Wondering where 2013 went was where I began with my annual Christmas Poem. How is it that the 365 days we are given in one year fly by so fast? Wasn't it only yesterday that we were looking ahead to 2013 with high hopes and visions of what we could accomplish? Yet, we come to it's end and feel a let down because we realize we let many opportunities slip and as a result, have not yet seen those hopes and visions come to fruition. Perhaps all is not as it seems... perhaps some of our problem is our perception. We seem to have extremely narrow vision; mostly, it's an inward, "me" focus. As the old saying goes, "We can't see the forest for the trees."
Gaining a broader, wider view forces us to step back, to step up to a higher level. When all is said and done, the only perspective that truly matters is God's. We will be judged according to His set of books; not ours, and not anyone else's. At this transition between what's past and what's to come, I have tried to utilize my own "present" realities as a stepping stone; to stand on them and rethink them as manifestations of how God has brought me to this point in life.
I suppose age has something to do with it, because length of days reveals the aging process not only works on you, it's also working on your children and grandchildren. Both of my daughters are now in their forties. My oldest grandson has just graduated from Marine Basic Training. My youngest grandchild will soon be eight years old. I see signs of wear and tear in my own body as recently as yesterday, when an update of my medical records notified me that I have no less than eleven health issues, most of which are not serious, (thankfully,) but three of them bear close attention and affect multiple areas of my life, including my mobility.
From strong and able to do just about anything I set my mind to just a few years ago, to a cane, a walker, and a wheelchair betimes is a rude awakening to the unrelenting process of aging. Thankfully, the Lord has been right here throughout. He awakens me in the morning with songs and verses of Scripture that bring comfort and joy. He gives me thoughts that turn into letters and articles; words of encouragement for others. He gives me His grace and the strength to be faithful in my responsibilities. My children and grandchildren are learning and growing in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ - I see this and feel an overwhelming sense of peace and great joy, knowing He is able to complete the work He began - not only in me, but in them also. This realization has me looking forward with great hope to 2014.
Happy New Year!
Maranatha!
Showing posts with label Testimony. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Testimony. Show all posts
Friday, January 03, 2014
Monday, March 26, 2012
Re-Thinking "Oh, Moanie Me!"
I've been dealing with a physical dilemma since July of 2008. Like quicksand, it's affected so many things in my life; my body, aches and pains, mobility, mood, and my livelihood (forcing early retirement). What's more, the sheer length of time involved has been an additional drag. Seems like everything I've always loved to do is in a holding pattern. Painful days have found me limping and gimping around the house and anywhere else. From some unknown somewhere, I picked up a little saying, "Oh, moanie me!" Believe me, it got frequent use.
Then, I realized the "Oh, moanie me's" I've immersed myself in are counter-productive. I'm all too aware of how long I've been in this case, but I'm seeing that dwelling on that aspect only hinders progress in other, more needful areas. All this came in the course of, and as a result of a couple of week's study and ponderfication on the Adult SS lesson I taught yesterday (March 25th) - "The Prayer of Moses." (Psalm 90).
Condensed; God is our Dwelling Place, our Refuge and Shelter, our Portion, and our Reward - there is no safer place to be - it is enough! HE is enough! Wow!
This may seem like no big revelation, sort of a "Duh!"; but when I applied it to my own situation it was like a light suddenly came on in a dark room. If my life exists, consists, and is wrapped up in HIM, I am rich beyond compare - my current (temporal) condition/situation has no bearing on that reality.
Think about it! HE is both Author and Finisher of our faith. "HE who began a good work in you will perform it until the day..." Seeing that in the abstract is way different than perceiving its specific application. It has nothing to do with so-called "eternal security." It has everything to do with Who and What HE is! My circumstances, uncomfortable and difficult though they may be, cannot deplete HIM. I needed to once again realize it never has been, isn't now, and never will be my own grace or strength... Thousands of years ago, Moses knew and fleshed this out in life and in his prayer - the 90th Psalm. Meditating on his perspective brought me to a need to re-commit my life, my health, my hopes, my aspirations - and wrap them all up in HIM.
And as to any current dilemma/s, HIS Word says, "MY grace is sufficient - MY strength is made perfect in [your] weakness," (Okay - I think I've got my part of that equation pretty well covered.)
P.S. I know I may be preaching to the choir on this. Still, it's been an exciting weekend - even had the opportunity to back up what I've said herein with a public declaration/testimony last night during service. Hmm... Here's a bonus thought: It appears there's something very important about making an open statement for which you can be held accountable. Here's a well-known example. After posting his 95 Thesis, Martin Luther was required to defend himself. During that trial, he said, "Here I stand, I can do no other."
Next time you commit or re-commit something to God, tell somebody about it. That's what I just did!
Then, I realized the "Oh, moanie me's" I've immersed myself in are counter-productive. I'm all too aware of how long I've been in this case, but I'm seeing that dwelling on that aspect only hinders progress in other, more needful areas. All this came in the course of, and as a result of a couple of week's study and ponderfication on the Adult SS lesson I taught yesterday (March 25th) - "The Prayer of Moses." (Psalm 90).
Condensed; God is our Dwelling Place, our Refuge and Shelter, our Portion, and our Reward - there is no safer place to be - it is enough! HE is enough! Wow!
