Don't Be Late!

 

        I don’t like being late. In fact, I’m almost always early for appointments. This habit stems from my dad. He was punc-tu-al.

        Mom, on the other hand, most often ran late. No matter how much time she had to prepare, she found more to do before getting out the door. When nearly all set, she’d announce, “I’m almost ready!”

        Dad replied every time, “Ruth, you’re not ready till you’re in the car!” using her first name only. By the umpteenth time, however, he’d add her maiden name. Uh oh!

        But Mom didn’t get the hint.

        So, my sister and I grew up hearing Dad yell, “Ruth Holland, you’re not ready till you’re in the car!” most times when we headed out. And more than once he told Mom, “You’re gonna be late to your own funeral.”

        When I married Brian, he decided to copy my father, and it became a bit of a joke.

        I’d get ready to go here or there, plop on the couch, and announce, “I’m ready.”

        Brian would smile—and to this day replies, “You’re not ready till you’re in the car.”

        I don’t mind occasional late-comers, but I do get irked by chronic-stragglers if I’m the one waiting for them. This annoyance carries over to doctors’ offices. If I wait more than 2 hours for an appointment (for example), let’s just say I get a bit irked, just like Dad. Maybe more than a bit.

        Should I mention that 2 of our children decided to show up late? Yup. Didn’t those babies care they failed to occupy the fully-prepared nursery on time? The nerve! One kept us on pins-n-needles an extra 9 days. The other? Our 4^th! I mean, who expected #4 to keep us parents in limbo 11 extra days? (I’ve forgiven them.)

        In reality, there are times being tardy doesn’t cause global chaos—just inconvenience. After all, no “water under the bridge”—unless someone’s late because there actually was water under the bridge. That could happen.

        I’m not sure why some people tend to be late-comers. Maybe they think they have plenty of time to get one more thing done—like Mom did. They just don’t realize, as one of my special friends shares, “Time has flies!” (I love the way this friend expresses that idiom.* Don’t you?)

        There’s a time, though, when being late will come with eternal consequences. When thinking there’s plenty of time will make the difference between one’s final destination. No one knows when Jesus is returning to take believers-in-Him to Heaven! There are clues, though, in God’s Word indicating we’re approaching—or actually in—End Times.

        Let me back up a few moments though. Way back to Bible times! 

        There’s a stirring account in the Book of Acts, Chapter 26 where the apostle Paul, at that time 
imprisoned for preaching the Good News about Jesus, stands before King Agrippa to be judged. Agrippa permits Paul to speak, and the apostle takes this opportunity to express his joy in being able to address the king. He also shares about his background in Judaism, experience as a pharisee, and deep guilt in persecuting believers.

        Paul must’ve had a captive audience (ironic, since he was the prisoner) because Agrippa allowed Paul to continue. Thus, the apostle shared his personal testimony and what happened on his way to persecute more believers-in-Jesus:

“…O king, along the road I saw a light from heaven, brighter than the sun, shining around me and those who journeyed with me. And when we all had fallen to the ground, I heard a voice speaking to me and saying in the Hebrew language, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting Me? It is hard for you to kick against the goads.’ So I said, ‘Who are You, Lord?’ And He said, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But rise and stand on your feet; for I have appeared to you for this purpose, to make you a minister and a witness both of the things which you have seen and of the things which I will yet reveal to you. I will deliver you from the Jewish people, as well as from the Gentiles, to whom I now send you, to open their eyes, in order to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins and an inheritance among those who are sanctified by faith in Me.’ Therefore, King Agrippa, I was not disobedient to the heavenly vision, but declared first to those in Damascus and in Jerusalem, and throughout all the region of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent, turn to God, and do works befitting repentance. For this reason the Jews seized me in the temple and tried to kill me. Having obtained help from God, I stand to this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying no other things than those which the prophets and Moses said would come—that the Christ would suffer, that He would be the first to rise from the dead, and would proclaim light to the Jewish people and to the Gentiles.” Acts 26:13-22

        Also present? Festus, the Roman governor. He shouted at Paul, declaring this prisoner-of-many-words mentally off and driving this political official nuts.

        But Paul wasn’t dissuaded by the governor and affirmed he imparted only truth. He even spoke to Festus on behalf of the king before turning the conversation back to Agrippa. (That took guts. That took God!)

