Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts

Monday, August 25, 2025

Who Hears Your Stories?

(emmanuelmti .com)

Who hears your stories?

While reading the other day, this phrase caught my attention:

“And when he was come into the ship, he that had been possessed with the devil prayed him that he might be with him. Howbeit Jesus suffered him not, but saith unto him, Go home to thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee. And he departed, and began to publish in Decapolis how great things Jesus had done for him: and all men did marvel.” – Mark 5:18-20 KJV

Here, Jesus had just delivered a man from a legion of demons that had tormented him for years; he’d been chained up outside his city repeatedly, only to tear through the chains, terrorizing many. The townspeople were amazed to see him sitting, clothed and in his right mind in front of Jesus, the man Who had just set him free.

Just as there are things about this story that I don’t understand completely, there were many things that confused the townspeople, but their misunderstanding caused them great fear. They wanted Jesus to leave their territory, where as I want only to grow closer to Him.

(pinterest)

But back to this newly set free man, who’s name we don’t even know – he’s forever been referred to as “the demoniac”, sits there in awe of what Jesus has done for him, falling in love with Him.

When Jesus was begged to leave town, this newly freed man wanted desperately to go with Him. God has so impacted MY life, that I always want to be with Him.

But Jesus instructed this man to go home to his friends and tell them how much God loves him and about the great things He has done for him.

The man obeyed and went back to his friends and family a new man. He told them about God’s great love and power toward him – to let them know it was available to them, too. And they marveled. (Who all was in that crowd?)

This is all that Jesus requires of us, as well – that we go to our friends and family and anyone who will listen and tell them about His great love and compassion for us and about all the wonderful things He’s done in our lives. Therein we will fulfill the great commission; we’ll be sharing with them what God has given to us.

With some, we’ll get to share more. Others will merely hear parts of our story.

God wants us to know His love, to share His love and to share the reality that He will meet our needs, delivering us from the corruption of this world and bringing us into His abundant life, here on earth and in the next life.

How hard is it to share? Our parents have been trying to teach us this concept since we were introduced to other children.

Share.

Share what God has freely given you. Teach what He has taught you. Love like He has loved you.

You don’t even realize the impact you’ll have.

Who will hear your stories?




Wednesday, April 8, 2020

What a Mess!


