The Ragman
- Thread starter FineLinen
- Start date
Dance Practice/ A Place To Stand
If you have ever gone through a toll booth, you know that your relationship to the person in the booth is not the most intimate you'll ever have. It is one of life's frequent non-encounters: You hand over some money; you might get change; you drive off.
Late one morning in 1984, headed for lunch in San Francisco, I drove toward a booth. I heard loud music. It sounded like a party. I looked around. No other cars with their windows open. No sound trucks. I looked at the toll booth. Inside it, the man was dancing.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm having a party," he said.
Vertical Coffins
"What about the rest of the people?" I looked at the other toll booths.
He said, "What do those look like to you?" He pointed down the row of toll booths.
"They look like...toll booths. What do they look like to you?"
He said, "Vertical coffins. At 8:30 every morning, live people get in. Then they die for eight hours. At 4:30, like Lazarus from the dead, they re-emerge and go home. For eight hours, brain is on hold, dead on the job. Going through the motions."
I was amazed. This guy had developed a philosophy, a mythology about his job. Sixteen people dead on the job, and the seventeenth, in precisely the same situation, figures out a way to live. I could not help asking the next question: "Why is it different for you? You're having a good time."
He looked at me. "I knew you were going to ask that. I don't understand why anybody would think my job is boring. I have a corner office, glass on all sides. I can see the Golden Gate, San Francisco, and the Berkeley hills. Half the Western world vacations here...and I just stroll in every day and practice dancing." (Dr. Charles Garfield )
"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine."
If you have ever gone through a toll booth, you know that your relationship to the person in the booth is not the most intimate you'll ever have. It is one of life's frequent non-encounters: You hand over some money; you might get change; you drive off.
Late one morning in 1984, headed for lunch in San Francisco, I drove toward a booth. I heard loud music. It sounded like a party. I looked around. No other cars with their windows open. No sound trucks. I looked at the toll booth. Inside it, the man was dancing.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm having a party," he said.
Vertical Coffins
"What about the rest of the people?" I looked at the other toll booths.
He said, "What do those look like to you?" He pointed down the row of toll booths.
"They look like...toll booths. What do they look like to you?"
He said, "Vertical coffins. At 8:30 every morning, live people get in. Then they die for eight hours. At 4:30, like Lazarus from the dead, they re-emerge and go home. For eight hours, brain is on hold, dead on the job. Going through the motions."
I was amazed. This guy had developed a philosophy, a mythology about his job. Sixteen people dead on the job, and the seventeenth, in precisely the same situation, figures out a way to live. I could not help asking the next question: "Why is it different for you? You're having a good time."
He looked at me. "I knew you were going to ask that. I don't understand why anybody would think my job is boring. I have a corner office, glass on all sides. I can see the Golden Gate, San Francisco, and the Berkeley hills. Half the Western world vacations here...and I just stroll in every day and practice dancing." (Dr. Charles Garfield )
"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine."
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Dunlap....Greetings to you, and welcome to Christianforums. I hope you will take the time and read more of the words of hope and encouragement in the previous 100 posts on this link...The Ragman.
Even the Smallest
An army runner was saved from instant death by, well ...
As he made his way across the dead and dismembered bodies strewn across the ravaged battlefield back to his company with orders from the battalion commander, the sound of bullets and bombs had been silenced. With a relative sense of safety, he walked on being thankful that, at least for a while, there was a calm in the senseless storm.
Approximately two-thirds of the way across the devastated field, he was suddenly stopped by an unusual sight. It hovered right before him, at perfect eye level.
At first, he thought that he was suffering from fatigue and was seeing a mirage.
It can't be!
"It can't be," he said to himself, "not out here in the midst of a raging war!"
But it not only was real, it came right up to him and stopped no more than three inches from his face. He started to step forward when it lunged forward, pushing him a couple of steps backward.
And then it happened!
A gigantic shell hurled through the air and landed right in the very spot from which he had been literally pushed.
"I would have been killed!" he gasped. "I would have been killed!"
But that little object, probably less than an ounce in weight, kept him from losing his life. It was a definite miracle because he had not seen one since he had gone off to war ... and surely not right out in the middle of an all-out war, in the midst of an awful battle.
But it was there, and it did save his life.
The strange little object? It was a butterfly! Author Unknown
"The why of natural law is the living Voice of God immanent in His creation. And this word of God which brought all worlds into being cannot be understood to mean the BIBLE, for it is not a written or printed word at all, but the expression of the will of God spoken into the structure of things. This word of God is the breath of God filling the world with living potentiality. The Voice of God is the most powerful force in nature, indeed the only force in nature, for all energy is here only because the power-filled Word is being spoken. A.W. Tozer
The BIBLE is the written word of God, and because it is written it is confined and limited by the necessities of ink and paper and leather. The Voice of God, however, is alive and free as the sovereign God is free. 'The words that I speak unto you, they are spirit and they are life.' The life is in the speaking words. God's word in the BIBLE can have power only because it corresponds to God's word in the universe. It is the present Voice which makes the written Word all-powerful." A. W. Tozer (The Pursuit of God)
"I have a capacity in my soul for taking in God entirely. I am as sure as I live that nothing is so near to me as God. God is nearer to me than I am to myself; my existence depends on the nearness and the presence of God." Meister Eckhart
Even the Smallest
An army runner was saved from instant death by, well ...
As he made his way across the dead and dismembered bodies strewn across the ravaged battlefield back to his company with orders from the battalion commander, the sound of bullets and bombs had been silenced. With a relative sense of safety, he walked on being thankful that, at least for a while, there was a calm in the senseless storm.
Approximately two-thirds of the way across the devastated field, he was suddenly stopped by an unusual sight. It hovered right before him, at perfect eye level.
At first, he thought that he was suffering from fatigue and was seeing a mirage.
It can't be!
"It can't be," he said to himself, "not out here in the midst of a raging war!"
But it not only was real, it came right up to him and stopped no more than three inches from his face. He started to step forward when it lunged forward, pushing him a couple of steps backward.
And then it happened!
A gigantic shell hurled through the air and landed right in the very spot from which he had been literally pushed.
"I would have been killed!" he gasped. "I would have been killed!"
But that little object, probably less than an ounce in weight, kept him from losing his life. It was a definite miracle because he had not seen one since he had gone off to war ... and surely not right out in the middle of an all-out war, in the midst of an awful battle.
But it was there, and it did save his life.
The strange little object? It was a butterfly! Author Unknown
"The why of natural law is the living Voice of God immanent in His creation. And this word of God which brought all worlds into being cannot be understood to mean the BIBLE, for it is not a written or printed word at all, but the expression of the will of God spoken into the structure of things. This word of God is the breath of God filling the world with living potentiality. The Voice of God is the most powerful force in nature, indeed the only force in nature, for all energy is here only because the power-filled Word is being spoken. A.W. Tozer
The BIBLE is the written word of God, and because it is written it is confined and limited by the necessities of ink and paper and leather. The Voice of God, however, is alive and free as the sovereign God is free. 'The words that I speak unto you, they are spirit and they are life.' The life is in the speaking words. God's word in the BIBLE can have power only because it corresponds to God's word in the universe. It is the present Voice which makes the written Word all-powerful." A. W. Tozer (The Pursuit of God)
"I have a capacity in my soul for taking in God entirely. I am as sure as I live that nothing is so near to me as God. God is nearer to me than I am to myself; my existence depends on the nearness and the presence of God." Meister Eckhart
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BaBiDaNsTaR
MaGaZiNa, ISsUe 16!
