Oh no! The roast is not going to be ready in time, I thought anxiously. I had checked it after a couple of hours and it was still red in the middle! That wouldn’t do for a pork roast, so I turned up the heat. It was almost time to take our food to “The Table,“ our monthly church fellowship meal. Pondering what to take this time, I had decided to use half of a huge roast bought on sale and cut into two roasts before I had frozen it. I could serve it sliced and make a potato salad. I also wanted to make strawberry jello with bananas, since I had plenty on hand. Looking through my pantry, I saw I also had the makings for a chocolate sheet cake, except for powdered sugar and real butter I could pick up when I went to the store.
The morning got away with various errands and chores, and before I knew it, it was time to start cooking. I hurried the jello by using ice cubes for a speedier set, sliced bananas into it and got it into the refrigerator. Then I made the (usually simple) cake, but today I seemed to be all thumbs. I bumped the measuring spoon of cocoa powder and it flew all over the floor and kitchen mat. What a mess. After getting it into the oven, I had to wash the cake batter from the mixer beaters to make the icing. I really should get the potatoes on to boil for the potato salad, but what would all that humidity do to the cake frosting? I waited until the cake came out of the oven and was frosted, then I put it in the dining room away from the steamy kitchen.
Looking at the clock and checking the cookbook-recommended time for pork roast, I put the meat in the oven at 400 degrees for 15 minutes. The recipe actually said to cook it at 500 degrees first, then turn it down to 250 for 1 1/2 hours. Instead, I turned it down to 350 degrees, thinking that it would cook more quickly and still be tender. I wanted to make gravy from the drippings, but gravy wouldn’t go with potato salad, so I decided to cook rice to be done just before we left. But first, the potato salad. The eggs got done and peeled, but the potatoes took a little longer. Finally I had it completed, but it wasn’t to my satisfaction, since I’d used russet potatoes instead of red ones; when cooked, their waxy texture makes better potato salad. These tended to crumble and taste grainy, but my husband said it was good. (I’d have to trust him, since my taste was largely absent that day.)
I cooked the rice, and took the roast out, hoping for the best. Removing it from the pan and covering it with foil to let it “rest,” I made the gravy. Time was growing short. Finally I had Howard slice the roast, and it was perfect. Keeping the slices intact, I placed in the crock pot with the gravy and went to get dressed. The rice had gone into a smaller crock pot to keep warm. This feast had grown exponentially along with my aspirations, and now it was a huge load to take to church. When I saw the smaller-than-usual crowd, I groaned mentally that I would have a lot to take home. Surprisingly, though, there was just a tidbit left in each container, leaving enough for our lunch today. The cake was ¾ eaten, and I sent the rest to work with Howard today to share with his co-worker. Thank you, Lord, for working it all out and giving us a very enjoyable evening, besides!
Friday, October 22, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Pansies, Periwinkles and Prayers
The flowers in our long planter box hadn’t been the same since our September vacation. They had gotten a little dried out, despite an occasional watering in our absence. Even though we watered copiously when we got back and tried to re-establish their lush blooms, the changing season seemed to be against us. Oh well, they wouldn’t have lasted past November anyway. I have always loved Vinca flowers, or periwinkle, their prettier name. They were a favorite of mine when we lived in Mississippi, tolerating the hot summers beautifully and lasting into November or longer. But these would have to go.
“Let’s pull them out and plant pansies,” I suggested to my husband. I had never raised pansies, though in the South they were very popular as winter garden plants. I would see their two-tone blooms of purple or yellow looking like little faces bobbing merrily in the breeze in other people’s flower beds. Their delicate appearance belied their hardiness and ability to withstand the cold. We got a couple of flats, and found their proper name is Viola. After ruthlessly pulling out the woody stems and scraggly stalks of the Vinca, we set to work putting them into the soft soil of the flower box. I’d forgotten how much work even a little gardening is and wished for a “garden seat,” a low stool on wheels to save an aching back or spare stiff knees. However, it was a rewarding tiredness I felt as I looked in satisfaction at our newly bright planter, stretching across the front of the house with spots of color.