         
(todaysparent.com)
“Mom. M-o-m, come see what Josie did. You’re not gonna like it. Come and see,” Heather giggled and sang out. She could hardly keep from laughing right out loud. She ran into her mother’s bedroom to get her out of bed and into Josie’s room. “Up Mom, come on. You’ve got to see what Josie’s done. You’re not ever gonna believe it. You’re not gonna believe that such a little girl could make such a mess. It’s an awful mess, Mom, but you gotta see it, come on!”
          Heather’s mom had barely opened her eyes and was being pulled out of her bed and dragged across the room. The floor was cold under her bare feet, so she pulled back on Heather’s arm and said, “No just hold up one minute here little girl, let me get my slippers on. What’s all this fuss about? How could Josie have made a mess all by herself? Are you sure that this is her mess? She’s still in her crib, she knows better than to get out before I’m up. And you know she wasn’t feeling very good last night. Did you go in there and wake her up to play with you?”
          By now she’d been pulled down the hallway to Josie’s room, Heather just shaking her head all the way. “Nope, Mom, see for yourself. I didn’t even help make this mess. She did a doozy on it all by herself. But Mom, don’t be too mad at her, after all, you said so yourself, she wasn’t feeling all that well last night when you put her to bed.” Being thrust through the doorway into the room of her precious little girl, Mom could smell the mess before she could even see it.
          “Oh, no Josie!” she declared as she made her way over to her crib. “Oh, my little Josie! Sweetheart, what have you done?”
          Hearing her mom’s voice made Josie jump up to a standing position and reach out for her Momma. “Momma? Momma? Get up? Get up?” she laughed.
          Every morning she looked forward to Mommy coming through that doorway, it meant that her time in the crib was up and she could get out and play with her toys, the ones that hadn’t somehow been tossed into her crib by some mysterious sister named Heather. She giggled with glee as Mommy walked closer.
          Mommy was cringing and wrinkling up her nose, “Josie, Josie, Josie! Look at what you’ve done to your crib, and to yourself!”
          Heather stood in the doorway trying not to laugh too loud. “Mom,” she said, “I think she might be feeling a little better. She seems happy enough.”
          “Heather Elaine, just what are you laughing about? You’ve made your share of messes, too!” But as she stood there shaking her head, she had to hold in a laugh of her own. “You look gross Josie!”     
          “Mom, like I said, it’s not completely her fault. I mean, it’s not her fault that she was sick last night. But she didn’t have to play in it.”
          “And someone didn’t have to give her all those toys to dirty, either.” Mom scolded.
          Josie was still standing there with her arms reaching out for Mommy and jumping up and down. “Josie dear, I love you, but Mommy isn’t going to pick you up and snuggle you with lovin’ until she gets you all cleaned up. Okay? Come on, let’s get you out of there. Now honey, don’t touch Mommy, just let Mommy pick you up. Okay? That’s a girl. No - Josie! Don’t kick your feet! Let me get you into the bathtub and you can play in the water. How about that?”
          To Josie, anything was better that staying in that crib any longer. Although the mess didn’t seem to bother her. Fifteen months old wasn’t old enough to know what she’d done or so Mommy kept telling herself. But Heather was eight years old, definitely old enough to have come and get her sooner, and definitely old enough to know better than to put all of those extra toys in there. Heather followed her into the bathroom and watched her mother take Josie’s clothes off and throw them into the toilet to be rinsed out. She said, “After you get all the poop off her, I’ll give her a bath so you can go and clean her crib out.”
          “How nice of you to offer!” Mom said rather sarcastically. “How about if you go down and wash your hands and get yourself a bowl of cereal?”
          Mom had a job on her hands, one that moms don’t look forward to. Some moms actually think that it will never happen to them, until it does. But eventually she got Josie all cleaned up and brought her down and put her in her high chair and gave her a bowl of Cheerios.
          “Now Heather, can you keep an eye on her while I clean her room? Call me if she starts to make another mess, okay?” Heather lowered her head and nodded, trying as hard as she could not to snicker out loud.
          In a little while Mom came down with a smile on her face and announced, “Nothing like a job where you can see the results so quickly first thing in the morning to get you up and moving, right?” She walked over to Josie and picked her up out of the high chair and gave her a really big hug and put her down on the dining room floor to play. Then she walked over to Heather and said, “Do you know how precious you two are to me? I love you so much. No mess could be so bad that it would make me stop loving you!” She hugged her and smiled really big and went into the kitchen. Heather followed her and asked, “How did you know what I was thinking?” Her mom looked down at her and said, “Why? What were you thinking?” Heather shook her head and said, “Never mind, it was silly,” and started to walk off.
          Her mom chided, “Now wait a minute here Missy, what were you thinking? Now you’ve got me curious.”
          “Oh Mom, I just thought that maybe some of that mess was my fault, but some of it was Josie’s fault, but some of it was Mother Nature’s fault, too. Now, you can’t hate Mother Nature, and well, you don’t hate me either.”
