CHRIST WAS LOVE

Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience.
I had cut back on nonessential obligations - extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending.. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.
My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he'd been memorizing songs for his school's WinterPageant.
I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd be working the night of the production.
Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his Teacher, & she assured me there'd be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation.
All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then.
Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise. So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down.
Around the room I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song.
Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as "Christmas," I didn't expect anything other than commercial entertainment songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer.
So, when my son's class rose to sing, "Christmas Love," I was slightly taken aback by its bold title. Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads.
Those in the front row- center stage - held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song.
As the class would sing "C is for Christmas," a child would hold up the letter C. Then, "H is for Happy," and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, "Christmas Love."
The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter "M" upside down - totally unaware her letter "M" appeared as a "W". The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one's mistake.
But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her "W". Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together.
A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen.
In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place. Why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities.
For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear:
"C H R I S T W A S L O V E"
And, I believe, He still is.
Amazed in His presence....humbled by His love.
HAVE A BLESSED CHRISTMAS, love and prayer, sis katie.

Remember the Reason for this Season

>A young lady named Sally relates an experience she had in a seminary class,
>given by her teacher, Dr. Potter. She says that Dr. Potter was known for his
>elaborate object lessons.
>
> One particular day, Sally walked into the seminary and knew they
>were in for a fun day.
>
> On the wall was a big target and on a nearby table were many darts.
>Dr. Potter told the students to draw a picture of someone that they disliked
>or someone who had made them angry, and he would allow them to throw darts
>at the person's picture.
>
> Sally's friend drew a picture of who had stolen her boyfriend.
>Another friend drew a picture of his little brother. Sally drew a picture
>of a former friend, putting a great deal of detail into her drawing, even
>drawing pimples on the face. Sally was pleased with the overall effect she
>had achieved.
>
> The class lined up and began throwing darts. Some of the students
>threw their darts with such force that their targets were ripping apart.
>Sally looked forward to her turn, and was filled with disappointment when
>Dr. Potter, because of time limits, asked the students to return to their
>seats. As Sally sat thinking about how angry she was because she didn't
>have a chance to throw any darts at her target. Dr. Potter began removing
>the target from the wall.
>
> Underneath the target was a picture of Jesus. A hush fell over the
>room as each student viewed the mangled picture of Jesus; holes and jagged
>marks covered His face and His eyes were pierced.
>
> Dr. Potter said only these words.... "In as much as ye have done it
>unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me."
> Matthew 25:40.
>
> No other words were necessary; the tears filled eyes of the
>students focused only on the picture of Christ.
>

Bobby Decker

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!" My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" She snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go." "Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car. "Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's. I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that. "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby." The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas. That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going." I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby. Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team. I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95. May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care....love and prayers, sis katie.

What Christmas should be about.......

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.
After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this.
But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load.
Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.
After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked.
The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "Why?"
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt."
That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait.
When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked.
"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy?
Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern. We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"
"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.
She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children---sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too.
In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before, filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.
Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.
Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will."
Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
For the rest of my life, Whenever I saw any of the Jensen's, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

~by Rian B. Anderson~

The Two Figures of Jesus

The Two Figures of Jesus

About a week before Christmas, Mom bought a new nativity scene. When She
unpacked it, she found two figures of the Baby Jesus. "Someone must Have
packed this wrong," mother said, counting out the figures. "We have One
Joseph, one Mary, three wise men, three shepherds, two lambs, a donkey,
a cow, an angel, and two babies. Oh, dear! I suppose some set down at
the store is missing a Baby Jesus because we have two." "You two run
back down to the store and tell the manager that we have an extra Jesus.
Tell him to put a sign on the remaining boxes saying that if a set is
missing a Baby Jesus, call 7126. Put on your warm coats, it's freezing
cold out there."

The manager of the store copied down mother's message, and the next time
We were in the store, we saw the cardboard sign that read, "If you're
missing Baby Jesus, call 7126." All week long we waited for someone to
call.

Surely, we thought, someone was missing that important figurine. Each
time the phone rang, mother would say, "I'll bet that's about Jesus."
But it never was.