In the language of flowers, the periwinkle stands for friendship. The shy little pansy represents “thoughts.” What a sweet way to think of flowers. In gentler times, people were aware of what flowers meant in the etiquette of relationships. There used to be a thing called romance, when attractions developed slowly with all the little niceties and nuances of courtship, and flowers spoke a language all their own. Period movies depict messages sent and understood by the choice of flowers. We still love to get flowers, but who sends much besides a bouquet of roses these days? Victorian hearts beat wildly, or not, upon receiving particular floral messages.
Thinking of the delicacy of flowers reminds me of the Bible verse in Isaiah 42:3, “A bruised reed He will not break, and smoking flax He will not quench,” speaking of Jesus in bringing salvation to the Gentiles. This was brought to mind Sunday in a message from our pastor as he urged compassion for the lost. He warned against taking a “holier than thou” attitude and treating sinners shabbily, or defending our stance in self-righteous tones. “If you do that,” he said, his voice catching with the gravity of his words, “ it had better be without a shred of pride. We must have genuine love and concern for their souls.” He entreated the congregation to pray that God would give us a passion for the unsaved. That kind of love is a language all will understand.
“Let’s pull them out and plant pansies,” I suggested to my husband. I had never raised pansies, though in the South they were very popular as winter garden plants. I would see their two-tone blooms of purple or yellow looking like little faces bobbing merrily in the breeze in other people’s flower beds. Their delicate appearance belied their hardiness and ability to withstand the cold. We got a couple of flats, and found their proper name is Viola. After ruthlessly pulling out the woody stems and scraggly stalks of the Vinca, we set to work putting them into the soft soil of the flower box. I’d forgotten how much work even a little gardening is and wished for a “garden seat,” a low stool on wheels to save an aching back or spare stiff knees. However, it was a rewarding tiredness I felt as I looked in satisfaction at our newly bright planter, stretching across the front of the house with spots of color.
In the language of flowers, the periwinkle stands for friendship. The shy little pansy represents “thoughts.” What a sweet way to think of flowers. In gentler times, people were aware of what flowers meant in the etiquette of relationships. There used to be a thing called romance, when attractions developed slowly with all the little niceties and nuances of courtship, and flowers spoke a language all their own. Period movies depict messages sent and understood by the choice of flowers. We still love to get flowers, but who sends much besides a bouquet of roses these days? Victorian hearts beat wildly, or not, upon receiving particular floral messages.
Thinking of the delicacy of flowers reminds me of the Bible verse in Isaiah 42:3, “A bruised reed He will not break, and smoking flax He will not quench,” speaking of Jesus in bringing salvation to the Gentiles. This was brought to mind Sunday in a message from our pastor as he urged compassion for the lost. He warned against taking a “holier than thou” attitude and treating sinners shabbily, or defending our stance in self-righteous tones. “If you do that,” he said, his voice catching with the gravity of his words, “ it had better be without a shred of pride. We must have genuine love and concern for their souls.” He entreated the congregation to pray that God would give us a passion for the unsaved. That kind of love is a language all will understand.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Scent-sory Perception
“What smells so good?” Howard exclaimed, as he came in from the front porch where he’d been waiting for his lunch before going to work at 1:00. I was making beef stew, and the intoxicating aroma was wafting out the door where he sat enjoying the crisp fall weather. I told him what it was, and he asked what I had put in it that made the lovely smell.
“Onions,” I replied. Since I had put them in when I first put the meat on to cook, he’d been detecting them for awhile. “I learned that from Erma Bombeck,” I quipped. “She said that when dinner was running late, she always put an onion in the oven so her family would assume it was almost ready.”
I guess everyone who has ever sold a house uses the “cookies in the oven” tactic or the smell of apple pie to give potential buyers a warm and fuzzy feeling about their house. I know I fell for it once, coming in to the grandmotherly figure taking a cake out of the oven at the house we would buy and live in for twenty years! (She also had a wonderful pitcher of ice-cold water sitting in the ’fridge, offering us a refreshing drink on a sweltering day. I found out later the water was “egg water,” the name given to water from the artesian well water supply. The taste and smell only disappears when the water sits for awhile.)
In the Bible, Esau gave up his birthright when he sniffed the air and caught a whiff of his brother, Jacob’s “red pottage,” maybe stew or something like our red beans’n’rice with their tantalizing fragrance. His temporary craving made him sell his inheritance for a bowl of food. All that was left was for Jacob to trick his father into sealing the deal with a blessing after eating a look-alike meal that smelled like his favorite venison from Esau’s bow.