Yes, Dunlap, be sure to take Finelinen's advice. 
! There are really awesome stories that Finelinen has posted!
! There are really awesome stories that Finelinen has posted!
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AnnMercy2
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- Aug 18, 2002
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I come in here everyday looking for the next story, I love these. Thanks FineLinen for the wonderful, awesome, uplifting, inspiring, loving, tearjerking, harilious, straight from the Lord stories. 
Anna
Anna
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AnnMercy2 we are glad you have joined us for a little inspiration. Some years ago, before you "kids" were born, a few followers of Jesus Christ were martyred in the Jungles of South America by those they longed to reach with the Gospel of the Good News. The following story flows from the reach of God in those men.....
The Ends Of The Earth
Through Gates Of Splendour
For years, I'd thought Timbuktu was just a made-up name for "the ends of the earth." When I found out it was a real place in Africa, I developed an inexplicable fascination for it. It was in 1986 on a fact-finding trip to
West Africa for Missionary Aviation Fellowship that this fascination became an irresistible urge.
Timbuktu wasn't on my itinerary, but I knew I had to go there. Once I arrived, I discovered I was in trouble. I'd hitched a ride from Bamako, Mali, 500 miles away on the only seat left on a Navajo six-seater air-plane
chartered by UNICEF.
Two of their doctors were in Timbuktu and might fly back on the return flight, which meant I'd be bumped, but I decided to take the chance. Now here I was, standing by the plane on the windswept outskirts of the famous Berber outpost.
There was not a spot of true green any-where in the desolate brown Saharan landscape. Dust blew across the sky, blotting out the sun as I squinted in the 110-degree heat, trying to make out the mud-walled buildings of the village of 20,000. The pilot approached me as I started for town. He reported that the doctors were on their way and I'd have to find another ride to Bamako.
"Try the marketplace. Someone there might have a truck. But be careful," he said. "Westerners don't last long in the desert if the truck breaks down, which often happens."
I didn't relish the thought of being stranded, but perhaps it was fitting that I should wind up like this, surrounded by the Sahara. Since I arrived in Africa the strain of the harsh environment and severe suffering of the starving peoples had left me feeling lost in a spiritual and emotional desert.
The open-air marketplace in the center of town was crowded. Men and women wore flowing robes and turbans as protection against the sun. Most of the Berbers' robes were dark blue, with 30 feet of material in their turbans alone. The men were well armed with scimitars and knives. I felt eyes were watching me suspiciously. Suspicion was understandable in Timbuktu. Nothing could be trusted here. These people had once been prosperous and self-sufficient. Now even their land had turned against them. Drought had turned rich grasslands to desert. Unrelenting sun and windstorms had nearly annihilated all animal life. People were dying by the thousands.
I went from person to person trying to find someone who spoke English, until I finally came across a local gendarme who understood my broken French. "I need a truck," I said. "I need to go to Bamako."
Eyes widened in his shaded face. "No truck," he shrugged. Then he added, "No road. Only sand." By now, my presence was causing a sensation in the marketplace. I was surrounded by at least a dozen small children, jumping and dancing, begging for coins and souvenirs. The situation was extreme, I knew. I tried to think calmly. What am I to do?
Suddenly I had a powerful desire to talk to my father. Certainly he had known what it was like to be a foreigner in a strange land.
To be continued on next post....
"Earth's crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God; and only he who sees takes off his shoes." Eliz. B. Browning
The Ends Of The Earth
Through Gates Of Splendour
For years, I'd thought Timbuktu was just a made-up name for "the ends of the earth." When I found out it was a real place in Africa, I developed an inexplicable fascination for it. It was in 1986 on a fact-finding trip to
West Africa for Missionary Aviation Fellowship that this fascination became an irresistible urge.
Timbuktu wasn't on my itinerary, but I knew I had to go there. Once I arrived, I discovered I was in trouble. I'd hitched a ride from Bamako, Mali, 500 miles away on the only seat left on a Navajo six-seater air-plane
chartered by UNICEF.
Two of their doctors were in Timbuktu and might fly back on the return flight, which meant I'd be bumped, but I decided to take the chance. Now here I was, standing by the plane on the windswept outskirts of the famous Berber outpost.
There was not a spot of true green any-where in the desolate brown Saharan landscape. Dust blew across the sky, blotting out the sun as I squinted in the 110-degree heat, trying to make out the mud-walled buildings of the village of 20,000. The pilot approached me as I started for town. He reported that the doctors were on their way and I'd have to find another ride to Bamako.
"Try the marketplace. Someone there might have a truck. But be careful," he said. "Westerners don't last long in the desert if the truck breaks down, which often happens."
I didn't relish the thought of being stranded, but perhaps it was fitting that I should wind up like this, surrounded by the Sahara. Since I arrived in Africa the strain of the harsh environment and severe suffering of the starving peoples had left me feeling lost in a spiritual and emotional desert.
The open-air marketplace in the center of town was crowded. Men and women wore flowing robes and turbans as protection against the sun. Most of the Berbers' robes were dark blue, with 30 feet of material in their turbans alone. The men were well armed with scimitars and knives. I felt eyes were watching me suspiciously. Suspicion was understandable in Timbuktu. Nothing could be trusted here. These people had once been prosperous and self-sufficient. Now even their land had turned against them. Drought had turned rich grasslands to desert. Unrelenting sun and windstorms had nearly annihilated all animal life. People were dying by the thousands.
I went from person to person trying to find someone who spoke English, until I finally came across a local gendarme who understood my broken French. "I need a truck," I said. "I need to go to Bamako."
Eyes widened in his shaded face. "No truck," he shrugged. Then he added, "No road. Only sand." By now, my presence was causing a sensation in the marketplace. I was surrounded by at least a dozen small children, jumping and dancing, begging for coins and souvenirs. The situation was extreme, I knew. I tried to think calmly. What am I to do?
Suddenly I had a powerful desire to talk to my father. Certainly he had known what it was like to be a foreigner in a strange land.
To be continued on next post....
"Earth's crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God; and only he who sees takes off his shoes." Eliz. B. Browning
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Nate Saint (Continued from previous post)
But my father, Nate Saint, was dead. He was one of five missionary men killed by Auca Indians in the jungles of Ecuador in 1956. I was a month shy of my fifth birthday at the time, and my memories of him were almost like movie clips: a lanky, intense man with a serious goal and a quick wit. He was a dedicated jungle pilot, flying missionaries and medical personnel in his Piper Family Cruiser.
