Scribbles

Tight-wad

2009-08-20T14:44:00.001-07:00

(Rap written for Poorer than You's HP bundle giveaway)

If you’re talking about dough, I’m in the know and I know what
Let’s bring it down with the sound of the money clinking, but
To get the feel for what I’m saying and the thoughts I am relaying
Understand that the plan I am presenting ain’t my own.

If you’re just a high and mighty tight-wad (tight-wad)
And you pass your peeps with just a tight nod (tight nod)
And cruise avenues in a shiny hot-rod (hot-rod)
From the books it looks like you think you’re God (Almighty God).
When the flowin’ of the dough is slowin’ (down)
And you knowin’ that the show is goin’ (down)
As extinct as the mink on a lady’s fur-coat
What’s your fall-back plan? Whatchya gonna do, man?

It seems like solid sense to save your dollars and your cents
But when it comes to shiny wheels and bigger rims--you get my hints?
Or student loans to pave the way so you don’t pay, except you do,
We move from spending into lending and we toss out all the rules.
Spending money you don’t got will get you caught like you’s in jail
That lender’s got his own agenda—debtors ain’t for posting bail.
Plan on working for your money, when you get it, pinch and save
‘Cuz the Word says what I’m thinking: Borrow and you’ll be a slave.

If you’re just a high and mighty tight-wad (tight-wad)
And you pass your peeps with just a tight nod (tight nod)
And cruise avenues in a shiny hot-rod (hot-rod)
From the books it looks like you think you’re God (Almighty God).
When the flowin’ of the dough is slowin’ (down)
And you knowin’ that the show is goin’ (down)
As extinct as the mink on a ladies fur-coat
What’s your fall-back plan? Whatchya gonna do, man?

I ain’t chargin’ tips for givin’ tips, this next ones on the hizzy
Saying lay up for your pay up even if you’re getting busy.
Credit scores will open doors that ACTs and FAFSAs won’t
Chance circumstance will find you dancin’ with destruction if you don’t.
If your history’s a mystery of bills that you been missing
Ain’t no pleas or promise gonna make those agents up and listen.
But if you been payin’ promptly, then those cats’ll understand
‘Cuz the Word says what I’m thinking: Yo! Owe nothing to no man!

If you’re just a high and mighty tight-wad (tight-wad)
And you pass your peeps with just a tight nod (tight nod)
And cruise avenues in a shiny hot-rod (hot-rod)
From the books it looks like you think you’re God (Almighty God).
When the flowin’ of the dough is slowin’ (down)
And you knowin’ that the show is goin’ (down)
As extinct as the mink on a ladies fur-coat
What’s your fall-back plan? Whatchya gonna do, man?

The last’s the law of cash for goods, investments got your back
Sometimes spending money right can keep your gold from goin’ black
Some call it buying friends, but it’s insurance by my readin’.
If you’re movin’ provin’ generous when friends are in the needin’
Your boys’ll be more cool to you when you get in a squeeze and
Return the favor. Payin’ down their debt’ll be the reason.
The Word says what I’m thinking: Just be ready with your givin’
‘Cuz friends are the investments that pay back long as your livin’.

If you’re just a high and mighty tight-wad (tight-wad)
And you pass your peeps with just a tight nod (tight nod)
And cruise avenues in a shiny hot-rod (hot-rod)
From the books it looks like you think you’re God (Almighty God).
When the flowin’ of the dough is slowin’ (down)
And you knowin’ that the show is goin’ (down)
As extinct as the mink on a ladies fur-coat
What’s your fall-back plan? Whatchya gonna do, man?

Create in Me a Clean Heart

2009-05-14T17:16:00.000-07:00

I wanna tell my story, but the truth is hard to bear
Will it lessen my confessing, will my lesson keep you guessing
If I wait until the end and I pretend I wasn’t there?
It starts out with a Papa and his couple brawny boys
The younger gets a hunger to be leading life alone
Demands a cash advance and spends on women, wine and toys
While dining with the swine he gets to hungering for home.
Comes limping down the lane, a pimp in pain, no sordid gain,
Now humbled and repentant, mumbling asks to be a slave
His Papa wraps him up and wipes away each teary stain
“Let’s party, ‘cuz my long lost son has risen from his grave!”
A happy ever after seems in order—not so fast!
Remember that I said that Papa had an older boy?
Reflecting on his reputation and his brother’s restoration
He demands an explanation of the joyous celebration
Whining in his own frustration at the lack of acclamation
For his faithful occupation. He required no reformation.
What a dirty revelation that this sinner caused sensation.
Muttering an imprecation at his Papa’s great elation
Turns his back refusing to share in his father’s joy.

Create in me a clean heart, Father
I am Your ungrateful, rebellious daughter
I said I had no sin and so my sin remains
Purify with hyssop, Father, cleanse me of my stains.
Create in me a clean heart, Father
I am Your ungrateful, rebellious daughter
I said I had no sin and so my sin remains
Purify with hyssop, Father, cleanse me of my stains.

I’ll paint it with a different brush, to make the story clear.
A different place, a different space, behold the same redeeming grace
Embracing and erasing as it draws the sinner near.
As Jesus eats His dinner with a teacher of the law
A lady somewhat shady makes an entrance to the scene
Silently this sinner gives the Master’s feet a spa
The Pharisee finds kissing feet to be a sight obscene.
In answer to the question that had never yet been made
“Simon,” said the Master, “Let’s suppose two men had debts.
One owes much and one much less, the Master pardons both
The one who is forgiven little, finds he soon forgets.
He proudly casts his eyes about for someone worse than he
And seizes on his fellow-debtor, “Give me what is mine!”
If the Master hadn’t heard the news and kindly intervened
The second man would still be in the clinker doing time.
Mercy isn’t measured by the size of what’s forgiven.”
But Simon’s heart was hardened by the lie that he’d been living.
Reflecting on her reputation and her current occupation
He detests the explanation for the Master’s degradation
Whining in his own frustration at the lack of acclamation
What a dirty revelation that this sinner caused sensation.
Trashing up his celebration by her teary reformation.
Muttering an imprecation at this hooker’s restoration
Turns, refusing to accept the grace that she’s been given.

Create in me a clean heart, Father
I am Your ungrateful, rebellious daughter
I said I had no sin and so my sin remains
Purify with hyssop, Father, cleanse me of my stains.
Create in me a clean heart, Father
I am Your ungrateful, rebellious daughter
I said I had no sin and so my sin remains
Purify with hyssop, Father, cleanse me of my stains.

I know what you been thinking as you listen to my story
This history’s the mystery of how God saved me graciously
And thankfully and gratefully I’m giving Him the glory.
I wish I were the prodigal who wound up feeding swine
Or the woman of the city whose repentance proved God’s pity
Or the wretched debtor that the Master saved from doing time.
But actually, in honesty, the truth you’ll see exposing me
Is that I am the older son, the wicked slave, the Pharisee.

And since I scorn repentant brothers, pointing out the sins of others
Suddenly reality is facing me with clarity
Is there a possibility that mercy hasn’t measured me?

Jesus said:
‘If you forgive men their transgressions, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions.” (Matthew 6:14-15

The secret isn’t sinning more so that I am forgiven more
Instead I should be recognizing that my prideful patronizing
Is a sin that bears despising just like those I’m ostracizing.

I understand the reprimand and that is why I’m agonizing.

Create in me a clean heart, Father
I am Your ungrateful, rebellious daughter
I said I had no sin and so my sin remains
Purify with hyssop, Father, cleanse me of my stains.
Create in me a clean heart, Father
I am Your ungrateful, rebellious daughter
I said I had no sin and so my sin remains
Purify with hyssop, Father, cleanse me of my stains.

Come Away With Me

2009-03-09T07:42:00.000-07:00

You’re conversing on exertion and you think it’s all good
But there’s a fundamental incidental you’ve misunderstood
In the perfect world that I made, before sin separated
I gave the first man work to do and then I legislated
For him to eat from any fruit except the knowledge tree
The reason this was treason is that wisdom’s knowing Me.
When knowing Me is not enough, you’ve bought into the lie
When you withdraw from knowing me, my love, you’re gonna die.
You’re lonely and you’re empty, so you’re eating from the tree
Just like your daddy Adam, when the bread of life is Me.
You’ve bought into the age-old lie that you can be like Me
Seeking knowledge, good and evil, you’re still eating from that tree
Afraid to meet Me openly, and come repentant, brokenly,
In filthy rags you’re joking Me if you think you can token Me.

I despised the disguise of your fig-leaf lies
I devised their demise through My sacrifice
Realize that your tries aren’t My highest prize
In My eyes it’s My price that satisfies

Come away with Me to a lonely place
Gaze at My face and be embraced by grace
Come away with Me to a lonely place
It’s time to be alone with Me.
Come away with Me to a lonely place
Gaze at My face and be embraced by grace
Come away with Me to a lonely place
It’s time to be alone with Me.

Your endeavor for the pleasure that your labor cannot buy
Slaps grace in the face, this chase of unbelief implies
That My love was not enough, My expiation you deny
When you’re hiding in the priding that you try to satisfy
But the price is supplied, your place is by My side
I didn’t buy a slave-girl--I bought a bride.

Adam was My friend when he walked with Me
Enoch was My friend and he ceased to be
On earth ‘cuz I took him up to be with Me
Abraham left Haran and he walked with Me
Moses was my friend and he talked with Me
Joshua spent time all alone with Me
David knew My heart when he’d groan to Me
Legion, once demoned, asked to stay with Me.
Peter, James and John were at home with Me.
In prison Paul learned to be alone with Me.
The key to being free in Me, in leaving your depravity
Is leaving leaves and lies behind and seeking just to be with Me.
I’ve got work for you to do, and Adam had his labor, too
Priority, I hope you see, is knowing Me and loving Me and walking with Me humbly.

If the stories that I just recalled leave you unsatisfied:
Martha was My servant-girl, but Mary was My bride.

Come away with Me to a lonely place
Gaze at My face and be embraced by grace
Come away with Me to a lonely place
It’s time to be alone with Me.
Come away with Me to a lonely place
Gaze at My face and be embraced by grace
Come away with Me to a lonely place
It’s time to be alone with Me.

When I whisper at the keyhole, “Come away with Me, my dove”
I’m trying to remind you what it means to be in love.
It isn’t like I need your labor, like I’m asking any favors,
Like the world I made won’t run, while you’re with Me. It’s done.
When I come as the Son and the One who has won
Will you be expectantly watching for me faithfully?
I don’t wanna find you on the floor, scrubbing tile
I wanna see you waiting in the door with a smile.
I made you for a purpose and that purpose was My glory
I wrote for you a letter telling out a true love story
I’m working on a place for you to come and be My bride
You should be learning more and yearning to be by My side
Instead you’re seeking liturgies, seeking to please, seeking that tree
Sin’s beginning when you’re seeking anything but Me!
The winter of dead works is past, the summer of redemption’s here
My bride, beloved, cease your tasks and seek Me while I‘m near.
You can work and you can study, but you’re eating from that tree
If you’re working and you’re learning, but you ain’t in step with Me.

Come away with Me to a lonely place
Gaze at My face and be embraced by grace
Come away with Me to a lonely place
It’s time to be alone with Me.
Come away with Me to a lonely place
Gaze at My face and be embraced by grace
Come away with Me to a lonely place
It’s time to be alone with Me.

My love, you’re forgetting that the purpose of your pardon
Is so you can walk with Me in the garden
My love, you’re forgetting that the purpose of your pardon
Is so you can walk with Me in the garden

Come away with Me to a lonely place
Gaze at My face and be embraced by grace
Come away with Me to a lonely place
It’s time to be alone with Me.
Come away with Me to a lonely place
Gaze at My face and be embraced by grace
Come away with Me to a lonely place
It’s time to be alone with Me.

Beyond Beauty

2009-02-24T17:07:00.000-08:00

See this fallen world is wounded,
Bleeding, broken, stained and scarred.
Yet Thou knowest all our frailty
For Thy body, too, was marred

Beyond beauty, beyond grace.
This fallen world tore Thy back, Thy hands, Thy feet, Thy face.

Lost in anger, pain and sorrow,
Each wounded woman, each scarred man
Lashes out in tiger-fury
And drives each nail in Thy hand.

Beyond beauty, beyond grace
This fallen world tore Thy back, Thy hands, Thy feet, Thy face.

That first wound that grew and festered
Passed from Adam’s sin to Cain’s
Each single sin a foul rejection
Each wound a deepening, spreading stain.

Until the climax of this sickness
Cried “crucify!” in wounded rage.
The greatest wounds, the cruelest sorrow
Could heal the pain of every age.

Beyond beauty, beyond grace
This fallen world tore Thy back, Thy hands, Thy feet, Thy face.

Wounded for this world’s transgressions,
Scourged to purge away our sin
By Thy wounds our own are healed
By Thy piercing, we are sealed,
By Thy death, the cure revealed:

Beyond beauty, beyond grace
Thou rose and conquered sin and death to heal the human race.

Better Than Life

2008-06-27T08:28:00.000-07:00

God Prevails

2008-06-26T09:31:00.000-07:00

Lately I’ve wandered.
Lately I’ve wept;
Laid a stone for my pillow
on the ground where I slept.
Angels descended.
My lost soul they kept
so far from the home I was fleeing.

Sojourned for years in
A far distant land,
neglected by “loved ones”,
Still blessed by Your hand,
Yet in my heart’s hardness
Did not understand,
It was only Your love I was fleeing.

Now I am wrestling
Between here and there,
Afraid of Your mercy,
Yet seeking Your care.
You reach down and touch me—
My thigh and my heart:
A limp that will keep me from fleeing.

A limp to remind:
I prevail through grace.
A name to inspire me
To seek out Your face.
And when You had shown me
How helpless I was
I found no more reason for fleeing.

In a Mirror Dimly

2008-04-25T12:34:00.000-07:00

Image of an Outcast

2008-04-25T12:33:00.001-07:00

He had worn it ever since the day the priest had given it to him. Worn it under his ragged, smelly clothes, next to his heart—a heart that continued to pump the warm, red blood through a body that had already died. He wasn’t sure why he wore it. Maybe because it represented himself: an outcast from humanity, suffering alone and slowly dying. He wondered what he would do when the thin yellowed string rotted. Would he give it up then, or try to find another string to tie the image around his neck?
He slowly released the small, wooden carving and allowed it to fall against his wasted chest. He couldn’t even feel when it hit—well, perhaps he could barely feel the roughness as it brushed across his flesh. His raw flesh.
He spread his hands out before him so that he could see them. His eyes worked but he wasn’t always sure he was glad of that. It meant that he could torture himself with looking at his rotting body, slowly decaying while he still remained alive. At one time he had thought it was ghastly. But now, he had gotten used to it.
He had become accustomed to his hands, oozing and white, his fingers masses of peeling flesh without fingernails. He knew, from looking at the others in the camp, that his hair must now be snowy white and his eyebrows flaky. They had itched terribly, a long time ago, but even that feeling was gone now.
He never saw anyone but the others. And the occasional priest who came into the camp to preach and bring holy objects.
He had heard that Jesus had healed lepers. He had waited and watched the large crucifix in the middle of the camp. When the blood ran fresh, they had told him, he could touch it and be healed. But the blood never ran fresh. He couldn’t blame Jesus. He had bled once. Why would He want to bleed again?
Still he felt a special bond with the man on the cross. That is why he treasured his small wooden crucifix next to his heart. Not because he hoped it would heal him—he had worn it a long time now, and yet he had only grown worse. But he liked to look at it. He could imagine the man, when he was being scourged and the flesh was peeling off His back. He was so mutilated that He almost looked leprous.
He had heard a priest say that Jesus had touched a leprous man. Touched him and healed him! No one had touched him. Not even the priest who had given him the image. The priest had dropped it from a few inched into the rotting palm. Then he had turned away.
He knew that Jesus’ people had hated the lepers. They were considered “unclean”, driven outside the city and not allowed to touch anyone. They were outcasts. They always had been. They always would be.
But Jesus had been an outcast too. He had been cast out of the inn when He was born. He had been cast out of Israel when He was young. He had been driven outside of the city and killed. An outcast. And so He was very much like a leper.
Even God had forsaken Him. Jesus had said so on the cross. The very words, he himself had uttered “My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?”
It wasn’t fair. But it was fact. He had been forsaken, and Jesus had been forsaken. Both of them were outcasts.
That was why he liked the small, wooden crucifix that he wore around his neck. It symbolized the fact that he was forsaken.
“He who would not save His own Son...” he quoted the words to himself.

The leper slung a pot of water down from his shoulder, splashing water over his hands, He was glad to have a well in camp, even if it only held stagnant rainwater. If he had gone near the village to get water, he would have been driven away with stones.
Now several ragged cats came eagerly forward and he tipped the bucket down so that they could drink. Even if they did consume his food and water, they were good company. And a good protection.
He never felt it during the long, dark nights, when he slept fitfully hoping for dawn, the hungry rats would creep out of their holed and tunnels and come to gnaw on his hands and feet and legs. He had one toe that had been eaten completely to the bone.
But the cats had become his friends. When he would waken in the night to the sound of scuffling feet, he would see the green, glowing eyes of the cats and know with satisfaction that any rat that came within arm's length of him was prey to their sharp teeth. And so he could sleep without fear. In return he shared his water and whatever small scraps of food as the cats might fancy.
Sometimes he was so hungry that he wished he, too could catch and devour the vermin.
He wondered if rats had come to gnaw on Jesus as He hung on the cross. He had asked a priest once—the first one who had come to tell the story. The priest had seemed horrified at the thought of such a sacrilege.
The priest had explained how Jesus did not stay on the cross. Jesus had been raised from the dead and had never “undergone decay”. So they said, but he didn’t believe it.
If that was true, why was Jesus still on the cross? No. He decided he would not believe that part of the story. The priests had made that part up because they didn’t want Jesus to remain an outcast. But he did. He wanted Jesus to decay. Just like he was. That’s how he’s come to feel a close bond with Jesus.
He reached a rotting hand under his tunic, as he seated himself, and brought his crucifix out into the light. The string stuck into the skin around his neck, but he pulled it loose.
It was a small image—it fit neatly into his palm. But it was his Jesus. The flesh peeling off of Him, the body torn and mutilated. The beard was ripped out by the roots, and the eyes looked sad and distant. Forsaken.
He liked the way Jesus looked hanging on the cross. He was glad Jesus was still hanging on the cross. He was glad that Jesus was like him. He liked the image of Jesus as an outcast.
He didn’t want God to raise Jesus. He didn’t believe it could happen. If God would raise Jesus, why wouldn’t God raise him from the dead—heal him?
If God would raise him, then maybe he’d believe that Jesus had raised.
But he could see Jesus still on the cross. And he could see his hands and arms and legs still rotting.

