True Purpose -- Pat Patterson

For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.
Ephesians 2:10

_____________________________________________________________________________



Thomas lived in a small group home on the south side of town. He had AIDS, renal failure, high blood pressure, and, the night I met him, an overall sick feeling he couldn’t explain. “I’m due for dialysis tomorrow,” he said. “But tonight…I just don’t feel right.” He didn’t look right either. He was only 47 but he looked old and tired as if he’d spent a lifetime on the run, fighting, and struggling just to stay alive.

After performing a quick assessment I checked his blood pressure and hooked up the cardiac monitor for a look at his heart. His vitals were a little off, but overall he checked out fine. I glanced at his face and suddenly got the feeling that this was more than just a sick call. He needed to talk to someone. And I was okay with that. “Tell you what,” I said. “Let’s take a ride.”

He smiled, much obliged, and rose to his feet.

It was a routine transport. I stuck an 18-gauge IV catheter in his arm, took another look at his EKG, and then leaned back and looked at him as we rode down the highway.

“So, Thomas,” I said. “Where are you from?”

“Right here.”

“Yeah? Then you remember this place before it became a ghetto.”

He nodded.

“Look,” I said, “forgive me for prying, but, well, I was just wondering…were you ever in a gang?”

A stern expression tightened his face. “Let’s put it this way,” he said. “I learned to shoot a gun when I was five years old. Started taking drugs when I was twelve. I did heroin for more than twenty years on the street and then every day in prison for seven more. It won’t my mother that taught me all that.”

I gazed at him without speaking. I felt he deserved that. He had something important to say. He continued.....“The alcohol and drugs ruined me. My kidneys are shot now. I don’t blame nobody else, though. I made the mistakes, and I’ll live with ‘em. But these gangs you asked about?” He paused and shook his head. “They’re bad, man. These kids today will shoot anybody. They steal and rob for drugs. They kill. And those girls? They only keep ‘em round for one reason—makin’ babies. To the gangs that’s all they’re good for. My daughter’s there now, you know."He glanced at me as if searching for an answer. “She stays coked up and pregnant most the time.”

“Can’t you talk to her?” I asked. “Try to help her?”

“No, you don’t understand. Can’t never talk to her no more. Afraid of her. I know it’s my fault, she’s my child, but she won’t created for no good.”

I felt a strange paradox as I walked away from the ER: pleased to know that Thomas is a Christian today—he gave his life to Christ somewhere along the way—but saddened by what I had just witnessed. Harsh reality. Not just words from some magazine article about gangs and troubled youth, but real flesh and blood, a grown man who had survived the streets only to live and suffer the consequences of his mistakes.

