The Same but Different -- Sue Payne

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. Hebrews 13:8

The full moon appeared in the crystal, clear night sky above the tips of tall evergreen trees lining the highway. The reflected light disguised the stars as its brilliance cast shadows within the car. “Mommy, where did the moon go?” Our direction had changed, causing the moon to “hide” below the tree line. “I think the moon is playing hide and seek!” I replied, “But it’s still there.” The moon “magically” hid and reappeared again and again, peeking out in new locations as we traveled. The entertainment continued until the moon rose too high in the sky to be seen through the car windows.

This game sparked interest in the different phases of the moon. Suddenly aware of this heavenly body, the boys began to notice the obvious changes in its size and shape. The questions came again. “ What happened to the moon?” “Did a piece break off?” “Why isn’t it the same as yesterday?” With the help of a library book, I was able to show them that part of the moon was just hiding, but it was the same moon and it was still there.

In my travels with the Lord He has appeared different at times along the road. As my life took turns for the worse, He was my strength and comfort. Climbing the mountains of success, He became my praise. On the back roads of uncertainty, He was my confidence. When I was running scared and feeling lonely, Jesus was my only hope. My journey has taken many turns, but God has remained my constant, unchanging companion and friend.

Truly, there have been times in my walk with Christ when I wondered where God was. I have ventured alone in the direction of my own desires, sorrows, and fears suddenly finding myself lost for lack of light. When I turned around I found that I was casting the shadow that hid His presence.

With the help of the book, the Bible, the Lord showed me I was the one who was hiding, and that He was there, still the same, seeking me.

Have you wondered lately where God is? He’s still there, still the same but different so that for every turn your life makes His light may shine for you and in turn you might be a reflection of His never changing love: yesterday, today, and forever.

Sue Payne is a freelance writer whose articles have appeared in home schooling newsletters and church news bulletins. She is experienced in curriculum planning and design and uses her writing skills to encourage and teach others. Sue lives in Delaware, is married, and has two boys whom she home schooled for a total of fourteen years

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.

The Smell of Rain - Ariel Allison

- Listen to The Smell of Rain - by Ariel Allison


“Let my teaching fall like rain and my words descend like dew, like showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants.”
Deuteronomy 32:2

It came last night while I was making dinner. The clouds settled low over this desert town as they bubbled with moisture. I threw open my kitchen windows and breathed in that unforgettable scent. The smell of rain. It is a life-giving fragrance, clean and laden with the promise of refreshing. It comes to us in the moments before and after an autumn shower, a lingering reminder that God can wash away anything unclean, even the dusty residue of a long summer.

Twenty four hours later, my windows are still open, the sky is still gray, and that precious rain still soaks into a lawn that not two days ago was charred from relentless heat. Northern Texas does not see rain often, and when those heavy drops descend upon our dry soil, it is received gladly. I am not yet weary of this gift of rain. Just as I am not weary of the gift God gives us in His Word. Deuteronomy 32:2 says:

“Let my teaching fall like rain and my words descend like dew, like showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants.”

Sometimes my heart is like this desert where I live. Parched. In need of refreshing. This new life in me yearns for moisture to soften the hard soil around my tender roots and the new growth that pushes upward. I need the rain. I need God’s word to nourish me like showers on new grass and abundant rain on tender plants. I’ve seen what happens when a tender shoot, fresh from the soil, shrivels for lack of water.

May we absorb the word of Word of God this day like a thirsty plant that waits for rain. May our hearts swell with refreshing as we immerse ourselves in the truth we find on the pages of scripture.



Ariel Allison is a published author who lives in a small Texas town with her husband and three young sons. She is the co-author of Daddy Do You Love Me: a Daughter’s Journey of Faith and Restoration (New Leaf Press, 2006). Justin Case, the first of three children’s books will released by Harvest House Publishers in June 2009. 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. She and her husband are expecting their fourth son in December

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.

Color Your World – By Sue Payne

- Listen to Color Your World - By Sue Payne

All the days of the oppressed are wretched, but the cheerful heart is a continual feast.
Proverbs 15:15

My Mom was an amazing cook. Coming from a long line of creative and frugal gourmets she came by her talent honestly. But, not only was she good at preparing delicious feasts, she thoroughly enjoyed putting a meal together that was pleasing to the palette, as well as colorful to the eye. I remember her telling me that there should be at least four different colors represented on a plate of food. This not only looked appetizing, but would be nutritionally balanced.

I usually fail miserably at following her food guidelines, but I have internalized a truth in regards to coloring my life in order to stay healthy, happy, and balanced. I’ve learned through experience that attitudes come in many colors and can often make a mess on our “plates”.

For over 10 years I had a large poster-like banner displayed in our kitchen that read, “Attitude is the mind’s paintbrush. It can color any situation!” I purchased it to influence my children, whose colorful personalities and sometimes challenging attitudes added to the mess I frequently seemed to be cleaning up. The four of us usually made a very colorful display but at times, spilled words of anger and responses served with sarcasm left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth.