          “Of course not, dear,” her mom said as she picked Heather up and sat down with her. “We just had to clean the mess up. I wasn’t going to cuddle Josie all covered with that mess now, was I? I saw you trying not to laugh. You thought it was all kind of funny. No, you thought it was all sorts of funny and I guess I can see your point of view. I didn’t think it was funny, but it’s all cleaned up now and I didn’t love you any less while everything was messy than I do now, sweetheart. Heather hugged her mom again, really tight and then went off to play with her sister. Heather felt a little special. She believed that her mom would love her no matter what. She figured it must be a special kind of love a mom has for her kids.
          A few days later, in her Sunday school class, Heather found it hard to sit still. So far, the class wasn’t very interesting and the little sticker that her teacher had given her saying ‘Jesus Loves Me’ wouldn’t stick to anything anymore, so she squirmed in her seat. “Jesus loves me. Jesus loves me. Is that all they ever tell you here in Sunday school? Okay, so Jesus loves me, but I’ll bet He doesn’t love me like my mom loves me,” she thought. She wanted to tell that to the little girl sitting next to her, but she didn’t want to get caught talking and then have to tell the teacher what she’d said out loud, in front of everybody. So, she just continued to squirm.
          “How much does Jesus love you? Jimmy, how much does Jesus love you?” the teacher asked. “I don’t know, Ms. Wally,” and then he added, just to be funny, “How much does He love you?”
          “Ah,” she said, “He loves me just as much as He loves you! And I’ll tell you how much He loves you. He loves you more than anyone else in the world!”
          “Not more than my momma does,” Heather blurted out.
          “Heather, Jesus loves you so much, let me tell you about what He’s done for all of us, and then you decide, okay? Gosh, none of us are perfect, are we? Can you think of something you did that wrong? You don’t have to tell what it was, but just think about it for a minute. I find myself getting into one mess after another. But Jesus always bails me out.”
          “What do you mean?” Stevie asked.
          “Well, everybody in the world sins. We were born into this world of sin, it’s not our fault really that we’re born into this world, it’s the world God made for us. But the sin nature inside of all of us fell to the temptation of sin a long time ago in the Garden of Eden. When we’re tempted to do something wrong, and we do it, we get ourselves into a mess. It causes trouble for us. Let’s say your mom just baked some chocolate chip cookies and you could smell them all the way in the living room. You walk to the kitchen to see them and your mom says, ‘It’s almost supper time, you can have a few cookies later, okay?’ Now those cookies smell so good that you don’t want to wait, so when mom leaves the room, you are tempted to take a cookie and eat it quickly so she won’t catch you. Now, if you take it, that’s stealing and disobeying your mom. So, you’ve done something wrong, right?” Everyone nodded their little heads.
          “Now, the trouble starts. Mom comes back into the kitchen and asks, ‘Did you eat a cookie?’ You don’t want to get into trouble, so you say ‘no.’ Her eyebrows come down and form a frown a mile wide across her forehead. You know you’re in trouble. Not only did you steal, and get caught, you lied and got caught. See what a mess you’ve gotten yourself into? Now if only you could clean up that mess so your mom wouldn’t be mad at you and punish you. Wouldn’t that be great?”
          By now of course, little Heather is thinking about her and Josie’s mess the other day and how her mom loved her so much, she had cleaned the mess up for her. She wanted to interrupt Ms. Wally and tell her.
          But Ms. Wally went on, “You see, we get ourselves into a mess every time we sin. And we can’t clean the mess up before we get caught because God sees us do it. That’s why we need Jesus. And that’s one of the places that Jesus can use for an opportunity to show us how much He loves us. He does the cleaning up for us!”
          “What do you mean?” asked Stevie, “I don’t understand.”
          The wheels in Heather’s head were turning quickly, she was getting a picture of how much Jesus loves her. She said, “Like, He gives you a bath and washes the mess you made away, so He can pick you up and love you! That’s how much He loves me. Just like my mom!”
          Stevie said, “I still don’t understand.”
          “Well, Stevie,” Ms. Wally started, “Do you know why Jesus had to die on the cross? Do you know that He did it for you?”
          “What do you mean Ms. Wally? Why for me? What good did that do?”
          “Stevie, not just for you, but for all of us. We all have sin all over us, like dirt.”
          “Like poop!” Heather thought.
          “But, unlike dirt, water can’t wash away the sin. It takes something special. Something stronger than Tide or Wisk or Dial soap, even stronger that that strong soap that maybe your father uses out in the garage to wash away greasy dirt.”
          “What’s stronger than soap to clean off a mess?” Heather asked. “Yeah?” agreed Stevie.
          “Oh, something special that only Jesus has. He uses it on us every time we ask Him to clean up the mess we’ve gotten ourselves into. Sometimes pride tells us that it wasn’t our fault we sinned, but we weren’t in any hurry to stop playing in the sin.”
          Heather could see Josie playing in her messy crib in her mind.
          “What I mean is, that sometimes we don’t seem to be in any hurry to stop the sinning. Maybe if your mom was out of the room long enough, you took two or three cookies, even though you knew it was wrong when you took the first one.
          “So, what washes sin off of us?” Jimmy piped up.
