Pause and Think!

In recent times, I have felt the need to pause in my spiritual walk and reflect on the basics of the Christian faith. It is so easy for us to be so preoccupied with today’s events and tomorrow’s aspirations and so forget certain fundamentals of the Christian faith. One area we so often forget is where we started from. Imagine an armed robber, a prostitute, a drug addict or any other person under the control of a vice. Ask yourself the question; what makes me different from this person?

“That at that time ye were without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope, and without God in the world: But now in Christ Jesus ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ.” (Ephesians 2:12-13)

What does this mean? It simply means that there was a time when you and I were just like that robber, prostitute or drug addict. Oh yes, you could say, “I never stole and I never used my body for commercial purposes” I thank God for your life but I wish to let you know, that in the eyes of God, you were no better than these people and if you had died in your sin, you would have faced the same judgment reserved for them.

Remembering where we once were, brings forth feelings of gratitude and thanksgiving, for what God did for us through our Savior Jesus Christ. Today, many robbers, prostitutes, drug addicts and even murderers have been truly converted and saved. They share a common destiny with us; their past has been wiped away with the splash of blood, never to be used as evidence of guilt against them anymore.

It is because we fail to remember, that we are quick to judge others, condemning them when God is working out their salvation, calling for their heads when God desires that they should be saved.

I was having a discussion with an aunt who had just given her life to Christ. She had recently been duped by fraudsters. It was obvious that she had been doing a lot of thinking concerning the incident and the question she asked me confirmed this. “If people had been duping others all their lives and they eventually give their lives to Christ, will they be forgiven?” I gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yes, they would be forgiven if they are truly repentant” I replied. I could see that she did not like this. As far as she was concerned, they should rot in hell.

I went ahead to explain the mind of God concerning sinners to her. The Bible says we have all sinned and come short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). The weight of sin is measured equally; no sin is rated higher or lower than another. The effect and repercussion of particular sins on man may be different but the judgment of sin is the same.

The next time you see that man or woman with evidence of sinfulness written all over him or her, do not look at them with the eye of judgment, rather, look at them through the loving eyes of God. After all, we are all sinners saved by grace. Like Jonah, we sometimes seem to miss entirely the point of what God wants to do. Do we willingly witness, serve, and pray in the hope and expectation that people will change for the better? Or do we wish for judgment to come, for God to destroy those WE identify as "the wicked"?

We struggle to understand the depth of God's mercy... His mercy is abundantly great and boundless, higher than the heavens and filling the earth. His mercy is eternal and unchanging. They are new every morning, constantly fresh and perfect and never fading with age. His mercy endures forever. He is sovereign and free in his mercy. To show mercy is his own choice according to his own purpose: "I will have mercy on whom I have mercy." (Romans 9:15)

How often we wish to use our Bible knowledge in other ways. We prefer to teach our neighbors, even when they don’t wish to be taught. We prefer to correct our fellow-believers, because their understanding of the Word is not identical with ours. We may prefer to point out the sins of others. There certainly is a proper time for teaching and preaching and even rebuking, but here James tells us that the proper application of the Word is to come to the aid of widows and orphans.

“Pure and undefiled religion before God the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their misfortune and to keep oneself unstained by the world” (James 1:27)

You will recall that when Jesus rebuked the scribes and Pharisees for being hypocrites in Matthew 23, He specifically mentioned that they pray long prayers, but steal widows’ houses. The real test of religion is how one who is strong deals with those who are weak. The biblical model is that the strong use their strengths to minister to the needs of the weak.

James begins with the personal application of the Word – taking heed to its mirror message; he then moves to the public application of the Word – caring for the widows and the orphans in their affliction. But James then moves back, once again, to the personal application of God’s Word: we are to keep ourselves unstained from the world (verse 27).

God's plan may differ for each person and the very limited possibilities that occur to us humans from our own limited perspective probably do not exhaust all of God's options. While it is true that God is completely free in his acts of mercy, and that he acts mercifully according to his own purpose and as it fits his own plan, it is also true that those who seek his mercy always find it. He is always merciful to the truly repentant. A first step toward understanding the true depth of God's mercy is understanding the depth of our own neediness. We are utterly without hope short of God's merciful activity on our behalf.

Mercy is one of God's communicable attributes, meaning that he shares it with us and expects it from us. Just as our Father is moved to act by the plight of those in need, so too, those who are his children are motivated by mercy. The poverty of others - both material and spiritual - is our opportunity to be like our Father. Their trouble is our opportunity to help.

Then the righteous will answer Him, “Lord, when did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?” And the King will answer them, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:37-40) 

Power within Silence

A saint asked his disciples, "Why do we shout in anger? Why do people shout at each other when they are upset?"

Disciples thought for a while, one of them said, "Because we lose our calm, we shout for that."

"But, why to shout when the other person is just next to you?" asked the saint. "Isn't it possible to speak to him or her with a soft voice? Why do you shout at a person when you're angry?"

Disciples gave some other answers but none satisfied the saint.

Finally he explained, "When two people are angry at each other, their hearts distance a lot. To cover that distance they must shout to be able to hear each other. The angrier they are, the stronger they will have to shout to hear each other through that great distance."

"When you argue do not let your hearts get distant, do not say words that distance each other more, else there will come a day when the distance is so great that you will not find the path to return."

Then the saint asked, "What happens when two people fall in love? They don't shout at each other but talk softly, why? Because their hearts are very close. The distance between them is very small..."

The saint continued, "When they love each other even more, what happens? They do not speak, only whisper. Finally they even need not whisper, they only look at each other and that's all. That is how close two people are when they love each other."

Likewise, the more you love God the less audible he will be... God speaks in silences, and only those who are quiet of heart can hear what he says. The underlying reality is that there is no friendship with God without silence. This "silence" does not mean just keeping noise levels low; it is the form of pure truthfulness. Unless one has learned to stop, be quiet and listen to another, then one remains locked in one's own little world. In silence we make the wonderful and liberating discovery that we are not gods, but just creatures.

"For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from Him." (Psalm 62:5)

When a quiet moment comes and we sit before the Lord, what comes to mind may not be a moral thought or a feeling of praise. We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. In silence, we have no choice but to trust God. There is a divine impulse within us that knows there is a power within silence; knows the truth of the divine and is afraid to listen. One of the reasons silence is awkward for so many, is a subconscious, unknown fear. Fear of what we might hear.

Scripture says it is in silence we have peace. It is silence we have true intimacy with our creator. In the silence we renew our strength. As we go beyond awkwardness, we discover silence is amazing. We have nothing to fear from silence.

In the silence of the heart God speaks. If you face God in prayer and silence, God will speak to you. Then you will know that you are nothing. It is only when you realize your nothingness, your emptiness, that God can fill you with Himself. Souls of prayer are souls of great silence.

When was the last time you sat with God in awkward silence?

Seize the Moment

I have a friend who lives by a three-word philosophy: Seize the moment. Just possibly she may be the wisest woman on this planet. Too many people put off something that brings them joy just because they haven't thought about it, don't have it on their schedule, didn't know it was coming or are too rigid to depart from their routine.

I got to thinking one day about all those women on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to cut back. From then on, I've tried to be a little more flexible.

How many women out there will eat at home because their husband didn't suggest going out to dinner until after something had been thawed?

Does the word "refrigeration" mean nothing to you?

How often have your kids dropped in to talk and sat in silence while you watched television?

I cannot count the times I called my sister and said, "How about going to lunch in a half hour?" She would gasp and stammer, "I can't." Check one:

     "I have clothes on the line."

     "My hair is dirty."

     "I wish I had known yesterday,"

     "I had a late breakfast".

     "It looks like rain".

     And my personal favorite: "It's Monday".

She died a few years ago. We never did have lunch together.

