Precious silence - Bruce Atchison

"Silence is golden," means something different to me. For years, I searched for a quiet place to live and work. No matter where I moved in Edmonton, I ended up next door to noisy folks.

My quest for quietude began in 1993 when a new family moved next to my home.  These people often invited other children to their place to keep their boy company. You can imagine what the racket a yard full of boys sounded like.

Worse yet, they often left their dogs in the yard all day. I don't blame those animals for barking at strangers. That's just part of their nature. But when I asked my neighbours politely to take their dogs in during the evenings so I could study work-related courses, the husband flipped out. I won't repeat the language he used but he clearly didn't like anybody even asking him to do something he didn't want to.

Condo living seemed to be the answer to me. They have strict rules against noise and other distracting activities, or so I thought. The complex I moved into was noisier than the place I moved from. One obnoxious young man even fixed cars in the parking lot. I complained to the condo board but nothing was done.

I sold my condo and moved into a high rise apartment for adults with the hope that there'd be no party animals and other inconsiderate louts. Since the apartments were being sold off as condos, residents worked daily to redecorate them. The building acted like a tuning fork, amplifying every hammer blow and drill buzz. A tenant also was using a storage room next to my bedroom as his carpentry shop.

When I moved to the main floor suite of a house, I thought that God might finally answer my prayers for a quiet place. I was wrong again. The neighbours operated a tow truck service out of their home. I and some other neighbours complained repeatedly about the diesel fumes and noise from idling trucks parked in front but nobody listened.

Additionally, the neighbours figured they had a right to party. My complaints to them just caused them to rage at my polite requests to turn down the sound.

God seems slow to answer prayers but I finally received a quiet place to live and write in 2000. A real estate agent found me a quiet home in a tiny hamlet with everything I needed. Thanks to a government pay-out, I was able to put a substantial down payment on the house and I paid the rest off in only five years.

Like the parable of the widow and the unjust judge, my constant bombardment of heaven finally received an answer. Everything came together perfectly so I could finally have the quiet location I craved. Apart from the magpies in summer and the occasional coyote choir practice in the evenings, this place is like a permanent writing retreat. I give all the praise and thanks to our heavenly Father for this wonderful home.

Goals on Prayer Boards by Sharon Espeseth

During my late twenties, I discovered the concept of a prayer board. Being a visual person, this appealed to my imagination and made my prayers more goal-oriented and focussed. My first couple prayer boards were simple. I acknowledged that I was a child of God and that God was interested in what was happening in my life.

I was part of a loving, Christian family, and I had accepted Christ as my Saviour when a child at Bible camp. In my teens I became a leader at camp and in my twenties I worked with youth groups at church. As a teacher, I loved my students like they were my own children, but a time came when I was lonesome for a husband and a family of my own.

I had prayed about a family of my own, and this was one of the prayers on my first and second prayer boards. Hank and I were married in 1975, and I had joined the Roman Catholic Church in Barrhead, so that we could attend church as a couple and later raise our children in the faith.

I didn't become pregnant as I had prayed. Instead God blessed us with three children, adopted as infants. I rejoice to this day, as God continues to bless us and our family continues to grow.

Through God's blessings and answered prayers, I learned to consider Paul's final words to the Philippians.

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:4-7)

I did what Paul advised in my prayers--orally, in my journals and on my prayer boards. This doesn't mean that everything in our lives went smoothly. Like all families we've had our struggles even though I'd put the things that really mattered on my board--our marriage, the children, careers, finances, social values and social life.

In Psalm 139 David says, "Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex? Your workmanship is marvellous--how well I know it."

Generally these boards were put away in the closet and reviewed infrequently. That is why it amazes me, when I look over the boards, to see how God has worked in my/our lives.

The sections of my each board would be marriage and family relations, faith, financial concerns, health and fitness, and personal growth. In personal growth, writing kept creeping in and taking up more space. It was obvious that I wanted, or felt called, to write.


I prayed and listened to God as I created each prayer board. We are wonderfully complex beings, as the Psalmist said. I feel as though God worked in and through me to help me reach the desires of my heart. In Matthew 6:33, we read Jesus cautioning us about worry: "Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well."




About every four or five years, I'd get the urge to make a new prayer board. I would save a stack of magazines. Then I'd begin ripping out pictures, titles, quotes,  or catchy phrases that spoke to me about life in general, spiritual thoughts, material needs and plans for the family and for our future. The final step would be cutting my big circle from bristol board and starting my collage. Between the glued pictures and phrases, I would write Bible promises, inspiring quotes and prayers.