          “Well this might sound gross, but blood does Jimmy. The blood of Jesus. He died and His blood came out of Him so that our sin won’t send us off to be punished. So, if we ask Jesus to forgive us and we’re sorry we disobeyed; so sorry that we decide that we don’t want to do it anymore, we accept the punishment that Jesus took in our place. That cleans us by the wonder-working power of His Blood, our sins are washed away. He makes us clean like the mess was never on us. He can completely forgive us. The punishment for unforgiven sin is hell, but Jesus already took that punishment for us.”
          Stevie still had questions in his eyes, so Ms. Wally said, “Maybe I’m not making myself clear.”
          “Ms. Wally, can I try?” asked Heather. “I think I know. Like when your mom gives you a bath. She can love you up in her arms again, because you’re not dirty anymore. I know moms can’t stand dirt, so maybe Jesus can’t stand sin. He has to wash us off first.”
          “But with blood?” both Jimmy and Stevie squealed. Ms. Wally didn’t know what to say now. She hesitated for a second or two and then said, “Jimmy, Stevie, do you know what soap is made of? My grandmother used to make her own soap herself. Now I don’t remember just exactly what she did to make the soap, but she used fat or lard, which is like the grease your mom uses in the kitchen. She mixed it with an alkaline substance, maybe lye, which comes from the ashes of plants. Now would you want to wash with that?”
          “Gross!” the whole class said.
          “But it gets you clean, doesn’t it? Now, the blood of Jesus doesn’t actually touch our skin, it isn’t our body that has gotten messy with sin, it’s our soul. You can’t touch your soul, can you? But Jesus can wash it off. Here’s a miracle for you. Jesus takes your heart, which is black with sin before you ask Him to forgive you and He washes it with His red Blood and makes it whiter than snow. How’s that?”
          “I think you lost me,” Stevie said.
          “It doesn’t matter how gross you think the blood is Stevie,” said Heather, “you need it to wash away the mess so Jesus can pick you up in His arms and love on you. Like your mom does. Come on, I understand and the next time I sin, I’m asking Jesus to wash me off with His blood, because I like to be loved on. Everybody does. So, everybody needs to be washed off.”
          “Hey,” spoke up Todd, “my dad said that if a skunk gets you, you have to take a bath in tomato juice. Skunks sure do stink, but I think that God thinks sin smells worse, that’s why tomato juice doesn’t work on it.”
          Everyone started talking at once when Mr. Shatson peeked into the room and said that time was up. All the kids ran for the door. Heather walked slowly past Ms. Wally and said, “I understand, I’m bein’ washed. Today, I think.” Ms. Wally smiled and sat down in her chair.
          After church that morning, Heather asked her mom and dad, “Did you get washed in the blood?” They both laughed and her mother turned to her and said, “Why yes dear, we have been washed in the blood. Did you hear us singing that song in church this morning?”
          “No, what song?” she asked.
          “The song about being washed in the blood,” her mom insisted.
          “No, well, gosh, I guess people do sing in the bathtub, why not sing in a blood bath?” Her dad glanced into the back seat at her and asked, “Have you been washed in the blood?”
          “No, not yet. I gotta wait till I sin. Then I will be. Jesus does it you know. He’s the one who gives you the blood bath. But, you know. Huh? Did you feel it? The blood, I mean?”
          “Well, I felt all warm all over when I knew my sins were forgiven, but there was no blood on my body. Just on my soul,” said her mom.
          “Don’t you wish you could see your soul? Then you’d know when it was dirty and then maybe you could see the blood wash away the sins,” Heather said, giggling.
          “Well,” her dad said, “if we could see our souls, I guess we wouldn’t be walking around so self-righteous. But the Bible is like a neat pair of glasses. When we read it, it points out our sins, shows them to us. We can’t see them with our eyes, but we have to admit that they’re there. If we don’t, we’d never ask for that ‘blood bath’ and so we’d stay dirty.”
          “I bet Jesus would still love us anyways, but He couldn’t pick us up in His arms and hug on us, cause the sin stinks too bad,” Heather said thoughtfully.
          Her mom laughed and said, “Are you thinking about the mess that Josie made the other day?”
          Heather laughed, too, and said, “That must have happened for a reason, so I could understand about getting my messy soul cleaned up, huh?”
          “I guess the Lord can use anything,” her mom said.
          “Since I don’t read the Bible, how do I know my soul is dirty?” Heather asked.
          “Well, in church the preacher tells us what the Bible says, and our teachers tell us what it’s about, but really honey, you need to start reading it for yourself. Someday, somebody might try to convince you of something different and you need to know for yourself what the Bible says. You’re not too young to start reading it. Everyone needs to know what it says for themselves. God can talk directly to you through the Bible. It’s important to read it. That’s why Mommy and I both have our own, and why we bought you the one you have with all the pictures in it. Not just so you can look at the pictures. You know how to read and what you have trouble with, you just come and ask us about it. Okay?” her dad answered.
          By then they were home and her dad said, “Are you ready for that bath?”
          “Dad,” she said, “baths are kind of a private thing, don’t you think? But mom can come.” She and her mother went to her room and talked a little more and Mom answered a few more of her questions and read a few scriptures to her. Then Heather asked Jesus to wash her clean, and He did. Now she’s clean and when she gets a little smudge on her soul, she knows where the bathtub is.