We live on a sparse diet of promises we make to ourselves when all the conditions are perfect. Life has a way of accelerating, as we get older. The days get shorter, and the list of promises to ourselves gets longer. One morning, we awaken, and all we have to show for our lives is a litany of “I'm going to", "I plan on" and "Someday, when things are settled down a bit."

When anyone calls my 'seize the moment' friend, she is open to adventure and available for trips. She keeps an open mind on new ideas. Her enthusiasm for life is contagious. You talk with her for five minutes, and you're ready to trade your bad feet for a pair of Rollerblade and skip an elevator for a bungee cord.

My lips have not touched ice cream in 10 years. I love ice cream. It's just that I might as well apply it directly to my hips with a spatula and eliminate the digestive process. The other day, I stopped the car and bought a double-decker. If my car had hit an iceberg on the way home, I would have died happy.

Now...go on and have a nice day. Do something you WANT to ....not something on your SHOULD DO list.

[Author Unknown]

Blessings in Disguise

On a quiet Saturday evening, a 26-year-old man was invited to church by a close friend he hadn't seen in a while. As the young man went to bed that evening, he found himself saying to himself, “how did my friend know that I needed to go to church? Perhaps my friend saw that I am going through a terrible time and I need some help.” But somehow, he just could not wait for morning to come.

In church the next day, he accepted Christ into his life and the pastor said, “God is about to do great things in your new life as a Christian.”

Three months after accepting God the young man got married and stopped “living in sin.”

He felt as if God said to him, “Well done, Son! Daddy is proud of you!”

“So God, this is the great thing you promised to do in my life, WOW!” he said to God.

As the days passed by after his wedding, he felt free from sin and he thanked God as often as he could for his new wife and how wonderful married life was.

Then another “blessing” came his way. Four months after his wedding, his young beautiful new wife was diagnosed with cancer. “WHAT?” he shouted at the doctor, “She is my new wife!”

As they walked out of the clinic, they held hands sobbing, emotions everywhere.

As soon as they got into their tiny flat, he went into the room and fell on his knees sobbing and praying.

“Father God are you there? I need to speak to You! Why? You said blessings shall follow me from now on. God I am only a baby in your kingdom and I am not strong enough for this,” he said to God.

As time went on, accompanying his wife to the hospital for treatment, he found himself thanking God and asking God first for his wife to find God and her healing after. Somehow he knew that if she found God all would be well.

But as he prayed, she got worse and he was spending a lot of time with her in the hospital. They shared jokes and tried as best as they could to live like a normal young couple. They drew closer to each other and he admitted to a friend, “I never knew I could love like this and cope.”

Twenty months after his marriage, his wife passed away, and her dying words to him was, “You have loved me like I never expected to be loved.”

On the day of her funeral, one of the songs he chose was, “He Turned My Mourning Into Dancing.” On her gravestone, he wrote “In this the love of my God is made perfect.”

Three years after her passing he summoned up the courage to start clearing out her things, he found her diary, and going through it, he found several pages that read “I Love you, Honey.” and several pages that read “Went to church today, prayed to God to forgive me all my sins and heal me.”

Four years on, truly the love of God is made perfect as he is now a steadfast member of a local church and pouring his life to the work of God and he is always smiling.

May the love of God be made perfect in our lives. Amen.

Just thought this might encourage someone.

[Andrew Ebenuwah]

“But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

The Hedge of Protection

It has been on my mind recently that the relationship between man and animal can be a shadow of the relationship between God and man. Specifically I have been thinking of the relationship between man and pet. If we allow our animals to run loose we can imagine all of the danger in today’s society that can befall them. We love them so we confine them, either indoors, or with fences, leashes, etc.

They do not understand this confinement as love, but look at how willingly some of them take the confinement. Others fight it constantly. They dig and jump and do anything they can to try and get “free”. So we are when God confines us.

Have you ever been confined by God? I have felt His hedge of protection around me before when I ran headlong into the thorns and hurt myself! Think about a time in your life when you wanted something and could not have it, the more you tried to get it the more it hurt you. Sounds like getting caught in a hedge of thorns, huh?

When God confines us it is not to hurt us. It is to protect us. Think about children. We put up baby gates, put them in playpens, and even put them in car seats. All are restraints, designed to protect them. Do they understand that? Not really. Do they accept it? Some do, while others kick and scream and fight all the way.

The next time you are trying to get something you want and continue to get hurt by the attempt, stop and talk to God about it. “Lord, is this something you want me to have?” “Lord, is this a hedge of protection I keep running into?”

Isaiah 1:18 “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”

If you are trying with everything you have to live for Him, I believe He WILL protect you. But if you persist in fighting through the hedge to get at what YOU want, at some point He will let you have it and have the consequences that go with it.

Have you ever seen a parent letting their child fall down? So, they can learn how to get back up, and that doing a particular thing may cause them to fall? God does the same thing with us; however He is a loving parent and is waiting right there for us to turn back to Him with arms up stretched like a child to a parent.

Always remember that no one can bring us down from where God has kept us, and no one can promote us to a place God hasn't designed for us.

[Sherry Heard]

It’s Good to be Late

It was a cold winter’s night when I stopped by a station for gas one evening on my way home from work. I was tired and had a slight headache. I worked in a busy doctor’s office and it seemed this was one of those days when the unexpected happened, making the schedule run later than usual. I had just taken some papers by the hospital for one of the doctors before I headed for home after a long, tiring day.

It looked like I was going to be late getting home and my husband, being the punctual person that he is, would be ready to rub it in, pronouncing me late once again. I had been doing so well as a reformed procrastinator too. Well, maybe if I hurried, I could still make it home at a decent time.

I was heading inside to pay for my gas when I noticed there was an older couple at the counter. I overheard them asking directions to the local hospital across town. It was the same hospital that I had just left a few minutes ago.

The young man at the counter was trying to be helpful in explaining how to get there. “Just go down and cross the Westover Bridge, take a left at the stop light then follow the road around, just stay on the main one, it curves a lot. Let’s see, you will go through two... no, three stoplights...”

“Billy, there are four stop lights,” the other cashier interrupted him as she tried to be helpful.

“Uh, er, yeah you’re right,” Billy said as he continued, “When you get to the coliseum, you will turn right but it might be too dark out now to see the coliseum. After you turn, you will go through... let’s see... hmmm... three more lights and then you’ll go right at the fourth light and then left at the next light. What’s the name of that road, Anne?”

“I don’t remember,” she said.

“It’s Pineview Drive,” I wanted to interrupt and let them know but I decided to just listen in for a moment longer and see how this direction dialogue came out.

Billy went on with his directions, “As soon as you get on the road that I can’t remember the name of, watch for the hospital sign - it goes to the right but it winds around for awhile until you get there. There might be a couple of places where the road splits off but just stay on the main one. You can’t miss it.

“Oh yes you can,” I thought to myself, as I heard their directions. How well I remembered moving to West Virginia, where mountains, rivers, and only two bridges into town made finding your way like wondering around in a maze. I had carried a map with me for weeks, and I still got lost. If you add to that the ever-present morning and evening fog that was often a problem, finding your way could be a real nightmare.

Two other people who were in line began adding to the conversation as it came my turn in line to pay for my gas.

“You’ll see Kroger on the right.” I heard one of them say.

“Yes, you might want to stop there and get enough food to keep you from starving while you hunt for the hospital.” I thought to myself.

About this time, another person came inside who seemed to be their driver. He had evidently been out pumping their gas. The couple began recounting the directions to the driver, with two other people at the counter still making comments about directions. One of them was even trying to give them a whole different route back to the interstate to get off at a different exit.

It was then that something came over me and I just walked over to the couple and said, “Would you like to follow me to the hospital?”

A look of great relief crossed the woman’s face.

“Oh, could we?” she said, “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“Oh, we don’t want to put you out.” the man said.