Now that Hank and I are retired and the kids are independent, you would think I'd have more time for writing. Life still gets complicated. I need to be disciplined, but I also need balance in my life. If I have a gift and a calling to write, I am responsible for using my gift. Still I know God knows more about balance than I ever will.

What Paul says to the Philippians applies to life in general and to writing as well. "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right. . . pure. . . lovely
. . . admirable. . . excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things." And write about them too!

Paul reminds us to practice what we've learned, received, heard from him, or seen in him. "And the God of peace will be with (us)." (Philippians 4:8-9 My abbreviation.)

Like Paul, I can say that I (am learning) to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned (or I am learning) the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength."

 

Note that my last prayer board has turned into a book format.
















If you look closely, you will see a small book on the front cover that is slowly getting written.

I do rejoice and give thanks to God. Amen.









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Episodic Christmas Memory by Connie Inglis

It began in October--not Christmas but the series of events that made the Christmas memorable.

It began with a phone call from his girlfriend. "Your son is in the hospital," she said. "He is fine," she said. Only he wasn't fine; he was ill--not with a physical illness per se but with a brain illness or, if you need the common term, a mental disorder and all the stigma that goes with it. Like good, loving parents, we intervened. This meant a 1,300 km plane and road trip but it was the only thing we knew to do. For my husband and I, we knew nothing about this type of illness. With each question we seemed to fall deeper into a pit of research with no answers, uncertainties with still more questions and little guidance for us to help our son climb up and out.

That was episode 1. Then came episodes 2 and 3 within a span of two months. Our son was hospitalized after both of these in two different cities far from our home.  So, while most of the world was decorating trees, baking cookies and shopping for gifts, my husband and I were driving to and from the hospital, touching base with the doctors and nurses, seeking guidance from anyone with knowledge about our son's illness. For someone who loves Christmas and everything that goes with it, I struggled just with getting through the day and its challenges; I had no energy to think about all the extra festivities.

However, through these dark days GOD showed up. Just like He did over 2000 years ago in the form of a helpless baby, He came down and touched my life, touched our lives. At one point I ran out of words to pray and I just had to surrender and say, "Okay, God. I don't know how to pray anymore. I can't. I am now relying on the prayers of others to get us through this." That was assuring for me. I knew many, many people were praying. I saw it in the timing and moving of events and circumstances. I saw it in the kindness of nurses and doctors to our son and to us. I saw it in people of God who gave us a place to stay when we had no place. And I saw it in words--words He gave me to be able to journal the journey--words He gave me to transfer my pain into poetry. It was a beautiful release. God came down to me. WOW. Isn't that exactly what Christmas is all about?

We did get home before Christmas which was another answer to prayer. But I cannot answer the question, "How was your Christmas?" You see, this Christmas memory has yet to unfold because these events are happening right now, this Christmas. I do know, however, that it will be a simpler Christmas--where the exchange of hugs and laughter will matter more than the exchange of gifts. I'm looking forward to it. And today I'm going to decorate my tree!

Writer's Block Sometimes Comes With Four Legs and A Tail -- Elaine Ingalls Hogg

Thank you, Elaine--and helpers--for joining InScribe Writers Online as our Guest Blogger today.   

I've inherited a helper, two helpers actually, but only one of them likes to help me type.

When our daughter moved house a few years ago, she asked us to take care of her two cats, Angus and Alex, for two weeks.

Little did I know when I agreed to let these two creatures into my home that they would tug on my heart strings, but they did; tugged enough so that when Heather said she needed to find a new home for them, I agreed to keep them.

The two cats have made themselves quite at home in the last three years. No, worse than that, they've taken over my home and during the day when I'm in my office, their favourite resting spot is on my desk. More than once I have to move a cat tail when I want to type in order to find the keys. Some days, like today when I'm experiencing an attack of writer's block, I don't mind if 23 pounds of cat sits on my keyboard. Moving his furry presence with its pleading blue eyes gives me a perfect excuse to procrastinate.

Why am I procrastinating? Because the words haven’t come easily during the past year. I could blame it on a number of circumstances…illness in the family but that wouldn't be the whole story. Whatever the reason is for the words to be blocked, written words aren't the only ones that have dried up. If I'm honest, I hit a wall in my prayer life this week.