He Is Alive!
Even after his death he was a presence in my life. I'd felt the need to talk with my father before, especially since I'd married and become a father myself. But in recent weeks this need had become urgent. For one thing, I was new to relief work. But it was more than that. I needed Dad to help answer my new questions of faith. In Mali, for the first time in my life, I was surrounded by people who didn't share my faith, who were, in fact, hostile to the Christian faith, locals and Western relief workers alike.
In a way it was a parallel to the situation Dad had faced in Ecuador. How often I'd said the same thing Dad would have said among the Indians who killed him: "My God is real. He's a personal God who lives inside me, with whom I have a very special, one-on-one relationship."
And yet the question lingered in my mind: Did my father have to die? All my life, people had spoken of Dad with respect; he was a man willing to die for his faith. But at the same time I couldn't help but think the murders were capricious, an accident of bad timing.
Dad and his colleagues landed just as a small band of Auca men were in a bad mood for reasons that had nothing to do with faith or Americans. If Dad's plane had landed one day later, the massacre may not have happened. Couldn't there have been another way? It made little impact on the Aucas that I could see. To them it was just one more killing in a history of killings.
Thirty years later it still had an impact on me. And now, for the first time, I felt threatened because of who I was and what I believed. "God," I found myself praying as I looked around the marketplace, "I'm in trouble here. Please keep me safe and show me a way to get back. Please reveal Yourself and Your love to me the way you did to my father." No bolt of lightning came from the blue. But a new thought did come to mind.
Surely there was a telecommunications office here somewhere; I could wire Bamako to send another plane. It would be costly, but I could see no other way of getting out.
Now What?
"Where's the telecommunications office?" I asked another gendarme. He gave me instructions, then said, "Telegraph transmits only if station in Bamako has machine on, message goes through. If not," he shrugged, "no answer ever comes. You only hope message received."
Now what? The sun was crossing to-ward the horizon. If I didn't have arrangements made by nightfall, what would happen to me? This was truly the last outpost of the world. More than a few Westerners had disappeared in the desert without a trace.
A Tiny Christian Church
Then I remembered that just before I'd started for Timbuktu, a fellow worker had said, "There's a famous mosque in Timbuktu. It was built from mud in the 1500's. Many Islamic pilgrims visit it every year. But there's also a tiny Christian church, which virtually no one visits. Look it up if you get the chance."
I asked the children, "Where is Eglise Evangelique Chretienne?"
The youngsters were willing to help, though they were obviously confused about what I was looking for. Several times elderly men and women scolded them harshly as we passed, but they persisted. Finally we arrived, not at the church, but at the open doorway of a tiny mud-brick house.
No one was home, but on the wall opposite the door was a poster showing a cross covered by wounded hands. The French subscript said, "and by His stripes we are healed."
Something In Common
Within minutes, my army of waifs pointed out a young man approaching us in the dirt alleyway. Then the children melted back into the labyrinth of the walled alleys and compounds of Timbuktu. The young man was handsome, with dark skin and flowing robes. But there was something inexplicably different about him. His name was Nouh Af Infa Yatara; that much I understood.
Nouh signaled he knew someone who could translate for us. He led me to a compound on the edge of town where an American missionary lived. I was glad to meet the missionary, but from the moment I'd seen Nouh, I'd had the feeling that we shared something in common.
"How did you come to have faith?" I asked him. The missionary translated as Nouh answered: "This compound has always had a beautiful garden. One day when I was a small boy, a friend and I decided to steal some carrots. It was a dangerous task. We'd been told that Toubabs [white men] eat nomadic children. Despite our agility and considerable experience, I was caught by the former missionary here. Mr. Marshall didn't eat me; instead, he gave me the carrots and some cards that had God's promises from the Bible written on them. He told me if I learned them, he'd give me an ink pen!"
"You learned them?" I asked.
"Oh, yes!" he exclaimed. "Only government men and the headmaster of the school had a Bic pen! But when I showed off my pen at school, the teacher knew I must have spoken with a Toubab, which is strictly forbidden. He severely beat me."
Coming To Know The Awesome One
When Nouh's parents found out he had portions of such a despised book defiling their house, they threw him out and forbade anyone to take him in; nor was he allowed in school.
But something had happened: Noah had come to believe that what the Bible said was true. Nouh's mother became desperate. Her own standing, as well as her family's, was in jeopardy.
Finally she decided to kill her son. She obtained poison from a sorcerer and poisoned Noah's food at a family feast. Noah ate the food and wasn't affected.
His brother, who unwittingly stole a morsel of meat from the deadly dish, became violently ill and remains partially paralyzed. Seeing God's intervention, the family and the town's people were afraid to make further attempts on his life, but condemned him as an outcast.
Peace Passing Understanding
After sitting a moment, I asked Nouh the question that only hours earlier I'd wanted to ask my father: "Why is your faith so important to you that you're willing to give up everything, perhaps even your life?"
"I know God loves me and I'll live with Him forever," he replied. "I know it! Now I have peace where I used to be full of fear and uncertainty. Who wouldn't want to give up everything for this peace and security?"
"It couldn't have been easy for you as a teenager to take a stand that made you despised by the whole community," I said. "Where did your courage come from?"
"Mr. Marshall couldn't take me in without putting my life in jeopardy. So he gave me some books about other Christians who'd suffered for their faith.
My favorite was about five young men who willingly risked their lives to take God's good news to stone-age Indians in the jungles of South America." His eyes widened as he continued. "I've lived all my life in the desert. How
frightening the jungle must be! The book said these men let themselves be speared to death, even though they had guns and could have killed their attackers!"
The missionary translator said, "I remember the story. As a matter of fact, one of those men had your last name."
"Yes," I said quietly, "the pilot was my father."
"Your father?" Nouh cried. "The story is true?"
"Yes," I said, "it's true."
The missionary and Nouh and I talked through the afternoon. When they accompanied me back to the airfield that night, we found that the doctors weren't able to leave Timbuktu after all, and there was room for me on the UNICEF plane.
As Nouh and I hugged each other, it seemed incredible that God loved us so much that He'd arranged for us to meet "at the ends of the earth."
Nouh and I had gifts for each other that no one else could give. I gave him the assurance that the story that had given him courage was true. He, in turn, gave me the assurance that God had used Dad's death for good.
Dad, by dying, had helped give Nouh a faith worth dying for. And Nouh, in return, had helped give Dad's faith back to me.
Author's Update on Nouh: Nouh, along with his lovely wife Fati, have three sons. They finished more than two years of study in the U.S. and faced many hurdles when they returned in January 1999 to the fourth-poorest area of the world. Please pray that they will continue to be faithful and that God will bless their commitment to spread His light in a dark and dangerous land.
"The Lord confides His purposes to those who reverence Him and His covenant is theirs to know."
But my father, Nate Saint, was dead. He was one of five missionary men killed by Auca Indians in the jungles of Ecuador in 1956. I was a month shy of my fifth birthday at the time, and my memories of him were almost like movie clips: a lanky, intense man with a serious goal and a quick wit. He was a dedicated jungle pilot, flying missionaries and medical personnel in his Piper Family Cruiser.