It wasn’t long before I began to realize that the oppression we sometimes felt in our home came from the attitudes we chose in response to the circumstances of our lives. I simply had too much on my “plate”. My two boys were simply testing boundaries and experiencing the flavorful, yet confusing and tempting world around them. I think occasionally my husband wanted to bag us up and send us packing! But it really had nothing to do with our relationships with each other. Our circumstances had us choosing the wrong attitudes.

How many of us find that our plates are so full that the frustration from yesterday’s board meeting has run into the pile of bills that are overdue? Has communication in your marriage gotten cold and become stale and tasteless? Maybe your plate is piled with good things but they’ve combined to form a heavy burden of heartburn. Stress and fear cause terrible indigestion.

So, serve up a feast of cheerfulness tonight! Add in a cup of grace, sprinkled with kind words and a listening ear. And for dessert? Try some love and understanding. The table will be set, balanced, and ready for healing, forgiveness, rest, and joy!

Sue Payne is a freelance writer whose articles have appeared in home schooling newsletters and church news bulletins. She is experienced in curriculum planning and design and uses her writing skills to encourage and teach others. Sue lives in Delaware, is married, and has two boys whom she home schooled for a total of fourteen years.

The Most Powerful Warrior -- Pat Patterson

"Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." James 5:16

It’s my routine. Leave the house, drive north 2.5 miles, and then hang a left. The highway is long and straight, and for fifteen miles I’m alone with my thoughts. I use that time to think. And to pray. “Help me to be a good paramedic. Please don’t let me hurt anyone tonight. And, Lord, please help me to be a gentleman.”

I clocked in at 7:00 p.m. and right away the calls began. Tough calls. The kind that make me wonder why I still do this job? One patient lied to me, another one spit. A belligerent female cursed at me, blamed me for her plight in life and then outright accused me of racism. And the calls rolled on. I became exhausted, weary from the workload, frustrated by the onslaught of personal insults. But I handled myself well. Remained a gentleman.

Until 4:00 a.m…

I found the vehicle atop a grove of broken pines. Prickly vines tore at my skin as I climbed down the embankment and into her car. “Hello,” I said scanning her for major injuries. “My name’s Pat. What’s yours?”

She sat in the front seat screaming, “Get me out of here.”

“We will,” I said. “But tell me, are you breathing okay? Are you hurt?”

“Get me out!”

I ignored the verbal stabs and continued my assessment—trauma victims sometimes speak irrationally, say things they don’t mean—but I found no major injuries, no reason for her to be so rude.

I explained the situation to her as the firefighters approached the car. She continued to fuss as they pulled open her door, continued to gripe as we immobilized her and carried her up the hill.
Uncooperative and difficult she abused me the whole way to the hospital, pulling at her bindings and yelling for me to cut her loose. I tried to remain patient, continued trying to help. I even stabilized her on a particularly rough section of road—grabbed her belt and held on tight to keep her from rolling as the truck rocked side to side—but she turned it into something else.

“Don’t you do it,” she said her voice cold and threatening. “Don’t you do it!”

“Do it? Do what?” I said suddenly realizing her implication. “Are you serious? Are you accusing me of—”

I was shocked.

She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but I cut her off this time. I’d had enough!“Shut up!”
“What?”

“I said, SHUT UP!”

And she did. She remained as passive as a lamb for the rest of the ride. But me? I marched into the ER angry as a hornet and left just as mad, a trail of verbal destruction in my wake. I got in trouble of course—the ER doc is still fuming.

***
Where did I go wrong? I prayed, didn’t I? I was only trying to help. What am I supposed to do when the whole world turns against me? Attacks me from every side? Well this morning something occurred to me—I need more than routine prayer. I need other Christians praying for me, true warriors who will lift me up every time I go to work.

So here’s a challenge: Call a friend. Ask them to pray for you. Promise to pray for them and do it. And always remember—the prayer of a righteous man is a powerful, effective weapon.

And do me a personal favor—please pray for me. Pray for my partner too. Tonight we go back out and face it all again. Ask God to help me to be a gentleman this time…regardless of what the night brings.




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.

More Precious than Gold -- Pat Patterson

"Blessed is the man who finds wisdom, the man who gains understanding, for she is more profitable than silver and yields better returns than gold." - Proverbs 3:13-14

Anger! It’s part of who I am. My response to the harshness of life. But have mercy on me please, I didn’t choose to be this way…..

My youngest son was fourteen years old at the time, healthy and safe, getting himself ready for school when my final call of the night was dispatched. “EMS report for medic-seven,” the dispatcher said. “Possible suicide…”

A gallery of colorful images flooded my mind—slashed wrists, gunshot wounds, overdoses. I’d seen them all. Vibrant memories of hopelessness and pain. Horrific expressions of self-inflicted death.
I felt myself cringe.