This may seem like no big revelation, sort of a "Duh!"; but when I applied it to my own situation it was like a light suddenly came on in a dark room. If my life exists, consists, and is wrapped up in HIM, I am rich beyond compare - my current (temporal) condition/situation has no bearing on that reality.
Think about it! HE is both Author and Finisher of our faith. "HE who began a good work in you will perform it until the day..." Seeing that in the abstract is way different than perceiving its specific application. It has nothing to do with so-called "eternal security." It has everything to do with Who and What HE is! My circumstances, uncomfortable and difficult though they may be, cannot deplete HIM. I needed to once again realize it never has been, isn't now, and never will be my own grace or strength... Thousands of years ago, Moses knew and fleshed this out in life and in his prayer - the 90th Psalm. Meditating on his perspective brought me to a need to re-commit my life, my health, my hopes, my aspirations - and wrap them all up in HIM.
And as to any current dilemma/s, HIS Word says, "MY grace is sufficient - MY strength is made perfect in [your] weakness," (Okay - I think I've got my part of that equation pretty well covered.)
P.S. I know I may be preaching to the choir on this. Still, it's been an exciting weekend - even had the opportunity to back up what I've said herein with a public declaration/testimony last night during service. Hmm... Here's a bonus thought: It appears there's something very important about making an open statement for which you can be held accountable. Here's a well-known example. After posting his 95 Thesis, Martin Luther was required to defend himself. During that trial, he said, "Here I stand, I can do no other."
Next time you commit or re-commit something to God, tell somebody about it. That's what I just did!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Wonder of Wonders!
Wonder of wonders, Amazing grace,
That JESUS in love would die in my place;
Marvelous mystery that ALL my past history -
Should become HIS story! To GOD be all Glory!
[See Ephesians 2:4-7.]
by mjk ~ April 11, 2011
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Just Thinking About Ice
It's winter in Michigan. The snow is falling, temperatures are well below freezing and there's an ice dam forming on the eaves of my roof. If it stays cold the ice dam will grow. When the sun comes out, it's insidious icy fingers will wedge their way under the shingles and as it re-freezes it will wreak havoc on what's underneath. The thing is - ice is so neat when you're skating on it or watching it form patterns on your windows, but it's tricky if you're walking on it or trying to drive over it. I've watched folks slip and fall - they were briefly in the most ludicrous positions before landing. Some got up, looked around to see who was watching, dusted themselves off and continued on their way. Others couldn't get up without help; I know...
One February, I was visiting with my brother and sister-in-law. An ice storm outside had turned their sidewalk into a sheet of wet glass. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself by holding on to the porch pillar and stepped down. How futile! In a flash, I hit the porch, Bang! - and continued sliding... Thump! Off the porch and onto the slippery, wet and oh so cold cement. I couldn't get up. Icy rain soaked my hatless head, coat and clothes. My brother tried to help but couldn't haul on me and keep his footing too. Then my quick-thinking sister-in-law turned, ran into the house and brought out a beautiful Turkish rug, tossing it onto the icy cement. By standing on it, my brother was able to help me to my feet and I gingerly made my way home. Within a couple of days, black and blue was the color of an unbelieveable portion of my back and I was stiff for days!
Now in the summer, ice is a welcome addition to water, tea or lemonade. You want it in the cooler when you're on a picnic. You'll freeze your fruit drink to help keep the food in your lunch box cold - and a bucket full of ice graces most every party.
Got to thinking on these things... Ice is the common denominator, yes, yet how welcome it is depends on what's going on around the ice. Inside a heated house, with a good book, a cup of hot chocolate and a glowing fireplace; the ice outside is pretty to look at but not much of a threat. However, when folks are outside, they hurry. The wind chill, temperature and what's happening with the weather (ice storm, freezing rain, sleet, or snow,) focuses their attention on getting indoors. Here's the remarkable part - the same ice that terrifies us in the winter is a welcome addition to summer fun. Speaks volumes about environment and attitude doesn't it?
Job said, "...as the stream of brook they pass away; which are blackish by reason of the ice, wherein the snow is hid. What time they wax warm, they vanish: when it is hot, they are consumed out of their place. The paths of their way are turned aside; they go to nothing, and perish." (Job 6:15-17) "Out of whose womb came the ice? And the hoary frost of heaven, who hath gendered it? The waters are hid as a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen." (Job 38:29-30)
The psalmist said, "He giveth snow like wool: He scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes. He casteth forth His ice like morsels: who can stand before His cold? He sendeth out His Word, and melteth them: He causeth His wind to blow, the waters flow." (Psalm 147:16-18)
Ice may be an adversary or a friend - it depends on where you are and what you're doing when you encounter it.
One February, I was visiting with my brother and sister-in-law. An ice storm outside had turned their sidewalk into a sheet of wet glass. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself by holding on to the porch pillar and stepped down. How futile! In a flash, I hit the porch, Bang! - and continued sliding... Thump! Off the porch and onto the slippery, wet and oh so cold cement. I couldn't get up. Icy rain soaked my hatless head, coat and clothes. My brother tried to help but couldn't haul on me and keep his footing too. Then my quick-thinking sister-in-law turned, ran into the house and brought out a beautiful Turkish rug, tossing it onto the icy cement. By standing on it, my brother was able to help me to my feet and I gingerly made my way home. Within a couple of days, black and blue was the color of an unbelieveable portion of my back and I was stiff for days!
