He Said, She Said -- September 5, 2008

Go away, Lord! -- He Said

“When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus' knees and said, ‘Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!’ For he and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken, and so were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, Simon's partners.” - Luke 5: 8-10

- Listen to Go away, Lord! - by Eddie Jones

“Go away, I hate you!”

Even as the lanky man tried to console the boy his son ran off crying, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

It’s hard to cut your own son from the team, especially when he’s tried and done his best. But ball clubs are built to excel and win games, not make players feel good. At least, they were when I was growing up.

To be rejected by God, though, to be told you’re not good enough for His team… that is the deepest cut of all. Lately, I’ve felt as ifI were standing on the other side of the fence looking on God’s field of dreams, waiting for Him to wave me over, but hearing only the crack of the bat. I suspect I’m not alone.

That’s why I’m bothered by the story of Peter and the miraculous catch. The incident may lead you to conclude that success is guaranteed when Christ calls but that hasn’t been my experience. I understand that Jesus can do anything, that He’s all powerful. But what happens when He doesn’t bless the catch? What happens when he commands us to put out from shore, let down our nets and we catch a bad case of sunburn instead of fish?

What happens when we put our hope in Him and He says “no” to our prayers?

A few months ago a friend contacted me to say; “I've stopped working on our book project. Today my youngest daughter was killed in a car crash. That morning my pastor and I prayed for her safe travel. I have to say I'm not in the mood to write to or about God right now. Eddie, I'm sure you understand.”

I did and I do. “Go away from me, Lord!” said Peter. There are days when, as a sinful man, I want to scream at God; “Just go away, okay? Leave me alone!”

In a broken world, sin opens the door and pain rushes in. Today someone will learn that the cancer is back, their job is gone or that their spouse has left. Somewhere a prayer for provision and protection will be answered with a resounding “no.”

But the love of Christ is not measured in “yes” prayers; it is shown in how much He loves us during our pain. If God has said “no” to your prayer, if you find yourself in a time of testing, then ask him to join you in the midst of your problems. He always says “yes” to that prayer.

Christian Devotions

Abundance in Obedience -- She Said

- Listen to Abundance in Obedience -- by Cindy Sproles

"For he and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken, and so were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, Simon's partners."
– Luke 5:9-10

Monkey Bread. Have you ever had Monkey Bread? I hadn't, and honestly, it wasn't something that sounded especially appetizing. I've had friends offer me a "start" numerous times and politely declined. After all, what kind of bread requires "being fed?" There's something innately wrong with that.

My face must have spoken volumes when my friend offered me the start and the instructions. She said, "Trust me, you'll love it. The result is abundant." She grinned a mischievous grin.

The batter came in a one - gallon zip-lock baggie. It was to live in my refrigerator for a week — me adding flour every other day and "punching" down the batter on the off days. Something should have clued me when words like "punching," "feeding," and "start" came into play.

On day three, I opened the refrigerator and nearly fell over. The batter had inflated and was hissing to be free of the confines of the zip-lock bag. Abundance was an understatement. It had tripled in size. If one cup of flour tripled the batter, what would happen if I kept feeding it? We'd not be able to close the refrigerator door.

The day Jesus called Peter to follow Him, He'd given him a command. "Take me out from the shore so I can teach." Peter obeyed. Next Jesus sent him into deep water to cast his nets and fish. Even though Peter was tired from a day of fruitless fishing, he still obeyed Jesus — the reward was more fish than he could handle. More fish than his buddies could handle as well. Abundance!

When we are a servant — when we obey, God rewards us with abundance. His rewards will be more than we can heap into our boats. He loves caring for His children.

My Monkey bread dough tripled, then quadrupled, and then…well, you get the idea. One "start" yielded ten gallon-bags of batter. And that was what I could retrieve before it began literally running all over my refrigerator. There was so much, I couldn't give it away.

God does the same for me in my Christian life. When I give, when I obey—He blesses me to the point that I don't know what to do.

Has Jesus called you to obey? Did you ignore Him or did you obey and receive His blessings?

There is abundance in the Lord. Don't pass on the opportunity to receive the joys He offers.

Serve Him with an open heart and your Monkey bread will grow, and grow, and grow.


Christian Devotions


Eddie Jones and Cindy Sproles
author the He Said, She Said
Series.

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.

Triumph of Light -- Kathie Krakowski

- Listen to Triumph of Light

"And the Light shines on in the darkness, for the darkness has never overpowered it [put it out or absorbed it or appropriated it and is unreceptive to it]."
(John 1:5, Amplified)

One day as I was driving home from work I looked up and saw the late afternoon sun breaking through some dark clouds. The juxtaposition of dark and light clouds and blue sky always fascinates me. The dark clouds try to take over...as if they could. They do cast a pall over the landscape, and would seem to block out the sun, but it is always only temporary, the light always breaks through.

Where the light breaks through the most amazing transformation takes place! The previously dark sky is punctured by clouds brilliantly lit from within. The dark clouds are compelled to part, making way for the illumined clouds. Sometimes only the edge of a cloud is lit, sometimes a single cloud, and scattered throughout are patches of sun-brightened clouds. Eventually the darkness must dissipate in the growing light. Wherever the light has pierced the darkness, the sky is the clearest blue you could ever hope to see. I never tire of the triumph of light over darkness! It brightens my countenance, fills my wondering heart with thanksgiving, and stirs my spirit to worship the true Master of light.