Today Thomas lives in the corner of a dusty room. He has few friends, some serious health issues, and a daughter he can no longer see. So I wonder, does he question his purpose in life? I can’t answer that, but I do know this—Thomas and I encouraged one another last Wednesday night, and that was no mistake. It was God’s handiwork. And in that brief meeting, I find true purpose.

~~~

Do you struggle with your purpose in life? If so, consider poor Thomas. And remember, you are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works.




Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

Welcome Home -- Pat Patterson

Therefore, my brothers, be all the more eager to make your calling and election sure. For if you do these things, you will never fall, and you will receive a rich welcome into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. – 2 Peter 1:10-11


It was powerful!

Bagpipes played as the horse drawn caisson rolled past an army of gray-clad Troopers. Upon its carriage deck lay a flag covered casket that held the body of an old friend of mine. A true warrior. A brother in Christ—Trooper 352: Andrew James Stocks, N.C. Highway Patrol.

We called him A.J.

The Caisson moved quietly to the clicking hooves of six magnificent black creatures, well groomed horses in regal parade dress, one without rider to signify loss. The horses stopped. Six Troopers stepped forward and removed the casket. They marched quietly into the building and set it in a place of prominence in the front of the church. And the service was awe inspiring, a beautiful memorial to the life of a true first responder—A.J.: U.S. Marine-Crash Firefighter, N.C. Paramedic, N.C. Paramedic Instructor, U.S. Army Ordinance Soldier, and lastly, N.C. State Trooper. Yes, A.J. dedicated his entire career to the service of others. He lived so that others might live and, in the end, gave his life selflessly in the line of duty. He was and still is a true hero.

I felt myself jump at the offering of the twenty-one gun salute. Tears filled my eyes as I heard the bagpipes play and the peaceful closing hymns. But I felt my life change at the offering of the radio report that ended the service. A strong male voice came over the air. I felt confused. It surprised me.

“Raleigh, Troop C—”

Silence fell over the room. At first I thought it was a mistake, someone’s radio, a Trooper’s handheld crackling to life. But then it came again, crisp and clear, a strong voice from somewhere overhead.

“Troop C—”

Dead silence this time. It wasn’t a radio; it was a real dispatch going over the air for N.C. Troopers everywhere to hear.

“Troop C…Attention! Trooper 3-5-2 is 10-42.”
10-42…Ending tour of duty.

A.J.’s work on earth was complete, and with that God moved him to his new home in heaven. I know he’s there because we talked about it. I asked him one day, “A.J., how can you know for sure?” And he answered, “Because Jesus Christ died for my sins.”

So now A.J. has a new home, and oh, what a mansion! Can you imagine it? Built by God’s own hands? It must be marvelous. And Jesus said, “In my Father’s house are many rooms. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And I will come back and take you to be with me.” He did too. Jesus came and got A.J. that day.

It was his last day on earth, his first day in heaven.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~


I believe A.J. would have been proud of his funeral. I know I was. But you know, something occurred to me as my wife and I walked away from the church. The N.C. Highway Patrol, A.J.’s family, the United States Army, and what, I’m sure, amounted to dozens of unnamed friends and volunteers who worked tirelessly to produce that service, had but three short days to do it. Three days! And look what they accomplished. It was the most touching, the most powerful service I have ever witnessed.

So just think: Our God—the maker of all creation—has had an eternity to create our next home. Eternity! What will it be like? We can only imagine. But guess what, A.J. already knows. So wait for us there, A.J., we’ll be home soon enough. In the meantime, rest in peace, Trooper.

And welcome home!





Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stores are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

I Couldn’t Do It Without You -- Pat Patterson

"Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given us."
—Romans 12:4

I have a difficult job—jump when others call, wallow in their blood, manage life-threatening emergencies and occasionally save a life—and I’m proud of it. But my pride has its limits. I depend on others more than I’d like to admit. I could never do this job by myself. No way!
***
“Pat,” Captain David Young shouted as I climbed from the ambulance. “You need to intubate him, dude. He’s crashing fast!”

