You Never Change :: Part Two

A few days after the funeral, Jesse arrived home from work. Walking into the kitchen where Emily was making homemade pizza, he sat down at the table. Emily’s gaze met Jesse’s as he leaned on the table with folded hands. She immediately sensed something was amiss.

“Jesse,” she swallowed. “What’s the matter?”

Jesse’s eyes dropped and he studied his fingernails nervously.

Quickly rinsing her hands of the cheese and drying them, she sat down across from him. “Now, tell me, dear. What happened?”

“Oh, Emily,” he began. “I hate having to tell you this. But,” He clinked the salt and pepper shakers together, not sure how to continue. Looking up into her cerulean blue eyes, he went on. “The company I’m employed with has asked me to relocate from where we are now in Virginia to North Carolina.”

Emily gasped, looking at her husband incredulously. 

Jesse nodded. “That means we either have to move and sell this place, or stay here. But that also means I lose my job.”

It took a moment for what Jesse had told her to actually hit her.

Her heart picked up a faster rhythm and her forehead puckered. Emily questioned in a concerned whisper, “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.” Jesse replied, squeezing her hand. “What do you think we should do, honey?”

His wife shook her head. “Well, Jesse, I don’t know either. All this change...” Emily propped her chin in her free hand, giving a half sigh.

The two conversed for the next few minutes about their dilemma.  When baby Ian’s cries came from the bedroom, announcing his nap was over, Jesse and Emily stood up. Jesse went to Ian and brought him out to the highchair for a snack of Cheerios.

Jesse was unusually quiet that evening. He had a lot on his mind. After supper and play time, Rosie and Ian were laid down for the night. Jesse and Emily sat together in the living room, enjoying the quiet, books, and their mugs of hot chamomile tea. They also talked about the decision that was facing them: discussing the pros and cons of the two options they had.

After a bit, Emily laid aside the book she was reading, I Dare You, and leaned forward in her tan easy chair. “I think I’m heading to bed. Are you coming?” She asked as she stood up.

“In a little,” Jesse responded, looking up at his wife. “Were you enjoying your book?” He inquired, scratching his nose.

“Oh yes!” Emily answered enthusiastically as she undid her braid and shook out her hair. “Even though I just started it not too long ago, it’s already made me think about how I am living my life, and what lies are out there the devil wants me to believe. I can’t wait to read the rest!”

Jesse nodded with a tired smile on his face. “That’s great! Maybe if you like it that much I’ll read it someday.”

“Are you okay, Jesse?” Emily knew the climax and activities of the past several days were wearing Jesse’s nervous system out. “You need your rest. Please come to bed soon.”

He agreed, telling Emily, “I will, honey. I just…want to do some thinking…” Jesse’s voice trailed off.

Resting her palms on the arm of the recliner, Emily stooped and gave her husband a goodnight kiss.

“Love you, Ems!” Jesse called out gently as she opened the bedroom door, not wanting to wake little Ian sleeping in the room.

Emily looked back over her shoulder and winked, throwing a kiss. He waved back with a faint smile on his face.

The door closed, and Jesse leaned back. He tried to focus on his book again, but the thoughts running through his mind made it basically impossible. Finally, he laid it aside and bent forward in his chair. He squeezed his green eyes shut and ran his fingers through his slightly curly brown hair.

How— I mean, why…why is all this happening? All these changes...I don’t understand. And it hurts. It seems to be just one thing after another!

Jesse propped his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his folded hands. He took a deep breath.

First it was Mama…so unexpectedly. I still can’t believe it. His eyes grew wet, but he hurriedly wiped them with the back of his hand.

And also there are all the changes in this world. It’s down to Hillary and Trump in the elections, and…and all the issues with abortion and gay marriage…it’s changing so fast and our country is drifting further from God all the time.

Jesse slowly rocked back and forth. Pausing, he noticed a piece of lint on his pant leg and flicked it onto the floor. His thoughts went on.

Then…then it is my job. I don’t know what we’re going to do about this! Are we going to move, or lose our income? Lord, please show me what to do, and please give me peace in these changes!

He felt a prompting to pick up his Bible. Grasping the worn leather cover, he let the pages fall open and quietly flipped through.

Lord, give me a verse. Give me something from You to guide me.

He skimmed the pages and kept praying. Lord, something! I feel so lost in all these changes!

And there it was.

The other verses surrounding this one seemed to fade to the background, as Jesse fixed his eyes on the special words.

For I am the Lord, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed.

     ~Malachi 3:6

His eyes welled up with tears again. Although this time, they were not tears of sorrow, but of rejoicing. Jesse read the verse over and over. Gladness filled his heart.

I am the Lord, I change not... He doesn’t change! Yes, Jesus, You never change! You are true to Your Word and promise to never leave me! How could I have forgotten that?!

Jesse clasped the Bible to his chest and bowed his head in thankfulness.

 Heavenly Father…thank You for that reminder. Thank You that You never change…You never lie. You are always the same yesterday, today, and forever! Thank You that I can trust in You, because You are faithful. You are the Solid Rock I can stand on…ALL other ground is sinking sand! I know my life is completely crazy right now, and I have some pretty major decisions to make in the midst of my grief. But You are so kind, so faithful to meet me in this storm. I’m so grateful that you NEVER change, and I can count on You, even when all around me is failing. Because You are my Solid Rock, I will not be consumed. I love You, Jesus…

Quietly, Jesse laid his Bible on the coffee table. He stretched, yawned, and stood up. The troubled spirit that had haunted him minutes before had all vanished—he was resting in the confidence of his Savior. Jesse went in the bathroom and picked up his orange toothbrush. He moved the bristles back and forth, back and forth, making toothpaste foam that came and decorated his lips. He was still thinking.

He never changes. Wow. That doesn’t mean the world around me will not change, but it does mean I have a foundation to stand firm on. Of course, yeah, I’m still worried about my job and everything, but I can know my God doesn’t change and He is on my side!

Jesse rinsed his mouth out and dried his face on the towel. He studied his face in the mirror for a moment, and suddenly flashed a silly grin at himself.

“Thank You, Jesus.” He whispered to himself. “Thank You that You never change.”

-The End-

By Rachel C. 

The Bible and the Coal Basket

The story is told of an old man who lived on a farm in the mountains of eastern Kentucky with his young grandson. Each morning, Grandpa was up early sitting at the kitchen table reading from his old worn-out Bible.