It was midday and there was a hum. Just a steady humming sound coming from down in the camp, near the well. He had been hearing it for some time now, but his own thoughts had occupied his mind, drowning out the hum.
He had thought of the lepers of God’s people. Thought of how God had rejected them. God had said that lepers were unclean. God had ordered them out of the camp of His people. They were the outcasts.
He was sitting with his back against a rock. He knew his clothes were sticking to his back, but he didn’t care. He tugged at the string around his neck and pulled the crucifix from its hiding place. Jesus was an outcast, too. Cast out from God’s presence. Scorned by men. He made good company.
The humming changed to a drone, becoming more insistent. It began to sound like a human voice. Had a visitor come to the camp? Perhaps a travelling priest had come to bring them food, and read them the Holy Scriptures. But not touch them. Never touch them. They were unclean.
Slowly he stood up and ambled down the hill. It was many shuffling steps to the well, and he took his pot with him, so as not to make the trip twice.
A young man was seated on the edge of the well, reading to the ragged lepers grouped around him. What was it the priest was reading? He paused to listen. Only something about John--a man named John who lived in the wilderness and ate insects. He was not interested in john.
Cautiously he picked his way around the others, making his way to the well. He had come the long, dusty way down to the well; he might as well fill his pot before making his way home again.
He noticed that the priest was reading about John baptizing, as he dipped his pot into the well. But he didn’t care about John. John had never touched a leper—he had never baptized an outcast.
“The next day John saw Jesus coming to him...”
He paused as he heard the name of Jesus. What would John do to Jesus? Would he baptize an outcast?
“...And John said, ‘Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.’”
There was a clatter and a slosh as the bucket full of water slipped from his hands and fell onto the edge of the rock well, shattering. He was aware of all the eyes looking at him. Uncomfortably aware.
The priest looked up. “Are you all right, old man?”
He didn’t notice the words. He didn’t notice that the young priest had called him an old man—the young priest who had probably lived longer than he had, but who could only see his oozing face and snowy hair.
“Read it again,” he croaked, his hands still frozen as if he held a jar.
The priest opened the book again and found his place. “The next day John saw Jesus coming to him,” he nodded as the priest glanced up to make sure that was the requested passage. “And John said ‘Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.’”
“Now read about the lepers!” His hands were shaking with eagerness, and he didn’t notice the sticky trickle making its way down his cheek.
The priest looked at him quizzically. “The—lepers?”
“The law for cleansing lepers!” He had heard it before. He had always asked to hear about the lepers—the outcasts.
The priest gave him a curious look and turned toward the front of the book. Slowly he began reading the law for the cleansing of a healed leper.
He waited impatiently for the priest to move on. Wouldn’t the words he wanted to hear come next?
“’And if he is poor, and his means are insufficient, then he is to take one male lamb as a guilt offering...he shall slaughter the lamb for the guilt offering...this is the law for him in whom there is an infection of leprosy, whose means are limited, for his cleansing.’”
“Now read that other again,” His voice was still hoarse as he moved closer to the young priest.
The priest thumbed through the pages and quietly read, “‘behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!’”
Without thinking, he laid his hand eagerly on the young priest’s arm. The priest recoiled.
“Jesus touched me,” he croaked, removing his hand and bowing his head in shame.
“You are right, friend,” the gentle voice returned. “Forgive me. Where now?” And the priest’s hand squeezed his shoulder.
“Read when Jesus healed the leper.”
And he listened.
“’And behold, a leper came to Him, and bowed down to Him, saying, “Lord, if you are willing, You can make me clean.” And He stretched out His hand and touched Him saying, “I am willing, be cleansed.” And immediately the leprosy was cleansed.’”
He got up slowly. “Thank you,” he mumbled and hobbled away. Away to his own space of ground were he could think, and where he could look at his crucifix.

It seemed he had been sleeping forever when he saw a figure coming toward him, and he heard a voice day “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”
“He who believes in Me, even though he dies, He shall live forever, and I will raise him up on the last day.”
He remembered how he had hoped to be raised to life—hoped to be healed.
“Lord,” he said, “If You are willing, You can make me clean!”
“I am willing,” Jesus reached out, he wrapped his arm around him, then slowly let go. “Be clean.” A trickle of blood flowed from His pierced hands, and down the leper’s fingers.
He awoke. A trickle of blood was running down his fingers. His hand had clutched his knife in his sleep, and he had not felt when it cut through his flesh.
It was daylight now. The other lepers were stirring.
He tore a strip from his clothing and bound it around his finger. Then he plodded down the hill to the well to bathe it.
As he dipped his sticky finger into the water of the well, he looked up at the large crucifix that had not bled to heal him, like the priest had said it might.
He could see the marks of the wounds carved in the flesh of Jesus. The blood had flown once to cleanse him. Jesus had become an outcast to make him clean—to take him in. He didn’t need to stay on the cross, suffering shame and slow death anymore.
Lovingly he fingered the crucifix around his neck. He withdrew it from under his shirt and took out his knife. Thoughtfully he set to work.

“What are you doing?” It was the young priest who had seen him sitting on the edge of the well, his shaggy white head bent over his work.
Carefully he brushed the wooden shavings from his lap and held the image up so he could survey it.
“What have you done?” The priest gasped in horror, reaching for the small, now-empty cross.
But he clutched it to his heart, away from the priest’s grasping hand. Calmly he shook his head as he retied the string around his neck.
The priest seemed bewildered. “What have you done to the holy image?” He demanded, taking a step backward.
The leper turned to face him with large, mournful eyes, wiped his knife on a fold of his clothing and put it away. Then he pointed to the large crucifix hanging nearby and shook his head.
“Jesus raised.”

For Your Glory, Lord

2008-04-25T12:29:00.000-07:00

~From Ezekiel 36~

For Your sake, O Holy One
And to vindicate Your name
Gather my life together
And cleanse me
For Your glory, Lord

Prove Yourself, O Holy One
Among the heathens who profane
Bring me home to You
And fill me
For Your glory, Lord

For the glory You desire
For the honor You deserve
Soften my heart of stone
Renew me
For Your glory, Lord

Make the nations worship You
And make them sing Your praises
Put Your Spirit in me
And use me
For Your glory, Lord

Not for my own sake, Redeemer
But for the sake of Your name
Multiply fruit bearing
To me
For Your glory, Lord

For Your sake, O Holy One
That those who see may comment
“He makes the barren soul
“Like Eden”.
For Your glory, Lord

Piercing the Fog

2008-04-10T07:58:00.000-07:00

(For all the women who have said, "He's not the man I married")

We've grown old
And nothing stays the same, it seems
Like hot and cold
What once was steam
Has now become the fog that's risen in between us.

I find the one I thought I knew
Was never really you,
You know?

Turned to frost
The fire that made us glow inside
Forever lost
We try to hide
If we seek each other now, we're sure to just collide

The one I swore I loved and knew
Was never really you,
You know?

Should it end?
Should I send
These words my worried heart has penned?
Or pretend
We can't mend
A love-live I can't comprehend?

Seems unfair
Love my misconception, live with you
Here's my prayer
May it come true
Somehow through the fog of distance truth comes shining through.

Bury the one I thought I knew
And lovingly seek you
To know.

Prayer from John 17

2008-04-04T19:55:00.000-07:00

Jesus said, "Ask anything in My name..." Then He immediately went into an instructive prayer.

Do we want to know for what we should pray? What God desires to grant?

Check out Jesus' prayer in John 17 and start by praying to:

1. Glorify the Father (vs. 1-5)

2. Continue in God's name (vs. 6-12)

3. Have full joy in Jesus (vs. 13)

4. Be kept from the evil one (vs. 14-16)

5. Be sanctified in God's word (vs. 17-19)

6. Be unified (vs. 20-23)

7. Be with Jesus (vs. 24)

8. Love as Jesus loves (vs. 25-26)

The Happy Song

2008-04-03T08:07:00.000-07:00

By Josiah and Joshua

Fa la la...Jesus is Lord
La da dee da...King evermore!

Praise the maker of the sea!
Praise His work in you and me!
Praise His wonder in the storm!
We who are made according to His form.
Praise Him everything that breathes!
Praise Him on your knees!
......and stuff....

Chorus:
Thank you! Thank you! Amen! (4 x)

Praise Him for the songs we sing!
Praise Him, let His praises ring!
Praise Him on the mountain top!
Praise Him 'till your eardrums pop!
Praise Him in the valleys low!
Praise Him everywhere we go!
......and stuff.....

Chorus

Thank you! Thank you! Amen.
Dude!

I Will Call You My Own

2008-03-10T06:54:00.000-07:00

I will call you My own
Who I said were not My own.
And I shall be your God,
Though I said "I'm not your God."
And with a love surpassing death
I will woo you as My bride.
With tender mercies from My breath,
In perfect shelter you'll abide.

If My people will repent,
Turn away from all their sin,
Freely, then, will I relent,
And I will make them whole again.
Then I will bind their gaping wounds,
Put an end to all their strife,
I'll call them by My holy name
And in their souls I'll grant them life.

The Practices of Love

2008-02-26T13:15:00.001-08:00

Love is:

PATIENT: puts up with other's quirks
KIND: goes out of its way to serve
NOT ENVIOUS: rejoices in other's triumphs
NOT PROUD: associates with the lowly
NOT INDECENT: pure in all circumstances
NOT SELF-SEEKING: thinks of other's needs and desires
NOT PROVOKED: brushes off insults or annoyances
FORGIVING: forgets wrongs done to self
OPENLY SUPPORTIVE OF TRUTH: holds tenaciously to convictions
BEARING: gladly shares other's burdens
BELIEVING: looks forward to eternity
ENDURING: holds out through discomfort
UNFAILING: persists--through everything

(from First Corinthians 13:4-8)

Sunrise and Sunset

2008-02-26T05:54:00.000-08:00

The Master's Plan

2008-02-26T05:45:00.000-08:00

Presented in the Kansas State Capitol, January 2006

Introduction

My father owns a fossil watch. In spite of its deceptive name, he purchased it several years ago at Dillard’s for a substantial sum of money. If someone were to find this watch, lying neglected in an out of the way place, they would likely make the assumption that someone had designed that watch. As they observed the hands, moving in perfect timing they might be tempted to open the back and see the intricately formed gears that keep the watch ticking. The thought would never enter their head that the watch came by chance—unless they wanted to believe that the watch was owned by no one.

Someone Made the World

Our entire universe runs on the same system as that watch: sunrise, sunsets, days, weeks, seasons and years, all in perfect order and continual repetition.
In good science, a hypothesis is an educated guess at an explanation and can be tested for truth. A theory is a tested and proven hypothesis, and once a theory has been sufficiently proven, it becomes a scientific law. The Law of Gravity can be proven time and again—if I toss a watch into the air, it will fall to the ground again. Anything that cannot be scientifically replicated moves into the realm of faith. And any faith that contradicts scientific law is on shaky ground.
As I studied chemistry in high school, I came across two scientific laws—known as the laws of thermodynamics, that knock a hole in the belief that the world happened by chance. The first law states that “matter cannot be created or destroyed”—that means what is here in the world is all we’ve ever had and all we are ever going to get. The second law states that “without the addition of energy, the entropy (or disorder) of the universe must always either increase or remain the same—it can never decrease.” The world doesn’t get more orderly, unless energy is added from outside the system. These two scientific laws make two facts clear—you don’t get something from nothing, and world conditions do not improve with time.
We see these laws at work all the time. If you want to make a watch, you have to start with the rough materials for a watch—you can’t just wish it into being. And as soon as you finish making that watch, it will slowly begin to fall apart. It doesn’t get more reliable and durable with use—it runs down, just like the universe.
It doesn’t take a stretch of faith or an assault to intelligence to believe that someone made my watch. Nor is it a blind leap of faith to believe in a Creator of the world—all good science points to an intelligent designer for any useful design.

Someone Owns the World

The issue is simple: if someone made the world, then someone owns it—just like the watch. Most creations are made to fulfill the purpose of the designer. The only reason to believe that anything is unintentionally created, is if you do not wish to acknowledge the creator. After all, if someone made the watch, you owe him praise for his workmanship as well as acknowledging that only he knows how it should properly be used. And if you find a watch lying neglected on the road, it was created by someone, belongs to someone and must be returned.
Complex manufactured items usually come with an owner’s manual, written by the creator of the item, detailing proper use and care. Humans also come with an owner’s manual, filled with useful history about our origins, and directions on how to live a life that will be pleasing to the One who made us. The Bible also contains prophecies about the future, some of which have already come true. And just like He made scientific laws to govern the universe, so the Creator made moral laws to govern our lives—“You shall have no other Gods before Me,”, “Love the Lord your God with all of your heart, soul and mind,” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

We Don’t Want to be Accountable

God has a plan. He’s had a plan from before the first day of creation, and nothing that has ever happened through history has had Him over a barrel. The issue is that we are so desperately rebellious, so driven by the desire to live apart from Him, that we are willing to delude ourselves with the belief that He does not exist. We try to tell ourselves that we are self-made men and women, subject to no one’s rules but our own. Unfortunately, it is not only possible, but also easy to whole-heartedly and sincerely believe a lie.
The state of Kansas built Highway 400 and endowed it with certain laws to govern the traffic. I may not want to obey these laws—it’s not always convenient to drive 65 miles per hour—and I may even convince myself that no one made the highway, and that no one owns it, so that I can drive as fast as I want, but that belief will not save me from punishment. When I stand before a judge in a court of law, faced with a speeding fine, I will find out very quickly who owns that Highway. My belief didn’t change the facts, and by the time I am faced with the undeniable truth, it will be too late, and I will have to pay the penalty.
Beliefs don’t shape facts—but the facts should certainly shape our beliefs. Even if everyone driving Highway 400 decided that the highway had come by chance, and drove as they chose, it wouldn’t change the history of that highway.
And the Highway is clearly marked with signs that say “US 400”. There should be no doubt to anyone with eyes wired directly to their brain who owns that highway.
The same is true of the world. God built His universe, and posted signs pointing toward Himself—all of creation points to Him—He also placed scientific rules that can’t be broken, and moral rules that can be, to show His ownership of the world. And when His laws are broken, and His truth is denied, there are penalties.
In the book of Romans, He details the laws that we witness today. “The wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, because that which is known about God is evident within them; for God made it evident to them. For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power, His divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse. For even though they knew God, they did not honor Him as God, or give thanks, but they became futile in their speculations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Professing to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the incorruptible God for an image in the form of corruptible man and of birds and four-footed animals and crawling creatures. Therefore God gave them over in the lusts of their hearts to impurity, that their bodies might be dishonored among them. For they exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever. Amen!” (Romans 1:18-25)
God says He made it obvious within us—only those who don’t want to live by His laws engage in futile speculations about the origin of the earth. Only those with foolish hearts exchange the knowledge that they are made in God’s image for the lie that they came from animals.
Satan hates our bodies, made in God’s image, and hates to see us worship and adore God, because he is the ultimate rebel. The goal of evolution is the goal this devil has had from the beginning—to do away with God and therefore accountability to a creator. Even Satan has deluded himself, hoping that he will not be punished for his sin of rebellion to God.
But just like disbelief in the law does not make you exempt from it, so denial of God does not set you free from accountability to your Maker.

Conclusion: Surrender or Surrealism

Everything we see today was made by Someone—including man, one of the most complex creations in the universe. We marvel at a watch, and admire the designer, why do we look at ourselves and deny a Maker?
Because God created and owns the universe, He is the only one who can break the laws—that’s how He proves His deity. If we choose to obey the moral laws He has laid out for us, He will reverse the downward cycle, and make our lives increasingly more orderly and eventually give us eternal life.
Some day, the Bible says that God will roll up this universe like the worn-out garment that it is, and He will create a new heaven and a new earth with new laws—no more death and decay, the lion will lie down with the lamb, and He Himself shall be our Sun.
Today, you have two choices: you can choose to surrender to the Master’s plan, or you can continue on in surrealism—blindly living in your own little world, making your own rules—headed straight for destruction. God warns you that your little world is still a part of God’s creation and therefore subject to His laws.
Which will you choose? Delusional surrealism, trying to deny a God who made you in His image, or surrender to an Intelligent Designer who has everything under control.

You’re a Temple

2008-02-23T10:41:00.000-08:00

I don’t know what to do to change your mind
Your body is not a gift for all mankind

You’re a temple of the Living God
Your heart should be His altar stone
Your life should be the sacrifice
Offered to God alone

The beauty God gives is not meant to be shared
By a roving eye or the outfits that you wear

God clothed His whole temple
In linen and hangings of blue
In velvet and scarlet
You should be covered too

The figure you have is not your light to share
You will not turn eyes to God by tempting stares

Your body is a sacred thing
Holy vessels are covered
In reverence and honor
Because they are beloved

Keep the abode of God unstained by sin
So the glory of God it may contain within

You’re a temple of the Living God
Your heart should be His altar stone
Your life should be the sacrifice
Offered to God alone

The Grace of the Lord

2008-02-11T08:54:00.000-08:00

The grace of the Lord must be your own.
You're not saved by the faith that another has shown.
But if you should wander so far from home
The grace of the Lord can still find you.

So seek the Lord while He may be found.
Call His name while He might be near.
The humble sinner, who falls to the ground
Will find that the Lord of grace will hear.

Grace is greater than all our sin.
Grace will teach us to enter in
To the way of faith that the humble have trod.
God's grace will lead us to God.

So if you have chosen to humbly implore
God's grace and His mercy to open the door
That you might enter His rest ever more,
May the grace of our Lord be with you.

Romans 7:19

2008-02-11T08:49:00.000-08:00

This is a day of bitter repentance;
For I have sinned!
And every day is the same.