I grabbed my trauma bag and started toward the scene. It looked bad, a Ford pickup wrapped around a tree, its front end crumpled in upon itself like aluminum foil.

“Bring your suction unit too,” Young yelled. “He’s full of blood!”

I ran back, grabbed the necessary equipment, and trotted over.

“Whatcha got?”

“It ain’t good,” Young said. “He was leaning against the tailgate when the truck hit the tree. Flew into the back of the cab headfirst.” Young pulled away a blood-soaked trauma dressing. Blood poured from a gash in the center of the victim’s head. He quickly recovered the wound and applied direct pressure. “Like I said, not good.”

I climbed aboard the truck and gazed at the victim. His eyes looked lifeless. He breathed in short gurgling gasps.

“What’s his name,” I murmured.

“Jose Gonzales,” someone answered, “Why?”

“Never mind. Someone open his mouth.”Young grabbed the victim’s head and forced open his jaw. I inserted a hard plastic catheter.

“Okay,” I said. “Turn it on.”

My partner hit the switch. A long line of bright red blood coursed up the tube. The catheter sucked and hissed, but I was unable to keep up with the steady stream of blood flowing into the mouth. I felt myself begin to panic.

“We’re losing him. Help me!”

“What can I do?”

I handed Young the catheter.

“You suction…I’ll intubate.”

And so, we did the job. My partner, the firefighters, all of us, we worked as a team. We suctioned. We intubated. We dressed the bleeding head wound and immobilized our patient. We did everything within our collective power to achieve the impossible, but I could tell by his injuries, I knew in my heart, Jose Gonzales was already gone.

***
I transported a young woman a few years later. She spoke of a bad wreck—pickup truck versus tree. She’d been the driver, her cousin, Jose, the victim. "He almost died,” she explained. “The impact threw him forward. He hit his head on the cab. He lives on Holloway Street now. He’s—”

“Wait a minute,” I said interrupting her. “What’s your cousin’s name?”

“Jose Gonzalez.”

“Gonzalez?” I felt my eyes widen. “Are you telling me he’s alive?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “His fingers tingle a little, but he’s fine. The paramedics saved him.”

***
It wasn’t just the paramedics who saved Jose Gonzales, it was the entire team. My hat goes off to the men on Engine-5, and to all of the other firefighters who work so tirelessly to make my job easier. They make a difference. They save lives. And sometimes, when we work together, we can even accomplish the impossible.

Thank you, guys. I couldn’t do it without you!



Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

Be Still -- Cindy Sproles

- Listen to Be Still- By Cindy Sproles




"Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth." Psalm 46:10

Blurry! Figures. I tried again. Blurry. I grunted, held the camera away from my face and gently shook. You’re new. You ought to take perfect pictures. I realize my eyes are aging and now there’s the inconvenience of reader glasses, but I could have sworn that the picture was focused through the viewfinder. What was the deal?

Dusk was beginning its decent over daylight and I wanted the pictures before the sunset lost to the night. I pressed the camera to my eye, squinted, focused—auto focused. Who can go wrong with auto focus? Then clicked. The camera fired 5 consecutive snaps. Surely I’d gotten the humming bird this time.

Fred the Hummingbird and his buddies dive bomb our feeder daily. Every time I’d catch him hovering, I snapped but the pictures were blurry.

Sometimes my life seems blurry, too. Life seems so rushed and it’s hard to make the time I need for the Father. I’ve prayed with a friend every morning for the last year. In fact, the prayers we’ve shared are very specific prayers and though we see answers, I can’t say that any of the “big” things have come into fruition.

So, I asked God, “Why? Am I doing something wrong?” I didn’t hear Him answer. That was odd. I usually feel His nudge. “Hey…are you listening? You there?” Still nothing. I leaned back in my chair, the springs squeaked. My eyes closed and my thoughts sank into the words of the Psalms. “Be still and know that I am God.” The air seeped from my lungs as I relaxed. As quickly as my eyes closed, they popped open.

He’d spoken to me, loud and clear. I needed to simply be still. Be quiet and when I was—His voice sang to me. The things that had been blurry throughout the week came into focus. I had the reassurance that God is in control. He’s got his eyes on things. Being still is not easy. I learned that God can’t speak to me when I’m in constant motion. He knows I’m not really paying attention. But when I’m still, His voice fills my soul. When I’m quiet, I see the answered prayers.

I figured out the problem with my pictures. I was moving—it didn’t feel like I was moving, but I was. The pictures I wanted to take required a tripod. Something that didn’t move.