Now in the summer, ice is a welcome addition to water, tea or lemonade. You want it in the cooler when you're on a picnic. You'll freeze your fruit drink to help keep the food in your lunch box cold - and a bucket full of ice graces most every party.
Got to thinking on these things... Ice is the common denominator, yes, yet how welcome it is depends on what's going on around the ice. Inside a heated house, with a good book, a cup of hot chocolate and a glowing fireplace; the ice outside is pretty to look at but not much of a threat. However, when folks are outside, they hurry. The wind chill, temperature and what's happening with the weather (ice storm, freezing rain, sleet, or snow,) focuses their attention on getting indoors. Here's the remarkable part - the same ice that terrifies us in the winter is a welcome addition to summer fun. Speaks volumes about environment and attitude doesn't it?
Job said, "...as the stream of brook they pass away; which are blackish by reason of the ice, wherein the snow is hid. What time they wax warm, they vanish: when it is hot, they are consumed out of their place. The paths of their way are turned aside; they go to nothing, and perish." (Job 6:15-17) "Out of whose womb came the ice? And the hoary frost of heaven, who hath gendered it? The waters are hid as a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen." (Job 38:29-30)
The psalmist said, "He giveth snow like wool: He scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes. He casteth forth His ice like morsels: who can stand before His cold? He sendeth out His Word, and melteth them: He causeth His wind to blow, the waters flow." (Psalm 147:16-18)
Ice may be an adversary or a friend - it depends on where you are and what you're doing when you encounter it.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Check This Out!
I am posting a link to "We Declare" - a website I recently reviewed and agree with wholeheartedly. (Please see the right sidebar under the category, "Links I enjoy..." for a direct connection to the "We Declare" website.)
I believe it will be a blessing and strength to your faith . . .
~ mjk
I believe it will be a blessing and strength to your faith . . .
~ mjk
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
God's in Control
God's in control - sure as sunrise this morning,
His mercies were fresh and new;
My heart hopes in Him - my Spirit is renewed,
His Word and promises are true.
Dark clouds may rise - trouble's winds may blow,
But my soul finds rest and sings;
For I'm safe in His Arms - I fear no alarm,
While I'm sheltering under His wings.
By mjk - 3/29/09
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Selling Your Inheritance
Last week, I learned that the estate of my girlhood Sunday School teacher was being sold. Through the years she had also became my friend and a mentor who always had time to discuss the things of God. So, hoping to find a memento or keepsake, I made my way to her home. The family was nowhere around. An estate sale firm was managing everything, cars filled the driveway and street.
Everywhere, people were searching through the house and garage; opening drawers, rooting through cupboards, cabinets and bookshelves, and climbing to the topmost closet shelves. If they were children, you’d have said they were snooping. One lady carted off a box of vintage patterns. (I later learned she’d sell them on the internet.) A man had a big box of electrical wiring items, still in the packages. Another woman snapped up an exercise machine. Someone else wanted her garbage cans. Everyone was finding bargains!
With a set of four new handkerchiefs, several greeting cards, (my friend’s tastes were similar to mine,) a piece of cookware to match and complete my set, a flour sifter, an original copy of "The Phenomenon of Pentecost" by Frank Ewart; I headed back through the living room with my "finds" to check out.
No, wait! There on a shelf was a pile of music I’d missed… and a complete set of choir books from the church I grew up in! I could not believe the family had bypassed this trove! Not only did it have sentimental value, but I’ve often heard how difficult it is to find a complete set of the songs our choir sang. This collection spanned twenty five years at least – from the late thirties until the early sixties. No one was paying any attention, but my heart was full. I approached the checkout lady wondering what she would charge. When the price was set at 50 cents a piece, I paid them and hurried my stuff to the car before they could change their minds...
Then sat there a while with thoughts springing up, like Jack’s beanstalk seeds... All the things my friend deemed important, the accumulations of a lifetime, yet she no longer needed them. First, they’d been sorted through by family, then pawed through by strangers in a three-day estate sale. What would happen to the residue, I do not know, but it spoke volumes about what we think is important versus what really matters.
As I leafed through the three books of choir songs, childhood memories rolled as if on a screen; the power of God filling the sanctuary with a visible, blue-ish, smoke-like haze, faithful saints (long gone to their reward,) with hands raised and glory shining from their faces, Bro. Drummond’s broken leg healed right before my eyes, Spirit saturated services making the rafters ring with worship and praise, Bro. N.J. Bibbs (from Indiana) preaching, "Where Will Eternity Find You?" the night I was baptized, the sight of hundreds of white hankies waving in the air as we sang, "In the New Jeruaslem," Sis. Helen Anderson singing, "You Must Be Born Again!", and Bro. Andy Campbell singing the lead-in song for the Sunday afternoon radio broadcast, "Pentecostal Fire is Falling!" with the announcer’s voice over, "Christ Tabernacle Church in beautiful Royal Oak, Michigan is on the air!" Vignettes of a godly heritage and its eternal significance brought tears of thanksgiving and worship.
Then came a question: Is this Truth up for sale in your estimation? What price do you place on the treasure of a clean conscience and sins covered under the Blood of Jesus? Do you appreciate the sacrifices that gave you this golden opportunity? If you do not, someone else will perceive their worth and cart them away. Their gain – your loss... but what a loss! In the company of Esau, Demas, and the foolish virgins, there will be an eternity to remember and regret.