“For the good that I wish, I do not do; but I practice the very evil that I do not wish.” ~Romans 7:19

Sunset in Kansas

2008-02-11T08:15:00.000-08:00

Romans 12:1-2

2008-02-11T08:13:00.001-08:00

“In light of God’s mercy
I plead with you, my brethren,
To lay yourselves on the altar of sacrifice
Set apart to live devoted to God
Which is how He desires to be worshiped
Not in the methods of this world
But in a spirit of truth
Rendering your minds
Transforming your lives
To prove that God has decided to accept you
As perfect.

~Sparrow, Tell Me~

2008-02-11T08:12:00.001-08:00

Sparrow, tell me how you live
Each day upon your song
For though you do not gather wood
Or build a fire to cook your food
You are not hungry long

Sparrow, tell me why you sing
When winter-time is near
Do you not fear the winds that blow
With no warm house in which to go
At this cold time of year?

Sparrow, tell me why you fly
When you, in flight, might fall
Is it no worry to your mind
That, struck from heaven, danger finds
Yet you fear not at all.

Sparrow, teach me how you trust
Upon the God above
For it is He that feeds your young
And fills your little heart with song
To show me He is love.

Reflections

2008-02-11T08:04:00.000-08:00

I was raised in a Christian family...

2008-01-02T08:43:00.000-08:00

I used to think that my Christian testimony was boring and uninspiring. But it's not really about me.

Recently I've been convicted and convinced of God's perfect plans, and I realize that whatever way He chooses to work is for His glory.

My parents both trusted the Lord in college shortly before meeting and marrying. I was born 10 years later, while they were a part of a New Testament fellowship in Hutchinson, KS. My Papa took to heart Deuteronomy 6:7 “You shall teach [God's commandments] diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up.” As soon as I could talk, he was teaching me to memorize scripture, and when I was three, I overheard my Mom talking to my older brother about trusting the Lord, and I decided I wanted to ask Jesus into my heart. I was baptized 4 years later, at a lake in Topeka, KS.

But a child that young doesn't really count the cost and make a life commitment. Shortly after I turned 13 a kid I knew drowned and I was brought face to face with the shortness of life. I went through a period of floundering, trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life—and eventually made the choice to lose it to the safe keeping of Jesus. I could see His works around me, had seen His dealings in the lives of my parents and others that I loved and respected and knew that only He could redeem a stubborn teenage girl.

That's been almost seven years ago, and the Lord has proven Himself faithful over and over again to me. He has often broken and healed, and He still has much more to break and heal.

Around my 16th birthday I developed an eating disorder—the product of a lack of trust in the Lord and a desire to control my own life. I also became very rebellious and angry. It was like throwing a wet blanket on my relationship with Christ because I knew that if I surrendered myself to Him, I would have to give it up. At the end of the summer, I confessed that I had lost control, and gave it over to the Lord. The eating disorder had broken down my previously excellent health, but the Lord restored that as well as the joy of my salvation. A year or so later, He convicted me to humble myself and confess this to my parents and seek their accountability.

Since this time He has continued to work in my heart—teaching me submission, joy, and humility. I wish I could say I'd learned them all well, but I imagine there will be plenty more lessons in the future. As I've been meditating on the Lord and His deeds, I've been brought face to face with my own unworthiness and weakness. I used to want to be another “hero” of the faith—famous for what I accomplished for the Lord. But I realize that I often try to serve the Lord on my terms—my timetable, my comfort zone, my talents, but He is glorified through weakness, not strength.

He's opposed to the proud because he can't use them—but He pours His grace on the humble. He needs us, not as good little Christians, but as broken, repentant and surrendered vessels, willing to be filled by Him, and to bring glory to Him.

That's why God saves sinners like me—to glorify Himself!

Father, glorify yourself through me!

Proverbs 31--The Virtuous Woman

2008-01-02T08:39:00.000-08:00

Faithfulness (vs. 11-12)
--Her husband trusts her--even in his heart because she's proven herself faithful in little things
--She does him good ALL THE DAYS OF HER LIFE--even before she knows him she is seeking his good, preparing herself to be a godly sidekick, keeping herself pure, maintaining a spotless reputation, practicing submission, kindness, service

Cheerfulness (vs. 13)
--She delights in working, in caring for a home

Industry (vs. 13, 14, 15, 18, 19, 24, 27)
--Most of this chapter details the diligence, ingenuity and industry of this woman. She puts her creative powers to work caring for her home and also brining wealth into it through "home" business means. Never let anyone tell you that a godly woman should sit around home, or that if you are a homemaker you'll be bored. Of that you're not carrying your weight by helping out with the income. There's plenty to be done from home.

Invests Wisely (vs. 16, 24)
--Not only does she not spend all her husband's money, she works hard to make her own so that she can reinvest it in worthwhile things. No wonder her husband trusts her and has no lack of gain.

Cares for Herself (vs. 17, 22, 25)
--With all her work, and her care of her household, she is never negligent of herself. She keeps herself fit and well-clothed. Clean and healthy is her goal, and it will not be her fault if she is not pleasantly attractive.

Modest (vs. 22)
--She covers herself--and with fine cloth, too. It's not some tacky t-shirt and jeans, but something that proves that she treasures the body God has given her--the temple--she dresses with elegance, style and modesty.

Ladylike (vs. 25)
--For her adornments, to dress up her outfits, she adds strength and dignity. She's a lady. Her manner will earn her respect--and respect and honor for her husband. (This is something I certainly need to work on--I still lean toward the tom-boy side.)

Generosity (vs. 20)
--She works hard so that she can give to the Lord. She can't blame her husband for not giving as much as she'd like (as I've heard some women do) because she works cheerfully with her own hands to have something to share with those who have nothing. This is a wise investment as well, since those who give to the poor are lending to the Lord and He will repay.

Speaks God's Word (vs. 26)
--So much of what is described in this chapter seems like "works", but her real secret is here: wisdom falls from her lips, and we know the fear of the Lord is the beginning of Wisdom and knowlege of the Holy One is understanding. When she opens her mouth, what comes out is wisdom and kindess, proof of a mature woman of God.

What stood out to me the most was the familiar verse "Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord shall be praised." The key here is that all of these "works" are fruits of a life fixed on the Lord. She doesn't do these in pursuit of power, riches, "equality" with men, beauty, sex-appeal, security, independence, success--she does them because she pursues the Lord.

Concerning Wise Men

2007-12-26T12:51:00.000-08:00

I know I am a day late, but when you stop to think about it, the magi probably arrived a year after the birth of Jesus, so I'm in good company.

This year I've been pondering the wise men, who embarked on a tedious journey from the luxurious East to the small town of Bethlehem in pursuit of a star. At their journey's end, they found, not a great, rich, powerful man, but a small child with His mother--and they bowed down and worshiped Him.

Why?

These wise men were students, not only of the stars, but likely of the ancient writings--including the words of several prophets: Balaam, a man of their own, who was sent to curse God's people and, rebuked by his donkey, blessed them instead and Daniel, a hebrew captive who rose to be one of the leading Magi of his time, through the aid of the God He set His heart to obey.

Daniel prophesied the coming of the Jewish Messiah, who would rule the world with a rod of iron...at a time 490 years from his writing.

Balaam prophesied the rise of a star in the land of Israel--a scepter in the land of Jacob.

When a star appeared in the night sky, hanging over the land of Israel, the wise men knew this King had been born.

But Jesus was so much more than just the King of the Jews. The gifts of the Magi proclaimed His tri-fold purpose and person.

Gold--the gift for a King--the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

Frankincense--offered to the divine, to the Son of Almighty God.

Myrhh--the expensive embalming, proclaiming to all that Jesus was the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world, judged perfect to die as atonement for all humanity.

These men, renouned for their wisdom, traveled miles to behold and worship what others recognized as only a child. Two thousand years have passed, but wise men still seek Him, still find Him, still fall to their knees in reverence and woship.

This year, my prayer is that you might seek the Savior--King, God and Sacrifice.

Turn your speakers up and follow this link:

We, wise men of orient are.
Bearing gifts we travel from far...

Glorious now, behold Him rise
King and God and Sacrifice!
Heav'n cries "Hallelujah!"
"Hallelujah," earth replies.

Oh, star of wonder...
Guide us to that one True Light.

JUST CHILLIN’

2007-12-18T08:15:00.000-08:00

Deep in the frozen wastes of the Siberian tundra lives a super cool little creature—so cool in fact that it has been known to survive years of freezing! This little creature, the Siberian newt, is an amphibian: it can live in the water, or on the land. In this amphibian’s case, it can also live in the frozen ground or encased in ice. The newt is different from humans in how it reacts to the cold weather. While human bodies use more energy, working harder to warm you up, the newt’s body adapts to the cold and slows down until it almost stops working at all!

Most creatures’ bodies are made up largely of water, but a newt’s works in such a way that only certain body parts freeze. Many scientists believe that God gives the Siberian newt its own “anti-freeze”, allowing it to maintain liquids at 40 degrees below freezing! This way the newt can freeze almost completely, while the important organs, like the heart and brain, remain alive and well.

In some cases newts have been found, suspended in ice nearly 50 feet deep. Local legend supposes that some of these newts were frozen alongside woolly mammoths nearly 12,000 years ago. That wouldn’t sound so ridiculous if it weren’t for the fact that, when thawed, these tough, little creatures jump up and scamper away. However long they’ve been there, the woolly mammoths are still frozen. Fascinating.

Like many other animals living in cold regions, the newt takes a long nap during the winter. In fact, the newt ends up sleeping more than half of the year. Imagine spending most of your year sleeping—that would pretty much cover the entire school-year. Alarm clocks can’t even be set for that long, which is good, since a newt wouldn’t use one anyway. Their bodies wake them up in the spring when the weather begins to warm up, just in time to breed and lay eggs.

After a fancy courtship dance, the female may lay as many as 300 eggs. That’s a lot of kids for one couple! Then she leaves without even saying good-bye, and never comes back. The babies, or larvae, that hatch from the eggs a few weeks later are smaller than your pinky toe. They gobble up tiny water creatures, keep an eye out for hungry predator insects and develop lungs that will allow them to live on the land. In a short time they’ll be crawling into their water bed for that long, cold nap their parents just finished!

Many people are discovering that newts make great pets. They seem to thrive in home aquariums, and prove to be pretty quiet and unobtrusive. Plus, they’re easy to take care of—they don’t have to be walked, or groomed, or potty trained. They are pretty light eaters, and slugs and bugs don’t cost a bundle. They sleep about half of their lives.

And, best of all, if you’re going on a week vacation and can’t take your pet Siberian newt, it’s not a problem. Just pop ‘em in the freezer and let ‘em chill.

Now that’s pretty cool.

Be Still

2007-12-10T09:17:00.001-08:00

Prayers of Dust

2007-12-10T09:16:00.000-08:00

I plead a cause I think is just

With eloquence that man applauds

My guilded prayers melt into dust

Before the mercy seat of God

Is He who formed the mouth impressed

With many words and colored speech?

My empty prayers He sees undressed

And into dust He turns them each

But when I bow my knees and sob

That is a sound His spirit knows

Its measured beat meets with my throb

And cries to heaven overflow

And every word is deeper far

Than all the wells of earthly voice

No sounds of mine could ever mar

The pleadings of that Spirit’s choice

And when my God my prayer receives

It is not empty words He holds

His spirit intercedes for me

And turns my prayers of dust to gold.

Mirror of Truth

2007-12-10T09:14:00.000-08:00

James 1:22-25 & James 4:17

I stand before the mirror of truth
With the reflection of my soul before me
I know that if I look
And walk away
I will forget

I am afraid to look and stay
And yet I am ashamed to walk away

I stand before the mirror of truth
I do not want to gaze too closely at myself
I know that if I look
And take to heart
My heart must change

I am afraid to look and stay
And yet I am ashamed to walk away

I want to look upon the surface
But if my eyes are opened I will see the flaws
I know that if I see
A need for change
I am condemned

He who know the right thing to do
And does not do that thing
It is a sin

I am afraid to look and stay
And yet I am ashamed to walk away

I stand before the mirror of truth
Afraid to look

Men Who Cry

2007-12-10T09:13:00.000-08:00

We’re told that crying tears shows weakness

Spineless are the men who cry

Yet as we make our boys dry tears

We cause their tender hearts to die.

There’s not a single wasted tear

Watering the graves of martyrs

Or shed with other’s pain in mind

Or poured repentant on the altar.

If tears be weakness, then I say

We need more weak men’s tears these days

For in Christ Jesus, weak are strong.

The Lord Himself wept loud and long.

When Jesus stood before the tomb

His heart and soul were deeply moved

Those watching did not think Him weak

His tears said plainly, “How He loved”.

If tears be weakness, then I say

We need more weak men’s tears these days

For in Christ Jesus, weak are strong.

The Lord Himself wept loud and long.

The One who holds my heart and soul

Wept tears of pity, love and grace.

In every man who cries such tears

I see my Savior’s tender face.

Less Than White

2007-12-10T09:12:00.000-08:00

Oh my soul, it is easy to seem godly

When that godliness has not been challenged

It is easy to seem holy

When there is no call to higher holiness

And when compared to all that is unholy.

Comparing black to grey

Would make the grey seem bright

But there is a holiness that is nothing less than white

Oh my heart, it is easy to seem pure

When that purity is not as dirty as the mind

It is easy to seem spotless

When I’m fixed upon the spots of others

And close my mind to all that spots my heart

Comparing black to grey

Would make the grey seem bright

But there is a holiness that is nothing less than white

Oh my mind, it is easy to seem good

When the rotten thoughts are buried deep

It is easy to sound truthful

When the truth can cover darker lies

And when the truth is easy to bear

Comparing black to grey

Would make the grey seem bright

But there is a holiness that is nothing less than white

Oh my life, you must be willing to step

Into the call of greater holiness and truth

It is a hard thing to seem holy

When standing next to the Christ who is

And stepping far from sin

Comparing black to grey

Would make the grey seem bright

But there is a holiness that is nothing less than white

In the Silence

2007-12-10T09:10:00.000-08:00

In the silence of a lonely hour

God’s spirit moves in me with power

And restless though my soul may be

It pauses listening quietly.

Alone with God is not alone.

My heart shall be His royal throne.

And I shall seek Him quietly

And in the silence bend my knee.

If ever dungeon plight is mine

I need not murmur or repine

For God Himself shall be with me

And he will hold me tenderly.

I need not fear the lonely days

While I have heart to sing His praise.

And if my tongue be from me torn

He’ll speak to me on silent morn.

If ever praise be shut inside

And deafening gloom in me reside,

And though my head seems split apart

He’ll split the silence in my heart!

If din and noise around are loud

Entrapping me in worldly cloud

Then God shall cause the sounds to cease

And in my soul he’ll grant me peace.

Though I should sink as low as hell

My God would whisper there as well.

For where I am there He shall be

Comforting me quietly.

Psalm 27:1, 4, 14

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1. The Lord is my light

He is the one who lightens my path so that I don’t stumble and shows me the proper way to go

And my salvation

He saved me from the penalty of sin

He is saving me from the power of sin

He will save me from the presence of sin

Whom shall I fear?

Do not fear men who can kill the body, and after that can do nothing

The Lord is the defense of my life

Do not take your own revenge beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God

I am silent, because the Lord is my answer

Whom shall I dread?

4. One thing I have asked of the Lord, that I shall seek:

There’s only one thing important enough to ask and seek it

Seek first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness

That I may dwell in the house of the Lord, all the days of my life

I want eternal life with Jesus! That’s the important thing!

To behold the beauty of the Lord

No man can see God and live…until perfected in His image

And to meditate in His temple

Not the earthly temple…the one that is in heaven!

14. Wait for the Lord

Let God work in His own timing

Be strong and let your heart take courage

Waiting is hard work…it takes strength and courage of heart

Yes, wait for the Lord!

God is able to do exceedingly abundantly beyond all that we ask or hope, and He will delight to fulfill the desires of our hearts. We have only to wait for His timing.

I Will Praise You In Everything

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I will praise You in everything

Thank You in everything

This is Your will for me

I will tell of Your mighty deeds

How You made everything

For this will fulfill all my needs.

For the trees that are leaving

For the grass that is greening

For the skies that hold promise of rain

For the birds that are singing

For the breeze that is blowing

For the flowers that are blooming again.

I will praise You in everything

Thank You in everything

This is Your will for me

I will tell of Your mighty deeds

How You made everything

For this will fulfill all my needs.

For my heart that is beating

For the life You have given me

For the heaven that’s waiting above

For Your son who ascended

For Your spirit descended

That is resting on my as a dove

I will praise You in everything

Thank You in everything

This is Your will for me

I will tell of Your mighty deeds

How You made everything

For this will fulfill all my needs.

For the pain that will end soon

For the sorrow that passes

For the morning that brings with it joy

For the trials that purify

Faith that can ne’er deny

For the songs that Your people employ

I will praise You in everything

Thank You in everything

This is Your will for me

I will tell of Your mighty deeds

How You made everything

For this will fulfill all my needs.

Seven times a day I will praise You

Your gates will swing wide with my praise

I can see all Your loveliness

Behold You in holiness

Worship You all of my days.

Jesus to the World

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Jesus, I would learn to kneel

Take the yoke that You have made

Walk beside You, cultivating

The world.

Jesus, teach my heart to weep

For the people You have made

Walk beside You, calling to

The world.

Lover of My Soul

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Jesus, help! My heart is breaking

I fold my hands, but they’re still shaking

Let me lay my head against You,

Lover of my soul.

You give me burdens for the lost

But, Jesus, what a heavy cross!

I don’t know how You ever bore it,

Lover of my soul.

Cradle me and comfortingly

Wipe the tears and blood now mingling

Carry me and all my burdens,

Lover of my soul.

I Stand on the Corner of Life and Look

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I stand on the corner of life and look

My fingers curl round a precious book

My heart is twisted, wrenched and bleeding

For those who pass me, each one needing

This truth.

I hold the hand of our galaxy’s King

Remembering how He left everything

My heart is twisted, wrenched and bleeding

For those who pass me, each one needing

This love.

I share the hope that is in my soul

My eyes and heart have grown so full

My heart is twisted, wrenched and bleeding

For those who pass me, still unheeding

This gift.

Eyes of a Pharisee

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I have served God for thirty-two years, eight months and sixteen days at the Lanchester Girl’s School. Though I am well aware that my superior knowledge and strict organization, coupled with my intense desire to honor God and make His kingdom great, has been a decided asset to the school, I have always remained a humble man, only desiring to serve God in that place and win for Him souls that are of no use to anyone else. The orphan girls placed under my protection have always been well cared for and thoroughly educated both in the spiritual and practical realms. I have enjoyed the honor of bringing three of my pupils to repentance upon their deathbeds, and feel quite certain of receiving a vast reward in a future life beyond the grave.

