Where Do You Live?

So Where Are You Dwelling?

Narrow dusty corridors run throughout the castle, they are so much like a maze I can’t keep them all straight, rules, rules, and more rules. Every so often along the stone walls a cage appears with a sad, gaunt face peering out.  Someone had broken one of the hundreds of unwritten decrees and is imprisoned by condemnation, either self-inflicted or otherwise.  It is a grim place to be but I must be there, I must work diligently every blessed, er, I mean not so blessed day of my life to keep these halls clean lest the disapproving attention of the master is drawn to me, his trembling servant.

Or must I?

Must I be constantly feeling unloved, haunted by guilt, scurrying around like a rat, forever pursued, forever guilty, forever afraid of being caught by the frowning Judge who seems to be always glowering over my shoulder?

Perish the thought! Don’t you dare think of not walking the extremely straight and narrow path, such ideas are wicked, wicked, wicked! You must toe the line, be shackled by chains of….oh I can’t count them all, now get to work! Keep your nose to the grindstone rough and banish those flighty dreams of fantasy.

But I can’t, and in a weak moment,  flee….Ah, the desert is so beautiful! I run with frenzied haste to a beautiful oasis, a paradise filled with refreshing fountains and verdant greenery. I run and run but it forever eludes me, it is a bauble, a mirage, but ah, there is another one, closer this time, brighter and more inviting, and there is something there. I rest, satisfied at last, but what, what? All around me, the ‘oasis’ is drying up, fading and growing a dingy brown, I am disappointed and continue searching for that elusive place called happiness.

Other so-called havens tantalize me; success, popularity and so much more, but ah me, there is always something wrong with them. Sometimes the water is bitter, the fruit unpalatable and I cry, where oh where can I find satisfaction?

Then an angel appears, a hand to hold, guiding me, pointing the way. The path is steep and rugged but somehow I trust this leader. He seems safe and steady.

He points to the foot of a cross. I lay my burden down, uh, me such a lot of garbage I had been hauling around: stinking, vile stuff. Then he breaks the chains and such a weight falls away from me.
I turn, with tear streaked eyes to thank the angel and find He is much more than that. He is my Savior, Friend, and Guide.

Together we walk. No more do I find places where the water is tainted, the food unpalatable because He shows me the right paths to choose. In His Presence is the fullness of joy. He leads me to Living Fountains. We stay clear of bauble like havens because He knows the way and I feel safe with Him as my Attendant

Hint: there's an illusion to the desert in the fallowing link:

https://www.createspace.com/6451450

Oops! Wrong Food!

What do little boys do when they’re hungry? Why, find food, of course! And that’s what “Billy’ did to. Only problem is, he looked in the wrong place, and it got him into a lot more trouble than he had bargained for. Church was over, but all the Mommy’s and Daddy’s were attending some sort of a council meeting afterwards, and the little folks weren't allowed to be with them. Well, as time went on Billy and his friends were getting more and more hungry so they started looking around and they found something to eat! No, it wasn’t pop and potato chips, but it would do in a pinch! There was lots of fresh, yummy bread,( or something!) and what’s this drink? They weren't sure what to make of it, but drank (lots) anyways.  

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I will leave it to your imagination just how impressed those grownups were when they discovered those sadly intoxicated youngsters, and they were punished severely.

Linda also associated church with severe disapproval and punishment. This was a place where the ‘sisters’ were always glaring at the small fry as they filed timidly in, and Linda was sure she was guilty of some unnamed sin. On top of that they had to stare at that image of a Dead Man all the time. What good was a dead god? As time went on Linda began to think he wasn’t much good for anything and she began to despise—well, at least challenge him. Hey, if you were slammed with as much abuse from the effects of alcoholism, are you sure you wouldn't have reacted the same way?

As time went on life got worst instead of better, and eventually she got married, BUT her husband got cancer, and her mother-in-law was also dying. She had planned on a nursing career but ended up devoting her time and talents to elderly relatives when they were nearing their end.  Stress! (Remember to pile that on top of the other stuff I told you about.)

Well time went on, and one day a man came in to their house. I think he was a Bed and Breakfast guest, but I am not sure. He went into the living room and started walking around. That made Linda furious because she sensed he was praying for her. She must have loudly proclaimed her opinion of God which is why he had responded that way.

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Okay, tightly close the curtain on that scene, and come a little closer. Do you see that halo of light around the praying woman? Do you see the radiance; the sheer joy in her face? Do you know what happened?  Do you? When she came to Jesus, repenting, she was touched by the hand of God. She was cleansed, forgiven, healed. Linda knew what it was like to feel so defiled by the unspeakable misuse of others that she would scrub herself until her skin bled, but now she felt so clean, so PURE! Never again did she feel the need to scrub her skin raw. A bath became a pleasure like it is meant to be. With rapture she clung to that feeling of purity that the loving Father gave her. Now Linda serves a risen Saviour; one that set her free and gives her victory. Do you serve Him, to?

P.S. It thrills me each time I hear a story about someone who has found the Light especially if they haven't even known loving, praying Christians.   Maybe you have a story to share. I would love to hear it!  Maybe you also have gotten a glimpse of that lovely, beckoning light. Follow it. Please do.

 "It is no secret what God can do, what He's done for others He'll do for you." A song I heard somewhere. 

               

If You Have A Heart This Letter Should break It

If you have a heart, this letter should break it. If you have eyes, it should cause them to weep. I am about to share with you the text of a final letter from a dying Christian prisoner to his mother.

So important were its contents that he refused to post it for fear the censors would tear it up. Instead he entrusted it to a fellow prisoner who had four more years to serve. But after four years, he was not released. He memorized it and passed it on to a friendly guard, who told a soldier friend who was on his way to Tibet. The friend told his mother, who telephoned the prisoner’s mother with the text of the letter—five years after it was written, and three years after his death!

Oh, my mother, dear mother!

I have not been a good son! I have brought disgrace upon you and all the family. I hope you can forgive me. I am dying.

You brought me up to be a good boy. You gave me food, love and affection. And what did I do to repay you? I daubed an antigovernment slogan on the wall and got life imprisonment. Life imprisonment when my life was only eighteen years old. You raised me for more than this. I am sorry.

And now your son is 31. He will not live past 33. I have cancer of the intestines, and my jailers will not pay for the operation. Instead of working underground in the mine, I mind a tiny storage shed full of rusty tins and tools. I retch all day. No one comes near.

But at least I can look over the desert and watch the shifting of the sands. For eight years I never saw the sunlight. I was taken from the barracks through a tunnel to the mine. A room, a corridor, and a shaft were all the worlds I had. Now my world is bigger but it is coming to an end. There is no hope.

And so I have sat on my stool and thought for many hours. I cried many tears, mostly for the things I never did. I never kissed a woman. I never owned even a toothbrush. Never received a pay check never ate a gourmet meal, never built a kite for an excited child. Above all, I never said how much I owed you and never said how sorry I am to grieve you—until now. Boys were not made to bring their mothers such sorrow; otherwise no one would have them.

I have come to two conclusions: One is that this is not the only world there is. I cannot believe I went through the miracle of birth to live a life like this, I believe there is another world where there is a table I can choose to sit at, sip the finest wines, eat to my heart’s content, make friends with whomever I like, speak without fear, and not be marched away when the half-hour gong is sounded.

And I also believe there is someone there—who is also here—who sits at the head of that table. A fellow prisoner told me of one who said, “My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” I do not know what that really means. All I can say is when I heard the words, I felt a relief, that my death was not the end, and my life was not in vain.

My dying charge to you, my mother, is find out who spoke those words, so that we may dine together with Him. Your poor son.

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