afterwards so they said they were going to wheel him back to his room and let him rest. I said my goodbyes, letting him know I loved him, and hung up, not realizing that that would be the last time I would ever talk to him on this earth, that I would ever see him smile at me again. Oh, I tried to get there in time when my mom told me that something was going on and I should think about coming to see him. I wanted my children to say goodbye to their grandfather one last time. I wanted to kiss his bearded cheek and feel him squeeze my hand one last time. But for some reason God said, "No." I don't understand why. To this day I still struggle with His answer. All I wanted was to say goodbye one more time.
I have not been sleeping very well every since April began. I had no idea why, though I did have a slight cold, but I was not coughing or being kept awake by illness. Yes, I have had a lot on my mind, and my brain has been having a hard time shutting down, but it suddenly hit me as to why I have been struggling to sleep. Even though I have not tried to think about it a lot, my subconscious is alert and remembers the trials of April 2015. Not to mention the fact that I am watching my dear Pastor's wife go through a similar situation and hearing all the updates and what is going on with her brings all the memories to the forefront and it feels like I am going through it again. My Pastor and his wife are like my parents away from home - when they suffer and go through trials I feel it too. When they are away, their absence leaves a loneliness and a feeling that it won't be right until they get home. When they return I always feel like saying, "Daddy's home again! All is well!" Today in the car I was listening to a sermon and the preacher mentioned how Jesus knew what it was like to suffer loss. Yes, he raised up Lazarus, someone He loved very much, but that is not who I am talking about. Sometime during His life with His family, before His 30th year of ministry began, He lost the man who had married Mary even when he knew others would look down on him. He had attended the birth of baby Jesus that night in Bethlehem, and he had raised Jesus to be a carpenter. Joseph had been carefully chosen by God the Father to raise Jesus, because God knew He could trust him with His Son. But somewhere in that time Joseph passed away. Jesus found out what it felt like, as a human, to suffer lose of a loved one, someone who had been close to Him, someone whom Jesus had sat on his knee and listened to stories. Someone who had held His hand when crossing a busy road, or just taking a walk through a meadow to talk about God's amazing creation. Jesus was there when His mother watched her beloved husband pass on to heaven. He was there to comfort her, to put His arm around her, and let her cry on His shoulder. I am sure He shed some tears of grief too. Though He was God and knew what Joseph was seeing at the moment he crossed into heaven, Jesus was human too and found out what grief feels like. This happened for a reason; so He could relate to my sorrow and grief and know how to comfort me too. A story was told to me recently that kind of sums up my thoughts: a woman was coming out of a building, where next door was a bunch of construction vehicles and workers. She saw the tall lift truck, but didn't know if the guy inside the bucket knew she was coming out to cross the street. She hesitated to go, not wanting to get hit, and heard someone say, "I see you, sweetheart." The man inside the bucket high above her head had seen her pause and wanted her to know that he saw her and was watching her cross. It made her think of God looking down at her in this midst of a busy world, and saying, "I see you, sweetheart, and I am watching over you." It comforts me too, to know that God is looking down at me from heaven, with my daddy is not far away. Someday I will get to join him up there and I will be able to hold his hand again, and worship Jesus with all my loved ones. Save a Seat at the Table by Brian Free I pictured you there where you wanted to be finding your chair and then taking your seat at the table where the marriage supper is about to begin. I imagined the banquet that's waiting up there that the saints of all ages together will share and how I dream of that moment when I'll finally see you again Chorus: And I know they’ll be millions of millions who've gone on before and together we'll sit down to feast with our savior and more and I know you will be there looking for me and I believe that somehow if you're able you'll save me a seat right next to you at the table.
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I've heard it said that being a servant brings joy to your heart. That giving unto others is always better than receiving. That sacrificing for others has its rewards. Yes, there is truth in all of those quotes, but there is another side to the story, just like anything else. Like a mother, always letting her children take the last of the meal or special treat baked for her family, or letting them use up the last drop of warm water for showers before showering herself once they are squeaky clean and dry. Moms have a way of putting themselves last, making sure everyone else is taken care of in her home. Motherhood is an excellent show of sacrifice. But so is fatherhood - he is the one who carries the burden in his heart, watching his wife, knowing she is putting herself last for the sake of the family. If you have a wonderful husband like mine, he will go the extra mile after working a long, hard day and help with the dishes or anywhere else that needs attention in the home. He is also good at getting the children to step up to the plate and set them into motion to help out where needed too, when Mom's patience seems to have vanished. Yet, the sacrifice I am talking about is stepping out of the home and going beyond the expected. Helping others when they need help, no matter the toll it takes, knowing that this too shall pass. Simply being the tool in the Master's hand. Letting Him guide me through life, down the road of being like Him, giving of myself in a Christ-like manner. Yet, even machines wear down and need recharging. Even the pencil I hold when I am writing wears down to a dull tip and it is not sharp anymore. That is when I reach the point (no pun intended) where I feel like my giving is not rewarding; my heart does not feel joy, and I wonder if it is worth the extra effort to do what I am doing. I feel like I am just the pencil that has become dull and incapable of putting out anything worth while any more. I have had some very strange circumstances occur these past few months, which caused me to step out of my comfort zone and help others in need, not because I wanted to be a hero, but I felt that gentle prodding in my heart from the Lord to be His pencil. A mother and her four children needed a place to crash for the afternoon so we invited them to come and join us for Sunday lunch, and the little ones played with my own children all afternoon. After church that evening, she was preparing to take them on a four hour trip home, but I could not see her doing that after such a long day. We had the next day off from school, so after some shifting around from my own children, whom I am so thankful for their servant's hearts and selfless attitudes, the mother took the girls' room with a couple of the children and the boys shared a bed in the boys' room. I saw them off the next day after breakfast and showers, and felt very overwhelmed at what had just happened. I felt happy for helping them while I could, but I felt like I had not been the right one to give advice or help in the way she needed. I was exhausted from trying to be the tool in the hand of the Lord and needed some recharging. Over and over again things have happened this year that has shown me why the Lord wanted me to step away from teaching last year and be a tool for Him. I made the mistake of praying once last year that the Lord would allow me to be needed somewhere, so I could feel useful during a lull in my life. Be careful what you ask for. God will answer that and then some. I remember specifically asking that it would not be due to sickness (thinking of subbing for teachers out sick) and well, He answered that prayer. I simply forgot there are all kinds