“We’re from Ohio,” the woman said quickly as if she was afraid that I might back out of my offer, “We just got word that my brother had a heart attack and I don’t know how bad it is... and I hope it’s not too late...” She stopped short in her explanation as I could tell she was close to tears.

“I’m in the big green van, just follow me.” I said as I began to feel a sense of urgency.

“Are you sure it’s not out of your way?” the man interrupted as they followed me into the parking lot.

“Oh, no problem, I’m going right by there,” I said, which wasn’t a lie since I had just made up my mind to do exactly that.

I got in my van and began the journey back through the labyrinth of curves, stoplights, and turns. At the same time, I was trying to watch to be sure they were right behind me. It took about fifteen minutes to get there as rush hour traffic was beginning to subside. When I pulled into the hospital parking lot, I rolled down my window and waved good-bye as I motioned toward where they could park their car.

As I drove away, I felt better than I had all day and my headache was nearly gone.

Later, as I arrived home, my husband met me at the door and grinned as he looked at his wristwatch as if to say, “I told you so.”

“So you aren’t ever late anymore, huh,” he teased.

I smiled and said, “Sometimes it’s good to be late.”

[Pamela R. Blaine]

Submitting to One Another

Angie and I had been married three years. She was thirty-six; I was forty-five when we married. It was the most unlikely match, yet we knew without a doubt God brought us together to be married. We had both experienced a great deal of pain and hardship in our past relationships, but God used these hardships to bring us into an intimate relationship with Christ and each other. When we were married, we lived in my home that had been built in 1969. The heating system was no longer used in homes built today and the plumbing was a regular source of well-timed calamity, flooding our basement several times over. One time our septic tank backed up and we had to remove all the carpet from the basement. Not the mention the mildew that was a constant problem.

Shortly after marriage Angie was visiting her hairdresser who happened to say, “What has happened to your hair? It’s turning green!” Angie was obviously shocked and concerned. Her hairdresser inquired more and found that the well water in our house was reacting to her hair color. “You cannot shower and have your hair stay its correct color,” said her hairdresser. So, for the next two and a half years Angie began a routine that required her to wash her hair with bottled water in the kitchen sink. Now most women I know would have immediately said, “We are moving or do whatever it takes to solve this problem if you want me to live with you!” Finances were tight for us, which prevented us from investing in a water purification system. Angie became a real trouper. Every other week I would make my routine trip to the grocery story to fill up bottles of water, come home and Angie would place the water into a larger pan to heat before she used it. We often joked that Angie had always felt she was called to the mission field. We just didn’t think the bush conditions would be in our own home in north Atlanta.

Then one day our deliverance came. A commercial real estate company sold our property, and luckily for us, it did not matter what condition our house was in because the land was what the buyers wanted. It was a glorious day! We could now move! You can only imagine Angie’s excitement. She was a woman who looked forward to a simple hair washing in a shower.

So, our search began. We knew the Lord had a home just for us. For the next several months we looked at several houses. Finally, we found one that seemed great. I absolutely loved the house, even though it would require some work to be done. For some reason, Angie did not have a peace about the house. She saw my obvious enthusiasm for the home, but she was still troubled. I thought that if we could resolve her concerns, she would be okay with it. (Isn’t that like most of us men, we will fix the problem – her.)

However, as we resolved each issue, she still did not have peace. She often felt I was pressuring her to make a decision for this home. Though not intentional, I was making it hard for her to be objective. One commitment I made in our marriage was that we would not make any major decisions that both of us did not have total peace about. I have learned that my wife does not have to have a good reason for her lack of peace about something. Sometimes God places a check in her spirit and it cannot be rationally explained. So, after some time we decided against this home, even though my heart was still very much in favor of it. I had to admit I was disappointed. It was all I wanted in a home.

One day I received a call from a friend of mine who was aware of a woman who had just lost her husband through a sudden death and was considering selling. My friend asked if I was interested in seeing her home. I went to see the home and initially liked what I saw. During the conversation with the woman I could see she was in a great deal of pain. The Lord told me (in a quiet voice inside) to offer to pray for her, not knowing anything about her beliefs. She accepted my offer and I prayed for God to bring comfort to her in her loss of her husband. I did not press any spiritual issues with her at the time, as God seemed to say I was to simply pray for her. The next day I brought Angie to see the home. She loved it. A few days later we placed an offer on the home and she accepted.

I made an appointment to sign a purchase agreement. As we began to talk more I asked her if she had made a total commitment to the Lord Jesus. She said she had made a commitment in her past, but probably needed to recommit her life to Christ. I asked her if she would like to do that right now. She said she did. So, we bowed our heads and she followed my prayer of rededication for her life to Jesus Christ. The following week Angie and I spent more time talking and sharing with the grieving lady who was questioning God’s love for her. We were able to assure her the loss of her husband was not due to anything she had done, but that each of us has a time when we are called home.

It was a spiritual conclusion to a journey that began as a physical need, but ended in a spiritual victory for someone who needed the Savior’s love. Friend, life is filled with divine appointments awaiting our involvement. The problem often comes when we become so self-focused and set in our ways that we miss the blessing that God wants to bring our way. Angie and I looked back at the various steps in this story and realized the key steps were our commitment to having total agreement about a major decision and our willingness to see where God might be working in a situation.

Do you and your spouse have a major decision to make? Has God brought a divine appointment in your life today? Remember these two principles; be in agreement with one another, and watch and pray. He wants to meet your needs and use you to impact someone for the Kingdom of God, perhaps even this very day.

“Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband.” (Ephesians 5:21,33)

Believe in Easter

Edith Burns was a wonderful Christian who lived in San Antonio, Texas. She was the patient of doctor by the name of Will Phillips. Dr. Phillips was a gentle doctor who saw patients as people. His favorite patient was Edith Burns. One morning he went to his office with a heavy heart and it was because of Edith Burns. When he walked into that waiting room, there sat Edith with her big black Bible in her lap earnestly talking to a young mother sitting beside her.

Edith Burns had a habit of introducing herself in this way: "Hello, my name is Edith Burns. Do you believe in Easter?" Then she would explain the meaning of Easter, and many times people would be saved.

After being called back in the doctor's office, Edith sat down and when she took a look at the doctor she said, "Dr. Will, why are you so sad? Are you reading your Bible? Are you praying?"

Dr. Phillips said gently, "Edith, I'm the doctor and you're the patient."

With a heavy heart he said, "Your lab report came back and it says you have cancer, and Edith, you're not going to live very long."

Edith said, "Why Will Phillips, shame on you. Why are you so sad? Do you think God makes mistakes? You have just told me I'm going to see my precious Lord Jesus, my husband, and my friends. You have just told me that I am going to celebrate Easter forever, and here you are having difficulty giving me my ticket!"

Edith continued coming to the hospital. Christmas came and the office was closed through January 3rd. On the day the office opened, Edith did not show up. Later that afternoon, Edith called Dr. Phillips and said she would be moving to the hospital and said, "Will, I'm very near home, so would you make sure that they put women in here next to me in my room who need to know about Easter."

Well, they did just that and women began to come in and share that room with Edith. Many women were saved. Everybody on that floor from staff to patients were so excited about Edith, that they started calling her Edith Easter; that is everyone except Phyllis Cross, the head nurse.

Phyllis made it plain that she wanted nothing to do with Edith because she was a "religious nut". She had been a nurse in an army hospital. She had seen it all and heard it all. She was the original G.I. Jane. She had been married three times, she was hard, cold, and did everything by the book.

One morning the two nurses who were to attend to Edith were sick. Edith had the flu and Phyllis Cross had to go in and give her a shot. When she walked in, Edith had a big smile on her face and said, "Phyllis, God loves you and I love you, and I have been praying for you."

Phyllis said, "Well, you can quit praying for me, it won't work. I'm not interested." Edith said, "Well, I will pray and I have asked God not to let me go home until you come into the family."