“For the king, before whom I also speak freely, knows these things; for I am convinced that none of these things escapes his attention, since this thing was not done in a corner. King Agrippa, do you believe the prophets? I know that you do believe.” Acts 26:25-26

        Next comes King Agrippa’s tragic response:

“You almost persuade me to become a Christian.” Acts 26:27

        Paul closes his defense with this challenge:

“I would to God that not only you, but also all who hear me today, might become both almost and altogether such as I am, except for these chains.” Acts 26:28

        [King Agrippa, you weren’t ready by your own account. You were late. Lost. Your position couldn’t save you, nor could your wealth or heritage.]

        If you’re a person who hasn’t yet accepted Jesus as your Savior and Lord, you’re gambling against time. Oh, sure, you might have plenty of time and choose to wait, but I challenge you to consider your eternal destiny and relationship with the Lord!

        It’s worth taking care of that now and comes with benefits. You’ll have time on this side of eternity to joy in your new-found life in Christ.

        So, dear one, I implore you. Consider this decision before it’s too late.

Plenty of Time written by Clay McLean (released in 1971)

Plenty Of Time - The Galileans - 1973

~and~

Almost Persuaded

“Almost persuaded” now to believe; “Almost persuaded” Christ to receive;
Seems now some soul to say, “Go, Spirit, go Thy way;
Some more convenient day on Thee I’ll call.”

“Almost persuaded,” come, come today;“Almost persuaded,” turn not away;
Jesus invites you here, angels are lingering near,
Prayers rise from hearts so dear; O wanderer, come.

“Almost persuaded,” harvest is past! “Almost persuaded,” doom comes at last!
“Almost” cannot avail;“Almost” is but to fail!
Sad, sad, that bitter wail, “Almost,” but lost!

(Almost Persuaded, by Philip P. Bliss who tragically died with his wife

in a fiery train wreck 5 years after writing this hymn in 1871, public domain)

        Right now, you still have time. If you don’t understand how to join God’s family, here’s a video explaining the steps:

Heaven How To Get There

Presented by Rev. Brian Hampshire

#time #toolate #JesusSaviorLord #apostlePaul #KingAgrippa #Acts26 #howtogettoHeaven

*“Time flies.”

Photo Credit: clock—publicdomainpictures.net, Paul with King Agrippa—goodsalt.com, person praying—vecteezy.com

Biblical Passages from NKJV version. Video used with creator’s permission.

---

“Has Anyone Considered My Child Has a Soul?”

        Fifty years ago, I drove onto the campgrounds of Children’s Bible Fellowship in New York State. My assignment? Serve as a counselor to the disabled. There was a lot at stake other than just doing this task well. You see, I’d already written the mission organization expressing my desire to serve with them full-time.

        Their initial requirement: Apply to counsel at Camp Hope for the summer, and they’d see if I was a “good fit” for openings at Hopetown—their on-grounds resident school where kids and teens lived year-round.

        This ministry grew as a result of a parents-of-disabled-children’s meeting held in New York City years prior. Attendees asked numerous questions and offered suggestions, wishing to improve their disabled children’s lives physically, emotionally, and mentally.

        Then a Jewish father stood and asked, “Has anyone considered my child has a soul?”

        This was the “seed” that planted a vision in the heart of the mission’s founder. And from that grew Camp Hope and later Hopetown.

        I’d desired to work with the disabled for years prior to this summer, grasping opportunities throughout high school and college, to better equip me for whatever God had in store.

        Unbeknownst to me, the director of Hopetown, who also worked in the camping program, planned to assign the most challenging campers to me—a test of sorts. I didn’t see it that way at the time. I just looked forward to the experience and settled in for the summer.

        After orientation, the first session of campers arrived. Assigned to me? Inez—a petite, pretty-as-a-princess child. Yet her face lacked expression, and she constantly ground her teeth. Inez was autistic and required a 1-on-1 counselor for her 2-week stay.

        I didn’t know a lot about autism. I tried my best, but something within me ached. After all, this was a Christian camp, and our goal was to share the Good News of Jesus Christ. How could I reach a little girl who seemed so distant?

        But during orientation the mission’s founder had shared with us about that meeting he attended eons ago—when the question was put forth: “Has anyone considered my child has a soul?” He also imparted another truth. A body and/or mind may be disabled, but the soul/spirit cannot be. Then he told us an amazing account—

        A certain non-verbal boy attended Camp Hope some years before. He’d not spoken his whole life.

