The Ragman

[FineLinen]

Friends: I have gathered a number of stories together that should be an encouragement to us. Hopefully we will add a new one from time to time until the well runs dry.

[move]We pursue God because, and only because He has first put an urge within us that spurs us to the pursuit....[/move]

We pursue God because, and only because, He has first put an urge within us that spurs us to the pursuit. "No man can come to Me, except the Father...draw him." This prevenient drawing takes from us every vestige of credit for the act of coming. -A.W. Tozer-

 

[FineLinen]

Dirty Rags

Queen Victoria once paid a visit to a paper mill. Without knowing who this distinguished visitor was, the foreman showed her the workings of the mill. She went into the rag-sorting shop where employess picked out the rags from the refuse of the city. Upon inquiring what was done with this dirty mass of rags, she was told that it would eventually make the finest white writing paper. After her departure, the foreman found out who it was that had paid the visit.

Some time later, Her Majesty received a package of the most delicate, pure white stationery, bearing the Queen's likeness for a watermark. Enclosed was a note saying that the stationery had been made from the dirty rags she had recently inspected.

This story illustrates Christ's work in us, as well, He takes us, filthy as we are, and makes us into new creatures. After receiving Jesus, we are as spiritually different from what we were before, as pure white paper is from the filthy rags from which it is made.

"Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God; And only he who see's takes his shoes off." Eliz. Barrett Browning

 

[kelco]

Thank You Clean Linen, this is wonderful. It made me have goose bumps all over!

God bless

Kelly

 

[FineLinen]

Kelko....I am pleased you were uplifted. The effect was identical for me as well. May His Presence be richly yours.

"They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint."

Covered by The Cloud!

It was a morning in early March, 1945, a clear and sunny day. I was 24 years old and a member of the U.S. Army's 35th Infantry Division, 137th Infantry Company I.

Along with several other companies of American troops, we were making our way through dense woods, towards the Rhine River in the German Rhineland. Our objective was to reach and take the town of Ossenberg, where a factory was producing gunpowder and other products for use in the war.

For hours we had pressed through an unrelenting thicket. Shortly after
mid-day word was passed that there was a clearing ahead. At last, we thought, the going would be easier. but then we approached a large stone house, behind which huddled a handful of wounded, bleeding soldiers who had tried to cross the clearing and failed.

Before us stretched at least 200 yards of open ground, bordered on the far
side by more thick woods. As the first of us appeared on the edge of the
clearing there was an angry rat-tat-tat and a ferocious volley of bullets
sent soil spinning as far as we could see. Three nests of German machine
guns, spaced 50 yards apart and protected by the crest of a small hill to
the left, were firing across the field. As we got our bearings it was
determined that the machine guns were so well placed that our weapons
couldn't reach them.

To cross that field meant suicide. Yet, we had no choice. The Germans had
blockaded every other route into the town. In order to move on and secure a victory, we had to move forward.

I slumped against a tree, appalled at the grim situation. I thought of home,
of my wife and my 5-month old son. I had kissed him good-bye just after he was born. I thought that I might never see my family again, and the
possibility was overwhelming.

I dropped to my knees. "God," I pleaded desperately, "You've got to do
something. Please do something."

Moments later the order was given to advance. Grasping my M-1 rifle, I go
to my feet and started forward. After reaching the edge of the clearing I
took a deep breath. But just before I stepped out from over, I glanced to
the left.

I stopped and stared in amazement. A white cloud -- a long fluffy white
cloud -- had appeared out of nowhere. It dropped from over the trees and
covered the area. The Germans' line of fire was obscured by the thick foggy
mist.

All of us bolted into the clearing and raced for our lives. The only sounds
were of combat boots thudding against the soft earth as men dashed into the clearing, scrambling to reach the safety of the other side before the mist lifted. With each step the woods opposite came closer and closer. I was almost across! My pulse pounding in my ears, I lunged into the thicket and threw myself behind a tree.

I turned and watched as other soldiers following me dove frantically into
the woods, some carrying and dragging the wounded. This has to be God's
doing, I thought. The instant the last man reached safety, the cloud
vanished! The day was again bright and clear.