His grandson who wanted to be just like him tried to imitate him in any way he could. One day the grandson asked, “Papa, I try to read the Bible just like you but I don’t understand it, and what I do understand I forget as soon as I close the book. What good does reading the Bible do?”

 The Grandfather quietly turned from putting coal in the stove and said, “Take this coal basket down to the river and bring back a basket of water.” The boy did as he was told, even though all the water leaked out before he could get back to the house.

The Grandfather laughed and said, “You will have to move a little faster next time,” and sent him back to the river with the basket to try again.

This time the boy ran faster, but again the basket was empty before he returned home. Out of breath, he told his grandfather that it was “impossible to carry water in a basket,” and he went to get a bucket instead. The old man said, “I don’t want a bucket of water; I want a basket of water. You can do this. You’re just not trying hard enough,” and he went out the door to watch the boy try again.

 At this point, the boy knew it was impossible, but he wanted to show his grandfather that even if he ran as fast as he could, the water would leak out before he got far at all. The boy scooped the water and ran hard, but when he reached his grandfather the basket was again empty.

Out of breath, he said, “See Papa, it’s useless!”

“So you think it is useless?” The old man said, “Look at the basket.” The boy looked at the basket and for the first time he realized that the basket looked different. Instead of a dirty old coal basket, it was clean.

“Son, that’s what happens when you read the Bible. You might not understand or remember everything, but when you read it, it will change you from the inside out.”

That is the work of God in our lives.

To change us from the inside out and to slowly transform us into the image of His son.

Take time to read a portion of God’s word each day. Pray that He will use it to turn your heart and mind to Him.

-Author Unknown

The Move—part 3

I’m sorry this didn’t post! For some reason, it became a draft instead of being posted. (A big thank you to Jessica for pointing out it didn’t post!) So here it is now—and I’m sure it will make the rest of the story more understandable!

-  -  -

Curious to know what else happened? Read part 1, part 2, and part 4.

Surveying the loaded wagon, Mary helped two-year-old Robert climb onto the seat before she turned to say her final goodbyes to her friends gathered around. “Goodbye, Barbara.” She said gently, “I hope you’ll be as encouraging to the new pastor’s wife as you have been to me! Goodbye, Rhoda.” She paused for a final word with each woman, trying to hold the tears back as she moved on to each woman.

I will miss them, she thought as she hugged each one. Oh, how I will miss them! But I know this is the best for my family. After saying goodbye to each one, she turned to see John standing there. Squeezing his hand tightly for reassurance, she surveyed all her friends. Barbara was looking away, and a sniffle sounded on the warm spring air.

“Oh, I can’t bear it, ma’am!” Barbara cried, throwing herself on her friend. Mary held her tightly for several seconds. “I just can’t bear to think that I’ll nevu’ see you, or the little ‘uns again, ma’am. What will we do wit’out your kindly presence here? The village ‘ll be empty wit’out you ‘an yours here!”

“Aye, ‘twill be that,” Rhoda chimed in. “Isn’t there any way that we could convince you to stay here?”

“We believe this is what the Lord wants us to do.” Mary said, trying to hold her tears back. “Although I confess I will miss you all sorely.”

“Come, Barbara,” Rhoda sighed. “We know this’ll be good for the family, and if it wasn’t the Lord’s will it wouldn’t be happening.”

Barbara moved back, and Mary looked up at her husband again. “John—could we take one more walk around the flowers in the garden before we go? Just by ourselves? I’d like to see them one more time before we’re gone forever.”

“Of course.” The depressed friends stood waiting patiently by the wagon while the couple moved toward the garden for one last look together.

“John,” Mary said quietly as soon as they were out of earshot, “Oh John, I cannot stand saying goodbye! Is this really the right decision? It seemed so right at the beginning, but now…now when we have to leave everyone behind and go somewhere we don’t know anyone at all. Oh John, I’d almost rather just stay here, even if it is hard!”

“I know Mary.” John was not his usual self either. Clearly, he was distressed. “But won’t it be better for our family if we go?”

“It would—in a way.” Mary conceded, “But this is where all the children’s friends are as well. And we haven’t starved—God has always provided for everything, even the rent when that’s needed. We’ve lived well enough here.”

“I confess that I have been wishing we could stay as well.” John said after a moment’s silence. “Mary, let’s pray about this again. Perhaps—perhaps it is the Lord’s will that we stay after all.”

Together, they knelt among the dew-covered roses, and prayed for the Lord’s direction. The sunbeams fell on the two, warming the ground and making the sweet, light scent of roses float on the warm air. Being behind the house, their friends couldn’t see them but if they had they would have been very surprised. When they finished praying, Mary and John rose to their feet again. As she pulled her white shawl a little closer around her shoulders, Mary looked searchingly into her husband’s face.

“What do you think now, John?” She asked.

“I think we are to stay.” He said with finality.

Her voice caught in her throat for several seconds, and then she whispered, “John, I’m very happy that you’ve decided that. I feel the same.”

“Come,” he said, taking her hand. “We must tell the others. And get that wagon unloaded!” As they hurried around the side of the house, the quiet buzzing of the sad townsfolk ceased and everyone stared at the couple. “Friends,” John’s voice rang strong in the spring air, “We have decided—we will stay. Would any of you be willing to help us unload the wagon?”

For a second, a stunned silence filled the air. Then, a cheer rose from the crowd. Barbara hurried forward, tears of joy stealing down her cheeks. “Oh ma’am!” She cried, catching Mary’s hand, “Oh ma’am, this is the best news I’ve heard all year!”

“It is for me too!” Mary said, as she reached to help Robert down, and then gave Annie a hand. “Children, Father and I have decided that we will stay here in Wainsgate.” With joyful hearts and beaming faces, the people quickly helped the family move back into the little cottage, and the wagon clattered away—without them.

-Esther

Joyful Singing—part 4

Curious to know what happened last? Read part 1, part 2, and part 3.

“Mary, could you come practice this song with me?” John raised a leaf of paper, on which were written in neat rows a few lines of a song.

“Yes, John. Of course. Annie, sit still just a moment more, please.” Pulling the brush through the little girl’s hair one more time, she looked over her husband’s shoulder as he sang the song through once. The tune was familiar, and soon she was able to sing along as she deftly split the hair into three equal sections and braided it tightly before securing it to the girl’s head with a pin. Then, slipping the simple bonnet over the dark hair, she gave her daughter a kiss before sending her outside.

Once that job was done, she drew a stool up beside her husband. “Now that Annie is gone I can concentrate better. Will you want to sing this tomorrow?”