Father tried to explain there are thousands of these scattered over The
country, and the figurine could be missing from a set in Florida or
Texas or California. Those packing mistakes happen all the time. He
suggested That she just put the extra Jesus back in the box and forget
about it.

"Put Baby Jesus back in the box?! What a terrible thing to do," said
mother. "Surely someone will call. We'll just keep the two of them
together in the manger until someone does." When no call had come by
5:00 on Christmas Eve, mother insisted that father "just run down to the
store" to see if there were any sets left. "You can see them right
through the window, over on the counter," she said. "If they are all
gone, I'll know someone is bound to call tonight." "Run down to the
store?" father thundered. "It's 15 below zero out there!" "Oh, daddy,
we'll go with you!" We began to put on our coats.

Father gave a long sigh and headed for the front closet. "I can't
believe I'm doing this," he muttered. We ran ahead as father reluctantly
walked out in The cold. Tommy got to the store first and pressed his
nose up to the store window. "They're all gone, Daddy," he shouted.
"Every set must be sold. Hooray! The mystery will be solved tonight!"
Father heard the news still a half block away and immediately turned on
his heel and headed back home. When we got back into the house, we
noticed that mother was gone and so was the extra Baby Jesus figurine.
"Someone must have called, and she went out to deliver the figurine,"
father reasoned, pulling off his boots.

"You kids get ready for bed while I wrap mother's present." Then the
phone rang. Father yelled "answer the phone and tell 'em we found a home
for Jesus." But it was mother calling with instructions for us to come
to 205 Chestnut Street immediately, and bring three blankets, a box of
cookies and Some milk.. "Now what has she gotten us into?" father
groaned as we Bundled up again. "205 Chestnut. Why that's across town.
Wrap that milk up good In the blankets, or it will turn to ice before we
get there. Why can't we all just get on with Christmas? It's probably 20
below out there now. And the wind is picking up. Of all the crazy things
to do on a night like this."

When we got to the house at 205 Chestnut Street, it was the darkest one
on the block. Only one tiny light burned in the living room, and the
moment we set foot on the porch steps, mother opened the door and
shouted, "They're here! Oh thank God you got here, Ray! You kids take
those blankets into the living room and wrap up the little ones on the
couch. I'll take the milk and cookies."

"Would you mind telling me what is going on, Ethel?" father asked. "We
have just walked through below zero weather with the wind in our faces
all the way."

"Never mind all that now," mother interrupted. "There is no heat in this
house, and this young mother is so upset, she doesn't know what to do.
Her husband walked out on her, and those poor little children will have
a very bleak Christmas, so don't you complain. I told her you could fix
that oil furnace in a jiffy. My mother strode off to the kitchen to warm
the milk while my brother and I wrapped up the five little children who
were huddled together on the couch. The children's mother explained to
my father that her husband had run off, taking bedding, clothing, and
almost every piece of furniture, but she had been doing all right until
the furnace broke down.

"I been doin' washin' an ironin' for people and cleanin' the five and
dime," she said. "I saw your number every day there, on those boxes on
the counter. When the furnace went out, that number kept goin' through
my mind. 7162, 7162 "Said on the box that if a person was missin' Jesus,
they should call you. That's how I knew you were good Christian people,
willin' to help folks. I figured that maybe you would help me, too. So I
stopped at the grocery store tonight, and I called your missus. I'm not
missin' Jesus, mister, because I sure love the Lord. But I am missin'
heat. I have no money to fix that furnace."

"Okay, okay," said father. "You've come to the right place. Now let's
see. You've got a little oil burner over there in the dining room.
Shouldn't be too hard to fix. Probably just a clogged flue. I'll look it
over, see what it needs." Mother came into the living room carrying a
plate of cookies and warm milk. As she set the cups down on the coffee
table, noticed the figure of Baby Jesus lying in the center of the
table. It was the only sign of Christmas in the house. The children
stared wide-eyed with wonder at the plate of cookies my mother set
before them. Father finally got the oil burner working but said, "You
need more oil. I'll make a few calls tonight and get some oil. Yes sir,
you came to the right place."