“You can handle it,” I told myself. “It’s just another call.”

I forced the images aside and approached the scene. We found her lying at the base of a carpeted staircase, a fourteen year old girl without a breath of life. Her eyes bulged. Her face looked puffy and blue. A collar of swollen red skin encircled her neck.

“Oh, my God,” my partner cried.

“She hung herself,” one of the police officers explained. “Her little sister found her. Cut her down and ran back to bed. Can you believe it? Poor kid didn’t know what else to do.”

The harshness of life. It slapped me in the face. What was I to do but cry?

But I couldn’t cry. My defense mechanism worked too well. I glanced around the room. The other faces displayed emotion. Pain. I felt nothing. No sorrow. No pity.

Nothing.

“It’s just another call,” I whispered, my heart grown cold. “Just another call.”

*
Weeks passed. Months. My life went on as usual. But then one day, like a freight train charging out of the night, another crisis hit. This one in my home.

My defense mechanisms went to work. I prepared myself for the worst.

“You can handle it,” I told myself. “It’s just another call.”

But this time something went wrong. Like a pressure cooker blowing off steam, I exploded. I broke down in a fit of uncontrolled grief while my wife, my sons, my in-laws watched, bewildered by the sudden burst of emotion from a man so usually hard.

Embarrassment could not begin to explain the humiliation I felt that day. But I couldn’t help myself, it just happened. Fifteen years of pent up frustration and anger, grief and hopelessness, sorrow and death—they all finally surfaced, and with them a tidal wave of emotion that truly rocked my world.
My family survived that crisis. God poured out His mercy on us…especially on me. I still find myself crying at times when the harsh realities of life slap me in the face, but I handle pain better now. I now know how to let it go.

God granted me wisdom through those two experiences, and new understanding more precious than gold. I learned that no man can hold in the pain forever. It will surface. It always finds a way.

* * *

Do you know a police officer? A firefighter or a paramedic? Someone who’s out there every day absorbing the pain of others and trying their best to keep it all inside? Pray for that person. Be
there for them. Love them. But most of all try to understand them. They were called to serve others— a tough, painful job.

What is that Smell? -- Virginia Smith

- Listen to What is that Smell- By Virginia Smith

“For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life.”
2 Corinthians 2:15-16

I woke the other day to find a distinctive odor lingering in the air – it was brewing day for the local bourbon distillery. I drew in deep breaths, savoring the smell of my past. I was raised in central Kentucky within a few miles of several distilleries, so the yeasty fragrance of brewing bourbon brings back vivid memories of childhood. To me, a functioning distillery smells like bacon and eggs frying in the kitchen.

My husband gagged all morning.

At our house in Utah we can smell the Great Salt Lake when the wind blows from the northwest. It isn’t at all like the ocean’s salty smell. It’s more like decaying fish, and makes me want to barricade the windows and doors and light scented candles in every room. Locals refer to the distinctive odor as lake stench. And yet, the other day my neighbor, a native Utahn, stood in my front yard, drew in a deep breath, and announced with a smile lingering on her lips, “Ah, it smells like summer has arrived.”

My aunt is a Kentucky thoroughbred breeder. She insists that horse manure smells good. Honest.

The other day I read a Bible verse that made me think of lake stench and horse manure and bourbon distilleries. 2 Corinthians 2:15-16 says, “For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life.”

To me, this is one of the vast mysteries of all time. I do so few things that are worthy of God’s notice. On the contrary, I’m often aware that my efforts would come up pitifully short if laid on an eternal yardstick. I’m too often focused on myself and my own goals instead of looking for ways to help others. I make decisions without consulting Him. I fight with my husband. I mismanage my money. In the eternal crowd of His faithful—to put it bluntly—I stink. And yet, He lives in me. When God draws near to me and inhales, He smells life. His life. And somehow, regardless of my shortcomings, others can catch a whiff of that fragrance in me, too.

God’s grace is an awesome, unfathomable mystery. Some days I don’t even try to understand it. I just inhale deeply and enjoy the smell.

Virginia Smith left her twenty-year career as a corporate director to become a full time writer and speaker with the release of her first novel Just As I Am. In March of 2008 she was honored with the Writer of the Year award at Mount Hermon Christian Writer’s Conference. She writes mystery/suspense novels such as Bluegrass Peril and A Taste of Murder, and humorous heart-touching stories like Stuck in the Middle, book 1 of the Sister-to-Sister Series, and Sincerely, Mayla. http://www.virginiasmith.org/

Guest Devotionalist -- Pat Patterson

"Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
--John 11:25

A Second Chance

I caught myself smiling. The scene looked perfectly serene. A group of old men sat together in a wide circle on the front porch rocking quietly. Their aged faces reflected serenity. Not a care in the world. I stepped onto the porch and cleared my throat. No one spoke or greeted me. They hardly seemed to notice me.

