The Day "Paper" Met Wood

              Son, Nathan, graced us with a visit to help with jobs about the house we’d been unable to do. While we worked out back, we sent Min to the shed to get supplies for the next job.

            Moments later he ran out of the shed bent over, holding his face and rocking his whole body!

            “What’s wrong?” I yelled, getting up as fast as I could and heading in his direction.

            Nathan beat me to it, put an arm around Min, and helped lift his “little” brother’s head.

            Min still wasn’t speaking but wasn’t quite crying either, although he appeared in terrific pain in or around his eye. Nathan walked him to us, and I brought Min into the house to get an icepack.

            Min’s lip quivered as he applied the icepack to his injury. “I got stung in my eyeball!”

            I lifted the icepack to examine his eye and surmised a wasp stung Min’s eyelid, which must have impulsively blinked to protect him.

            “It was one of those big red paper wasps that we sprayed,” Min said, “but they didn’t all go away, and they are nasty and charge at us, and it aimed for my eyeball because they like black targets! I want to cry.”

            “Go ahead,” I said reapplying the icepack. “Pain like this certainly would make anyone cry.”

            Min let loose his tears.

            I knew an aspirin poultice would help but was leery of putting one that close to his eye. So, we exchanged the icepack for a bag of tiny veggies which would conform well around Min’s eye socket.

            He hates icepacks or frozen veggies on anything for any reason, but I told him taking it off wasn’t an option until I yelled “TIME!”

            Min headed to his room grumbling about keeping frozen veggies on his eyelid.

            I then looked out the window and saw Nathan winging a wooden 2x4 about the entrance of the shed.

            Brian had come in the house and joined me by the window. “What’s he up to?”

            “Craziness, I guess.” I shook my head. “What’s he hope to accomplish with a 2x4?”

            But Nathan, an Army Veteran and Bronze Star recipient, was at war with that red paper wasp! He swung that 2x4 and pounded the end against the shed floor, putting that squashed wasp out of commission forever!

            What first appeared to us parents as an insane act suddenly changed in our thinking to an example of brotherly love—something Nathan doesn’t express gently. He’s SO NOT LIKE THAT. He’s more the “take it like a man” type! But here he was making sure the red menace who wounded his little bro never did so again.

            Min survived this aerial attack with a badly swollen, reddened eyelid. He’s been quite the trooper actually. And we shared with him how Nathan went full-throttle when he saw that his little bro had been injured.

            After that, Nathan visited with Min in his room. Brother time.

            Although a wasp attack isn’t all out life-threatening combat, had it been, I think Nathan would’ve done whatever it took to make sure his little bro was taken care of.

            Min said afterward, “I’m glad Nathan’s my brother-in-law.”

            “Not in-law. Brother,” I corrected.

            “Even though I’m adopted and we’re not blood?”

            “Right,” I said. “I don’t think it even occurred to him how silly he looked swinging a 2x4 at a wasp. He was just mad you were hurt because he loves you.”

           When Nathan had to leave for home, Min came and hugged him. Really hugged! Min’s SO NOT LIKE THAT.

            Something changed this visit.

            A ‘swollen eye was open,” so to speak, and Min looks at his brother a bit differently now. Or his brother-in-law—or whoever he is!

            I’m reminded of Jesus Who comes to our defense when we hurt, even though we walk into enemy territory, and when we’ve been stung by sin. He’s SO LIKE THAT!

            How thankful I am for the Savior’s example—our “… Friend Who sticks closer than a brother.” Proverbs 18:24b (NKJV)

 

There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus~No, not one! No, Not one!

None else could heal all our soul’s diseases~No, not one! No, not one!

(REFRAIN) Jesus knows all about our struggles, He will guide till the day is done;

There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus~No, not one! No, not one!

 

No friend like Him is so high and holy~No, not one! No, not one!

And yet no friend is so meek and lowly~No, not one! No, not one!

(REFRAIN)

 

There’s not an hour that He is not near us~No, not one! No, not one!

No night so dark but His love can cheer us~No, not one! No, not one!

(REFRAIN)

 

Was e’er a gift like the Savior given? No, not one! No, not one!