But it doesn’t have to be that way. Jesus spoke of "treasure hidden in a field" and "a pearl of great price." A good look at Jesus makes the things of earth lose their luster. To one who perceives His value, no price is too costly, no sacrifice too dear. Ask Abraham, ask Moses, ask Paul, ask the unnamed saints of whom it was said, the "world was not worthy." (Hebrews 11:32-40) The value you place on eternal things determines the value you'll place on anything else.
Everywhere, people were searching through the house and garage; opening drawers, rooting through cupboards, cabinets and bookshelves, and climbing to the topmost closet shelves. If they were children, you’d have said they were snooping. One lady carted off a box of vintage patterns. (I later learned she’d sell them on the internet.) A man had a big box of electrical wiring items, still in the packages. Another woman snapped up an exercise machine. Someone else wanted her garbage cans. Everyone was finding bargains!
With a set of four new handkerchiefs, several greeting cards, (my friend’s tastes were similar to mine,) a piece of cookware to match and complete my set, a flour sifter, an original copy of "The Phenomenon of Pentecost" by Frank Ewart; I headed back through the living room with my "finds" to check out.
No, wait! There on a shelf was a pile of music I’d missed… and a complete set of choir books from the church I grew up in! I could not believe the family had bypassed this trove! Not only did it have sentimental value, but I’ve often heard how difficult it is to find a complete set of the songs our choir sang. This collection spanned twenty five years at least – from the late thirties until the early sixties. No one was paying any attention, but my heart was full. I approached the checkout lady wondering what she would charge. When the price was set at 50 cents a piece, I paid them and hurried my stuff to the car before they could change their minds...
Then sat there a while with thoughts springing up, like Jack’s beanstalk seeds... All the things my friend deemed important, the accumulations of a lifetime, yet she no longer needed them. First, they’d been sorted through by family, then pawed through by strangers in a three-day estate sale. What would happen to the residue, I do not know, but it spoke volumes about what we think is important versus what really matters.
As I leafed through the three books of choir songs, childhood memories rolled as if on a screen; the power of God filling the sanctuary with a visible, blue-ish, smoke-like haze, faithful saints (long gone to their reward,) with hands raised and glory shining from their faces, Bro. Drummond’s broken leg healed right before my eyes, Spirit saturated services making the rafters ring with worship and praise, Bro. N.J. Bibbs (from Indiana) preaching, "Where Will Eternity Find You?" the night I was baptized, the sight of hundreds of white hankies waving in the air as we sang, "In the New Jeruaslem," Sis. Helen Anderson singing, "You Must Be Born Again!", and Bro. Andy Campbell singing the lead-in song for the Sunday afternoon radio broadcast, "Pentecostal Fire is Falling!" with the announcer’s voice over, "Christ Tabernacle Church in beautiful Royal Oak, Michigan is on the air!" Vignettes of a godly heritage and its eternal significance brought tears of thanksgiving and worship.
Then came a question: Is this Truth up for sale in your estimation? What price do you place on the treasure of a clean conscience and sins covered under the Blood of Jesus? Do you appreciate the sacrifices that gave you this golden opportunity? If you do not, someone else will perceive their worth and cart them away. Their gain – your loss... but what a loss! In the company of Esau, Demas, and the foolish virgins, there will be an eternity to remember and regret.
But it doesn’t have to be that way. Jesus spoke of "treasure hidden in a field" and "a pearl of great price." A good look at Jesus makes the things of earth lose their luster. To one who perceives His value, no price is too costly, no sacrifice too dear. Ask Abraham, ask Moses, ask Paul, ask the unnamed saints of whom it was said, the "world was not worthy." (Hebrews 11:32-40) The value you place on eternal things determines the value you'll place on anything else.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Thoughts on Aging...
A curious thing... Perhaps you've already noticed it. Part of the aging process is wear and tear, accompanied by weariness and teariness. (Could there be a connection?) We mourn over the loss of youthful strength and energy. We ache and creak in the strangest places. Memories of long ago events come back in great detail. We not only remember our own feelings, but age and experience (hopefully,) have taught us to better understand what must have been the feelings of others. Our days and nights are spent with a new companion; his name? (Arthur Itis). Gray hair grows whiter and wrinkles appear. They make me wonder, where did the years go? Should my oldest child live her "allotted" years, (70 per the Bible,) she reached the half-way point (35) this year. My younger daughter is but one year behind. Wow! My oldest grandson will be twelve this summer!
Ah! and that brings me to one of the greatest blessings of growing older - grandparenting. Another generation... a bid into the future... a chance to pour a little something (perhaps hope and the strong belief in what can be,) into fresh minds and hearts. A chance to watch your children teach their children, realizing that much of what they're doing was learned at your knee. Sometimes that realization is rueful, sometimes it's overwhelming, and sometimes it humbles you to know how grateful you need to be to those who taught you. One thing is certain - it's a long line; it did not begin with me and it will not end with me.
The waning years have a purpose. I've had enough experience to know they too will fly by. This makes them all the more precious. While I'm here and while I have the strength, I have a charge to keep. It is to encourage those who are raising the next generation and bless their little ones with the chance to grow and develop their faith. It must be grounded in the Word of God. That's what kept our grandparents and our parents too. It's what gave us a plumbline by which to measure all our life experiences. It's able to keep our children on course, and it is the one sure thing we can give our grandchildren. It will carry them through all that the future holds and will still be true and sure when the time comes for them to teach their children and grandchildren - long after we're gone.
