Golden light on dew-kissed roses
Heralding the grace of day
Cooing doves, at morn’s awakening
Dusty hooves of foals at play
Wheat fields, like a tawny ocean
Rippling in the wind’s caress
Dancing streams, their spray asparkle
Pensive pools in quiet rest
Air perfumed with scent of jasmine
Wind chime’s soft melodious ring
Dappled earth through filtered sunlight
Gamb’lling lambs at start of spring
Miracle of baby’s birthing
Brand new breath, a lusty cry
Old man resting, children’s chatter
Puff balls in a dreamy sky
Cells and segments of an orange
Neatly packed with tasty bliss
Warm embrace of two young lovers
Tenderness of mother’s kiss
These and countless other blessings
Are bestowed on us each day
Pointing us to God’s compassion
Showing us His love-filled way.
He surrounds us with His beauty
Fills our souls with untold wealth
Lifting them from deep depression
Into happiness and health.
Yet His greatest gift of goodness
Starts its journey steeped in death
Wounded Saviour hanging, dripping
Blood for us with His last breath
Cursed that He might buy our healing
‘Tombed to fight for all our souls
Breaking forth in glorious vict’ry
Empty grave, and men made whole.
What a song our hearts are singing
Let the church bells toll and toll
Jesus is our Lord and Saviour
‘Tis indeed well with my soul
More and more, these days, it takes courage to be overt in
one’s profession of faith.
I remember the trepidation I felt as I examined my patients and braced myself to witness to them and offer to pray with them. No matter how often one does it, there is usually some resistance in one’s spirit. We have an enemy who tries to discourage us. But when we are obedient, ther’s nothing to touch the thrill in one’s spirit as you feel the approval of God.
Looking for clues. Seeking guidance.
Sometimes, while I examined my patients and told them what
to expect the following day — the day of their surgery — I’d look for clues
about their spiritual journey. If I saw a Bible or devotional on their bedside
table, I knew I could talk to them about my experience of the way God comes
through when we pray.
Often, though, there were few clues, even in the
conversation. Then I’d have to rely on the Holy Spirit, and my own courage. As
a general rule (which I admit, I broke on occasions), I’d offer to pray with
them unless I felt a strong sense that I shouldn’t. For example, one of my
patients told me she was a witch. I prayed for
her, but it would have been unwise to offer to pray with her.
The macho man; steeling myself to obey
Part of the adventure of the Christian life is in the joy of obedience in the face of the enemy’s opposition. Sometimes I’d have to steel myself to be obedient. I remember seeing a real macho man on my premed round. He had a Men’s Health magazine beside him and was abrupt in his manner, answering all my medical questions in monosyllables. Still, I felt no check in my spirit about praying with him, although I wasn’t sure how he’d respond. With my heart racing a little, I said, “I’m a committed Christian and I’ve seen how faithful God is in responding to us when we invite Him to be involved in what’s happening to us. I’d love to say a prayer with you if you would like me to.”
He nodded curtly and said, “‘Kay.”
As I left, I felt the usual thrill in my spirit for taking the
plunge, but I wondered what his inner response was.
The following day I visited him. He was a completely
different man. He greeted me cheerily as I entered and shook my hand warmly.
“Dr Walker, thank you so much for praying with me. You’ve no idea what
that meant. I went into my operation completely at peace and am feeling so
good.”
It was obvious, now that his monosyllabic stance beforehand was not surliness, but terror at being in hospital and facing an operation.
I left with a spring in my step.
Be encouraged. God is with you
I don’t think there’s anything that pleases God more than one of His children expressing His love to someone who is fearful. And what better way than to offer to pray with them. The Bible tells us that His perfect love drives out fear. Be assured, God is with you and you will be blessed.
At this time of the year we are used to seeing the Babe in the manger. It is always a time when we can be thrilled with the wonder of it all.
Yet, think of it beforehand. Think of the Holy Foetus attached to Mary’s womb, gaining succour from a placenta that was to become the afterbirth. This is God? That tiny, budding life? How amazing is that?
Then, think of the wonder beyond the stable and the Babe to the Man, the very Word of God, who spoke all He walked amongst into being. Now he debates with sceptics and arrogant men of learning, allowing them to deride Him, mock Him and scorn His words that came from the same mouth that created them.
And the wonder goes on through Calvary, the empty tomb and the free gift of eternal life offered, incredibly without any obligation to accept it.
We do, indeed have an amazing God.
Amazing
The body of God Forming slowly A clump of cells A tiny brain Eyes Fingers Mouth Cord, placenta God, two inches long Drawing nourishment from Mary Amazing.
The Word of God Speaking light Speaking earth Speaking sea And stars The moon Lilies of the field And man Speaking all of creation into being Now debating with sceptics Contradicted Ignored Vilified Amazing
The love of God Selfless Giving Healing Joyous love Exploited Doubted Denied Nailed to a Cross And there, fully expressed Amazing
The blood of God Falling to the ground Earth-shattering Veil-splitting Blood A scarlet ribbon Rippling through eternity Buying freedom For you For me Changing history Letting the eyes of God Meet mine And yours, if you will Amazing
The power of God Life-giving Stone-moving Heaven-opening Glorifying Power Available to all who believe Amazing
Free choice for man A gift from God Setting his destiny Light Or darkness Loneliness Or comfort Life Or death God’s favour Or wrath God lets us choose Respects our choice
Choose light Comfort Life Choose God And stand amazed
After a delay while I had stents put into my coronary arteries and looked after a four-year-old step grandson for 10 days — a full time occupation with no time for anything else — I’m very proud to announce that my new book is in print — electronically and as a paperback.