The enemy, apparently thinking we were still pinned down behind the stone house on the other side, must have radioed their artillery. Minutes later the building was blown to bits but our company was safe and we quickly moved on.

We reached Ossenberg and went on to secure more areas for the Allies. But the image of that cloud was never far from my mind. I had seen the sort of smoke screens that were sometimes set off to obscure troop activity in such situations. That cloud had been different. It had appeared out of nowhere and saved our lives.

Two weeks later, as we bivouacked in eastern Germany, a letter arrived from my mother back in Dallas. I tore open the envelope eagerly. The letter
contained words that sent a shiver down my spine. "You remember Mrs.
Tankersly from our church?" my mother wrote.

Who could forget her? I smiled. Everybody called Mrs. Tankersly the prayer
warrior.

"Well," continued Mom, "Mrs. Tankersly telephoned me one morning from the defense plant where she works. She said the Lord had awakened her the night before at one o' clock and told her, 'Spencer January is in terrible
trouble. Get up now and pray for him!"

My mother went on to explain that Mrs. Tankersly had interceded for me in
prayer until six o' clock the next morning, when she had to go to her job.
"She told me the last thing she prayed before getting off her knees was
this" -- "Lord, whatever danger Spencer is in, just cover him with a cloud!"

I sat there for a long time holding the letter in my trembling hand. My mind
raced, quickly calculating. Yes, the hours Mrs. Tankersly was praying would
indeed have corresponded to the time we were approaching the clearing. With a seven-hour time difference, her prayer for a cloud would have been uttered at one o'clock, the exact time Company I was getting ready to cross the clearing.

From that moment on, I intensified my prayer life. For the past 52 years I have gotten up early every morning to pray for others. I am convinced there is no substitute for the power of prayer and its ability to comfort and
sustain others, even those facing the valley of the shadow of death.

--by Spencer January

FineLinen

Prayer begins in the Heart of God and is experienced by those He lifts into His Presence to join Him in His intention! Lord, teach us to pray!

 

[Lbiagm]

nice stories finelinen

 

[JoJoButterfly]

WOW!  Thanks for those stories!  They really have encouraged me. 

God Bless

JoJo

 

[Lbiagm]

they were really touching finelinen.

 

[aaron]

FineLinen thank you for these stories/parables. They are very inspiring. I am wondering where did you get them; are there more?

Aaron

 

[Lbiagm]

yeah i am with aaron.

 

[BaBiDaNsTaR]

I LOVED the stories!! I agree...where did ya find them at? Or did you make them up, because they are really goooood!

 

[Lbiagm]

best stories i heard in a while.

 

[FineLinen]

Yes, Aaron, there are indeed more stories. I will attempt to place a new one up each day til the well runs dry. I am pleased that you all have been blessed. Our Father is indeed a glorious Being; whose love is expressed in the Son of His love, our Lord and Saviour Jesus, the Christ. And His love is expressed in piano lessons as well. May our Lord lift each of us into the "exceedingly above" aspects of His glory!

PIANO LESSONS

At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name is Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des Moines, Iowa.

I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons, something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a protege though I have taught some talented students. However I've also had my share of what I call "musically challenged" pupils.

One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys)! begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano.

So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn. Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, "My mom's going to hear me play someday." But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability.

I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in. Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons. I thought about calling him but assumed, because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mom had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing. "Miss Hondorf ... I've just got to play!" he insisted.

I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right. The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my "curtain closer."

Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'd run an eggbeater through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?" Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C Major.

I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo ... from allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause.

Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. "I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it?" Through the microphone Robby explained: "Well, Miss Hondorf ... remember I told you my mom was sick? Well actually she had cancer and passed away this morning. And well ... she was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special." There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening.

As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil. No, I've never had a protege but that night I became a protege ... of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil. For it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why.

This is especially meaningful to me since after serving in Desert Storm, Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was reportedly ... playing the piano.

We all have thousands of opportunities a day to help realize God's plan. So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a spark of the Divine? Or do we pass up that opportunity, and leave the world a bit colder in the process?

A true story by, Mildred Hondorf.