For thirty-two years, five months and twenty-six days my work ran smoothly and was well appreciated by all I knew. My momentous efforts as Master of the Academy had reached the ears of the heiress-daughter of the late benefactor, the Earl of Warlington, (by what means I know not, since I merely supplied her with quarterly updates). She had informed me most graciously that she intended to look in upon the establishment soon to view the property for herself.

No sooner had this intelligence reached me than I at once, in my paroxysm of joyful expectation at her anticipated arrival, began to take a precise inventory of all the buildings belonging to the school. By these means I detected that three of my impish pupils possessed rag dolls of their own construction and a fourth had a small (though any size is an abomination) tin of mint candies received from who knows where. After disposing properly of these articles of frivolity, I examined the teachers and promptly dismissed two—one because she was too lenient in the discipline of the children placed under her, the other because she required too large a salary.

I then proceeded to have the place scoured from cellar to ceiling, the girls being taught industry by healthy participation in the useful tasks of whitewashing all the walls and mending and dying all garments and bedding until the dormitories were all I could desire, being neat and orderly, and so perfectly symmetrical that each child found it necessary to count her way down the walkway to find her own bed.

I then undertook, every morning at five o’clock sharp to have the pupils awakened by a large bell, which considerably boosted the efficiency of the establishment. I also managed time from my extensive duties as Master to speak to them every morning of the shame and vice into which they were born and to instruct them in the fate of wicked girls.

And so matters stood, everything in good order awaiting the arrival of the institution’s benefactress, when an unexpected happening upset all of my careful preparations, and left me as you see me now.

I was seated comfortably in my office one fine March morning, taking a much-deserved break from my studies and preparations for the upcoming Sabbath, when the woman in charge of overseeing the cooking and cleaning hurried in and hastily addressed herself to me.

“Mr. Boliver, sir,” she dropped a low curtsey and I inclined my head in acceptance of her show of reverence. “Mr. Boliver, sir, there be a young ‘oman as wishes to speak to ye, sir.”

“Oh?” I sat up in my chair and surveyed the makeshift maid with a weak attempt to assume interest. “One of the pupils?” I said, more by way of statement than a question.

Mrs. Pimpernell, for that was the worthy lady’s name, shook her head.

“What is her name and where is she from?” I muttered, with much effort arousing a slight amount of curiosity in myself.

“She didn’t say, sir, but she’s a right nice lookin’ young ‘oman.” The wrinkled face beneath the ruffled cap was unusually earnest and the dull eyes twinkled.

I glanced sharply at the withered woman. “Looks are deceitful,” I snapped and clasped my hands together pensively. “Now then, Mrs. Pimpernell, what is her business?”

“She ‘ouldn’t say, sir, only but that she must speak a-to ye, sir.” Mrs. Pimpernell curtseyed again: a quick, nervous, little curtsey which, I noted in satisfaction, was caused by a profound respect for myself.

I allowed my tone to express my annoyance. “Show her in then, but mind--” as the scrawny woman turned to leave “--you tell her to keep it short. I’m quite busy.”

“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Pimpernell dropped another curtsey and hastily exited.

“Good morning, Mr. Boliver, sir,” I glanced toward the door to see a slim figure, cloaked in a heavy shawl, with a straw poke-bonnet in her hand. I surveyed the “right nice lookin’ young ‘oman” narrowly before speaking. I did not wish her to be long in ignorance of my importance.

“Take off your cloak and hang it and your bonnet on the far peg,” I ordered gruffly and she turned to obey. “Now,” when she had finished, “sit down.”

She had a stately grace that irked me. Dressed as she was, in a plain, modest charity dress, I thought her regality singularly unbecoming. I noted as she took her seat, that she had a face which many heathens would likely term “beautiful”. One must always be cautious of attractive girls, as the devil is more likely to take up his abode in them than in their plainer sisters.

“What is the business which you thought so important as to disturb me during my hour of study?” I demanded, coldly glaring down into her smooth, round face.

“Forgive me,” she smiled pleasantly. “I was not aware of your habits.” I frowned. Another mark against her, I thought, she seems almost to be mocking me. “I understand,” she continued complacently, “that you recently discharged two teachers. I am looking for a position, and would be willing to come on here at low wages.”

I was unpleasantly startled. I rose from my chair and took a turn around the room while allowing this information sink in. I stopped again before my desk. “I do not like your looks, young lady,” I stated flatly.

“Forgive me, sir, I cannot imagine why, since I believe I am dressed even as you would have me. As for my personal features, I cannot help them. Looks are deceitful. I beg you to give me a chance to prove my character.” The corners of her mouth twitched, and I noted with evident satisfaction that she controlled her smile this time, since I saw no reason for jesting.

“What is your name, young lady,” I folded my hands behind my back and strode judicially across the room. I stopped and stared sternly at her, as she hesitated.

“You may call me Andrea.”

“I would prefer not call women by their Christian names, in order to avoid undue familiarity. You may please to give me a surname.” My tone was intentionally icy as I returned once more to my desk.

“There is none,” her grey eyes met mine unflinchingly as she made this bold statement.

“Very well, then, Miss Andrea, we will not debate that point, though what it says of your parentage is all but flattering.” My voice dripped with satire as I made this answer.

“I need not be flattered,” she responded in the same even tone, and I ground my teeth in vexation. I could not explain it at the time, though now I understand better what caused my remarkable repugnance to her.

“What school do you come from?”

“The place of education has little bearing on the education, Mr. Boliver. You of all people should know that. I ask that you examine me and determine if I be a fit instructor for the girls of this academy.”

The look I gave her was filled with disgust. “I see, Miss Andrea, that you do not intend to be easy to work with, but are resolved to be stubborn. You would assuredly be a bad influence on the girls placed under my care, therefore I must dismiss you at once!”

“Examine me first, if you please, Sir.”

The hot blood turned cold in my veins and I sank into my chair in utter astonishment. I raised my hands into the air to express my horror and then let them drop limply into my lap. “Your upbringing has been singular!” I exclaimed, rigidly laying my arms across my desk. “I don’t know what to make of you!”

“Make of me a teacher, and I shall be well satisfied,” the young lady folded her hands in her lap and waited expectantly.

“You are provoking, Miss Andrea,” I stated grimly, taking a slate and a slate pencil from my desk. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen years, Sir,” she answered, without blinking.

“Very well. We shall examine you and see if your confidence be well merited,” I announced, scowling darkly as I pushed the slate across the desk.

How she ever convinced me to take her, I can’t possibly imagine. I seem to recall some vague impression of her on her knees to me begging, though it must have been fond imagining for I know she

certainly would not. Maybe it was her strange authoritative attitude, or the fact that she agreed to come for a very small monthly stipend. At any rate, I installed Miss Andrea as a teacher, which hasty step I am destined to regret to my dying day. Trouble started brewing very shortly after her arrival.

The first hint I got of an oncoming storm was the day I came to hear recitations among the pupils.

The orphan girls were clustered around the small table, all dressed becomingly in black frocks with crisp white pinafores. Morning exercises had just begun when I approached to listen in upon the prayer.

Miss Andrea did not perceive me, which was my full intent, as I stood silently behind her chair and observed her carefully as she smiled around the small circle upon her pupils, which smile they returned, and reverently bowed her head. “Father, God, I thank Thee for Thy gift of life, which Thou hast bestowed upon us all. I thank Thee for the love and grace, which Thou hast lavished on us all, and Thy gift of Thy son, the Christ. Enable us to go about our work as if for Thee and guard us all from sin. Bless those who benefit us here and make Thy face to shine upon us. Amen.”

“Amen!” chorused the dozen or so girls and again those provoking children of poverty smiled up at the young lady.

“Excuse me, Miss Andrea,” my voice rolled like thunder down the room, causing a hush to fall upon teacher and students alike. “What do you mean, breaking the rules for prayer time like this?”

She seemed startled. “Forgive me, sir, and do not think that I am being disrespectful to speak to you so, since you did ask me. I noticed that the girls fidget in their seats when they hear the same words prayed over them every morning.” She raised her eyes to my face with an expression of deep humility, which I was singularly gratified to see.

“Then punish them!” I stated flatly, turning to take in the whole room crowded with the pale faces of the daughters of charity. “I will excuse you this once, but remember in future that we do not reward offenders at this institution; we punish them. They must be trained to sit still during a prayer, and you are utterly without excuse before God if you do not teach them to do so!”

“Pardon me, sir, but oftentimes governing by love benefits more than governing by tyranny,” her eyes remained imploring as she gazed up at me.

“Love cannot feed their bellies or save them from vice, Miss Andrea.” I explained in an attempt to be patient.

“But it can supplement when nothing else avails to fill them, and it may pave the way for leading them to salvation.”

I was frustrated that she would continue to press a point that I had already been lenient enough in making clear to her. Angrily I shook my finger in the young teacher’s placid face. “I am Master of this establishment and will be treated as such!” I paused to see that she comprehended what I was saying before continuing. “If you do not wish to speak respectfully to me, you may pack your bags and leave at once. I have permitted too much from you already. In a short time this school’s benefactress Miss Eleanor Warlington will visit this academy and everything—do you follow, everything? —must be in perfect order. All rules must be followed to the letter! Do you understand?”

She reached her hand up to push my finger away from her face and her eyes turned stony, but she answered steadily, “Yes, sir, perfectly.”

Hardly a week later I was horrified to find that young lady in my office on my return from a walk. She was seated placidly in a plush armchair awaiting my arrival with her usual—shall we say smug?--expression.

Everything about that woman vexed me and I seriously considered dismissing her then and there, however, she was a very well-educated young lady and I knew I was lucky to have her at such a low price. Her pupils did improve rapidly as well, though what bewitching caused it I’ll never guess. I am now sure the devil resides in her. I never came across a more stubborn and willful girl, even in my nearly thirty-three years of parochial work among girls birthed in the deepest degradation.

“What is it?” I demanded irritably, hoping to impress upon her the impropriety of venturing into my office without an invitation. I took my seat and waited impatiently for her to speak.

“I must go into town to the post office, sir,” she began, folding her smooth hands in her lap, “to mail a letter.”

“Well!” I broke in roughly. “And what is that to me? Will you persist in bothering me till you have tormented me to distraction? Cease wasting my time! Go, you aggravating wretch, and get back!”

“I have not finished,” she stated deliberately, holding her head up defiantly and looking me squarely in the face. “Hear me through before you insult me, sir. I wish to take my class with me. It is a beautiful day and they are restless from being cooped up like this. The exercise will do them good, as will the fresh air and sunshine, and I shall be glad of their company.”

I could feel my face growing hot with rage at the impudence of this young teacher. “Why do you proffer a request which you know to be strictly against institution rules, Miss Andrea? Cease your silly chattering and answer me that!”

She tilted her head slightly and narrowed her eyes to look at me. I knew from the look in her eyes that her devilish mind would soon evidence itself clearly. “Because the institution rules are bad ones.”

I caught my breath in horror. “Miss Andrea, I will not tolerate your impertinence!” I exploded, leaping from my chair and rising to my full imposing height before her. “I created the rules myself and they must be adhered to! If the girls want exercise, let them go into the grounds that are allotted for that purpose. Besides, women must become accustomed to the fact that their place is in the home, not out of doors roaming about in the ‘fresh air’.”

“But sir,” I recall clearly that Miss Andrea’s soft voice dropped it’s authoritative ring and became pleading. “But sir,” she appealed, searching my face for the sympathy which I was determined not to give her. “The yard is so close and small, with no flowers or grass and very little sunshine. It’s so stuffy it nearly stifles them. Do let them come with me, just this once, Sir.”

Enraged I began to pace the floor. “The yard is quite adequate for their needs, Miss Andrea. I should know, considering the fact that I laid the plans to have it fenced about, and know exactly the amount of ground allotted to this purpose. Flowers are vain things, which are here today and tomorrow are thrown into the furnace. I will not have the girl’s heads polluted with such nonsense! The girls may not leave the premises. It has been placed under my authority to protect them by my wisdom, which is far greater than your own, and children such as these are wicked enough without being tempted by the frivolity of the

world. Besides, were I to say yes today, it wouldn’t end there, but you would wish to take them out every day! I must carefully guard the girls entrusted to my care against the world, Miss Andrea.”

“Until, of course, you dump them out upon it’s mercies immediately succeeding their arrival at a ‘specified’ age.” She said bitterly, scrutinizing my face with an almost inhuman rigidity.

“We do not have funds to care for them any longer, Miss Andrea, and they are then quite capable of supporting themselves.”

“But sir,” Miss Andrea knit her brow in consternation and chewed her lip, as she seemed to be searching for the proper words to express her sinful ideas. “If they know nothing of the world, they are more likely to be taken in by its snares!”

“They need not participate in sin, to know it, young lady. Those who fall are thick-headed girls who forget the teachings of holiness and the fear of retribution which I have impressed upon them here,” I answered triumphantly.

“No one willingly obeys from fear,” the young teacher muttered under her breath, but I caught her words and sneered at the lack of understanding, which they displayed. “And so, sir,” she resumed her accustomed air, “you remain inflexible concerning the walk?”

“Absolutely,” I rejoined decidedly, seating myself, the flush of victory still hot upon my brow. “Stay--” as she rose to leave, taking her hat from the peg. “There is another matter I wish to discuss with you, and since you have done me the disservice of summoning yourself to my office to appear before me uncalled for, I may as well broach the subject now.”

Miss Andrea reseated herself with a courtly grace while I looked on in distaste. “Pray begin, sir.” Her voice was, as ever, calm and collected.

“Word has reached me,” I began sternly, glaring down into her round face which appeared so obstinately unconcerned in the chair opposite me, “of expensive chocolates bestowed upon a certain pupil of this institution. What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Andrea?”

“Indeed, sir, I do not see that it is of any consequence to you, considering the fact that I purchased the chocolates with my own pocket money as a special present to the girl of whom you speak.” She was infernally blatant!

I drummed my fingers upon the marble top of the desk and rolled my eyes heavenward, muttering frustrations to myself. “Young lady,” I groaned. “It is a most extravagant and frivolous use of money that should be used for the Lord’s work, or saved up for a future time of trouble. You are spoiling the child and building in her extravagant tastes that it is inappropriate to gratify. You are a curse to this establishment!”

“Sir,” Miss Andrea responded, drawing herself up proudly, “the girl is not well, and I was merely trying to tempt a failing appetite. You do not have to subsist on watery gruel as the children do, or you, too, would pity them. What is it to you, if I choose to be generous?”

“The children,” I remarked, laying a strained emphasis on every word, “should be thankful for everything they are so blessed as to receive. They are debtors to charity and must keep that in mind. If the girl is too stubborn to eat what is placed before her, she does not deserve to be rewarded for her obstinacy.”

“You know that is not the case, sir.”

“I know more than you do, you fool, and will not be dictated to by you, as to what I should and shouldn’t do! Who are you to imagine you can counsel me in the management of this school?”

She opened her mouth, as if to speak and then clamped it shut again, no doubt realizing that it was useless to argue with my superior logic and flawless principles. I knew I had won, and thrilled with my victory, I took one final stab.

“If you wish to stay on as a teacher at this respectable academy, you will honor your betters and abide by institution rules. If you do not wish to submit yourself to my guidelines, you may go back whence you came—wherever that may be. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very clear, sir,” she answered softly, rising to take her leave. “Very clear.”

Several weeks slipped past and Miss Andrea behaved herself according to the institution rules for the most part, though I reproved her on various occasions for being too merry and inclined to frivolity. She was altogether too cheerful in my opinion for such work as this, however, I knew that a lengthened time at the Academy would successfully rid her of such faults.

The most significant occurrence on which she incurred my reproof for her childishness was on a chilly afternoon when, hearing peals of laughter issuing from the grounds, I descended thence from my

study and discovered that giddy young lady in concert with several of her pupils engaged in a very rowdy game of some unworthy nature.

“Miss Andrea, what do you mean by this terrible clamor?” I demanded hotly, as I reached the scene. “It is a disgrace to our institution to be involved in such infernal racket. What will the passers-by think? Besides this, I cannot study!"

“We were playing, Sir, and the passers-by will be rejoiced to hear the sounds of merriment coming from such a dismal quarter as this!” She answered, pulling off the scarf that had been bound tightly about her head and disclosing her flushed face and sparkling eyes. I thought she looked absurdly childish with her hair falling down in untidy little wisps around her face. “We were taking our exercise, and I wished to teach them Blind Man’s Bluff—a game I used to play when I was young. Would you care to join us?”

“Miss Andrea,” I strove to control my frustration at this further breach of formality. “We do not allow ‘games’ at this institution. The girls are to be trained to act properly, and in ways befitting young ladies. They may walk for exercise and nothing more. Anything beyond this is extraneous, unnecessary and worldly.”

“Forgive me, Sir.”

I turned away well satisfied with her answer, though now I am quite certain that there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Forgive me for presuming to enjoy myself, and teaching these poor girls to do likewise. I see now what monstrous sin such enjoyment is, while it is no benefit to the body at all.”

And so, time progressed and no sign of the academy’s benefactress, Miss Eleanor Warlington.

Early one morning, about two months after the arrival of Miss Andrea (with no surname) I found myself restless and unable to sleep, and rising about four o’clock, drew on my dressing gown and house shoes and made my way to my study to stoke up the fire, for it was quite chilly and the flame had nearly died out.

As I sat musing at my desk upon all of the weighty and noble sacrifices which I, God’s humble servant, had made throughout the years, and of the faithful work which I was even then carrying on (as I

had been since my youth) a glimmer in the window of one of the buildings caught my eye and startled me from my reverie.

You must understand that being a man of my honorable character and high standing among all people, I did not wish to incur scandal by rooming in the same structure as all of the young girls admitted to the institution as well as the lady teachers. I had therefore caused a modest apartment to be constructed across the grounds for the accommodation of my sleeping, the peace necessary for my study habits and the reception of any visitors who might chance to visit the Academy.

This circumstance will explain at once why I was able to see the light in Miss Andrea’s window-- for I determined at once that it was her window, meaning that it was indeed she who was responsible for the unnecessary burning of oil.