I have prayed the same prayer for several years now, prayed daily for God to take care of people I care about but because I couldn't see the answers, this week I almost gave up. I wanted to say, "God are you having hearing problems? Are you tired? You don't seem to be paying attention to my prayer. If you were, you'd have fixed that problem by now."

So for a while I’ve allowed the cat to use my computer for his pillow. I’ve despaired that the words are locked away, that I couldn't write and I couldn't pray.

Today, I read in my Bible where Gideon, a top notch soldier whose story has been passed down for many generations through the words in the book of Judges, also went through a period when he entertained doubts and wondered if God was hearing his prayer. He asked, "If the Lord is with us (me), why has all this happened to us (me)?"

I read on, interested to learn how such a man changed from questioning to becoming a man of faith, a man whose life story is worthy enough to be included in the Bible. I learned Gideon had gone through trying times. He and his people were in slavery for seven years. Then God called Gideon to set his people free. Freedom was a prayer that had been on Gideon's lips for many years but when God answered his prayer Gideon could hardly believe what he was hearing. He expressed his doubts to God and asked for a sign that his prayers had been heard. God didn't cast him aside because he needed his doubts squashed. Patiently, lovingly, God used a series of miracles to teach Gideon he was talking to a God who could be trusted.

When I finished reading Gideon's story, the writer's block that had crept across my fingers and stopped the words from flowing disappeared. So as I push Angus away from my keyboard, I'd like to leave you with this thought.

This week God has reminded me that answers take time; sometimes seven years, sometimes more, but God does hear our prayer and the answers will come.

Elaine Ingalls Hogg
Award-winning author and inspirational speaker
author@nb.sympatico.ca
http://elainehogg.com
Blog: http://elainehogg.wordpress.com
Read Janet Sketchley's interview with me here

An Answered Prayer by Brenda Leyland

A fellow blogging friend emailed me to say that I was the answer to her prayer.


I had no idea that I was stumbling into the stream of someone's earnest request to God when I decided to visit this friend's blog and catch up on a few posts. From my own experience, I know how important it is to find feedback in one's comment box, so I took the time to not only read several posts, but to say how they had touched me in some way.

A very short time later, I found a reply e-mail from my friend, in which she said that I couldn't have any idea how much my comments meant to her that day. For, that very morning, she asked the Lord to please have someone leave a comment so she could know for sure that somebody out there was reading her posts.

"What did I see... your e-mail with the comments -- an answer to my prayer as a confirmation. What more proof do we need to believe God hears our prayers? Aren't we so blessed to have such an awesome God who cares about even minute things like page-viewing!"

To think that I was a part of the Lord's answer to my friend's heart cry. I feel so honoured. I'm so glad I heeded the little nudge; it would have been so easy to postpone or ignore it. It's a good reminder for anyone who blogs that it's worth the time it takes to leave a comment or two on people's blogs.

What Concerns Me? -- Sharon Espeseth

James of the New Testament says, "What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes."I can identify with that, because right now my life seems to be flying at warp speed and I do feel a bit "misty" about that. Writing to the newly converted Jew, James writes about practical Christianity. But like the rest of God's word, the messages James writes apply equally well today.

As writers, we set goals, make commitments, and accept assignments with deadlines. That is the nature of our work, but some things always, at least often, attempt to throw us off our course. Right now I am going through one of these periods when there are time demands on many fronts.

Commitments have been made, so I will have to juggle my priorities again and maybe gear down on my expectations of what I can do or how well I can do it. Perfections is my old nemesis. Our friend's family history may not read like a Dicken's novel, but it will get done. I will attend my husband's medical appointments. When the kids and grandkids arrive shortly, accomodation and meals will be less than standards at The Ritz, but there will be plenty to eat. I may only get one entry ready for the Inscribe Fall Contest, but one is better than none.

Yes, I'll be short on attaining all my goals and some may be done to a lesser standard, but I will do my best. I will pray for peace of mind, patience, and understanding--of others, even of myself. Thankfully, the love I feel for my family will never be in short supply.

I may be a mist passing briefly through this life, but I still need to do the best I can with the time and talents I have. Crises of time remind me what matters most.

James addresses all Christians when he says, "Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money." To that he adds, "Why, you don't even know what will happen tomorrow." I agree with James totally, but that doesn't excuse me from procrastinating, getting side-tracked, being undisciplined, or wasting precious moments while the mist that is my life evaporates.