New Hope Music

http://newhopemusic.com/howawesome.htm

He Has The Whole World In His Hands!

http://www.saviorofall.com/dcforum/User_files/3ddfdfe324908e40.jpg

 

[FineLinen]

Please turn your audio on and enjoy...

A Glass Of Milk

http://www.geocities.com/lorisgarden/AGlassOfMilk.html

"The Church exists for nothing else but to draw men into Christ, to make them little Christs. If they are not doing that, all the cathredrals, clergy, missions, sermons, even the Bible itself, are simply a waste of time. God became a Man for no other purpose." C.S. Lewis (Mere Christianity)

 

[Lbiagm]

very touching finelinen

 

[FineLinen]

Another wonderful day has broken in the lives of those who have been grasped by the Glory One. I trust these encounters in other lives will be of value to us as we walk the narrow road with Him. We are part of the fellowship of the mystery. Is it not wonderful that our Father's mysteries continue to draw us into Himself?

William Cowper

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain......William Cowper

William Cowper's life was in shambles.

He was filled with despair and discouragement. He was so filled with despair that he was determined to take his life by taking poison. Instead of dying he became deathly ill.

He bought a gun and tried to shoot himself.
The gun would not go off. Angry he threw the gun away.

He got a rope and tried to hang himself--the rope broke.

So in utter desperation he hired a carriage in London and instructed the driver to take him to the Thames River.

The driver could not find the river. Fog settled in so thickly on the town even a London cab driver got lost. After several hours the driver brought Cowper back to his apartment. He went up to his room totally dismayed. His eyes fell upon a Bible.

He opened that Bible and began to read. He read of the Love of a heavenly Father who loved even William Cowper.

Astonished at the events that had just taken place he read of the sovereign providence of God working all things after the counsel of His own will.

He embraced Him as his Saviour and wrote the wonderful words of that great poem.

Small Hinges

Great events turn on small hinges. The gospel was first introduced into Japan through a portion of the Scripture that floated ashore, was picked up by a Japanese gentleman who afterwards sent for a whole Bible, and was instructed by the missionaries.

The battle of Bennington was gained, it is said, because a little lame boy in Vermont set a shoe on Colonel Warren's tenderfooted horse, and enabled the Colonel to lead up his regiment just in time to save the day, and the victory at Bennington decided the battle of Saratoga, which decided the Revolutionary War.

The hunger of the little son of Columbus led him to stop at the monastery in Andalusia and ask for bread. The Prior of the Monastery who had been the confessor of Queen Isabella, on hearing the story of the adventurous navigator, brought about an interview with the Queen, which resulted in the sailing of Columbus for the discovery of America. It all hinged upon the hunger of the boy at the gate of the monastery.

Spider Webs

Robert Bruce took refuge in a cave from the pursuer who was seeking his life. A spider at once wove a web across the mouth of the cave, and when the pursuer came up, seeing the web he took it for granted that no one had entered, and so he passed on. The destiny of millions of people hinged upon that little spider's web.

We cannot really tell what are the little or the great events of life. God may be in the still small voice when He is not so much in the earthquake, the storm, and the fire. And it is a comfort to remember that He will use insignificant people, small gifts, and feeble efforts for his glory. And when we think that each one of us may be a sort of pivot on which turns the destiny of a nation or an age, how faithful to God we should strive to be.

"Read and read again, and do not despair of help to understand the will and mind of God though you think they are fast locked up from you. Neither trouble your heads though you have not commentaries and exposition. Pray and read, read and pray; for a little from God is better than a great deal from men. Also, what is from men is uncertain, and is often lost and tumbled over by men; but what is from God is fixed as a nail in a sure place. There is nothing that so abides with us as what we receive from God; and the reason why the Christians in this day are at such a loss as to some things is that they are contented with what comes from men's mouths, without searching and kneeling before God to know of Him the truth of things. Things which we receive of God's hands come to us as truths from the minting house, though old themselves, yet new to us. Old truths are always new to us if they come with the smell of Heaven upon them." John Bunyan

 

[Lbiagm]

very touching

 

[Laura]

Thank you for those stories!

 

[FineLinen]

Laura, you are very welcome. Today we shall consider the exercise of singing in the dark.

