Showing posts with label singing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label singing. Show all posts

Friday, 2 September 2016

I Hit Send

The Glass Castle has been a long time in coming, yeah, I'm sure it felt a lot longer to me than any of your readers. It's supposed to be available as an ebook immediately and on Amazon in a few days.Could you let me know what your think of the images? It's supposed to imitate an old-fashioned manuscript sort of because of the topic but do the pictures add or subtract from the overall impression?
Feedback is always welcome, either here, on Goodreads or as a review on Amazon. Thanks and have a good day.
https://www.createspace.com/6451450

Monday, 18 April 2016

Bribes and Dates


The youngsters did go home but long after they had been sent to bed, and their mother thought they were asleep, the boys crept out and down the long tunnel-like hall to where they knew the men were confined, with their feet in stocks.

Their sister was already there, hiding in the shadows. Acts 16:20-24
Rufus bent closer to Zonya’s ear: “How did you get past the guards?”
His little sister shrugged her shoulders as if to say that wasn’t a problem. “I gave them some fresh dates.”
“You always were a favorite of theirs.”
“What about you?”
Rufus rubbed his thumb and finger together. “Coin.”
They all knew it wouldn’t have helped if they had wanted to see anyone but Paul and Silas.
“Shh!” Lucas leaned forward, listening intently. They heard voices, gentle voices, not loud, cursing, angry voices, not groanings cause by intense pain but…
“Singing!” Zonya peered around the stone-walled corner to get a closer look at their favorite prisoners and her brothers crowded behind her.
The singing, although feeble at first grew stronger and stronger until it seemed to fill the whole cell with vibrant, joyous sound.
The three children stared at each other with starry eyes.
“Surely God is here,” Lucas whispered.

They went back to their beds feeling greatly comforted, until…

Monday, 29 September 2014

Doomed Soldiers Went Singing into Heaven

A true story)

“ One of the strangest experiences in my life is connected with war, says Nordenberg, an eminent engineer in Finland.

“I offered my services to the government and was appointed as an officer in General Mannerheim’s army. It was a terrible time. We besieged the town. It had been taken by the Red Army and we retook it. A number of the Red soldiers were under my guard. Seven of them were to be shot at dawn on Monday. I shall never forget the preceeding Sunday. The seven doomed men were kept in the basement of the town hall. In the passageway my men stood at attention with their rifles.

“The atmosphere was filled with hatred. My soldiers were drunk with victory and taunted their prisoners. Some swore as much as they could and beat the walls with their bleeding fists. Others called for their wives and children who were far away. At dawn they were all to die.

“We had the victory, that was true enough; but the value of this seemed to diminish as the night advanced. I began to wonder if there did not rest a curse on arms whichever side used them.

“Then something happened. One of the men doomed to death began to sing. “He is mad” was everybody’s first thought. But I had noticed this man, Koskinen, had not raved and curved like the others. Quietly he had sat on the bench, a picture of utter despair.  Nobody said anything to him—each was carrying his burden in his own way and Koskinen sang, rather waveringly at first, but then his voice grew stronger, and filled out, and became natural and free. All the prisoners turned to look at the singer who now seemed to be in his element.

Safe in the arms of Jesus

Safe on His gentle breast

There by His love o’er shadowed

Sweetly my soul shall rest

Hark tis the voice of angels

Born in a song to me

Over the fields of glory,

Over the jasper sea.



“Over and over again Koskinen sang that verse and when he was finished everyone was quiet for a few minutes until a wild-looking individual broke out with “Where did you get that, you fool? Are you trying to make us religious?”  Koskinen looked at his comrades and his eyes filled with tears. Then he asked quietly, “Comrades, will you listen to me for a few minutes? You asked me where I got that song. It was from the Salvation Army.  I heard it there three weeks ago. At first I also laughed but it got to me. It is cowardly to hide your beliefs; the God my mother believed in has now become my God also. I cannot tell how it happened, but I know it has happened.  I lay awake last night and suddenly felt I had to find the Savior and hide in Him. Then I prayed-like the thief on the cross-that Christ would forgive me and cleanse my sinful soul, and make me ready to stand before Him whom I should meet soon.”







“It was a strange night, “continued Koskinen. “There were times when everything seemed to shine around me. Verses from the Bible and from the Song Book came to mind. They brought a message of the crucified Savior and the blood that cleanses from sin and of the Home He has prepared for us. I thanked Him, accepted it, and since then this verse has been sounding inside me. It was God’s answer to my prayer. I could no longer keep it to myself. Within a few hours I shall be with the Lord, saved by His grace.

“Koskinen’s face shone as by an inward light. His comrades sat there quietly. He himself stood there transfixed. My soldiers were listening to what this Red revolutionary had to say.

““You are right, Koskinen,” one of  of his comrades said at last. “If only I knew there was mercy for me too! But these hands of mine have shed blood and I have reviled God and trampled on all that is holy.  Now I realize that there is a Hell and that it is the proper place for me.”

“He sank to the ground with despair depicted on his face.  “Pray for me Koskinen,” he groaned, “Tomorrow I will die and my soul will be in the hands of the devil!”