Today many are duped by the insidious “smell of success,” and compromise their principles and their priorities to achieve it. I remember a popular song that had the phrase, “There’ll be a lot of compromisin’ on the road to my horizon, But I’m gonna be where the lights are shining on me.” My daughter, who has had a career in nursing for many years, said to me one day, “Mama, poverty has a smell,” speaking of her experience with patients. “It smells like grease, dirt and bad breath.” She went on, “And money has a smell, too. It smells like gum, perfume and leather.” I’d say she has a good sense of smell, and a bit of philosophy, too!
Jesus said the poor would be with us always. Righteousness is available to the rich or the poor. The most important thing to remember is given in Ephesians 5:2, where Paul tells us, “And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us as an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet smelling savor,” and in 2 Corinthians 2:15, “For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.” The best smell of all!
“Onions,” I replied. Since I had put them in when I first put the meat on to cook, he’d been detecting them for awhile. “I learned that from Erma Bombeck,” I quipped. “She said that when dinner was running late, she always put an onion in the oven so her family would assume it was almost ready.”
I guess everyone who has ever sold a house uses the “cookies in the oven” tactic or the smell of apple pie to give potential buyers a warm and fuzzy feeling about their house. I know I fell for it once, coming in to the grandmotherly figure taking a cake out of the oven at the house we would buy and live in for twenty years! (She also had a wonderful pitcher of ice-cold water sitting in the ’fridge, offering us a refreshing drink on a sweltering day. I found out later the water was “egg water,” the name given to water from the artesian well water supply. The taste and smell only disappears when the water sits for awhile.)
In the Bible, Esau gave up his birthright when he sniffed the air and caught a whiff of his brother, Jacob’s “red pottage,” maybe stew or something like our red beans’n’rice with their tantalizing fragrance. His temporary craving made him sell his inheritance for a bowl of food. All that was left was for Jacob to trick his father into sealing the deal with a blessing after eating a look-alike meal that smelled like his favorite venison from Esau’s bow.
Today many are duped by the insidious “smell of success,” and compromise their principles and their priorities to achieve it. I remember a popular song that had the phrase, “There’ll be a lot of compromisin’ on the road to my horizon, But I’m gonna be where the lights are shining on me.” My daughter, who has had a career in nursing for many years, said to me one day, “Mama, poverty has a smell,” speaking of her experience with patients. “It smells like grease, dirt and bad breath.” She went on, “And money has a smell, too. It smells like gum, perfume and leather.” I’d say she has a good sense of smell, and a bit of philosophy, too!
Jesus said the poor would be with us always. Righteousness is available to the rich or the poor. The most important thing to remember is given in Ephesians 5:2, where Paul tells us, “And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us as an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet smelling savor,” and in 2 Corinthians 2:15, “For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.” The best smell of all!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Sheep of His Pasture
Our pastor brought out some interesting points Sunday as related to the 23rd Psalm. In referring to the sheep knowing the shepherd’s voice, he said it was the habit of the shepherd to speak pretty much continually to his flock. As he walked along in front of them, he would talk, sing, make up poems--anything to keep his voice a constant, reassuring presence to the sheep. As a result, the sheep were so acclimated to his voice that they became sensitive to it and “knew” it, relying on it for their safety and well being.
We can imagine that David sang original compositions to his sheep in his hours of isolation, picking up all kinds of comparisons as he studied nature, the sheep and other wild animals. His devotion to God no doubt grew as he observed His world and creation and relied on Him in the desolate places. He probably sang the songs and recited the chants so many times that it was easy to remember and write them down when the sheep were resting “beside the still waters.” Our beautiful Psalms are the result.
Another point the pastor emphasized was that when an unruly sheep no longer listened to his master’s voice, running away, endangering its life and the lives of the flock, the shepherd would resort to breaking the leg of the animal, probably with his “rod,” actually more like a bat or heavy club used to defend and protect the sheep. This seemingly inhumane act was really an act of compassion to save the sheep’s life, for the shepherd would then place the sheep across his shoulders, carrying it and tenderly caring for it until it healed. By that time, in its position near his head, the sheep became even more familiar with the shepherd’s voice. Needless to say, a transformation would occur, and the sheep never strayed again.