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Rock Collecting


Rock Collecting
~Helen Williams! c 1989

(Luke 19:36-40)
          Way out under the old maple tree, Mrs. Randall saw three little boys.  She didn’t care if they got dirty. They weren’t her boys. But, she did mind that it was her dirt, and that it was her tree they were playing under. 

          She was an quirky lady, to say the least. She’d never had any children of her own, and she always seemed nervous when there were any around. But, if you’d ask her, she’d say she really liked kids, however, that when they were in her yard, she was always concerned that one of them would get hurt. Then, somehow, she’d be responsible. If you knew her, you’d make up your own mind as to whether she was lying, and really just didn’t like children at all, or whether she might be telling the truth. 

          She pulled her curtains together a little so the boys wouldn’t see her watching them. They sat there so content that she hated to disturb them. They weren’t hurting anything, and how would they get hurt just sitting there under the tree? They looked so happy it made her think back to when she could last remember being that happy. She could almost hear her friend Gladys laughing now. She smiled and reminisced about what it was that they were laughing so gaily about. She sat down and thought about it for a few minutes. Then recalled that the same boy they laughed over together that day was the same boy they fought over later. 

          She turned and looked out the window at the boys. They were still sitting there with smiles on their faces, drawing pictures in the dry dirt and arranging the stones in various ways. She thought, “If they were to get mad at each other over any silly little thing, one might throw a stone at the other...”
          
           She stood to walk over to the door and knew she had to chase them off. But, as she opened the door and looked out at them, she knew she was being ridiculous.  “Why, I’ll just mosey over there and see what they’re up to. If I make them a little nervous or anything, they’ll leave on their own accord. I don’t want anyone to have any occasion to think that I was being mean to them or anything.” 

          So off she leisurely walked, slowly meandering in their general direction. She stopped and picked some flowers and pretended to watch the clouds in the sky. All in vain, though. The boys hadn’t even noticed her there. Johnny, the older boy, she recognized. But, she wasn’t sure who the other boy was. He was asking Johnny a question about the stones, and she had to get a little closer to hear his answer. 