“Excuse me,” I said feeling somewhat confused, quite certain that my EMS uniform would have been enough to announce the purpose of my visit. “Did you gentlemen call 9-1-1?”

“Sure, sure,” one of the men responded. “We did.”

“Well—” I glanced at him and chuckled. “What can we do for you?”

“I think Harold’s dead,” he said pointing across the porch. “He stopped breathing five minutes ago.”

“What?”

I set down my equipment and walked over for a closer look. Sure enough, a gray-haired man sat in one of the chairs between two fellow rockers his head slumped against one shoulder as if he were asleep. I saw no sign of life, no movement at all. I touched his neck and felt for a pulse.

Nothing.

“Uh, Andy?” I glanced at my partner, Andy Strader. “I believe he’s right.”

Andy set down the defibrillator unit and pushed the power button. I grabbed the old man by the arms, slid him to the floor and ripped open the front of his shirt. Buttons flew. Fabric tore. Andy handed me the defibrillator paddles. I placed them on his chest and glanced at the monitor. A squiggly green line traced across the screen.

“Okay,” I murmured. “We’ve got V-Fib. We can handle that.”

Andy switched the unit to DEFIB and pushed the charge button. The unit began to whine. The low-toned whistle built quickly into a high-pitched shrill.

“Okay,” Andy said the capacitor was fully charged. “Light him up.”

“Here goes. Clear!”

Andy backed away. I straightened my arms, pushed the paddles firmly against Harold’s bony chest, and delivered the shock. Two hundred watt-seconds of electricity discharged into the old man’s body. His back arched. His muscles jerked. And then suddenly, to my amazement, he opened his eyes. He looked about briefly as if trying to gain his bearings, and then turned and gazed at me.

“Who are you?”

“Sir,” I said trying to hide my astonishment. “I’m a paramedic.”

“What are you doing?”

“You were dead, Harold,” one of the old men shouted. “These boys saved your life.”
“They did? Well, I’ll be.” Harold sat up and rubbed his chin. “Thank you fellas. Looks like you’ve given me a second chance.”

***

It’s a true story. Harold died that cool autumn morning—his heart stopped beating and his breathing ceased—but only for a little while. Apparently God wasn’t finished with him. He sent us. And by the delivery of a single shock of electricity He gave Harold a second shot at life. What Harold did with the rest would be up to him.

And you?

Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” He gave you a second chance too. It’s called eternal life. And just like Harold, what you do with that is up to you. But I wouldn’t wait too long in making that decision.

Harold got another chance. Will 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.

Guest Devotionalist - Cindy Rooy

Spiritual Amnesia


“They will tell of the power of your awesome works, and I will proclaim your great deeds.” (Psalm 145:6)

The older and more forgetful I become, the more optimistic I get about the idea of journaling. Recently, I was challenged to write down all the times the Lord has intervened in my life - including answers to prayers or help that was undeniably from Him. I spent days mulling over my past and God’s involvement in my life.

What events in my life were more than coincidences? What accidents did I narrowly escape? When did God answer my prayer? How did He turn that bad event into something good? Stunned by my spiritual amnesia, I realized I was no better than the Israelites who failed to remember that the Lord parted the Red Sea for them. Yet, the number of entries eventually recorded created an awareness of God’s activity throughout my life.

Making a list of personal experiences where God’s power is noticed reaps spiritual benefits. If your memory fails you, ask God for help in recalling His interventions. Then keep the list handy so events can be added when they are remembered and as they occur.

But God wants us to do more than remember. He wants us to share our stories. When we are alert for occasions to tell others about Him, it is amazing how often the opportunity presents itself. Talking about the Lord’s provision of help, healing, and peace remind us how compassionate and mighty He is. It encourages others and glorifies God when we make known what He has done for us.

Remembering His activity in our lives makes us more mindful of and thankful for our blessings. As the song lyrics suggest, “Count your many blessings, name them one by one, count your many blessings, see what God has done.”

So what has God done for you lately?


Cindy Rooy is a columnist in two TN newspapers and has been published in a devotional book titled Daily Devotions for Writers. She recently wrote a Bible study, Trusting God Through Trouble and Tears, which is being considered for publication. A wife and mother of three adult children, Cindy enjoys a writing and speaking ministry, and can be reached at cr4Him@gmail.com.

Guest Devotionalist - Susan Boyer

Get on With It

by: Susan Boyer

- Listen to Get on With It- By Susan Boyer

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Philippians 4:13

Recently, Cindy sent out an email with an update on the Christian Devotions ministry to the authors who contribute. I am honored to be on that list. She attached a formalized guidelines document for writing devotions.

Yikes!

The first thing that went through my mind was, “Wow, they have twenty-two authors writing for the website now—that’s awesome.”