Father grinned. On the way home, father did not complain about the cold
weather and had barely set foot inside the door when he was on the
phone. "Ed, hey, how are ya, Ed? Yes, Merry Christmas to you, too. Say
Ed, we have kind of an unusual situation here. I know you've got that
pick-up truck. Do you still have some oil in that barrel on your truck?
You do?" By this time the rest of the family was pulling clothes out of
their closets and toys off of their shelves. It was long after our
bedtime when we were wrapping gifts. The pickup came. On it were chairs,
three lamps, blankets and gifts. Even though it was 30 below, father let
us ride along in the back of the truck.

No one ever did call about the missing figure in the nativity set, but
as I have grown older I realize that it wasn't a packing mistake after all.

Friends are quiet angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.....love and prayers, sis katie.

WOW!!!!!

Dear Children,

It has come to my attention that many of you are upset that folks are taking My name out of the season. Maybe you've forgotten that I wasn't actually born during this time of the year and that it was some of you're predecessors who decided to celebrate My birthday on what was actually a time of pagan festival; although, I do appreciate being remembered anytime.

How I personally feel about this celebration can probably be most easily understood by those of you who have been blessed with children of your own. I don't care what you call the day. If you want to celebrate My birth just, GET ALONG AND LOVE ONE ANOTHER.

Now, having said that let Me go on.

If it bothers you that the town in which you live doesn't allow a scene depicting My birth, then just get rid of a couple of Santas and snowmen and put in a small Nativity scene on your own front lawn. If all My followers did that there wouldn't be any need for such a scene on the town square because there would be many of them all around town.

Stop worrying about the fact that people are calling the tree a holiday tree, instead of a Christmas tree. It was I who made all trees. You can and may remember Me anytime you see any tree. Decorate a grape vine if you wish: I actually spoke of that one in a teaching that explains who I am in relation to you and what each of our tasks are. If you have forgot that one, look at John 15:1-8.

If you want to give Me a present in remembrance of My birth here is my wish list. Choose something from it.

1. Instead of writing protest letters objecting to the way My birthday is being celebrated, write letters of love and hope to soldiers away from home. They are terribly afraid and lonely this time of year. I know, they tell Me all the time.

2. Visit someone in a nursing home. You don't have to know them personally. They just need to know that someone cares about them.

3. Instead of writing George W. complaining about the wording on the cards his staff sent out this year, why don't you write and tell him that you'll be praying for him and his family this year. Then follow up. It will be nice hearing from you again.

4. Instead of giving your children a lot of gifts you can't afford and they don't need, spend time with them. Tell them the story of My birth and why I came to live with you down here. Hold them in your arms and remind them that I love them.

5. Pick someone that has hurt you in the past and forgive him or her.

6. Did you know that someone in your town will attempt to take their own life this season because they feel so alone and hopeless? Since you don't know who that person is, try giving everyone you meet a warm smile it could make the difference. Also, you might consider supporting the local Hot-Line: they talk with people like that every day.

7. Instead of nit picking about what the retailer in your town calls the holiday, be patient with the people who work there. Give them a warm smile and a kind word. Even if they aren't allowed to wish you a "Merry Christmas" that doesn't keep you from wishing them one. Then stop shopping there on Sunday. If the store didn't make so much money on that day they'd close and let their employees spend the day at home with their families.

8. If you really want to make a difference, support a missionary, especially one who takes My love and Good News to those who have never heard My name. You may already know someone like that.

9. Here's a good one. There are individuals and whole families in your town who not only will have no "Christmas" tree, but neither will they have any presents to give or receive. If you don't know them (and I suspect you don't) buy some food and a few gifts and give them to the Marines, the Salvation Army or some other charity that believes in Me and they will make the delivery for you.

10. Finally if you want to make a statement about your belief in and loyalty to Me, then behave like a Christian. Don't do things in secret that you wouldn't do in My presence. Let people know by your actions that you are one of mine.

P.S. Don't forget; I am God and can take care of Myself. Just love Me and do what I have told you to do. I'll take care of all the rest. Check out the list above and get to work; time is short. I'll help you, but the ball is now in your court. And do have a most blessed Christmas with all those you love and, remember, I LOVE YOU.