If I didn't feel called and gifted to write, I would have given this up long ago. I am passionate about my faith and I try to live as God calls me to live. Through my human frailty, I learn. I grow. If I openly and honestly share my experience with others when I write, I may help them to see how God cares for all of us and watches over us.

When rushed and stressed by pressures, I do more foolish things than normal. Recently I lost my glasses when we were hurrying to an appointment. I thought I had left them at home, but they weren't there. I returned to where we had parked our vehicle in case my specs had fallen off my lap. They weren't there either.

I prayed about it. I asked St. Anthony, patron saint of lost things, to help me find my specs. Next morning, I went back to the spot once more, and there, sparkling with dew were my expensive, trifocal glasses that I really need. I offered a grateful prayer of thanks and praise.

If God calls me to share my experiences with others, I will do that. Speaking of practical Christianity,
James says, "Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn't do it, sins."

Instead of boasting about the goals I will accomplish next month or next year, I will remind myself of James's admonition to say, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that." Putting this verse in writer-ease, I will say, "If it is the Lord's will, I will get this or that written, this or that published."

David the Psalmist said, "The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me; . . . do not abandon the work of my hands."

Readings from James 4:13 -- 17 and Psalm 138.8

Believing Prayer, by Janet Sketchley

Believing Prayer
by Janet Sketchley

Each year I attend Write! Canada, I start the conference with a headache. I blame it on the flight, lack of sleep, or an unfamiliar bed. A couple of painkillers later, and it’s gone.

Except for this year. Pills with breakfast didn’t work for long.

I’m Prayer Team Lead for The Word Guild. My main role for Write! Canada is to recruit other prayer volunteers and to be available to pray with people when and as needed.

Some of my best memories from the past few conferences are of those impromptu prayer connections. (Yes, the food, fellowship and professional development are excellent too.)

It’s one thing to pray for someone else. Quite another to ask for prayer. To confess a need.

Some time during that first day, I found myself in the bookstore talking with a couple of other attendees. Maybe one of them said I didn’t look so well. Or maybe she just asked how I was enjoying the conference so far.

I started to say everything was fine, then stopped. Asked for prayer. My head pounded even harder from the tension of admitting the need.

Bless their hearts, Judy and Ann prayed with me in a little huddle right there among the books and shoppers.

With tears in my eyes—gratitude and pain—I thanked them and went in search of Jan. She’s one of the Prayer Team Assistant Leads, a powerful intercessor and the owner of the Under the Cover of Prayer blog. More to the point, my drugs were locked inside her cabin.

Jan’s prayers joined the others’ and the pain only got worse. I swallowed a second dose of painkillers, hoping for a temporary reprieve.

Somewhere between the prayers and the next conference session, I thought I sensed God saying the pain wouldn’t bother me anymore.

It still hurt like crazy, but I decided to believe Him. I told Jan what I thought He’d said and that I wasn’t really sure about it.

By the time we walked into that next session, the pain had almost gone. Every time I felt its grip, I’d remind myself that it wasn’t going to bother me anymore. Then I’d think about something else.

I hadn’t been sure God spoke at all. Nor if He had, how long He’d meant. Long enough for the appointments I had that day? For the panel I was on?

That was back in June. The other day the pain came at me again. It swamped me for a few minutes, and then I looked at my husband and reminded myself aloud, “This isn’t going to bother me anymore.” I gave the spot a gentle rub and promised to hit the medicine cabinet if the pain didn’t go.

It went.

I don’t know how long “anymore” is. But I intend to enjoy it. Caught myself wishing in prayer this morning that God had said something about that ache in my hip....

---
For devotionals, reviews and conversation, stop by Janet Sketchley's blog, God with Us: Finding Joy.

Clouds, Grease, and Bits of Orange — Lynda Schultz

This is not my story, but arises out of the conversation between two friends of mine. She really does need a dishwasher.


“I’d really like a dishwasher.”

We were discussing the move into our new apartment. When we’d done the walk through with the real estate agent I noticed that there was a space under one of the kitchen counters that seemed like it was just made for a dishwasher.

I planted the idea with my husband, though I should have known better. His response was predictable.

“No, no. We don’t need a dishwasher. I always thought it was foolish to have a dishwasher. Every person I know who has one ends up washing their dishes before they put them in the thing. Seems silly to me to wash them twice. All you have to do is take a little extra care to make sure that you clean them right the first time.”