The second thing that went through my mind was: “They surely don’t need me.” Having read the devotions, and seen the bountiful blessing of talent therein, I was both joyous and intimidated.

The third thing I thought was: “I can’t color inside the box.” I really, really can’t, both literally and figuratively—never have been able to. Whatever the boundaries are, I can’t stay inside them. My special challenge as a writer is staying within word counts. My writing tends to be a little on the chatty side.

Immediately, I began composing an email in my head, explaining to Cindy all the reasons why I wasn’t right for the site. “I’m just so overwhelmed right now… you have so many infinitely more qualified authors… I can’t address an envelope in four hundred words or less…”

A voice in my head that sounded like Cindy said, “Pray,” so I did. It was a half-hearted, already defeated attempt, but I gave God a glancing-look and a question.

As always, He had my number. Immediately, Philippians 4:13 popped into my head: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” This is as true today as it was when Paul wrote the letter to the church of Philippi.

No matter what your calling is in this world, there are forces both within and without that will tell you that you can’t. The voices make compelling arguments, and use your own best and worst qualities against you.

Insecure like me? The voices insist you don’t have the talent.

Committed to other worthwhile projects? The voices scream that you don’t have the time.
Busy caring for your family? The voices assure you that family comes first.

So what if you never finish that book, sing that song, or see your painting hanging in a gallery?

The voices will comfort you as you walk away from your dreams, telling you it just wasn’t meant to be.

If you believe them, the enemy wins.

Trust me, if God wants you to do it, you can.





Susan M. Boyer lives in Greenville, SC with her husband, Jim. She spends her days writing and daydreaming too much. Her work has appeared in Relief Journal, Spinetingler Magazine, The Petigru Review, and Catfish Stew. She is the recipient of Relief Journal’s, editor’s choice award in fiction. Susan serves on the board of directors for the South Carolina Writers Workshop, and is in her second year as chairperson for the organization’s annual conference. In her spare time, Susan travels with her husband, occasionally makes it to her Jazzercise class, and sometimes remembers to update her blog, People I’d Like to Be, where she mostly complains about the exercise and her sluggish metabolism.

Guest Devotionalist -- Polly Boyette

ARE YOU EXPOSED?

By Polly Boyette




(Photo courtsey of Ashley McCue Photography)

Be careful, or your hearts will be weighed down with dissipation, drunkenness and the anxieties of life, and that day will close on you unexpectedly like a trap." Luke 21:34


Have you ever done something so crazy that you're embarrassed to admit you did it? Recently I decided my Chrysler, PT Cruiser had collected enough dirt and trash to warrant a good car wash. I drove to this station near my house where they have this touch-less car wash.

I punched in my code and the automated voice told me to drive forward. When the sign told me to stop I put the car in park but as the sprayer started moving around my car I thought it sounded a bit different than in the past. It seemed to be louder somehow, like one of the windows was opened. I pushed all of the window buttons to make sure each one was tightly closed.

As the sprayer rounded the back of the car it still sounded like one of the windows was opened. Then I glanced over my shoulder and saw that my trunk was wide open. As the sprayer moved across the front of my car I jumped out, hoping to close the trunk, but quickly realized that was a big mistake. The sprayer soaked me in water and suds.

I screamed, jumped back into my car and backed out.

It just goes to show that even when we think we have everything covered and that there are no open and vulnerable areas the enemy sneaks in and we get blasted from behind. As a Christian, we must never let our guard down. When things are going good we may leave our lives open and that's the time the enemy will trap us with a false sense of security leaving us exposed and vulnerable.

Luke 21:34 teaches us, "But be on your guard. Don't let the sharp edge of your expectation get dulled by parties and drinking and shopping. Otherwise, that Day is going to take you by complete surprise, spring on you suddenly like a trap for it's going to come on everyone, everywhere, at once. So, whatever you do, don't go to sleep at the switch. Pray constantly that you will have the strength and wits to make it through everything that's coming and end up on your feet before the Son of Man."

Think you got your backside covered? Look again; your trunk might be wide open.

Polly Boyette is the author of "Life is a Buffet So Save Room for Dessert,". She was born and raised in Virginia where she still lives today. Her friends will tell you she has a strong sense of humor and a gift for telling stories. Polly has worked in Russia with orphans providing humanitarian aid and giving them hope through the gospel of Christ.

Guest Devotionalist -- Susan Boyer

Acts of God and Other Puzzlements

Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. John 3:6

I travel a good bit with my husband, Jim, on business. Last spring, business took us to Jasper, Alabama. Jasper is one of the many towns across our country that I would never get to see were it not for the fact that my husband’s job carries him to places generally not found in Fodor's guidebooks. Jasper’s a nice, regular town, much like the one I grew up in, only bigger.

