Falling Rocks

When you drop a stone into the water, it disappears, right? No matter if it was a grain of sand or a diamond it sinks and sinks never to be seen again. Kind of discouraging, I'd say. Especially with the diamond. Maybe it seems the same way when we try to reach out in kindness to others. We want to be a Christian witness, we want others to know the joy our salvation brings so we smile at strangers, listen to their stories and go on our way. Did it do any good? The deed sank like a rock. But wait, look at those ripples, they are spreading out so far. What does that mean? The one poem says 'down a long eternity'. Can our random acts of kindness make a difference in someone's life forever? I sure hope so, and let's keep praying that someone will be drawn to Christ and reach Heaven because of our simple, easily forgotten (by us) gestures.

I Can't Die! I Won't Die!

I hope you have the time or will take the time to read this to the very end because it has a surprise ending.  I do not know the name of the main character in this true story, so for simplicity sake will call her Melissa. Melissa was like many of us in that she went to church and enjoyed the social and spiritual aspects of it, but she didn't think the Bible needed to be taken literally when it spoke of being separate from the world in word and action.  1John 2: 15-17,  Romans 12:2. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/She would occasionally make fun of more conservative Christians and went on her merry way. Although she endured a slow and lingering death, cancer perhaps, she rejoiced in the assurance of being swept up to Heaven immediately after departing this life.

Now I will quote directly from this ancient book Dying Testimonies of Saved and Unsaved: https://www.amazon.com/Dying-Testimonies-Saved-Unsaved-Shaw/dp/1933304324
"respiration grew shorter and shorter and at last ceased and they deemed the spirit already in the embrace of blissful messengers who were winging it to paradise. A fearful shriek! and in a moment they beheld her that they had looked upon as the departed sitting upright before them with every feature distorted.
"Horror and disappointment had transformed that placid countenance so that it exhibited an expression indescribable fiendish. "I can't die," she shrieked, "I won't die!"

Her pastor walked in just then and she screamed, "Out of the door, thou deceiver of men!"
Then died.
Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord shall enter into the kingdom of heaven, but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in Heaven. Matthew 7:21https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/

A Disturbing Story Becomes a Favourite

 You've got to picture the background to understand what this woman was up against.  The Jews were God's Chosen People and they knew it. Most likely the neighbouring 'gentiles' were quite aware of this opinion also. But mother-love surpasses even racial barriers if the mother is desperate enough. This mom sure was. This Canaanite Woman knew Jesus was a teacher and a healer, she probably assumed He was in their country to preach to the Jews living among them but she didn't care. Her daughter was sick, really sick because of a demon that was causing terrific suffering. Jesus could deliver her, she knew it, so she pleads with Him to do so. www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com
Now here comes the puzzling part, not only did Jesus not do it, but He ignored her and later implied that she was a dog. (Probably a common racial slur at the time.)

Why did she persist? Because she saw something the disciples didn't. She saw the love in His eyes, and He saw her faith. He saw a tremendous opportunity to teach those hoity-toity Jews that God loved everyone. So why did she run off to beg the disciples to do something? Maybe she figured Jesus thought it would jeopardize His position if He healed her daughter so out of respect tried to give Him a break. But they weren't helpful so Jesus honoured her request--and her faith. I love it!

Mother

Based On a Troubling Story

“What do I care if they are hungry?” Comrade Snezhana scoffed.  “We’ve put up with them all day long, and are taking a well-deserved break.”
Lyosha could hear whimpering down the long halls in the orphanage and it made her feel uncomfortable. She knew how little the children had to eat today, and it wasn’t any better yesterday, or last week either.

A half-hour later Comrade Roksana handed her a glass of wine to go with the expensive white chocolates that were topping off the meal but she felt too full or was it sick, to take another bite.
A toddler’s fretful whimpers were turning into lusty wails. Lyosha knew she should go comfort Klava before Comrade Snezhana strode over there and started slapping her around. But Lyosha didn’t dare. She knew she had the reputation of spoiling the ‘brats’ and didn’t have the nerve to make a scene in front of the other comrades including hardened officers who were partying with them.