        When he returned home, his parents talked with him about his time at camp—like always but never expecting answers. Still, they loved him and communicated.

        “Did you have fun at camp?”

        No response.

        “You must’ve enjoyed time with the other campers.”

        Silence.

        “What did you learn at camp?”

        “Jesus loves me this I know,” the boy said, “for the Bible tells me so.”

        Reader, can you imagine the expression on these parents’ faces? The utter surprise? The tears of joy? They couldn’t wait to share this news with the mission’s founder, and he joyed each time he shared this account with incoming summer staff.       

        Since God conveyed His Love to that boy, might my camper experience the same? Can she actually grasp that Jesus loves her? Will I be able to help her understand?

        I showed my camper pictures and told her about Jesus in simple words, but she remained expressionless. I didn’t have a clue if anything broke through to her. So, I prayed.

        A couple days passed with no evidence…

        …until one day when I was pushing her on the swing. She seemed to love the back-and-forth motion of that activity, so we did that a lot.

        As I gave her that swing ride, I wondered if Inez might be from a Spanish-speaking home. (This info would’ve been in her camper profile, but somehow I missed that detail.) After all, a number of campers were from ethnically diverse backgrounds.

        What if I communicate with her in Spanish! I only knew a few words in that language, and I wasn’t even sure I pronounced them correctly. I tried saying a few things to her, but she remained emotionless, grinding her teeth.

        Then an eighteen-year-old memory popped into my head—one from when I was Inez’s age.

        My mother was a patient at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York City. Several times Dad took my sister and I to see Mom, except we couldn’t visit her at all. Only Dad was permitted into her room. So, we girls waited nearby.

        Two precious nurses kept us company during those visits and taught us a hymn and Jesus Loves Me… 

        …in Spanish!

        And we never forgot it.

        Now, here I was, gently pushing Inez on the swing. “Si, Cristo me ama,” I sang, and…

        She smiled! Not just a bit. Nope. I’m talkin’ big toothy-grin!

        I gasped. “Oh, Inez! You have a beautiful smile!”

        And my camper stared blankly.

        Then I sang again, and she smile brightly!

        I was amazed and stopped to thank God for this breakthrough, and Inez’s smile left. I sang again, and her smiled returned!

        In a very real sense, we sang Cristo Me Ama together the rest of her time at camp. And I hoped and prayed Inez’s spirit would continue singing when she went home.

        In reflecting on this 50-year-old memory, I remain astonished by the Savior—this infinite God—Who created the world, Who listens to and answers when we pray, Who bent down and whispered to these 2 dear non-verbal campers!

        The world may overlook some children at times, thinking them hopeless.

        But God tells them, “I love you.” And He wrote a Book to prove it because He wanted them to know.

        Reader, do you know a special needs child who seems distant? May you share God’s Love with that precious one who needs to know…

        …“Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so.” 

Jesus Loves Me ~ Cristo Me Ama

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JsO5ThjGS-0&list=RDJsO5ThjGS-0&start_radio=1

(original English version from hymn/story by Anna Bartlett Warner, 1859, public domain)

 

P.S. ~ At the close of that 1^st summer, I was accepted by CBF as a houseparent and cared for 17 (not all at once) kids/teens over the 3 years I served in that capacity. A “bonus” was meeting my husband at Hopetown. We served with CBF until 1989, at which time God led us to BCM International, Inc. ~ Bible Centered Ministries ~ where we’ve ministered since.

 

#counselor #CampHope #Hopetown #disabled #autism #specialneeds #JesusLovesMe #Spanish #CristoMeAma

Photo Credit:

girl in swing—depositphotos.com, sign—teacherspayteachers.com

Parents’ conversation with non-verbal boy camper is not verbatim.

Finding Hope in the Somewhats

        The cardiologist entered my assigned exam room. Hubby and I would get the lowdown on yet another diagnosis for me—this time, AFib.* Not life-threatening, I’d been told, but a concern primarily due to increased risk of stroke.

        Okay. I started on a prescribed medication to combat stroke. Next step?

        I hoped for ablation. Yup! That held possibility of eliminating this new threat to my already presumed abbreviated life due to lung disease. So, that’s what my choice would be.