“And there these two Red soldiers went down on their knees and prayed for each other. It was no long prayer, but it opened Heaven for both, and we who listened to it forgot our hatred. It melted in the light from Heaven, for here two men who were soon to die, sought reconciliation with God. A door leading into the invisible stood ajar and we were entranced by the sight.

“Let me tell you shortly that by the time it was four o’clock all Koskinen’s comrades had followed his example and began to pray. The change in the atmosphere was indescribable. Some of them sat on the floor, others talked of spiritual things.

“The night had almost gone and day was dawning. No one had a moments sleep. “Sing the song once more for us, Koskinen,” said one of them. And you should of head them sing! Not only that song, but verses and choruses long forgotten came forth from their memories as buds (opening) in the sunshine. The soldiers on guard united their voices with them.

“The town clock struck six. How I wished I could have begged grace for these men, but knew this was impossible.

“Between two rows of soldiers they marched out to execution. One of them asked to be allowed once more to sing Koskinen’s song. Permission was granted. Then they asked to die with uncovered faces and hands raised to Heaven. They sang with might and main.

‘Safe in the arms of Jesus

Safe on His gentle breast…’


“When the last lines had died out the lieutenant gave the word “Fire!” and the seven Red soldiers had fought their last fight.  We inclined our heads in silent prayer.

“What happened to the hearts of the others, I do not know, but as far as I was concerned, I was a new man from that hour. I had met Christ in one of His lowliest and youngest disciples and I had seen enough to realize that I too, could be His.  “The Lord looketh from Heaven: He beholdeth all the sons of men.” Psalms 33:13

“Jesus said: “I am the resurrection and the life:  he that believeth in me, though he were to die, yet shall he live. John 11:25 RV)



Translated for “All the World” by Major Clara Becker. The War Cry



 

Friday, 28 February 2014

Apprehended: Part Two

     
“Goedemorgen, Claudine!” Verena hurried over to the young mother who was strolling down a wooded path near their town home. “May I take a peek at your baby? Hallo Jans, did I wake you up? What a sweet little boy you are!” She sighed happily and looked around. “What a perfectly lovely day to be out for a walk. Aren't spring days beautiful?”
Claudine nodded. “ Pieter and Nicholaes do not play too far from the path. We need to go home after a while to make supper for your father.”
“Where is Margriete?” Verena asked while she was making silly facial expressions to get the rosy cheeked lad to giggle.
“Over yonder,” Claudine pointed. “She is gathering an armful of flowers to fill our rooms with.”
“Meenen is such a pretty little town.”
Claudine fell silent. At least it doesn't have a dungeon like Ypres does. She suddenly felt cold and it had nothing to do with the stirring of a summer-like breese. How I would hate to be confined to a dark prison cell when the air is so fresh and there are all kinds of interesting things to do. She felt her grip tighten around the baby's small form. Verena didn't notice Claudine's change of mood. She was already rushing back to chat with Margriete.
“Mama!” Pieter called. “May I hold Jans please?”
Claudine handed the baby to his brother who promptly sat down in the grass and entertained him by tickling his face with a daisy.
What happy, sweet children I have, and such a good husband. Why then am I feeling cast-down in my soul, all of a sudden? Claudine started singing and the rich, pure tones filled the air with a rare beauty.
Claudine had a good soup cooking by the time Piersom entered the door. Claudine quirked her eyebrows. He didn't bound in with his usual boisterous good humor.
Piersom motioned for her to step outside.
“Margariete, you can start feeding Jans. He's so hungry after all that fresh air this afternoon. Yes, Piersom?”
Her husband closed the door behind Claudine before speaking. Then he laid his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her warm, brown eyes. “ Hendric matched my step as I was returning home from work.”
Claudine nodded. Why such a sober look?
“Titelmannus is out and about.”
“Who is he?”( Why did I whisper?) 
“The Dean of Ronse.”
When his wife still wore a blank expression, Piersom continued, “The Inquisitor.Hendric, a pious councillor warned me to flee. I will hide in yonder woods.He has found out that I am a believer.”
“Could you not pause to sup with us? You will be tired after such a long day.”
“Nay, I must hasten. He may have rounded up the bailiffs already to come and fetch me.” He turned to go, then paused. “You come, to, Claudine. They may be after you as well.”
Claudine knew the danger they were in. “I will fetch the baby, but you go! Go! Don't wait for me! I'll be but a moment later.”

“Where's Papa?”
“Why doesn't Papa come in for supper? I am hungry!”
“Papa and I are going for a little walk. Go ahead and eat. Pieter, you can lead in prayer. Hallo Janzie! My what a sopping wet baby! Did he eat much?”
Margariete nodded. “Everything that I mashed up for him.”
Claudine quickly and deftly changed the baby's sodden garments then hurried out the door.
She saw a ragtag, but determined looking bunch of men heading down the street so ducked into the woods and quickened her pace.

Page 737
Claudine de Vettre

MARTYRS MIRROR  

Monday, 16 December 2013

Building a Bridge For You

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 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, to, 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 to. 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
 Don’t worry. This post will not be recognised by most of my readers.