“Yes, I was hoping to. Should we go through it again, so you’ll get the words better?”

“Yes, of course.”

Together, their two voices raised in praise. His deeper bass notes and her higher soprano sounded sweet together. “Blest be the tie that binds / Our hearts in Christian love; / The fellowship of kindred minds / Is like to that above….”

“It’s beautiful, John!” Mary said when they had finished. “Did this…did the song come to you after what happened earlier this week?”

“Yes, Mary. Seeing the love of everyone, and feeling the sadness at leaving even in my own heart…and then their joy at finding out we were staying after all. It deeply impressed me. And I wanted to remember how that was. I know we did the right thing by staying here in Wainsgate.”

“This is home.” Mary said softly, fingering the edge of the paper. “I guess that farewell sermon last Sunday wasn’t farewell at all. And this will be a hello, in some ways.”

“It will indeed.” John laid the paper gently on the open page of the Bible, and stood up. “I have some more studying to do before tomorrow, so I should get busy on that. Would you be able to sing this with me tomorrow?”

“If the children behave, of course!” Mary rose and cheerfully set about preparing the noon meal. As she worked, she hummed. She was looking forward to tomorrow’s service—tomorrow’s homecoming service.

* * *

“And so we are here again,” John finished. “Here, to stay as long as the Lord wills it. And, for myself, I have hope that it will be for a long time.” He paused, gazed at the Bible for a moment, then glanced over the seated people. “Now, I have a special poem that came to me after the event of our almost departing to London.” In bold, clear tones he read it out. Then, he addressed everyone again. “This has a tune to it, one you all know well. Why don’t we sing it together?”

Then, reading the first verse out again, he struck up the tune and the congregation followed his lead. Together, the notes soared to the ceiling and beyond. They were words of hope, words of joy. Words expressing the elation they felt at being together again. And, above all the others, Mary’s voice rang the loudest as she sang out the jubilant words. This was home—and she knew that whatever would happen, the Lord was watching over them.

Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.

Before our Father’s throne
We pour our ardent prayers:
Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one,
Our comforts and our cares.

We share our mutual woes;
Our mutual burdens bear;
And often for each other flows
The sympathizing tear.

When we asunder part,
It gives us inward pain;
But we shall still be join’d in heart,
And hope to meet again.

This glorious hope revives
Our courage by the way;
While each in expectation lives,
And longs to see the day.

From sorrow, toil, and pain
And sin, we shall be free;
And perfect love and friendship reign
Thro’ all eternity.

 

 

Note: Like I said before, this is a true story. John and Mary Fawcett actually were real people living in the 18th – early 19th centuries. John lived from January 1739 – July 1817. In 1765, he joined the Baptist Church and eventually became pastor of Wainsgate Baptist Church in Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire, England. For seven years, he and his wife and growing family lived there, although his income was meager. When the opportunity arose in 1772 to pastor a larger church in London, he agreed to take it. He gave a farewell sermon at the Wainsgate church. After helping them pack the wagons with all their worldly goods, their friends bid them a tearful goodbye.

“Oh John, John!” Mary is reported to have said, “I cannot bear this!”

“Neither can I!” John responded, “And we will not go. Unload the wagons, and put everything back in its place.” His words were received with great elation, and soon they settled in again. In commemoration of the event, he penned this song—which is still widely sung today.

If you’d like to read more about this event, or more about John Fawcett, visit the following sites:

• Hymn Story: Blest Be the Tie That Binds – Lectionary.org
• John Fawcett (theologian) – Wikipedia.org
• Blest Be the Tie That Binds – CyberHymnal.org
• Reading the Hymns: Blest Be the Tie that Binds – Mere Orthodoxy.com

I hope you were blessed by this little story! Have you ever heard the story before?
-Esther

News from London—part 2

Curious to know what happened last? Read part 1.

“Mary! Mary, where are you?” Striding quickly from the bright warm sunlight outside into the darker room, John looked around for his wife.

Looking up from where she sat on the bed, Mary answered, “I’m here. What is it, John?” His voice held a ring of hope in it that she hadn’t heard for quite a while. “What’s happened?”

“Mary, the post just came. You wouldn’t believe what the letter says!” She waited, tense. “You remember that a few weeks ago we received word that the pastor of the Carter’s Lane Baptist Church in London was retiring, and how I sent a letter saying that after praying about the situation I’d be interested in serving there?”

Gasping, Mary leaned forward. “You mean…?”

Opening the letter again, he scanned through it as he talked. “The letter is from a Mr. Pitts in London. He says that they have decided that they are willing to have me be their pastor. Oh, Mary! Do you know what this means? I will still be able to minister to the people, but the income will be much larger, and we won’t have to worry about the rent money anymore!”

“Oh John, that’s wonderful!” Rising to her feet, she hugged her husband tightly. “This sounds like the answer to all our prayers!”

“It is, I believe.” He said, “But Mary, would you want to move to London?”

“Why ever not, John?” She pulled back, stared into his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I? If you will be able to minister even better to people, and our family would be better able to live on the higher income, then of course I’d want to!”

“I’m glad you feel that way, dear.” He said gently, “I was just afraid you might not want to—seeing how you have so many friends here.”

“I’ll go wherever you go, John.” She said simply. “When do you think we’ll move?”

“Mr. Pitts says to come as soon as possible. They’ll help us get a wagon for our belongings, and I think it will probably take a week or so to get everything arranged.”

“I’ll be able to get everything ready by then.” Glancing around the small one-room house, she chuckled. “With as few things as we have, we’ll be ready in no time! Now—I should go check on the children. Last I knew they were outside, but it’s been quiet out there for a while so….”

“You better go look after them.” John agreed, a twinkle in his eye. “Who knows what trouble Robert could be getting into?”

…to be continued next week!
-Esther

A Pot of Broth—part 1

Introduction

A while ago, I heard the story behind the song “Blest Be the Tie That Binds” by John Fawcett, and it impacted me greatly. The story has always stuck with me, and I thought it would be fun to retell it my own way—trying to keep the historical facts in place, but taking liberties in recreating the story the way I thought best to portray it when there were no historical facts to give me guidance. The following is part one of four of the story I have recreated. John and Mary are real people, and what happens really did happen. All others in the story are fictitious—I do know that John and Mary had children at this time, but I haven’t been able to find their names or how many there were when this happened.

I hope you’ll be encouraged as you read.