          “What’s so special about them there stones? Why do you have them over there instead of over here with the rest of the stones, Johnny?” he asked. “Well you see, there’s not really anything special about them, Joe, I just plan on taking them home with me. You see I have a collection of stones,” he answered. 

          “Well, if there’s nothing special about them, why do you want to take them home? Why would you want just plain old stones like those for your collection? Most people who collect stones probably pick out special stones, like because they like their color. Or because they’re shaped a certain way. Or maybe because there’s a fossil in it or something. Those are just plain old stones, who’d want them?”

          “Me,” replied Johnny. “I want just plain old stones for my collection. See I don’t think they have to look any certain way for what I want them for.”

          “Well, stop beating around the bush and tell me what you want them for,” insisted Joe.

          Mrs. Randall was wondering the same thing, by now. Johnny said, “You see, Larry Templeton’s mom was talking at us one day and she was explaining about some story that Larry had a question about and I had to sit there and listen while she was talking. Larry took down one of his stones from his collection and gave it to me so I could start my own collection.” Joe interrupted, “Like you needed one of his to start your own collection? There’s nothing special about them anyways.”

          “Hey Joe, don’t make fun. Out of all the people in the world, do you think that God only loves the special ones and sets them aside for His collection up there in heaven?” Joe started. “No, don’t be so stupid, He loves all of us, we all have an equal chance to get into His collection. Once you’re accepted, He calls you one of His saints." The littler, yet unnamed, boy was squirming at the tone in Johnny's voice.

        "Anyhow, that’s not why we collect the stones. I keep them because Larry does. He has a pretty big collection of them. He may get to see something really neat someday, and I want to see it, too, when it happens. Let’s see if I can tell you the story the right way. First she said to me, “What’s so special about a stone?” I said, “Nothin’.”  Then she said, “So what do you think it would have to praise God for?” I said, “Nothin’,” And then she said, “Someday we might just see them do just that.” I said, “What?” She said that in the Bible there’s a story where Jesus said that if we don’t cry out with songs and praise to God, that the very stones will do it. I asked, “How can stones praise God? What would they have to praise Him for, anyhow?” And she said, “With God all things are possible. If He wants the stones to praise Him, then they will. But, He’d rather have us praise Him, but He won’t make us do it. We have to want to do it ourselves.” I asked her if she ever saw anybody praise God, and she said that yes, people do it all the time. Then she said that if I want to see people doing it for real, that I could come to church with them that next Sunday. So then Larry handed me another stone and said that it would be great if I came to church with them. So I got to go. It was pretty neat, but I told Larry that if all those people keep praising God, that we’d never get to see any stones do it.  He laughed at me and said, “Well, you never know!”
             
             The younger boy was staring with amazement now, at both of the bigger boys.

         "I just wish I could remember the story that Larry was talking about with his mom in the first place. But, I’ve been going to church with him ever since. Seeing people do it is pretty neat, sometimes. No wonder God would rather have us do it. Sometimes I even do. Sometimes, I can’t help myself and I just have to.”
         
          Joe stared hard at him for a few minutes. He put his hand out and said, “Well, aren’t you going to give me a stone and take me to church with you?”

(photo from tylo.com)

          Mrs. Randall laughed and they heard her. “What’s so funny?” Joe blurted out. 
          
          “Oh, hi, Mrs. Randall,” Johnny said with a tone of dismay in his voice. 
   
        “Oh John, don’t let the fun go out of this conversation just because I showed up on the scene. I’ve been listening to your whole story and I think that it was absolutely wonderful,” she said.
          
         Joe blurted again, “Then what was so funny?  Don’t you think a stone can praise God, or what? Or do you think that we’re just some stupid little boys telling funny stories. Well, I got news for you, I believe Johnny and he’s gonna take me to church with him and prove it anyhow.”

          “Oh no, son, I believe John. I even go to his church. That’s probably why he looked so glum when he saw me standing here. Everyone at church thinks I don’t like children, and he probably thought I was going to chase you off.  Huh, John?” she said.