"Then you will never die because that will never happen," Phyllis replied and curtly walked out of the room.

Every day Phyllis would walk into the room and Edith would say, "God loves you Phyllis and I love you, and I'm praying for you." One day Phyllis said she was literally drawn to Edith's room like a magnet would draw iron. She sat down on the bed and Edith said, "I'm so glad you have come, because God told me that today is your special day."

Phyllis said, "Edith, you have asked everybody here the question, 'Do you believe in Easter?' but you have never asked me."

Edith said, "Phyllis, I wanted to many times, but God told me to wait until you asked, and now that you have asked..."

Edith Burns took her Bible and shared with Phyllis the Easter Story of the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Edith said, "Phyllis, do you believe in Easter? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is alive and that He wants to live in your heart?" Right there, Phyllis prayed and invited Jesus Christ into her heart. For the first time she did not walk out of a hospital room, she was carried out on the wings of angels.

Two days later, Phyllis came in and Edith said, "Do you know what day it is?"

Phyllis said, "Why Edith, it's Good Friday." Edith said, "Oh, no, for you every day is Easter. Happy Easter Phyllis!"

Two days later, on Easter Sunday, Phyllis Cross came into work, did some of her duties and then went down to the flower shop and got some Easter lilies because she wanted to go up to see Edith and give her some Easter lilies and wish her a Happy Easter. When she walked into Edith's room, Edith was in bed. That big black Bible was on her lap. Her hands were in that Bible. There was a sweet smile on her face.

When Phyllis Cross went to pick up Edith's hand, she realized Edith was dead.

Her left hand was on John 14: "In my Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also." Her right hand was on Revelation 21:4, "And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying; and there shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away."

Phyllis took one look at that dead body, and then lifted her face toward heaven, and with tears streaming down here cheeks, said, "Happy Easter, Edith - Happy Easter!" She left Edith's body, walked out of the room, and over to a table where two student nurses were sitting. She said, "My name is Phyllis Cross. Do you believe in Easter?"

String Cross Necklace

One crisp, early November morning, I took a brisk walk on a beach near my home. Except for the gentle surf and some screeching seagulls, the beach was silent and deserted. Emotionally, I was reeling under the stress of a recent difficult divorce. How was it possible that a family like ours could totally disintegrate? We already had our two daughters when I was diagnosed with cancer.

Treatments followed with the usual sickness and loss of hair. They were unsuccessful, and eventually I had major surgery. Miraculously, I recovered from this ordeal and was given a clean bill of health. During the following months I began to lose my balance and tire easily. After many doctors' appointments and tests, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. My HMO offered no treatment or hope. I coped the best I could, had hand controls put in my car, used crutches on bad days and even a wheelchair at times.

My husband was unable to cope with all these illnesses. He began to show symptoms of manic-depression and eventually became abusive, even to the point where he once beat me unconscious. God had been my strength and anchor during these ordeals. I knew He was walking with me, that He would never leave me or forsake me, and knew all about my wounds and hurts. It was His peace that had carried me thus far. Some days, when my legs were strong enough to carry me unaided, I enjoyed my beach walks like on this crisp November morning.

In the distance, I spotted a man sitting quietly on the sand, gazing at the ocean. Yet, as I passed him from behind, I saw his shoulders shaking and realized that he was sobbing, apparently in great agony. Should I stop and talk with him? A perfect stranger? Who knew if he was a fugitive or an ax murderer? I walked on.

However, something about those agonizing sobs pulled me back. I slowly turned and walked toward him. He was still crying and hardly seemed to notice me. I took a closer look and saw a man in his forties, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, short hair and cleanly shaven. Certainly not a dangerous-looking man. Gently, I sat down beside him. For a moment, no one spoke, then I asked softly.

"Are you all right? Can I help you with something?" He kept staring at the ocean.

"I have melanoma," he said. "They are going to amputate my leg."

Taken aback, I was silent for a moment, then began to ask him general questions, hoping to calm him down and get his mind on something else. I learned that his name was John, he was single and alone in the world. I noticed a necklace he was wearing, made out of old string fashioned into a cross. Wanting to keep the conversation going, I asked him:

"Where did you get that, John?"

"I made it in Vietnam," he began. "My buddies and I were in a foxhole. They all got killed, except me. The enemy was still around so I could not move or let them know I was alive. To get my mind off the danger, I took the strings of my buddies' gear and started to knot it into a necklace. I prayed for safety while I was doing this and put a cross at the end. I have never taken it off," he finished.

"When you were praying," I asked softly, "did you believe God heard you?"

"I don't know," he said, "my life was spared, but what for? Now I have a deadly disease. Look at all the thousands of people who were killed during the war. How can a good God allow all this?"

I explained as best as I could what the Bible has to say about good and evil, war and disease. As I spoke I was strangely aware that somehow these weren't my own words pouring out of my mouth. They came with a compassion and conviction that weren't my own. God was there with us, explaining His love and care to this desperate young man.

"John," I said gently, "you've been through a lot and you are facing a lot more. You need someone to lean on, to support you. You need Jesus as your friend. You can trust Him, and He loves you, John. God is there for you. Jesus, His son, died, so that we may have peace and eternal life. We need this peace to go through life," I stressed.

I told John a little about my own life's struggles and illnesses.

"I could not have made it without God's help and support. Even today, as I was walking on the beach, I felt His presence and his strength. Without Him, I could never have survived. But look, I'm still alive and I still have hope. You can too, John."

Our conversation continued. John had many questions. The gentle surf kept rolling toward us, and I knew God was at work in John's heart. Finally, I asked him if he wanted to pray. Slowly, he nodded his head. Gently, I led him in a prayer of forgiveness and surrender to the Lord. We both wept, but this time John's tears were not tears of sorrow but tears of relief and peace. Deeply moved, I was amazed at this transformation and in awe that God had used me in this way so unexpectedly.

"John," I finally warned him, "you're going to have a hard time, and there are going to be some roadblocks ahead of you." I suggested a local beach community church. "People dress informally there, John. You can come just as you are."

I got up to leave and rummaged through my bag for a business card but found none. Finally, I tore a deposit slip from my checkbook, wrote down my phone number and handed it to John. "Call me," I said. "We'll talk and I can also get you a Bible."

Then I got up to continue my walk. I hadn't gone far, when he got up and ran after me, calling me back. "You know," he said, when he caught up with me, "you are an angel who dropped in from heaven."

I smiled and said, "No, John, you've watched too much TV I'm not an angel." I turned away again, but he stopped me. Slowly he took his necklace off and handed it to me. "I want you to have this," he said.

Tears came to my eyes again. Overwhelmed, I knew I couldn't refuse his gift, so I carefully accepted it and pulled it gently over my head. When I returned home I hung John's necklace over my desk lamp. Every time I saw it there, I prayed that God would keep him safe and in the center of his will.

I did not hear from John again, but the following spring a letter arrived. There was no return address. Inside was a small card. Taped to it was a crumpled piece of paper from my checkbook with my address. On the back of the card was one sentence: John went to be with the Lord.

When I read it, I cried and removed John's necklace from my lamp and put it with other treasures in a safe place. I knew I would see John again in heaven. But the story did not end there. Three years later, last December, I received a mysterious Christmas card. Again, there was no return address. Inside was a handwritten note that said: “I'll be eternally grateful for my son's eternal life. I'm John's mother, and I now attend his church.” [Mia Watkins]

A note from the author:
P.S. I'm glad to report that today my multiple sclerosis is in complete remission. I have given away my crutches and wheelchair and recently had the hand controls in my car removed. To God be the glory.

“A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;” (Ecclesiastes 3:4)

Free to Fly

One windy spring day, I observed young people having fun using the wind to fly their kites. Multicolored creations of varying shapes and sizes filled the skies like beautiful birds darting and dancing in the heady atmosphere above the earth. As the strong winds gusted against the kites, a string kept them in check.