I Refuse to be DISCOURAGED

I Refuse to be DISCOURAGED

I refuse to be discouraged,
To be sad, or to cry;
I refuse to be downhearted,
and here's the reason why...

I have a God who's mighty,
Who's sovereign and supreme;
I have a God who loves me,
and I am on His team.

He is all wise and powerful,
Jesus is His name;
Though everything is changeable,
My God remains the same.

My God knows all that's happening;
Beginning to the end,
His presence is my comfort,
He is my dearest friend.

When sickness comes to weaken me,
To bring my head down low,
I call upon my mighty God;
Into His arms I go.

When circumstances threaten
to rob me from my peace;
He draws me close unto His breast,
Where all my strivings cease.

And when my heart melts within me,
and weakness takes control;
He gathers me into His arms,
He soothes my heart and soul.

The great "I AM" is with me,
My life is in His hand,
The "Son of the Lord" is my hope,
It's in His strength I stand.

I refuse to be defeated,
My eyes are on my God;
He has promised to be with me,
as through this life I trod.

I'm looking past all my circumstances,
To Heaven's throne above;
My prayers have reached
the heart of God,
I'm resting in His love.

I give God thanks in everything,
My eyes are on His face;
The battle's His, the victory is mine;
He'll help me win the race.

love and prayers, sis katie

DON'T FALL PREY TO SATAN'S SCHEMES!

1 CHRONICLES 21:1-3

And Satan stood up against Israel, and provoked David to number Israel.
And David said to Joab and to the rulers of the people, Go, number Israel from Beersheba even to Dan; and bring the number of them to me, that I may know it.
And Joab answered, The LORD make his people an hundred times so many more as they be: but, my lord the king, are they not all my lord's servants? why then doth my lord require this thing? why will he be a cause of trespass to Israel?

David fell to Satan's temptation. God provided a way out in Joab's counsel, but David's curiosity was spurred on by arrogance. His faith was in his own strength rather than in God's. If we feel self-sufficient and put confidence in ourselves apart from God, we soon fall to Satan's schemes. Self-sufficiency pulls us away from God. When you are tempted, examine your inner desires to understand why the external temptation is so appealing.

(1 Corinthians 10:13 There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it).

HAPPY FRIDAY....sis katie

SATAN—THE MASTER TEMPTER!

1 CHRONICLES 21:1
And Satan stood up against Israel, and provoked David to number Israel.

The Bible text says Satan caused David to take a census. Can Satan force people to do wrong? No! (This dispels the Satan made me do it excuse) Satan only tempted David with the idea, but David decided to act on the temptation. Ever since the Garden of Eden, Satan has been tempting people to sin. David's census was not against God's law, but his reason for the census was wrong—pride in his mighty army. He forgot that his real strength came from God. Even Joab, not known for his high moral ideals, recognized the census as sin. From David's example we learn that an action that may not be wrong in itself can be sinful if it is motivated by greed, arrogance, or selfishness. Often our motives, not the action itself, contain the sin. We must constantly weigh our motives before we act.

Please Lord, help to fall on my knees and consult you.....

Daily Manna For Thought - Wednesday, November 15, 2006

THERE IS NO PLACE FOR SELF-PRIDE IN GOD'S ARMY!

1 CHRONICLES 21:1
And Satan stood up against Israel, and provoked David to number Israel.

David's census brought disaster because, unlike the census taken in the book of Numbers (Numbers 1-2) that God had ordered, this census was taken so David could take pride in the strength of the army. In determining his military strength, he was beginning to trust more in military power than in God. There is a fine line between feeling confident because you are relying on God's power and becoming proud because you have been used by God for great purposes.