of other situations out there that can arise where people need help and so I have been swamped by all kinds of needs around me. I am not complaining, and for anyone reading this who needed my help, please understand I was happy to help you. I love helping where I can and being that pencil in the hand of the Lord. I will not go into details here about everything, but I have subbed for teachers, been the lunch lady (I enjoyed this the most!), and watched babies for mothers who needed a sitter for the day or even for four nights when one mother had twins. That was the most recent one. I am afraid I came down with the cold that the little (if you think 42 lbs of baby is little!) boy had and lost a lot of sleep listening to him stir off and on all night. It all hit me last night and so I went to bed early, around 8:15, and slept about eleven hours, something I needed to help heal and recharge. I feel so much better today and this past week is already a distant memory. I feel for the little boy's mother, who has to deal with a two year old and two sweet little twins. She is going to be the one who is going to need a nice long sleep soon, to recharge from being that sacrificial mom. I needed my recharge so I can be ready to step in and help her out again if needed. The Bible says that the Lord will not give us more than we can handle in life, but He allows trials to come our way so we remember our need to call on Him, that we cannot do this ourselves. He is always there by our side, guiding, helping, and giving us the strength to continue on. So, I remain His tool, the pencil in God's hand, ready to be stripped of my dullness in His sharpener; to be sharp and pointy for the next task at hand. If there is one thing that I have learned in life it is that this too shall pass and it will only be a distant memory tomorrow. All I need to do is look at my children and see how true that statement really is...it may not be a joy at the moment, but it will bring great joy in the end. It seemed like a huge task ahead of us...to move an entire storage unit of boxes filled with cards and other collectibles to a new storage place. I had lots of better ideas about how I could spend my Saturday afternoon. I did not look forward to being out in the bitter wind that January day, carrying heavy boxes from an unheated storage unit to the car, but it was a job that needed to be done. Cutting back on expenses for the family is always a good thing, but sometimes it takes a lot of team work to make these cutbacks come to fruition. Joe and Caleb went on ahead and began loading the back of the truck and it was already full when we arrived in our Pilot. Susy and JJ were with me, having left Ben and Alaina at Grammy's house. Alaina's job is cleaning so she already had her work cut out for her. Ben was just going to hang out in the warm living room, watch movies, and stay out of our way so he would not get run over. I was hoping that with all these helping hands the job would be quick and easy. Well, I was quite surprised to find that the unit was inside on the second floor of one of the buildings. I had assumed it would be one of the large doors outside in the front, easily accessible and no stair climbing, but I was wrong. Not to mention that some of the boxes had collapsed during their stay in their metal hotel making a complete mess inside. So began the trips up and down the steps, though some of the times the guys used the freight elevator. I found it to be quite a pain in the neck because it was faster to carry more boxes down down the stairs than it took the elevator to move one load. Back and forth we went, until both vehicles were completely filled with boxes, leaving just enough room for the passengers. We drove to our destination and began to unload. We had quite the assembly line going: the boys dropped the boxes down a board where Susy caught them and stacked them so Joe could wheel them over and I could Tetris them on the pallets near the wall. It worked until my back finally began to give me warning signs that I should stop before it gave out and then I would no longer be of any use for the next week. It took three trips back and forth, a half an hour to load, then another half an hour to unload. Three hours went by and we were looking forward to getting the job finished soon. On the last trip through the gate, the thought crossed my mind that we might get locked in since it was getting close to closing time. I brushed the crazy thought away. The gate had been open all day and even though the office had been closed since noon, I was sure there was an easy way to get out if the gate did close. While the children finished up loading the vehicles, I cleaned up the lose items that had tumbled down in a great avalanche of boxes and baseball cards. The final step was to sweep the unit and we were finished. Exhausted, grimy, cold, and hungry, we climbed into the cars and made our way to the gate only to find it shut tight. I was ahead of Joe so he told me to drive up to it, as close as I could go and it should open. I inched close to the metal and nothing happened. We searched for a button to push, a pressure point to drive on, or anything to open the gate so we could pass through. By now it was dark and we realized there was no getting through the gate without help. I cannot begin to describe the strange feelings that began to wash over me, of desperation, fright, and helplessness. I looked around at all the doors that surrounded us, but none of them could help get us to our destination. Even if we had the combinations to open them, they would lead us to no where. There was only one way to go if only we had the key to get through. It turned out to be the greatest illustration for my girls in Sunday school class the next day...how there is only one way to heaven and that gate is closed until we get the Key, which is Jesus Christ, Who will come live in our hearts if we only invite Him in. There are all kinds of other doors that we think may be the way to go, only to find they lead us nowhere, and may even trap us with their enticements that lie behind them. I think they understood my story, though it was a bit embarrassing to tell people that we had been locked behind the gates. I am sure you are wondering how we got out...Joe called the number on the door of the office, but never received a call back. He decided to call the police and see if they could come to our rescue. We really did not love the idea of sleeping in the car all night long, locked behind bars. It was not a pleasant thing to think about at all. After about a half an hour of waiting, hoping, and praying for help, a truck drove into the lot and stopped at the other side. We watched with anticipation as the gate suddenly began to move and without hesitation I drove through and hollered, "We're free!" I had thought he was coming to rescue us, but he was simply coming to get something out of his storage unit. He had a key to open the gate, something we did not have, and I have no clue why. Maybe it was because of the size of our unit, or maybe its location, but Joe had never been given a key to unlock the gate when he rented it a few years back. Joe canceled the call to the police and we finished our drive with humbled hearts and unloaded the last of the boxes, then ordered out for dinner. It was an experience I will never forget, but an experience I never hope to repeat anytime or anywhere. Have you ever had a memory pop into your head at the strangest time? It never ceases to amaze me how at the oddest times something will spark a memory in my mind, bringing a smile to my face, or a tear to my eye. It is like a hidden file, deep inside the recesses of my brain, that gets opened by some secret hand inside my head. A smell, a song, a taste, even a thought can send that electric current shooting through my brain and cause me to remember a person or event that occurred in my life. And of course, that happened to me recently while I was washing the dishes...dishes from breakfast time, after eating eggs...eggs that were stuck to plates that had to be scrubbed off. The memory came crashing through my head setting off a series of thoughts that put a smile on my face and kept me chuckling all day long. Yet, before I even attempt to tell the story, which my older brother can do so much