 

A Pot of Broth—part 1

“John,” Mary was worried. “The rent is due any day, and the children are sick. We need to find something new—soon.” She turned from looking at the chilly, gray spring day, and closed the door firmly behind her.

“I know, Mary.” John pushed his black hair away from his forehead, resting his hand on his face for several seconds before taking it down and looking into his wife’s eyes again. “I know, dear, but we must be patient. The Lord has always provided for us before, has He not? We must trust….”

“John, look at Annie here! She badly needs broth, and there is nothing but a few shriveled onions on the shelf and some salt-pork outside the door! John, if we don’t find a parish that can pay you more than just food once in a while, I’m afraid we’ll all starve!” Bursting into tears, she covered her face with her hands for several quiet seconds.

“Mary, come here.” John stood up, and moved toward his wife. Drawing her to himself gently, he spoke softly in her ear. “I know it’s hard dear, but we need to keep trusting Him anyway. Come, let’s pray.”

Shuddering sobs still shook her body, but she stood silently and he led in prayer. “Lord, you know how we need your guidance. You know how the children are sick and we have hardly any food in the house. Please help us to find another place if it is your will, and for now please protect us with your Almighty Hand.”

“And Lord—” she knew her voice was rough with tears, but it didn’t matter. “Please, give me patience and help the children to get better.”

“In Jesus’ name,” John said. Together they breathed “Amen.”

“Mary, we must trust. Jesus said that ‘Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he will give it you.’* We must trust that He will provide.”

“I know, John. I find it hard sometimes to do that. Thank you for praying—it has made things seem better somehow.” Squaring her shoulders, she went to the bucket of water and dipped some out into a pot which she hung over the fire to boil.

Someone knocked at the door, and suddenly fear grabbed her heart. Is this the landlord? Did he come for his payment? “John?” she tremulously asked, and by his concerned face as he stepped quickly to the door, she knew he mirrored her thoughts.

Unlatching the door, he swung it wide. “Pastor John!” It was a woman’s voice, Barbara’s to be exact! Gratefully, Mary moved to stand by her husband.

“Barbara! It’s so good to see you!” Warmly, she hugged the woman and then gently took her hand. “Please come in. Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, I can’t stay long.” Barbara said, “But I thought you up here might be a needin’ somethin’ fer your family—seein’ some of your children are sick and all, so I thought I might bring a chicken and a few potatoes by.” As she spoke, she pushed a basket in Mary’s hands and handed a small sack to John.

Hearing the woman’s words, Mary’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh Barbara, thank you! God must have sent you—I was just thinking some broth would do Annie good!” She gave the woman another hug. “Thank you.”

The woman turned, and hurried down the path. As she latched the gate behind her she called, “Glad I could help! God bless ye!”

As they watched her go, John glanced at his wife. “The Lord provides.” He said confidently, clutching the sack firmly.

“He does indeed.” The tears still gently flowed down Mary’s cheeks. The departing figure turned to wave once, and she returned the gesture. “He is faithful.”

“Now, I should go take care of this chicken.” John chuckled. “I have a feeling there will be a little girl here who’d be glad for some broth.” Moving out of the doorway, he went about his task.

Mary continued to gaze at the place where she had seen the woman disappear over the hill. “He provides,” she whispered, before she stepped to the table and began cutting up some potatoes to stew with the chicken.

*John 16:23

Stay in the Castle :: Part Four

Click here to read Part One, Part Two, and Part Three

.......................................

She woke with the dawn, not knowing that it was a year to the day since her departure. Her back hurt. "Just part of being in your last month of pregnancy," the village woman had told her. Rising with difficulty, her husband muttered something in his half drunken state. He had come home only hours before and they had argued--again. Oh, well, after the baby is born maybe things will get better.

There was still a house to clean and chores to do. Picking up a worn, straw broom, she walked outside to sweep the front porch. Their house was small. It sat at the edge of town, not far from the bridge where he had waited for her that first night. Her eyes followed the path up to her Father's Castle. The King had still found little ways to show her that he had not forgotten her; that she was still loved. But what he had said was now true. Nothing was the same.

Her eyes wandered to the East to spend a few minutes watching the sun rise, a simple pleasure that she shared alone each morning. It's rays almost blinded her, distorting the trees and the hills beyond. Squinting against it's brightness, she returned to the job at hand, first glancing absently up the High Road.

Her heart seemed to stop, gripped as if by a strong hand. The broom quivered in her grasp. Far down the road came a white horse, it's rider sitting straight and tall. He seemed to be coming straight out of the sun. The horse quickened it's pace as it neared the castle, sensing the excitement of it's master. Her heart began to beat again, now loud and in rhythm to the pounding hoofs. He reighed his mount to a stop outside the castle's front gate. She could not make out his features, but his stance spoke of honor and character. He knocked on the front door, her front door not that long ago. The King stepped out to greet him, and she watched as they conversed; watched as the King spoke with his hands, and then pointed toward the village. Involuntarily, she took a step back into the shadow of the porch.

The noble Prince listened carefully, his strong shoulders sagging in disappointment and sadness. Shaking the King's hand and receiving from him a consoling hug, he mounted his horse. He looked toward her village home, his eyes finding her in the shadow. For a moment they both stared. Then, pointing his mount back toward the sun, he rode away into it's brightness.

She felt the hot tears on her arms and hands long before it occurred to her that she was crying. Nothing, she thought, will ever be the same.

♦ THE END ♦

Written by Pastor Jerry Ross

Stay in the Castle is a story written by Pastor Jerry Ross about a young lady who finds herself at a crossroads. One road is marked, "My will,” the other, "God's will.” It is a love story–a story of misplaced love, lost love and genuine love realized. Best of all, Stay in the Castle is a true story.

I hope this story was helpful to you. I know that it encouraged me to "Stay in the Castle" and wait on God's will for me no matter how long it takes! Going God's way is always best! :)

Have you enjoyed this story? Has it encouraged you to "Stay in the Castle"? Please feel free to comment with your thoughts! =) 

Take time for the Master!

Martha quickly kneaded her bread dough and formed it into a perfect loaf shape. This meal had to be just right, because a good friend of hers was there in the small village of Bethany visiting Martha and her sister, Mary. The friend was in the next room, and it was Jesus! Mary and Martha had looked forward to this day for some time, for they dearly loved Jesus.