I sighed. It seemed as though we had had this conversation before. I always lost, or gave up; overwhelmed by the tidal wave of verbiage he is so gifted with.

“Besides, there’s the electricity it uses.”

Then it was back to the double washing.

“And you know what happens if you don’t get all the junk off before you put the dishes in the thing. Those traps are really small, and they get easily clogged. The next thing you know the water can’t escape. You open the door and out comes all the water all over the floor.”

I nodded my head. Okay, I get the message.

“Then there’s the bill to repair the thing.”

He finally noticed my facial expression.

“But you know, I do anything for you. If you really want a dishwasher, then it’s a dishwasher we’ll get.”

He was trying and I appreciated it. However, we both knew where this argument was going and what the conclusion would be.

“Honey, you really don’t need one, you know. I’ll do all the dishes. You won’t have to worry about them ever again, I promise. I already do my own after breakfast, right?”

“Yes, that’s true, dear,” I said, gamely. He had been doing his own breakfast dishes for a while now in an effort to be a husband more aware of his wife’s needs. I didn’t want to discourage him.

He nodded, satisfied that his point had been made, and then took off down the hall as I cleared the kitchen table of my cereal bowl and coffee cup.

I turned toward the sink and picked up the first of the breakfast dishes already stacked in the rack. I examined each one, putting aside the still cloudy glasses, the frying pan with grease still stuck to its side, the pieces of the juicer to which bits of orange still clung. As I washed—for the second time—the dishes he had so “carefully” done after his early morning breakfast, I breathed a prayer:

“Lord, bless him, but I’d still like a dishwasher.”

There is no man so deceived as he who, being blind, thinks that he can see.

Waiting Expectantly - Lynda Schultz

Abby likes violets. Somehow she knows they are in bloom. Whenever I enter the bedroom she waits below the stand by the window where I keep the plants. She waits expectantly in the hopes that I will gives her a flower to eat.

Both cats know how to wait. They know how to make their wishes known. At daybreak, Abby sits by my head, meowing gently. She's waiting for her teaspoon of milk. Both Abby and Lou Lou Belle "park," sprawled in the doorway to the kitchen or right where they know I have to walk while they wait for their dishes of wet cat food—a cat's "breakfast of champions."

Every new bag of dry food that comes into the apartment has to be taste-tested. They hang around, underfoot, until I open the bag and give them a few nibbles. This same exercise is repeated at night. They know when it is time for bed, and that last little treat of the evening, the cats' version of breath mints.

Lou Lou waits patiently just outside the shower. She has a "thing" for the water that gets caught in the cracks between the sliding doors as I shower.

I admire their patience as they wait. They know me well enough to understand that I will not fail to meet their expectations. They simply have to persist in waiting. They have to "be there."

I am reminded of Jesus' admonition in his parable about the persistent widow in Luke 18. She insisted, even in her dealing with a judge who had no regard for God or for her. Eventually the man broke down and gave her what she asked. Jesus says: "And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly" —Luke 18:6, 7 NIV.

The next statement is the most telling. He has told his disciples to persist in prayer and wraps up his story with this: "However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?"

Abby and Lou have faith that I will respond to their expectant waiting. Can I demonstrate any less faith in my loving, Heavenly Father? Will he find me waiting expectantly?

Allowing The Holy Spirit To Stir His Children To Pray and Believe

We all know that God answers prayer. All Christians ought to have an experience of answered prayer. But do we, His children, come together often enough to “share” together in prayer? Do we encourage one another by sharing answers to our personal prayers?

Every Tuesday morning a prayer meeting is held in our church. About 20 people come together to share various needs and concerns or intercede on behalf of others. Once a hearty list is detailed, we begin to intercede on account of those individual needs. Through praise and prayer, we lift up the names by those who have activated their faith and uttered the requests.
What then? We close our eyes in prayer and we hardly realize there is a person sitting next to us. Are we really sharing together? Is there power in numbers in a prayer meeting? Are we really agreeing together or do we simply mouth our needs to the Lord?

Sundays is also another specific allocated time and place for prayer. Before the church service begins God’s people are praying for a stirring and a mighty outpouring of His love. What then? Do we believe that God is going to do something? Do we believe that God will actually convict the sinners to come to repentance? Do we labour and wait upon the Lord? Or do we sit at leisure and wonder if God heeded our prayers?