Instead of blowing away with the wind, they arose against it to achieve great heights. They shook and pulled, but the restraining string and the cumbersome tail kept them in tow, facing upward and against the wind. As the kites struggled and trembled against the string, they seemed to say, "Let me go! Let me go! I want to be free!" They soared beautifully even as they fought the imposed restriction of the string. Finally, one of the kites succeeded in breaking loose. "Free at last" it seemed to say. "Free to fly with the wind."

Yet freedom from restraint simply put it at the mercy of an unsympathetic breeze. It fluttered ungracefully to the ground and landed in a tangled mass of weeds and string against a dead bush. "Free at last" free to lie powerless in the dirt, to be blown helplessly along the ground, and to lodge lifeless against the first obstruction.

How much like kites we sometimes are. The Lord gives us adversity and restrictions, rules to follow from which we can grow and gain strength. Restraint is a necessary counterpart to the winds of opposition. Some of us tug at the rules so hard that we never soar to reach the heights we might have obtained. We keep part of the commandment and (pardon the pun) never rise high enough to get our tails off the ground.

Let us each rise to the great heights our Heavenly Father has in store for us, recognizing that some of the restraints that we may chafe under are actually the steadying force that helps us ascend and achieve.

“If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.” (John 8:36)

A Grain of Mustard Seed

It was a Thursday evening and I was folding laundry as usual. As I sorted through the tiny clothes of my sweet baby girl I came across an outfit that she had worn frequently. The outfit is pink with the image of an angel embroidered on the front. But until this very moment I had not noticed the verse sewn on the back. It reads, "For He shall command His angels to guard you in all your ways" Psalm 91:11. As I read this verse I wept uncontrollably.

Just a few weeks earlier my children and I were attacked at a local supermarket. As I loaded one child into the car, a man approached me, then abruptly took hold of the shopping cart that my son was sitting in. I fought fiercely to keep the man from taking my cart and I felt that God had granted me the strength of two men as I labored to keep my son safe. Surprisingly, although I was fighting to keep this man from kidnapping my son, I somehow managed to stay calm. My thoughts were amazingly clear, and looking back I know that I was being told what to say and what action to take next. God's promise was true: His angels were protecting us.

As I held my daughter's garment, reliving this painful event, my tears did not come from anxiety; I wept because on the day of the attack my daughter had worn this subtle reminder of God's Word. And I was in awe of the powerful mercies of our loving Saviour. I am not suggesting that God protected us that day because of the outfit my daughter had worn. He protected us because of our faith in Him and in His Word. Jesus said, "If you have faith as small as a mustard seed…" Luke 17:6. To witness the power of God's Word applied in such a personal way is remarkable. He saved my child from harm! And He promises this power and protection if we have faith in Him - even if it is only as small and insignificant as a tiny mustard seed.

Even now, a year after the attack and with full knowledge that these men have recently been convicted of other terrible crimes, I can still find the strength to rejoice! Yes, rejoice! "Therefore do not lose heart… for our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" II Corinthians 4:16-18. I can rejoice because this experience brought my family even closer to our Heavenly Father. And I rejoice because God turned a bad situation into a powerful illustration of His power and might!

Because of this experience, certain verses mean much more to me today than ever before. Particularly Psalm 18 and specifically this verse: "In my distress I called to the Lord; I cried to my God for help. From His temple He heard my voice. My cry came before Him into His ears." I share this personal story as a reminder of God's goodness and faithfulness. But more importantly, I share this personal story so that others may know Him.

Have you experienced His life-changing power in your life? If not, the next time you run to the local supermarket or tuck your children safely into bed, let these things be a reminder that you are only a mustard seed away from the powerful things God wants you to experience through knowing Him. It's easy. All you need is the faith of a little seed.

And Faith begins by seeing the face of God instead of His hands and thanking Him for the unseen future blessings...

Dear God, I want to thank you for what you have already done. I am not going to wait until I see results or receive rewards. I am thanking you right now. I am not going to wait until I feel better or things look better, I am thanking you right now. I am not going to wait until people say they are sorry or until they stop talking about me, I am thanking you right now.

I am not going to wait until the pain in my body disappears, I am thanking you right now. I am not going to wait until my financial situation improves, I am going to thank you right now. I am not going to wait until the children are asleep and the house is quiet, I am going to thank you right now.

I am not going to wait until I get promoted at work or until I get the job, I am going to thank you right now. I am not going to wait until I understand every experience in my life that has caused me pain or grief, I am going to thank you right now. I am not going to wait until the journey gets easier or the challenges are removed, I am thanking you right now.

I am thanking you because I am alive. I am thanking you because I made it through the day's difficulties. I am thanking you because I have walked around the obstacles. I am thanking you because I have the ability and the opportunity to do more and do better. I am thanking you because you have not given up on me.
[LaDonna Meredith]

The Unlocked Door

In Glasgow, Scotland, a young lady, like a lot of teens today, got tired of home and the restraints of her parents. The daughter rejected her family's religious lifestyle and said, "I don't want your God. I give up. I'm leaving!" She left home, deciding to become a woman of the world. Before long, however, she was dejected and unable to find a job, so she took to the streets to sell her body as a prostitute.

The years passed by, her father died, her mother grew older, and the daughter became more and more entrenched in her way of life. No contact was made between mother and daughter during these years. The mother, having heard of her daughter's whereabouts, made her way to the skid-row section of the city in search of her daughter. She stopped at each of the rescue missions with a simple request, "Would you allow me to put up this picture?" It was a picture of the smiling, gray-haired mother with a handwritten message at the bottom: "I love you still...come home!"

Months went by, and nothing happened. Then one day the daughter wandered into a rescue mission for a needed meal. She sat absent-mindedly listening to the service, all the while letting her eyes wander over to the bulletin board. There she saw the picture and thought, 'Could that be my mother?' She couldn't wait until the service was over. She stood and went to look. It was her mother, and there were those words, "I love you still...come home!" As she stood in front of the picture, she wept. It was too good to be true.

By this time it was night, but she was so touched by the message that she started walking home. When she arrived it was early in the morning. She was afraid and made her way timidly, not really knowing what to do. As she knocked, the door flew open on its own. She thought someone must have broken into the house.

Concerned for her mother's safety, the young woman ran to the bedroom and found her still sleeping. She shook her mother awake and said, "It's me! It's me! I'm home!" The mother couldn't believe her eyes. She wiped her tears and they fell into each other's arms.

The daughter said, "I was so worried! The door was open and I thought someone had broken in!"

The mother replied gently, "No dear. From the day you left, that door has never been locked."

Dear friends, one of the reasons God created mothers was to give us an earthly example of His heavenly love for us. Each stage of motherhood reveals an aspect of His love. Even in the womb the mother loves her baby. She knows his every move – she knows when he’s awake or sleeping or playing. This reminds us of how intimately our God knows us. Think of how a mother puts her baby’s needs ahead of her own. She’s willing to endure great pain to see her child face-to-face. The same is true with God who endured the great pain of seeing Jesus on the cross so that we will one day be able to see Him face-to-face.

You might have noticed the mother setting boundaries for her child. Rules are put into place, the difference between right and wrong is taught. She does this to keep her child safe – she only wants the best for him. So it is with God who sets boundaries for us as well. No matter how big he grow in years, he will always be his mother’s baby, she will always love him with all her heart. And here again we see a reflection of God’s love. He loves you deeply and continually thinks of you.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love.” (Jeremiah 31:3)


“As a mother comforts
O words of gentle worth!
So will I comfort you,” declares
The Lord of all the earth.

He patient is, as mothers are
Who love their children well;
Our faults and failings He forgives;
His mercies—who can tell!