As she shoved the loaf into the oven, Martha grumbled to herself: “Why am I the one doing all this work for our meal? Mary should be helping, but there she sits with Jesus!” Martha hurriedly began working on the other food, thinking similar thoughts. Once or twice she stopped a moment to peek into the next room, hoping to see her sister getting up to join her in the preparations. But each time Mary was always in the same place – listening with close attention to Jesus’ words.

Finally, a sweaty, frustrated, and irritated Martha, her arms akimbo, marched into the room where Jesus and Mary sat. She asked in an exasperated voice: “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me alone to serve? Tell her then to come help me.”

Jesus gently rebuked her. “Martha, Martha! You are worried and troubled about many things.  But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her.” 

Martha felt so ashamed. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, taking a seat on by Jesus’ feet.  “I got so caught up in other things that I forgot how I should be taking time to listen to you instead.”

Jesus smiled, and this time, spoke to both of his friends. Martha listened attentively, and her heart was filled with happiness. She knew that this time she was making the right decision: sitting at the Master’s feet, and being spiritually fed.  The meal she was preparing could wait.  For now, she was feasting on food that would satisfy her soul.

                                                                                                        *Based off of  Luke 10:38-42*

                                                    ~*~*~*~

As Martha, we should not allow the cares of this world, as important as they may be, to take from our time with the Master.  Time with Jesus – should be one of the most important things we do each day.

The Holy Scripture tells us, I love them that love me: and those that seek me early shall find me. (Prov. 8:17) We should desire to be with our Master, to be more like him.

Mary, for instance, was sitting at Jesus’ feet, listening very carefully to all he was telling her. She took the time to quietly listen, to meditate, to seek him. Let the heart of them rejoice that seek the Lord. Seek the Lord and his strength, seek his face continually. (1 Chron. 16:10-11)   Mary had peace in her heart – her heart rejoiced – because she sought the Lord.

What Martha was doing was not wrong – there is nothing at all wrong with doing household chores, or of eating or sleeping. Those things are necessary things! The point is...what comes first when the Lord is speaking? Shall we live without thinking about the Lord, (except on Sundays), or live in the Spirit and abide in the Lord's presence every day of the week? Dishes and food and beds can wait, remember, they are not eternal, and will perish. Let us begin living our eternal life now by sitting at the Lord's feet, listening to Him, today. Let us choose the better part that can never be taken from us.

My prayer is that I will always have time for my Master, and not let anything else be more important than Him – I don’t want to be like Martha, who was so busy, she forgot how Jesus was most important.  

All in a Day's Work

Once upon a time, in a land south of United States lived 2 beautiful, single women, who were just settling into life living together: one spoke fluent Spanish - the other was just learning! It so happened on this certain day, these young women needed to travel to a little town 15 minutes away (driving distance that is). However in this certain day, one woman would need to use a bike and the other woman would need to ride a horse; because the other bike had been stolen.

Such was the situation one Tuesday as Virginia and I prepared to head out for a day of visiting and Bible studies in a little town called La Palmerita (little palm) Nicaragua.

However before leaving, I attempted to mount the horse. But Perezoso, the horse had an attitude, thus living up to his name of lazy. Finally, I mounted and attempted to try to test ride him in the yard before attempting to take him on the road. However he had a mind of his own, refusing to cooperate and I didn't know what to do. Randy, our pastor, decided to mount the horse to see what would happen. He took the horse to the water tank and left him drink before trying to re-mount him, but to no avail. We decided to finish getting ready before attempting it again. Once we were ready, Virginia attempted to mount him, but he kept backing around. She whacked Perezoso on his rump and mounted him. However when she attempted to go on the road, he refused to go through the gate. Randy led him to the middle of the road and off we went - one on a horse and the other on a bike. However Perezoso simply had a mind of his own and would not listen.

Finally, Virginia was at the end of her tether and she went to visit the neighbors to ask to borrow one of their horses. The neighbor lady lent us Chiquito, one of her horses, and took Perezoso and made him lug water out of the well. Once again we attempted to make our way to La Palmerita. Everything went along rather smoothly, except that Chiquito trotted horribly.

We arrived in the town and began to visit different people. When Virginia went to mount Chiquito, the homemade bridle came apart. I led him to Johana’s (a native lady) house while Virginia, who had been riding, visited with a young lady. I spent time at Johana’s house attempting to use my limited Spanish-speaking ability. After spending time with her, her sons fixed the bridle and we rode to the church to unload our heavily-loaded backpacks.

While at the church, we decided to partake of the wonderful morsels of food before going to visit some other women in this little town. I, who had biked in the morning, now took to riding the horse, with a switch in hand. We rode down Center Street. However we didn’t find the girl we were looking for, so we headed over to 1st Street to see if she was there, but she was not. But since we were there, we saw month-old twins, who had been born a month premature. They were so small! Upon preparing to leave that house, one man re-did Chiquito’s bridle, as he did not like the way the young boys had done it. When I went to mount, the stirrup broke apart. Virginia mounted and off we went again - this time up Center Street to visit another little baby.

This was when catastrophe struck to a certain young lady on a bike - namely me.

I had been riding through water puddles all morning and had not encountered any problems. However this next puddle wasn’t so kind. This puddle spanned the whole road and into the field. There was a small dry strip through the center, so I started to bike through, but what I had not realized was the small section that was under water. BUT it was too late now. SPLASH!!! into the water I fell. I called out to Virginia. She looked back but looked away as she knew all too well the feeling of despair!

Embarrassed, I drug myself out of the water and to the side of the road while Virginia went in to see the baby. Maria, the lady of the house told Virginia to go bring me in.  All mud-bogged and wet, I went in and Maria offered me a chair. When we went to leave, Virginia offered the horse to me and off we went, but not home yet, as we had one more class for the day. Returning to the church, we found young girls were waiting for their class. Of course they all asked me what happen and I explained the story.

 We had just started the class when Virginia heard a familiar sound - the sound of the mission truck. But we poor women had been in the sun too long and it had affected our brains, so we didn’t think fast enough to stop the truck. Bone-weary and exhausted, I led Chiquito to the well and mounted him - or rather plopped on his back. Off I went on the horse, trying to go fast enough to catch the truck, but not so fast that I would fall off the saddle. Seeing the truck up ahead and coming up from the bottom of Center Street, I saw Randy and Jason from the mission. After asking them to stop at the church on their way home, back to the church I went.

After class, we cleaned up and soon heard the familiar sound of the truck. Virginia told me go in the truck and she will ride Chiquito home. I got home soon but wouldn’t know till later the issues that Virginia encountered. She apparently was having quite a time.