better than I can, I want you to remember that every family has crazy moments; things that happen in a lifetime that makes the your family seem so different than any other family you know. At least you think it is different, such as the conversations that always pop up during dinner time and you would be completely mortified if a stranger walked in at that very moment causing you to want to crawl under the table and hide forever. You always think you are alone in life's ups and downs and that the event is unique to you, but as life unfold and you learn more about people, you find out that every one is really the same in more ways than one. You learn that you are not alone in life's events. There is nothing new under the sun. As I was scrubbing the plate that had egg yolk stuck all over it, the thought crossed my mind that I better clean it so well that nobody can tell we had eggs that morning. When I say tell, I do not mean just being able to see the egg, but clean it so well so that nobody can even smell the egg afterwards. I drifted back to that Saturday so many years ago, when I was a teenager. We had a guest over that night for dinner and as we all sat down to eat he looked around at the food and commented on how good it all looked. Then he set his napkin on his lap and as he did I noticed he leaned down to the plate and put his nose over the top and gave a sniff. "I smell eggs! Did someone have eggs for breakfast today?" I know my eyes widened like saucers at his comment and I felt like crawling under my chair, but that would make it completely obvious that I had been the one to do dishes that day. And, yes, we did have eggs that morning. The entire family sat rooted to their chairs for a second, not sure how to react to such a comment from our guest. Once the initial shock wore off, one of us jumped out of our chair and hurried to retrieve a new, cleaner plate, possibly sniffing it on the way over to make sure there was no smell of egg on the new plate. We did not want to cause our visitor (or my mom!) (or me!) any more undue stress over dinner. It was this incident, as well as a few others that occurred over the years of our knowing this gentleman, that sparked the events that caused my family to do a pretty crazy thing. My mom had been sick and was laid up for a week or two. A few people from church decided to make our large family of eight some meals to help out, so this kind gentleman decided he would jump in and sign up. I am not sure if he gave it to us at church or if he came all the way out to our house an hour away, but somehow the gigantic pot of casserole ended up on the counter for our family to enjoy. We did enjoy it, and we ate to our hearts' content, hardly making a dent in the large pot. The next day we ate it for lunch, and my dad probably brought it for lunch at work the next day too. And the next day...and the next day. The more we dug down into the pot, the more it seemed to miraculous expand. It was like the miracle of Jesus when He fed the 5,000 on the hill. The food kept multiplying until all twelve disciple were carrying around baskets, handing out bread and fish to the people until their hungry tummies were full. I could picture all eight of us carrying around eight gigantic pots of casserole, trying to find more people to feed. It was like eating turkey after Thanksgiving... there comes a point when you feel like you have had enough and cannot eat another bite of the stuff. At this point my mom was feeling better and was quite ready to get her kitchen back. It was time to go shopping so she could restock the fridge with food for her family. Yet, we had a problem. A huge problem. A giant pot of casserole type of problem. It took up the entire shelf or two inside the refrigerator and we had no idea what to do with it. "We can't eat another bite of that stuff!" the children complained to Mom. "But we need to finish it up! We can't waste it! What would Mr. Q think?" Mom said. She hated wasting food anyway. Remember, there are starving children in Africa who would love to eat that casserole. "But we've been eating it all week long and we're tired of it! Can't we throw the rest away?" Mom would not hear of it. She was adamant about not throwing it out simply because she did not want to have to tell Mr. Q that we had thrown his casserole in the garbage. He would never forgive us! "We don't have to tell him we threw it away!" the children argued. "He won't ever know!" "Remember the plate incident?" she asked us. "Trust me, he'll find out somehow. Or he'll just ask us and we can't lie to him." "What do you think he'll do?" Dad asked Mom. "It's not like he's going to go looking through our garbage for it." My older brother smiled. "I can just see him now, running into the house with a mask and cape on yelling, "You threw it away! I just know it!" and with an evil laugh he'll go sniffing through all our garbage until he finds every last bit of casserole and make us eat it until it's gone!" This comment did not help my mother's decision. "No, we can't throw it away! We just can't!" "Then what should we do with it?" all the children asked. "We'll bury it!" We looked at each other. "Bury it?" "Yes! He'll never come out and ask us if we buried it so we should be good with that." She told my older brother to get a shovel and go dig a big hole. He stood looking at her still unsure if she was serious. She was. It was growing dark outside by now which seemed a good time of day to dig a hole to secretly bury a casserole. A little while later my brother came in from behind the house and announced that the hole was ready. Without further ado, we took the giant pot outside and dumped the contents into the ground and watched as he covered up the never ending casserole. After he patted the earth smooth we quickly went inside and washed the pot. We would return it to the kind gentleman the next time we saw him at church a few days later, and we could rest in the knowledge that we had not "thrown it away" if he asked. The lesson learned from this event is never make someone a casserole in a giant pot...put it in a small pan that is big enough for one, possibly two meals, because the person eating it may just bury it so they don't have to tell you that they ended up throwing your delicious, but enormous amount of dinner away. And of course, always doubly wash your plates after a meal of eggs, for that, my friend, is a lesson we all could benefit from. I listened to their early morning bustling as they prepared to head out to New York City for the day. Hats, gloves, and warm coats were pulled out as they gathered everything they would need for a long day in the cold city. The weatherman said it should get up to a whopping, wonderful, warm temperature of 43 degrees today, but we know how the weatherman can lie. Besides, the ride on the Staten Island Ferry to see the Statue of Liberty will be mighty cold, especially in the brisk winds of December. So, they left with all their gear, nervous about what the day held, excited to explore a place that is gigantic and unlike our little town of Wallingford. We know crowds and traffic here in town, but Alaina will get the experience of her lifetime today, seeing the buildings, yellow taxi cabs, people, World Trade Center Memorial, people, the Statue of Liberty, and more people. It has been over eight years since Alaina went to New York. I was pregnant with Benny at the time, VERY pregnant, and it was quite the challenge walking those streets with my huge belly, the size of Minnesota as I often called it. Susy and Auntie Mickey also came along on the trip and we went to visit the American Girl store, where they got their Itty Bitty Babies. It was a fun day, but Alaina does not remember any part of it except the train ride and sitting at the table with the dolls in high chairs as we ate lunch. So this will be a completely new experience for my almost fourteen year old daughter. So, I said goodbye, heard the truck drive away, and then the tears came pouring out of my eyes. Tears of joy mixed with tears of sorrow. Joy for the fact that Alaina and her daddy can go out and spend the day together, laughing and building memories that I hope she will hold close to her heart and treasure forever. Things will happen today that only they will be able to laugh about, to connect with, to