Thinking about two kids in the Bible this morning: One was little Jesus who played about stacks of boards, and who let sawdust filter through His fingers in His dad’s shop. The other kid handed over his lunch of “sardines and crackers” and that One from the carpenter’s shop, big now, with His own hands, blessed that food and, miraculously, it multiplied. And they sat down and had lunch.
Oh, by the way, there were 5000 of those who munched from that one order. And one more thing: There were 12 baskets full of “sardines and crackers” left over when they were all filled. Amazing. Impossible. True. (Wonder if that little boy took home any of the leftovers? Wonder what his mom said?)
Among knowledgeable and capable persons within the writing and publishing community, there are those who frankly say that “Christian” writing–across the board–fails to meet the standard of excellence that is seen in the general market. Now I do understand there are many undesirable offerings in the general market, but there also are many things well done.
Whether the premise to which I referred is sound or not, I leave others to decide, but I am definitely of the opinion that everything we Christians do, we should do well–the very best of which we are capable.
A few days ago I read that the prolific author John Irving begins all his books with the last sentence–the one that will conclude the book. He cogitates, thinks of the plot, the characters, the theme of the novel. He ruminates. Long periods pass before he has the last sentence written, and it will not change. Then there is usually a gap of a year–sometimes 18 months–before the first sentence has come to him. I was astounded when I read that. If a secular writer can expend that much thought and time on two sentences in a book, surely we are Christians can equal or surpass his efforts.
When we study to teach a Sunday school class or to write a sermon, we should do so fervently. When we scribe an essay, or a blog post, or a pamphlet, or a novel, we should so care. Our work should glitter and excel, a tribute to our calling.
Never far from a dominant place in my mind is that of admiration for people who totally give themselves to the work of God: People who may forgo comfort and ease, who may move thousands of miles from their families, and who may assume simple and sacrificial ways of living. Sometimes these people are missionaries to foreign countries, sometimes they pastor or otherwise work in mission churches here in America. Some are called evangelists and they travel in motor homes or in trailers towed behind their cars, and that vehicle is their home, and sometimes they rear their babies in that way. They are the givers. The sacrificers. And there are others. We might never see them or know of them, for they work in the shadows, unseen, unnoticed, but they are there: They of the Holy.
Yesterday on Brother Daniel Scott’s facebook site, I saw this picture. It struck me in my heart, and I typed in a comment to ask what this picture represented. This was Brother Scott’s response.
Sister Shirley: I am assuming you are speaking about the Album of the construction of the church in Quininde, Ecuador. This was the first church I constructed in Ecuador. The environment was very primitive at that time (today it is modern as anything in the United States). I created a church plan that I could present and solicit money for from my Partners In Missions, and know how much it would cost, what materials to purchase, etc. The previous church building is shown, and Paul Hosch from Dallas, Texas, sent me the money for this church. From there we duplicated the plan. To day those churches are running from many hundreds to such as the church in Quito, seating nearly 2,000, yet having to have three services each Sunday with firm request that no one attend a second time. Nice huh! Brother Battle and I worked very closely togather.
I cried when I looked at that picture for I knew it represented someone’s leaving their home to do God’s work, someone’s massive struggle, someone weeping in the night and working until their strength and their bodies were racked.That image haunts me and is etched in my heart
And then today I learned of Brother Willoughby’s death, and when I thought of the circumstances, I literally grew weak.
I have found a wonderful video, a tribute to the lives of Brother and Sister Willoughby. I post it here to honor not only them but Brother Scott, Brother Battle and their families, and you, and others of The Holy. You who give all.
In a conversation yesterday, someone noted that the UPCI–the ministerial organization with which my husband is connected–is now bigger than ever before, and “it literally has strengthened its financial position to a degree where we will soon began (begin) financing our efforts through the interest earned on our invested monies…”.
One of my sons is connected with the WPF, a ministerial organization that was founded a few years ago. I have friends in other ministerial organizations, and many friends, and family–also ministers–who choose to belong to no organization, but who are classified independent. Since many of those who formed the WPF came from the UPCI and the UPCI is now bigger than before, it seems to me that within the small circle of church work with which I am acquainted, the dividing and expanding has worked to grow the organism. I choose not to address my personal thoughts about all the ramifications of such a move for a couple of reasons: The primary reason being that I suspect few give a flip about my observations in that regard.
From the mix of the conversation yesterday came to me a reminder of the importance of doing the basic work of God wherever we are, however we can, and with whatever tools have been thrust our way. Humbly. Not as a peacock admiring his own tail feathers.
Within the minutiae of my notes, scribbled on a faded yellow lined scrap of paper in my handwriting is an account I read somewhere–who knows where?–I wish to share with you.
As the doctors were arguing over his care–who would put in the chest tube, the patient pled, “Somebody please save my life.
While the others argued, two other doctors took over and saved his life.”
Should one have perused the most exhaustive library known to man, scanned the shelves of each bookstore in existence,or “googled” every computer in the world, no more profound guidelines for rearing children would be found than these ancient, magnificent words God spoke to His own children. A most gripping passage of scripture, and one about which I have written before is in Deuteronomy 6:7.
And thou shalt teach them (God’s word) diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest in the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou riseth up.
A few days ago, we met our 10th great-grandchild, whose name is Robert Frances Beeso, but who will be called Franky. I watched Jerry bend down to look at the tiny little fella. I saw their eyes meet, and their fingers intertwine. and I was stricken with sadness as I thought of all Franky will face during his lifetime. Born into a floundering, imploding society, his only hope is that his parents, his grandparents, and those others about him, will take his hand–his tiny, trusting hand–and lead him into the paths of righteousness. May he ever have the words of God whispered into his ears, and the name of Jesus brushed over his lips.
Enough light has slanted our way–I can see its pink edge over the eastern ridge– so that the dark night has been pushed aside, and from my dining room window I can see the form of wind-whipped trees as they bend from the power of the approaching storm. More at this link here.
Because of a world full of gross evil and confusion that encroaches on all of us, it is tempting to focus on those negative and admittedly frightening elements. Rather, we should find tranquility as we recall that Jesus really is the light of the world.
I was reminded of this wonderful piece of knowledge early this morning when I arose around 5:30. Rain had begun sometime during the night, I wanted to see it, so after I opened the front drapes I turned on the yard light and the Christmas lights we have draped around the deck railing. I also clicked the switch that turned on the wreath that is hanging on our inside stair wall.
The light that shined now through our front windows was incredible. The shot above was taken through that window, not only revealing the light outside, but a reflection of the wreath–shows in the top part of the photograph. Photographers call all that unfocused light bokeh. I go along with that, but insist on adding that every fragment of light we have is because of God, for Jesus is the light of the world.
I turned then for a inside shot of the wreath on the stair wall, and saw again more light than what is actually there. In the big wreath there are only three large balls. The others are reflections, as are many of the glowing points from the twinkle lights. Neat, huh. Magic. Nature. Laws of science. God.
Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life. John 8:12
I’m wishing you a blessed Christmas season. Relax. Remember that Jesus truly is the light of the world.