Grinding my teeth in vexation to see that she was stirring a full hour before the morning bell, I determined to request her presence in my office directly after breakfast with the intention of giving her a severe lecture and dismissing her promptly.

Accordingly, at seven o’clock, I sent for her and received her in my comfortable little study, completely unsuspecting of the abominable interview that was destined to ensue.

“Good morning, Mr. Boliver, Sir,” she began with a false show of humility as she stood in the doorway, undoubtedly surmising that she was in disgrace. I could see from her face that she was resolutely determined to do all she could to maintain her position, but I was even more determined that she should not.

“Be seated,” I ordered, coldly fixing my eyes on her unflinching face. Why hadn’t I seen it before? There was no doubt about it now, it was obviously a devilish face, smoothed over by the Father of Lies himself so that she might appear even as an angel of light.

She took her seat, without comment, and folded her hands placidly in her lap, as was her habit when unoccupied, waiting for me to begin. I noticed with disgust that those useful appendages were smooth and white—a mark of vanity and laziness altogether unfitting in girls of her social status, particularly those raised on charity, as she evidently was.

“Miss Andrea,” I began sternly, adjusting my chair to better view her. “This is the fourth time I have had to rebuke you for misdemeanor, though I have graciously allowed many small things to go unnoticed.”

“Indeed?” She responded raising her fair eyebrows in evident surprise. “I am unaware of any ‘small’ misdemeanors, Mr. Boliver, as I was under the impression that everything not measuring up precisely to institution guidelines is viewed as a capital crime, by you.”

“Do not be saucy to your elders!” I snapped, glaring terrifyingly upon her. She continued to gaze stonily up into my face. It seemed she would try to bewitch me.

“Would you be so kind as to explain the necessity of a light in your room this morning, a full hour before the stated time to rise?” I demanded hotly.

She smiled slightly and leaned comfortably back in the high, hard chair. “Oh that is it, is it? Well Sir, a few of the girls have begun the habit of coming to me every morning before the others are stirring to read the Bible and pray. Surely you can not object?”

I rose from my chair with great dignity, and paused for effect before I made my next statement. “I most certainly do object! The girls will catch their death of cold being up in the chill of the morning gallivanting about!”

“Mr. Boliver, the girls will be no more chilled huddled together in my room, than they will be shivering under the threadbare blankets on their beds all alone. I have been meaning to speak to you about this for some time, sir. The girls really need more coverings than those they currently have. And the poor children can’t even tell which bed is theirs either. You really ought to paint their name at the headboard at least, or some such thing to make it feel like their own bed, instead of a prison cell!”

“Miss Andrea,” I cut in, angry that she had wondered off the subject and intentionally ignoring all that she had said. “Who gave you authority that you should presume to teach or guide young impressionable souls into the paths of truth? You, yourself, seem to me little more than a heathen—“

“I, a heathen, sir?” And the wicked young lady laughed right out with much evident amusement.

“That is what I said,” I growled. “It is no laughing matter that I can see. You may be intellectual enough to feed the children’s brains, but you are not qualified to fill their souls.”

“Pray, why not?” Her grey eyes gazed boldly, searchingly into mine and she leaned forward in her chair, awaiting my reply.

“You are not ordained, foolish girl!” I snapped and ferociously ran my fingers through my greying hair. “Heaven forgive my folly in unwittingly allowing you to pollute this establishment and pervert the gospel of truth!”

“Mr. Boliver, if I am saved, and love the Lord Jesus, there is no reason why I cannot preach the good news just as well as you. Perhaps better, considering the fact that I seem to love him better, and honestly desire to serve Him, not just to glorify myself.” Her eyes were flaming now and her brow was knit in consternation.

“God forbid!” I ejaculated and then checked myself, determined to see how much damage had been inflicted, by this daughter of vice, upon my pure establishment. “Come now, what have you told them?”

“Why, the truth, of course, sir, of which I often doubt your honest understanding despite your study,” she rejoined bitterly. “That Christ came, He died as atonement for their sins, and has been raised again, and that they can go to be with him in paradise after death if they believe in him.”

“And have they nothing to do, themselves? What must these ignorant girls do to gain this wonderful salvation of which you speak?” My voice sank to a whisper as my rage mounted and my face grew hot.

“They must accept God’s free gift of eternal life, certainly, and believe. That is all.”

She was so blatant, so deceitful, so full of wickedness that I could hardly stand and my breath came in short, forced gasps. “Nothing else?” I raged.

“Nothing, sir.”

In righteous wrath I began to pound my fist upon the marble top of the desk shouting, “You would fill heaven with wicked children? You would send all the scum of the earth to glory merely by having them believe that God loves them?”

“Certainly, Sir. That is exactly what God intended, and if you understand it so thoroughly you are well on your way to salvation. ‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I did not come to call

the righteous, but sinners to repentance.’ Of course, I explained to them that if they love the Lord, they will loathe sin and wish to serve Him.” Her calmness drove me nearly to distraction.

“And what of retribution?” I hissed.

“What of it, sir? You seem to have spent much time in study upon that topic. They know well enough from you, and have heard all of their lives from the same source that the unforgiven shall perish in the eternal fire. Strange you never explain how to be forgiven, isn’t it?”

“No, you fool!” I pounded on the desk again till my hand began to ache with the blows. “What of retribution to those who ‘believe’ as you would have it, and yet fail to obey?”

“ 'Those whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth, and He scourgeth every child whom he receiveth.’”

At least she understood one small bit of truth, I thought bitterly as I glared down upon her.

“You must not be His, or he would reprove you severely,” I stated regally, turning meditatively from her to pace the room.

“Actually, He has blessed my work quite richly, and I have already been enabled to bring twelve young lambs into His fold, Sir. I should think that you might rejoice with me.” She sat, regarding me solemnly, her grey eyes clear and annoyingly placid.

“Twelve!” I groaned, slumping back in my chair, weak with horror. “Twelve little sinners led into the path of deceit! You illegitimate daughter of a bastard, do you know what you have done?”

“Mr. Boliver, I resent the libel you insist on bestowing on me. My parents union was quite honorable, as were those of their parents before them! I will not hear them spoken of in such a disrespectful way by anyone, and certainly not a self-righteous Pharisee like you!” She had flushed crimson at my words, but now her face was a deadly grey and she had bolted from her chair and was leaning over my desk with her eyes nearly burning out of her head.

“Well, well,” I said, slightly startled by her sudden vehement manner. “The poor are all the same.”

“You are the most hypocritical man I have ever seen, to talk so, and yet claim to serve God!” Miss Andrea’s accusation struck a tender chord with me, as she pounded the desk in her turn. “There are quite

as many noble hearts among the peasantry as among the clergy. I take that back—I say there are more, Mr. Boliver! Jesus says ‘blessed are the poor, for they shall inherit the earth’! Yet you treat them as dirt! You will have quite an account to render of yourself and your stewardship on judgment day. I pity your hard heart, sir.”

What a speech to fling in the face of a man who had served God for nearly thirty-three years! Imagine my righteous indignation at the shameful, insulting words thus thrown at me from such a wretch as this. My anger was now fully aroused, but with my firm will and saintly forbearance I controlled myself and deliberately shoved an important paper across the desk at her.

“That is your dismissal, Miss Andrea!” I articulated, laying a pointed stress on each word. “Take it, pack your bags, and go! Leave this establishment by noon today and never dare to come back. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” a strange light of determination crept into the young lady’s eyes, and holding her head erect with pride, she rose to leave. “I imagine Miss Eleanor Warlington will have something to say on this matter.”

“What do you mean slandering this school’s benefactress in that way, you young imp?” I sneered, pushing back from the desk with a slightly easier attitude.

“I have taken careful note of everything that goes on here, and your care for this academy, Mr. Boliver, and I intend to speak to Miss Warlington about your management of it. I think she will agree with me.”

“Miss Warlington will never even speak to such a creature as you,” I snarled, sitting bolt upright in my chair and staring with hatred after the retreating form of the young teacher.

“We shall see,” was the only reply.

Of course I had no fears that Miss Eleanor Warlington would side with the willful young lady whom I had dismissed that day upon any of the matters which she deemed so important. Miss Warlington was a high bred noble woman, the benefactress of this meticulous institution and the daughter of the rich and stately earl who had placed me in the position of Master of the school.

I had actually, some time before, begun to wonder at the delay, since many weeks had passed since I had received notice of her intended arrival, and it was especially trying having to keep everything in top order for her expected visit. At length I sent a letter of inquiry to Warlington Hall, to be opened by anyone, requesting that we might have the benefit of a date for the sojourn of the lady.

The response I received was indeed startling. The housekeeper intimated that Miss Warlington had departed some weeks previous to the present time, with the apparent intention of coming to grace our lovely establishment with her presence. Indeed, everyone at the Hall was quite astonished by my letter, as they had all begun to wonder at the length of the Mistress’ stay. Moreover, she affirmed that she had received a letter from Miss Warlington pertaining to certain household matters, in which she had understood the young lady to state that she was currently at our school!

I replied that I could not account for this circumstance in any way, as I had assuredly not laid eyes upon the youthful heiress, and thought Mrs. Piper (for that was the name of that good lady, who kept house at the Hall) must be mistaken. Surely the young lady must be attending to some other business connected to the disposal of her large establishment, and the supposed referral to the Academy must have been only mentioned in the future tense.

Mrs. Piper assented that it very well might be so, and she admitted, as well, that she had no way of verifying what she recalled, as the letter had been disposed of after the household matters had been properly taken care of. She also added that her mistress was a very independent young woman and may well have gone off on her own without explaining to anyone the true nature of her errand, and she promised to request her young mistress to notify me of her intentions, as soon as she herself should make contact with the young lady.

Satisfied for the time being, I had resumed my regular course of action and resolved to worry myself no longer about her ladyship and her upcoming visit.

And so it was with great pleasure, and I must admit, evident relief, that I received a letter from Warlington Hall, shortly after the events above narrated, to the effect that Miss Eleanor Warlington would find it a pleasure to come and view the academy at the end of the month.

Exactly two months and twenty days after the moment upon which a serious annoyance to my work took place in the form of a young lady devil applying for a teaching position, I was seated at my desk reflecting on the past year (for I had celebrated a birthday anniversary only a short time before). All was very pleasant to my mind, with evidences of a job well done, excepting the last two months, about which I felt strangely dissatisfied. I was certainly relieved to have gotten rid of that hellish Miss Andrea at last, (though I regretted that I had been fool enough to ever allow her to step foot in the buildings), especially since I had just received information that Miss Eleanor Warlington would make the academy a visit that very afternoon.

I thought with pleasure over the perfectly boring buildings (for such buildings as are paid for by charity should be utterly devoid of all hilarity and frivolity) and perfectly symmetrical dormitories, when Mrs. Pimpernell startled me from my reverie.

“Mr. Boliver, sir,” she exclaimed shrilly, hurriedly dropping me a curtsey. I nodded my head ever so slightly to accept her bow. “Mr. Boliver, sir, she’s here!”

“ ‘She?’ ” I drug out the word to express my displeasure. “As in Miss Warlington? Really, Mrs. Pimpernell, you should speak more respectfully of your betters. She does have a name, madam.” I quickly straightened the papers that littered my comfortable desk and sat up straight in my chair. “Show her in, Mrs. Pimpernell.” Mrs. Pimpernell remained standing by the door, making no motions to obey, and staring at me in wide-eyed—well, I’m not completely sure what her face expressed, but it was wide-eyed. Now, I know that I am quite a handsome man, when I am business-like, however this gaping on the part of the housekeeper was quite inexcusable.

“Well?” I exclaimed angrily. “What’s so intriguing? Did I or did I not bid you to show her in?”

“Yes, sir, but—“

“No buts!” I roared pounding my fist on the desk as was my habit when I needed to terrify a woman into submission. “Now! Go now! Do not keep me waiting!”

“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Pimpernell squeaked, executing one of her trademark curtsies as she fairly fled from the room.

“Good morning, Mr. Boliver,” there was something strangely familiar about the authoritative voice which greeted me and I found myself searching the files of memory to recall where I had heard it before. It must have been her father, surely. I smiled grimly at the queenly figure that glided regally into my study, and stepped around from behind my desk, holding out my hand. “Good morning, Miss—” I froze before my hand touched hers and stared stupidly into the steely grey eyes that looked coolly up into mine. She withdrew her hand as she took in the effect her presence was making on me. I could feel my face purpling with rage at this imposter!

“Miss Andrea,” I controlled my voice with great difficulty. “This is indeed a surprise—I was expecting the institution’s benefactress at this time, and I must admit I resent your intrusion.”

“So she is coming at last?” The young lady’s voice dripped with satire. “Well, I am glad to hear it. I shall wait here with you until she appears, and then we may talk pleasantly together of all of our suggestions for change in this academy. If you recall, I said I would speak to her about my views?”

“Miss Andrea,” I growled, glancing hastily toward the door. “ I forbade you ever to come back! What do you mean by this unexpected visit?”

“Excuse my saying so,” the young lady signaled me to be seated and then disposed herself in my easy chair behind my desk, “but I wrote my intentions of arriving today, and you have just invited me in. What a cold welcome for the benefactress of this school! I have come a second time, to review this establishment, as it’s rightful mistress. How foolish of you to think you could ban me from my own institution! Who pays your salary anyway?”

I dropped weakly into the chair she had pointed out and stared at the familiar face before me, with my mouth gaping open, “Miss Andrea,” I stuttered, searching for words.

“Miss Warlington,” she interrupted, correcting me. “Mr. Boliver,” casually, “This is a very nice office—however it is not much in keeping with the rest of the institution. Do you think it fair for you to study in luxury while the pupils, for whom the gifts I have given to the school were intended, should sit, crowded onto wooden benches, day in and day out? Tear down all your costly walls and fences and refurnish this office more suitably and you will find that you have money in abundance to care for all of the sick girls you speak so much about, but don’t even know the names of!”

“But Miss Warlington, the office of the Master is what visitors see and we must keep up appearances, everyone knows that!” My voice trembled and my words came out more as a moan than anything else.

“Hypocrite!” The word hissed from between her teeth and fell sizzling on my head. “You are a selfish hypocrite!”

“Miss Andrea—” I could feel the anger bubbling inside me like the lava in a hot volcano, as my stolid manner returned to me.

“Miss Warlington,” she corrected again. “Why you continue in this post I can’t imagine. It’s plain to me that you hate the girls—you certainly do not love them as you claim! I am amazed, not only that you were not replaced long before this time, but also that you have remained of your own accord! What pleasure do you get from starving a school full of orphans?”

“Miss Warlington,” I now rose from the chair into which I had sunk in a moment of weakness and began pacing the room with short, agitated steps. “I have been in this position nearly twice as long as you have been living—“

“All the worse for the Academy.” She would persist in cutting me off. “And this is your excuse for hardening your heart? I should think it would cause you to pity the poor fatherless creatures, after seeing their sufferings, not hate them as you do!” Miss Warlington’s eyes flashed fire as she set her firm jaw in angry tensity.

“You misjudge me, my dear,” I began again, controlling my frustration so far as to speak endearingly. “I hate their bodies, and punish their sin, so that their souls may be saved in the day of judgement! For nearly thirty-three years I have served God among these children and I am confident of my reward, even if you do not appreciate what I do. God says, in the world I will have tribulation, but I am a great man and can come through strong and pure gold.” I came to a stop in front of the desk.

“You deceive yourself,” Miss Warlington’s voice was low as she gazed almost pityingly at me. “Think, Mr. Boliver, think what these poor girls have suffered! No mother, no father! You do not know how they feel, deprived of both their parents, frightened and alone in the world. God has enabled me to

sympathize. You know I am an orphan as well, though because my father was rich I can thank heaven I was not cast on your mercy. I can sympathize whole-heartedly! At least you could try.”

“Miss Warlington—“ I attempted to defend myself, but she silenced me with her hand.

“You are the closest thing these girls have to a father, Mr. Boliver.”

“Me?” My eyes were surely popping out of my head in horrified disbelief at this statement.

“Certainly,” she responded, leaning her elbows comfortably on the desk. “All children need love-- paupers no less than princes. You are the closest thing they now have to a father—you are their mental and spiritual leader. You should be showing them love, reflecting what their Father in heaven is like! Instead, you rain down punishment and discomfort upon them as if you would have them experience hell on earth to prepare them for the one in eternity, and you claim to be their benefactor—the guardian of their souls! What sort of a portrait of God are you giving them?”

I drew myself up with dignity. “ I do not have to remain here to be insulted by you,” I stated peevishly.

“Oh, but you will stay until I am finished with you,” Miss Warlington glared at me from behind my desk.

“A pretty thing you have made of this school, Mr. Boliver. It’s more like a prison! No colors, no play, no enjoyment, no one-on-one relationship with God, no love? I will not have my girls treated like this! No wonder only three poor creatures were terrified into committing their lives to Christ by you and that on their deathbeds! What an epitaph for this school and your management of it thus far! Now, shall we be able to come to a reasonable solution for running this establishment in a humane manner?”

“Miss Warlington,” here I broke loose and began pounding on the desk. “You do not understand! You cannot understand! You were raised in the lap of luxury and are utterly unacquainted with the sacrifices I have made! You know nothing of governing such wicked children as these! They are born of bad blood, and take much trouncing to reform—“

“Which poverty and privation have already done for them. They are no worse than any other children, Mr. Boliver! We are all sinners—you among the greatest in your misleading of God’s little ones!

Besides, you are wrong. I have spent two months here as a teacher, observing how you dealt with the girls and in that time have managed to bring fully a dozen lost lambs safely into the fold of the Good Shepherd.”

“I have done my best and that is all that can be asked, Miss Warlington. For thirty-two years, eight months and sixteen days I have—“

“Yes, have, is correct, Mr. Boliver. Past tense, have! For thirty-two years, eight months and sixteen days you have tormented the miserable souls out of these hapless children, and here I put my foot down and say that it stops!” She leapt from the leather-backed chair and leaned over the desk, glaring at me. “Since you insist on viewing the world through the eyes of a Pharisee, you may just please to take yourself out of here by eight o’clock this evening. You are dismissed.”

I stood, staring at the raging young lady in utter astonishment. I had never seen her indulge her temper so, and felt that it must reflect the inhabitance of the Devil himself. Her face was flushed and her eyes glittered savagely. My feet seemed glued to the floor, and I could not take my eyes from her face.