We arrived on Sunday evening, April 8th. April 8th is the anniversary of when an F-5 tornado blew through those parts. Not Jasper, but real close by. Now, I haven’t told y’all this yet, but I have a life-long, blood-freezing terror of tornadoes.

You might be asking yourself if I was raised, perhaps, in Kansas, where such horrific storms are common. No, in fact, I was raised in Faith, NC, and as so far as I am informed, there has never been a tornado there, nor anywhere in the vicinity. The Wizard of Oz was my favorite movie as a child. Perhaps that explains it. Or maybe it was the way my family huddled in the hall every time it thundered, even in the dead of night. Mamma would get me out of bed to duck for cover with the rest of the family until the last rumble faded.

Anyway, Jim and I were right there where this media-declared Act of God transpired—
Why do they call such things "Acts of God?"

Why are bad things—tornadoes, tsunami's, earthquakes, et cetera—Acts of God, but none of the good things? The sun came up this morning, and no one else—not even any of the presidential candidates—claimed credit, but no one refers to Daylight as an Act of God.

And what about summer? Home-grown tomatoes, blackberries, and watermelon. And great picnic weather...well, except for places in the Rockies, where it's still snowing. Snow. Now, that's an Act of God…according to newscasters and insurance agents everywhere. But wisteria in bloom? He doesn't get the credit. I find this a puzzlement.

As someone who knows God personally, I'd like to see Him get more appreciation in the media for everything miraculous that happens throughout His divine creation each and every day. We can't have it both ways: If a tsunami is an Act of God, then by golly, so is the rhythmic surf caressing beaches all over the world right this minute.

It’s hard to think that our loving Father would create—or allow—killer storms that punish guilty and innocent alike. I know atheists that cite this as reason number one they don’t believe in an all-powerful, loving God.

I’m no theologian, but here’s where I find my Peace: everything we experience in creation is through our limited, human lens. Loss of a human—fleshly—life is tragic, and I don’t mean to minimize grief. But God, I think, is more concerned with our spirits than our flesh. Our relationship with Him is wholly spiritual, and our spiritual lives vast compared to the brief sojourn we spend on planet earth. He has his eye on eternity, and we live in the moment.
Take one of those moments to appreciate everyday miracles. Each of us is an Act of God.


Susan M. Boyer lives in Greenville, SC with her husband, Jim. She spends her days writing and daydreaming too much. Her work has appeared in Relief Journal, Spinetingler Magazine, The Petigru Review, and Catfish Stew. She is the recipient of Relief Journal’s, editor’s choice award in fiction. Susan serves on the board of directors for the South Carolina Writers Workshop, and is in her second year as chairperson for the organization’s annual conference. In her spare time, Susan travels with her husband, occasionally makes it to her Jazzercise class, and sometimes remembers to update her blog, People I’d Like to Be, where she mostly complains about the exercise and her sluggish metabolism.

Guest Devotionalist -- Pat Patterson

We Must Walk By Faith!


“We live by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7)






I found the bus parked on the side of the road. A small crowd stood to one side, shocked looks on the angry faces. I climbed aboard and found my patient sitting in the aisle in a pile of broken glass, her hands pressed to her forehead, her arms and lap stained with blood. She might have been angry, cursing and shaking her fist at the foolhardy teenagers who had reportedly flung the rock at the bus shattering the window and hitting her in the head, but she didn’t seem to be. She took a deep breath, told me her name, and then quietly submitted as I lowered her hands to examine the wound. And it was deep—a three inch gash above her right eyebrow. A golf ball sized hematoma had already formed. Her eyelid looked swollen, discolored and wet.

“It could be worse,” I said taking a wad of water soaked gauze and gently cleansing the site. “But you’re going to need stitches.”

“There’s glass in my eye,” she said. “I can’t open it.”

“Don’t try.”

I finished washing the wound and dressed it with fresh gauze, careful to cover both of her eyes to prevent unintentional movement.

“Now—” I took her hands. “Stand up and follow me. My partner has the stretcher at the bottom of the steps.”

I saw her face draw up tight. “But I can’t see. How can I—”

“Larissa. Trust me.”

“But—”

“Think of it as a faith walk.”

“Oh.”

Her face relaxed. She nodded as if she understood. I helped her stand and then backed down the aisle, coaxing her with quiet words of encouragement. Her first few steps seemed timid, unsure, but as her faith in me grew she gained momentum and together we walked down the steps, through the door, and outside into the humid night air.

The back of the ambulance was cool and bright. I checked her vital signs and started an IV. We made small talk—about the event, about her wounds—but eventually the conversation turned to faith.

“You’re a Christian, aren’t you?” she said, more a statement than a question.

“Yes,” I responded. “I am.”

“Will you pray for me?”

Now I’m no saint, not even by a stretch. I don’t pray with every patient I get into the back of my ambulance. I’ve argued with many, fought with a few, and battled my own prejudices more times than I can remember. But her words? They were like cinnamon candy to my ears. A sweet feeling came over me. I knew what I had to do.

