What Are You Doing Today?

Are you in prison, or even in a dungeon, perhaps? Where are you in your mind, your heart, your spirit? Do you feel trapped, overwhelmed, pressured, frantic, lonely or in despair? Does it feel like no one understands, and maybe they don't either because of problems of their own? Do you feel like you have no one to turn to and every time you move forward you hit against a brick wall or a tangle of thorns? You're facing darkness, which causes frustration, a hopeless feeling while seeing no way out. "Someone put the lights out in the tunnel, but it wasn't me," you say. I've gone through that, too. Maybe not to the extent some of you have, but I know what it is like to be in a fog, in emotional distress, so may I offer you a hand to hold? Oh, my, I feel so inadequate to get my message across! I know there are folks out there who are suffering, they are part of the Broken Hearted Anonymous Communities and are on the fringes of life. I'd reach out my hands imploringly "let me help you, let me help carry your burden," but I am so inadequate. But, fortunately, there is hope. Even though those of us that care feel so helpless to do enough, there is someone who can help. Have you met Jesus? Do you know that He is the dearest, most faithful Friend of all? Did you know He is the great Burden Bearer, the Healer? Do you know that He is reaching out to comfort you? Did you? He wants to remove all those worries, vices, and what not all that you are carrying, replace them with His love and His peace then hold you close to His bosom. Did you know that? Will you let Him do it? I know, it takes a step of faith, but you can trust Him, I promise. I found out for myself. I promise, you can trust Him, and when you are ready to start walking again, he will take your hand if you let Him, He will guide you through the dark valleys, the storms and the desert. Trust Him. I know it's true because He did it for me. And oh, here's a great post-script. When you walk hand in hand with Him long enough, you will discover that as one song says 'there is joy in the journey, good times in the going.' In all their afflictions He was afflicted, and the Angel of His Presence saved them: in His love and in His pity He redeemed them; and He bare them and He carried them all the days of old. Isaiah 63:9 Afflicted: Troubled, Suffering, Hurt, Tormented, Plagued, Stricken, Aggrieved, Distressed

Alone and Suffering

This poem is my gift to you  if you feel all alone and as if no one cares.  If you can, print it out and tuck it in a safe place where you can always find it.

You are the one

That needs a home

A mother's love

A Daddy's care

You are the one

Who haunts my dreams

Disturbs my sleep

With your sad stare.

You are the one 

Who will be sighing

In some dark place

Alone tonight.

You are the one

I'd love to find

Take to my heart

And hold you tight.

Oh Precious Child

Just pray to God

And trust in Him

I know He cares

Oh Troubled Child

I pray someone 

Will Find you soon

And call you theirs.

The Flood From a Child's Viewpoint (concluded)

Another stern command came from above, and Raibo said later he thought for sure Noah and his sons were going to plunge into the crowd and break up the fight, but just then Jakal yanked Shabo to his feet and dragged him away. Raibo didn’t dare follow, he was sure Shaba would be dead anyway.

Several weeks went by and Shaba slowly mended but made sure he never, ever came near the village where he grew up again. He would rather be torn by the claws and jaws of a lion than face another adult human. Raibo eventually found him, because he wanted to, then he went away and brought back three or four youngsters who were in just as dire circumstances as themselves.  The children hid out in the jungle but close to the Ark so that they could glimpse and hear Noah’s earnest pleading.

One day everything changed. The children stared transfixed as not one pair but two, they more and more animals filed out of the nearby woods and distant plains and up the ramp in a most orderly fashion. The children, forgetting their fear, rushed out to get a closer look at this strange phenomenon. The whole crowd grew silent, and the news must have been spread by runners because soon the surrounding hillsides were swelling with the marveling throng. 

As the animals came the sky grew dark and there was the occasional flash of lightning and loud clap of thunder. Shaba saw many look nervously at the sky, but the threatened rain didn’t come.

Soon the animals had all filed in and Noah started to speak once again.  All around him men and women were muttering then beginning to disperse. 

Shaba lifted his arms in longing.

 "Please, please, let me come," he begged, but Noah didn’t hear him because a burly giant next to him knocked him over and kept him down with his foot.

The giant eventually walked away and Shaba sat up, and rubbed the dirt out of his eyes. His companions had all snuck back to the safety of the undergrowth and before Shaba’s tired eyes he saw the doors slowly shut.

Shaba hung around with his friends the next few days but they were all strangely silent. 

If they were terrified of the earthquakes that repeatedly shook the earth they didn’t mention it. More and more innocent young children who had been brutally treated somehow found their way to them. Shaba became their unspoken leader.

“Shaba, I am so scared,” Kenzy murmured. Eight year old Shaba brushed the hair from the little girl’s eyes.

“We all are, Kenzy,” he replied.

“I’m afraid he was right,” Loto whispered.

“Who was?”

“Noah.”

Shaba nodded.

“And we’re all going to drown.”

Shaba put his hand on the little lad’s trembling shoulder.

“Ya I know we will.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“A little.” The earth trembled beneath their feet and they hung on to each other for support.

“But I’ve listened carefully to Preacher Noah for many days and I think I understand what he was saying,”

Right then the unnatural stench from a non-wood fire reached their nostrils. Terrified, the youngsters clung to Raibo and Shaba.

“They making more and more sacrifices to appease their gods,” a newcomer announced soberly. “There was five thrown into the fire last night.”

So they believed Noah, Shaba thought, but don't want to admit it.

“What was Noah trying to tell them?” the newcomer asked a moment later.

Shaba took a deep breath and looked at the sky. He reached out his hand as the first raindrop fell. 

“That the earth would be washed clean of all wickedness,” He looked at each child in turn. “You know what wickedness is. “ They shuddered and stared into each-others frightened eyes.

The rain fell faster. 

“Shall we go to higher ground?”  Raibo asked.

Shabo hesitated then shook his head. “The bad guys will be there, and some of them will be meaner than ever,”

“What shall we do?” Kenzy wailed.

“We will pray,” Shaba decided, “To Noah’s God.

They did, and then Shaba told them that God was preparing a happy place for all the little children: a place where they would have plenty of food and playtime with no reason to ever fear again.

For some reason they became intrigued by how much water was gushing over the waterfalls and walked over to see it. All around people were yelling, screaming and pushing their way to higher ground, but the seven little children watched the  cascade with rain gushing all around them.  When the ground gave away beneath their feet they were swept away to Heaven’s gate.

Just Pretend to Change

This is another part to Claudine's story.    The original is from the Martyr's Mirror. Stroll back and read from the beginning. Part one is The Couple Next Door, part Two: Apprehended, and so on. It will make a whole lot more sense that way. :) 

“Claudine, don't be so hard on yourself,” a childhood friend pleaded as she handed her a basket after the guard had left. “Just give lip service to their demands.”

Claudine's eyes widened. “You mean tell them I won't serve Jesus anymore?”

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.

support@emypeople.net