So as age does it's thing, as the hair grays and thins, as the bones creak and the strength grows weaker - it's a comfort to know that my faith rests on and in the One who is eternal. He changes not. His Word is sure and His promises are faithful.
Many years ago, at a time when life was fraught with distress and upheval, two significant things happened... First, He gave me warning of the impending changes in a series of three dreams. I told them to my mother over the phone. She perceived their meaning and import and helped me understand them. They prepared me and helped me know He was there, ever present. During this time He also brought a promise from His Word to my attention. "And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord, and great shall be the peace of thy children." (Isaiah 54:13) I held onto that promise in all that followed. (I still cling to it.)
The second was born out of the first. The knowledge of His abiding presence and the way He had led me thus far brought a profound peace when the storm struck. It hurled itself into our lives with all its fury. Our days were filled with chaos. Through it all, prayer came easy, but it was not the frantic praying of a terrified soul. His presence was palpable. It was both comforting and upbuilding. Strength that was not my own was lent to me. Even strangers remarked on the peace surrounding me.
Right in the middle of that storm-tossed time, my next door neighbor came over, actually knocked on my door, to ask if I could help her find the peace she saw in me. Her heart was hungry and she gladly came to know the Lord, her husband and children soon followed.
Life has taught me that you cannot lose when your trust is in Jesus. He is abundantly able; to deliver, to save, to heal, to restore, to keep, and to give perfect peace in every situation. He is also able to complete all that He has begun in you - to the day of His appearing.
Maranatha!
A curious thing... Perhaps you've already noticed it. Part of the aging process is wear and tear, accompanied by weariness and teariness. (Could there be a connection?) We mourn over the loss of youthful strength and energy. We ache and creak in the strangest places. Memories of long ago events come back in great detail. We not only remember our own feelings, but age and experience (hopefully,) have taught us to better understand what must have been the feelings of others. Our days and nights are spent with a new companion; his name? (Arthur Itis). Gray hair grows whiter and wrinkles appear. They make me wonder, where did the years go? Should my oldest child live her "allotted" years, (70 per the Bible,) she reached the half-way point (35) this year. My younger daughter is but one year behind. Wow! My oldest grandson will be twelve this summer!
Ah! and that brings me to one of the greatest blessings of growing older - grandparenting. Another generation... a bid into the future... a chance to pour a little something (perhaps hope and the strong belief in what can be,) into fresh minds and hearts. A chance to watch your children teach their children, realizing that much of what they're doing was learned at your knee. Sometimes that realization is rueful, sometimes it's overwhelming, and sometimes it humbles you to know how grateful you need to be to those who taught you. One thing is certain - it's a long line; it did not begin with me and it will not end with me.
The waning years have a purpose. I've had enough experience to know they too will fly by. This makes them all the more precious. While I'm here and while I have the strength, I have a charge to keep. It is to encourage those who are raising the next generation and bless their little ones with the chance to grow and develop their faith. It must be grounded in the Word of God. That's what kept our grandparents and our parents too. It's what gave us a plumbline by which to measure all our life experiences. It's able to keep our children on course, and it is the one sure thing we can give our grandchildren. It will carry them through all that the future holds and will still be true and sure when the time comes for them to teach their children and grandchildren - long after we're gone.
So as age does it's thing, as the hair grays and thins, as the bones creak and the strength grows weaker - it's a comfort to know that my faith rests on and in the One who is eternal. He changes not. His Word is sure and His promises are faithful.
Many years ago, at a time when life was fraught with distress and upheval, two significant things happened... First, He gave me warning of the impending changes in a series of three dreams. I told them to my mother over the phone. She perceived their meaning and import and helped me understand them. They prepared me and helped me know He was there, ever present. During this time He also brought a promise from His Word to my attention. "And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord, and great shall be the peace of thy children." (Isaiah 54:13) I held onto that promise in all that followed. (I still cling to it.)
The second was born out of the first. The knowledge of His abiding presence and the way He had led me thus far brought a profound peace when the storm struck. It hurled itself into our lives with all its fury. Our days were filled with chaos. Through it all, prayer came easy, but it was not the frantic praying of a terrified soul. His presence was palpable. It was both comforting and upbuilding. Strength that was not my own was lent to me. Even strangers remarked on the peace surrounding me.
Right in the middle of that storm-tossed time, my next door neighbor came over, actually knocked on my door, to ask if I could help her find the peace she saw in me. Her heart was hungry and she gladly came to know the Lord, her husband and children soon followed.
Life has taught me that you cannot lose when your trust is in Jesus. He is abundantly able; to deliver, to save, to heal, to restore, to keep, and to give perfect peace in every situation. He is also able to complete all that He has begun in you - to the day of His appearing.
Maranatha!
Friday, February 23, 2007
My Trust in God
My trust in God does not depend on who will trust with me;
My trust in God will not be fixed by polls or parity.
I do not need the bolsters of supporting evidence;
Tides of popular opinion will not lure me toward the fence.
A strongly worded motto cannot be my creed;
My trust in God is founded on the Rock that meets my need.
My heart is fixed, my mind is stayed, I’ve vowed, O Lord, to You;
That You’ll find faith within this earth, whene’er You come to view.
My trust is placed in You alone, Your Word, my guide, my friend;
My heart, my all, belongs to You through eternity, without end.
My trust in God is based upon words more sure than mine;
For I have learned that I’m a branch, but Jesus is the Vine!