Has your life been a blur lately? Maybe you’re moving too much. The psalmist reminds us that God said to “be still.” Be still and know He is God. Let Him bring your life into focus.



Christian Devotions

HE SAID - SHE SAID July 11, 2008

Knock On Wood -- He Said
By Eddie Jones

"There is a time for everything,and a season for every activity under heaven. A time to be born... and a time to die." - Ecclesiastes 3:1-2


The morning after Bob Deaton’s funeral I awoke to find a red-headed woodpecker of some dark denomination drilling a hole in the top of my dock piling. Pecking away in the bright sunlight. Knocking on wood. Reminding me that I should be too.

The bird departed when I lifted the top hatch board of my sailboat and stepped into the cockpit, disturbing the glaze of frost that coated the cushions. I looped a leg over the lifeline, found good footing on the narrow pad along the toe rail, and stepped onto the finger pier. My yard-sale bike, a boy’s model at least two generations too small for my short legs, was propped against the white dock box. The black seat was gray under the dusting of frozen dew. The air was cold. Mighty cold. Too cold for me to be riding a bike on a narrow dock in February.

I mounted the bike, pointed the front tire south, and started towards the bathhouse, hoping this would be one of those good mornings when the hot water heater worked. The apparent wind from my forward progress bit into my thin skin, but I didn’t risk adjusting my grip for fear of veering off the dock and into the creek. I’d tested the temperature of the water in February, once, clothed only in jeans and sneakers. It wasn’t an experience I wanted to repeat.

So I rode slowly, shifting the small pouch of shower garb over the front spokes, centering the weight more evenly, making careful corrections to keep me in the center of the dock. The sun was rising over the black pine tops. Dock lines glistened like tinsel as sunlight broke through. Hot breath formed dense clouds as I worked the low gear. Beneath my pedals I could see fresh tire tracks carving a slender trail in the thick icing on the planks.

There was a lot of beauty in the early hours of that cold February morning, but it came with some pain. Thin air burned my lungs. Knuckles hurt from the chilled wind. Eyes watered from the intense cold. Pleasure and pain were both a part of the morning. You can’t have the splendor of a winter sunrise frozen in time without the pain of the cold. The sting of death mutes the joy of life, and it’s a very gray world indeed, without both.

The hot water worked, but the pressure was low. I hurried along, changed into my author’s outfit and headed for New Bern to participate in the first annual Book Lovers Affair. I set my box down on the short end of a long table, saving most of the counter space for Nicholas Sparks. Sparks didn’t arrive, but I sold a few books, any way.

Still, there remained a chill in the air. A tremor of remorse rattled the crowd whenever the conversation turned to boating. The news was still too fresh, the after shocks too close to home. Someone would stop to look at the cover of my book, tell their own story of how they’d run aground, and then end with, “It’s just awful about Bob’s death, isn’t it?”

It was. And it is. And it will be for sometime. Fifty-two was a good-sized number, but it’s not big enough. Not by a long shot.

The great deception of life is to believe that we’ll live for a very long time, that we’ll always have another chance to make a difference. But we won’t. Often we only get one chance to do the right thing, at the right time, for the wrong kind of person — for the person who is interrupting our plans with their own petty problems. Then we’re off again on our bike or car or boat. Filling another busy moment with ourselves. Making a living, making a life, making excuses for why we can’t stop to help or hear or offer a measure of hope to someone in need.

I missed Bob’s funeral. I didn’t think I knew him well enough to attend. But I should have gone. I should have gone out of respect for his life, out of respect for what he meant to this community. I should have gone to testify that his life made a difference, that his work had meaning, was necessary and good. It would have only taken a little time out of my day. I had the time. I should have spent some.

Take the time to be a friend today.

(Reprinted with permission from Hard Aground... Again)




Christian Devotions


He Said--She Said
authors, Eddie Jones
and Cindy Sproles




In His Time -- She Said


By Cindy Sproles


"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. A time to be born... and a time to die." - Ecclesiastes 3:1-3


My dad sat up in the bed and broke into prayer. “If this is what you want for me I’m ready,” he said. As comforting as it was to know dad was ready to leave his earthly body, it did nothing for me. I wasn’t ready.