When we were in our son, Mark’s, church in North Carolina this summer, he preached on aspects of the 23rd Psalm. One thing that stood out to me was his explanation of the verse in John 10:7, which says, “Then Jesus said to them again, ‘Most assuredly, I say to you, I am the door of the sheep.’” Verse 9 goes on to say, “I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture.” Mark said, from his research, he found that the sheepfold did not have a physical door made of wood; rather, the shepherd lay down at night across the doorway, using his own body as the door. Nothing could go in or out except it passed through him first. What a picture of our entrance into the Kingdom of God!
I have found, having experienced partial hearing loss due to an inner ear condition, that I follow more closely what people are saying if I look at them while they are speaking. If someone behind me says something in a soft or mumbled voice, sometimes I am completely unaware that they are speaking. It reminds me of what I have heard about servants of old, how they watched their master’s face for any indication of communication to them, whether by expression, a glance, or a word, they were anxious to do his bidding. Jesus says in John 10:3-5, “To him the doorkeeper opens, and the sheep hear his voice: and he calls them by name and leads them out. And when he brings out his own sheep, he goes before them: and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. Yet they will by no means follow a stranger, but will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers.” What better way to know His voice than by beholding His face!
We can imagine that David sang original compositions to his sheep in his hours of isolation, picking up all kinds of comparisons as he studied nature, the sheep and other wild animals. His devotion to God no doubt grew as he observed His world and creation and relied on Him in the desolate places. He probably sang the songs and recited the chants so many times that it was easy to remember and write them down when the sheep were resting “beside the still waters.” Our beautiful Psalms are the result.
Another point the pastor emphasized was that when an unruly sheep no longer listened to his master’s voice, running away, endangering its life and the lives of the flock, the shepherd would resort to breaking the leg of the animal, probably with his “rod,” actually more like a bat or heavy club used to defend and protect the sheep. This seemingly inhumane act was really an act of compassion to save the sheep’s life, for the shepherd would then place the sheep across his shoulders, carrying it and tenderly caring for it until it healed. By that time, in its position near his head, the sheep became even more familiar with the shepherd’s voice. Needless to say, a transformation would occur, and the sheep never strayed again.
When we were in our son, Mark’s, church in North Carolina this summer, he preached on aspects of the 23rd Psalm. One thing that stood out to me was his explanation of the verse in John 10:7, which says, “Then Jesus said to them again, ‘Most assuredly, I say to you, I am the door of the sheep.’” Verse 9 goes on to say, “I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture.” Mark said, from his research, he found that the sheepfold did not have a physical door made of wood; rather, the shepherd lay down at night across the doorway, using his own body as the door. Nothing could go in or out except it passed through him first. What a picture of our entrance into the Kingdom of God!
I have found, having experienced partial hearing loss due to an inner ear condition, that I follow more closely what people are saying if I look at them while they are speaking. If someone behind me says something in a soft or mumbled voice, sometimes I am completely unaware that they are speaking. It reminds me of what I have heard about servants of old, how they watched their master’s face for any indication of communication to them, whether by expression, a glance, or a word, they were anxious to do his bidding. Jesus says in John 10:3-5, “To him the doorkeeper opens, and the sheep hear his voice: and he calls them by name and leads them out. And when he brings out his own sheep, he goes before them: and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. Yet they will by no means follow a stranger, but will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers.” What better way to know His voice than by beholding His face!
Monday, October 18, 2010
A Good Day
“Revive your dream; revive your vision,” the minister we’d heard Saturday was saying. “Whatever it is God has called you to do, be persistent in it,” he emphasized. It was a theme I had heard several times lately, and I couldn’t help but think about the book I had written and had published in April. The initial excitement had worn off, and I hadn’t pushed any book sales for awhile. Maybe that message was for me. I know it’s not a big thing, but it seems to be what God has enabled me to do, so I asked Him to revive it and turned it over to Him.