carry as an inside joke that only the two of them will understand. Tears of joy also flowed for the memories that I hold near and dear about my own Dad taking me out on day trips like this that are forever etched in my mind. The early morning preparations were always hard for me, seeing that I was not a morning person and always felt quite ill for a while after getting up. That feeling always evaporated away along with the dewy mist after the sun came out to dry up the grass. Tears of sorrow came also, because I knew that what I once had is gone and I will never have another day with Dad. Tears of being on the other side of the spectrum - growing up, leaving home, being the responsible one and not the child, of being the mom, the spectator, the one who has to say goodbye and watch them go and make those memories....it is all another side to the story. A story my mom must have read so many times during my lifetime. Yet, she never complained. She knew what it meant to my dad to tie those heartstrings with his six children, so she smiled, waved goodbye, and watched time and time again as the children took day trips (and sometimes overnight camping trips) just to spend special time with Dad every year. It was something he took pride in. He started it when I was about five years old, when we went to the IBM park to swing, and then watched the planes land at the airport, and finished with a meal at Lums restuarant. It was our yearly custom, to pick a place or two that we wanted to go, and he would plan and save for it until finally it was time and off we went. We called it our day with dad. I found it heart touching that each one of my siblings who spoke at his memorial service recounted those special times like they were highlighted with a big, yellow marker on their hearts. I think this one particular trip hits a chord with me because of the fact that Joe and Alaina are taking the train down to the city. The train...I remember it all so clearly, like it was only yesterday. Standing on the platform next to my dad, waiting for the conductor to tell us to get on. We were on our way up to La Ronde in Canada, to spend a day at the aquarium and amusement park. It was early, and I had had one of those mornings where I thought I would not make it because my stomach felt so queasy and yucky. I should have known by then that it was early morning blahs and that it would fade away, but stuck in the moment of feeling ill sometimes can feel like forever. So, I waited, excited for my first train ride, nervous about what the day held, butterflies fluttering around in my stomach making me still feel a bit queasy. "When can we get on, Dad?" I asked. "The conductor will tell us when to board," he answered. We waited some more. The man never said anything. "Why isn't he saying, "All aboard!" Isn't it time to get on?" I was scared it would pull out of the station without us. "He'll tell us soon," my dad said. Well, we waited some more and nothing happened. Then the air brakes popped, the whistle blew, and the train pulled away out of the station leaving us standing there on the platform. Never once did the man call for us to board. He must have thought we were waiting for someone, or maybe just observing the train pull in and out so early in the morning. My mouth must have fallen to the floor in shock. I think my dad's did too. I looked at him and saw his brow furrowed as he watched the train disappear down the tracks. He took my hand and led me back inside to the office where the gentleman in a hat worked behind the counter. He looked up quite surprised. "What are you doing back here?" he asked, perplexed. "The train left without us," my dad replied. As he went about getting his money back for our tickets, I stood off to the side and felt the tears burning my eyes. My day was ruined. We weren't going to get to go to Canada and spend a fun time watching penguins swim around and around behind the glass, nor would we get to bounce around on the high roller coaster together and eat lots of junk food. But, sometimes God has a different plan for our lives and we need to learn to be flexible and go with it anyway. My dad gave me the option of waiting for another day to take the train, or still go that day in our own car. I chose to drive up in our car and so we did. I still do not know why we missed that train that day, but feel God had a good reason, even if it was to teach me a lesson I needed to learn. To this day I still call that particular day, "The Train Ride I Never Took." My mom and sister were cleaning out the house, getting it ready to sell someday in the future, and one of them found a little cross stitched piece of work that I had made for my dad many years ago. It is two people standing side by side, with a train in the background, symbolizing that day that I will never forget. I really hope that does not happen to Joe and Alaina today. I hope the conductor hollers loud and clear, "All aboard!" and they get to climb on and take the ride of the year. I hope they treasure every moment together so that one day in the future, Alaina will be able to share with her children the wonderful memories she made today during her day with her dad. Update: Good news! They got on the train! :) Now to wait and hear more about their adventures in the big city. At the end of the school year last June, I was asked if I could write a Thanksgiving play for the students of Heritage Baptist Academy. I have written Christmas plays before, and there is lots of material out there to work around; tons of stories about miracles, of God coming through at the last moment, of enemy soldiers coming together for a brief time of peace. There is one story in particular that I especially love, and one of these years I am going to write a story based on the idea, but that is for later. I thought it would be the same for Thanksgiving. The very word expresses God's blessings and gratefulness for His provision. I figured there were tons of stories that went along with that particular subject. I went online to search for Thanksgiving miracles and all I kept finding were stories of the Pilgrims, their trip on the Mayflower, their hard winter, their first Thanksgiving, and how it became a national holiday. I really wanted to find a war story centered around Thanksgiving, but it did not seem like there were any out there. Except for one. I found the brief write up intriguing and read it over and over again. Even though it was short, it was a sweet testimony of God answering a mother's prayer for her son. It was the very idea I needed for my play. Now came the hard part. To get my thoughts down onto paper that would make sense and would be easily presentable. I began to fiddle with an idea of acting out the actual war scene, with General Patton and Sergeant Mac as the main characters, but I had a huge problem. I only had four guys to work with and we needed more young men for soldiers...a lot more. Not only that, but two of those young men were my own sons and I knew they would never forgive me if I placed them in main roles in a play. So, I had to find a new idea. I worked on and off all summer, throwing away ideas and constantly starting over. It seemed like it a good story would not present itself to me. The new school year started and the principal asked me again if i would consider writing something for the Thanksgiving program. I agreed and began to seriously work on a new idea that came to me. I had to keep the play short, under a half an hour or so, and I found that to be a new challenge. How could I present my thoughts and portray the message of my story in thirty short minutes? With lots of prayers asking the Lord to give me a clear way of thinking, of course. And He did. He gave me a title based on the verse that the mother quotes in the article: Stand Still. It spoke volumes to me in this busy world of ours, and I wanted to get the message out that God is still working today. We just need to stand still and let Him move and do what He needs to do while we wait on His perfect timing. I needed a way of getting lots of children up on the stage too, so their parents could see all their cute little faces up front looking back at them in the audience. I needed a way to keep them organized and under control, but I did not want to do another school or church scene because that