Thoughts & Stories of Inspiration
Compiled by Hannah's Prayer
"The value of persistent prayer is not that He will hear us . . . but that we will finally hear Him." -William McGill, Guideposts Magazine, Jan. 1997.
Wait is a poem that has caused more response than any other single article we have ever shared in the Hannah's Prayer newsletter. There are no words to do it justice in trying to describe it. You must read it for yourself!
Empty Womb is a powerful poem expressing the feelings of many infertile women in their struggle to give the pain to God.
"Childless Mother" & "A Mother's Prayer" provide a rare and wonderful look into the understanding and comfort that are possible between generations as a grown child longs for children of her own.
The Golden Gates, One Day and Now... are three poems or songs focusing on the glory of Heaven and offering encouragement for anyone who has suffered the loss of a child.
Spiritual Healing is an essay written by a bereaved Christian father who has lost five children: three to miscarriage, one as a toddler, and one as an older child. He addresses topics such as patience with God and faith's roll in grief. Well written.
I just found your web site and I read some of the Spring 1997 newsletter and I wanted to thank you and your organization. The poem "Will Anyone Ever Call Me Mommy" really hit home. Even though I'm a man, I know how difficult it has been for my wife (and me) not being able to have a child. We have thought some of the same things that were expressed in that poem. I am 50 and it still hurts, I wish there had been a support group like this 27 years ago when we were trying to have a child. We never would have made it without God's help. Thanks again-Gary
The next several articles are posted on this page in their entirety. Click on the title to take you to the story of your choice.
Someone Understands My Pain
(recurrent
pregnancy loss)
One Infertile / Bereaved Mother's Story
"Not Yet"
(withstanding
trials)
The Smell of Rain
(premature birth)
Information Please
(infertility)
Different Trips to the Same Place
(adoption
after infertility)
He Only Took My Hand
(death of a
child)
Childless
(God can use your
pain for His glory!)
Letter from Jesus
(Words of
encouragement, woven together from the pages of Scripture.)
The Old Mule - "Shake it off and step
up."
(Adversity to Blessing)
Can't I just use a Band-Aid?
(Pain
Needed for Healing to Come.)
Does God Still Speak To
Us?
(God's provisions for questioning Christian and a needy baby.)
God's Loan
(death
of a child)
Time to Pray
(remembering
God's priorites for my life)
The Butterfly
(reason
behind adversity)
10/23/96, Kelly wrote: There we are, holding hands and looking anxiously at the monitor for a heartbeat... and the doctor isn't saying a word. For what seemed like hours he searched for something to show us. He finally tells us he can't find what he is looking for, but the tears running down my face tell him I already know that. He finds what should have been my baby... only it has been inactive for at least 3 to 4 days so there will be nothing left to even do any testing on.
I had one confirmed miscarriage in January '95 at 6 weeks, so why does this surprise me? I really didn't think that God would play this cruel joke on me again... AGAIN!! I know recurrent miscarriages happen to others but it was not suppose to happen to me! Who says God will only give you what you can handle? I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!!!! Tomorrow, I get to go to the OB department with all the other pregnant women to have another ultrasound before the D&C. I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!!!! On top of that, I have to carry my dead baby in my body for 2 days until they can get it out of me. I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!!!!
How am I suppose to be happy the next time I get pregnant?? How am I not suppose to be scared to death every single day? My RE is also a specialist in recurrent miscarriages and has a whole line up of tests ready for me in December, but is this suppose to make me feel better? I don't know if I can take this anymore...
Jenni wrote (in part) : Dear Kelly, ...God understands the grief of a parent's broken heart. He watched His only Son die the most cruel death imaginable. Please let Him share your pain!
Kelly: I guess this puts it all into perspective. As much as I want to almost hate God, I can't after reading this. It's so easy to forget that He does understand losing a child... If my anger, grief, or frustration helps someone else to feel that they are not alone, then I want my story printed along with the reminder that God understands our pain.