Since October is Pastor Appreciation Month, my husband had received some gift cards in one of the baskets for the ministers on the information table at church this morning. One was for a bookstore, and they were open on Sunday afternoon, so Howard wanted to go there and browse to see if anything took his eye. As we left the church, we were feeling a little adrift, since I often prepare a big meal and invite our son, Greg’s, family over for Sunday dinner. But they had plans today, so I hadn’t made anything ahead; I would just make something easy when we got home. But our spirits were buoyed by the gift cards, and we decided to eat out.
We had a finished a nice lunch when the waitress asked if she could interest us in some pumpkin pie. At the word, “pumpkin,” Howard’s favorite, his eyes lit up. This restaurant is known for their delicious signature pies. He asked the price, and she said $3.69 without whipped cream or $3.99 with. We were trying to decide, when she said, “Or you can have the “expired” pie for 99 cents.” Well, the price was right, and she assured us it was perfectly good, only required to be sold that way for health code purposes. She brought us a warm slice with fresh-from-the-oven flavor topped with whipped cream. We shared it, and it was delicious. Getting a bargain buoyed our mood even more. This was turning out to be a great day!
It got even better at the bookstore, when the cell phone in my purse rang. It was a writer from a newspaper in a nearby town, and she wanted to interview me and feature my book in an upcoming newspaper supplement! She needed a picture and a book, though. Well, I just happened to be in the bookstore where my book was stocked, so I got one back to give to her, since I was out of copies at home. Then there was the matter of the picture. I remembered a picture from my granddaughter’s wedding that might do, only I would have to crop it, since my husband was in it, too. I was sure I could work something out, though.
When we got home, the phone rang again, and it was the newspaper lady. She told me she would bring her camera and try to get some pictures in an outdoor setting for a seasonal fall photo. This was beginning to sound like fun! Things are definitely looking up since I turned them over to the Lord! Oh yes, the Christian bookstore where we heard the special speaker the other day wants to stock my book and do a book-signing in November! Thank you, Jesus!
Since October is Pastor Appreciation Month, my husband had received some gift cards in one of the baskets for the ministers on the information table at church this morning. One was for a bookstore, and they were open on Sunday afternoon, so Howard wanted to go there and browse to see if anything took his eye. As we left the church, we were feeling a little adrift, since I often prepare a big meal and invite our son, Greg’s, family over for Sunday dinner. But they had plans today, so I hadn’t made anything ahead; I would just make something easy when we got home. But our spirits were buoyed by the gift cards, and we decided to eat out.
We had a finished a nice lunch when the waitress asked if she could interest us in some pumpkin pie. At the word, “pumpkin,” Howard’s favorite, his eyes lit up. This restaurant is known for their delicious signature pies. He asked the price, and she said $3.69 without whipped cream or $3.99 with. We were trying to decide, when she said, “Or you can have the “expired” pie for 99 cents.” Well, the price was right, and she assured us it was perfectly good, only required to be sold that way for health code purposes. She brought us a warm slice with fresh-from-the-oven flavor topped with whipped cream. We shared it, and it was delicious. Getting a bargain buoyed our mood even more. This was turning out to be a great day!
It got even better at the bookstore, when the cell phone in my purse rang. It was a writer from a newspaper in a nearby town, and she wanted to interview me and feature my book in an upcoming newspaper supplement! She needed a picture and a book, though. Well, I just happened to be in the bookstore where my book was stocked, so I got one back to give to her, since I was out of copies at home. Then there was the matter of the picture. I remembered a picture from my granddaughter’s wedding that might do, only I would have to crop it, since my husband was in it, too. I was sure I could work something out, though.
When we got home, the phone rang again, and it was the newspaper lady. She told me she would bring her camera and try to get some pictures in an outdoor setting for a seasonal fall photo. This was beginning to sound like fun! Things are definitely looking up since I turned them over to the Lord! Oh yes, the Christian bookstore where we heard the special speaker the other day wants to stock my book and do a book-signing in November! Thank you, Jesus!
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Challenge from Abroad
We just got back from hearing a special speaker at a prayer room in the back of the local Christian bookstore. The minister and his wife are here from Romania, where they have a mission work, although they are natives of Holland. They are missionaries to the Gypsies. In fact, they have even adopted a Gypsy teenage girl, already having three children of their own.