Are these moments of prayer time producing encouragement to continually seek God in times of deepest need? Maybe we are forgetting something. If God is an answering prayer God why doesn’t someone say something. Perhaps we need to implement various ideas and approaches to prayer to keep our faith stimulated and active. There are various ways of enlightening prayer meetings. During one Tuesday morning prayer, I felt strongly to restructure the format just a little. We began by sharing the concerns followed by a prayer time and singing the appropriate songs in between. Then we had a personal sharing time of reflection. The group began to share openly about their initial encounter with Jesus.

The sharing time proved to be very positive and uplifting. One by one people began to open up and express their answered prayers. It was somewhat reminiscent and it brought about a fresh flood of wonderful memories of God’s wonder working power. The love of God saturated the very hearts of those that spoke and listened. It was so good to hear each other’s “faith” stories. It was good that the knowledge and grace of God was shared. Many times following the initial conversion the first love somehow fades away for a time. Christians who have been serving the Lord for years need to reflect upon His love and leadings of life. We ought to keep our faith firm and fresh. As a result, prayer, praise and “answers” will all complement each other.

The strength is not only in the praying but also in the answers and the willingness to share the Gospel message of hope fearlessly. When we accomplish God’s will, others will see that God is truth and life. An honest openness and acknowledgement of sharing and speaking about the leadings of the Holy Spirit in ones’ Christian walk gives encouragement and increases the faith of the body of Christ. May the beauty of Jesus be seen in each of us!

Jan Keats

PRESS ON by Lynda Schultz

“Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth.” (Hosea 6:3)

I don’t remember ever having read this verse before, though surely I must have. This morning it speaks clearly, like a rainbow on the edge of a storm. I long for revival. The closer I come to Him the more I realize how much more I want, and need, of Him in my own life. As I weep for myself, I weep for the church and pray that the people who are called by God’s name will seek Him, will make Him THE priority on every level.

As I reflected on the verse, I decided to look up the word “acknowledge.” The results of my search were appropriate to Hosea’s message to Israel and our need today:

1. admit, accept, grant, allow, concede, accede to, confess, own, recognize.
2. greet, salute, address; nod to, wave to, raise one's hat to, say hello to.
3. express gratitude for, show appreciation for, thank someone for.
answer, reply to, respond to.

The attitudes expressed by these words should characterize our relationship to God. They give weight to what Solomon says in Proverbs 3:6: “in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” To ignore God is to suffer the dangers inherent in walking crooked paths.

Hosea tells us to “press on,” to keep insisting in this acknowledgment of God, even when the situation seems desperate. In Hosea’s world, Israel was thriving materially, but had wandered far, far away from God. His own life became an illustration of the unfaithfulness of God’s people. He was called upon to take the unusual step of marrying a woman who would not keep her marriage vows. In the end, Hosea had to buy her back out of a local slave market. He must have had many moments when he wept over his relationship with his wife, and despaired over Israel’s relationship with her God. Some have called Hosea “the prophet with the broken heart.”

However, Hosea’s own life also illustrates the heart and hope encapsulated in this verse. Just as he rescued and forgave his wife and kept his part of their marriage covenant, so God would do the same for His people. Hosea’s faith shines through as he insists on acknowledging the Lord despite the bleakness of the circumstances. He urges his listeners to “press on” in their relationship to God. He knows that just as he went to Gomer’s aid and offered her incredible love and forgiveness, so God would come and show those same mercies to Israel.

This promise remains current. Many in the Northern Hemisphere are enjoying the renewal of life as spring comes once again. Just as the spring rains herald renewal in the physical world, so God will come and bring revival, restoration, and renewal, to our spiritual world.

Don’t despair. Acknowledge Him. Press on in worship and intercessory prayer. Like the sunrise, He will come.

Dare the Devil

Alan Taylor’s black ‘76 Chevy smashed into the bridge guardrail Friday night at precisely 11:42 p.m. A split second later, it catapulted into the power lines, flipped over on its back and dropped like a dead raven on the Amtrak rails below.

At 11:57 p.m., Alan slumped upside down inside his car. At least the seat belt works. He moaned, lifting his left arm. He tried to move his legs. What am I doing here? He wiggled to free himself. Twisted metal came between him and the buckle. He felt blood flowing into his head. He laughed. Good thing I’m drunk. Yeah, good thing I‘ve been hanging upside down every night at the gym. The alcohol continued to do its job. Look at me — not a tense muscle in my body. I’m in great shape for the shape I’m in. I can sleep anywhere. Craziest trip I’ve taken. Might as well relax; the police will be along soon.