“I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture.” (John 10:9)

My Father's Suit

What my father wore embarrassed me as a young man. I wanted him to dress like a doctor or lawyer, but on those muggy mornings when he rose before dawn to fry eggs for my mother and me, he always dressed like my father.

We lived in south Texas, and my father wore tattered jeans with the imprint of his pocketknife on the seat. He liked shirts that snapped more than those that buttoned and kept his pencils, cigars, glasses, wrenches and screwdrivers in his breast pocket. My father's boots were government-issues with steel toes that made them difficult to pull off his feet, which I sometimes did when he returned from repairing air conditioners, his job that also shamed me.

But, as a child, I would crept into his closet and modeled his wardrobe in front of the mirror. My imagination transformed his shirts into the robes of kings and his belts into soldiers' holsters. I slept in his undershirts and relied on the scent of his collars to calm my fear of the dark. Within a few years, though, I started wishing my father would trade his denim for khaki and retire his boots for loafers. I stopped sleeping in his clothes and eventually began dreaming of another father.

I blamed the way he dressed for my social failures. When boys bullied me, I thought they had seen my father wearing his cowboy hat but no shirt while walking our dog. I felt that girls snickered at me because they had glimpsed him mowing the grass in cut-offs and black boots. The girls' families paid men (and I believed better-dressed ones) to landscape their lawns, while their fathers yachted in the bay wearing lemon-yellow sweaters and expensive sandals.

My father only bought two suits in his life. He preferred clothes that allowed him the freedom to shimmy under cars, where he felt most content. But the day before my parents' twentieth anniversary, he and I went to Sears, and he tried on suits all afternoon. With each one, he stepped to the mirror, smiled and nodded, then asked about the price and reached for another. He probably tried ten suits before we drove to a discount store and bought one without so much as approaching a fitting room. That night my mother said she had never seen a more handsome man.

Later, though, he donned the same suit for my eighth-grade awards banquet, and I wished he'd stayed home. After the ceremony (I had been voted Mr. Citizenship, of all things), he lauded my award and my character while changing into a faded red sweat suit. He was stepping into the garage to wash a load of laundry when I asked what even at age fourteen struck me as cruel and wrong. "Why," I asked, "don't you dress nice, like my friends' fathers?"

He held me with his sad, shocked eyes, and searched for an answer. Then before he disappeared into the garage and closed the door between us, my father said, "I like my clothes." An hour later my mother stormed into my room, called me an "ungrateful child," a phrase that echoed in my head for years to come.

As I matured I realized that girls avoided me not because of my father but because of his son. I realized that my mother had scolded me because my father could not, and it soon became clear that what he had really said that night was that there are things more important than clothes. He had said he couldn't spend a nickel on himself because there were things I wanted. That night, without another word, my father had said, "You're my son, and I sacrifice so your life will be better than mine."

For my high-school graduation, my father arrived in a suit he and my mother had purchased earlier that day. Somehow he seemed taller, more handsome and imposing, and when he passed the other fathers they stepped out of his way. It wasn't the suit, of course, but the man. The doctors and lawyers recognized the confidence in his swagger, the pride in his eyes, and when they approached him, they did so with courtesy and respect. After we returned home, my father replaced the suit in the flimsy Sears garment bag, and I didn't see it again until his funeral.

I don't know what he was wearing when he died, but he was working, so he was in clothes he liked, and that comforts me. My mother thought of burying him in the suit from Sears, but I convinced her otherwise and soon delivered a pair of old jeans, a flannel shirt and his boots to the funeral home.

On the morning of the services, I used his pocketknife to carve another hole in his belt so it wouldn't droop around my waist. Then I took the suit from Sears out of his closet and changed into it. Eventually, I mustered the courage to study myself in his mirror where, with the exception of the suit, I appeared small and insignificant. Again, as in childhood, the clothes draped over my scrawny frame. My father's scent wafted up and caressed my face, but it failed to console me. I was uncertain: not about my father's stature - I had stopped being an ungrateful little twerp years before. No, I was uncertain about myself, my own stature. And I stood there for some time, facing myself in my father's mirror, weeping and trying to imagine - as I will for the rest of my life - the day I'll grow into my father's clothes.
[Bret Anthony Johnston]

Angels to Guard You

A missionary on Furlough told this true story while visiting his home church in Michigan....

While serving at a small field hospital in Africa, every two weeks I traveled by bicycle through the jungle to a nearby city for supplies. This was a journey of two days and required camping overnight at the halfway point. On one of these journeys, I arrived in the city where I planned to collect money from a bank, purchase medicine and supplies, and then begin my two-day journey back to the field hospital. Upon arrival in the city, I observed two men fighting, one of whom had been seriously injured. I treated him for his injuries and at the same time talked to him about the Lord. I then traveled two days, camping overnight, and arrived home without incident.

Two weeks later I repeated my journey. Upon arriving in the city, I was approached by the young man I had treated. He told me that he had known I carried money and medicines. He said, 'Some friends and I followed you into the jungle, knowing you would camp overnight. We planned to kill you and take your money and drugs. But just as we were about to move into your camp, we saw that 26-armed guards surrounded you.' At this, I laughed and said that I was certainly all alone in that jungle campsite. The young man pressed the point, however, and said, 'No, sir, I was not the only person to see the guards, my friends also saw them, and we all counted them. It was because of those guards that we were afraid and left you alone.'

At this point in the sermon, one of the men in the congregation jumped to his feet and interrupted the missionary and asked if he could tell him the exact day this happened. The missionary told the congregation the date, and the man who interrupted told him this story:

"On the night of your incident in Africa, it was morning here and I was preparing to go play golf. I was about to putt when I felt the urge to pray for you. In fact, the urging of the Lord was so strong; I called men in this church to meet with me here in the sanctuary to pray for you. Would all of those men who met with me on that day stand up?"

The men who had met together to pray that day stood up. The missionary wasn't concerned with who they were, he was too busy counting how many men he saw. There were 26.

This story is an incredible example of how the Spirit of the Lord moves in mysterious ways. Nothing is ever hurt by prayer except the gates of hell. If we all take it to heart, we can turn this world toward God once again. The above story clearly illustrates, "with God all things are possible" and more importantly, how God hears and answers the prayers of the faithful.

Give thanks to God for the beautiful gift of your faith, for the powerful gift of prayer, and for the many miracles He works in your own daily life.

"For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways" (Psalm 91:11)

Chain of Redemption

"How do you account for your remarkable accomplishment in life?" Queen Victoria of England asked Helen Keller. "How do you explain the fact that even though you were both blind and deaf, you were able to accomplish so much?"

Ms. Keller's answer is a tribute to her dedicated teacher. "If it had not been for Anne Sullivan, the name of Helen Keller would have remained unknown."

According to Jeffrey Holland (VITAL SPEECHES), "Little Annie" Sullivan, as she was called when she was young, was no stranger to hardship. She was almost sightless herself (due to a childhood fever) and was, at one time, diagnosed as hopelessly "insane" by her by caregivers. She was locked in the basement of a mental institution outside of Boston. On occasion, Little Annie would violently attack anyone who came near. Most of the time she generally ignored everyone in her presence.

An elderly nurse believed there was hope, however, and she made it her mission to show love to the child. Every day she visited Little Annie. For the most part, the child did not acknowledge the nurse's presence, but she still continued to visit. The kindly woman left cookies for her and spoke words of love and encouragement. She believed Little Annie could recover, if only she were shown love.

Eventually, doctors noticed a change in the girl. Where they once witnessed anger and hostility, they now noted an emerging gentleness and love. They moved her upstairs where she continued to improve. Then the day finally came when this seemingly "hopeless" child was released.

Anne Sullivan grew into a young woman with a desire to help others as she, herself, was helped by the kindly nurse. It was she who saw the great potential in Helen Keller. She loved her, disciplined her, played with her, pushed her and worked with her until the flickering candle that was her life became a beacon of light to the world. Anne Sullivan worked wonders in Helen's life; but it was a loving nurse who first believed in Little Annie and lovingly transformed an uncommunicative child into a compassionate teacher.