He Is Alive!
Even after his death he was a presence in my life. I'd felt the need to talk with my father before, especially since I'd married and become a father myself. But in recent weeks this need had become urgent. For one thing, I was new to relief work. But it was more than that. I needed Dad to help answer my new questions of faith. In Mali, for the first time in my life, I was surrounded by people who didn't share my faith, who were, in fact, hostile to the Christian faith, locals and Western relief workers alike.
In a way it was a parallel to the situation Dad had faced in Ecuador. How often I'd said the same thing Dad would have said among the Indians who killed him: "My God is real. He's a personal God who lives inside me, with whom I have a very special, one-on-one relationship."
And yet the question lingered in my mind: Did my father have to die? All my life, people had spoken of Dad with respect; he was a man willing to die for his faith. But at the same time I couldn't help but think the murders were capricious, an accident of bad timing.
Dad and his colleagues landed just as a small band of Auca men were in a bad mood for reasons that had nothing to do with faith or Americans. If Dad's plane had landed one day later, the massacre may not have happened. Couldn't there have been another way? It made little impact on the Aucas that I could see. To them it was just one more killing in a history of killings.
Thirty years later it still had an impact on me. And now, for the first time, I felt threatened because of who I was and what I believed. "God," I found myself praying as I looked around the marketplace, "I'm in trouble here. Please keep me safe and show me a way to get back. Please reveal Yourself and Your love to me the way you did to my father." No bolt of lightning came from the blue. But a new thought did come to mind.
Surely there was a telecommunications office here somewhere; I could wire Bamako to send another plane. It would be costly, but I could see no other way of getting out.
Now What?
"Where's the telecommunications office?" I asked another gendarme. He gave me instructions, then said, "Telegraph transmits only if station in Bamako has machine on, message goes through. If not," he shrugged, "no answer ever comes. You only hope message received."
Now what? The sun was crossing to-ward the horizon. If I didn't have arrangements made by nightfall, what would happen to me? This was truly the last outpost of the world. More than a few Westerners had disappeared in the desert without a trace.
A Tiny Christian Church
Then I remembered that just before I'd started for Timbuktu, a fellow worker had said, "There's a famous mosque in Timbuktu. It was built from mud in the 1500's. Many Islamic pilgrims visit it every year. But there's also a tiny Christian church, which virtually no one visits. Look it up if you get the chance."
I asked the children, "Where is Eglise Evangelique Chretienne?"
The youngsters were willing to help, though they were obviously confused about what I was looking for. Several times elderly men and women scolded them harshly as we passed, but they persisted. Finally we arrived, not at the church, but at the open doorway of a tiny mud-brick house.
No one was home, but on the wall opposite the door was a poster showing a cross covered by wounded hands. The French subscript said, "and by His stripes we are healed."
Something In Common
Within minutes, my army of waifs pointed out a young man approaching us in the dirt alleyway. Then the children melted back into the labyrinth of the walled alleys and compounds of Timbuktu. The young man was handsome, with dark skin and flowing robes. But there was something inexplicably different about him. His name was Nouh Af Infa Yatara; that much I understood.
Nouh signaled he knew someone who could translate for us. He led me to a compound on the edge of town where an American missionary lived. I was glad to meet the missionary, but from the moment I'd seen Nouh, I'd had the feeling that we shared something in common.
"How did you come to have faith?" I asked him. The missionary translated as Nouh answered: "This compound has always had a beautiful garden. One day when I was a small boy, a friend and I decided to steal some carrots. It was a dangerous task. We'd been told that Toubabs [white men] eat nomadic children. Despite our agility and considerable experience, I was caught by the former missionary here. Mr. Marshall didn't eat me; instead, he gave me the carrots and some cards that had God's promises from the Bible written on them. He told me if I learned them, he'd give me an ink pen!"
"You learned them?" I asked.
"Oh, yes!" he exclaimed. "Only government men and the headmaster of the school had a Bic pen! But when I showed off my pen at school, the teacher knew I must have spoken with a Toubab, which is strictly forbidden. He severely beat me."
Coming To Know The Awesome One
When Nouh's parents found out he had portions of such a despised book defiling their house, they threw him out and forbade anyone to take him in; nor was he allowed in school.
But something had happened: Noah had come to believe that what the Bible said was true. Nouh's mother became desperate. Her own standing, as well as her family's, was in jeopardy.
Finally she decided to kill her son. She obtained poison from a sorcerer and poisoned Noah's food at a family feast. Noah ate the food and wasn't affected.
His brother, who unwittingly stole a morsel of meat from the deadly dish, became violently ill and remains partially paralyzed. Seeing God's intervention, the family and the town's people were afraid to make further attempts on his life, but condemned him as an outcast.
Peace Passing Understanding
After sitting a moment, I asked Nouh the question that only hours earlier I'd wanted to ask my father: "Why is your faith so important to you that you're willing to give up everything, perhaps even your life?"
"I know God loves me and I'll live with Him forever," he replied. "I know it! Now I have peace where I used to be full of fear and uncertainty. Who wouldn't want to give up everything for this peace and security?"
"It couldn't have been easy for you as a teenager to take a stand that made you despised by the whole community," I said. "Where did your courage come from?"
"Mr. Marshall couldn't take me in without putting my life in jeopardy. So he gave me some books about other Christians who'd suffered for their faith.
My favorite was about five young men who willingly risked their lives to take God's good news to stone-age Indians in the jungles of South America." His eyes widened as he continued. "I've lived all my life in the desert. How
frightening the jungle must be! The book said these men let themselves be speared to death, even though they had guns and could have killed their attackers!"
The missionary translator said, "I remember the story. As a matter of fact, one of those men had your last name."
"Yes," I said quietly, "the pilot was my father."
"Your father?" Nouh cried. "The story is true?"
"Yes," I said, "it's true."
The missionary and Nouh and I talked through the afternoon. When they accompanied me back to the airfield that night, we found that the doctors weren't able to leave Timbuktu after all, and there was room for me on the UNICEF plane.
As Nouh and I hugged each other, it seemed incredible that God loved us so much that He'd arranged for us to meet "at the ends of the earth."
Nouh and I had gifts for each other that no one else could give. I gave him the assurance that the story that had given him courage was true. He, in turn, gave me the assurance that God had used Dad's death for good.
Dad, by dying, had helped give Nouh a faith worth dying for. And Nouh, in return, had helped give Dad's faith back to me.
Author's Update on Nouh: Nouh, along with his lovely wife Fati, have three sons. They finished more than two years of study in the U.S. and faced many hurdles when they returned in January 1999 to the fourth-poorest area of the world. Please pray that they will continue to be faithful and that God will bless their commitment to spread His light in a dark and dangerous land.
"The Lord confides His purposes to those who reverence Him and His covenant is theirs to know."