When she left the church, she worked him into a full gallop out of the little town. When she got to the main road the broken stirrup fell completely off! She dismounted and picked it up and once again mounted the horse and continued to its owner’s place, where she returned the horse and was met by Jason, who gave her a bike to continue the rest of the way home. All in all we had a great day in the little town, but we were bone-weary and sore that night! But it was good memories and laughs for everyone near and far!

This is a true story that took place in November 2009 in Nicaragua, while I was serving as a missionary.

-Andrea

:: The Box ::

-The Box-

Author Unknown

I remember a day one winter that stands out like a boulder in my life. The weather was unusually cold, our salary had not been regularly paid, and it did not meet our needs when it was. My husband was away much of the time, travelling from one district to another. Our boys were well, but my little Ruth was ailing, and at best none of us were decently clothed. I patched and re-patched, with spirits sinking to the lowest ebb. The water gave out in the well, and the wind blew through the cracks in the floor.

Credit

The people in the parish were kind and generous too; but the settlement was new, and each family was struggling for itself. Little by little, at the time I needed it most, my faith began to waver.

Early in life I was taught to take God at His word, and I thought my lesson was well learned, I had lived upon His promises in dark times, until I knew as David did, “who was my Fortress and Deliverer.” Now a daily prayer for forgiveness was all that I could offer.

My husband’s overcoat was hardly thick enough for October, and he was often obliged to ride miles to attend some meeting or funeral. Many times our breakfast was Indian cake, and a cup of tea without sugar. Christmas was coming; the children always expecting presents. I remember the ice was thick and smooth, and the boys were each craving a pair of skates. Ruth, in some unaccountable way, had taken a fancy that the dolls I had made were no longer suitable; she wanted a nice large one, and insisted on praying for it. I knew it seemed impossible, but oh! I wanted so very much to give the children the presents they each longed for. It seemed as if God had deserted us, but I did not tell my husband all this. He worked so earnestly and heartily. I supposed him to be as hopeful as ever. I kept the sitting room cheerful with an open fire and tried to serve our scanty meals as appealingly as I could.

The morning before Christmas, James was called in to see a sick man. I put up a piece of bread for his lunch – it was the best I could do – wrapped my plaid shawl around his neck, and then tried to whisper a promise as I often had, but the words died away upon my lips. I let him go without it.

That was a dark, hopeless day. I coaxed the children to bed early, for I could not bear their talk. When Ruth went to bed, I listened to her prayer. She asked for the last time most explicitly for her doll, and for the skates for her brothers.

Her bright face looked so lovely when she whispered to me. “You know I think they’ll be here early tomorrow morning, Mama.” I thought then that I would move heaven and earth to save her from the disappointment. I sat down alone that night and gave way to the most bitter tears.

Before long James returned, chilled and exhausted. He drew off his boots: the thin stockings slipped off with them and his feet were red with cold.

I wouldn’t treat a dog this way, let alone a faithful servant!” I said bitterly. Then as I glanced up and saw the hard lines in his face and the look of despair, it flashed across me – James had let go, too.

I brought him a cup of tea, feeling sick and dizzy at the very thought. He took my hand and we sat for an hour without a word. I wanted to die and meet God, and tell Him His promise wasn’t true; my soul was so full of rebellious despair.

There came a sound of bells, a quick stop, and a loud knock at the door. James sprang up to open it. There stood Deacon White.

“A box came by express just before dark,” he said. “I brought it round as soon as I could get away. Reckon it might be for Christmas. ‘At any rate,’ I said, ‘they shall have it tonight.’ Here is a turkey my wife asked me to fetch along, and these other things I believe belong to you.”

There was a basket of potatoes and a bag of flour. Talking all the time, he carried in a box, and then, with a hearty goodnight, he rode away.

Still without speaking, James found a chisel and opened the box. He drew out first a thick red blanket, and saw that beneath was full of clothing. It seemed at that moment as if Christ fastened on me a look of reproach. James sat down and covered his face with his hands. “I cannot touch them,” he exclaimed;

“I haven’t been true, just when God was trying me to see if I could hold out. Do you think I could not see how you were suffering? And I had no word of comfort to offer. I know now how to preach the awfulness of turning from God.”

“James.” I said, clinging to him, “don’t take it to heart like this; I am to blame, I ought to have helped you. We will ask Him together to forgive us.”

“Wait a moment, dear, I cannot talk now,” he said, then he went into another room. I knelt down, and my heart broke; in an instant all the darkness, all the stubbornness rolled away. Jesus came again and stood before me, but with the loving words: “Daughter!”

Sweet promises of tenderness and joy flooded my soul. I was so lost in praise and gratitude that I forgot everything else. I don’t know how long it was before James came back, but I knew he, too, had found peace.

“Now my dear wife,” he said, “let us thank God together.” He then poured out words of praise; Bible words, for nothing else could express our thanksgiving.

It was 11 o’clock, the fire was low, and there was the great box, and nothing touched but the warn blanket we had so desperately needed. We piled on some fresh logs, lighted two candles, and began to examine our treasures.

We drew out an overcoat; I made James try it on. It was just the right size and I danced around him, for all my lightheartedness had returned.

There was a warm suit of clothes also, and three pairs of woolen hose. There was a dress for me, and yards of flannel; a pair of arctic overshoes for each of us, and in mine was a slip of paper. I have it now, and mean to hand it down to my children. It was Jacob’s blessing to Asher, “Thy shoes shall be iron and brass, and as thy days, so shall thy strength be.” In the gloves, evidently for James, the same dear hand had written, “I, the Lord thy God, will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, ‘Fear not, I will help thee.’”

It was a wonderful box, and packed with thoughtful care. There was a suit of clothes for each of the boys and a little red gown for Ruth. There were mittens, scarves, and hoods; and down in the center, a box. We opened it and there was a great wax doll. I burst into tears again; James wept with me for the joy. It was too much; and then we both exclaimed again, for next we drew out two pairs of skates. There were books for us to read; some of them I had wished to see; stories for the children to read; aprons and underclothing; yards of ribbons; a lovely photograph; needles buttons and thread; and an envelope containing a ten-dollar gold piece.

At last we cried over everything we took up. It was past midnight, and we were faint and exhausted with happiness. I made a cup of tea, cut a fresh loaf of bread and James boiled some eggs. We drew up the table before the fire – how we enjoyed our supper! And then we sat talking over our life and how sure a help God always proved to be.