"If it had not been for Anne Sullivan, the name of Helen Keller would have remained unknown." But if it had not been for a kind and dedicated nurse, the name of Anne Sullivan would have remained unknown. And so it goes. Just how far back does the chain of redemption extend? And how for forward will it lead?

Those you have sought to reach, whether they be in your family or elsewhere, are part of a chain of love that can extend through the generations. Your influence on their lives, whether or not you see results, is immeasurable. Your legacy of dedicated kindness and caring can transform lost and hopeless lives for years to come.

You can never overestimate the power of your love. It is a fire that, once lit, may burn forever!

Gifted with Love

It was getting near Christmas and I had delayed putting up a Christmas tree because this had been the first Christmas without our son. He had passed on to be with the Lord a few months before due to having leukemia. During his illness we would talk and he always told me he did not want me to be sad when he passed away and I promised him that I would try really hard not to be sad.

I was doing okay with it until Christmas came near and then I fell apart because he had always enjoyed the holidays so much. He had a way of making Christmas so special to so many people and fun to. So when that first Christmas came around without him I had decided not to put up a tree at all, but the closer it got to Christmas I just felt something inside me telling to put one up. So my husband and I went and bought a tree.

When we began to decorate it, I just fell apart because I felt so sad that our son was not there with me. I tried not to cry but I did anyway as I was getting the decorations out the box that I had stored in. I put them on the tree one by one and then I came to a very special ornament that my son gave me the year before, a glass ornament with a gold string on it. He had it all wrapped in a pretty box when he gave it to me and said to me these words which I will never forget, "mom, I wished I could have gotten you something more but I just don't have the money this year to buy much."

I gave him a kiss on the forehead and said that's okay son I understand. I opened the gift and there was the most beautiful glass tree ornament I have ever seen, not an expensive one either, but one given with love. He and I hung it on the tree that year, and that was our last Christmas together.

Well when I came across that tree ornament tears fell from my eyes as I remembered my son. I hung the ornament on the tree as tears fell from my eyes and for a brief moment I felt his hand on mine as I hung it on the tree and felt his present there with me and then I began smelling the sweetest scent I have ever smelled. I cannot even describe what it smelled like but it was a sweet beautiful smell. I know in my heart that my son had visited me and helped me hang the tree ornament he had given me.

I know now too that he is always with me and the love goes on forever. That small, cheap gift he gave to me was the most precious gift in the world to me, it means more to me than all the expensive gifts in this world. It was a gift given with love and nothing in this world can ever top that. So every year since, I have made it a special moment when I hang the ornament on our tree because I know he is there with me helping me to hang it in just the right place on the tree. [Mary Nappier]

Missing Baby Jesus?

About a week before Christmas the family bought a new nativity scene. When they unpacked it they found two figures of the Baby Jesus. "Someone must have packed this wrong," the mother said, counting out the figures. "We have one Joseph, one Mary, three wise men, three shepherds, two lambs, a donkey, a cow, an angel and two babies. Oh, dear! I suppose some set down at the store is missing a Baby Jesus because we have two of them."

"You kids run back down to the store and tell the manager that we have an extra Jesus. Tell him to put a sign on the remaining boxes saying that if a set is missing a Baby Jesus, call 7126. Put on your warm coats, it's freezing cold out there." The manager of the store copied down mother's message and the next time they were in the store they saw the cardboard sign that read, "If you're missing Baby Jesus, call 7126."

All week long they waited for someone to call. Surely, they thought someone was missing that important figurine. Each time the phone rang mother would say, "I'll bet that's about Jesus, but it never was." Father tried to explain there are thousands of these scattered over the country and the figurine could be missing from a set in Florida or Texas or California. Those packing mistakes happen all the time. He suggested just put the extra Jesus back in the box and forget about it.

"Put Baby Jesus back in the box! What a terrible thing to do!" said the children.

"Surely someone will call," mother said. "We'll just keep the two of them together in the manger until someone calls."

When no call had come by 5:00 on Christmas Eve, mother insisted that father "just run down to the store" to see if there were any sets left. "You can see them right through the window, over on the counter," she said. "If they are all gone, I'll know someone is bound to call tonight."

"Run down to the store?" father thundered. "It's 15 below zero out there!"

"Oh, Daddy, we'll go with you," Tommy and Mary began to put on their coats. Father gave a long sigh and headed for the front closet. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered. Tommy and Mary ran ahead as father reluctantly walked out in the cold. Mary got to the store first and pressed her nose up to the store window.

"They're all gone, Daddy," she shouted. "Every set must be sold."

"Hooray," Tommy said "The mystery will now be solved tonight!"

Father heard the news still a half block away and immediately turned on his heel and headed back home. When they got back into the house they noticed that mother was gone and so was the extra Baby Jesus figurine. "Someone must have called and she went out to deliver the figurine," my father reasoned, pulling off his boots. "You kids get ready for bed while I wrap mother's present."

Then the phone rang. Father yelled "answer the phone and tell 'em we found a home for Jesus." But it was mother calling with instructions for us to come to 205 Chestnut Street immediately, and bring three blankets, a box of cookies and some milk.

"Now what has she gotten us into?" my father groaned as we bundled up again. "205 Chestnut, why that's across town. Wrap that milk up good in the blankets or it will turn to ice before we get there. Why can't we all just get on with Christmas? It's probably 20 below out there now. And the wind is picking up. Of all the crazy things to do on a night like this."

When they got to the house at 205 Chestnut Street it was the darkest one on the block. Only one tiny light burned in the living room and, the moment we set foot on the porch steps, my mother opened the door and shouted, "They're here, Oh thank God you got here, Ray! You kids take those blankets into the living room and wrap up the little ones on the couch. I'll take the milk and cookies."

"Would you mind telling me what is going on, Ethel?" my father asked. "We have just walked through below zero weather with the wind in our faces all the way."

"Never mind all that now," my mother interrupted. "There is no heat in this house and this young mother is so upset she doesn't know what to do. Her husband walked out on her and those poor little children will have a very bleak Christmas, so don't you complain. I told her you could fix that oil furnace in a jiffy."

My mother strode off to the kitchen to warm the milk while my brother and I wrapped up the five little children who were huddled together on the couch. The children's mother explained to my father that her husband had run off, taking bedding, clothing, and almost every piece of furniture, but she had been doing all right until the furnace broke down.

"I been doin' washin' and ironin' for people and cleanin' the five and dime," she said. "I saw your number every day there, on those boxes on the counter. When the furnace went out, that number kept going through my mind, '7162 7162'. Said on the box that if a person was missing Jesus, they should call you. That's how I knew you were good Christian people, willin' to help folks. I figured that maybe you would help me, too. So I stopped at the grocery store tonight and I called your missus. I'm not missin' Jesus, mister, because I sure love the Lord. But I am missin' heat. I have no money to fix that furnace."

"Okay, Okay," said father. "You've come to the right place. Now lets see. You've got a little oil burner over there in the dining room. Shouldn't be too hard to fix, probably just a clogged flue. I'll look it over, see what it needs."

Mother came into the living room carrying a plate of cookies and warm milk. As she set the cups down on the coffee table, I noticed the figure of Baby Jesus lying in the center of the table. It was the only sign of Christmas in the house. The children stared wide-eyed with wonder at the plate of cookies my mother set before them. Father finally got the oil burner working but said, "You need more oil. I'll make a few calls tonight and get some oil."

On the way home father did not complain about the cold weather and had barely set foot inside the door when he was on the phone. "Ed, hey, how are ya, Ed?" "Yes, Merry Christmas to you, too. Say Ed, we have kind of an unusual situation here I know you've got that pickup truck. Do you still have some oil in that barrel on your truck? You do?"