“I shall be mistress of this school myself, as well as benefactress, and will hope, with God’s help to do some great good by it.” She resumed her seat, her cool manner returning, and began to rearrange the desk. “You need never show your face here again, sir. Good day.”

And so, after thirty-two years, eight months and sixteen days spent serving God at the Lanchester Girl’s School, I find myself as you see me now: a homeless man, wandering aimlessly down the highway with a certificate of discharge in my hand.

The infamy of it! After all I have done to promote the cause of God, and to drive the natural wickedness from the children birthed in vice and shame, and after all my faithful management and wise distribution of funds, to be cast off like a used-up article! Dismissed without even a chance to defend myself! Driven from all I hold dear and those I strove to serve!

Curses upon that woman! She called me a Pharisee!

Be Examples

2007-12-10T08:55:00.000-08:00

Debbie Bearden is a beautiful example of a Christian lady. Have you seen her at work? Correcting gently, encouraging the faint-hearted, patiently answering questions. As I rode with her on the way to my first speech tournament, I asked, “So, um, Mrs. Bearden, how exactly do we start these things?” She took a deep breath, and plunged in. As I continued to compete, Debbie always encouraged me, “Abigail, be an example to the other kids. You already are an example—be a good one.”

I hope I haven’t disappointed Debbie—a good example encourages the same in others. But even more importantly, I hope I haven’t disappointed the Lord, who asked the same thing of me.

The Apostle Paul wrote to Timothy, a young man who was trying to clean up a messy church, “Let no one look down on your youthfulness, but rather in speech, conduct, love, faith and purity, show yourself an example of those who believe.”

My dad is really good at exhibiting Biblical truth by pointing out what the Bible does not say. He told me, “Don’t let people look down on you because you are young. But how do you keep that from happening? Are you supposed to punch them in the nose if they don’t treat you right?”

And the catechized response? “No! I’m supposed to earn their respect!”

Paul gives us five areas to work on earning respect, and let me tell you, it is hard work! We’re supposed to be examples of believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity. That is hard-core Christianity for a young person to practice—but that is what we are challenged to do—and most young people like a challenge.

As “public speakers”, we hear the word “speech” and think we know what it means. And it’s pretty simple to be a good example in the content of our speeches. “Oh sure, my speeches honor God. My parents helped me make sure they were appropriate.” But Debbie Bearden pointed out to me that any time you are talking to another person, you are public speaking. At first I wanted to argue with that definition, but her words make sense. As long as you keep your thoughts to yourself, they are private. But the minute you share them with another person, they become free game to be repeated publicly.

Colossians 4:6 says “Let your speech always be seasoned with grace.” It doesn’t warn us to make sure our speeches are gracious, but to be careful in everything we say. Why do we season our speech? “So that you may know how to respond to each person.”

If our words in the halls contradict the words in our presentations, either directly or simply by attitude, we have proven ourselves to be hypocrites, and poor examples.

In the same way our conduct is important to gaining respect, and it demonstrates our respect for others. If you want to be respected, what’s the golden key? “Do to others what you would have them do to you.”

Have you ever been giving a speech while other competitors were noisily chatting and laughing outside the door? Pretty distracting, isn’t it? Of course, I’m sure none of us here would ever be caught goofing off in the halls, right? I’ll admit that I’ve had to be “shushed” a few times. And what is your reaction when you’re asked to be quieter? Is it humility, ashamed that you hadn’t been thinking about the other speakers or contempt for the person who “hushed” you?

Recently I judged a tournament where a mother came up to me righteously complaining about the conduct of a couple of young men whom she had asked to tone down their fun. One of them replied saucily and several of the alumni judges laughed. That lady was justified in her frustration—she was an adult trying to correct inconsiderate conduct and she had been rudely ignored and disrespected.

The whole issue of conduct will become a lot clearer if you act from a love motivation. Unfortunately, there are so many garbled views of love theses days that we’re often not sure what a good example of love looks like. Which means that it’s time to stop leaning on our own understanding, and go back to the authority. 1 Corinthians 13 tells us exactly what love does and doesn’t look like, and why it’s important. Since this is a pretty familiar passage, I am going to share my personalized version, from my own competition years.

“If I speak with the talent of a tournament sweepstakes award winner, and can imitate any accent, have perfect inflection, rate, fluency and pronunciation, if I have a powerful stage presence and smile graciously at appropriate times, even appear concerned or interested when someone is speaking to me, and do everything else necessary to be generally popular, but I am only interested in making myself look good, in winning a trophy, and do not genuinely care about the people with whom I rub shoulders, except that they adore me, I am just a loud, obnoxious noise!

“Love listens when others talk, and patiently answers questions, helps others get oriented and encourages them to do their best, it notices younger children, thanks judges, helps adults, shifts credit. It is not jealous when others receive more recognition, nor does it brag about how many events it broke in or prominently displays its medals. Love is modest, not flirty or loud or rude, it doesn’t take every opportunity to show off its talent, it doesn’t get angry or hurt if someone corrects it, nor does it remember if someone else is not loving. Love doesn’t laugh at disrespect or crude humor, but tries to gently correct and compliment good behavior. It is willing to be used, it gives advice eagerly, shares information, compliments, and helps without expecting thanks. It gives everyone the benefit of the doubt, it hopes for the best in others, rejoices when they do well, and it is satisfied in knowing that it has loved. Love never, ever falls out of character.”

We should also be good examples of our love for our Lord—our faith. One of the ways that I chose to do this was by giving only speeches of eternal value. If the goal of speaking is to sharpen our skills to give an account of the hope within us, it seems only logical that our topics should reflect that. Why would we portray the life of a scoundrel, or put hours of practice time into a piece that makes fun of someone?

But even making sure our speeches mirror our convictions is not enough. We should be ready to speak about our Savior at every opportunity. When someone says, “You are such a talented speaker! I love watching you!” You have the perfect opportunity to give credit to God. “Thank you. It is one way the Lord has blessed me, and I hope to bless Him by my speaking.”

In the NCFCA league, we have it pretty easy. Everyone has pretty similar goals and beliefs, and most of the judges are not only believers, but also homeschooling parents. But that doesn’t mean that we should cease to be examples. We are to “spur one another on to love and good deeds”, “encourage one another, and build each other up” and if we are doing this and an unbeliever enters, “he will fall on his face, declaring that God is truly among you.”

Lastly, Paul brings our attention to the topic of purity. It seems like a pretty simple subject, doesn’t it? But purity is as intricate as our emotions, and I could go on forever discussing it.

When I first started competing, one of the things that I appreciated the most was the lack of flirtatiousness. All of the competitors were good friends, but they treated each other like brothers and sisters in Christ. As time went on, and the Kansas league grew, the focus seemed to shift from friendship to flirtation. Girls and guys would banter in the halls, kids would discuss who was “hot”, and some harmful relationships resulted.

Paul told Timothy that his relationship to young women should be brother to sister, in all purity. Purity means that you’re not doing things to get reactions, saying things to stir up emotions, or wearing things to get attention. When a lot of young guys and girls are thrown into a building for several long days, there’s bound to be emotions flowing strongly. That’s why it’s so important not to feed those impure emotions, to control them and to make a point of turning the focus to the Lord, instead of to ourselves. When this happens, lasting, edifying relationships result.

Paul was a wise man. He knew he couldn’t tell a young man “don’t” and expect him not to. So he didn’t just say “Don’t throw spitballs, don’t tease the girls”. That would be an unending list of don’ts, and Timothy wouldn’t have known what he could do. So he followed up his command, “Don’t let anyone look down on you because you’re young” with some positive actions that would help to earn respect.

Debbie Bearden has also learned this valuable lesson, and that’s one of the reasons why she’s such a godly example. She didn’t tell me, “Don’t” she told me “Be an example” and her actions added “like me.” She earned my respect by her actions so that she could say, with Paul, “Follow me, as I follow Christ!” He is the perfect example.

I want to challenge you today, follow Christ, and lead others to do the same. Be an example—a good example of believers.

I Draw Near

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I draw near to Thy temple door

And cast myself upon the floor

For with the curtain Thou hast torn

A royal priesthood has been born

My incense in my hand I hold

My prayers of dust Thou turnest gold

And pleases to recieve from me

Despite my stained humanity

Thou settest me upon my feet

Before Thy covered mercy seat

And biddest me to raise my head

And seek to know Thee more, instead

No cloud of smoke surroundeth Thee

But only Holy Majesty

Which blinds the eyes of Pharisees

And lightens those who cannot see

In this sacred place and time

Thou bidst me take the bread and wine

The holy blood and body tell

Of a priest who sacrificed Himself.

Here Lies a Sword

2007-12-10T08:53:00.001-08:00

Here lies an unpolished sword—still sheathed

Rusted with doubt and the lies we’ve believed

Neglected, forsaken, left unretrieved

While we create fire-breathing dragons.

The monsters we’ve made with our own traitor hands

Have lept to our throats with murd’rous demands

Vicious in depths only hell understands

Are the horrors required by our dragons.

Upon the stone alter our own hands have piled,

Grown cold with our hearts, with our own hands defiled

We willingly cut out the throat of each child

A sacrifice meet for the dragons.

We loathe and despise the tyrants we’ve made,

Still, we surrender, too weak and afraid

To unsheathe our Weapon and sharpen the blade,

To annihilate devilish dragons.

Yahweh is My Shepherd

2007-12-10T08:48:00.000-08:00

God Gives Gifts

2007-12-10T08:45:00.000-08:00

(Lauren's Song)

God gives gifts to all His own

I know that I am loved

Because He sends me rainbows

From His mercy seat above

Every perfect thing bestowed

Is credit to His grace

And though I cannot touch my God

I see Him in your face

When I hear your voice

I hear God saying “Child, I love you.”

When I see your smile

I know that He has smiled on me

You are like a one-way sign

That points my heart toward heaven

From which the blessings flow abundantly

You are my reminder

That a God who loves me gives

The likeness that I see in you

Reflects that Jesus lives

When I see you face to face

I know that He is there

That heart of yours that seeks His throne

Unites with me in prayer

When I hear your voice

I hear God saying “Child, I love you.”

When I see your smile

I know that He has smiled on me

You are like a one-way sign

That points my heart toward heaven

From which the blessings flow abundantly

There is a bond of blood

That runs deeper than our veins

The Prince who bought you with His blood

Has cleansed me of my stains

The God who so loved that He gave

His Son to bear our sins

Will no good thing from me withhold

So He gave me you as friend

When I hear your voice

I hear God saying “Child, I love you.”

When I see your smile

I know that He has smiled on me

You are like a one-way sign

That points my heart toward heaven

From which the blessings flow abundantly

Gateway to Heaven

2007-12-10T08:43:00.000-08:00

You are the way to the Father on high

You laid down the path when You came here to die

And the blood that flowed freely was my ticket in

To the gateway of Heaven and freedom from sin.

Chorus:

So praise the Way, who made the way

To show us the way

Who paid the way, to pave the way

There’s only one Way!

There is only one way, and the way is in You

You are love, You are life, You are spirit and truth

And You’ve opened the narrow gate, letting me in

To the gateway of Heaven and freedom from sin.

Chorus

There is only one path, without You I can’t come

No one reaches the Father, except by the Son

And You’ve gone in between us, so I can come in

To the gateway of Heaven and freedom from sin.

Chorus

For Your Glory, Lord

2007-12-10T08:42:00.000-08:00

~From Ezekiel 36~

For Your sake, O Holy One

And to vindicate Your name

Gather my life together

And cleanse me

For Your glory, Lord

Prove Yourself, O Holy One

Among the heathens who profane

Bring me home to You

And fill me

For Your glory, Lord

For the glory You desire

For the honor You deserve

Soften my heart of stone

Renew me

For Your glory, Lord

Make the nations worship You

And make them sing Your praises

Put Your Spirit in me

And use me

For Your glory, Lord

Not for my own sake, Redeemer

But for the sake of Your name

Multiply fruit bearing

To me

For Your glory, Lord

For Your sake, O Holy One

That those who see may comment

“He makes the barren soul

“Like Eden”.

For Your glory, Lord

Psalm 13: The Howling Psalm

2007-12-10T08:41:00.000-08:00

1-2: The Complaint

God has forgotten

God only forgets when His law has been forgotten (Hosea 4)

Deuteronomy 4:31 ³¹ "For the LORD your God is a compassionate God; He will not fail you nor destroy you nor forget the covenant with your fathers which He swore to them.

God is hiding

In the scriptures, God threatens to hide His face from those who practice evil deeds. David knows how to prevent God from hiding His face, and He knows how to remedy it.

I’m alone

I have to take counsel in my soul, because there is no one else to take counsel in!

I’m sad

He’s pretty sad if He has sorrow all the day.

My enemy exults

They are excited about how poorly I am doing. They think they won!

3-4: The Prayer

Take thought

Think about my complaints and then answer them

Answer me

Enlighten my eyes

Don’t let me die!

Don’t let my enemies rejoice when I am shaken.

He who is righteous won’t be shaken (Psalm 15, 55, 126, 10)

5-6: The Praise

I have trusted

You are faithful. I’ll believe that you won’t forget me, that You won’t hide from me or allow me to be shaken, as long as I am righteous.

I will rejoice

I will praise and rejoice because You will save me.

I will sing

You have dealt kindly with me

You’ve given me better than I deserve:

You remember me

You are friends with me

You speak to me and I to you

You give me joy

You avenge me on my enemies

You give me life

Dear Lord,

Thank you for the assurance that You have not forgotten us, for the promise that, if we seek You, we will find You, and for Your gift of eternal life. Be with us every day to counsel us and cheer us and to lift us up so that the wicked won’t exult over us. We know that, if we are righteous, You will not allow us to be shaken, and if we remember Your law, You will remember us. We praise You for Your faithfulness and Your mercy. Thank You for all Your kindness!

Amen.

Flowers of Thought

2007-12-10T08:39:00.000-08:00

My mind is fertile ground for thoughts

Which spring from small, unnoticed seeds

Planted by the winds of chance

They grow as weeds

They must be torn up and laid before my King

To preserve the flower of thought in purity

So grows the flower of thought

And to the Son it turns its gaze

Reflecting beauty in the mind

And cultivating prayer and praise

As little birds bring seeds to plant

So little devils bring them too

To choke the thoughts of good

Which would renew

They must be torn up and laid before my King

To preserve the flower of thought in purity

Be careful little ears what you hear

Be careful little eyes what you see

Be careful little mind what you cultivate

Poison’s planted by the enemy

Suggestions grow consuming roots

When watered by the rains of mind

Made fertile by considering

All else they bind.

They must be torn up and laid before my King

To preserve the flower of thought in purity

Sow a thought, reap an idea

Sow an idea and I find

I’ve sown a mindset more than mental

My thoughts will shape my state of mind

While little birds can carry seeds

Little devils brought them too

And planted weeds that grew

Before I knew

The devil knows if I water seeds he throws my way

I won’t be able to offer God a pure bouquet

False

2007-12-10T08:38:00.000-08:00

False heart of mine

Why do you seek

Forbidden ways and death?

Would you betray

Your mistress to

The ways that lead to death?

False mind of mine

Who lets thoughts in

To terrify with death

Why do you open

Up the gate

To lies, deceit and death?

False eyes of mine

That gaze upon

Those travelling down to death?

And envy each

The very stone

That drags them to their death.

False ears of mine

Why do you heed

The subtle calls of death?

And bend to hear

The empty laugh

That turns to “hush” with death

False tears of mine

Who do you fall

When all I lose is death?

There’s no regret

When life is given

And I am saved from death.

Eulogy for an Unborn Baby

2007-12-10T08:37:00.000-08:00

Little fingers,

Little toes,

Only God who made you knows

Why you’re born into a world

That hates you.

Tiny eyes

With unshed tears

Whether you live days or years

The world of men will try

To legislate you

Helpless,

Hated,

All alone

Though you call a womb your home

A burden to the one

Who now sustains you

Nestled near

the faithless heart

Waiting the day you depart

Sharing blood with one

Who seeks to shed yours

Cast out

By the world of men

A victim of their vice and sin

You’ll find a reason

For the life that fled you

In the mind of God above

You are the object of great love

So you could live,

He gave His life blood

For you.

Apology

2007-12-10T08:36:00.000-08:00

I dream the dream of an apology

The tender sorrow beautiful to see

The precious words that set my heart free

It dies upon my tongue.

I hear the steps I dread draw near

How can I face the eyes I fear?

And say the words I want to hear?

When looking at that one?

It breaks my heart to plead inside

That somehow God would gently guide

When all I want is most to hide

From what is not undone.

And then he goes back where he came

The air condemns me just the same

For it is I who am to blame

For having not begun.

The Old Ways

2007-12-10T08:35:00.000-08:00

I get really sick of fairy dust sometimes. It’s so old-fashioned and it’s forever getting in my food, my bubble bath and clogging up my tubes of lotion. Supposedly it is a gift from my Fairy GodMother, meant to keep me safe and modest—or something like that. I’m told she gave it to me at my christening, along with my Eucharis Lily. That’s what they call it, anyway. It means Maiden Charm, although it’s not very charming in my opinion—kind of stuffy and spinsterish. But since you are a modern audience, I probably should explain a little better. My Eucharis is a silly looking locket, a quaint heart-shape imbedded in a lily, and with a keyhole in the front. It needs polishing all the time. Supposedly, us fairy-tale princesses are to cherish it and keep it shiny until such a time as we meet our Prince Charming, when we promptly hand it over to him for safe keeping. But guys these days just don’t care for grandmotherly trinkets.

By now I’m sure you are wondering why this story didn’t start out “once upon a time”. Truth is, I’m not a very traditional fairy-tale princess. Never was. Don’t care to be. My parents want me to “walk in the old ways”, but I am quite convinced that satin slippers are a little more than slightly out of style. So are silk gowns and pointed princess hats.

And princes are extinct.

You know how parents are. They just don’t seem to realize that times have changed since the day my Mom kissed a frog. Imagine me telling my friends how my parents met!

“Yeah, my Mom was sitting by an abandoned well crying because she lost her gold ball...”

“Her what?”

“Her gold ball. Princesses have always played with gold balls.”

“Sheesh. That is so weird. I mean, if I were a princess I’d be going to gold balls, not playing with them.”

And you can see how it would progress.

“Sick! Your Mom kissed a frog?”

“She had to. Her dad told her to.”