I suppose you are horrified that something like this really did happen in Russia during the war. Why is it that we can sympathize with physical needs and want to do something, yet hardly hear the hidden cry of our or their hearts?
How many children, young people, and others are starving spiritually while those of us that should be helping are feasting on what the world has to offer and barely take enough spiritual manna to keep our own souls alive?
When’s the last time we have had a truly satisfying hour of studying the Bible? When is the last time we fasted, not to be seen of men, but because we had such a deep longing to pray, that food or earthly pleasures just didn’t seem important? I fall so far short but pray that I can do better!

ReCaLL!!

RECALL!! Did you order a copy of Two Mothers, Twin Daughters and find that some chapters had been duplicated? If this is your experience please send the copy to me and I will replace it free of charge. (Meet me on Hangouts for my address.)

Two mothers fleeing the British Isles during World War Two. Why does one worry about being a war bride, while the other one, who is married to a widower, seem more content? Why does Grace, the younger one, give one, but only one of her twin daughters away? Why was Grace's husband sent home from the war? What will it be like leaving a city in England while bombs are exploding and submarines lurking, to settle in a Canadian wilderness? What will happen to the identical twins? How will they cope if, or rather when, they find out they have been separated as newborns? 

Book One of the Grace's Dilemma Series.

Check back from time to time and you will find out when the revised version is ready. Yes, it will be better than ever.

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What's Worse, the Present or the Future?

No, I haven't been in la-la land the last few weeks but I have been wrapping up the first book in a series called Grace's Delima. How can Grace cope with a war going on, forbidding parents, a charismatic but absent husband, and being a pregnant teenage war bride? To top it off she is supposed to leave England and end up in some Canadian wilderness she has never heard of. Here's just a nibble to whet your appetite. It's the first chapter.

Grace staggered: extreme exhaustion caused her to slump against the rail of the ship, Tena-rae. The last few weeks had taken such a heavy toll on her both physically and emotionally. It made her heart ache even worse when arm in arm a group of girls leaned against the rail and crooned “The White Cliffs of Dover" as a tribute to their homeland. When the thick gloomy fog had thinned somewhat, she saw those white chalk cliffs rearing up in their entire splendor next to the choppy ocean. The girls had moved along, still singing, but Vera Lynn’s words floated back to her:
‘There'll be love and laughter
And peace ever after tomorrow
When the world is free.’

Like wisps of fog, vestiges of final moments with her mother stained her cheeks."Get out of my life! You are a disgrace! You are good for nothing!' Her mother's harsh shriek rang in her ears, crushing her spirit.
Grace's blue-gray eyes burned with unshed tears. Am I good for nothing, she mutely asked the wisps of fog floating by. If I am, then why was I born? If my heart were any heavier, it would sink like a stone in this vast gray expanse of ocean. She hated anyone to see her crying so bit her lip to steady it. The memories of her mother, Mrs. Adderley's, raging voice were harder to still.
"We taught you not to go to the bar! We told you not to get involved with those drunken Canadian soldiers!"
"But it wasn't a bar!" Grace protested. "It was at the community center and most of the soldiers drank moderately."
  It had felt hopeless trying to reason with her mother's rigid back turned towards her, so Grace faced the moisture streaked kitchen window instead. She stared unseeingly into the darkness to hide the teardrops that managed to trickle out between half-closed eyelids then mindlessly swished the dishes that her mother had left for her to do, through the sudsy water.

Grace was a thoughtful, respectful girl, perhaps a little shy, so it was a breathtaking day in her boring life when she and her friend first met those two Canadian soldiers. They, especially the auburn haired one, looked so sharp in their crisp, khaki uniform. She and her school chum, Betsy, had been walking home from school, arms laden with books. The sky had been a bright pretty blue, which was a luxury after so much rain and fog. In a few days, the academy would be close for the summer break, and they were walking along with light, brisk steps.
Then, stepping smartly, two soldiers pivoted around the corner, saluted, and offered to carry their books. Grace had caught her breath and stared. What could have been more flattering than having such incredibly good-looking privates salute them? She still marveled at how easy it had been to chat with those courteous strangers with intriguing Canadian accents.