          “Well, weren’t you?” Johnny replied.

          Mrs. Randall paused for a minute and knew she had to tell the truth and said, “Well, to be honest with you, at first I was. I thought that maybe you and your little friends would get into a fight and maybe one of you might get hurt. So I thought that I should come out here and tell you to play somewhere else. But, I never thought I’d discover you telling him about God. When I was little, no one ever told me about God. A lot of people did things to hurt me. So I guess my thinking is a little warped. I assume that everyone is out to hurt kids, and that even other kids hurt you, too. But, really John, you’ve shown me something very special. You’re a very loving boy, even toward your little friends here. I guess I really shouldn’t be all that surprised, huh?”
          
        “Mrs. Randall, I know everyone thinks you’re mean. But, since you come to church and all that, I guess I always thought that you were hiding your niceness or something. ‘Cause if you know Jesus like the rest of the people at church, you have to have niceness in there somewhere, right?” said Johnny.

          Mrs. Randall felt very embarrassed to say the least. She looked up at the clouds in the sky and tried to blink away her tears. “John, I just have a lot of hurt inside of me. A lot of things that I acquired a long time ago.”

          Johnny interrupted her and asked, “Well, then don’t you just have to forgive the people that hurt you? Won’t Jesus take care of the rest? That’s what Mrs. Templeton says.”

         “Hey,” blurted out Joe, “hey, if you go to church, do you know the story Johnny was talking about before? The one where the stones are supposed to cry out praise to God if people don’t?”

          Mrs. Randall nodded her head and told them about Jesus coming into the city on the back of a donkey and the people all praising Him, and how that if they didn’t, the stones would have. “God deserves praise just because of Who He is. So even if He’s never done anything for those stones, even they couldn’t have held back their praise. And how much more we should praise Him for what He has done for us.”

     She looked back up at the clouds and blinked away a few more tears. Johnny noticed the tears and nudged Joe and nodded his head at the smaller boy, suggesting that they go home or play somewhere else now. They stood up and the littlest boy said, “Thank you for telling us the story. Do you want to start a stone collection, too? Johnny has lots of stones here, and after all, they come from your yard and...”
          
             John reached out and put a stone into her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He walked away taking Joe’s arm in his other hand. They got to the edge of her property and began to walk a little faster. Over their shoulders they could hear Mrs. Randall crying. Johnny turned to the other two and said, “Don’t worry, they’re happy tears. She’s crying out praises to her God.”

        
            All three of them grinned and squeezed their stones.

(photo from thoughtsfromparis.com)

(This is a story from a collection I wrote way back in the late 80s.)

Friday, December 3, 2010

Ezer Rejoicing III


Once upon a time I had a baby boy – this particular baby boy is now more than six feet tall. When I was a young mother of yesteryear I heard about this Jesus and that He not only loves me, but would bring healing into my life. A pretty tall order, thought the girl struggling to maintain her sanity.

But one day as Daddy was at work and his big brother and sister were playing, no doubt quietly, my toddler fell and bumped his face, busting his lip badly. Every mother recognizes the cries of her hurt child. It’s not at all like the ‘I’m tired’ cry, or the ‘I’m hungry’ cry. I cradled him in my arms, rocking him in the rocking chair, trying to no avail to put a cold, wet washcloth on his swollen, bloody mouth. No phone to call a friend or sister for consolation. Almost an hour’s drive from the military base where Daddy was at work with our only car, I listened to him cry with no apparent power to end his pain.

A light bulb burst with illumination in my mind! This praying stuff, try it – tiptoed through my thoughts. It couldn’t hurt. I mumbled a short, humble prayer. Before I even got to the amen, I opened my eyes to see my baby’s eyes smiling back at me. His loud, persistent cries were quieted. I slowly moved my hand off of his, which had been clenched to his face. He slowly moved his hands a revealed his perfect smile. No blood, no swollen lips, no evidence at all that it had just been busted. Oh my God – this works!

Oh yeah – the word of my testimony! This precious miracle led to the miracle in my next post!