One Infertile/Bereaved Mother's Story
"I have spent days crying and begging God to bless us with children. It is so frustrating to plead and beg with God - it feels like your prayers hit a brick wall and bounce back off right into your face. It has been a slow process for me, but I was getting so discouraged and 'down in the dumps' I knew something had to change. I have had so much peace in my heart since I gave my burning desire to the One who is holding our little twins in His loving arms. I still have teary days when I think I just can't go on without a child, but the Lord is always there to hold me in His loving arms!
"He maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful mother of children. Praise ye the Lord." Psalm 113:9
"I feel like the woman in Matthew 9:20. So often I've wished that I, too, could touch the hem of His garment and be healed. She had her infirmity twelve years... I guess the important thing is for me to be yielded to the Lord's will, whether He heals me or not...
"[The twins' 4th birthday] was a rough day... I found myself experiencing the pain of parting, all over again, but God has taken the sharp sting away! More and more I find myself looking forward to seeing our children 'over There' and yet I feel a great longing to stay here and bear more children. Most of all I want to be yielded to the Lord! It is wonderful what peace and happiness God brings when you surrender your will to His. All we have to do is give it all to the One who created us. Praise the Lord for His patience and love!"
Dwane and Gayle Flory lost full-term twins, Deana Sue and Shane Dean on May 29, 1992, after birth complications. These "childless parents" have since been unable to conceive.
There was this couple who used to go to England to shop in the beautiful stores. This was their 25th Wedding Anniversary. They both liked antiques and pottery, especially teacups. One day in a beautiful fine shop, they saw this beautiful teacup. One said, "May I see that? I never have seen one quite so beautiful," and the lady handed it to him.
As she handed it to him, suddenly the teacup spoke. "You don't understand," it said, "I haven't always been a teacup. There was a time when I was red and I was clay. My master took me and rolled me and patted me over and over and I yelled out, 'Let me alone.' But he only smiled, 'Not yet.'
"Then I was placed on a spinning wheel," the teacup said, "and suddenly I was spun around and around and around and around. 'Stop it! I'm getting dizzy' I screamed. But the master only nodded and said, 'Not yet.'
"Then he put me in the oven. I'd never felt such heat! I wondered why he wanted to burn me. I yelled! I knocked at the door. I could see him through the opening and I could read his lips as he shook his head, 'Not yet.'
"Finally the door opened, he put me on the shelf and I began to cool. 'There that's better,' I said. Then he brushed me and painted me all over. The fumes were horrible. I thought I would gag. 'Stop it! Stop it!' I cried. He only nodded, 'Not yet.'
"Then suddenly he put me back into the oven, not like the first one. This was twice as hot and I knew I would suffocate. I begged. I pleaded. I screamed. I cried. All the time I could see him through the opening nodding his head, saying, ' Not Yet.'"
"Then I knew there wasn't any hope. I would never make it. I was ready to give up. But the door opened and he took me out and placed me on the shelf. One hour later, he handed me a mirror and said, 'Look at yourself,' and I did, and I said, 'That's not me, that couldn't be me, it's beautiful. I'm beautiful!'
"'I want you to remember then,' he said, 'I know it hurt to be rolled and patted, but if I just left you, you'd have dried up. I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled. I know it hurt and it was hot and disagreeable in the oven, but if I hadn't put you there, you would have cracked. I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over, but if I hadn't done that, you never would have hardened. You would not have had any color in your life, and if I hadn't put you back in that second oven, you wouldn't survive for very long because the hardness would not have held. Now you are a finished product. You are what I had in mind when I first began with you.'"
That's life, friends. That's my life and it is your life. Some of you are in the oven, screaming, hollering, "Let me out of here!" Some of you are getting painted and the fumes are bothering you and driving you crazy. Some of you are spinning around and you don't know where you are. You're saying "What's going on? It's a mess here," and the Master keeps looking and saying, "Not yet, not yet." You see, you've got to trust Him.