He was a fascinating speaker, not only because of his powerful message, but also for his somewhat-broken English and interesting accent. I had no trouble understanding him except for a time or two, once when I asked his wife what he had said that made everyone laugh. He had been talking about the uniqueness of his native land, and said there is a common saying over there, that “God created the earth, but the Dutch created Holland.” He was referring to the fact that it is below sea level and surrounded by dikes.
His subject was “Unity in Prayer,” and at one point the speaker was emphasizing how important it is to make sure you have a strong relationship with God and have prayed for protection before you enter upon a venture for Him. He told how they and a group from their ministry had set out to have a service in a community of Gypsies one evening. It seems that in the traffic they encountered, there was a make-shift wagon being pulled by a carload of Gypsies, which was veering all over the road, causing one of their party to run into it. When the pastor got out to investigate, he found that there was a very inebriated driver pulling the wagon. “Why are you driving when you are drunk?” he demanded, taking the man’s shoulder and looking sternly into his face.
Just then the crowd of people who were in the car with the drunk man began assaulting the pastor, blaming him for the wreck. One man took a shovel from the wagon and began beating him. As he tried to ward off the blows, both physical and verbal, another started swinging a heavy chain over his head, hitting and injuring their victim. A side mirror of the vehicle had been damaged in the collision, and a woman, cursing and shouting, tore the mirror arm loose and struck him about the head, arms and shoulders with it. Finally, staggering and bleeding, the pastor began to rebuke the demons that were ruling in the brawl. This infuriated the people to near-animal status, their eyes almost glowing with rage and fury. Suddenly police cars showed up and the brawlers were arrested.
“I should have been better prepared in prayer!” the pastor admitted. “But I took a stand against Satan, anyway, and he was defeated! We had thirty people come to the Lord that night!” Explaining how easy it would have been to go home in discouragement and cancel the meeting, he stressed that perseverance and determination are vital in prayer and in resisting the enemy. He said that many people quit praying just when the breakthrough is ready to come. He compared prayer to a fuse on a stick of dynamite--it has been lit, and the sparks are traveling to the explosive, when we get tired of praying and give up, just before the explosion of answered prayer. An excerpt from an amazing message, delivered like a Dutch-uncle, in the land of Uncle Sam!
He was a fascinating speaker, not only because of his powerful message, but also for his somewhat-broken English and interesting accent. I had no trouble understanding him except for a time or two, once when I asked his wife what he had said that made everyone laugh. He had been talking about the uniqueness of his native land, and said there is a common saying over there, that “God created the earth, but the Dutch created Holland.” He was referring to the fact that it is below sea level and surrounded by dikes.
His subject was “Unity in Prayer,” and at one point the speaker was emphasizing how important it is to make sure you have a strong relationship with God and have prayed for protection before you enter upon a venture for Him. He told how they and a group from their ministry had set out to have a service in a community of Gypsies one evening. It seems that in the traffic they encountered, there was a make-shift wagon being pulled by a carload of Gypsies, which was veering all over the road, causing one of their party to run into it. When the pastor got out to investigate, he found that there was a very inebriated driver pulling the wagon. “Why are you driving when you are drunk?” he demanded, taking the man’s shoulder and looking sternly into his face.
Just then the crowd of people who were in the car with the drunk man began assaulting the pastor, blaming him for the wreck. One man took a shovel from the wagon and began beating him. As he tried to ward off the blows, both physical and verbal, another started swinging a heavy chain over his head, hitting and injuring their victim. A side mirror of the vehicle had been damaged in the collision, and a woman, cursing and shouting, tore the mirror arm loose and struck him about the head, arms and shoulders with it. Finally, staggering and bleeding, the pastor began to rebuke the demons that were ruling in the brawl. This infuriated the people to near-animal status, their eyes almost glowing with rage and fury. Suddenly police cars showed up and the brawlers were arrested.