Grace’s lips curved upwards at the memory. I am normally so reserved, yet I actually bantered and giggled with them even more than Betsy did! It would have astonished the schoolmaster, and probably most of the scholars. Her smile faded, but it did feel like the real me.

Almost without noticing, their feet had carried them far beyond the Adderley's home street. Flustered, she had tried to take her books away from her companion, Randall Sutherland, but he just held on the tighter. "Not unless you come with me to the dance tonight," he teased with an easy grin.The color drained from Grace's cheeks; she clearly remembered her reaction. A dance? I've never gone to a dance in my life! Dances are wicked! I know that. It was not dancing that tempted Grace, but the opportunity to get to know Randall better. We wouldn't have to dance, would we? Maybe we could just, well... stroll around in the moonlight as they do in storybooks. Alternatively, maybe we could, uh, sit and visit or something.

Looking back, Grace knew that it was then that she felt the first niggling pang of uneasiness, but she had been too busy laughing at Randall and the other private's nonsense to pay much attention. Grace's head lowered, shamefaced. The soldiers had teased and wheedled them, drawing attention to Grace's bouncy curls that were shiny as a raven's wing’.

They praised her petal soft cheeks 'that an angel would envy’ and teased Betsy about the cute uptilt of her freckled nose.
"Two such charming girls should not be allowed to shrivel up 'like dried old apples'," Randall had declared.

Finally, laughingly, Grace had given in, just as Randall un-wrapped a sweet and popped it into her mouth.

"Just this once:" she sputtered, trying to speak sternly but had dissolved into giggles. She resorted to covering her mouth to keep from drooling!

Grace didn't recall where Betsy and the other soldier had wandered off. They had strolled away in a different direction while Grace happily trotted beside a soldier who was chivalrously carrying her books.

They had been strolling for a long time, Grace unconsciously detouring the streets where there was the most severe bomb damage. It had been easy to prattle lightly about many things, and forget the heavy cares of a war going on at least for the moment, then, feeling wonderfully weary; they collapsed on a sheltered bench in a common.

Randall unceremoniously dumped her books on the grass beside him and reached for her in, what struck her as a rather possessive manner, Grace shrank back alarmed, so he quickly released her, but left his arm resting on the back of the bench.

They chatted until Grace saw dusk creeping on and worried about not going directly home after school.

What if the air siren went off? Where would they go? She looked around for an air raid shelter. They were so far from the black, stuccoed cottage she called home. Will my parents be anxious?  Grace hoped so but seriously doubted it. She was more concerned about her mother's fury. Even though it was her final year at the secondary school, her mother had many ironclad rules to keep her in line and her father half-heartedly submitted to them. Coming straight home was one of the ordinances. She knew there would be more waiting for her than gentle concern or even a stern reproof for not showing up promptly.

How was I supposed to have gotten out of this difficult situation?

"Oh well, the damage is done," Randall grinned mischievously. "If you're going to get into trouble anyway, you might as well make it worth their while. Why not go out for supper-- I mean High Tea with me? I'll treat you to steak, roast beef with Yorkshire pudding...kidney pie, or whatever your British appetite is craving."

Grace doubted that even the more swish restaurants could offer such swell fare in these hard times but her mouth watered at the prospect after so many months of unwelcome rationing.
"If you will allow me to ring up Mom from the pub you want to take me to," she bargained, “then I’ll go. He nonchalantly agreed.

Thinking back, Grace could easily recall how her face flamed as her mother's strident voice carried over the wire. How many of those patrons heard the dressing-down I got?

The scene that occurred after the dance was one that she would rather blot from her memory. Even though she had hurried to do the dishes left for her, and make amends in other ways, it was impossible to appease them.