I’ve often been amazed at the wonders of life and death, at the coincidence of the last breath of life leaving a body, yet and in the same instant—a newborn takes its first gasp of air. It’s as though one draws from the other. One gives and the other takes. Somewhere in the scheme of things God has His ultimate balance and when we talk about events happening in His time, we need to understand that those words are not just words, but truth.

We worry much too much about time. My friend reminded me, “He makes me lie down in green pastures so He can restore my soul.” When I ignore the time God has set aside for me, I’m missing out on His presence, His peace, and His restoration. God has His timing. A time for everything. And though disease and accidents are horrible things the truth of the matter is, none of us know the hour our soul will leave our bodies. We’re really all on the same plane—a time frame that is only known to God.

I’ve brought life into the world, two sons. I’ve lost it as well, one unknown infant. I’ve experienced the loss of my dearest friend whose death twenty years in the past, still aches as though it was yesterday. Then death struck home and dad left this earth, and as I stood by his gravesite, I realized that in an instant it could be me.

That’s when I learned about God’s time. I realized I needed to live my earthly life with joy; be an encourager to others. In my impatience, God teaches me that His agenda takes precedence. His winter puts nature to sleep and spring wakes her. New life inches through the dirt and from the womb. But for the new to come, something must go. We call it the circle of life. God calls it timing.

When you feel as though your life is out of balance, seek the Father’s timing. Call to Him and He will hear. There is a time for everything. Summer and winter, life and death, peace and war, hope and despair. But through it all, God is eternally faithful—walking us through His plan…..in His time.

Guest Devotionalist -- Ariel Allison

BROKEN

- Listen to Broken- By Ariel Allison

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”

- Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

My family put the “funk” in dysfunction. Not to say that my childhood was entirely traumatic. There were moments of pure joy amidst the poverty and pain. You see, I am a child of the hippie movement, a daughter of two black sheep. Non-conformists. Off the grid. Off the map. And out of whack. We lived at the top of the Rocky Mountains, in a home with no running water or electricity. I spent my days lost in the pages of a book, running barefoot through the sagebrush, and climbing pine trees. I know what it means to find God in a mountain sunrise. And I also know what it feels like to be abandoned. Lonely. Hungry.

As Ernest Hemingway so aptly put it, the world breaks everyone. We live in a fallen world where we are subject to experiences God never wanted for us. So what do we do with that brokenness? Where do we take it? We can either rail against God, shaking our first in anger or we can believe in faith that God allows our pain for a purpose. He allows it for our good and for His glory.

“For the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

- Psalm 34:18

Brokenhearted. Crushed in spirit. Close. God is close in those moments. He longs to save, to comfort. He longs to be a Father to that little girl in the mountains. He is eager to comfort the woman who finds herself alone after twenty years of marriage. He pursues the man trapped in addiction. He desires to erase the shame of the abused child. He is waiting for us today at work, at home, as we read these words and as we remember what is broken in our lives. He is close.

I would have never known God had I not known what it means to be broken. I wouldn’t be able to cry with the woman who never knew her father, if I had not also struggled to know mine. All these years later I see that there was great purpose to my pain, and I choose to embrace it because my healing has brought glory to God. As Hal Urban observes, “a broken bone becomes even stronger when it heals, and so do we.”

Ariel Allison is a published author who lives in a small Texas town with her husband and three young sons. When not writing books or caring for her family, she indulges her penchant for adrenaline-infused madness such as rock climbing, running marathons, and jumping off bridges – as if raising three pre-school boys were not adventure enough! A voracious reader since childhood, Ariel has spent much of her life learning and honing the craft of writing. She is the co-author of Daddy Do You Love Me: a Daughter’s Journey of Faith and Restoration (New Leaf Press, 2006). She ponders on life as a mother of all boys at www.themoabclub.blogspot.com and on her thoughts as a redeemed dreamer at www.arielallison.blogspot.com.