You should have seen the children the next morning. The boys raised a shout at the sight of their skates. Ruth caught up her doll, and hugged it tightly without a word. Then she went into her room and knelt by her bed.

When she came back she whispered to me, “I knew it would be there, Mama, but I wanted to thank God just the same, you know.”

“Look here, wife,” cried James. We went to the window and there were the boys out of the house already, and skating on the ice with all their might.

My husband and I both tried to return thanks to the church in the East that sent us the box and have tried to return thanks unto God every day since.

Hard times have come again and again, but we have trusted in Him; dreading nothing so much as a doubt of His protecting care. Over and over again we have proved that, “They that seek the Lord shall not want any good thing.”

The Reprimand

At the sound of Mr. Troy’s bell, Eleanor Graves vanished into his private office. Ten minutes later she came out, with a deep flush on her face and tears in her eyes.

“He lectured me on the spelling of a couple of words and a mistake in a date,” she complained to Jim Forbes. “Anybody’s liable to misspell a word or two in typing, and I know I took the date down exactly as he gave it to me.”

Jim looked uncomfortable. “I would not mind,” he said awkwardly. “We all have to take it sometime or other. Besides,” he glanced hesitatingly at the pretty, indignant face, “I suppose the boss thinks we ought not to make mistakes.”

“As if I wanted to!” Eleanor retorted, stiffly.

But she worked more carefully the next week; for her pride was touched. Then, with restored confidence, came renewed carelessness, and an error crept into one of the reports she was copying. The error was slight, but it brought her a sharp reprimand from Mr. Troy. It was the second time, he reminded her, that she had made that blunder. At the reproof the girl’s face flushed painfully, and then paled.

“If my work is not satisfactory, you had better find some one who can do it better,” she said.

Whirling round in his swivel-chair, Mr. Troy looked at her. He had really never noticed his latest stenographer before, but now his keen eyes saw many things that showed that she came from a home where she had been petted and cared for.

“How long have you been at work?” he asked.

“This is my first position,” Eleanor answered.

Mr. Troy nodded. “I understand. Now, Miss Graves, let me tell you something. You have many of the qualities of a good business woman; you are punctual, you are not afraid of work, you are fairly accurate. I have an idea that you take pride in turning out a good piece of work. But you must learn to stand criticism and profit by it. We must all take it sometime, every one of us. A weakling goes under. A strong man or woman learns to value it, to make every bit of it count. That is what I hope you will do.”

Eleanor braced herself to meet his eyes.

“If you will let me, I will try again,” she said.

—from Stories Worth Rereading, by Various

Photo courtesy Ethan R on Flickr.

Duty and Pleasure

DUTY AND PLEASURE
“Duty first, and pleasure afterward,” wrote Amy Leslie in her copy-book one fine morning.

Line after line she penned, making many a mistake, for her thoughts were far away. At last her mother, who was sitting near her, said, “Amy, this is the third time you have spelled pleasure without a ‘p,’ and left out the ‘f’ in afterward. Put down your pen and tell me what you are thinking about; for I am sure it is not of your copy.”

“I was only thinking,” replied Amy, “how glad I should be if my copy said, ‘Pleasure first—duty afterward.’ It is very hard always to have the disagreeable part first. I wish I could have one whole week with no duties at all! How I should enjoy myself!”

Mrs. Leslie remained silent for a moment; then she said, while a quiet smile played round her lips, “Well, Amy, for once you shall have what you want. For a whole week you may amuse yourself; no duties, mind, my child,—none at all.”

“There is no chance of my wanting any, I assure you, mama,” said Amy, joyfully; “I shall be so happy, you’ll see!”

“Very well, then,” said Mrs. Leslie; “you may begin to-morrow. To-day I shall expect you to do as usual.”

Amy said no more; she finished her copy, learned her lessons, then went to the nursery to take charge of her little brother while the nurse was busy with other work. Afterward there were socks to mend, and an errand to run, and buttons to sew on to baby’s shoes, and a letter to write. And so the day passed, and the next morning dawned on our pleasure-loving little friend.

“No duties” she said to herself, as she woke at seven, which was her usual time for rising; “so I can lie in bed as long as I please.” She turned over, and as she could not sleep, began making plans for the day, and thinking what a delightful time she would have. About half past nine she came down stairs, to find her breakfast on the table; milk, toast, and egg, all as cold as possible. “What a wretched breakfast!” she said, as she took her seat.

“Well, dear,” replied Mrs. Leslie, “your breakfast was ready at the usual time, and of course is cold now.”

Amy said no more. She ate with only half her usual appetite, and, finishing in about five minutes put away her chair, and left the room. As she went up stairs to fetch her hat, baby in the nursery stretched his arms for her to take him; but she hurried past, and left the little fellow crying with disappointment.

Soon she came down again, with a fairy book in one hand, and a box of chocolate drops in the other. The sweets had been a present, but hitherto her mother had allowed her to have only one or two daily; now, however, she might do as she liked, and at present her idea of perfect bliss was the combined charms of chocolate drops and fairy stories.

For about two hours she sat in the garden; then she grew tired, and a little sick from eating too much chocolate, and was returning to the house, when her pet kitten ran out to meet her. For a short time she amused herself by playing with it, dressing it up in her pocket handkerchief and carrying it like a baby; but Miss Pussy wearied of this, and at last jumped out of her new dress and her mistress’ arms, leaving a scratch as a keepsake behind her.

Altogether, the morning was hardly a successful one, nor was the afternoon much better. After dinner, one of Amy’s little sisters tore her dress, and was running to Amy to ask her to mend it; but Mrs. Leslie said:—

“Don’t go to your sister, my child, come to me;” and little Jessie, wondering, let her mother darn the rent. Amy felt very uncomfortable, for she knew that Mrs. Leslie’s eyes were not strong, and were probably aching with the effort of such fine work; but she shrank from offering her services, and made her escape from the room as soon as she could.

In the evening she was about to draw her chair to the fire and read the newspaper to Mr. Leslie, a duty of which she had always felt rather proud; but her father gravely took the paper out of her hand, saying quickly, “No, Amy, this is a duty; remember you are to amuse yourself and do nothing else.”

Amy’s eyes filled with tears, and she ran up stairs to her own room. She had no heart to read the fairy book, or to make clothes for her doll, or to play with the kitten, or even to eat the rest of her chocolate drops.

“I shall never be able to bear another day of this,” she said to herself; “I thought it would be so delightful to have no duties, but somehow my play does not seem half so good as it did before.”