There is something in music that causes a surge in the heart
of the listener, causing emotions that fluctuate as the music varies. A good
story, well written can do that, too.
In this book, I’ve written award winning stories that will put a song in your heart, like music. Whether you find your spirit soaring like an eagle with inspiring true stories such as that of Father Damien in “Plundering a Hell on Earth”, challenged with fictitious tales containing eternal truths, such as “I Did it My Way”, weeping at the tragedy of a senseless war in “Scorched Earth, Seared Soul” or tenderly touched by the love of two women in “To Mary, and Mary”, each story will strike a chord that brings you to Jesus, or challenges your walk with Him in some way.
Listen to the music that stirs within you as you read, and you
will hear God speak to you.
For the next two weeks the book is on promotion for 99c. If you buy it from Smashwords, you’ll need to quote a coupon, which is NM27P.
This is an extract from someone who previewed it:
“Loved the book! It was a real treasure trove of vignettes, little polished gems that keep me digging for more. I wept on several occasions at the beauty of your language and the emotions you evoked.”
Here’s a sample:
The
Mocking
At the cathedral exit, Jacques paused and looked at his friend. “Wait here. I’m going back to shock the priest out of his cassock!” Turning back to the aisle, he made his way towards the confessional. Jacques and Mario were touring the world and having a blast. Cathedral tours were not usually included with the beaches, night clubs and extreme sports, but this one was supposed to be famous. Jacques found it ornate, cold and otherworldly. He needed to inject some fun. Drawing back the curtain of the confessional, he sat down. “Father, I have sinned,” he said in a contrite voice. “Nothing is beyond God’s forgiveness, my son. Please confess your sins.” Jacques, his imagination at full sway, recited in lurid detail, stories of every abominable sin he could think of. He had murdered, he said, fornicated, cheated, lied, blasphemed and betrayed. Finally he stopped, waiting for a response. After a silence the priest spoke up in deep, clear tones. Was there a slight mocking? Had he seen the prank? “My son, you have much to repent of. This is the penance: At the life-size crucifix overlooking the chapel to your right, look into the face of the statue of Jesus hanging on the cross and repeat ten times, “Jesus, you are hanging there for all I’ve done and I don’t care.” Then, with the hint of a smile in his voice, he said, “Do not let the game end here. Carry it through to the end.” So he DID know. Oh well, Jacques would accept the dare. He found the crucifix easily. He never understood this Jesus thing. Why did people make so much fuss about a man on a cross improbably taking our sins? Was the story true? It seemed unlikely. Uncertainly, he started. “Jesus, you are hanging there for all I’ve done and I don’t care. Jesus, you are hanging there for all I’ve done and I don’t care.” Gaining confidence, he made it part of the fun. Beating his breast in mock despair, in a cracked voice he called, “Jesus, you’re hanging there for all I’ve done,” then he straightened himself, looked defiantly at the statue’s face and spat out the words, “and I don’t care.” He tried looking him in the eye, daring him to flinch, “Jesus, you’re hanging there for all I’ve done and I don’t care.” There, that was four times. Six to go. On the seventh time, as he looked into that face, he noticed, for the first time, how the thorns of the crown pierced the skin of his forehead, causing blood to trickle down into his eye. Inexplicably, he felt an urge to wipe it away. “This is silly. It’s only a statue!” The next time, his eyes wandered to the hands fiercely impaled with large, rough nails. Again he noticed the blood trickling, this time, from the palms to halfway along his arms before forming drops that hung, about to fall. “Jesus, you’re … you’re hanging there … for all I’ve done, and ….. and I don’t care.” He forced the words out. “I am just talking to a statue.” Why, then was he feeling so emotional about it? He looked back at the face. Those eyes; they seemed to know what he was saying and yet remained with that same compassionate look. Of course they would. They were the eyes of a statue. And yet…. what if it depicted a real person? Two to go. He started, “Jesus, you’re hanging there for all I’ve done and…. and… ” He felt his knees shaking, then giving way. On his knees he started sobbing, “and I DO care, Jesus. I’m not that callous. Or maybe I am. I am sorry. I am so sorry that you had to do this for us. Why do you love us so much? How could I not care, Jesus, when YOU care so much? Forgive me, please. I don’t ever want to willingly do anything that makes me more responsible for your suffering.” As he knelt before the cross, a tangible peace flooded his soul. Through his tear-filled eyes he half-imagined Jesus coming off that cross, laying a forgiving hand on his shoulder. And he felt clean; for the first time he could remember, he felt washed from the inside out. He looked up and saw the man-God behind the statue. He also saw, in every repeat of his own mocking another reason for those brutal nails. And, born again, he wept. (This is based on a true story)
