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

From Victim to Victor

Based on a true story.

Pete, Joe and Mike openly mocked when Stan came into their hospital ward.

                “Hey, Doug,” Joe called. “Yer old man is here. Do you think he’s gonna preach a sermon today?”

                Doug glowered towards the door, but dropped his eyes when Stan appeared.

                He muttered a few curses but managed to add “Hi, Dad,” when the tall, thin man sat down stiffly beside him.

                Doug sighed inwardly: another hour of enduring his father’s obvious discomfort with how his fellow Aids patients acted up. He knew without a doubt their actions were more unnatural, their language filthier when he came around.

                Doug sighed, again.  Why couldn’t he just bug off?  Just because I’m his son and dying of this creepy disease is no reason for him to stick around.

                “You, okay, son?”

                “Same as usual: no better, no worse,” he lied, although he knew perfectly well his life was ebbing out of him.

                “Is there anything I can do to help?” Stan sat with his hands tightly folded on his lap and Doug, as well as several others took note of the look of revulsion on his features.

Ya, Doug thought, just once you can get that awful nauseated look off your face and treat me like a human.

  What he didn’t know, however, was how desperately Stan was praying for compassion, for understanding towards these people.

                But one day Stan was different. He was still quiet and dignified, but he spoke to them with respect, and by name! He ever shook their hands when he greeted them.  The assortment of men viewed him with wary surprise.

                Stan continued to visit his son on a daily basis, and the men sensed that Stan was different, that he really did care about them. First one then another responded to the obvious love they felt from him, and some even started unburdening their hearts.

                It was a happy day when Doug, who had always been a wayward boy, broke down and confessed a fear of dying.

                “Dad,” he wept, “I need Jesus, but I’m so afraid He won’t accept me because I have sinned so badly."

                While the others listened in, Stan convinced his son that it was for people such as Doug that Jesus had laid down His life.

                Doug made such a complete change, and was so obviously at peace with God and man after he confessed his sins, that no one tried to dissuade him.  It was considered unusual how peacefully he died under the circumstances.

                Both the hospital staff and the patients were deeply impressed with the caring Stan showed, but Jesus helped him.

               

A Mother's Sacrifice

Now where did I see that story? It was so beautiful, so touching…so full of mother love that I absolutely wanted to share it with you.

 We are happy to realise that most mothers would be willing to give their all for their children, but fortunately most of us aren't asked to make such great sacrifices.

But one mother was. She rose instantly to the occasion. Now this is where the details become a little blurry in my mind but not enough to make an impact on the story!

They had gone camping, out in the mountains. They had stopped along some little used road to look around at the breathtaking view below and around them. The children soon jumped back into the suburban. The vehicle started rolling. Downwards! The mother saw what was happening! But what could she do? What?! She ran! She threw herself down in front of that heavy van. She felt the impact, but it slowed, it slowed the momentum and it didn't go hurtling into the chasm below.  By then, her husband, who was on the other side of the vehicle managed to leap in and turn it off.

But was she hurt? You better believe it. Did she die? No. Thank God she survived but at a great cost. For years she underwent surgery, therapy and what not all, but was never able to walk again.

Was it worth it? By the light on her face in the picture, and the adoration of the children, she knew it was.

Some of you might find it painful to read a story like this. Your mother never cared. You’re sure your mother never did or would do anything sacrificial for you. Jesus knows that. He knows where you are. But He cares. Here’s a powerful promise. It’s found in the Bible but I’ll put it in my own words.

“Can a mother forget the baby she is nursing? Yes, it could happen, but God will never forget you.” Isaiah 49:15. In another place it says that the hairs on our head are all numbered. I think Jesus mentioned that to show how interested, how He cares about every single detail in our lives.

Maybe your earthly mother and father have left your with an aching void of loneliness in your heart, or maybe you have it in spite of their tender loving care. I didn't

grow up in a happy home either, but since I have been turning to God in my moments of pain and heartache, He has been, is comforting me, and I am finding healing. You can to.

How Does It Go?

Does anyone know all the words to this poem? I'd sure like to have them if you do.

 I met a friend in the night

Whose lamp had ceased to shine

I paused and let her light

Her lamp from mine.

A storm came up in the night

And shook the world about

And when the storm was gone 

My lamp was out.

But back to me that friend came

Her lamp was glowing fine

She paused and lighted mine.