Author Unknown
Reprinted with permission from
Bereaved Parents Share
This story has been circulated around the internet for a long time. The author is unknown, but it is said to be a true story. We have had several requests to post this on our web site. It is a story about the premature birth of a little girl and God's hand at work to show His tender care in the miraculous healing of her body. This glimpse into the fellowship between God and the tiniest of babies is wonderful indeed!
Realizing that a miracle is, by definition, something that God causes to happen outside the realm of the "normal" or "usual" pattern of events, you may be struggling with questions about why God did not preform such a miracle in the life of your own baby. If you are facing the recent death of your child, you may not want to read this story at this time. By posting this story, we are in no way suggesting that babies die because of lack of faith on the part of their parents or because God has turned His back on them. Rather, this story is intended to paint a realistic picture of the anguish of parents with premature babies in NICU, while offering hope to those parents whose children are currently in this situation. May this story also serve to remind the parents of all babies - those still on earth and those already in Heaven - that our loving Lord holds each little one in His comforting arms.
The Smell of Rain
A cold March wind danced around the dead of night in Dallas as the doctor walked into the small hospital room of Diana Blessing. Still groggy from surgery, her husband David held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news. That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24-weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency cesarean to deliver the couple's new daughter, Danae Lu Blessing. At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound and nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature.
Still, the doctor's soft words dropped like bombs. " I don't think she's going to make it," he said, as kindly as he could. "There's only a 10 percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one."
Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Danae would likely face if she survived. She would never walk; she would never talk; she would probably be blind; she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation; and on and on.
"No! No!" was all Diana could say. She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four. Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away.
Through the dark hours of morning as Danae held onto life by the thinnest thread, Diana slipped in and out of drugged sleep, growing more and more determined that their tiny daughter would live -- and live to be a healthy, happy young girl. But David, fully awake and listening to additional dire details of their daughter's chances of ever leaving the hospital alive, much less healthy, knew he must confront his wife with the inevitable.
"David walked in and said that we need to talk about making funeral arrangements," Diana remembers, "I felt so bad for him because he was doing everything, trying to include me in what was going on, but I just wouldn't listen, I couldn't listen." I said, "No, that is not going to happen, no way! I don't care what the doctors say. Danae is not going to die! One day she will be just fine, and she will be coming home with us!"
As if willed to live by Diana's determination, Danae clung to life hour after hour, with the help of every medical machine and marvel her miniature body could endure.
But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because Danae's underdeveloped nervous system was essentially "raw," the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort. So they couldn't even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love. All they could do, as Danae struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl.
There was never a moment when Danae suddenly grew stronger. But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there.
At last, when Danae turned two months old, her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time. And two months later -- though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero -- Danae went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.
Today, five years later, Danae is a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life. She shows no signs, whatsoever, of any mental or physical impairments. Simply, she is everything a little girl can be and more -- but that happy ending is far from the end of her story.
One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Danae was sitting in her mother's lap in the bleachers of a local ballpark where her brother Dustin's baseball team was practicing. As always, Danae was chattering nonstop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby when she suddenly fell silent.
Hugging her arms across her chest, Danae asked, "Do you smell that?" Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, "Yes, it smells like rain." Danae closed her eyes and again asked, "Do you smell that?" Once again, her mother replied, "Yes, I think we're about to get wet, it smells like rain."
Still caught in the moment, Danae shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands, and loudly announced, "No, it smalls like Him. It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest."
Tears blurred Diana's eyes as Danae then happily hopped down to play with the other children. Before the rain came, her daughter's words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along.
During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Danae on His chest -- and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.