        Ablation: a medical procedure where an instrument would be fed from my lower region up into my heart and burn out the tiny area causing an extra systolic beat. Goal: Changing the bah-bah-bum, returning it to a normal bah-bum.

        That would do quite fine, thank you very much.

        But the cardiologist didn’t have those words for me. Instead, he said, “Normally we could…”

        Normally? Uh-oh. Already a warning here, raced this thought through my head.

        “…go in and…” and the doctor went on quite calmly.

        My mind skipped over the rest of his “normally” to the “but.”

        “But because of your lung disease, I wouldn’t take the risk of operating on you. Putting you under.” He x-ed out ablation in the diagram he’d already drawn on a white board to explain AFib.      

        I zeroed in on him. “I hoped you could fix this.”

        “I’m sorry, but your situation makes it more risk than worth.” He stood silent for some moments.

        I processed: No ablation. Stupid lung disease. Rats! “Oh well,” I finally blurted, shrugging my shoulders and glancing at my husband with a grimace.

        “I can prescribe a medication. It’s not a fix, but it’s somewhat of a help,” the doctor said.

        I tilted my head left to right and back again. “I guess somewhat’s better than nothing.”

        “It is.”

        So, we left the doctor’s office with a tidbit of hope in my overly active heart.

        When we were back in the car, I admitted, “I’m sort of disappointed. I really hoped to cross this problem off my list.”

        “It would’ve been nice,” Brian said. “Maybe you’ll feel better after a nice lunch. You pick the place.”

        “Joisey Mike’s!” I said attempting to lighten my mood.

        “Okay, Joisey girl!”

        And we headed on our way.

        “I wanna cry but not,” I said. “I mean, this isn’t a nothing. Right?”

        “Right,” Brian affirmed.

        “Sorta like when we went to the pulmonologist, and he told me I made gains after months of rehab. Some progress. So much hard work to gain just 1% in one score and 2% in another on my PFT** though.” My shoulders dropped.

        “But, Sarah, at least your scores went up, not down,” Brian said, turning toward our next stop.

        “I know. I guess it helped somewhat.”

        “And somewhat’s better than nothing. Right?”

 

        I broke a smile. “Where have I heard that before?”

 

        Somewhat’s better than nothing. Something to cling to—to keep me from drowning.

 

       Was I disappointed? For a while. Maybe 30 minutes. But, I admit, I thoroughly enjoyed that Jersey Mike’s sub!

*****

        Not long ago, I shared in a blog post about a young lady named Jane who went by stage-name Nightbirde. She had cancer that returned a 3^rd time—this time giving her only a 2% chance of survival. I think Jane must’ve struggled with that news when her oncologist broke it to her.

 

        But Jane (a believer in Jesus) wasn’t always weighted down by this news. Instead, at the close of her audition on America’s Got Talent, this beautiful but frail woman said, “I have a 2% chance of survival, but 2% is not 0%. 2% is something, and I wish people knew how amazing it is.”

 

        Can you imagine? I can’t, yet faith in Jesus Christ offers hope—solid ground to stand on.

 

        My diagnosis is so far below the seriousness of Jane’s, yet—for a brief moment—we may’ve share something in common—finding something in what looked more like nothing. 

        And that’s something! Small perhaps but a positive step.

        Reader, have you been in a situation where you find yourself questioning if there’s anything left? Does it look like you’re facing nothing? Are you wanting to cling to something?

        Someone?

        Hope! There’s always hope because that isn’t just a thing—it’s a Him! Jesus Christ provides a solid foundation for our faith, and this gives us hope…

        …even in the somewhats.

The Solid Rock

 

My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus' Name.

Refrain: On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand: all other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

 

When darkness veils His lovely face, I rest on His unchanging grace;
In every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil. [Refrain]

 

His oath, His covenant, His blood, support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay. [Refrain]

 

When He shall come with trumpet sound, O may I then in Him be found:
Dressed in His righteousness alone, faultless to stand before the throne. [Refrain]

(from the hymn, The Solid Rock, by Edward Mote, 1834, public domain)

 

#hope #AFib #ablation #JesusChrist #firmfoundation #solidrock

  *atrial fibrillation

**Pulmonary Function Test

Photo Credit: Hope in sky—vecteezy.com

Dreams ~ Part 2 ~The I-Hope-So Kind

        It all starts with a dream!

        Yep, that’s what the poster in the office of the used-car salesman announced. But why were we there? We’d not been in the market for a car and had a dependable one until the previous week.