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GOD IS LIGHT - Online Audio Visual Presentation
http://www.dayspring.com/movies/webmovies/lightmovie.html
"You can see God from anywhere if your mind is set to love and obey Him." A.W. Tozer
"Sound Bible exposition is an imperative must in the Church of the LIving God. Without it no church can be a New Testament Church in any strict meaning of that term. But the exposition may be carried on in such a way as to leave the hearers devoid of any true spiritual nourishment whatever.
For it is not mere words that nourish the soul, but God Himself, and unless and until the hearers find God in personal experience they are not the better for having heard the truth. The Bible is not an end in itself, but a means to bring men to an intimate and satisfying knowledge of God, that they may enter into Him, that they may delight in His presence, may taste and know the inner sweetness of the very God Himself in the core and center of their hearts." A.W.Tozer (The Pursuit Of God)
http://www.dayspring.com/movies/webmovies/lightmovie.html
"You can see God from anywhere if your mind is set to love and obey Him." A.W. Tozer
"Sound Bible exposition is an imperative must in the Church of the LIving God. Without it no church can be a New Testament Church in any strict meaning of that term. But the exposition may be carried on in such a way as to leave the hearers devoid of any true spiritual nourishment whatever.
For it is not mere words that nourish the soul, but God Himself, and unless and until the hearers find God in personal experience they are not the better for having heard the truth. The Bible is not an end in itself, but a means to bring men to an intimate and satisfying knowledge of God, that they may enter into Him, that they may delight in His presence, may taste and know the inner sweetness of the very God Himself in the core and center of their hearts." A.W.Tozer (The Pursuit Of God)
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MaGaZiNa, ISsUe 16!
David-I bought a book called "Jesus Freaks" by DC Talk, have you ever heard/read it? Anyways it is strictly about martyrs from the past and present, of course including the Biblical martyrs like Peter. I haven't gotten to read very far but it is pretty good.
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Greetings again Zina in the Glory One. I do appreciate you mentioning the book "Jesus Freaks". I have not read it, nor heard of it till now. Why don't you try and put up little segments from it for our viewing pleasure AFTER, and IF, you have time to do so and feel so inclined.
Our Lord has prepared wonderful stones in His mining operation. Watchman Nee refused release from communist prison in China years ago and died there with his many brethren. I understand the communists brought him before the town and said that he would recant what he had written of Christ Jesus. He refused, and they declared he would never write again and chopped off his hands.
Today, this very day, many of our brothers and sisters face the same brutal treatment at the hands of those who cannot grasp the wonder of our Lord. Christianity, and those that follow the Christ, are the most despised & persecuted in the world by far!
Zina, there is a book called "In God's Underground" by Pastor Richard Wurmbrand who passed away a little time ago. It is available from Jesus To The Communist World. The glory of Christ expressed in this noble man and his wife Sabina in Rumanian prisons, defies the imagination. In the book he writes that he met men and women in prison whose shoe laces he was not worthy to tie. Please try and secure the book, you will not regret it. God bless you, Baby Dancing Star, we worship the Glory Being.
"But, you object, a heart like mine can offer Christ so little--at best, so poor and pinched and stingy a hospitality and such meagre fare; for I have nothing worthy of Him to set before Him, only a kind of affection, real enough at times, but which, at others, can and does so easily forget; only a will, quite unreliable, deplorably unstable; only a faith that is the merest shadow of what His real friends mean when they speak about faith, I know. But, there was once a garret up under the roof, a poor, bare enough place enough. There was a table in it, and there were some benches, and a water-pot; a towel, and a basin behind the door, but not much else--a bare, unhomelike room. But the Lord Christ entered into it. And, from that moment, it became the holiest of all, where souls innumerable ever since have met the Lord God, in High glory, Face to face. And if you give Him entrance to that very ordinary heart of yours, it too He will transform and sanctify and touch with a splendour of glory." A. J. Gossip
Our Lord has prepared wonderful stones in His mining operation. Watchman Nee refused release from communist prison in China years ago and died there with his many brethren. I understand the communists brought him before the town and said that he would recant what he had written of Christ Jesus. He refused, and they declared he would never write again and chopped off his hands.
Today, this very day, many of our brothers and sisters face the same brutal treatment at the hands of those who cannot grasp the wonder of our Lord. Christianity, and those that follow the Christ, are the most despised & persecuted in the world by far!
Zina, there is a book called "In God's Underground" by Pastor Richard Wurmbrand who passed away a little time ago. It is available from Jesus To The Communist World. The glory of Christ expressed in this noble man and his wife Sabina in Rumanian prisons, defies the imagination. In the book he writes that he met men and women in prison whose shoe laces he was not worthy to tie. Please try and secure the book, you will not regret it. God bless you, Baby Dancing Star, we worship the Glory Being.
"But, you object, a heart like mine can offer Christ so little--at best, so poor and pinched and stingy a hospitality and such meagre fare; for I have nothing worthy of Him to set before Him, only a kind of affection, real enough at times, but which, at others, can and does so easily forget; only a will, quite unreliable, deplorably unstable; only a faith that is the merest shadow of what His real friends mean when they speak about faith, I know. But, there was once a garret up under the roof, a poor, bare enough place enough. There was a table in it, and there were some benches, and a water-pot; a towel, and a basin behind the door, but not much else--a bare, unhomelike room. But the Lord Christ entered into it. And, from that moment, it became the holiest of all, where souls innumerable ever since have met the Lord God, in High glory, Face to face. And if you give Him entrance to that very ordinary heart of yours, it too He will transform and sanctify and touch with a splendour of glory." A. J. Gossip
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Homecoming (Author Unknown}
While waiting to pick up a friend at the airport in Portland, Oregon, I had one of those life changing experiences that you hear other people talk about, the kind that sneaks up on you unexpectedly.
This one occurred a mere two feet away from me. Straining to locate my friend among the passengers deplaning through the jet way, I noticed a man coming toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped right next to me to greet his family.
First he motioned to his youngest son (maybe six years old) as he laid down his bags. They gave each other a long, loving hug. As they separated enough to look in each other's face, I heard the father say, "It's so good to see you, son. I missed you so much!" His son smiled somewhat shyly, averted his eyes and replied softly, "Me, too, Dad!"
Then the man stood up, gazed in the eyes of his oldest son (maybe nine or ten) and while cupping his son's face in his hands said, "You're already quite the young man. I love you very much, Zach!" They too hugged a most loving, tender hug.
While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one-and-a-half) was squirming excitedly in her mother's arms, never once taking her little eyes off the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man said, "Hi, baby girl!" as he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her face all over and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side to side. The little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his shoulder, motionless in pure contentment.
After several moments, he handed his daughter to his oldest son and declared, "I've saved the best for last," and proceeded to give his wife the longest, most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for several seconds and then silently mouthed, "I love you so much!" They stared at each other's eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding both hands. For an instant they reminded me of newlyweds, but I knew by the age of their kids that they couldn't possibly be.
Unconditional Love
I puzzled about it for a moment then realized how totally engrossed I was in the wonderful display of unconditional love not more than an arm's length away from me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I was invading something sacred, but was amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask, "Wow! How long have you two been married?"
"Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of those," he replied, without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife's face.
"Well, then, how long have you been away?" I asked.
The man finally turned and looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile.
"Two whole days!"
Two days? I was stunned. By the intensity of the greeting, I had assumed he'd been gone for at least several weeks, if not months. I know my expression betrayed me, I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with some semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend), "I hope my marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!"
The man suddenly stopped smiling. He looked me straight in the eye, and with forcefulness that burned right into my soul, he told me something that left me a different person. He told me, "Don't hope, friend ... decide!"
Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again, shook my hand and said, "God bless!" With that, he and his family turned and strode away together. I was still watching that exceptional man and his special family walk just out of sight when my friend came up to me and asked, "What'cha looking at?"
Without hesitating, and with a curious sense of certainty, I replied, "My future!"
While waiting to pick up a friend at the airport in Portland, Oregon, I had one of those life changing experiences that you hear other people talk about, the kind that sneaks up on you unexpectedly.
This one occurred a mere two feet away from me. Straining to locate my friend among the passengers deplaning through the jet way, I noticed a man coming toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped right next to me to greet his family.
First he motioned to his youngest son (maybe six years old) as he laid down his bags. They gave each other a long, loving hug. As they separated enough to look in each other's face, I heard the father say, "It's so good to see you, son. I missed you so much!" His son smiled somewhat shyly, averted his eyes and replied softly, "Me, too, Dad!"
Then the man stood up, gazed in the eyes of his oldest son (maybe nine or ten) and while cupping his son's face in his hands said, "You're already quite the young man. I love you very much, Zach!" They too hugged a most loving, tender hug.
While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one-and-a-half) was squirming excitedly in her mother's arms, never once taking her little eyes off the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man said, "Hi, baby girl!" as he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her face all over and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side to side. The little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his shoulder, motionless in pure contentment.
After several moments, he handed his daughter to his oldest son and declared, "I've saved the best for last," and proceeded to give his wife the longest, most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for several seconds and then silently mouthed, "I love you so much!" They stared at each other's eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding both hands. For an instant they reminded me of newlyweds, but I knew by the age of their kids that they couldn't possibly be.
Unconditional Love
I puzzled about it for a moment then realized how totally engrossed I was in the wonderful display of unconditional love not more than an arm's length away from me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I was invading something sacred, but was amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask, "Wow! How long have you two been married?"
"Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of those," he replied, without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife's face.
"Well, then, how long have you been away?" I asked.
The man finally turned and looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile.
"Two whole days!"
Two days? I was stunned. By the intensity of the greeting, I had assumed he'd been gone for at least several weeks, if not months. I know my expression betrayed me, I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with some semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend), "I hope my marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!"
The man suddenly stopped smiling. He looked me straight in the eye, and with forcefulness that burned right into my soul, he told me something that left me a different person. He told me, "Don't hope, friend ... decide!"
Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again, shook my hand and said, "God bless!" With that, he and his family turned and strode away together. I was still watching that exceptional man and his special family walk just out of sight when my friend came up to me and asked, "What'cha looking at?"
Without hesitating, and with a curious sense of certainty, I replied, "My future!"
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Hi again Zina...I have found your book. It is available on one of the links below with books by Pastor Wurmbrand. The fact it is on the same page awakens something within me. I do appreciate you mentioning it! Today we shall have a bonus story from Sabrina Wurmbrand. May our Lord make us worthy and grateful vessels of His glorious grace!
Graduation Exercises
http://home.pacbell.net/andrea/wurmbrandbio.html
Sabrina Wurmbrand
http://ragingbull.lycos.com/mboard/boards.cgi?board=BIBLE&read=18114
In God's Underground also available here....
http://butler.cc.tut.fi/~tkrt/eng/rw_igu.htm
"....His Son Jesus Christ....who was distinguished as the Son of God--by power..."
Graduation Exercises
http://home.pacbell.net/andrea/wurmbrandbio.html
Sabrina Wurmbrand
http://ragingbull.lycos.com/mboard/boards.cgi?board=BIBLE&read=18114
In God's Underground also available here....
http://butler.cc.tut.fi/~tkrt/eng/rw_igu.htm
"....His Son Jesus Christ....who was distinguished as the Son of God--by power..."
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Witnesses who have touched "the miraculously distinguished Son of God."
Dear Brothers and Sisters,
"Walk in the Spirit..." (Galatians 5:16).
I am sorry I would have liked to paint the beautiful shining faces of Christians in a Communist jail. Their faces shone, and it was quite an achievement for the glory of God to shine on the face of a Christian in Communist jails. We did not wash (I had not washed in three years), but the glory of God can shine even from behind a crust of dirt. They had triumphant smiles on their faces.
I know about Christians who were released from Communist prisons. I was one who was stopped several times on the street by passers by asking, "Sir, what is it in you? You look like such a happy man. What is the source of your happiness?" I told them that I came from many years in Communist jails.
Beyond The Difficulties Of Our Life
They could not understand this because they could not think beyond the difficulties of their own lives. They had not learned to walk in the Spirit and to experience the presence of God. So many would think, "If only you knew what a life I have - a husband who batters me, a wife who nags, children who break my heart - there are so many things." There are many material difficulties, tempests in your soul. I know these difficulties exist.
Horev
Horev was a Russian Christian who was in jail for many years. His father died in the same jail. Horev wrote in a letter, which he smuggled out from prison, that he was placed in a cell with common criminals. What they did to Christians is unimaginable.
The criminals beat Horev until he fell unconscious. When he came to, he heard them talking among themselves, "We should grease some rope and hang him tonight." The others refused, because that was too complicated. They had better cut his throat and then place the bloody knife in his hand so it would look like suicide. That was the talk among them. You could believe it, because they did these things.
Then, walking in the Spirit, Horev envisioned another world for himself and said, "How beautiful it will be after they have cut my throat." He saw the angels receiving him, taking him in their arms to bring him to the bosom of Abraham. He saw himself encountering the martyrs of old. He enjoyed these things. He slept the whole night very quietly.
The next day, the criminals again beat him, and in the evening they talked about killing him. Horev said to himself, "But my father has died in this place. What an honor for me, and what a joy for my father, that I was not afraid and that I walked in his footsteps and will see Jesus." In thinking about this world that he envisioned for himself, he slept again quietly. It continued on like this until the eighteenth day, when he was moved from that jail. What he wrote is so beautiful: "I had to leave the cell. The criminal who had intended to cut my throat came to me, shook my hand, and said, "Truly, there is something supernatural in you."
Epistles Of Christ
What in the world does a criminal know about the supernatural? Horev was a page of the Bible, "an epistle of Christ ...written not with ink, but by the Spirit of the Living God" (2 Corinthians 3:3). The criminal knew from Horev, not from the Bible, that Horev belongs to Another. He has a divine nature. "There must be a God," the criminal said. "Every time we spoke about you, you were asleep and we did not think that you heard us. You kept your eyes closed. Why did you not jump at us? How could you sleep quietly and peacefully? Only one who really believes in eternal life can do this."