Sandra Glahn (coauthor of When Empty Arms Become a Heavy Burden) sent us this inspirational email about how those who are childless can still make a lasting impact on the lives of children longing for love. It was originally sent to her by the chaplain's assistant at Dallas Seminary who received it from Zondervan's e-mail service. It was in honor of Christian singer Rich Mullins who was killed in a car accident 9/97. Sandra explained that she sent it to me because it "is so timely and appropriate in light of our grief. I hope this ministers to you as it has to me."
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 footstool 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?"
"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."
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, and she told me my pet chipmunk I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.
And there was the time that 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. Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up 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. Then 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 hall table.
Yet 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 plane, and 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 again the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information."
I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you tell me please . . . how to spell fix?" There was a long pause.
Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess that 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, just ask for Sally."
Just three months later I was back in Seattle . . . A different voice answered Information and I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?"
"Yes, a very old friend."
"Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." But 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. Here it is. I'll read it: '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 did know what Sally meant.
This story has been posted on various adoption email lists and newsgroups for quite a while. It was first sent to me by Julie Donahue from Ladies In Waiting, but I have seen it several times since. I wish I could better credit the originating source, but a lady named Diane Armitage seems to be the author. I hope you enjoy this word picture of the adoption "journey" as much as I did.
Different Trips to the Same Place
Deciding to have a baby is like planning a trip to Australia. You've heard it's a wonderful place, you've read many guidebooks and feel certain you're ready to go. Everyone you know had traveled there by plane. They say it can be a turbulent flight with occasional rough landings, but you can look forward to being pampered on the trip.
So you go to the airport and ask the ticket agent for ticket to Australia. All around you, excited people are boarding planes for Australia. It seems there is no seat for you; you'll have to wait for the next flight. Impatient, but anticipating a wonderful trip, you wait, and wait and wait.
Flights to Australia come and go. People say silly things like, "relax, you'll get on a flight soon." Other people actually get on a plane and then cancel their trip to which you cry, "It's not fair."
After a long time the ticket agent tells you, "I'm sorry, we're not going to be able to get you on a plane to Australia. Perhaps you should think about going by boat.
"By boat!" you say. Going by boat will take a very long time and it costs a great deal of money. I really had my heart set on going by plane. So you go home and think about not going to Australia at all. You wonder if Australia will be as beautiful if you approach it by sea rather than air.
But you have dreamed of this wonderful place and finally you decide to travel by boat. It is a long trip, many months over many rough seas. No one pampers you. You wonder if you will ever see Australia. Meanwhile, your friends have flown back and forth to Australia two or three more times, marveling about each trip.
Then one glorious day the boat docks in Australia. It is more exquisite than you ever imagined, and the beauty is magnified by your long days at sea. You have made many wonderful friends during you voyage, and you find yourself comparing stories with others who also travelled by sea rather than air.
People continue to fly to Australia as often as they like, but you are able to travel only once, perhaps twice. Some say things like, "Oh, be glad you didn't fly. My flight was horrible; traveling by sea is so easy." You will always wonder what it would have been like to fly to Australia. Still, you know God Blessed you with a special appreciation of Australia, and the beauty of Australia is not the way you get there, but in the place itself.
Last night while I was trying to sleep,
My son's voice I did hear
I opened my eyes and looked around,
But he did not appear
He said, "Mom you've got to listen,
You've got to understand
God didn't take me from you, mom
He only took my hand.
When I called out in pain that night,
The instant that I died,
He reached down and took my hand,
And pulled me to His side.
He pulled me up and saved me
From the misery and pain.
My body was hurt so badly inside,
I could never be the same.
My search is really over now,
I've found happiness within,
All the answers to my empty dreams
And all that might have been.
I love you all and miss you so,
And I'll always be nearby.
My body's gone forever,
But my spirit will never die!
And so, you must all go on now,
Live one day at a time.
Just understand- God did not take me from you,
He only took my hand.
- author unknown
This story came to us through my friend, Karen Brim, who found it posted by a woman named Arianne on the Weigh Down Workshop in August of 1998. There was no author credited and no email address posted, so we have no way to trace its origin or confirm the facts, but such an encouraging story had to be added to our collection! It is said to be true...