The anger! The mistrust! The accusations! Doesn't Mom have any faith in me at all? Why couldn't Dad have said just one word in my favor? I have never defied their wishes before! Had they not taught me to be uncommonly obedient? I even stammered out an apology that I really meant.

It was not well received. What a relief when she was able to slip off to her dreary attic bedroom. After she had washed the dishes, dried, and stacked them in the cupboards, her mother had turned to rail on Dad.

 That night Grace felt like her vision cleared since then she became increasingly impatient with her elderly parents' medieval ways.

Abruptly her thoughts switched channels. Oh, I wish Randall's gaiety didn’t come from a bottle, so often. He is a wonderful young man, so charming and well mannered: her doesn’t need drink to boost his morale!

A scene from one of their many times together floated into her memory: "Randall you had one drink, already, must you have another?" she had reached out to touch the cold glass.

"I'm fine, Sweet: no need to worry. I can hold my liquor. This will be the last. You should taste it. It's quite pleasant, in fact." She shuddered in refusal and he had didn't pressure her.

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Don't Forget the Bread

The Light Around Us

I’m going to tell you about this man; I'll call him Cham and the touch he felt from God. It's pretty remarkable, AND it's true. O.K, it started out this way; his wife needed to get to work and she asked him to pick up a loaf of bread and some other

things. Pretty basic, eh?

 

Only problem is he got distracted and ended up in the beer parlor and the money ended up in the wrong cash register. Needless to say, the wife was pretty disappointed, but a week later the same thing happened again or rather was about to happen. He was pretty busy having a good time with his friends, same time, same location, sort of thing when he needed to visit the restroom. Now things got pretty interesting: when he walked out he looked out and lo and behold a light was shining all around him. I don't think he paid too much attention to it at first but went to join his companions, and they were gone! He asked the waitress about them, and all she could say was that they had upped and left. Well, he decided to go searching, but couldn't find them, but he did notice that the light was still surrounding him so decided to let it lead him. Cham followed the light in that otherwise dark night, and it led him up to a narrow river which he decided to cross although it came up to his waist, then later across another river, until it eventually lead him back home.

I believe this experience left a deep impression on Cham. He didn't always follow the Light, (God's light) as closely as He should, but he tried and God was able to bring him out of his ignorance and darkness to a closer walk with Him. He can do the same for you. Just follow the little light you have, pray and He will lead you, us one step at a time. When we look back, we will often recognize how He lead us better than we can at the moment.

Behind a Boarded Up Window

Some people you never forget, no matter how much muddy or swift flowing water runs under the bridge. YOU are one of those people. It's been months now since our contact was broken but I still think about you and pray for you from time to time. My heart is heavy. You or someone like you from that sex slave commune reached out to me, I tried to help, in weakness, I tried to do my little part but the contact was broken. I grieve for you knowing how desperately evil your 'masters' are. But what can we do when even the local police are in cahoots with the perpetrators? Thank you for being brave enough to open your hearts and share with me. I know several of you did after I gained your trust, but now I am left in the dark yet I can still pray. Have any of you been able to escape? What wouldn't I give to reconnect and have you call me Mommy, again?
Here's the article that got me thinking about you once more. XOXOX!!

Behind a Boarded Up Window

Good morning, dear one. Did you think I had forgotten you completely? At first, I was picturing you standing lonesomely by a small window and looking up at the stars, but then I remembered, you don’t even have that option.

Behind a boarded up window: never to see the cheery sunshine dappling the leaves and making the flowers to glow, never to feel the soft breeze against your skin or enjoy the scent of fresh new growth…

Did you think I have forgotten you? No, never. I am sorrowful that our connection was lost, and pray earnestly that it can be restored once again. I pray that you can feel Jesus’ Presence surrounding you and comforting you. I hope and pray that somehow you will be able to see this message. That would be so delightful!

And by posting this I am praying that others will become aware of the slavery that is going on behind closed doors. It is my longing and heartfelt desire that through united, fervent prayers girls like you will be set free both spiritually and physically.