has been done recently in the past. I came up with the plan to have an orphanage, run by two sisters, with lots of children around. Then the thought came to use the Mary and Martha models from the Bible...one was always busy and constantly running around looking for something to do, while the other one was content to let God move on their behalf as she spent time in His Word every day. Suddenly it all began to come together as the words flowed onto the page and the story came alive. Now all I needed to do was fit the scene of the war into the story somehow, so the original thought could be honored. This was not as easy as it looked. I originally wanted to have the few guys in the high school come in during one particular part of the play and act out the scene from the article, without having to say any lines. The story would be told by one of the sisters, and the men, dressed as soldiers, would come in, act it out, and then march out again. Easy as pie. We talked about video taping it outside for a more realistic approach and play it on the screen overhead while the story was told, but when it came time to search for authentic uniforms, it became an impossible task. Not only were the uniforms rare to find, but the cost of renting or buying them was going to be way past budget. I began to feel overwhelmed and very disappointed that the very message of my story was going to be lost. It was not what I wanted to happen for my play. My baby was taking on a different form and I did not like it. I was determined to somehow bring in a soldier to represent what I was trying to portray. The week of the play arrived and I was frantically setting up things on the stage to get the look I wanted. It was while I was setting up the attic scene that I found I could make a shadow on the wall using some of the props I brought up, including my uncle's original World War II helmet I had found while cleaning out my mother's shed. Using that, along with a wooden rifle from the prop closet, a tall coat rack, a canvas backpack, and a jacket, I was able to construct what looked like a strange looking person in the corner of the attic. But the effect came when I shone a flashlight on the tree, casting a shadow on the wall behind it. It actually looked like the shadow of a soldier. It had to do. If I could not have a real soldier, I was still going to get the point across as best as I could. The story begins with a scene of children looking around in an attic for something...in this case they are looking for Thanksgiving decorations. I have had this idea in my mind for a couple years now, and have been itching for a reason to use this scene. I was excited to finally see it become a reality. While the children are in the attic they stumble upon some letters tied up with a ribbon. Jacob comments on how it is so much faster to text these days rather then write a letter. This is something that is near and dear to my heart. Writing is a lost art these days, something that Mary comments about later on in the play. Some of the letters that Molly found (ones that I used in the play) were actually ones that I had received when I was a teenager, as well as lots of cards that have been given to me over the last few years. Not only was this idea of writing based on my own past, it was also based on the main point in the story of the Thanksgiving miracle that I found online. In the article it mentions a letter that Mac's mother had written to him while he was stationed in France in 1944. The sisters are going through their own struggle of trying to make ends meet, and not have the children's home foreclosed upon. The children take it upon themselves to try and help by giving Mary their hard earned savings. They also come up with ways to earn money like putting on a concert and a bake sale. This is how I was able to present all the other children from the school. There is nothing like having little preschoolers sing, cough, yawn, and fidget on the stairs in front of you, but they were so cute! Very memorable... I wrote a few of the songs for the play, including the one entitled "Take Time To Pray." I had written part of it this summer, but could not find the words to fit the second verse. It came to me once I finished the play, and put the idea of Mary and Martha into the song, which fit the theme. Mary knew what it meant to stop and spend time at Jesus' feet, but Martha was always so busy she never knew how to stop and listen to what He had to say. I still remember how the chorus popped into my head one morning as I was getting ready for the day. The birds were singing loudly outside and I stopped what I was doing and listened to their melodious songs. It occurred to me that if the birds can take the time to sing thanks for their new day, then why can't I stop and give thanks to the Lord too? It was a very convicting moment and now I always try to thank the Lord and begin my day with thoughts of Him as soon as I open my eyes. During the scene before the concert, Mary has the children gathered around her for Bible time. The children are restless because they are giving their money to Noah to present to the sisters, and Mary tells them to be still. (Seeing that this is the title of the play, the words 'stand still' come up a lot to reinforce the message.) Molly shows her a letter she had found in the pile from the attic, and Mary happily tells the story of her brother, who happened to be the young man in the war story, (creative license). During the story, I have the soldier's mother sit in a rocking chair, acting out the part where she writes a letter, and she reads the words from the article. "Can you remember where you were on Thanksgiving Day? I had a strong feeling you were in great danger..." This is when I shone the flashlight on the tree and had the soldier appear behind his mother. I do not know if it made the impact I wanted, but it was all I had for the moment. The concert did not make all the money they needed to keep the children's home open, but in the last scene Molly comes running in and announces that she found some money hidden inside a card from Mary's letters, as well as selling some of the antiques from the attic. God comes through at the last minute and teaches the sisters, as well as the children, to stand still and let God move, just like II Chronicles 20:17 says to do. It finally sinks into Martha's busy mind what God has done for them and she thanks the Lord for their own Thanksgiving miracle. I hope the message was clearly presented to the audience. It was not the original thought I had set out to do. The focus ended up being on the present, not what happened in the past for that soldier, but the message is the same: God is still moving today, doing miracles, and answering prayers. I pray that it was used by the Lord and that the people watching got out of it what He wanted them to. When all is said and done all the glory goes to Him in the end . If you are interested in reading the originally article, here is the link to the site. https://www.guideposts.org/comfort-hope/the-message-that-saved-his-life I love to hear stories of how God made Himself real to people in their every day situations; how He always comes through and meets a need. But better yet, I love it when He comes through and meets my own need, or simply sends a blessing to show that He loves me. I call those 'blessings from heaven.' It never ceases to amaze me how loving and compassionate He is. The wonderful thing about Him is that among all the people in this world, He can hear my little voice in the midst of all the noise and craziness of this world and answers to my exact need. Though millions of others are asking Him for something at the same time, He still hears me, my tiny little cry, and comes through. That is because He is God. Just last night I read a story of a friend and how God came through and provided for her the exact amount of money she needed after giving away some money for a good cause. God always blesses when you give something to Him. I call that the heavenly savings account...it will come back to you when you need it because God's bank will never go out of business. And then back in October, my mother shared with me how God gave her a special birthday blessing and allowed her to find some old letters my dad had written to her, something she