Childless
There was a village that over the years suffered from disease and lack of food. Many missionary families had stayed for a term with little success in conversions. A new couple came to preach the gospel, a childless couple. Although they had prayed for children, the woman had miscarriages, and they were heartbroken. The missionary family packed their things, they prayed for the new couple, and hoped that they might have more success in preaching to the villagers, they departed. As time went by, the village women came to the missionary woman, and said, "All the others that came had many children. We have suffered from miscarriages and barrenness because of the sickness and lack of food in our village. We could not listen to the other women about their God because they had children. But you have suffered like we have, and we will listen to you about your God." The missionary couple were able to have many converts there, because they knew they had suffered like them.
My Dear Child:
My love, I love you. (John 15:9) I have
called you by your name, you are mine (Isaiah 43:1). Before I formed you, I
knew you. And before you were born, I consecrated you. (Jeremiah 1:5). You did
not choose me, I chose you. (John15:16). Beloved, I wish above all things that
you prosper and be in good health, even as your soul prospers. (III John 2).
Because
you are precious to me, and honored, I love you (Isaiah 43:4). I have loved you
with an everlasting love and I will continue my Constant love. (Jeremiah 31:3).
How can I abandon you? My love for you is too strong (Hosea 11:8). I love you
so much that I hung on the cross at Calvary. I died for you, and if you believe
in Me you will have everlasting life (John 3:16). Can a woman forget her own
baby and not love the child she bore? Yet, even should she forget, I will never
forget you. I cannot forget you. See, I have hold you in the palm of my hands
(Isaiah 49: 15-16). For I, the Lord your God, am holding you by the right hand
(Isaiah 41:13). I am with you always until the end of the world (Matthew
28: 20).
Do not let your heart be troubled, trust in me (John 14:1). I will
help you (Isaiah 41: 14). When you pass through the deep waters, I will be with
you. Your troubles will not overwhelm you. The hard trials that will come will
not hurt you (Isaiah 43:2). When you walk through the valley of the shadows of
death, do not be afraid because I am with you. My rod and my staff will comfort
you. I will lead you in the path of righteousness (Psalms 23). I will give you
peace in the midst of a storm, not as the world giveth. Let not your heart be
troubled, neither let it be afraid (John 14:27). Peace I give which will pass
all understanding and shall keep your heart and mind (Philippians 4:7). When you
lie down do not be afraid, your sleep shall be sweet (Proverbs 3: 24). My love
for you will keep your dwelling safe (Psalm 4:8).
Beloved my eyes are upon
you and I will give you hope, for I am merciful (Psalm 33:18). You will have
access to my grace and rejoice in hope while sharing in the glory of my Father
(Romans 5:2). I will give you joy and peace. The mountains and hills will sing,
and the trees will clasp their hands before you (Isaiah 55:12). You may have
sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your heart will rejoice and no one
will take your joy from you (John 16:22).
Do not worry (Luke 12:9). Even the
hairs of your head have all been counted, so there is no need to be afraid of
anything (Matthew 10:30). The mountains may depart and the hills will be shaken
but my steadfast love for you will never end (John 54:10). Come unto me, all ye
that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28). Come,
my love (Solomon 2:10). Come, I will lead you into solitude and there I will
speak tenderly to your heart. I will be true and faithful. I will show you
constant love and make you mine forever. I will keep my promise, and you will
really know me then as never before (Hosea1:14,19-20). I am who I am (Exodus
3:14). I am the Lord your God. (Hosea 13:4).
Your Faithful Friend,
Jesus
The will of God will never take you,
Where the grace of God cannot keep you,
Where the arms of God cannot support you,
Where the riches of God cannot supply your needs,
Where the power of God cannot endow you.
The will of God will never take you,
Where the Spirit of God cannot work through you,
Where the wisdom of God cannot teach you,
Where the army of God cannot protect you,
Where the hands of God cannot mold you.