Will he refuse us a home in heaven? No, not one! No, not one!

(REFRAIN) Jesus knows all about our struggle, He will guide till the day is done;

There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus~No, not one! No, not one!

 

(from the hymn “No, Not One,” lyrics by Johnson Oatman, 1895, public domain)

#redpaperwasp #sting #brotherlylove #Jesus #adoption #2x4

 

*Photo credit: Robert & Barbara Kipfer (used with permission)

When Dad Didn't Get What He Wanted

             September 19^th, 1953. Dad helped Mom into their old jalopy. Then he popped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, shifted into drive, hit the gas pedal, and tore down the road. He was a man on a mission!

            You see, Mom was in labor.

            Four+ years earlier, Tom and Ruth welcomed their firstborn. A daughter—the apple of Dad’s eye. His song for her? “Daddy’s Little Girl.”*

            With their daughter being cared for, they were on their way to have a son, Thomas Archer Burns, Jr. After all, Dad’s married siblings all had either a son and a daughter or two sons, so Mom would certainly bring forth a boy-child.

            It only seemed right in this era: 1) Have a son to carry on the family name. 2) “Call it quits” after two children.

            Labor was longer this time for some reason (that’s another story), but eventually a nurse came with the long-awaited news.

            “Mr. Burns, congratulations! You have a daughter!”

            A what? Wait! This can’t be right. We already have one of those.

            Dad didn’t get what he wanted that day. Instead, he got me.

 

           So, what did he do? Much to Mom’s surprise, he went out and bought a brand-new Chevy. Hey, if Dad couldn’t get what he wanted from the delivery room, at least he could from the show room—something to drive in style as he toted around his female entourage!

            But that car turned out to be a lemon.

            And me? Did he get two lemons that day? Maybe he thought so … for a short time anyway. But …

            Dad was our provider and protector. I never once doubted that he begrudged his role. And many years later I’d hear this ’n’ that about how glad he was he had girls and not troublesome boys. He’d seen too many of those.

            I was browsing through my baby book several decades ago. There wasn’t much in it, but I did notice an entry in Dad’s handwriting. “Gave Sarah Ann her first N-M-A.”

            “What’s N-M-A stand for?” I asked Mom.

            She laughed. “Your dad never was a very good speller. He gave you your first enema!’

            That put us in stitches! Then Mom became somber. I’m not sure why she told me the next part, but she did.

            “Your dad didn’t have much to do with you when you came home from the hospital. I worried a lot about that. It wasn’t until you were about three months old when he held you and prepared your bath. Then I knew it would be okay.”

            Maybe that should have soured me and made me go semi-nuts, needing years of counseling. But it didn’t. Why? Because I never truly felt unloved or unwanted.

            In fact, my earliest recollections are ones where Dad sat me on his shoulders and carried me around the grocery store while I clung to him for life—my arms wrapped tightly around his forehead. And he had silly names for me like Lulu and Mary.

            It may have taken Dad a while to get use to the idea he’d never have a son, but he did love his daughters. I’d even venture to say he was proud of how we turned out.

            That Chevy was a lemon, but not me!

            We don’t always get what we think we want, but God knows what He’s doing and gives what’s best. Dad learned that, and my sister and I did too—perhaps from his example because our dad taught us to trust the One Who chooses best for us because of His great love.

            Maybe you were born into a home where you weren’t loved or valued. Some of you may have been abandoned. You may find it hard to grasp that you’re a gift, not a lemon at all. Guess what! God says this: “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.” Psalm 27:10

            … like Dad carried me on his shoulders or a shepherd, his lamb.

            So good news, you who may think you’re a “lemon!” You’re not! There’s God in His Heaven Who loves you with an everlasting love and made a way for you to inherit that everlasting extension of His Love.

            He sent Jesus, His treasured Son, to die on the cross for our sins, raised Him from the dead, and welcomed His resurrected Son back into Heaven to prepare an eternal Home for anyone who accepts Jesus as their Lord and Savior.

            There’s NO WAY Someone would do all that for you without loving you with all His Heart! You’re not a lemon. No way! No how! YOU are like the apple of God’s Eye!

            As for my dad and his Chevy? He got rid of that thing! But he didn’t get rid of me! So, happy birthday to me!