thought he had thrown away years ago. It gave me goosebumps to hear her tell it because not only did it prove to her that God was still there beside her, loving on her, but it gave me peace to know that she is in good hands. God will never leave her side and He is watching over her every step of the way. If He will help her find some letters, then what bigger and better things will He do for her when the need arises? Back in April, the day before it would have been my dad's birthday if he was still on this earth, I saw something that made me pause and think. I was on my way to school with the children and we were about to cross the bridge over the highway when out from the trees a little white bird flew across the road right in front of us and went into a tree on the opposite side of the road. I think I mentioned it to JJ who was sitting beside me, and asked him if he had seen it. I thought I was seeing things because wild birds are not normally pure white. They are always brightly colored and flash their beautiful streaks of blues and reds when they fly. This one was white. It left me wondering if someone's pet had escaped from their cage, or if it may have been an albino bird, something very rare to see. I continued on and went about my day not thinking too much about what I had seen earlier. Until the next morning... It was my dad's birthday, though he was celebrating up in heaven. I was again on the way to school, same exact time, same exact place, and suddenly that little white bird flew across the road in front of me, just like the day before. It was déjà vu for me and I was stunned. This time a few of the children saw the bird so I knew I was not imagining it. The same little flutter, dip, and flash of white across the road into the trees caused my heart to jump. I continued on that day with a warm feeling inside. I never saw that bird again after that. I do not know why He allowed me to see it two days in a row, especially that particular day, but I felt like God had given me a blessing from heaven. It gave me a peace that my dad was having the best birthday ever in heaven. I thought back to the day we had my father's funeral. We were at the grave site and the director of the funeral home had brought two beautiful white doves. As a final event for the service, with the fluffy clouds overhead, and the beautiful mountains surrounding us, he quoted a beautiful Irish poem about being released to heaven and how one day we would meet again. He released those two doves and tossed them high into the air. They circled around and around in the skies and finally one got his bearing and began heading in the direction of his home, the other one quickly following behind. It was an amazing end to the service. Just like my dad had gone home to heaven, we will follow in his path someday and meet him there. Isaiah 40:28 says, " Hast thou not known? hast though not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? there is no searching of his understanding." He will never grow tired and stop listening to our voices, no matter how minor we think our need is. His understanding goes way beyond what our earthly minds can comprehend, and He sees each tear we shed. I love the verse in Psalms that says He stores each of our tears in a bottle. He loves us so much that He saves each tear drop and remembers how frail and human we are. So, what blessing will God give you this week, or even today? Ask the Lord to give you a blessing from heaven, and when He answers, don't be surprised. Just share it with someone else and pass the blessing along. :) A couple of weeks ago, my sister-in-law was getting ready to fly back to California and she needed a ride to her father's house in Rocky Neck. We had a pleasant drive out there, chatting and talking about her future plans for when she got back to the warm state on the Pacific coast. One of these years I will get out there to see the Pacific Ocean and Redwood forest...ahhh, I can dream, can't I?
After saying goodbye, I got onto the highway and headed home again, with a sadness in my heart that comes from so many roller coasters that I seem to be riding upon lately. I looked around at the trees and suddenly all the memories of so many trips alone to my grandmother's house flooded my mind. It was as if I was on automatic pilot, heading up to Massachusetts to spend a day with Grandma, a time I had come to love and cherish over the years. Yet, as quickly as the moment came, it was squashed by the realization that I could never do that again...here on earth. I looked up at the beautiful clear blue sky, with a few fluffy cotton balls floating lazily around, and the tears came. She's gone. She's not here. She is with Jesus. Yes, I will see her again, but that does not ease the pain of missing her while I am on this earth. Just a side note here: you never know when a loved one will be taken from you. I miss my father so much. I miss my grandmother. They passed with good terms between us, but I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like to have someone leave this earth with unforgiveness between family and friends, and you will never be able to work it out if they are gone. Forgive while you have a chance. It takes a step of faith, but He will help you through it. I got to thinking how precious our friends and family really are. There are so many things that are never said, which can be misunderstood as unsupportiveness, disinterest, unforgiveness, and yes, maybe even hatred at times. I see it all around me and the pain of not knowing what to do or say makes me feel like I am nothing. Who am I to think that I can change anything? It is only God that can do a work in anyone's heart. I can pray, yes, YES!, I can pray, that God will break down the walls that surround so many loved ones in my life. I do not always know exactly what to say when I pray, but God knows the pain in my heart. People have said that I am strong, but I am not. I am not strong at all. I told the Lord this morning that He is my strength, but not just when I am weak. HE IS MY STRENGTH. I am always weak. Without Him I would be right where so many others are - without Him I am nothing. The old song, "The Warrior Is A Child" rings clear in my head... "...But they don't see inside of me I'm hiding all the tears. They don't know that I go running home when I fall down. They don't know Who picks me Up when no one is around. I drop my sword and cry for just a while; 'Cause deep inside this armor The warrior is a child." We get weary in this battle for the Lord. There are real struggles around us and there are times when I want to throw in the towel. I don't want to do this anymore. Like this morning. I felt so alone. Abandoned. Left to fend for myself in this daily walk. I have been the one to give so much lately, listening to people upset with life, directing discouraged ones to the Lord, trying to ease strife between people, yet, I have no idea if any of it is doing anything. Again, I am nothing. He alone can work the changes. I just pray that God will give me wisdom and the right words to say. He is my All in All. And, true to His nature, He once again met me this morning and filled me with peace and reminded me of another old song that I truly understand the meaning of now. Before it was just a fun song to sing, and I always liked it, but now I need it: Are you weary in well doing, Walking on the road to New Jerusalem. Are you hoping and a-praying, Looking any minute for the Lord to come? And do you see a lot of pleasant lookin' places, Where you might lay down and take a rest, And if you do take a look at all the faces there, The sadness will tell you that it’s best...to Keep on walking, you don’t know how far you’ve come, Keep on walking, for all you know it may be done, And the Father might be standing up right now to give the call, To end it all. So keep on walking. Now, if you need a feeling, To keep you on the road you’ve started traveling on. You’re going to have some trouble, Learning that it’s faith that keeps you moving on And in the Lord you start you’re walk from sitting. But sometimes, you have to take a stand Standing’s not another word for quitting, It’s just taking a tighter hold on His hand…so Keep on walking, you don’t know how far you’ve come, Keep on walking, for all you know it may be done, And the Father might be standing up right now to make the call, To end it all. So keep on walking. Keep walking, my friends. The Lord will be with us until the end. He promised to never leave or forsake us. So just keep walking. Bruno sat drumming his fingers on the table in the small dining area as he waited for Monty to bring John Carver into the room. A few days had passed, and when Bruno realized his prisoners were not going to follow orders, he had decided it was time to take action. For three long days, he had endured song after song from the room holding the men from the Haven. On top of that, Bruno had to listen to them quoting Scripture verses as they had devotions every morning. He had had enough and was ready to put a stop to it. Bruno heard the echo of a door closing and then footsteps of the men as they approached the dining room. Monty appeared at the door and gave Mr. Carver a little shove into the room. "Here's your prisoner, sir," he informed Bruno. "Good, good. You may go now, Monty." Monty saluted and left the doorway. Mr. Carver remained standing where he was as he awaited Bruno's command. "Sit down, John, and make yourself comfortable." Bruno pointed to the chair opposite him at the table. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" A little surprised at Bruno's unusual kindness, Mr. Carver nodded. "Yes, sir, that would be nice." Bruno stood up and took the pot off the small burner. After pouring a cup of the steaming liquid, he handed it to Mr. Carver. "Here ya go." He took his seat across from his prisoner. "Thank you," Mr. Carver replied. He picked up the cup and took a small sip. He looked up into Bruno's bearded face and saw his eyes, black as flint, staring back at him. "Do you intend to sing and pray your way out of my clutches? " Bruno bluntly asked him. A little surprised at the question, Mr. Carver decided the only thing he could do was respond just as bluntly. "It says in Psalms 18:49, 'Therefore will I give thanks unto thee, O Lord, among the heathen, and sing praises unto thy name.'" Bruno glared at Mr. Carver. "So, you're saying I'm a heathen? You're saying I don't know about God? Listen, Mr. Missionary Man, I was raised in a Christian home. I heard about God every day! I even said the sinner's prayer when I was ten years old. If anybody knows about God, it's me!" Bruno slammed his hand down on the table. The two coffee mugs danced a little jig and splashed coffee over the shiny metal surface. Mr. Carver nodded, as if he understood exactly what Bruno was trying to say. Bruno continued, "What do you know about it? Huh? Tell me, what do you know about my life? You, the perfect, ideal saint of God, prancing around with your Bible and great singing voice, thinking you're so great - tell me, why do you torment me so?!" Mr. Carver prayed for the right words to help this hurting man. He could see that the Holy Spirit already had been working, stirring up Bruno's heart and making the soil fertile - he did not want to mess this one up and spoil the work of the Lord. Bruno was fuming, his eyes burning with hatred across the table. Mr. Carver sat up and clasped his hands in front of him. "My parents were saved at a tent meeting the year I turned five. I did not understand it all at first, but I was ready to ask the Lord to live in my heart when I was ten." Bruno's eyes flashed surprise for a second, and then it disappeared as fast as it had appeared. Mr. Carver continued, "All my friends went up front so I felt pressured to go up with them. I did not want to be the only one left sitting. That would make me look bad! I said the sinner's prayer and felt I had done all I needed to do to be right with God. Well, it wasn't sincere, and the Lord worked on my heart for the next seven years. I didn't want to listen, to give in, or give up my fun, carefree lifestyle. Besides, God kept telling me I was supposed to be a missionary, but my father was a preacher so I figured that was what I was going to be too, when I was ready. My father, who was preaching at night when I was seventeen, became very sick. Since I had told him I was called to be a preacher, he asked me to take his place. It was awful! I embarrassed myself and my father's good name. And little did I know that my future wife was sitting in the congregation listening to me make a fool out of myself." Mr. Carver paused to see if Bruno was still listening. Bruno was still staring at Mr. Carver, but the look in his eye had softened somewhat. "My father preached the next evening. His sermon was on God's call for the missionaries to go out into the world. His message hit me like a blow. I suddenly knew I needed to be saved, give my life over to Christ, and surrender my life to become a missionary for Him. I went up that night and my life was changed forever. You see, Bruno, the truth is it isn't me tormenting you. It's the Lord, Who's trying to break through the hardness of your heart." Mr. Carver stopped, letting his words sink into Bruno's head and heart. Bruno leaned back in his chair. "Like I said, you're a goody-two-shoes. What have you done in your life that was so bad anyway? Your father was a preacher man! He wouldn't have let you get away with sin!" "I lied, cussed, sassed my parents, beat up the neighbor's son, and stole the offering right out of the plate many times," Mr. Carver informed Bruno. "Bah, that doesn't match anything I've done. I've looted, burned ships, taken lives, kidnapped, and even burned down the church, just so I wouldn't have to go anymore. Do you think God will forgive that?" Bruno sat back and crossed his arms as if daring Mr. Carver to find an answer to that one. "1 John 1:9 says, 'If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' The law was given to man so that he might know that he could not work his way into heaven, and what he needed was a savior to heal man's relationship with God. We're all the same to God, whether we lie, covet, disobey, or kill someone. In God's eyes, we're all equal and we all need salvation. You may have said the words in the Sinner's Prayer, just like I did, but if you didn't really mean them in your heart then you are not saved. There is no difference between you and me, except the fact that I know, without a shadow of a doubt, where I will go when I die. Do you?" Bruno stood up. "How dare you question me? You're my prisoner and I will not stand for your arrogance! You say you know where you will go when you die? Well, you might find out sooner than later! Do you want to see your beloved wife again? What about all those brats living in the medieval castle with you? Well, you better start saying your prayers, preacher man, because you will never see them again! I'm going to torment you just like you're tormenting me! I will fight tooth and nail to beat you and then you'll see who the winner is!" Bruno shouted. "My life is in the Lord's hands," Mr. Carver said quietly. Bruno's face turned scarlet. "What's wrong with you, man! I stole your treasure, I destroyed your boat, and I have the power to take your life, and you have the gall to say that your life is in God's hands? Your life is in my hands, not God's!" Bruno tightened his hands into fists. "Monty!" The sailor entered the room and saluted. "Yes, sir?" "Take this man back to his jail cell! I never want to set eyes on him again, got that?" "Yes, sir!" Mr. Carver stood up, but Bruno stopped him. "Here! You didn't finish your coffee!" He grabbed the mug and splashed the cooled liquid into Mr. Carver's face. "How's that for a start!" Bruno let out an evil laugh as Monty pushed Mr. Carver out the door and down the hall. Days turned into weeks. The fifteen men were cramped and sore from being jammed in the small area. They were weak and faint from hunger - Bruno allowed them the bare minimum of food and water, just enough to keep them alive, though not enough to fill their stomachs. They slept, prayed, and lay quietly so they could retain some of their strength..... One particular day, they sat around quietly, having just finished a prayer time. A memory played in Mr. Carver's foggy mind of the tent meeting he attended when he was ten years old. He had heard a song that night called "Ship Ahoy", a song that had greatly moved him. He had liked it so much he took the time to learn it by heart. The orphans always enjoyed hearing him sing it while sailing on the Haven. Feeling the Lord leading him to sing it now, Mr. Carver stood up with a surge of energy straight from the Lord, and belted out the words to the song like he had all the strength in the world. His clear, baritone voice rang out down the corridors of the submarine, rattling the low ceilings, and went straight to the core of their prison ship. It caused the men throughout the sub to stop what they were doing so they could listen to the clear words that Mr. Carver sang out: He finished and sank exhausted to the floor. Loud footsteps clamored down the hall towards the door. Keys rattled in the lock and door swung open. A faint light from the lantern in the hallway blinded the men who had sat in the darkness so long. A large form blocked the light and then Mr. Carver saw Bruno standing in the doorway. Mr. Carver knew it was time...