The will of God will never take you,
Where the love of God cannot enfold you,
Where the mercies of God cannot sustain you,
Where the peace of God cannot calm your fears,
Where the authority of God cannot overrule for you.
The will of God will never take you,
Where the comfort of God cannot dry your tears,
Where the Word of God cannot feed you,
Where the miracles of God cannot be done for you,
Where the omnipresence of God cannot find you.
- Author Unknown
The Old Mule ("Shake it off and step up.")
The mule was old and tired when he fell into the well. After carefully assessing the situation, the farmer sympathized with the mule, but decided that neither the mule nor the well were worth the trouble to remove him from the well. Instead he called his neighbors together and told them what had happened...and enlisted them to help haul dirt to bury the old mule in the well and put him out of his misery.
Initially, the old mule was hysterical! But as the farmer and his neighbors continued shoveling and the dirt hit his back. It suddenly dawned on him that every time a shovel load of dirt landed on his back, he should shake it off and step up! This he did blow after blow.
"Shake it off and step up...shake it off and step up...shake it off." No matter how painful the blows, or distressing the situation seemed the old mule just kept right on SHAKING IT OFF AND STEPPING UP!
It was not long before the old mule, battered and exhausted, stepped triumphantly over the wall of that well. What seemed like it would bury him, actually blessed him...all the manner in which he handled his adversity. That's life! If we face our problems and respond to them positively, and refuse to give in to panic, bitterness or self-pity, the adversities that come along to bury us usually have within them the potential to benefit and bless us!
- Author Unknown
It really didn't hurt much. The cut was about a half inch long, and perhaps a quarter inch deep, exactly the width of a hacksaw blade. It was more embarrassing than painful, but bled enough to produce sympathy from the coldest of hearts. In fact, the most painful part of the ordeal was the injection that the ER doctor gave to numb my injured finger -- that needle hurt more than ten hacksaws. Once my finger was numb, the doctor started serious work on the cut, and things really started getting interesting. He was much more aggressive in cleaning the wound than the nurse had been. Not only did he scrub the skin around the laceration, he spread the tissue apart and dug around inside it, looking for (and retrieving) bits of metal, plastic, and other debris that had been on the saw blade. He forcibly flushed the inside of the cut with saline solution, almost as though he were "hosing out" the injured area. He flushed the wound several times before he was satisfied, and only then did he begin stitching the two sides together.
Through all of this, of course, my finger was quite thoroughly without feeling -- a fact for which I was quite thankful. It wasn't until a few hours later, when the anesthetic began to fade, that I really began to experience pain -- considerably more pain than I had experienced from the original injury. I have to admit that I found myself wondering if I would have been farther ahead to have just bandaged the cut myself rather than seeking treatment and increasing my pain. I didn't contemplate that issue long; experience has taught me that wounds like this heal faster and better when properly cleaned and treated.
We are all wounded to some extent. Some are wounded from broken or troubled relationships, divorce, or loss of a significant person or position. Others struggle with even deeper wounds, caused by abuse. Others wrestle with wounds that they don't understand, and may not even recognize. Every one of us has the basic wound of depravity -- the natural tendency to sin and rebel against God.
All of these wounds have much in common with my saw-cut finger. These wounds cause pain and discomfort. We often put band-aids on them and hope that they will heal, a subtle form of denial. Like my saw cut, these heart wounds are filled with debris -- painful memories, anger, resentment, bitterness, and even rage. If not properly cleansed and treated, they can become infected and inflict even more pain, creating a repeating cycle of emotional pain and infection that can sometimes even prove fatal.
Why do we allow these wounds of the heart to fester out of control? Sometimes, it seems preferable to the pain that we face when opening those wounds, cleaning them, and bandaging them. It's easier to close our hearts, and keep it all inside, easier to deny the heartache and "put on a happy face." It hurts to probe around inside those wounds and remove the hidden anger and resentment. It's hard to look into those wounds and see our hearts honestly. It seems to hurt a lot less to deny the wound, anesthetize ourselves with activity and noise, and pretend that there's nothing wrong. Unfortunately, denial and deterioration always walk hand in hand.