“Of course I will.”

And we prayed—two people from different worlds meeting in the most unlikely of circumstances, holding hands and praying as if they’d known each other for years. You know, they say God works in strange ways; I see it more as creative brilliance. His love breaks down barriers. It shatters human defenses. It brings people together who would otherwise never meet.

“You know what’s fascinating?” I said when I raised my head from prayer. “You haven’t even seen me yet and, still, you trust me.”

I saw Larissa nod. Then she smiled. And I couldn’t see them but at that moment, beneath the bloody bandages, I’m sure her eyes twinkled.

“We walk by faith,” she murmured, “not by sight.”



Pat Patterson is a novelist and an instructor of Emergency Medical Services at Wake Technical Community College in Raleigh, NC. He is an EMT-Paramedic with 16 years of service and experience.

Guest Devotionalist -- Catherine Painter

Your Ticket to Real Success


Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.....My son, do not despise the LORD's discipline and do not resent his rebuke, because the LORD disciplines those he loves, as a father the son he delights in." Proverbs 3:5-6, 11-12

George Truett defined success as, “the ability to find the will of God for our lives and doing it.” All of us want success and are disappointed when failure rears its head instead.

I was introduced to failure during grade school. My name was often called last when team captains chose sides for a softball game. Evidently, an athletic career was not God’s will for my life, as I was athletically handicapped. The good news was, however, that I was on the team.

Day after day the balls dodged my glove. Then one day the miracle happened. The batter hit a ball that landed smack into my glove! The game halted, the class roared, and I stood awestruck, knowing I hadn’t caught the ball; I only received the credit.

One day you and I will join heaven’s team spiritually handicapped. We’ll arrive only because, by His grace, Jesus hit the balls and gave us the runs. He ran the race and gave us the trophy; He took the test and gave us the A. On that wonderful day, He won’t say, “Well done, good and successful servant,” but “Well done, good and faithful servant”. He won’t scold us for the games we lost, but reward us for playing by God’s rules, simple enough even a child can understand.

Here they are:
• Admit you’re a sinner (Rom. 3:23).
• Believe in Jesus (John 3:16).
• Commit your life to Christ (Rom. 12:1).

There’s the rub. Have we committed ourselves completely to following God’s rules? Proverbs is crammed with how-to’s for applying wisdom, the ticket to real success in life.

One day we’ll approach heaven, smiling at the sign on the gate: “You did not choose Me, but I chose you.” Jesus won’t ask how many balls we caught or missed. He’ll want to know whether we remained in the game playing by His rules, or grew weary and dropped out, deciding the reward just wasn’t worth the effort.

Are you in heaven’s line-up today? If not, fall in anywhere along the way; but don’t delay. One day the Eternal Time Keeper will stop the clock and time will be no more. Where will you be when the final buzzer sounds?




Catherine Painter is author of the twelve-week Bible study,So, You’re a Christian! Now What? published by Hensley Publishing, Tulsa, OK. Catherine is a columnist for Biblical Recorder, a state religious journal. She writes Sunday School curricula for LifeWay Resources, Nashville. She is available for speaking engagements by contacting her at: 617 Great Pine Way, Raleigh, NC 27614. Email: cspwrites@nc.rr.com Or telephone: (919) 846-1745

Visit her on the web at www.catherinepainterministries.com

Guest Devotionalist -- Sue Falcone

- Listen to Got Duck Tape- By Sue Falcone

GOT DUCK TAPE?

"All we like sheep have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the Lord has laid on Him (Jesus) the iniquity (sins) of us all."--Isaiah 53:6

We all have heard and used the wonderful product, Duck Tape. It was created and manufactured in 1942 by Johnson and Johnson. It was for use in World War II, to keep moisture out the ammunition cases. It was named "Duck Tape" because it was waterproof. The military personnel, just as we have done today, found that "Duck Tape" had many more uses.

"Duck Tape" was created to be a temporary fix for our problems; but as a young child I choose to invent my own personal roll to be the permanent fix for my life.

I spent many years filled with bad choices, many broken relationships, always having a weight problem, financial worries, and being performance driven resulting in over-working and wanting to be perfect. I had trusted and received Jesus at an early age, but had not given Him my roll of "Duck Tape." I was like a lost sheep and had gone my own way.

Then facing early retirement, being an empty nester and heavily overweight and deep in debt, all my life fell apart. For the first time I realized I had spent my life applying pieces from my roll of "Duck Tape" to fix my life instead of putting my faith in Jesus Christ.

I cried out to God and He heard me. He had never left me and showed me how to change from the inside-out. He has given me a new life work which includes speaking, writing and singing for Him. I am so thankful and grateful that I no longer live in a prison of my past, but face each new day with God's love and forgiveness.