What you have just read is a segment out of Chapter 25, from The Leviathan, second book in The Orphans of Mordecai's Castle series. The audio recording was done by a gentleman at our church, and he sings it the way I always imagined Mr. Carver would have sang it while in prison on the ship (without the piano, of course!). If you are interested in finding out how the story ends, please contact me or order the book from the store link. Thank you and God bless! I did not expect to see the little gray critter inside when I opened up the door to my mailbox, but I think I startled him as much as he startled me. He jumped as high as he could go inside the small area and raced to the back of the box. I stood there, not quite believing that I had just seen something that big inside the box. Oh, earlier we'd had an ant problem and Joe had put a bait box inside that cleared up the ants marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah. Then there was a large spider that decided to take up residence inside the back right corner and I was going to let Joe know about that, but it kept slipping my mind as soon as I closed the door and walked away. The spider was not really bothering anyone, and besides, he was probably eating the ants that had tried to take over so he was earning his keep. Though, I could not help but think these bugs were just a bit too daring to try to make their permanent home right under a pest control guy's nose. That just isn't right! So when I discovered the mouse I was in shock...and then when I investigated further, I found a second mouse hidden inside a little nest made of leaves and sticks, all safely tucked in the back right corner (the spider corner! Maybe they ate him???) Needless to say, I was unsure of what to do. I knew the mailman would be coming with our mail very soon and I did not want him to have a heart attack when he opened the door, and then blame it on us and cause us to get in trouble with the law for not tending to our mailbox like we should. I wrote a little note and put it on the door, warning the mailman to simply put our mail in the paper box below. It turned out I was still outside when he drove by and he came walking over to me and asked what the note was all about. I explained to him that we had two mice inside the box and I asked him if he had ever had that experience. He told me he had not. Of course we had to be the first! He gave me our mail and drove away, and I breathed a sigh of relief for having avoided a huge catastrophe. But I still had to get those cute little things out! I did not want to hurt them, and I certainly did not want Joe to use bait on them, so I decided I would shoo them out myself. I slowly opened the door and with a big winter glove on my hand I tried to scoop them out. The big fat one raced out and leaped onto the rocks below, disappearing into the woods. The second one took some prodding, but finally it decided to leave to, and then I simply took the nest out and that was that. Well, they are harder to get rid of then I thought and they keep coming back. I had to clear them out a couple of times and each time they seem less and less scared of me. My boys think I am ridiculous and keep telling me that they will take care of them, but I don't want that. They aren't in my house and they aren't hurting anyone. I am not really sure how this whole event will eventually play out, but hoping for the best for Hunka Munka and Tom Thumb (read Beatrix Potter - The Tale of the Two Bad Mice). The last few weeks I have been kind of feeling like those mice in my mailbox. I thought I was all settled, all hunkered down in my decisions in life, when suddenly a large hand comes into my safe place and starts shooing me out of my comfort zone, making me move from my safe, happy, warm place to the dark, cold, woods of the unknown. For the last three years I have taught kindergarten at the private school here at our church, and I have enjoyed watching the students learn how to read under my tutelage. Then halfway through this year I began feeling like it was time to stop teaching full time seeing that I had not wanted to make a lifelong career of it. I missed being a homemaker and keeping up with my shopping, meals, and laundry. I felt like I had too many burdens on my shoulders and I could not keep up with all that I had to do. I needed to prioritize. So I told the principal I was not going to teach full time this coming year. I could be a substitute, but I needed to work more with Joe in his business and put my home in order. Little did I know what the future held and that God was preparing me for a specific reason to not be in school; that something bigger was coming and I would be needed to help in another area. If I had known I might have just shut my mouth and stayed on at the school. God is again stretching me and calling me to come out of my comfort zone and all I want to do is leap away from His hand. Pastor has been preaching on the 23rd chapter of Psalms lately and he has been spending one message on each verse...sometimes on just a phrase in a verse. It was the first verse that grabbed my attention and God showed me something that hit me hard. Pastor was expounding upon the idea that the Lord is our Shepherd. Yes, I have heard this chapter many times, and even know it by heart since I memorized it as a little girl. It is a chapter that is often recited and even the world is familiar with it. Pastor was talking about how the shepherd knows his sheep and they know his voice, and he knows each by name. Yet it was the reference to John 15:16 that made me stop and really think about what I was doing for Him. "Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain; that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it you." Wow! God chose me! God chose the family I would grow up in, that my parents would be saved the year I was born. He had a reason to pick me in the midst of all the people around me. He knew something about me that I don't even know. He saw potential in me that even now I don't believe I have. He knew I would be needed to pray for my family for such a time as this. He wanted me to be His sheep. All I kept thinking was, "What am I doing with what He has given me?" When my dad passed away, I felt a heavy burden to lift up my family in prayer, much more than I ever had. With that gap in the hedge open, I wanted to help fill it, to stretch my hands wider than ever to pull the edges of the hedge tightly together, to keep the devil from sneaking in. But I am afraid I have failed to do this, because I have been wondering if God even hears my prayers. If I am not bringing forth fruit that remains then the Father can't fulfill His promise to give what we ask. I am not worthy to be called...I just want to stay in my little nest in the corner of the mailbox and not move. I don't want to go out and have to make my way in that scary forest, with owls and hawks waiting to devour me. But that large hand, gentle, but firm, is pushing me out of my comfort zone and telling me to get out, to get serious, to fill that gap, and pray for my family...for my church...for my school...for my children...for my country...to be a prayer warrior; to get out there and fight the battles because with God's strength, I can do this. With His help I can live up to the potential that He saw in me when I was just a little girl. And may He make me worth of His calling. |
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