The next day brought no real pleasure and comfort. Listlessly Amy wandered about, having no zest for any of her former amusements, and feeling thoroughly unhappy. She began to long for the very duties which had seemed so irksome to her; she could hardly keep from tears when she saw others busy over lessons, or her mother doing work which had formerly been hers.

At last her misery ended in a fit of crying, and shutting herself up in her own room, she gave way to it. Sob followed sob so quickly that she did not hear her door open, until her mother’s arms were round her, and her hot, aching head was pillowed on her mother’s shoulder. Not a word passed between them for a few minutes; then Amy sobbed out, “O mother! mother! the copy was quite right, ‘Duty first, and pleasure afterward;’ for without duty there is no pleasure at all.”                               

The End

source: The King’s Daughter and Other Stories (various) 

The Dangerous Door

THE DANGEROUS DOOR

“Oh, cousin Will, do tell us a story! There’s just time before the school-bell rings.” And Harry, Kate, Bob, and little Peace crowded about their older cousin until he declared himself ready to do anything they wished.

“Very well,” said Cousin Will. “I will tell you about some dangerous doors I have seen.”

“Oh, that’s good!” exclaimed Bob. “Were they all iron and heavy bars? And if one passed in, did they shut and keep them there forever?”

“No; the doors I mean are pink or scarlet, and when they open you can see a row of little servants standing all in white, and behind them is a little lady dressed in crimson.”

“What? That’s splendid!” cried Kate. “I should like to go in myself.”

“Ah! it is what comes out of these doors that makes them so dangerous. They need a strong guard on each side, or else there is great trouble.”

“Why, what comes out?” said little Peace, with wondering eyes.

“When the guards are away,” said Cousin Will, “I have known some things to come out sharper than arrows, and they make terrible wounds. Quite lately I saw two pretty little doors, and one opened and the little lady began to talk like this: ‘What a stuck-up thing Lucy Waters is! And did you see that horrid dress made out of her sister’s old one?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ said the other little crimson lady from the other door, ‘and what a turned-up nose she has!’ Then poor Lucy, who was around the corner, ran home and cried all evening.”

“I know what you mean,” cried Kate, coloring.

“Were you listening?”

“Oh, you mean our mouths are doors!” exclaimed Harry, “and the crimson lady is Miss Tongue; but who are the guards, and where do they come from?”

“You may ask the Great King. This is what you must say: ‘Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth: keep the door of my lips.’ Then He will send Patience to stand on one side and Love on the other, and no unkind word will dare come out.”

Source: The Kings Daughter and other Stories (various authors) 

(Thanks to Sayna for letting me repost this story!)

~*~*~*~*~

Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers. And grieve not the holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption. Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.

~Ephesians 4:29-32~

Love All God's Creation....

Background Credit

I love that quote. I don't know why, but it's...beautiful. In its own way.

Today's Selected Story:
I heard the above quote for the first time when I was listening to a radio dramatized story by Leo Tolstoy, God Sees the Truth, But Waits. It's a beautiful story, and I'm sure you'll enjoy it to. So--click the link, read the story, and then come back to tell me what you think. :)

Do you have a favourite quote and / or story that was written many years ago? Comment below; I'd be interested to know! :)

Have a blessed Sunday and following week!

Children Must Be Fed

(A True Story)

“God always does above all we can ask or think,” said Miss Clara. “He delights in giving us good things.”

“I am going to tell you a true story of how God sent us food. My father was a minister, and often people failed to pay promptly, so sometimes we saw hard times. Once when I was a little girl, Father had to go to the conference, and he didn’t have even one cent to leave Mother to buy food with while he was gone. He told Mother he would not go without leaving us money. She told him he must go; that God would take care of us.”

“We had some potatoes, a few cans of fruit, a little dried corn and salt and sugar in the house, but the flour bin was empty. Mother did not believe in going in debt, and we bought only what we could pay for.”

“We still had one loaf of bread when Father left. When that was gone there was no flour to make any more. Mother smiled and told us that God knew we needed flour, and told us not to worry. She had us all kneel with her while she asked our heavenly Father to send us a sack of flour. Then she arose and made the rising for the bread just as if the flour bin were full. Then she said, ‘Now children, I’ve done all I can; God will do the rest.’”

“We all went to bed strong in faith that God would answer our prayers, I almost expected to wake up in the morning and find a sack of flour in the kitchen. When my brother came downstairs the first thing he asked was, ‘Has God sent the flour yet?’”

“Mother lifted the lid from the bread bowl and let us see how light and foamy the rising was. All it needed was the flour. We ate our scant breakfast of potatoes and salt. Then Mother knelt by the empty flour bin and praised God because He had said His children would never need to beg for bread.”

“Mother and I washed the dishes and Mother started to sing the old song, ‘Oh, For a Faith That Will Not Shrink.’ My little brother who was looking out of the window said, ‘Somebody is tying a horse and buggy to our fence.’ A woman came up the path empty-handed.”

“Mother invited her in, and she acted rather embarrassed. She was not a Christian, and had never been to church. Her daughter had been to church and had been converted, and she knew Father and Mother had been praying that she might be saved, too.”

“She talked about the weather, and kept twisting her scarf. Finally she said, ‘I want to tell you a strange thing that happened to me this morning. As I was getting breakfast I heard a voice say, “Take Brother Hayden some flour.” I knew no one was in the kitchen but me, and I was scared. Then I heard it again, “Go take Brother Hayden some flour.” I suppose I’m a fool, but do you need flour?’”

“By this time Mother was crying and saying, ‘Praise the Lord!’ She told the woman of her prayers for flour, showing her the empty flour bin and the crock of yeast rising. The woman began to cry, and going to her buggy, gave my brother a sack of flour, handed me a part of a smoked ham, while the younger brother and sister carried in a carton of milk and a bucket of butter.”

“ ‘I just thought if the Almighty was telling me to take you the flour, like as not you needed the butter, too; so I brought some things along,’ she said.”

“Mother kissed her and said, ‘You look like an angel to us.’ Then we had a real thanksgiving prayer meeting. And then the dear woman gave her heart to Jesus right at our house.”

“Before Father came home from the conference, people came from all parts of his parish came and paid Mother both in food and money a great deal more than they owed.”

-Grace Wanger

{Where I found the story}

Have a blessed Thursday! :)

P.S. Come back next Sunday, and read a wonderful story by Leo Tolstoy, the famous Russian novelist and short-story writer. I’m sure you'll be there. :)