The state highway patrol officer was certain no one was alive in the car. He glanced at his watch. It must have happened after 11:40 or the eastbound Broadway Limited would have further remodeled the Chevy — along with everything inside it. He wondered what getting hit by a train would feel like. I bet it wouldn’t have made any difference to whoever was in this car. Dead is dead.

Alan’s mother worked all day in the retail outlet her husband owned before he died. Before retiring, she soaked her feet and took two pain killers. I don’t want to wake up during the night. I am so tired. I really need to sleep. She shut her eyes at 10:14. It seemed only moments when she opened them again at 11:05. She glanced at the clock. I don’t want to be awake. This is absolutely crazy.

For a few minutes, she stared at the little sparkles in the ceiling and tried to find Orion or Ursas Minor. Then she rolled several times, first to the right but her shoulder ached; then to the left but her right arm went numb. Why, God? Why can’t I sleep tonight? It has been a long day — and a long week. This isn’t fair.

She stumbled to the kitchen and put a mug of milk in the microwave. When it was warm, she walked sipping into the living room. Outside, the well-lit street was quiet. She was glad they were finally able to move away from the tracks. That Broadway Limited used to wake her up every night at 11:40. When Dave died, she used the insurance money to upgrade. This was a good move. This milk is good too. She felt sleepy again and returned to the bedroom. Just as she turned back the covers to crawl in, she heard a train whistle — it was the Broadway Limited. How can that be? We live twenty miles from the track?

Something is wrong. She slid out of bed and dropped to her knees. Lord, watch over that train tonight. You alone control what is happening. You are able to protect it and anyone concerning it. She prayed for its passengers, then for people who might be on the crossings. Alan. He’s okay. He’s at work, at Leek’s Cafe. He called and said he would be working until midnight. She prayed: Lord, keep Alan out of the path of that train. Keep him safe tonight. Help him to understand that You love him. May Your goodness lead him to repentance. She crawled under the sheets, closed her eyes and was instantly asleep. It was 11:41.

Alan looked again at his watch. It was 12:06. He was no longer laughing. My mother will never trust me again. I told her I already had my license back and now she will find out. What will I tell her this time? I keep lying to her. I really don’t want to but she keeps asking personal questions. I have to say something.

He wished he had been a little kinder to her at supper. She talked about his future. She said I have so much potential. Yeah, I think so too — so why can’t I get a decent job? And why does everything I touch turn into a bill at the end of the month? Why can’t I get my act together? Why did dad have to die anyway? I am so bloody unlucky. Look at this mess. My car is totaled. Why does everything happen to me?

He could see the broken power lines above him. He could smell the oil and gasoline bleeding out of his car. By turning his head, he could see the Amtrak bridge and the broken rail. He knew what time the trains came by; he used to live less than 500 yards from this spot. I just missed the 11:40 express. God — what a coincidence. His mind stopped, suddenly sobered on that thought. Only God could do that — only God. Why would He bother with a bum like me? I don’t deserve any favors. I... He... why me? For a few minutes, he tried to shake thoughts of God but could not. Tears began rolling out the corners of his eyes and up into his hairline.

The state highway patrol officer slammed his car door and slid down the embankment beside the bridge. He pointed his flashlight directly in front, fearful he might stumble onto a hot wire from the power lines or broken glass and sheared metal from the Chevy. He stopped. What is that noise? It sounds like someone singing... in the car. He reached the battered mass and peered inside.

Police Log: Arrested and booked Alan Taylor, twenty, on charges of reckless and drunk driving, driving without a license and speeding. Unable to give a breathalyser but car contained several bottles of beer and the suspect behaved in a manner consistent with someone who was not in control of their faculties.

“Can you believe this,” the officer laughed? “This black Chevy hit the Amtrak bridge rails and somehow flipped upside down off the bridge, hit the power lines, broke a bunch of wires, landed top down on the tracks below, minutes after the train goes by — and inside the car, the drunk driving the thing was hanging upside down. It took us nearly an hour to get him out of there. The lucky idiot didn’t have a scratch on him. Want to hear the really strange part? When I got there and even the whole time he was in my custody on the way to the station, he had the face of a child. He looked like someone who just got a medal or something. He kept singing some song over and over — not in tune mind you, but it sounded a lot like Amazing Grace.”

© Elsie Montgomery