A story is told of a preacher who held a meeting in the southwest.
At one point in his sermon, the old minister spoke of Simon of Cyrene and asked the audience to determine in their own hearts their reaction to that scene.
Just then a young boy came walking up the aisle, with serious determination in his eyes. The preacher stopped speaking and the congregation was as quiet as death.
“You asked what I would have done if I had been in the crowd when Jesus fell under the weight of His cross.” He looked earnestly up at the preacher. “Sir, I would have helped Him carry it.” He was a Mexican boy around nine years old. His father was a miner and his mother was an outcast.
The minister lifted his arm and cried: “Yes, and if you had helped him to carry his cross, the cruel Roman soldiers would have beaten down across your back with their whips until the blood ran down to your heels.” He never flinched. Meeting the preacher’s look with one of cool courage, he replied through clenched teeth? “I don’t care. I would have helped Him carry it just the same.” Two weeks later, at the close of the service, the old preacher stood at the door, greeting people as they left. When the little boy, Pedro, came by he patted him affectionately on the back. Pedro pulled away with a little cry. “Please don’t do that. My back is sore.” The preacher stood astonished; he had barely touched his shoulders. He took him to a room and removed his shirt. Crisscrossed from his neck to his waist were ugly bloody welts. “Who did that?” the preacher cried in anger. “Mother did it. She whipped me because I came to church.”
Luke 14:27 “And whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple.”
2 Timothy 3:12 “Yea, and all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution.”
1 Timothy 4:10 “For therefore we both labor and suffer reproach, because we trust in the living God, who is the Savior of all men, specially of those that believe.”
1 Peter 3:14-17 “But and if ye suffer for righteousness’ sake, happy are ye: and be not afraid of their terror, neither be troubled; but sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear: Having a good conscience; that, whereas they speak evil of you, as of evildoers, they may be ashamed that falsely accuse your good conversation in Christ. For it is better, if the will of God be so, that ye suffer for well doing than for evil doing.”
There is no questioning if we will suffer, for the Word of God is clear, that in bearing our cross we will suffer, but it also tells us be not afraid and neither be troubled. We trust in a living God that will take care of his people.
2 Corinthians 4:8-9 “We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed: we are perplexed, but not in despair: Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed:”
2 Timothy 1:7 “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”
Yet, we question why we suffer. The Word of God answers this question. We suffer that others might be able to find Salvation through how we live with our suffering.
2 Corinthians 4:10 “Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body.”
2 Timothy 2:10 “Therefore I endure all things for the elect’s sakes, that they may also obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory.”
Let everyone ask themselves the same question every day. Am I willing to suffer for the cause of Christ? If I am then I must remember the words of Christ.
2 Corinthians 12:9 “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” (Author Unknown)

Oh, My God, here we are being torn apart by what he said/she said....can't we take our eyes off of ourselves and each other and put them on you? Can't we do as this little boy did, serve you no matter what?
Oh mighty God, forgive me and help me to look through your eyes instead of my own and everyone elses.

Please Pray

Please pray for the same family member that underwent the sugery in Oct. They have just discovered more cancer cells...this means Chemo....then radiation....thank you.

Inspirational Story

One day, when I was a freshman in high school,

I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school.

His name was Kyle.

It looked like he was carrying all of his
books.

I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a
Friday?

He must really be a nerd."

I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my
friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.

As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him.

They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping
him so he landed in the dirt.

His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten
feet from him.

He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes

My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and as he crawled
around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye.

As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. "

They really should get lives.

" He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!"

There was a big smile on his face.

It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived.

As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen
him before.

He said he had gone to private school before now.

I would have never hung out with a private school kid before.

We talked all the way home, and I carried some of his books.

He turned out to be a pretty cool kid.

I asked him if he wanted to play a little football with my friends

He said yes.

We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I
liked him, and my friends thought the same of him.

Monday morning came! , and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books
again.

I stopped him and said, "Boy, you are gonna really build some serious
muscles with this pile of books everyday!

" He just laughed and handed me half the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends.

When we were seniors, we began to think
about college.

Kyle decided on Georgetown , and I
was going to Duke.

I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would never be a
problem.

He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for business on a football
scholarship.

Kyle was valedictorian of our class.

I teased him all the time about being a nerd.

He had to prepare a speech for graduation.

I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak

Graduation day, I saw Kyle.

He looked great.

He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school.


He filled out and actually looked good in glasses.

He had more dates than I had and all the girls loved him.

Boy, sometimes I was jealous.
!
Today was one of those days.