Have I forgotten you and your companions that I think of as my beloved children? No never, not for a moment. You are in my heart and prayers. Someday, somehow Jesus will set you free.

Keep praying, and I will too. Oh, I do hope this message will get to you. Remember; always remember that I love you and that Jesus’ love is strong and eternal. Keep trusting in Him. ‘They’ can’t take that away.

XOXOX

www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com

In The Garden (Lyrics Video) By: Brad Paisley

Did Jesus Play Catch?

Can you picture the scene: a sunny day, perhaps very early in the morning because there doesn’t seem to be too many people around.  The sun is gleaming off the white washed stone dwelling nearby and on the rocks at our feet. We are observers, onlookers and unwilling to get too involved. Jesus is walking on Solomon’s porch and we can hear Him well enough.

Hecklers who want to pick a quarrel with Jesus show up and we back up a little, sensing that trouble is fermenting.

Just a moment before you were getting this warm cozy feeling because the Master had said: “I give them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.”

A picture popped into your mind of the great, big, cupped hands of God. As long as you wanted to stay there, you were perfectly safe even if you were restless and easily distracted, He wouldn’t dump you.

Wait, those religious leaders were objecting---to that? Yup, they didn’t like the implication of power, of being one with God that Jesus is declaring.  They don’t want to listen, let alone obey him, and so what do they do? ‘Then the Jews rushed over to where you were standing and picked up stones again to stone Him. John 10:13.’

I got this warm, little image in my mind of Jesus catching the stones hurled at him and casually dropping them while He continued talking. “Many good works have I showed you from my Father: for which of those works do you me?”

He didn’t let the stones hurt Him, and He didn’t take credit for His ministry of healing in love.

When insults are hurled our way whether real or imagined, let’s just catch the stones and toss them aside (NOT BACK!) and continue going about our Father’s business.

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A Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Child,

I know what happened; I was there. Your innocent heart was like a rosebud, a pure white flower in a crystal vase. Then an evil hand came and smudged one of the petals. In your innocence, you were soon able to forget and go on with your play.  

You didn’t know this wasn’t normal, you didn’t know this was wrong but you kept it to yourself, why?

Maybe because it made you feel uncomfortable, maybe because you were afraid he would find out and get upset.  But it continued, one petal after another was smudged then crushed until one day the flower withered and died and the water of joy that had been feeding it had also drained away.

As a young child, you soon learned to be afraid of—him. By nature, you would have been carefree, but a shell that some called shyness was developing around you.

Time passed and you gradually became more aware of right and wrong. You saw younger children still carrying the beautiful bud of innocence but yours was gone, faded and dying. It was then you began to realize that the delicate vase that was in your heart had also been crushed and the broken pieces were piercing you, causing much pain.

Is that the end: a broken heart, a dying flower?

It seemed like. In fact, the cuts festered over the years as you learned this was not normal and many were going through life happy because no evil monster had snatched away the flower of innocence and left a broken heart.

By now, those pieces have embedded deep into your heart but you observed others were acting ‘normally’ so pretended to do the same. How can a person be ‘normal’ when the slightest memory brings pain and bad experiences would cause the old wounds to start bleeding away?

How can you go on like this? But you did, year after year, you raised a family, had a caring husband …and prayed…

I keep ‘seeing’ the Great Physician hovering over me while I write; He wants me to remind you how He removed those crushed shards one by one and poured in the healing balm of love.

I know: and am grateful for what He has done, but there are others who are still suffering. Give your heart to Jesus let Him remove the broken pieces. It will not be easy but will sure be a lot easier than having them remain there.

I may have lost that flower of innocence at too young an age but it’s okay, now, because the Great Physician gave me what feels like a Garden of Eden in return.

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Running Out of Oil

The Ten Virgins

Maidens so sweet with your lamps all bright

Lighting the way through the starry night

Waiting with music and lilting voice

Arrayed in garments of finest choice.