        Then the hailstorm struck! Not just any hailstorm. We’re talkin’ record-breaking! And amongst the 1,000s of vehicles that were targeted was… 

        Ours—a 2019 Ford Explorer with tow hitch! Totaled!

        But why mention the hitch?

        Because it didn’t really start with the hailstorm.

        It started with a dream.

        Back up with me to January 18^th, 2024. Brian and I sat in a used car dealership signing our lives away (not really but it felt that way) to purchase the Explorer because we’d need a vehicle hefty enough to tow a camper.

        Did we own a camper? No, but—hey—that was part of the dream, and we figured we’d take step 1—heftier vehicle—then pray for step 2’s provision. But why did we need a camper?

        Let’s back up even further. September 12^th, 2023 our son’s memoir* celebrated its release! This, the culmination of a year’s writing by Min dictating to me, his scribe. Once the writing was done, the editing began and all the other amazing headaches that go into getting a book ready to market. I can’t say I ever remember a more stressful experience, but…

        This was our son’s dream—to tell his story. He was 100% sure God wanted him to do it, despite how difficult it would be with his neurodivergent challenges and physical illness. And, while we worked together as a family to help Min fulfill his dream, Brian and I realized this was a God-assignment.

        Authors market their books. How would this happen? We’d couple Min’s dream with our need to travel for missionary deputation/outreach. After all, it’d been quite a while since Brian and I had been able to visit supporting churches and individuals.

        “It’ll be fun,” Min said.

        “It’ll be a great opportunity,” I said.

        “It’ll require means for us affording it,” Brian said, “and that will take an updated vehicle able to pull a camper for our lodging.”

        So, we began mapping out routes—where we’d travel during what season of the year. Min purchased a variety of interesting him-like items for his book-signing table (including mini glow-in-the-dark aliens because he was certain everyone would want one), and Brian and I went to buy the car.

        So, that brings us up to the purchase + 1 month.

        The dream that we caught from Min crashed when I stepped into a pulmonologist’s office, learned I had a lung disease, and would be placed on oxygen 24/7. Oh, it was much more complex than that, but another doctor let us know I might be helped and could possibly go off oxygen if we did a home mold study and had that cleaned out.

        $30,000+ later, after months of tearing apart our home and the pros removing mold throughout much of our abode and the reconstruct (which was its own nightmare), time would tell if there was hope for me and my fibrotic lungs.

        Call me naïve. Call me ignorant. Call me whatever you want (within reason), but I thought even at this point we’d adapt, drag along a portable O2 unit, and live out our dream.

        But this goal hung in the balances. I was so sick and my prognosis less than promising, barring Divine Intervention. The idea of going anywhere planted anxiety and doubt.

        And after our house was “cured,” I was not. My disease had progressed too far.

        Then Brian experienced health challenges ending in a surgery that permanently damaged his right arm functions. Would he be able to handle setting up a camper? Drive long distances? Have any energy left to do meetings or book-signings after all that? We had serious doubts.

        Thus, the dream took another hit. We resigned to the fact we must rethink our dream which, by now, also “lacked oxygen!”

        Why tell you all this, reader? Because sometimes our I-hope-so dreams can be delayed, change, become wounded, break, or even die.

        In our case, this wasn’t the end of the world, but we did need to toss our original plan, grieve the loss, and accept it as God directing us in another way.

        I guess I somewhat grieved losing the Ford Explorer. Not because it wasn’t replaceable. Of course it was, but it represented our incomplete dream—the one birthed when Min finished his memoir.

        And now that I’ve had some time to reflect on the past month, I realize I wasn’t really grieving the now-totaled car. I more than likely revisited my own grief—the one stealing breath from my lungs.

        Since grief can hit repeatedly over time, might I even grieve this again? And again?

        And yet again?

        In some ways, I compartmentalized all this. Example (talking to myself): Sarah, you’re getting older. You could’ve had a disease at this point in life or even died. I mean, you’ve even outlived your mother. So, is a problem like this really very surprising?

        Oops! That wasn’t a very “neatly packed little box.”

        Or: How about being thankful for the life you still have, Sarah? Look at all God’s done for you and is going to continue to do because of His unfailing love?

        Now that’s much better!

        What about dreams that are much more important than what I’ve shared? The loss of a child? A fire that consumes everything? Being victim of a crime?