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday, ‘Lulu Mary!’ Happy birthday to you!”**

 

#happy birthday #1953Chevy #lemon #girldad #Psalm27:10 #valued #Godslove

 

Photo by Ryan Fincher, used with permission.

*Robert Harrison Burke, 1949.

**Now public domain.

The Teacher Who Made a Difference

            With the exception of kindergarten, up until the fifth grade my teachers failed to understand learning disabled students. Okay. I give them a pass in that, during the 1950s and ’60s, there wasn’t much “out there” about this topic.

            I was one of those kids who just didn’t learn like everyone else. If there was a sound in the room, I was off task immediately. I processed information slower than most other students. Oh, there were one or two others who the cruel kids called “retarded.” (I didn’t endure that until a few years later.) I couldn’t read well nor remember how to spell words, and I constantly mixed up the letters “B” and “D,” the words “was” and “saw”—things like that.

            In fourth grade I was tested by a speech teacher. I’m not sure why, but that’s who did the testing. I don’t know if this was initiated by my teacher, my parents, or both. Maybe they thought I had a hearing loss to go along with my severe nearsightedness. And I was told I would be repeating the fourth grade.

            I was totally dissolved with this news. My utter distress caused my teacher to send me on to fifth grade, ready or not. I wasn’t ready, but I only saw that in hindsight decades later.

            But then I was given a gift! Miss Oberlies! She was as beautiful a teacher as she was compassionate. And perceptive because, what other teachers missed, she caught onto. My encourager! My educational heroine! I did my best to earn her praise.

            I didn’t realize then, but Miss Oberlies used my strengths to overcome my weaknesses. She recognized mine were in music and art. I had school violin lessons, so that was taken care of. Thus, she pegged me for my art ability.

            Miss Oberlies may have grasped hold of this idea to help me from the apples I brought her. Yes, bringing the teacher an apple was still “a thing” then. I didn’t bring just any old apple. My apples were dressed in construction paper outfits fit for whatever season we were entering. Thus, my first fruity gift to her wore a Halloween costume.

            I also drew beautiful maps, ornately colored. I loved doing those!

            It wasn’t long after that, Miss Oberlies approached me. “Sarah Ann (what I was called then), the big bulletin board in the hallway needs something special for Thanksgiving. I think you would do a wonderful job. How about I ask the principal if you may do that?

            I was THRILLED! This wasn’t any old bulletin board like the smaller ones in our classroom. This was IT! I’d made the big time! There was a catch, though.

            Miss Oberlies continued. “You’ll need to try really hard to have your regular classroom work done to be able to do the hallway bulletin board. Do you think you can do that?

            “Sure!” I exclaimed, smiling ear-to-ear.

            I still stumbled through much of my work, and I still didn’t ace those grades, but what Miss Oberlies did was give me the encouragement to try and the gumption to give it all I had.

            Sometimes I stayed after school to finish (for other reasons too, which we won’t discuss here), but I earned the reward of doing that bulletin board! Some of my construction paper creations were even 3-D. Those Pilgrims and Indians (as we called them then) “popped!”

            My teacher didn’t cure my learning difficulties, even though she patiently worked with me to improve my reading, etc. But she didn’t degrade me publicly or privately as some other teachers had and would.

            A student who’s lifted up will likely do better (or at least try) than one who is shot down.

            Now is the time of year when students have entered classrooms. In the south, the school year’s already begun. In the north, you’re just getting started.

            Teachers, YOU make a difference! So do the rest of you who work in our schools, be they public or private. Bus drivers too! How you teach your students—and I don’t just mean the academics—through your demeanor and attitude toward them could make a life-changing difference in some.

            Miss Oberlies was my teacher such a long, long time ago. But I will never forget her. She saw potential in this awkward gal and pulled the positive from me instead of “slapping” me with the negative. I only wish I could thank her one more time.

            Did you have a teacher who made a difference in your life? If so, you, too, were given a gift. If those teachers are still living, maybe you could jot them a note. They’ll be grateful to know they impacted your life.