This triumph of light over darkness in nature is a beautiful picture of a spiritual reality. The light of God pierced my sin-darkened heart at salvation, chasing away the clouds of unbelief, fear, and rejection that had cast a pall over the landscape of my life. When I allow God's love-light to shine through me, that same light spreads out, touches others, fills them, and spills out until more and more are beautifully transformed. This growing light, like the pink-tinged promise of a new day, carries with it all the possibilities of heaven. Storms happen, in life as in nature, but just as the sun always breaks through to chase away the dark clouds, so God's light always breaks through to chase away the clouds that would darken my spirit. It may not always occur as quickly as I would like, but it is a certainty, just as day always follows night.

Let the light of God fill you, chase away the storm clouds in your life, and bring you into the dawn of a new day.



Kathie Krakowski is a resident of Bear, Delaware. She is blessed to be the wife of a wonderful man, as well as a mom and a new grandmom (although she prefers to be called "Kiki"). She has been a pre-kindergarten teacher at a private Christian school in Newark, DE for the past 20 years and loves reading to children and teaching them how much Jesus loves them. She is a passionate worshiper of Jesus, the Lover of her soul, and enjoys expressing her devotion to Him through poetry. She also enjoys writing for children; including songs, tongue-twisters, and a series of alphabet stories that she hopes to have published.

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.

Honor Thy Father -- Ariel Allison

- Listen to Honor Thy Father - By Ariel Allison

“Honor your father and mother (which is the first commandment with a promise), so that it may be well with you.
Ephesians 6: 2-3



Honor, according to Webster’s dictionary is, “a good name or public esteem. A showing of unusual merited respect.” Being an adult does not relieve us of Scripture’s command to honor our mother and father. Yet is a verse we often associate with young children or rebellious teenagers. The truth is that I have struggled with this command more than any other. For many years I didn’t feel as though my father was worthy of honor. It helped me tremendously when I read these words by Dennis Rainey:

“Honoring your parents does not mean endorsing irresponsibility or sin. It is not a denial of what they have done wrong as parents. Honoring your parents means choosing to place great value on your relationship with them…It is an attitude accompanied by actions that say to your parents, ‘You are worthy. You have value. You are the person God sovereignly placed in my life.’”

Shortly before my father passed away, I felt God calling me to stand up at his funeral and honor him publicly. I stood before 200 people that day and shared the things that my father had done right. I told of how he loved the word of God and how he imparted that love to me. I told of his compassion for those in society that no one else cared for. I told of his great love for sharing the gospel and I told of his ability to keep a promise. He said, “until death do us part” to my mother and he meant it.

That was the last page in the last chapter of my relationship with my dad. And I didn’t stand in front of those people and lie. I padded nothing. I celebrated the good things about him honestly and freely. I said goodbye to my dad on a Thanksgiving evening and he slipped into eternity hours later. That day has become about far more than turkey for me. It has become a day that I quiet my heart and thank God for the man who gave me life. Each year I try to honor him on that day, if not out loud, then at least in my heart.

Is there a way that you can honor your parents today, as an adult, intentionally? Perhaps a phone call. Maybe by offering forgiveness for a past sin. Maybe by thanking them for the legacy they have left you and your children. Or it may be as simple as not saying something. Regardless, I challenge you to place your mother or father in that place of honor and experience God’s blessings as a result.



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.

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.

Born Again -- Cindy Sproles

- Listen to Born Again- By Cindy Sproles

"In reply Jesus declared, “I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.” John 3:3

You can ask my mother. She’ll tell you it’s true. Every year on my birthday, I call my mother and sing Happy Birthday to her. In the beginning she thought she’d raised an odd child. But she grew to enjoy the birthday calls I gave her on MY birthday.

“It’s not my birthday,” she’d say.

“Sure it is.”

“How do you figure?”

“You gave birth to me, and outside of being completely blessed (here’s where she chuckles), it was you who gave birth. It’s your 'birth' day.” She laughs and insults me by asking if I feel it’s necessary to remind her.

When I read about Nicodemus and what must have gone through his mind when Jesus said, “you must be born again,” I have to laugh. Poor guy must have gone into sensory overload. He simply couldn’t imagine an adult being thrust back into the womb. The thought of two birthdays made him a little nutty. You have to give Nicodemus a little credit. The concept was hard when you lived in such a literal world. Jesus knew Nicodemus wouldn’t fully understand, but He also knew he’d think on the topic, study in his mind and eventually make a difference in the Sanhedrin. And Nicodemus did make a difference. Though we never know if he ever really grasped the idea of rebirth, He ended up coming to the defense of Jesus.

Me…..well, I was born on August 21. Ten years later, April, 10 1968, I was born again. I stepped into the aisle, walked to the front of the church and celebrated my real birthday.Jesus asked me to be born again if I wanted to see the Kingdom of God, and I obeyed. He offered me eternal life. But I had to be reborn. I experienced that second birth, when my slate was wiped clean—when I died to sin and my heart received the jolt that brought it to life a second time. Even when times have been difficult I could only imagine the frustration being worse without the Father in my life.

My earthly birthday comes and goes. For the most part, I never give it a second thought, but that second birthday carries the weight. I never let that date slip past without falling to my knees and singing “happy birthday to me.”

Have you been reborn? I mean, really reborn? Have you allowed Christ to change your life? If you haven’t, seriously consider it. Chew on the concept, consider the invitation. Accept. This is one birthday you’ll not want to miss.

So, later in the morning, I’ll dial the phone and when my mom answers, I’ll break into song and sing happy “birth” day to her. She’ll laugh, shake her head and wonder how she managed such a weird child, one who’s obviously still not grown up.

You must be born again. I was, and I’m glad.