“I should have been better prepared in prayer!” the pastor admitted. “But I took a stand against Satan, anyway, and he was defeated! We had thirty people come to the Lord that night!” Explaining how easy it would have been to go home in discouragement and cancel the meeting, he stressed that perseverance and determination are vital in prayer and in resisting the enemy. He said that many people quit praying just when the breakthrough is ready to come. He compared prayer to a fuse on a stick of dynamite--it has been lit, and the sparks are traveling to the explosive, when we get tired of praying and give up, just before the explosion of answered prayer. An excerpt from an amazing message, delivered like a Dutch-uncle, in the land of Uncle Sam!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Finale
“I feel like traveling on, I feel like traveling on,” the group heartily sang several verses of the song at the assisted living home tonight before sitting down rather breathlessly. They had gone through, “My heavenly home is bright and fair, I feel like traveling on, No pain nor death shall enter there, I feel like traveling on,” then, “It’s glittering towers the sun outshine, I feel like traveling on,” and “That heavenly mansion shall be mine, I feel like traveling on.” We were there for our regular monthly ministry service: Howard, my husband, son Greg, myself and another member, Sarah, who played one of the guitars. Howard had been interspersing his remarks by spontaneously breaking into first one song and then another.
His topic had been that God reaches down and rescues people, saves and restores them, no matter how far they may have been from God. He told of a man who owned a bar whom God had saved, and the man had immediately returned to his tavern and put up a sign reading, “Closed Forever. Gone to Serve Jesus.” One story led to another, and after a few more songs, he began to close with a true story he had heard about a man who had decided to give up on God.
It seems the man was a devout Christian and a wealthy farmer whose daughter had fallen in love with a ne’er-do-well and had announced plans to marry him. Her father had tried everything to dissuade her, seeing only a life of disappointment in store for his daughter. Furthermore, he abhorred the thought that this character might someday inherit his farm. The girl married him anyway, despite the father’s fervent prayers and pleadings to God that the marriage wouldn’t take place. In a fit of anger and rage against God for allowing this to happen, the farmer made up his mind to abandon his faith. To add to his resolve, he was making a statement by ending the relationship at the place it had begun, at the altar in church.
When he got to the church and approached the altar for his act of formal apostasy, thoughts of God’s blessings to his family over the years came back to him, and he thought he would give God a final “thank you” in a decent show of respect. As he knelt at the altar, he began to list all the positive things that had happened to them. The children had been healthy, the crops had been good, many breaks had come their way, farm equipment was paid off, they had new vehicles, and on and on. Finally, as tears came down his cheeks, he said, “God, I just can’t quit on you. Forgive me, God, for holding this grudge against my son-in-law. You’ve been so good to me.”
Just then Greg interrupted his father, “Dad, we missed a verse awhile ago. There is one more verse." He and Sarah began to sing, “The Lord has been so good to me, I feel like traveling on, Until that blessed home I see, I feel like traveling on.” It was a fitting end to the service.
His topic had been that God reaches down and rescues people, saves and restores them, no matter how far they may have been from God. He told of a man who owned a bar whom God had saved, and the man had immediately returned to his tavern and put up a sign reading, “Closed Forever. Gone to Serve Jesus.” One story led to another, and after a few more songs, he began to close with a true story he had heard about a man who had decided to give up on God.
It seems the man was a devout Christian and a wealthy farmer whose daughter had fallen in love with a ne’er-do-well and had announced plans to marry him. Her father had tried everything to dissuade her, seeing only a life of disappointment in store for his daughter. Furthermore, he abhorred the thought that this character might someday inherit his farm. The girl married him anyway, despite the father’s fervent prayers and pleadings to God that the marriage wouldn’t take place. In a fit of anger and rage against God for allowing this to happen, the farmer made up his mind to abandon his faith. To add to his resolve, he was making a statement by ending the relationship at the place it had begun, at the altar in church.
When he got to the church and approached the altar for his act of formal apostasy, thoughts of God’s blessings to his family over the years came back to him, and he thought he would give God a final “thank you” in a decent show of respect. As he knelt at the altar, he began to list all the positive things that had happened to them. The children had been healthy, the crops had been good, many breaks had come their way, farm equipment was paid off, they had new vehicles, and on and on. Finally, as tears came down his cheeks, he said, “God, I just can’t quit on you. Forgive me, God, for holding this grudge against my son-in-law. You’ve been so good to me.”
Just then Greg interrupted his father, “Dad, we missed a verse awhile ago. There is one more verse." He and Sarah began to sing, “The Lord has been so good to me, I feel like traveling on, Until that blessed home I see, I feel like traveling on.” It was a fitting end to the service.
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