I could see that he was nervous about his speech.

So, I smacked him on the back and said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be
great!"

He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and
smiled.

" Thanks," he said.

As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began

"Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through
those tough years.

Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach...but mostly
your friends...

I am here to tell all of you that being a
friend to someone is the best gift you can give them.

I am going to tell you a story."

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the
first day we met.

He had planned to kill himself over the weekend.

He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have
to do it later and was carrying his stuff home.

He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile.

"Thankfully, I was saved.

My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable."

I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy
told us all about his weakest moment.

I saw his Mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful
smile.

Not until that moment did I realize it's depth.

Never underestimate the power of your actions.

With one small gesture you can change a person's life.

For better or for worse.

God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some
way.
God Bless you all, this day, may your lives glorify God and be
a witness to those around you....love and prayers, sis kd.

Good Morning one and all....
I have a prayer request this morning for one of my nursing home ladies. Her name is Trudy, she is facing colon surgery on the 10th of November....and her 46 year old son is facing the same thing....they are both born again believers....please pray for these needs, as the Lord brings them to mind....thank you...

HOLA

Hello one and all....It has been awhile since blogging last.
So many things have happened. Happy things, learning things, quiet times, sad times.
But, the Lord has been there in all of them, helping me, holding me, guiding me.
This is my favorite time of year....The horses are getting heavy coats. The flowers have such vibrant colors....It is nice and cool at night but still warm during the day, oh, and the leaves what a beautiful color palette the Lord has made for His children to enjoy. It is a time to appreciate all the blessings we have been given. It is a time to bundle up in front of the wood stove, read your bible, ponder the things of the Lord and to reflect on Him. It is a time to go to the orchard and get apples then bring them home, wash them up, then dip them in caramel. It is a time to pop corn and settle in for an evening of enjoying the company of friends and fellow shipping with brothers and sisters......I love this time of year.
I have missed blogging, I have missed reading blogs. For right now, I am back for a season....Love and prayers, sis katie.

Praise the Lord

Thank you Saints for praying.
My family member had their surgery as scheduled on Monday. Everything went well.
They have been released from the hosp....thank you for praying for my loved one.
Sis Katie

Mr Miller

Babs Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed
a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily
apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of
fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation
between
Mr.Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas.
Sure
look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like to take some home?"

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here."

"Is that right? Let me see it."

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I
sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"

"Not zackley. but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next
trip this way let me look at that red marble."

"Sure will Thanks Mr. Miller."


Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help
me.
With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our
community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to
bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they
come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he
doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce
for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man.
A
short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of
this man, the boys, and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.
Just
recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho
community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They
were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to
go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell
into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever
words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army
uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white
shirts...all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by
her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on
the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.

Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each
young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold
pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his
eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and
mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes
glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket

"Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you
about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded"
them.
Now,at last,when Jim could not change his mind about color or
size....they came to pay their debt."

"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,"
she
confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in
Idaho "

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her
deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red
marbles.

Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our
kind
deeds.

Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the
moments that take our breath.

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles..A fresh pot of
coffee you didn't make yourself. An unexpected phone call from an old
friend.
Green
stoplights on your way to work. The fastest line at the grocery store.
A
good sing-along song on the radio. Your keys right where you left them.


Hello all....love and prayers, sis katie.

Please Pray

You have heard the old addage.....you only phone home when you want or need something.
It is Sunday morning, I have a family member who needs prayer. This family
member is not saved.
This family member is facing a surgery followed by radiation treatments....within the next two weeks.
The Dr's say there is a 85 percent cure rate.......thank you for praying....love and prayers, sis katie.

Information Please...

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.

My first personal experience with this genie-in the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.

The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the foot stool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information"

"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.

"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.

"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.

"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.

After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."

"Information," said the now familiar voice.

"How do you spell fix?" I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much.

"Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.

As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please."

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information."

I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time."

"I wonder", she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."

Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered "Information."

I asked for Sally.

"Are you a friend?" She said.

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this", she said. "Sally had been working part- time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."

Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"

"Yes."

"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."

The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.



***** Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
Whose life have you touched today??? *****