SAVED FOR SINGING IN THE DARK!

A book about hymn stories is a wonderful bit of reading. I read a story about one old hymn that saved a man's life because he sang it in the dark of night, during the Civil War. His great grandson records the story this way.

Levi Hefner, a Confederate courier was sent one night by his commanding officer, Gen. Robert E. Lee, to take a message through an area partially occupied by Union troops. As he approached a bridge, his horse balked and reared nervously. Hefner dismounted and attempted to calm him. In the darkness, Hefner began singing softly these words of an old familiar hymn.

"Jesus lover of my soul, let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high; Hide me, O my Saviour hide, till the storm of life is past; safe into the haven guide; O receive my soul at last." In a few minutes the horse became quiet. Hefner mounted him, crossed the bridge without incident and completed his mission.

A number of years after the war, Hefner attended a reunion of soldiers from both sides. They shared experiences they remembered from the war. A Union soldier remembered standing guard one dark night at a bridge. He had been ordered to shoot anyone approaching from the other side. Only one rider came his way, and he raised his rifle to shoot as soon as he could see the form in the darkness. The horse balked, however, and the rider dismounted. To calm the horse, the rider began singing softly an old hymn, "Jesus Lover Of My Soul". The Union soldier told the circle of old soldiers that the sound of the hymn so touched him that he lowered his rifle and quietly turned away, "I could not shoot him."

Levi Hefner jumped up and embraced the Union soldier, saying, "That was me!" He realized for the first time that his singing in the dark that night had saved his life.

In Psl. 34:7, the Psalmist wrote, "The Angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him, and delivers them." Our job is to sing in the darkness of nights. His job is to take care of us and deliver. Try singing in the dark! 

Jesus Lover Of My Soul

http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/j/l/jlmysoul.htm 

 

[aaron]

That is so nice. Thank you.

P.S. I am still interested. Where do you get all of these.

 

[FineLinen]

Greetings again, Aaron....my brother, the advantages of being old are the vast files one gathers relating to many aspects of life. I have in the past couple of years gathered together from many sources of contact, a small archive of stories. I hope to share some of them on this link with those who choose to tune in. If you can use them in future days, I suggest you print off what you particularly like, and put them in a file. Bless you lad! In 1957, I was 15 years of age longing to know our God. Life was such a misery for me inside, never had I ever heard the Gospel of Jesus Christ.....part of a wonderful family, but inside, a deep void that nearly crushed me! Oh, "but God"...how wonderfully glorious He is, reached down and touched me in the Son of His love, our Saviour, Jesus, the Christ. Stay tuned for more little words of hope in coming days...

The Whole World Stinks

Wise men and philosophers throughout the ages have disagreed on many things, but many are in unanimous agreement on one point: "We become what we think about." Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "A man is what he thinks about all day long." The Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius put it this way: "A man's life is what his thoughts make of it."

In the Bible we find: "As a man thinks in his heart, so is he."

One Sunday afternoon, a cranky grandfather was visiting his family. As he lay down to take a nap, his grandson decided to have a little fun by putting Limburger cheese on Grandfather's mustache. Soon, grandpa awoke with a snort and charged out of the bedroom saying, "This room stinks." Through the house he went, finding every room smelling the same. Desperately he made his way outside only to find that "the whole world stinks!"

So it is when we fill our minds with negativism. Everything we experience and everybody we encounter will carry the scent we hold in our mind.

"Read and read again, and do not despair of help to understand the will and mind of God though you think they are fast locked up from you. Neither trouble your heads though you have not commentaries and exposition. Pray and read, read and pray; for a little from God is better than a great deal from men. Also, what is from men is uncertain, and is often lost and tumbled over by men; but what is from God is fixed as a nail in a sure place. There is nothing that so abides with us as what we receive from God; and the reason why the Christians in this day are at such a loss as to some things is that they are contented with what comes from men's mouths, without searching and kneeling before God to know of Him the truth of things. Things which we receive of God's hands come to us as truths from the minting house, though old themselves, yet new to us. Old truths are always new to us if they come with the smell of Heaven upon them." John Bunyan