Guest Devotionalist - Ariel Allison

“And I will be a father to you, and you shall be sons and daughters to Me, says the Lord Almighty.” 2nd Corinthians 6:18

The cross that marks my father’s grave is nothing but a broken tree branch lashed together with twine. Knee high weeds grow above the sunken ground where the rustic plywood casket lies. The last time I visited his grave was late at night, shivering from the cold, staring at the peeling bark with the help of flickering headlights. I stood there, breathing in the chill of a Tennessee Autumn, and once again I felt the longing.

What I missed, standing on that frigid hilltop, was not the physical presence of my father, it was what I had never gotten, what I would never get; the love of my father.

The hardest part is not accepting the truth about our lives, but living with a longing that may never be satisfied. The easier thing to do is stuff the ache somewhere deep down inside where we won’t visit it again because, in essence, a longing is something that tugs at our heartstrings and makes us hunger. But sometimes the visitation is an act of healing. We need to approach that cross on a hilltop and admit that we are empty, longing for our Father – our true Father. The longing is a good thing. A right thing. A painful thing. A healing thing.

Almost five years have passed since we lowered my father into his final resting place. The longing is not gone – will never be gone in fact – but the healing is well underway. The rustic cross above my dad’s grave, represents the truth that I do have a Father who loves me. I have a Father who will never leave me nor forsake me.


Ariel Allison is the co-author of Daddy Do You Love Me: a Daughter’s Journey of Faith and Restoration (New Leaf Press, 2006). She ponders on life as a mother of all boys at http://www.themoabclub.blogspot.com/ and on her thoughts as a redeemed dreamer at http://www.arielallison.blogspot.com/.

Lessons from the Lawn -- Part 1

Listen to Lessons from the Lawn -- Part 1, by - Cindy Sproles

You became imitators of us and of the Lord; in spite of severe suffering, you welcomed the message with joy given by the Holy Spirit. And so you became a model to all the believers in Macedoina and Achaia. – 1 Thessalonians 1: 6 & 7

I like to mow. Hop on the riding mower, kick it into third and mow. We have just over an acre of rolling sloped yard and for me, it’s a pleasure to mow up the hill, around the shady area, and back down. There’s quality thinking time on the seat of a mower.

But! My husband doesn’t like me to mow. Don’t misunderstand, he appreciates my efforts, but he’s not crazy about how I cut grass. Making a square around the yard is boring. There’s no adventure in traveling the straight path. When I mow, there’s a menagerie lines throughout the yard. It starts as a square. Before long, I hang a left and go at an angle (I’m thinking baseball field mowing). Later I may circle the trees. There’s no rhyme to what I do other that it’s fun. When I mow, my husband stands with a distraught look on his face, arms crossed, and cringing as I pass. I wave—he nods, then digs the toe of his tennis shoe into the grass.

When I see those beautifully cut baseball outfields on television, I want those same lines in my yard. I want the result, but most of the time I’m in too much of a hurry. All my efforts seem to yield is the smell of freshly cut grass and a hodge-podge of green crayon marks swirling across the yard.

Christ became the ultimate example for us and He wants us to strive to be like Him. Tender of heart, strong of spirit and determined of soul. He wants us to be an imitator. He lays the way clear for me to follow and as long as I stick to the map, the lines in my yard are pretty. It’s when I get that wild hair to hang a left that messes up the process. The bad part is—then I have to wait for the grass to grow so I can re-cut it the right way.

Every time I stray from His direction, I leave an impression on my soul that has to be grown out – worked on, groomed, and forgiven. That takes time, and sometimes it’s a painful time.

Be an imitator. Follow the way Christ has charted. Become a model for others to follow. Mow the right way, and others will want a yard like yours.

Three o' Clock at a Gate called Beautiful - Guest devotionalist - Gary Frady

The day was hot as usual. There was not even the hint of a breeze that would bring refreshment to the crowd. Instead, the heat was heavy and the dust was choking. Nevertheless the people still came to the temple for the time of prayer though it meant discomfort and fighting the crowds.