“So? I wouldn’t have done it. That is so, like totally weird. There’s plenty of cute guys out there without needing to go around kissing frogs.”

Yeah. Like I said, being a princess isn’t cool anymore. Everybody’s got their own ideas about what a princess is or does, and my parent’s ideas don’t match up. Of course Mom and Dad are totally oblivious. I guess they're still lost in their “happily ever after”. But “happily ever afters” just don’t happen anymore. And “once upon a time” was way to long ago. I am just totally ready to get out of my parents fairy-tale and into my own reality.

Of course, like any dutiful princess, I tried talking to my Fairy GodMother to see if she would fix the problem.

“Be content,” she said. “Most girls have it much worse than you do. You have a long family history of happy endings, you are as beautiful as the dawn, as sweet-smelling as roses and if anything ever goes wrong a charming prince will come rescue you.”

“What good is being as beautiful as the dawn, when I’m stuck in a dress that looks like all of my friend’s curtains sewn together, and covers me from neck to toe-nails, plus a veil. And why in the world would I want to smell like roses? Only old ladies wear that kind of a scent now days. Vanilla and coconut are much more culturally acceptable. For crying out loud, what in the world do I want a charming prince for? To fix his dinner? If I get into any trouble, I’ll just get out again on my own. When I want to get married, there are plenty of good-looking boys to choose from.”

“But Rosebud,” my Fairy Godmother looked so distressed as she paced the room, scattering fairy-dust everywhere. “You can’t just marry anyone. You have to wait for just the right prince to come and sweep you off your feet.”

I sniffed and turned my back on her. “Those kinds of princes died out with the dinosaurs.”

“Some people still see dinosaurs every once in a while.” She laid her hand on my shoulder. “Just be patient, Dearie. Hand on to that Eucharis Lily I gave you and I will help you find a prince.”

“Keep your stale fairy-dust to yourself,” I snapped. “Along with your out-dated advice. Both of them make me sneeze. As for that stupid locket, I’ll give it to the first guy that asks me for it.”

“Oh, don’t do that!” Fairy Godmother cried. “If you do, Rosebud, you’ll never get it back again!”

“Why should I care?” I turned fiercely on her. “I don’t want it. The only thing it has ever done for me, is to mark me as a behind-the-times stuck-up snob."

“No. No,” Fairy Godmother soothed. “A reserved princess, of much too fine a breed for these insolent young curs.”

“What if I want to marry one of these ‘common curs’ as you call them? I’m tired of fairy tales, and I am going to write my own story, my own way. You’ll see.”

There was silence for a second as my Fairy Godmother looked at me anxiously. “You really are going to write your own story, your own way? May I see it?”

“No,” I shut my lips tightly.

“How does it start?” She asked wheedlingly. “Just tell me how it starts. Does it start ‘once upon a time’?”

“No,” I answered again.

The Fairy Godmother covered her face and moaned. “It’ll never come out right, Rosebud. It won’t come out right. Get off to a wrong start and you can never get it to end right!”

I tossed my golden head, and my tiara flew across the room and slammed against a wall. “Oh yeah? Well, I don’t believe in ‘happily ever after’, That’s a fairy-tale for babies and old people and it just doesn’t happen anymore. Now life is all ‘happily right now’ and a lot more exciting that way. If I ever meet a dragon I’ll just fight it myself. Maybe I’ll even rescue some wimpy remnant of a prince. I believe in equality of the sexes.”

Fairy Godmother stood aghast. “How can you say that?” she gasped. “Such a thing is treason against the very fairy tale into which you were born!”

“Well the fairy tale is over. Reality is here.” I sat down and pulled off my satin slippers. “You can tell Dad that he won’t be able to trace my dancing habits to the holes in my slippers. From now on it will be flip-flops for me! And as for you—get out of here and quit messing up my life with that irritating fairy dust.”

I never saw my fairy godmother again. She went out of my life in a poof of purple smoke, shaking her head and muttering, “It’ll never come out right. Get started all wrong and you can’t ever end it right!”

Flip-flops did make life a lot easier. And my room was no longer inches thick in fairy dust, which meant that they didn’t get dust-logged as I walked from the bed to the bathroom.

I went to the beach one day with some friends and they helped me shed my exaggerated princess gown for some hotpants and a tank top. I felt a little bit naked at first, but I’d always wanted to make the change, so it came pretty easily. No longer was I “as lovely as the dawn”, but now I was right down, nitty gritty hot. Or so they said.

Bleached my hair a more trendy color of blond. Golden hair isn’t worth what it used to be.

Came home and sat down to watch the new reality TV show.

Enter Mom. “Rosebud, honey, why don’t you read a book or something.”

“Like what? The Princess and The Pea? Hanzel and Gretel? Rapunzel? That stuff isn’t even real!”

Mom looked at me disapprovingly from underneath her princess hat. “That stuff you’re watching isn’t real. If you don’t want to read, you could go for a walk in the garden.”

“No thanks,” I yawned. “With my family history, I might get attacked by a dragon.”

“No such luck,” my dad (a.k.a. The Frog Prince) sighed, coming in from the other doorway. “I’ve been out everywhere looking for one.”

“What do you need a dragon for, Love?” Mom asked, kissing my dad on the end of his nose.

“Am I getting warts again?” Dad chuckled. (Parents have such outdated senses of humor.) “Well, I was trying to think of a good test of skill for the winning of Rosebud. You know she’s fourteen and I haven’t had a single marriage proposal for her yet?”

“Maybe that’s because I’m not in trouble,” I sneered.

“We can fix that, if you don’t fix your attitude,” Mom countered. I had to admit the kind of prince who would save me from grounding would be just my kind of guy.

“What have you been up to?” Dad asked, twiddling a strand of my hair. “Looks like we need your great grandma’s friend Rumplestiltskin to come spin this straw back into gold.”

Suddenly Mom looked at me hard. “What has become of your gown? Flip-flops were one thing, but this is another. Honey, do you know how long that princess gown has been in the family?”

“Too long,” I muttered.

“Rosebud, Rosebud, what has gotten into you?”

“Reality has hit,” I snapped, jumping to my feet in anger. “I am sick of this stupid fairy-tale way of life. It doesn’t work anymore. Got it? I hate having fairy dust inches thick in my bathtub, and polishing this stupid Eucharis Lily and wearing clothes that look like they should hang from my windows, and waiting for a prince that’ll never come and always having to do things the same old ways they’ve always been done.” I was in tears by now. “Do you have any idea how old and stuffy the name Rosebud is? It’s so long and there’s only one way to spell it!”

Mom and Dad exchanged worried glances and sat down on the couch, pulling me down between them. “Honey, Rosebud is a beautiful name that dates all the way back in our family....”

“To the time of Sleeping Beauty. I know. She slept for a hundred years and the name got stale.”

“It also has a meaning,” Dad added. “We picked the name Rosebud because it means Innocence and Purity. All fairy-tale princesses have names that mean something.”

“Oh yeah,” I retorted, “Like Cinderella. Real attractive name there.”

“The names these days are so trite,” my dad continued, ignoring me. “Jordan—boy or girl. Nicki, Sidney, Britney, Britni, Britny and Brytni. And the boys! Every other one is named Josh!”

“It’s better than being named Cuthburt the Green,” I muttered under my breath.

Mom looked hurriedly at Dad, afraid I had hurt his feelings. He hadn’t heard his name.

“Your Mom and I just want what is best for you. Times are changing for the worse, and we want to preserve our little princess so that someday we can give her away to the right prince.”

“Meanwhile I’m supposed to just lay back and go to sleep for a hundred years.”

“Did you lock the attic door?” I heard Mom hiss over my head. “Remember that old spinning wheel is up there!”

Dad nodded, then turned back to me. “If that’s what it takes, yeah.”

I stood up again and tossed my head. “Well, I’m not really into hibernating, so I’ll pass this time. Sorry, but I don’t really feel like being an old fashioned princess anymore. You can lock me in a tower if you want, but I will just cut off my own hair and climb down. Just get off my back and get real. Things aren’t the way they were in the days of knights and fair ladies. And don’t call me Rosebud again. The name’s Riley.”

“Which spelling?” Dad asked dryly. Then he took me by the arm and marched me up to the tower and locked the door on the outside.

Guess I’d talked a little too big, because when I hung my hair out the window it didn’t even reach halfway down the side of the wall. Not even one sixteenth of the way to be honest. In fact, it only reached about two feet down the wall, which meant the idea of climbing down it was pretty ridiculous.

So I sat in my room and stewed for about an hour. And I choked on fairy dust and got to feeling sorry for myself. That’s when I decided to run away. Or move out, which really sounds a little more modern and mature. And the thought hit me that my bedsheets would probably be long enough, if I tied them together, to reach to the ground.

So I stripped my bed cheerfully for the first time in my life and began to tie my sheets together. I was so interested in what I was doing that I didn’t hear my mom come in. At least, not until she was standing right behind me. Then she said, “Rosebud, what are you doing?”

And I stood frozen to the floor, like a guilty nave caught with my hand in the Queen’s tarts. Slowly I turned around and swallowed hard.

“Just taking off my sheets so that I can wash them,” I answered, and for the first time in my life, I lied. I don’t think Mom could tell I was lying, but she looked very hard at my Eucharist Lily and shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” I ventured, wishing she would either leave the room or tell me she’d figured me out.

“Your Eucharis Lily looks a bit tarnished. Have you been cleaning it every morning?”

“Of course,” I lied again.

I was sure I must have been blushing. My parents always told me that princesses are always truthful, and if I ever lied my tongue would split in two halves and be forever forked, marking me as a liar. But I could feel that my tongue was still in one piece.

Bot Mom was looking harder than ever at my necklace. “If it weren’t’ too foul of a thing to do, I would swear that I just watched your Lily get a rust spot!” Her face was very puzzled. “Rosebud, are you sure you’ve been polishing it every day? You know that if you let it go to pieces by not taking good care of it, it won’t be worth much to your Prince someday.”

“Mom, I already told you I polish it every morning.” I could feel it burning against my chest. Whew, would Mom ever stop making me tell lies? Of course I couldn’t stop myself, once I’d told one, so it was up to my Mom to quit asking me questions that I had to lie to. And she wasn’t taking the hint.

“Well,” she said slowly, reaching out a hand for my sheets. “Hand me your linens and I’ll take them downstairs to be washed. Meanwhile, I brought you some sewing to do.”

I must admit that I detested sewing more than I detested anything else. And I detested it more than ever when I saw what my Mom had brought me to sew. Of course, I shouldn’t have been surprised, as upset as she was about me having “lost” my old princess gown. Now she wanted me to make a new one.

“And I can’t let you out of your room, until it’s finished and you have something more decent to wear.” That’s what she said. And I knew she meant it. Not only that, but she was carrying away my ladder down the steep walls of my prison.

There are many things my mother doesn’t understand. Like I said, when she grew up millions of years ago, being a princess was fashionable. And wearing princess gowns meant you were cool. But not anymore. Kids were constantly stepping on the edges of my gown to make me trip and tugging on my sleeves and teasing me about my clothes. That was before I picked out my own clothes. After that, they seemed to accept me a little better. So I had no intention of ever putting on a princess dress again.

I thought fast. Just as Mom was heading out the door with my fire escape, an idea came to me. Pretty obvious, but it waited to come till the last minute anyway. “Mom,” I said sweetly. “I might take a notion to sleep a hundred years after all, so could you please bring me a clean set of sheets?”

Mom looked at me sharply. “Have you been in the attic?” She fussed, bundling the old sheets into a tight ball.

“Not today,” I answered evasively, “but I do feel terribly sleepy. Please won’t you bring them? I’ll make my bed all by myself.”

Mom nodded, closing the door behind her. I heard her mumbling to herself as she went down the stairs, “Maybe she’ll turn out all right after all.”

Of course Mom was wrong. Mother’s usually are. No sooner had she brought the clean sheets then I tied them together and looped them out the window. I wasn’t really sure what to take with me—everything seemed too royal and too big to get out the window, so I just tossed down my flip-flops and started to climb down after them.

“Funny thing” I heard my dad’s voice coming through the window. “Funny thing, but Rosebud sure doesn’t seem to understand that we are trying to help her. Wonder why she thinks of us as the enemies? I wish she knew all of the evil things that lurk out there, just waiting to grab her.”

“No you don’t, dear heart,” Mom argued gently, “That’s why you won’t let her find out for herself.”

Halfway down the wall, the knot I’d tied at the top gave way and I spent the rest of the descent getting wrapped up in yards of sheets and finally landing with a thud on the ground, in my mom’s flowerbed. That was not a good thing to do, so I quickly jumped up and looked around for somewhere to run.

It was then that I noticed a guy standing by the garden wall, laughing at me. So I blushed, and tried to tilt my head up and look dignified.

“Quit laughing at me, I am a princess.” For some reason, I had forgotten for the moment that I didn’t want to be a princess any more.

The boy looked at me amusedly. “Sure, and I’m the knight in shining armor come to save you. Looks to me like you’re a run-away if anything.”

“Well, yes.” I admitted. “And you do look like you could be my knight in shining armor. Can you tell me which way to go?”

He looked annoyed. “Don’t know that I want to be your knight in shining armor. I don’t fancy chicks that wear old lady jewelry. I suppose your pretty particular about that old-fashioned piece of metal, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. I’d like to get rid of it. In fact, if you’ll show me how to get out of here, I’ll give it to you.”

“You can go any way you’d like to get out of there. Come over here and I’ll help you hop the fence.”

So I trotted over to the fence and my new acquaintance grabbed me under the armpits and helped me jump over. When I was standing on the other side next to him, I couldn’t help imagining him in a visor and plume.

“Now where?” I asked eagerly.

“We can head down this alley,” he answered and took me by the hand. A chill went up my spine. I could hear my mother saying: “A prince should never take you by the hand until he goes down on one knee.” By which she meant, he shouldn’t touch you until he is ready to marry you. But times have moved on, and guys these days can’t decided whether or not they want to marry you until they have touched you. And then I got excited, because I was thinking that maybe I would have my own style of happily ever after without my parents help or rules. And without my fairy godmother’s fairy dust.

And the thought came to me that if I gave this guy my Eucharis Lily, perhaps he would marry me. It seemed reasonable. After all, my Eucharist Lily was supposedly the greatest thing I owned.

“What’s your name?” He asked, as we passed through the crowded alley. I’d never been back in so dirty of a place before, but I assumed he knew where he was going.

“Riley,” I answered promptly. “What’s yours?”

“Josh.”

“That’s a nice name,” I smiled sweetly at him, hoping I was looking as winning and beautiful as was necessary to capture his heart for ever after.

“Hmmm,” he said. “It works at least.” Then he eyed my necklace again. “I still can’t believe you’ve still got one of those mummified locket things. All the girls I know lost theirs a long time ago.”

That stung, so I said quickly, “Well, its not because I didn’t have opportunities to give it away or anything. I just haven’t found the right guy yet.”

“You one of those antique-style girls that actually plans of saving that thing for Mr. Right? What makes you think he’s gonna be so excited about it anyway?” He stopped and turned to face me, a sneer evident on his face.

“My parents always wanted me to hang on to it, but it does make me stick out like a sore thumb, doesn’t it?” I sighed, toying with the chain.

“Yeah, really. Well, I don’t have any time to waste here. If you want to hang onto that silly necklace that’s your choice, but I’ve got other things to do.” And he started to walk away.

“Josh, wait!” I cried, running to catch up with him. I realized that I’d forgotten to pick up my flip-flops when I came down the wall, and now I was barefooted. “Josh, I’ll give you the Lily. I’ll give it to you if you’ll stay with me!”

He paused for a minute. “What do you mean if I’ll stay with you?”

“Just that. You can have my necklace if you won’t go away and leave me by myself.” I was on the edge of tears. I guess I thought he was my Prince Charming, and I couldn’t imagine what I had done wrong to chase him away. Unless it was that I hadn’t offered him the necklace yet.

“Give me the necklace first and then I’ll decide.” He reached out a hand, and I tremblingly unhooked the silver Eucharist Lily and laid it in his hands.

And then I felt helpless.

He turned it over and over in his hands, examining it, and I saw with shame how dirty it was.

“Be careful with it!” I cried, suddenly apprehensive.

He looked at me scornfully and then tossed my locket on the ground and stomped on it.

And that’s how my Eucharis Lily came to be trampled and so dirty it wasn’t even recognizable. That wasn’t my idea of taking care of it. Nor did he exactly fulfil my idea of staying with me. After grinding the necklace into the dirt, he stuck his hands in his pockets and strode off. I ran after him and tried to keep up with him for a while, but he didn’t even seem to hear me when I called his name. And when he stopped to talk with another girl, I stopped trying to make him remember me.

I went back and tried to salvage my mutilated Lily, but it was too late. There was nothing left worth having.

And now I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I could go see if I can find another prince—maybe eventually I’ll find one who will stay with me ever after. I can’t give him anything—I don’t have anything to give. I don’t want to go back to my parents. They won’t understand, and they will probably just tell me “told you so”. I guess things just don’t work the way they used to. New methods breed new results.

I hate for my fairy godmother to read my story. She always said that if I start it wrong, it would end all wrong. And she’ll tell me that I shouldn’t have scorned her protective fairy dust, and cast off my princess gown and slippers.

I can’t believe that following all those old stuffy rules would make my life come out right. I don’t want to live like a cobwebbed princess, and I don’t care if it is too late to take it all back. Guess I’ll just keep trying on my own.

________________________________

Jeremiah 6:16

Thus says the Lord:

“Stand in the ways and see and ask for the ancient paths

Where the good way is, and walk in it

And you shall find rest for your souls.”

But they said, “We will not.”

The Search for Sinful Pleasures

2007-12-10T08:31:00.000-08:00

Your search led you here. A dissappointment, perhaps, but better than the place your search will eventually take you—HELL. It’s not a cuss-word, it’s a place of eternal torment, reserved for those who don’t live up to God’s standards.

What are God’s standards?