The criminal continued, "When you were taken for walk in the prison yard, you could have reported to the guard about us and requested to be placed in another cell. That is what is usually done, but you never did it. Why? Why did you come back? Why did you not seek help with any man except with your God? Why did you pray on your knees every morning and every evening? You knew that we could kill you, as we have killed so many. Why did you give yourself quietly every day into our hands? This is incomprehensible for us. Really, you have something supernatural in you." Once again he shook Horevs hand and that is how they parted.
Horev did not live in this world.
So whatever your circumstances - which may be terrible for some of you - don't live this life. Live the new life, the eternal life, the timeless life, to which we are called by Jesus.
We were in prison cells with believers sentenced to death. As often as the door was unlocked, the prisoner did not know if he would be taken to a bath, to an interrogation or to be shot. Yet there was such a peace. There was no difference for him because he knew he had eternal life.
I belong to the family of God. I have the nature of God. Because I also have the nature of a man, I know I may live sixty or eighty years. Since I have the nature of God, who in the world can kill me? Men can change only my outward form, but I will live in other circumstances.
We saw this peace - the peace of those who understood that godly nature - and I plead with you for this. You have your difficulties. You have your crosses. Trust in the God who makes faces to shine and know that in Him you have eternal life.
Sincerely, Pastor Richard Wurmbrand
(From Jesus To The Communist World)
Holy holy holy are You Lord,
Holy holy holy are You Lord.
The elders and the angels bow,
The redeemed worship You now.
Holy holy holy are You Lord.
Dear Brothers and Sisters,
"Walk in the Spirit..." (Galatians 5:16).
I am sorry I would have liked to paint the beautiful shining faces of Christians in a Communist jail. Their faces shone, and it was quite an achievement for the glory of God to shine on the face of a Christian in Communist jails. We did not wash (I had not washed in three years), but the glory of God can shine even from behind a crust of dirt. They had triumphant smiles on their faces.
I know about Christians who were released from Communist prisons. I was one who was stopped several times on the street by passers by asking, "Sir, what is it in you? You look like such a happy man. What is the source of your happiness?" I told them that I came from many years in Communist jails.
Beyond The Difficulties Of Our Life
They could not understand this because they could not think beyond the difficulties of their own lives. They had not learned to walk in the Spirit and to experience the presence of God. So many would think, "If only you knew what a life I have - a husband who batters me, a wife who nags, children who break my heart - there are so many things." There are many material difficulties, tempests in your soul. I know these difficulties exist.
Horev
Horev was a Russian Christian who was in jail for many years. His father died in the same jail. Horev wrote in a letter, which he smuggled out from prison, that he was placed in a cell with common criminals. What they did to Christians is unimaginable.
The criminals beat Horev until he fell unconscious. When he came to, he heard them talking among themselves, "We should grease some rope and hang him tonight." The others refused, because that was too complicated. They had better cut his throat and then place the bloody knife in his hand so it would look like suicide. That was the talk among them. You could believe it, because they did these things.
Then, walking in the Spirit, Horev envisioned another world for himself and said, "How beautiful it will be after they have cut my throat." He saw the angels receiving him, taking him in their arms to bring him to the bosom of Abraham. He saw himself encountering the martyrs of old. He enjoyed these things. He slept the whole night very quietly.
The next day, the criminals again beat him, and in the evening they talked about killing him. Horev said to himself, "But my father has died in this place. What an honor for me, and what a joy for my father, that I was not afraid and that I walked in his footsteps and will see Jesus." In thinking about this world that he envisioned for himself, he slept again quietly. It continued on like this until the eighteenth day, when he was moved from that jail. What he wrote is so beautiful: "I had to leave the cell. The criminal who had intended to cut my throat came to me, shook my hand, and said, "Truly, there is something supernatural in you."
Epistles Of Christ
What in the world does a criminal know about the supernatural? Horev was a page of the Bible, "an epistle of Christ ...written not with ink, but by the Spirit of the Living God" (2 Corinthians 3:3). The criminal knew from Horev, not from the Bible, that Horev belongs to Another. He has a divine nature. "There must be a God," the criminal said. "Every time we spoke about you, you were asleep and we did not think that you heard us. You kept your eyes closed. Why did you not jump at us? How could you sleep quietly and peacefully? Only one who really believes in eternal life can do this."
The criminal continued, "When you were taken for walk in the prison yard, you could have reported to the guard about us and requested to be placed in another cell. That is what is usually done, but you never did it. Why? Why did you come back? Why did you not seek help with any man except with your God? Why did you pray on your knees every morning and every evening? You knew that we could kill you, as we have killed so many. Why did you give yourself quietly every day into our hands? This is incomprehensible for us. Really, you have something supernatural in you." Once again he shook Horevs hand and that is how they parted.
Horev did not live in this world.
So whatever your circumstances - which may be terrible for some of you - don't live this life. Live the new life, the eternal life, the timeless life, to which we are called by Jesus.
We were in prison cells with believers sentenced to death. As often as the door was unlocked, the prisoner did not know if he would be taken to a bath, to an interrogation or to be shot. Yet there was such a peace. There was no difference for him because he knew he had eternal life.
I belong to the family of God. I have the nature of God. Because I also have the nature of a man, I know I may live sixty or eighty years. Since I have the nature of God, who in the world can kill me? Men can change only my outward form, but I will live in other circumstances.
We saw this peace - the peace of those who understood that godly nature - and I plead with you for this. You have your difficulties. You have your crosses. Trust in the God who makes faces to shine and know that in Him you have eternal life.
Sincerely, Pastor Richard Wurmbrand
(From Jesus To The Communist World)
Holy holy holy are You Lord,
Holy holy holy are You Lord.
The elders and the angels bow,
The redeemed worship You now.
Holy holy holy are You Lord.
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MaGaZiNa, ISsUe 16!
Hey David, wow that is interesting that you happened to run into the book I was talking about! Over the weekend I am going to try to run over to the library and pick up the book you were telling me about. It seems interesting!
I've decided to post some of the stories from the book whenever I do get a chance. Obviously with school I don't get much time online anymore...I am so busy with essays! :-D! Anyways I will post some of those stories when I actually get to pick up the book again.
Well, anyways, thanks for YOUR stories. They are good-as always!!
I've decided to post some of the stories from the book whenever I do get a chance. Obviously with school I don't get much time online anymore...I am so busy with essays! :-D! Anyways I will post some of those stories when I actually get to pick up the book again.
Well, anyways, thanks for YOUR stories. They are good-as always!
!
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True Story of Courage and Love (Source Unknown)
Unprovoked Attack
Walking down a path through some woods in Georgia, I saw a water puddle ahead on the path. I angled my direction to go around it on the part of the path that wasn't covered by water and mud. As I reached the puddle, I was suddenly attacked! Yet I did nothing for the attack was so unpredictable and from a source so totally unexpected. I was startled as well as unhurt, despite having been struck four or five times already. I backed up a foot and my attacker stopped attacking me. Instead of attacking more, he hovered in the air on graceful butterfly wings in front of me. Had I been hurt I wouldn't have found it amusing, but I was unhurt, it was funny, and I was laughing. After all, I was being attacked by a butterfly!