        All dreams that don’t succeed have a certain amount in common but to greatly differing degrees, depending on its “name” and closeness of it.

        So, what, dear reader, can you do if your dream suffers a blow?

        May I suggest these steps to you?

1)     Recognize the dream might not be what it started out to be.

2)     Grieve the loss of your original dream—even if it requires revisiting it.

3)     Pray and commit your broken dream to God. He is able and willing to help.

4)     Be assured He can heal broken dreams, no matter what they are.

5)     Adopt a new dream. You may be surprised where God leads through this.

        Reader, how ’bout you and I take our broken dreams, hand the pieces over to God, and let Him create something new, useful, and beautiful!

        And, no matter what! Keep looking up! The God of Hope is ever-present, has a plan for our good, and is able to carry us through!

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord,

thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.”

Jeremiah 29:11 NKJV

         I’ve Come Too Far to Look Back by Nancy Harmon (1970s)

“…He can mend broken dreams…”

I've Come Too Far | Small Town USA | Official Music Video | Redeemed Quartet

#dreams #hopes #plans #grieving #newdreams #Godcanmend

Disclaimer: I am not a counselor—just a person who shares her experiences with hope those help others along life’s way.

 

*A Home for Min Soo ~ Putting Together the Pieces of My Life by Kim, Min Soo

Photo Credit: broken dreams—shutterstock.com, son with memoir—family owned, USA map—alamy 

Dreams ~ Part 1 ~The Sleeping Kind

        It all starts with a dream read a poster in the office of the salesman who helped us make one of their cars ours. Accompanying the caption? An awesome vehicle with its headlights staring at us.

        “‘It all starts with a dream.’ Scary,” I somewhat whispered to my husband but was overheard by the salesman, much to my chagrin. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t start with any of mine!”

        The salesman looked a bit puzzled.

        Brian laughed and addressed him. “Her dreams are totally whacky.”

        “Oooh, I have some of those too,” the salesman said, smiled, then continued with the stack of paperwork.

         I confess. I tend to have wild dreams. Some I remember to tell Brian in the morning (poor guy) and some disappear into thin air.

        But this brief exchange at the car dealership, in a twisted way, reminded me of a conversation with my sister a month earlier when we found ourselves talking about childhood memories.

        “I had a reoccurring dream when we were kids,” I said.

        “Oh? Tell me!” Carolyn urged.

        “I dreamed I was in a wheelchair, tried to stand to walk, and fell down. I had this one over and over. It was so real to me that I actually woke sometimes, thinking I was falling.”

        “I used to have one repeatedly also.” Then she shared hers with me.

        “Sometimes I wonder if God was preparing me in a way.”

        “For?”

       “For work with the disabled. When I was a camp counselor and then a houseparent to kids in wheelchairs, I remembered that dream. And, when one of the kids fell out of her wheelchair, it brought back some of what I’d sensed. In a way, it helped me be sensitive to her tears and maybe even her fear.”

        “Could be,” Carolyn said.

        Dreams. The ones that visit us over and over. Do they matter? Could they be from God? Do they redirect us?

        I don’t believe dreams are mystical, but I do think—as in the example above—some nudge us and may hold purpose.

        Another example: Occasionally I dream I’m spending time with my parents or best friend, all who are in Heaven now. I believe God helps me not miss them as much due to those “visits.” These also remind me sweetly of eternity with the Lord and those I love!

        Dreams may plant a sense of urgency—that I need to either pray for that person, write to him/her, or make a call.

        An extreme example of this: Decades ago, I dreamed one of our military sons was in danger. At that time, Michael was deployed in war. I remember shooting straight up in bed, waking Brian, and saying, “We need to pray for Michael!”

        Unbeknownst to us at that time, more than 500 miles away a girl who’d attended the same school as our sons woke abruptly, ran to her parents’ room, and cried, “Mom, we need to pray for Michael Hampshire!”

        And they did. (I learned this much later when the mother wrote a letter about the experience.)     

        When Michael returned home, he told us of an event that fell within the timeframe of those alert-awakenings—where his life along with others could’ve been snuffed out but wasn’t because of an “unplanned delay.”

        “I don’t know why we did it,” he shared, “but we stopped in the town to visit the director of sanitation. We only stopped for 5 minutes. While we were there, 5-minutes down the road an IED* was discovered and defused. We would’ve driven over it if we’d not made that stop.”