While I remain attached to Him and yielded to His will;
He prunes and dresses, nurturing in me – fruit that’s pleasing still.
And so I’m trusting You, O Lord, and know You’re in control;
What others say, be it yea or nay, You’re the Captain of my soul.
© mjk - 1/31/03
About "My Trust in God " . . .
Inspiration comes in odd ways at times... A friend sent me a forward about "In God We Trust" being taken off the wall of a post office in Texas for being a religious statement. The forward was espousing writing out "In God We Trust" on the back of all of our correspondance. That set me to thinking. Sometimes we think our voice carries more weight if it is supported by a majority - or at least a very vocal minority. It is the assumption that many voices carry more weight than one. Biblically speaking, I think a holy contradiction arises...
While yes, there is a Scripture that says, "in the multitude of counsellors there is safety." (Proverbs 11:14) and there are times when venturing outside of collective wisdom and experience is utter folly. But there is also the oft repeated lesson that one individual, who stands up for right makes a difference in the eternal outcome, both for themselves and for others who are watching and perhaps inspired (or provoked,) to do likewise. Consider the Bible stories of Deborah, Esther, David and Goliath, Daniel and the Three Hebrew Children, Gideon, Abraham, and Moses. Many Scriptures exhort us to "be not conformed," to remember that "greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world," and we're taught we should not allow the things others say to dissuade or persuade us to leave our calling...
"But none of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, and the ministry, which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God." (Acts 20:24)
My conclusion is: I must stand and be counted for myself... not just to be a part of a crowd or to prove that I am somehow validated because I am siding with the majority, but because me and Jesus (when I am standing on His Word and His authority,) are a majority - no matter what the crowd says - or doesn't say.
And therein was my inspiration for the poem...
My trust in God does not depend on who will trust with me;
My trust in God will not be fixed by polls or parity.
I do not need the bolsters of supporting evidence;
Tides of popular opinion will not lure me toward the fence.
A strongly worded motto cannot be my creed;
My trust in God is founded on the Rock that meets my need.
My heart is fixed, my mind is stayed, I’ve vowed, O Lord, to You;
That You’ll find faith within this earth, whene’er You come to view.
My trust is placed in You alone, Your Word, my guide, my friend;
My heart, my all, belongs to You through eternity, without end.
My trust in God is based upon words more sure than mine;
For I have learned that I’m a branch, but Jesus is the Vine!
While I remain attached to Him and yielded to His will;
He prunes and dresses, nurturing in me – fruit that’s pleasing still.
And so I’m trusting You, O Lord, and know You’re in control;
What others say, be it yea or nay, You’re the Captain of my soul.
© mjk - 1/31/03
About "My Trust in God " . . .
Inspiration comes in odd ways at times... A friend sent me a forward about "In God We Trust" being taken off the wall of a post office in Texas for being a religious statement. The forward was espousing writing out "In God We Trust" on the back of all of our correspondance. That set me to thinking. Sometimes we think our voice carries more weight if it is supported by a majority - or at least a very vocal minority. It is the assumption that many voices carry more weight than one. Biblically speaking, I think a holy contradiction arises...
While yes, there is a Scripture that says, "in the multitude of counsellors there is safety." (Proverbs 11:14) and there are times when venturing outside of collective wisdom and experience is utter folly. But there is also the oft repeated lesson that one individual, who stands up for right makes a difference in the eternal outcome, both for themselves and for others who are watching and perhaps inspired (or provoked,) to do likewise. Consider the Bible stories of Deborah, Esther, David and Goliath, Daniel and the Three Hebrew Children, Gideon, Abraham, and Moses. Many Scriptures exhort us to "be not conformed," to remember that "greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world," and we're taught we should not allow the things others say to dissuade or persuade us to leave our calling...
"But none of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, and the ministry, which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God." (Acts 20:24)
My conclusion is: I must stand and be counted for myself... not just to be a part of a crowd or to prove that I am somehow validated because I am siding with the majority, but because me and Jesus (when I am standing on His Word and His authority,) are a majority - no matter what the crowd says - or doesn't say.
And therein was my inspiration for the poem...
Monday, May 08, 2006
I Remember Mama . . .
I am not able to come to this time of year without thinking of my mother. Transplanted by marriage to my father (on January 15, 1944) from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan to the North Detroit suburbs, mama was the quintessential Christian lady. She loved Bible truth and lived it all her days. Mama always knew what was the right thing. Her advice was wise and seasoned with experiences that had taught her how to be steady and dependable.
Canadian prairie winters, with frigid cold, biting wind and all the bundling up necessary in temperatures way below zero could not have been easy. But mama's memories of her childhood were full of her older brother and sisters. Grandpa was an engineer on the Canadian National Railroad (in the days of steam engines,) and was away from home often as he took trains full of people and freight from one side of the country to the other. Mama's stories included their Chinese neighbor, Mrs. Kwong, who had many children, the boys at school who teased her and her girlhood chums. As a result of the lack of iodine in her diet, mama developed a goiter which required surgery. In those days, the anesthesia was ether. The surgery attendant only pulled the surgical cap over her skull, leaving most of mama's beautiful, long hair exposed. The ether turned the exposed hair white and brittle, so it had to be cut. Whenever she told the story, mama mourned over the loss but she would rejoice when she got to the part where it all grew back thicker and longer than before.