Sundown has darkened the village streets

Ten drowsy maidens are fighting sleep

While cheery lanterns are growing dim

Will they expire ‘ere the groom comes again?

There’s a delay and the girls slump down

All fast asleep in their bridal gowns

Glad shouts are ringing down the lane

The bridegroom comes make your lanterns shine.

The girls rouse quickly their lamps to trim

But some will lament that their oil is gone.

Oh virgins listen that have to share

You won’t run out for the Lord put it there.

The widow's vessels all had enough

Of oil from God when she but asked

And you will to for your sister’s need

It is blessed by God, so please give heed.

Marilyn Friesen

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For You Only

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What Caused the Angels to Sing?

The Quaker (and Quaking) Brides

I read an interesting story last night. What made it so remarkable is that it apparently was true.

One Way Solution

One Down, Three Left

Logan, I saw you last night. Did you see me? I think you did. I saw you just once, maybe twice, glancing my way. You know I have a mother-heart for you, don’t you. Did you know that I was praying for you? You, four young men, were singing a powerful song. You have tremendous tenor and bass voices and the song itself was so beautiful, but I noticed the lack, and I’m sure you three brothers felt it keenly. You used to be four dark haired, tall, good-looking brothers who swelled the rafters with your enthusiastic a cappella singing and now there was only three. Your sibling, who you had been with all your growing up years, had fallen away, and you rounded out—no I mean squared off the quartet with a blond haired friend who also is a good singer.

But it wasn’t quite the same. Lots of us know that you, too, are just hanging on by a thread. When I caught your eye, did you sense I was praying for you? One of your brothers has gone out into the world, but surely you know how earnestly the other two are pulling for you? One of you chose the song about Christ building a bridge the day He died. This bridge was built to cover the chasm separating us from God. From my vantage point, I could see how fervently one of your brothers was singing and got the feeling it was for you, Logan.

 One of your brothers fell away but a friend who nearly lost out recovered and was up there singing with you. He found victory, and you can too. We also are building a bridge that’s strong enough for you to reach safety. I know, we all know, at least in part  the reason it seems so difficult for you to live a faithful Christian life, but our prayers are building a bridge for you, Logan.

I’d like to pray for you, _________________whatever your name is. My heart goes out to all the Logan’s and Lisa’s in this world who would like to be Christians, but find that their feet are slipping. You can anonymously send me an email and share a bit of your problem and I’ll gladly pray for you. I’ll willingly listen, also, if you want to ‘talk’. stevenme@hotmail.ca So what is your problem? Contact me on hangouts if you like.

 https://www.createspace.com/6616695

What Works Best, Cracked or Uncracked?

A water bearer in India had two large pots, which he hung one on each end of a pole across his shoulders. One of the cruses had a crack in it while the other one was perfect. It was a long walk from the stream to the master’s house, but this one never failed to deliver a full portion. On the other hand, the cracked container would arrive sadly depleted. Of course, the perfect vessel was proud of his accomplishments, and the poor, cracked container felt ashamed and miserable that it could do only half of what it was made to do.

After two years of perceiving, he was a bitter failure, the damaged crock spoke to the water deliverer one day by the watercourse. “I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.”

“Why,” asked the surprised water carrier. “What are you ashamed of?”

The 'World's' On Fire

The World’s On Fire!

Loosely based on a hospital fire in Calcutta, India

     
This hospital in Calcutta represents the world and the nurses, Christians.  This is based on a newspaper item.  
         Susan twitched her nose but didn’t wake up. The aroma wove its way into her dream. She stirred restlessly and the obscure figures in her visages of slumber grew agitated and started running around doing she knew not what. The acrid smell grew stronger, stinging her throat. Susan woke up rubbing her eyes and found herself staring straight into Jenna’s terrified eyes!

                Leila shook her violently. “Atman hospital is on fire!” she screamed. “Someone call for help!” 

Barbara yelled. “Let’s get out of here!”

Deceived!

^{I came across a verse this morning that wasn’t particularly familiar but it intrigued me because it was right along the line I had been thinking lately.}