By this time the rest of the family were pulling clothes out of their closets and toys off of their shelves. It was long after their bedtime when they were wrapping gifts. The pickup came. On it were chairs, three lamps, blankets and gifts. Even though it was 30 below, father let them ride along in the back of the truck. No one ever did call about the missing figure in the nativity set, but as I grow older I realize that it wasn't a packing mistake at all. Jesus saves, that's what He does.. [Jean Gietzen]

Christmas Love

Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience.

I had cut back on nonessential obligations -- extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.

My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he'd been memorizing songs for his school's "Winter Pageant." I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there would be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation. All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then.

Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise. So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in 10 minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song. Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as "Christmas", I didn't expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment -- songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer.

So, when my son's class rose to sing, "Christmas Love", I was slightly taken aback by its bold title. Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads. Those in the front row -- center stage -- held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing, "C is for Christmas", a child would hold up the letter C. Then, "H is for Happy", and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, "Christmas Love".

The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her -- a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter "M" upside down -- totally unaware her letter "M" appeared as a "W". The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one's mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her "W". Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together. A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood -- the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities. For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear: CHRIST WAS LOVE.

And, I believe, He still is... [Candy Chand]

Little Misha's Manger

In 1994, two Americans answered an invitation from the Russian Department of Education to teach morals and ethics (based on biblical principles) in the public schools. They were invited to teach at prisons, businesses, the fire and police departments and a large orphanage. About 100 boys and girls who had been abandoned, abused, and left in the care of a government-run program were in the orphanage. They relate the following story in their own words:

It was nearing the holiday season, 1994, time for our orphans to hear for the first time the traditional story of Christmas. We told them about Mary and Joseph arriving in Bethlehem. Finding no room in the inn, the couple went to a stable, where the baby Jesus was born and placed in a manger.

Throughout the story, the children and orphanage staff sat in amazement as they listened. Some sat on the edges of their stools, trying to grasp every word.

Completing the story, we gave the children three small pieces of cardboard to make a crude manger. Each child was given a small paper square, cut from yellow napkins I had brought with me. No colored paper was available in the city. Following instructions, the children tore the paper and carefully laid strips in the manger for straw. Small squares of flannel (cut from a worn-out nightgown an American lady was throwing away as she left Russia) were used for the baby's blanket. A doll-like baby was cut from tan felt we had brought from the United States.

The orphans were busy assembling their manger as I walked among them to see if they needed any help. All went well until I got to one table where little Misha sat--he looked to be about 6 years old and had finished his project. As I looked at the little boy's manger, I was startled to see not one, but two babies in the manger.

Quickly, I called for the translator to ask the lad why there were two babies in the manger. Crossing his arms in front of him and looking at his completed manger scene, the child began to repeat the story very seriously. For such a young boy, who had only heard the Christmas story once, he related the happenings accurately--until he came to the part where Mary put the baby Jesus in the manger.

Then Misha started to ad lib. He made up his own ending to the story as he said, "And when Maria laid the baby in the manger, Jesus looked at me and asked me if I had a place to stay. I told him I have no mamma and I have no papa, so I don't have any place to stay. Then Jesus told me I could stay with him." But I told him I couldn't, because I didn't have a gift to give him like everybody else did. But I wanted to stay with Jesus so much, so I thought about what I had that maybe I could use for a gift. I thought maybe if I kept him warm, that would be a good gift. So I asked Jesus, "If I keep you warm, will that be a good enough gift?" And Jesus told me, "If you keep me warm, that will be the best gift anybody ever gave me." So I got into the manger, and then Jesus looked at me and he told me I could stay with him--for always.

As little Misha finished his story, his eyes brimmed full of tears that splashed down his little cheeks. Putting his hand over his face, his head dropped to the table and his shoulders shook as he sobbed and sobbed. The little orphan had found someone who would never abandon nor abuse him, someone who would stay with him--for always...

A Special Thanksgiving

One year while waiting to move into our own home, we rented an older house in town. It had bedrooms that our children could share and a nice kitchen, dining area and large spacious living room and enclosed front porch. Our bedroom was at the front of the house and the children's were next to the kitchen near the back. As many older spacious homes have, this one had a large attic that had been converted into a small studio apartment. The young man who lived there, was always polite but would soon be moving to another area and new job.

The children walked to their schools across the street, and the stores and library were close by. The apartment upstairs remained empty for some time. With the coming of Thanksgiving, I was busy with preparations for the children and the activities they were involved in. And among my daily rounds didn't notice the young mother and her little girl until after they had moved in.

I immediately placed some cookies on a plate and took our eighth grade daughter up the side stairway to greet our new neighbors. A young girl in her middle twenties stood in the doorway and stepping back, asked us to come in. Her young daughter spotted the cookies and gave us a bright cheerful grin! You could tell they were Mother and daughter, as each had lovely blond hair and kind smiles.

I introduced myself and my daughter and we talked about the area for a few minutes, and before leaving, Jennifer volunteered to watch the little girl if her Mother was in need of a baby sitter. It turned out that she had her daughter enrolled in daycare while she was at work, but Saturdays she might need to call on her. We assured her that was fine.

A few days before Thanksgiving, I realized how much I missed our own stove and oven, which was packed away while we were renting. And I made a mental note to clean the oven before baking my pies the next day. It was a gas stove, and although I liked cooking over gas I'd always had an electric stove before. We were planning on grandparents, aunts, uncles and other family members to come and share the day. I also sent a note up to the gal in the apartment and invited her and her daughter to join us. She stopped by later and thanked us but said they would be going home that night to visit her family for the holiday.

That evening after the children were in bed, I remembered the oven and asked my husband if he would spray the oven cleaner inside and lay papers under it. He took care of it while I busied myself with other things, then we went to bed.

A little after midnight we awakened to someone banging at the front the door, and while grabbing our bathrobes, realized there was smoke all over the place. I ran to the children's rooms as my husband went to the door. There stood our new neighbor and her little girl. They had just arrived home, and she smelled smoke and called the fire department. Within minutes they came with the siren on and burst into the house. I had gathered the children onto the front porch, wrapped in blankets, far away from the kitchen area.

Immediately the firemen realized where the smoke had started and what had happened. In my haste to have a clean oven, I forgot that paper to catch the grease doesn't go under a gas oven, and although it had taken a few hours, it had caught fire and the smoke was spreading around the house. We felt awful. The damage was minimal, but the most important thing to us was our three children who had been sleeping nearby were safe. After airing the house out, with the help of our friendly fire department, we went back to bed, thankful everyone was okay.

Thanksgiving came and we enjoyed pies baked in a clean oven! A turkey, roasted in a clean oven and sweet potato soufflé, cranberry sauce, other vegetables and favorite dressings and trimmings. We were truly grateful for the Lord's protection over us and for a kind neighbor upstairs. As we looked forward to the Christmas holiday, I watched for our neighbor and her little girl, having made some eggnog and cookies, I wanted to invite them in. I also had a special gift for each of them.

But, the truth was, after that evening when she came and knocked on our door, I hadn't seen them. I made a trip up to their door and peeked in through the window, the place was empty, as if nobody had even been there. I tried contacting the landlord, but he didn't know anything about them. It seemed incredible; I wanted to thank them again. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized their short stay had possibly saved us all in an old house that could have gone up in flames so quickly.

A Thanksgiving Day doesn't go by but what I think of the young mother and her entrance and exit in our lives. I will never know why she was coming home at all that night, as she had been going to visit her own family for Thanksgiving. I know God brings many people into our lives for various reasons. An Angel? Perhaps. What I do know for certain, is that each Thanksgiving I remember an old house with young children, and I especially give thanks for the messenger He sent, allowing us to celebrate many more Thanksgiving Days, and that is my special blessing from Him. [Diane Dean White]

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” (Hebrews 13:2)