If you are wounded, I have good news for you. Your wounds can be healed. Yes, there will be discomfort in that process, and you may experience even more pain for a time, but after those festering wounds have been cleaned out and stitched up, your healing can begin. Soon, your pain will fade and you will begin replacing denial with genuine recovery.
No, you can't do it alone. Just as I could not clean and suture my own wounded finger, you cannot clean and bandage your own wounded heart. You need the help of a committed, caring, trusted friend who knows how to gently perform the "heart surgery" necessary to your recovery, and there is no better example of such a caring, compassionate healer than Jesus Christ.
- Author Unknown
"He heals the brokenhearted, and bandages their wounds." (Psalm 147:3).
A young man had been to Wednesday night Bible study. The pastor had shared about listening to God and obeying the Lord's voice. The young man couldn't help but wonder, "Does God still speak to people?"
After service he went out with some friends for coffee and pie and they discussed the message. Several different ones talked about how God had led them in different ways. It was about ten o'clock when the young man started driving home. Sitting in his car, he just began to pray "God.. If you still speak to people speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey."
As he drove down the main street of his town, he had the strangest thought, stop and buy a gallon of milk. He shook his head and said out loud, "God is that you?" He didn't get a reply and started on toward home. But again, the thought, buy a gallon of milk. The young man thought about Samuel and how he didn't recognize the voice of God, and how little Samuel ran to Eli. "Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk." It didn't seem like too hard a test of obedience. He could always use the milk. He stopped and purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home.
As he passed Seven Street, he again felt the urge, "Turn down that street." This is crazy he thought and drove on past the intersection. Again, he felt that he should turn down Seventh Street. At the next intersection, he turned back and headed down Seventh. Half jokingly, he said out loud, "Okay, God, I will". He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. He pulled over to the curb and looked around. He was in a semi-commercial area of town. It wasn't the best but it wasn't the worst of neighborhood either. The businesses were closed and most of the houses looked dark like the people were already in bed.
Again, he sensed something, "Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street." The young man looked at the house. It was dark and it looked like the people were either gone or they were already asleep. He started to open the door and then sat back in the car seat. "Lord, this is insane. Those people are asleep and if I wake them up,they are going to be mad and I will look stupid." Again, he felt like he should go and give the milk. Finally, he opened the door, "Okay God, if this is you, I will go to the door and I will give them the milk. If you want me to look like a crazy person, okay. I want to be obedient. I guess that will count for something but if they don't answer right away, I am out of here."
He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear somenoise inside. A man's voice yelled out, "Who is it? What do you want?" Then the door opened before the young man could get away. The man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt. He looked like he just got out of bed. He had a strange look on his face and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep. "What is it?" The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, "Here I brought this to you."
The man took the milk and rushed down a hall way speaking loudly in Spanish. Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying. The man had tears streaming do his face. The man began speaking and half crying, "We were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk."
His wife in the kitchen yelled out, "I ask Him to send an Angel with some.. Are you an Angel?" The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had on him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back toward his car and the tears were streaming down his face. He knew that God still answers prayers.
- Author Unknown
"I'll send you for a little time, A child of mine," He said, "For you to love the while he lives And mourn for when he's dead. "It may six or seven years Or twenty-two or three, But will you till I call him back, Take care of him for me? "He'll bring his charms to gladden you And should his stay be brief, You'll have these precious memories, As solace for your grief. "I cannot promise he will stay Since all from earth return. But there are lessons taught down there I want this child to learn. "I've looked this whole world over, In my search for teachers true. And in the crowds that throng life's land, I have selected you. "Now will you give him all your love Not think the labour vain, Nor hate me when I come to call To take him back again?" It seems to me I heard them say, "Dear Lord, Thy Will be done. For all the joys thy child shall bring, The risk of grief we'll run. "We'll shelter him with tenderness, We'll love him while we may, And for the happiness we've known Forever grateful stay. "And should the angels call for him Much sooner than we'd planned, We'll brave the bitter grief that comes And try to understand.