        I firmly believe the dreams both the girl and I experienced were God’s wake-up alarms! And how I thank God for doing that!

        In 2021, a lovely lady named Jane Marczewski appeared on America’s Got Talent (AGT). When the judges did their casual getting-to-know-you bit before her audition, they discovered this was no ordinary contestant standing before them.

        With a glowing smile Jane told the judges she’d sing an original piece, It’s OK. ( America's Got Talent - Nightbirde "It's OK" Golden Buzzer Performance ) When asked what birthed this song, she shared she had cancer that now returned a 3^rd time.

        Jane actually went by her stage name at the AGT audition, having had performance experience since her college days at Liberty University.

        Stage name? Nightbirde.

        When a fan asked how Jane came up with that, she shared—“Woke up in the night 3 times, dreaming of birds singing in the dark. The third time, I went to the window and they were there singing morning songs at 3 a.m. I wanted to be one of them singing as if it was morning, though I couldn't see it yet.”

        Nightbirde, a girl who truly sang through her nights, won the golden buzzer when she performed on AGT, but withdrew from the finals when her cancer progressed.

        And when she feared she might not survive, Nightbirde (as she became known worldwide) recorded this:

        “I was looking for an answer that didn’t hurt. I don’t know where to start in understanding my life...And recently I’ve been thinking a lot about how when Jesus died, he asked why. ‘Why did You forsake me?’ But Jesus knew. He was there from the beginning. When it was all planned out. He was God Himself. He knew. But, um, pain that bad can make you forget.

        And so I’m out here. I keep writing in this stupid journal. “Why?”…it’s not like I don’t know the answer. It’s like I’m looking for an answer that doesn’t hurt. I’m trying to understand why all these things happen to me and why I’m here and why I’m not better…There’s lots of answers that fit. It is like life is hard and bad things happen and we have choices; or maybe, ya know, God is letting this story go out and heal people even though it’s hurting me. Maybe that’s the sacrifice I have to be willing to make…”**

        Nightbirde’s song in the dark ended when she went to Glory in 2022. Her reoccurring dream reflected the end of her life. But she no longer sings in the dark!

        When writing this blog post, I wondered what song to choose for our time together. Then The Holy City jumped into my thoughts. As I typed the words, I became curious what motivated Mr. Weatherly to write the lyrics. So, I did a little research and learned he had a reoccurring dream that led him to pen the words.***

        May this beautiful song touch you, give you hope and joy, and turn your heart Heavenward!

The Holy City

Bill & Gloria Gaither - The Holy City [Live] ft. Larry Ford

Last night I lay a sleeping, there came a dream so fair,
I stood in old Jerusalem beside the temple there.
I heard the children singing, and ever as they sang,
Methought the voice of angels from Heav’n in answer rang;
Methought the voice of angels from Heav’n in answer rang:

Jerusalem! Jerusalem! Lift up your gates and sing,
Hosanna in the highest—Hosanna to your King!

 

And then methought my dream was changed, the streets no longer rang,
Hushed were the glad hosannas the little children sang.
The sun grew dark with mystery, the morn was cold and chill,
As the shadow of a cross arose upon a lonely hill,
As the shadow of a cross arose upon a lonely hill.

Jerusalem! Jerusalem! Hark! how the angels sing,
Hosanna in the highest—Hosanna to your King.

And once again the scene was changed, new earth there seem’d to be,
I saw the Holy City beside the tideless sea;
The light of God was on its streets, the gates were open wide,
And all who would might enter, and no one was denied.
No need of moon or stars by night, or sun to shine by day,
It was the new Jerusalem that would not pass away,
It was the new Jerusalem that would not pass away.
Jerusalem! Jerusalem! Sing, for the night is o’er!
Hosanna in the highest—Hosanna for evermore!
Hosanna in the highest! Hosanna for evermore!

 

(hymn The Holy City, by Frederick Edward Weatherly, 1892, public domain)

#dreams #purpose #IEDinwar #Nightbirde #FrederickEWeatherly #HolyCityNewJerusalem

    *improvised explosive device

  **a portion of a Nightbirde short / also from AGT video on YouTube

***Of course, the God-given dream was scribed by John—in the Bible Book of Revelation.

Photo Credit: poster—Walmart, son—family-owned, Nightbirde—reddit.com