It was about this same time that she first met Charles C. Kirby, his wife, Nola, and their daughters, Autumn and Vaviel. They were accompanied by his brother and wife, (U. L. and Floy Kirby) whom mama called, "Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy." In later years, Bro. Kirby would say that the entire Canadian sojourn was an attempt to run from the call of God. Autumn's death was the catalyst that sent both Kirby brothers back to the States. Bro. & Sis. Kirby and Vaviel settled in the Royal Oak area. Their son, "Chassie," was born soon afterwards. Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy settled in Paragould, Arkansas. (Mama corresponded with Aunt Floy, until Floy's death in the 70's.) In 1942, Bro. Kirby invited mama to come and visit in Royal Oak. While she was there, he sent Sis. Kirby and mama to visit Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy in Paragould - and wrote my dad, who was serving in the army air corps in Malden, Missouri, suggesting that he make his way to Arkansas to meet the young lady who was traveling with Sis. Kirby. The rest, as they say, is history. Mama and daddy corresponded for a time - became engaged - and were married on January 15, 1944. Mama went with him to Missouri for a time. But once daddy received his overseas assignment, she returned to Royal Oak, while he served in Hawaii, Guam and Okinawa until 1945, when he was honorably discharged at the end of World War II.
But I've gotten ahead of myself - let's go back to Saskatoon . . .
One summer, while still in her early teens, mama got permission (from her pastor and the local school board,) to hold "protracted meetings" out in a country schoolhouse. When the summer was over, a number of candidates were ready for baptism.
During her high school years, mama played the piano for extended revival meetings for the home church in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan – school during the day, revival at night, altar work until there were no more seekers, home to bed and back to school the next morning – this went on for several weeks. Mama rejoiced in how the Lord blessed and anointed souls, the ministry, the services, her playing and her school work; in fact, He blessed everything throughout the revival - she lacked nothing, not even sleep, because even her rest was refreshing!
In her early twenties, mama served as a lady evangelist in Ontario. During World War II, many of the Canadian pastors were drafted into military service. This left their wives to care for the churches. Rev. Frank Small of Winnipeg, Manitoba saw a need and issued “Christian Worker’s Licenses” to a number of young women who traveled throughout Canada, preaching the gospel, holding children’s revivals and generally making themselves useful wherever and whenever they could. Mama was one of these young ladies. She was sent to Eastern Ontario. Her stories and adventures were thrilling – peppered with names from Canadian Pentecostal history; Frank Small, R. E. S. Toms, Ernie Baxter, Howard Goss, Andrew and Jonathan Urshan, Charles C. and U. L. Kirby, Stan Bean, Leonard Parent, Bro. Pair, Bro. Rabie and Bro. Rudd. (I do not know the first names of these last three men, though they were influential in mama's ministry.) In the mid-50's, Bro. Rudd came to Michigan for a conference. Mama and daddy invited he and his family into our home. She much enjoyed their visit and catching up on old acquaintances.
One of the pictures in mama’s photo album shows a baptismal service during that time. Surrounded by young people, she’s sitting on some rocks at the site of a broken dam. There are a number of pictures of other evangelists and Canadian Pentecostals of yesteryear. Newspaper clippings with her picture announcing evangelistic meetings are included and she mentioned other cities and towns like Cobaconk, Brockville, Kingston, Peterborough and Belleville. There was even an invitation to conduct services at an Indian reservation. Her face joyful in the remembering, she told us about attending camp meetings at Outlet Camp in Lansdowne. (In 1956 or 57, during a family vacation, she took us to see the Outlet Camp Ground – it was beautiful!)
After marrying daddy, she became a mama in the best sense of the word. She taught us to love the house of God and to make it our chief joy. She loved the ministry of the Word and kept notes and tapes of messages she heard by her own pastor and others. Even in her declining years, mama’s devotions included reading through the Bible at least once each year. The margins of her Bibles are always peppered with remarks and notes and references to additional Scriptures she studied relative to the one at hand. We often found her sitting in her favorite chair with her glasses perched on her nose – reading, studying and taking notes.
Once when my girls came into the house, she looked up and sighed, “Oh! Am I glad to see you! Come help me find my glasses! I can’t find them anywhere!”
The girls started giggling. Between chortles, they wheezed out, “Up there, Grandma!”
“Where?” She was sure they were not taking her request seriously. “Stop playing around!" she scolded, "I need them – there’s something I want to check out.”
Their laughter grew. Between gasps, with tears coming, they pointed to the top of her head. “Right there, Grandma.”
Mama reached up, and there, perched atop her head, were her reading glasses. She’d shoved them up there at some point and forgotten where they were. A red face and a sheepish grin soon merged into giggles and when I came in from the car, the three of them were in gales and had to explain it to me so I could join in.
In this, the week of Mother's Day, 2006, I remember Mama . . . with love.
I am not able to come to this time of year without thinking of my mother. Transplanted by marriage to my father (on January 15, 1944) from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan to the North Detroit suburbs, mama was the quintessential Christian lady. She loved Bible truth and lived it all her days. Mama always knew what was the right thing. Her advice was wise and seasoned with experiences that had taught her how to be steady and dependable.