Past the vast Court of the Gentiles there was a gate that led into the Court of the Women which was called the gate Beautiful. Today a great event would take place at this gate though no one was yet aware of it. Lying at the gate called Beautiful was a man who was familiar to the people. Day after day he was brought to this gate by family and friends to beg of those who would pass by. This man was crippled from birth and because of this was destined to spend his entire life at the mercy of those who would take pity on him and drop a coin in his beggar’s cup. Today was just like a thousand other days that the man had endured in an attempt to scratch out a living.

The time was three o’clock and the people were hurrying to the time of prayer. The man frequently lifted his voice and cried out, “Alms; Alms for the poor” in hopes that someone would hear his plea and respond with a coin. How often he had said those words; so often and for so long that he barely even lifted his eyes to look upon those who passed by. It was a humiliating way to survive, but he had no other option.

From afar the man saw two other men heading for the gate called Beautiful. As their shadows fell upon him the man cried out for alms though he would not look into the eyes of the men standing before him. Then he heard one of the men tell him to look at them. The voice sounded authoritative, yet compassionate; quite unlike the voices of exasperation and irritation he was so familiar with. Expecting a coin from them he obediently lifted his eyes to meet theirs. Unknowingly the beggar now looked into the faces of men who had walked with Israel’s messiah.

One of the men said, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I have I give you”. Suddenly the beggar’s spirits were dashed at the prospect of getting nothing of value. It had been an especially long day, filled with disappointments, and here, yet again, the beggar’s hopes were to go unfulfilled. Why continue this pathetic existence any longer; why subject one’s self to continual disappointment and shame, thought the beggar. Maybe I would be better off dead.

Just then the stranger reached down and took the beggar by the right hand and as he pulled him upward to his feet he said, “In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk”. Suddenly the beggar felt a rush of strength gathering in his feet and ankles. How odd this feeling was to the beggar for no such feeling had ever come upon him before. What was happening to him? Of what manner were these powerful words that this stranger had uttered that were now causing such strange sensations in his feet and ankles? Who was this Jesus in whose name he was being lifted to his feet? How could that which was dead be made alive?

“I’m walking, I’m walking!!” cried the beggar and he began to leap with unbridled joy and to praise God for this miracle. He could not contain his emotions; he wanted everyone to know he was reborn, given new life! He clung to the strangers as they walked to Solomon’s Colonnade, unwilling to let go of them lest his miracle disappear. The people gathered in astonishment as they recognized this man as the beggar whom they routinely passed at the gate called Beautiful. Surely a great miracle has taken place before our very eyes!

Whatever happened to the beggar? The scriptures are silent. Were any of the people changed who witnessed the miracle? Again, the scriptures are silent. We are left to wonder how we would have reacted had we been present. And yet, in reality, a miracle has just as surely happened to all who have named Christ as their Lord and Savior. Will we, like the beggar, share the good news with others? Or will we be silent about our miracle and thereby deny others the benefit of our witness?? It’s three o’clock at the gate Beautiful for some poor, lost soul. Will you introduce them to the all powerful name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth?

I Do! I Do! I Do!

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. –Romans 7:15,16

Sometimes I read a scripture and I wonder if people sitting around me see the giant question mark that’s floating over my head. I re-read. Still blank. Re-read again, and scratch my head, then usually skip past to the next verse.

I imagine the apostle Paul was a passionate minister of the word, but I sometimes wonder if I’m just slow or if he really makes sense? Well, he does make sense, but occasionally I have to backtrack and ponder his thoughts.

I was searching for a scripture yesterday when I ran upon the “I do” verses. Reading the verse once; there was the question mark –looming over my head. Following a second pass-by I began to chuckle. My next option was reading out loud. Disaster. All the I do’s began to sound like a frightened bride. Laughter hit and then silliness and I thought to myself, Will God think I’m being disrespectful? That led to reading the verses a third time and the thoughts becoming innately funnier.