- Edgar Guest
I got up early one morning and rushed into the day;
I had
so much to accomplish that I didn't have time to pray.
Problems just tumbled
about me, and heavier came each task.
"Why doesn't God help me?" I
wondered.
He answered, "You didn't ask."
I wanted to see joy
and beauty, but the day toiled on, gray and bleak;
I wondered why God didn't
show me.
He said, "But you didn't seek."
I tried to come into
God's presence;
I used all my keys at the lock.
God gently and lovingly
chided, "My child, you didn't knock."
I woke up early this
morning, and paused before entering the day;
I had so much to accomplish
that I had to take time to pray.
- Author Unknown
A man found the cocoon of a butterfly. One day a small opening appeared. He sat and watched the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little hole. Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and it could go no further. So the man decided to help the butterfly, he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon.
The butterfly then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. The man continued to watch the butterfly because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time. Neither happened! In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings. It never was able to fly.
What the man in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening were God's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon.
Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life. If God allowed us to go through our life without any obstacles, it would cripple us. We would not be as strong as what we could have been. We could never fly.
I asked for Strength......... And God gave me Difficulties to
make me strong.
I asked for Wisdom......... And God gave me Problems to
solve.
I asked for Prosperity......... And God gave me Brain and Brawn to
work.
I asked for Courage......... And God gave me Danger to overcome.
I
asked for Love......... And God gave me Troubled people to help.
I asked for
Favours......... And God gave me Opportunities.
I received nothing I wanted.
I
received everything I needed.
- Author Unknown
In 1967 while taking a class in photography at the University of Cincinnati, I became acquainted with a young man named Charles Murray who also was a student at the school and training for the summer Olympics of 1968 as a high diver. Charles was very patient with me as I would speak to him for hours about Jesus Christ and how He had saved me.
Charles was not raised in a home that attended any kind of church, so all that I had to tell him was a fascination to him. He even began to ask questions about forgiveness of sin. Finally the day came that I put a question to him. I asked if he realized his own need of a Redeemer and if he was ready to trust Christ as his own Savior. I saw his countenance fall and the guilt in his face. But his reply was a strong "no".
In the days that followed he was quiet and often I felt that he was avoiding me, until I got a phone call and it was Charles. He wanted to know where to look in the New Testament for some verses that had given him about salvation. I gave him the reference to several passages and asked if I could meet with him. He declined my offer and thanked me for the Scripture. I could tell that he was greatly troubled, but I did not know where he was or how to help him.
Because he was training for the Olympic games, Charles had special privileges at the University pool facilities. Some time between 10:30 and 11:00 that evening he decided to go swim and practice a few dives. It was a clear night in October and the moon was big and bright. The University pool was housed under a ceiling of glass panes so the moon shone bright across the top of the wall in the pool area. Charles climbed to the highest platform to take his first dive. At that moment the Spirit of God began to convict him of his sins. All the scripture he had read, all the occasions of witnessing to him about Christ flooded his mind.
He stood on the platform backwards to make his dive, spread his arms to gather his balance, looked up to the wall and saw his own shadow caused by the light of the moon. It was the shape of a cross. He could bear the urden of his sin no longer. His heart broke and he sat down on the platform and asked God to forgive him and save him. He trusted Jesus Christ twenty some feet in the air.
Suddenly, the lights in the pool area came on. The attendant had come in to check the pool. As Charles looked down from his platform he saw an empty pool which had been drained for repairs. He had almost plummeted to his death, but the cross had stopped him from disaster.
- Author Unknown
"For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth" (Romans 1:16).
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