Retreat
Having stopped laughing, I took a step forward. My attacker rushed me again. He rammed me in the chest with his head and body, striking me over and over again with all his might, still to no avail. For a second time, I retreated a step while my attacker relented in his attack. Yet again, I tried moving forward. My attacker charged me again. I was rammed in the chest over and over again. I wasn't sure what to do, other than to retreat a third time. After all, it's just not everyday that one is attacked by a butterfly. This time, though, I stepped back several paces to look the situation over. My attacker moved back as well to land on the ground. That's when I discovered why my attacker was charging me only moments earlier. He had a mate and she was dying. She was beside the puddle where he landed.
Only A Butterfly
Sitting close beside her, he opened and closed his wings as if to fan her. I could only admire the love and courage of that butterfly in his concern for his mate. He had taken it upon himself to attack me for his mate's sake, even though she was clearly dying and I was so large. He did so just to give her those extra few precious moments of life, should I have been careless enough to step on her. Now I knew why and what he was fighting for. There was really only one option left for me. I carefully made my way around the puddle to the other side of the path, though it was only inches wide and extremely muddy. His courage in attacking something thousands of times larger and heavier than himself just for his mate's safety justified it. I couldn't do anything other than reward him by walking on the more difficult side of the puddle. He had truly earned those moments to be with her, undisturbed.
I left them in peace for those last few moments, cleaning the mud from my boots when I later reached my car.
Facing Huge Obstacles?
Since then, I've always tried to remember the courage of that butterfly whenever I see huge obstacles facing me. I use that butterfly's courage as an inspiration and to remind myself that good things are worth fighting for.
"And five of you shall chase an hundred, and an hundred of you shall put ten thousand to flight; and your enemies shall fall before you...."
Unprovoked Attack
Walking down a path through some woods in Georgia, I saw a water puddle ahead on the path. I angled my direction to go around it on the part of the path that wasn't covered by water and mud. As I reached the puddle, I was suddenly attacked! Yet I did nothing for the attack was so unpredictable and from a source so totally unexpected. I was startled as well as unhurt, despite having been struck four or five times already. I backed up a foot and my attacker stopped attacking me. Instead of attacking more, he hovered in the air on graceful butterfly wings in front of me. Had I been hurt I wouldn't have found it amusing, but I was unhurt, it was funny, and I was laughing. After all, I was being attacked by a butterfly!
Retreat
Having stopped laughing, I took a step forward. My attacker rushed me again. He rammed me in the chest with his head and body, striking me over and over again with all his might, still to no avail. For a second time, I retreated a step while my attacker relented in his attack. Yet again, I tried moving forward. My attacker charged me again. I was rammed in the chest over and over again. I wasn't sure what to do, other than to retreat a third time. After all, it's just not everyday that one is attacked by a butterfly. This time, though, I stepped back several paces to look the situation over. My attacker moved back as well to land on the ground. That's when I discovered why my attacker was charging me only moments earlier. He had a mate and she was dying. She was beside the puddle where he landed.
Only A Butterfly
Sitting close beside her, he opened and closed his wings as if to fan her. I could only admire the love and courage of that butterfly in his concern for his mate. He had taken it upon himself to attack me for his mate's sake, even though she was clearly dying and I was so large. He did so just to give her those extra few precious moments of life, should I have been careless enough to step on her. Now I knew why and what he was fighting for. There was really only one option left for me. I carefully made my way around the puddle to the other side of the path, though it was only inches wide and extremely muddy. His courage in attacking something thousands of times larger and heavier than himself just for his mate's safety justified it. I couldn't do anything other than reward him by walking on the more difficult side of the puddle. He had truly earned those moments to be with her, undisturbed.
I left them in peace for those last few moments, cleaning the mud from my boots when I later reached my car.
Facing Huge Obstacles?
Since then, I've always tried to remember the courage of that butterfly whenever I see huge obstacles facing me. I use that butterfly's courage as an inspiration and to remind myself that good things are worth fighting for.
"And five of you shall chase an hundred, and an hundred of you shall put ten thousand to flight; and your enemies shall fall before you...."
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Hi there Zina.... You keep up the fine work and you will be a Dancing Star indeed, without the Baby part of the equation. I have been examining the book Jesus Freaks and have found a link that gives a brief summary of a few pages. Simply click on each page and through the marvel of this modern age we have a lovely page to read. You must be careful, Zina, not to post copyright material. Small segments may be acceptable, but we can get into trouble easily enough without pushing the envelope.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/t...nce&s=books&vi=slide-show#reader-link
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/t...nce&s=books&vi=slide-show#reader-link
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AnnMercy2....four years old, and already you are using the computer? My what a remarkable vessel of Mercy you are! I really like your theme verse; do you know that the renewal of one's strength is actually the exchanging of one's finite strength for His infinite strength? How about a movie for a change of pace? Take a few moments, relax while it loads; put your young life on hold for a moment and experience.....
An Interview With God
http://www.theinterviewwithgod.com/
"But you object, a heart like mine can offer Christ so little--at best, so poor and pinched and stingy a hospitality and such meagre fare; for I have nothing worthy of Him to set before Him, only a kind of affection, real enough at times, but which, at others, can and does so easily forget; only a will, quite unreliable, deplorably unstable; only a faith that is the merest shadow of what His real friends mean when they speak about faith, I know. But, there was once a garret up under the roof, a poor, bare place enough. There was a table in it, and there were some benches, and a water-pot; a towel, and a basin in behind the door, but not much else--a bare, unhomelike room. But the Lord Christ entered into it. And, from that moment, it became the holiest of all, where souls innumerable ever since have met the Lord God, in High glory, Face to face. And, if you give Him entrance to that very ordinary heart of yours, it too He will transform and sanctify and touch with a splendour of glory." A.J. Gossip (Experience Worketh Hope)
An Interview With God
http://www.theinterviewwithgod.com/
"But you object, a heart like mine can offer Christ so little--at best, so poor and pinched and stingy a hospitality and such meagre fare; for I have nothing worthy of Him to set before Him, only a kind of affection, real enough at times, but which, at others, can and does so easily forget; only a will, quite unreliable, deplorably unstable; only a faith that is the merest shadow of what His real friends mean when they speak about faith, I know. But, there was once a garret up under the roof, a poor, bare place enough. There was a table in it, and there were some benches, and a water-pot; a towel, and a basin in behind the door, but not much else--a bare, unhomelike room. But the Lord Christ entered into it. And, from that moment, it became the holiest of all, where souls innumerable ever since have met the Lord God, in High glory, Face to face. And, if you give Him entrance to that very ordinary heart of yours, it too He will transform and sanctify and touch with a splendour of glory." A.J. Gossip (Experience Worketh Hope)
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