Hope for You

Today are you looking for true joy, peace and contentment in your life? Have you searched and it never seemed to last? Do you need a Savior and a friend? Today call on Jesus and you can have a new beginning that is a permanent answer, not just a temporary fix like "Duck Tape."

Sue Falcone had spent a lifetime avoiding her fears. She journeyed through an abusive childhood, the stress of divorce and single parenting, as well as the challenge of raising step children. As a gifted speaker and teacher God has called Sue to use her unique presentation of encouragement and humor to help others overcome their fears. Skilled as a former "corporate America" manager, Sue is a graduate of Dale Carnegie and is a speaker for Stonecroft Ministries- Christian Women's Clubs. She is a successful small business owner and is certified in the areas of time management, financial counseling, and sales and marketing. Sue is married to Carmen, and together they have a blended family of 4 awesome children and 6 grandchildren. She loves the beach, walking, music, reading and inspiring others to find faith in Jesus Christ and have fun living fear-free.

THE LIGHTHOUSE OF HOPE - by Sue Falcone is available through her website and will be in bookstore soon

Guest Devotionalist -- Ariel Allison

LOVED

- Listen to Loved- By Ariel Allison

“As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Now abide in my love.”

John 15:9

Several years ago I was encouraged to pray a different sort of prayer. We’ve all asked God to help us love Him more, to grow our faith and our passion for Him. But my friend suggested I ask God to reveal how much He loves me. Every day. For a year.

“Pray it in the morning before your feet hit the floor,” he said. “And see if your life doesn’t change.”

It was an interesting proposition. Show me that You love me, Lord. Show me today. Uttering that one request somehow took the striving out of my spiritual life. It reminded me that I can only love Him because He first loved me. And I began looking in scripture for all the places where God utters his love for me.

Loved by the Father. Loved by Christ. Loved with an everlasting love. Loved so much, in fact, that Christ died for us. And He challenges us to rest in that love. To accept it. To enjoy it. The truth of our human nature is that it is difficult for us to rest in anything. We work. We strive. We don’t know how to simply receive and be loved. We want to earn it but we never can.

“As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Now abide in my love.”

John 15:9

Merriam Webster’s dictionary defines “abide” as to “accept without objection.” My children don’t argue with me when I tell them that I love them. They don’t object that they have disobeyed too many times. They don’t find reasons why they’re not worthy of my love. They simply grin, full of delight, and believe that I tell them the truth.

So today I challenge you to ask that God will show you how much He loves you. May you feel it, and embrace it, and be humbled by the overwhelming flood of love that He offers. And then allow yourself to accept that love without objection. Only then will you truly be able to love Him in return.

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 - Derek Maul

Christian Unity in 350 Words
by- DEREK MAUL

"My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me." (John 17:20-21)

One of my regular writing jobs is a weekly profile column featuring interesting people who make the community tick. Teachers, doctors, politicians, small business owners, preachers, artists, personalities; I'll talk to just about anyone.

In one market I concentrate exclusively on spiritual leaders; 130 to date in Plant City (Florida) alone. According to my records, and in writing for five local papers, I've conducted in-depth interviews with over 250 preachers over the past six years.

The diversity has been remarkable. Eighteen recognizable denominations; tall steeples; modern auditoriums; humble meeting houses. Traditional congregations, counter-cultural gatherings, and then one church for motorcyclists that features hard rock music and a preacher wearing leather.

I've interviewed clergy with advanced degrees who disdain titles and high-school drop-outs who insist I call them "bishop." I've met with pastors who drive BMWs and parsons who ride tractors. From the polished mega-church leader who preaches to 3,000 to the farmer who shepherds a congregation of fourteen.

Ages range from twenty-one to ninety-two, politics from left to right, ethnicity is all over the map. I have had conversations that lasted as little as twenty minutes, comfortable discussions that covered an hour, and – more than once – listened to three hour monologs featuring anecdotes I could never hope to run in the newspaper.

Each individual minister shared their own story, unique in every detail. But, and this is true every time – from the Eastern Orthodox priest who wore gold vestments and a huge black hat, to the Baptist preacher in a suit, to the Methodist who interviewed in jeans and heels, her hair stuffed under a baseball cap – the bottom line has been consistent, compelling, and charged with a degree of authenticity that speaks volumes.

Hundreds of preachers, representing variations in worship style and doctrine and religious expression that will make your head spin; but they all witness to this one simple truth: We were all created for relationship with God, and a life committed to following Jesus is the heart of God's plan for everyone.

There it is; end of story; Christian unity in 350 words; that wasn't so hard after all.

Love and blessings,
Derek Maul


DEREK MAUL is the author of Get Real, A Spritual Journey for Men and a columist for the Tampa Tribune.



His book second book, My Heart I Carry A Star: Stories for Advent" is to be released August 2008).
Click on the link to see his newest book to be released.

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.