You see, I believe God speaks to us frequently, we just don’t pay attention. Today was my day for Him to speak. The best part is, He knew from the moment I opened my Bible that I needed clarification, not just on scripture but on a few life issues. Therefore, he gave me the “I do” verses. In the midst of my confusion reading them, I was forced to break the verses down phrase by phrase. I found out, funny as it may have been, that we all suffer confusion at times. We think we got the instructions right, but when we begin apply them–they go to jumble.

My plate has been too full in the last few months and frankly, it’s catching up with me. I know God has been nudging me to turn loose of some of the “stuff” but it’s hard. It’s just easier to do things myself and know they’re done. However, I realized when I had difficulty sending a simple file via email, that I needed to understand the I Do’s. So, I read the scripture for a third time. “I do NOT understand what I do.” I got that part. “For what I WANT to do, I DON’T.” Alright, I paraphrased just a bit, but I get it now. “but what I hate – I do.” Oh, now I get it. Suddenly it became crystal clear as God spoke to my heart. He said, “Why do you do too much? You don’t want to, but you do it anyway. And when you get to much going, you hate the things you once loved. When are you going to listen to me?”

Well, shucks. When the God makes sense, He really makes sense. The things I love to do are becoming a chore because I can’t spend the time applying myself to what is important. And to think, it took several I do’s to figure it out.

This morning I read my meditation and said, “Okay God, I get it. I’m a little on the slow side, but I get it. Really “I do.” Sometimes God simply has to break it down into a series of I do’s for us to figure out. He uses the things that draw the cartoon question mark over our heads. Unfortunately, most of the time we read them once and mark it down as confusion, never to return there again for clarification. However, if we stop and ponder the I do’s, God opens our hearts to a greater understanding. I understand now, really, I do!

Prayer: Lord, we are sometimes blinded by the obvious, unwilling to hear You speak and even less willing to listen. Forgive us when we fall away from direction and gently nudge us back.

Blinded by Desire

The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, shining ever brighter till the full light of day. But the way of the wicked is like deep darkness; they do not know what makes them stumble. – Proverbs 4:18-19

Is it not amazing how conveniently we twist and turn the truth to suit our needs? Whether there is a bold-faced lie involved or just a slight misconception the fact remains, many times our complete honesty hinges on if the subject matter is beneficial to us or not.
We are a people of convenience and laziness. If our schedules are busy at the time of a major decision, we can easily justify taking the short cut achieve our desired result – regardless of whether the decision or the pathway to it, is completely honest. We only bent the rules a tiny bit. No one ever promised us that righteousness, or the road to attaining it, is paved in simplicity and easy-to-find answers. In fact, the answer is quite the contrary. The more we wish to find righteousness, the harder Satan makes it to locate. You see, he doesn’t want us to find this joy. He would prefer we stumble and connive to find ways that are pleasing to us and not Christ. That, my friend, is Satan’s entire agenda.
When we focus on the dot of eternity that lays deep into our future, it gives us an unmovable landmark, one that will never fade away. Will we stumble along the way, bloodying our knees at times? You bet ya, because it is not easy to keep our eyes fixed on such a distant goal. The way of righteousness is the first light of hope for a brighter future. That future is heaven. So we ask ourselves the question, “Is it easier and right to adjust the road blocks to suit our needs?” Easier yes – right, no.
Jesus knew as He entered His ministry, what the ultimate ending would be, however, He did not choose or alter the pathway that could have changed the outcome. Instead, He set His eyes on the final goal and chose righteousness, even though it meant His earthly death.
The word “wickedness” sounds so brutal, and it is not a word Christians equate to themselves. Still, there are times we are as wicked, if not more so, than those who do not know better. When we pave over the way of righteousness with the way of convenience, we have shortened the trip, but the result can be devastating. Doing what is right is not always what we want, but it the way God instructs us.
Fix your eyes on that which is good, even if the road is longer and harder, you can rest assured that you are headed in the right direction.


Prayer: Lord, when we are tempted to fall from the path of righteousness, give us the vision to see the road we may moving.