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.

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/

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