Canadian prairie winters, with frigid cold, biting wind and all the bundling up necessary in temperatures way below zero could not have been easy. But mama's memories of her childhood were full of her older brother and sisters. Grandpa was an engineer on the Canadian National Railroad (in the days of steam engines,) and was away from home often as he took trains full of people and freight from one side of the country to the other. Mama's stories included their Chinese neighbor, Mrs. Kwong, who had many children, the boys at school who teased her and her girlhood chums. As a result of the lack of iodine in her diet, mama developed a goiter which required surgery. In those days, the anesthesia was ether. The surgery attendant only pulled the surgical cap over her skull, leaving most of mama's beautiful, long hair exposed. The ether turned the exposed hair white and brittle, so it had to be cut. Whenever she told the story, mama mourned over the loss but she would rejoice when she got to the part where it all grew back thicker and longer than before.
It was about this same time that she first met Charles C. Kirby, his wife, Nola, and their daughters, Autumn and Vaviel. They were accompanied by his brother and wife, (U. L. and Floy Kirby) whom mama called, "Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy." In later years, Bro. Kirby would say that the entire Canadian sojourn was an attempt to run from the call of God. Autumn's death was the catalyst that sent both Kirby brothers back to the States. Bro. & Sis. Kirby and Vaviel settled in the Royal Oak area. Their son, "Chassie," was born soon afterwards. Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy settled in Paragould, Arkansas. (Mama corresponded with Aunt Floy, until Floy's death in the 70's.) In 1942, Bro. Kirby invited mama to come and visit in Royal Oak. While she was there, he sent Sis. Kirby and mama to visit Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy in Paragould - and wrote my dad, who was serving in the army air corps in Malden, Missouri, suggesting that he make his way to Arkansas to meet the young lady who was traveling with Sis. Kirby. The rest, as they say, is history. Mama and daddy corresponded for a time - became engaged - and were married on January 15, 1944. Mama went with him to Missouri for a time. But once daddy received his overseas assignment, she returned to Royal Oak, while he served in Hawaii, Guam and Okinawa until 1945, when he was honorably discharged at the end of World War II.
But I've gotten ahead of myself - let's go back to Saskatoon . . .
One summer, while still in her early teens, mama got permission (from her pastor and the local school board,) to hold "protracted meetings" out in a country schoolhouse. When the summer was over, a number of candidates were ready for baptism.
During her high school years, mama played the piano for extended revival meetings for the home church in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan – school during the day, revival at night, altar work until there were no more seekers, home to bed and back to school the next morning – this went on for several weeks. Mama rejoiced in how the Lord blessed and anointed souls, the ministry, the services, her playing and her school work; in fact, He blessed everything throughout the revival - she lacked nothing, not even sleep, because even her rest was refreshing!
In her early twenties, mama served as a lady evangelist in Ontario. During World War II, many of the Canadian pastors were drafted into military service. This left their wives to care for the churches. Rev. Frank Small of Winnipeg, Manitoba saw a need and issued “Christian Worker’s Licenses” to a number of young women who traveled throughout Canada, preaching the gospel, holding children’s revivals and generally making themselves useful wherever and whenever they could. Mama was one of these young ladies. She was sent to Eastern Ontario. Her stories and adventures were thrilling – peppered with names from Canadian Pentecostal history; Frank Small, R. E. S. Toms, Ernie Baxter, Howard Goss, Andrew and Jonathan Urshan, Charles C. and U. L. Kirby, Stan Bean, Leonard Parent, Bro. Pair, Bro. Rabie and Bro. Rudd. (I do not know the first names of these last three men, though they were influential in mama's ministry.) In the mid-50's, Bro. Rudd came to Michigan for a conference. Mama and daddy invited he and his family into our home. She much enjoyed their visit and catching up on old acquaintances.
One of the pictures in mama’s photo album shows a baptismal service during that time. Surrounded by young people, she’s sitting on some rocks at the site of a broken dam. There are a number of pictures of other evangelists and Canadian Pentecostals of yesteryear. Newspaper clippings with her picture announcing evangelistic meetings are included and she mentioned other cities and towns like Cobaconk, Brockville, Kingston, Peterborough and Belleville. There was even an invitation to conduct services at an Indian reservation. Her face joyful in the remembering, she told us about attending camp meetings at Outlet Camp in Lansdowne. (In 1956 or 57, during a family vacation, she took us to see the Outlet Camp Ground – it was beautiful!)
After marrying daddy, she became a mama in the best sense of the word. She taught us to love the house of God and to make it our chief joy. She loved the ministry of the Word and kept notes and tapes of messages she heard by her own pastor and others. Even in her declining years, mama’s devotions included reading through the Bible at least once each year. The margins of her Bibles are always peppered with remarks and notes and references to additional Scriptures she studied relative to the one at hand. We often found her sitting in her favorite chair with her glasses perched on her nose – reading, studying and taking notes.
Once when my girls came into the house, she looked up and sighed, “Oh! Am I glad to see you! Come help me find my glasses! I can’t find them anywhere!”
The girls started giggling. Between chortles, they wheezed out, “Up there, Grandma!”
“Where?” She was sure they were not taking her request seriously. “Stop playing around!" she scolded, "I need them – there’s something I want to check out.”
Their laughter grew. Between gasps, with tears coming, they pointed to the top of her head. “Right there, Grandma.”
Mama reached up, and there, perched atop her head, were her reading glasses. She’d shoved them up there at some point and forgotten where they were. A red face and a sheepish grin soon merged into giggles and when I came in from the car, the three of them were in gales and had to explain it to me so I could join in.
In this, the week of Mother's Day, 2006, I remember Mama . . . with love.
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