1. You shall have no gods before Me -- sex, TV, money, work, fitness, power, yourself

2. You shall not make any idols -- pornography, possessions, fame, alcohol, gambling,

3. You shall not take God’s name in vain -- using it as a cuss-word: Jesus! Jesus Christ! God!

4. Remember the sabbath day to keep it holy.

5. Honor your father and mother

6. You shall not murder --“Everyone who is angry with his brother is guilty...and whoever shall say ‘you fool!’ shall be guilty enough to go into the fiery hell!” (Matthew 5:22)

7. You shall not commit adultery -- “Any man who looks at a woman to lust after her, has already committed adultery with her in his heart” (Matthew 5:28)

8. You shall not steal – even a small theft is stealing

9. You shall not bear false witness – a small lie is still a lie

10. You shall not covet anyone’s house, wife, servants, animals, or ANYTHING that belongs to someone else.

Do you measure up?

Or are you a profane, murderous, adulterous, lying, theiving, covetous idolater? “For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles in one point, he has become guilty of ALL.” (James 2:10)

Congratulations, join the entire human race. “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23)

And that means death—eternal death. God must punish sin. “When lust has conceived, it gives birth to sin, and when sin is accomplished, it brings forth death” (James 1:15)

But wait--there’s good news!

“For the wages of sin is death, BUT the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus, our Lord.” (Romans 6:23)

“Christ died for sins once for all, the just for the unjust, in order that He might bring us to God.” (1 Peter 3:18)

“He (God) made Him (Jesus) who knew no sin, to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God!” (2 Corinthians 5:21)

God chose to punish sin in the person of His own perfect Son, so that we might be redeemed from hell.

How can you claim this redemption?

“If you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead you shall be saved.” (Romans 10:9)

“Without faith it is impossible to please Him, for whoever comes to God must first believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him. (Hebrews 11:6)

Want to hear it from the mouth of Jesus himself?

He says: “I am the resurrection and the life, he who believes in me whall live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me shall never die. DO YOU BELIEVE THIS?” (John 11:25)

Who is this Jesus? Why should you believe in Him? Read the Gospel of John—in the New Testament of the Bible.

A Lesson from a Rose

2007-12-10T08:29:00.000-08:00

“I’d like a little rose to place

Upon my dresser in a vase.”

The pleading eyes of amber hues

How could that look a man refuse?

“Just wait a bit,” the father smiled,

While looking fondly on his child.

“When gone are all the wintry snows

We’ll go and pick a perfect rose!”

The child turned her face away,

“I’ll go and pick one anyway.

My father has great things on mind

And though means only to be kind,

Still I have seen the scarlet blooms

And if I do not take one soon

They’ll wither and then turn to slime

Before my father finds the time.”

So saying, she her small steps took

Down to the arbor near the brook.

She gazed long moments at the wall

All covered with the buds still small

And wondered which the blushing sun

Would mark out as the perfect one.

Her dimpled hand reached out to take

The tender bud yet unawake

Still nodding in the morning light

Before the summer kissed it bright.

Into the vase the small flower went

Without the slightest accident

And soon it graced the dresser top.

It never bloomed, but drooped then dropped.

A flower with perfection’s plan

Was ruined by impatient hands.

The father saw the child’s choice

And though he never raised his voice,

He sighed that it should never come

To fullest beauty in the sun.

He’d raised that rose with her in mind

But his love’s gift she’d undermined

And what, if left to him, would be

The perfect bloom of purity,

Because once plucked it withered there

Was never seen in beauty rare.

How often we grasp much too soon

And seize God’s blessings ere they bloom

All Things Well

2007-12-10T08:25:00.001-08:00

Dissatisfaction, restless urge

From my weary soul be purged

And with the strength to shout and sing

Stand before the Lord, thy King

What He chooses none can tell

But He doeth all things well.

Doubt and fear, sharp sorrow cease

Be filled instead with heaven’s peace

Peace with God means peace of soul

He comes to make the broken whole

What His plans are, none can tell

But He doeth all things well.

Complaint and bitterness depart

Fill with content, oh broken heart

His load is easy, burden light

And He disperses bonds of night

Of His wisdom none can tell

But He doeth all things well.

Thoughts of self flee from my head

Crown Him in their place instead

Vanish plans to make me great

Kneel before Him. Will to wait.

Of His promise I can tell

He will do it. All is well.

Root of Rebellion

2007-12-10T08:22:00.000-08:00

There it is again: those horrible feelings of rebellion, that I seem completely unable to stifle. The “I don’t care what my parents think, I don’t want to do it!” is back in full force, and I can’t seem to quench my snotty attitude. I love my parents—I really do—but this is more than I can handle! I’m just so sick of obeying!…Why?

In the midst of such feelings the tears come, and in the desperation aroused by my frustration and depression I beg the Lord to show me my sin. Where could I have gone wrong, that such emotions could gain a stronghold in my heart? Am I wrong to blame my parents? Am I wrong to seek my own way?

I want to share with you an answer to my perplexing questions—a cause for my strange feelings of dissatisfaction, the result of these feelings, and a solution to my frustration with my parents. These emotions are not the natural result of my parents’ actions. They are not caused by tyranny, overwork or flustering requests. They are caused by myself—in reality, they are the product of my own imagination.

Let’s begin with the cause. Rebellion starts with dissatisfaction—a dissatisfaction with myself. I am not pleased with who I am. Whether or not my frustrations ring true, I have come to feel that I am inadequate in some way.

I may be dissatisfied:

· With my appearance—I feel ugly, fat and unattractive. My face is broken out, my hair is straight and limp or frizzy, my nose is too long.

· With my wardrobe—I feel out of place in modest clothing, my outfits don’t fit well, or they simply do not flatter me. I am frustrated trying to find cute, comfortable, modest clothing that doesn’t look old ladyish and isn’t miles too big; I envy others around me.

· With my personality—I feel insecure, unconversational and uninteresting, I feel like a dead-beat, a bore. I feel like I simply don’t fit in—anywhere.

· With my intelligence—I feel stupid and slow. I am a failure: I just don’t have it. Others expect more of me than I can give; others are smarter than I am.

· With my talents—what talents? I am not actually good at anything. I try, but I simply have no time to work at or practice anything because my parents…whoops! Feeling a little rebellious am I?

Lastly, when I have become entirely dissatisfied with myself, my life, and anything else about me, I become unhappy in my spirit because I am starving it. But what stands in the way of my changing these areas that I feel unsuccessful in? Shall we say my parents, and the fact that I don’t run my own life? I can’t just turn the house topsy-turvy because I wake up in the morning feeling ugly.

And my parents? “Honey, you look fine!”

Ok, so I’m not so pleased with myself. Now let’s move on to step two—link this all together, and explain what the result of disatisfaction is! How in the world do “fat days” affect my obedience to my parents?

I have noticed, that when I am not satisfied with myself, it becomes very difficult for me to believe that anyone else is satisfied with me.

I hear “Honey, you look fine” but I know she is thinking, “Well, you really ought to lose about 10 pounds, and I don’t know what we’ll ever do about your acne! I really wish you would bring your math scores up, and stay on top of your chores, and your attitude stinks. I think you need to get right with the Lord.”

“I already know that, now would you just shut up!” I feel attacked, before my parents even say anything, because in my mind I am already defeated.

I am a failure. I have failed my parents.

I am a loser—a rotten loser. How could anyone like me? How could anyone enjoy spending time with me? Why would anyone want to put up with me?

I can’t do anything right. My family must think me a burden. I’m just a hump on a log, a disgrace to mankind.

I haven’t stopped loving my parents. I haven’t lost a desire to do well, to please them, to honor them.

I have merely given up.

I’m beat. Striving for success feels pointless. I can’t please my parents! Why try? I can’t succeed in anything! Why try? I can’t please God! Why try?

And all she said was “You look fine.”

She never expressed any dissatisfaction with me, or anything I had done. I imagined it, and the insecurity washed over me, causing the rebellion spring up.

It’s just not fair! I try to please them—they don’t care! Think of all the things I do, yet I get scolded for the one tiny responsibility that I happen to forget. It never ends—the same jobs over and over again, and nobody ever thanks me, nobody realizes how much I do! I am so sick of trying to be good! I am so sick of myself! I am so sick of this place! I am so sick of everything I do! I am so sick of my family! I just want out of here!

Like a slow burning fuse, the bitterness builds up until I snap.

And everyone stares at me in holy horror.

I can’t help it! I just feel ugly today!

Is it it possible that maybe I can help it? I believe there is a solution, if I will accept it.

But what can I do? I didn’t plan the rebellion. I didn’t want to explode. I don’t even know where these feelings came from! I’ve been submissively trying to cut out my rebellion, haven’t I? I’ve crushed it down every time it tried to rise, haven’t I? I haven’t been trying to nurse resentment, have I? So why in the world can’t I conquer myself?

There is a reason—a good one, even. I can’t cure my problem, because I am attacking the symptom, not the cause. Every time a weed of rebellion popped up, I cut it down. But the root of bitterness and dissatisfaction continued to grow. Rebellion will come up again in other areas, and I can keep cutting it out, but the root will keep growing until it explodes. I need to attack the root, and the first step is locating it.

Thankfully, I now know where the problem lies, due to much prayer and fasting. This doesn’t mean that stamping it out is easy. There are many things about myself that I am unable to change—ever.

· I will never be taller than God intended me to be. I can’t change the shape of my face, or the build of my figure.

· Modesty is a must, though my culture makes it very difficult and awkward.

· My personality is there—it is my identity. I can hone it, but I can never change it.

· My intelligence has a limit. I can work hard, but I will never be a genius. It just isn’t there.

· If I just don’t have certain talents, I just don’t have them!

· I can’t change the unchangeable.

But I can be yielded. I may not be satisfied with myself through the eyes of the world, but I need to remind myself who I am through Christ.

Why would He love me? I can’t see a logical reason, but He does. He sees the future, and he will perfect me…in His time.

Basically, my rebellion boils down to a lack of trust. I am not trusting God to work through my parents. I am not trusting God to complete what He has begun. I am not trusting God to change me. I am not trusting the God who made me.

I simply need to shift my focus from what I can’t do, to what He has done, and the weed will wither and die—from the root up.

The rebel can submit.

I Will Lift Up My Eyes

2007-12-10T08:18:00.002-08:00

Just a Daily Chapter

2007-12-10T08:18:00.001-08:00

She thought about it as she sipped her steaming coffee--thought about it long and hard. Her Bible lay open before her, but she was not looking at it. She had not really looked at it that morning. It was hard these days to concentrate on things like that. She was ready to do something—to make a day of it.

First off I need to start with my daily chapter, she thought. I always start with my daily chapter. I always have. I’ve always been a good Christian. I always read a chapter a day. Every day I read a chapter first thing. Just as soon as I’ve fixed my cup of coffee, I read a chapter. My daily chapter. My daily coffee.

Daily Chapter--2

She pulled the Bible toward her and glanced across the pages.

Today is June fourth. Today’s chapter is James four. June fourth. James four. Just my daily chapter.

Thumbing through the pages she paused on the chapter and began to read to herself.

What is the source of quarrels and conflicts among you? Quarrels and conflicts. Conflicts and quarrels. Corrals and convicts. Convicts and corrals. Sorrel and rosehips. Rosehips and sorrel.

She pushed her stool out from the table and stood to refill her coffee. The aroma of roasted coffee beans wafted up to her nose as she reseated herself.

Is not...does not...so you...can not...so you...fight and quarrel. Quarrel and fight. Fight. Might. Blight. Sight. White. Right. Night. Light. Fight. Fight and quarrel. Quarrel and fight.

She glanced at a crossword puzzle, tossed carelessly upon the floor and sighed, settling her elbows on the table in front of her.

Just my daily chapter. James four. June fourth. Finish soon. Always read my daily chapter. First thing. Finish, so I can do other things. Other things. My hair needs done. I’ll get my hair done today. Call the beauty parlor. See if they have any openings. Finish. Just my daily chapter.

She ran her fingers absently through her curly cropped hair.

Read! She thought, and forced herself to continue.

Daily Chapter--3

You ask...you ask...do you not know...the world...wishes to be...an enemy of God. God. See God? See God run? God ran. God, God, God. God opposes proud...Submit to God...Draw near to God...I am near to God. I am a good Christian. I read my Bible. Every day. A chapter every day. First thing every day. My morning cup of coffee. My morning chapter. Just my morning chapter. Finish! My morning hair appointment. Wonder if they have any openings? Better call soon. Better call now. Make an appointment.

She got up from her chair and strolled slowly over to the telephone.

Call the beauty parlor. Make an appointment. Beauty parlor. Taylor’s Beauty Parlor.

She picked up the telephone book and began searching through it until she found the “T” section. She found the telephone number and dialed.

It is ringing now. One ring. Pick up, please. Two rings. Please have an opening. Three rings. They will pick up on the third ring.

A voice answered and she made an appointment for ten-thirty.

Ten-thirty.

She looked at the clock. It is nine-thirty now. An hour to get ready. An hour to finish my chapter and get ready. Finish my chapter. Just my daily chapter. June fourth for James four. Or was it James four for June fourth?

She returned to her seat, took a drink of her luke-warm coffee and adjusted her glasses.

Where was I? James four. James four verse what? James four verse thirteen? Four verse thirteen. Verse thirteen. Read! Come now, you who say “Today or tomorrow we shall go to such and such a city...” Ten-thirty hair appointment. I wonder what Alice is doing? Haven’t seen Alice for a while. Call Alice. Call Alice and see if she has plans. Lunch plans. Meet Alice for lunch. Call Alice now, before she makes plans.

Daily Chapter--4

She rose from her chair and crossed the room again to the phone. She didn’t need to look up Alice’s number. She knew Alice’s number.

Four. Three. One. Six. She hummed to herself as she punched in the last four numbers. Answer Alice. Be home. Alice will be home reading her chapter. She always reads a daily chapter. She always reads the same as I do. Just a daily chapter. James four on June fourth. We can discuss it over lunch. Over lunch. Come on, Alice, answer.

Alice answered the phone and agreed to have lunch at noon.

Lunch at noon, she thought as she meandered back to her seat. Finish my daily chapter and then go to my hair appointment. Ten-thirty at the beauty parlor. Meet Alice at noon for lunch. Noon for lunch with Alice at the Diner. Finish my daily chapter. Read! Yet you do not know what your like will be like tomorrow. Tomorrow I will grocery shop. Maybe I should do it today. No. I will do it tomorrow. There are sales tomorrow. Besides, I will go to Claret’s today, and I will not have time to grocery shop. I will not have time today. Plenty of time tomorrow. Read on. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away. Like the steam off my coffee. I wonder how Mary is? I will go and see her tomorrow. Tomorrow or Friday. Write it down. Write it down so I won’t forget. Write it down Friday.

She rose from her chair a third time and reached for a note-pad. She wrote:

Tuesday—Hair appointment, Taylor’s Beauty Parlor, ten-thirty

Daily Chapter--5

Lunch with Alice, Diner, noon

Claret’s, need panty hose

Wednesday—Grocery shopping

Thursday—

Friday—Visit Mary

Nothing on Thursday.

She sighed. I will think of something. My coffee is cold. Finish reading my chapter. Just my daily chapter.

She turned back to her Bible.

Instead you should say “If the Lord wills, we shall live and also do this or that.” Is that the end? It’s the end of the page. Is the chapter over?

She turned the page.

Not quite. Only two more verses. Almost finished. Almost finished with my chapter. Just my daily chapter. James four on June fourth. Read! But as it is, you boast in your arrogance. Very arrogant. All such boasting is evil. What time is it?

She looked at the clock.

Ten o’clock! I have a hair appointment at ten-thirty. Hurry! Get dressed and ready! Have to brush teeth. Comb hair. I am going to the beauty parlor, then to lunch, then to Claret’s. Very busy day. One more verse. It will wait. Only one verse of my chapter. Just my daily chapter. Oh well. Better get ready now. What will I wear?

She stood up from the table.

Daily Chapter--6

I am a little dizzy. Oh! A cramp. Was that a cramp? Strange place for a cramp. I am getting old. Too old to be running around so much. Ooh! That hurts. My chest! I’ve never hurt like this. My chest! Ooh!

She clutched at her heart, her face turning gray.

Oh! Not indigestion. I didn’t have breakfast. Just my daily cup of—Oooooh!

She crumpled onto the table, writhing, face-downward. Then she lay still.

She did not go to her hair appointment at Taylor’s Beauty Parlor at ten-thirty. She did not meet Alice for lunch at the Diner at noon. She did not go to Claret’s to buy panty hose.

Alice became worried and called the Police. They found her lying with her face on her Bible, and her to-do list next to her. She had not moved. She would not move. She would never move again.

She would not go grocery-shopping Wednesday, to cash in on the sales. She would not see Mary on Friday. Mary might see her on Friday, if she was able to go to the funeral.

She would not have her daily cup of coffee again. She would not read her daily chapter again. Just her daily chapter. James four on June fourth.

Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow.

In Paradise

2007-12-10T08:16:00.000-08:00

My God, why are You so far from me?
I can't hear Your heart pulse soft through mine.
Though many say I'm much like You
I cant feel Your presence most of the time.

I languish, struggling to wheather out
My parched and thirsty times of drought,
To rise above my hindering doubts
And enter Paradise.

I cannot see Your glory, Lord.
My soul has turned to stone within,
Your image fading from my heart
It's form replaced by self and sin.

So many seem to sing and shout
Without a sigh or tear or doubt.
While I, alone, seem lost in drought
They sing in Paradise.

I'm whithering without hope, my God--
I don't feel holy or so grand.
My eyes gaze sightless at your cross
My fingers slipping from Your hand.

My flickering flame is going out
Scorched through and through by cruel drought
And stifled by my many doubts
So far from Paradise.

At last the tears that seemed quite gone,
The dried up fountains gushing forth
O'erspread the barren wilderness
And bubble,ushering in new birth.

And Your own power lifts me out
Of weakening times of whithering drought
And bears me past my sinful doubts
To sing in Paradise.

There is a Song

2007-12-10T08:15:00.000-08:00

There is a song in the heart of a girl

Who is waiting on God

To take her out of this world

No joy is completed

Or sorrow intense

Can subdue the longing

she has for her Prince

There is a prayer in the heart of a girl

With a mission to face

As she walks in this world

No crown is completed

No wreath has been won

Till the Prince by His coming

Says the harvest is done.

There is a love in the heart of a girl

As she looks all around

At the pain in this world

She sees all the floundering

Grasping hope that is new

And she tells of a Prince

Who is coming back soon

There is a joy in the heart of a girl

As she thinks of the Prince

Coming back to this world

All the weepers He’ll comfort

The wars will all cease

As they gaze on the pierced One

Her own Prince of Peace.