            For those who may be wondering how to determine your student’s/child’s strengths, may I introduce you to Dr. Kathy Koch’s book, 8 Great Smarts? Dr. Kathy shows ways to use those smarts (every child has one or more) to draw out the best in your students/children.

            Here’s the link to a neat, encouraging kids’ song, I Am a Promise by William & Gloria Gaither:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQnJ-mxzZGI

 

#learningdisability #teachers #8greatsmarts #learningstyles #drkathykochphd

Watermelon Seeds & the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Day in the Life of Min

             Life as parents of a special needs adult is far from boring. Conversations with Min are as broad, fractured, interesting, confusing as any could be. Example: the day he went from talking about watermelon seeds to the Dead Sea Scrolls in the same minute. You laugh? We did too, but this is just a typical day in the life of Min.

            In less than a month you’ll have the opportunity to peek more into the life of Min—from his perspective (ours also). You see, in January of 2021 Min approached his dad and I and said, “I want to write my story. Will you help me?” We didn’t start right then because we weren’t actually sure Min comprehended what a mammoth task this would be. But, come that mid-July we began what birthed his memoir…

A Home for Min Soo: Putting Together the Pieces of My Life

            I don’t know if I’ve ever taken on a rougher writing challenge than this. I became Min’s “secretary” and served as his scribe as well. Some days were pure torture. But then there’d be gems he’d drop along the way that made his memoir shine.

            I’ll never forget the day he wanted to quit. I urged him to give it at least five more minutes. He grudgingly did, yet it was in those minutes Min unknowingly unleashed the purpose of his book…

            … and his life. Wow. It stymied me!

            I verbally committed to giving Min one year to get down the rough draft. It took an additional year+ to do all the edits and every other task needed to see Min’s dream come true—his memoir in print.

            We had wonderful support from professionals who helped, all because of their love of Min. And there’s no way the “secretary” could have brought the manuscript to completion without Brian, Min’s dad and “techno support.” We labelled us all TEAM MIN!

            When Brian and I did several edits together, we found ourselves in awe and wonder of how Min, a developmentally disabled individual with an I.Q. below 70, could’ve come out with the words and thoughts he did. Oh, there are many episodes of hilarity within the pages, but there are also solemn, deep moments that still move us to tears, even after reading the whole book countless times.

            We believe the Holy Spirit aided Min in this writing. There’s just no other explanation for it. God’s Hand was on this broken fella as he poured out his joys and sorrows from a soul and spirit that are not disabled. (And Brian and I added backstory.)

            So, yes, this is a shameless promotional blog post, to be honest, as we invite you to look for Min’s memoir. Coming soon in paperback, e-book, and audiobook forms! Maybe we’re a little biased, but we—along with Min’s pre-readers—agree that his story may move you. Change you.

            Thank you for letting us share our son with you through A Home for Min Soo: Putting Together the Pieces of My Life. Min used his birthname as author, so you’ll find this title authored by Kim, Min Soo. He hopes one day his story reaches South Korea, his homeland, and touches lives there as well.

            It seems fitting to share Min’s favorite hymn with you this time—

“When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, ‘It is well, it is well with my soul.’

 

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control:

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and has shed His Own Blood for my soul.

 

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought! My sin, not in part, but the whole,

Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more; Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

 

O Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;

The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend; even so, it is well with my soul.

 

REFRAIN: It is well—with my soul. It is well, it is well with my soul.”

 

(from the hymn “It Is Well with My Soul” by Horatio Gates Spafford, 1873, public domain)

#AHomeforMinSoo #memoir #SouthKorea #KimMinSoo #GodsHand #HolySpirit #developmentaldisability

 

8/21/23: A Home for Min Soo—Putting Together the Pieces of My Life is now available for pre-order through Walmart, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online retailers who sell books. The audiobook version will be available soon.

Until Our Prodigals Come Home

 

            Twenty-seven years ago, our sixteen-year-old daughter left home. It’s a day I’ll never forget. I can’t. It’s seared into the very depths of me. I will never understand why she did this, and she may never understand why this hurts so much. For her, she finally “got her way”—something she’d wanted all along.

            We always thought one day she’d come home. No, not just walk-in-the-door come home. Change-of-heart come home. There’s a huge difference. How do we know? Because a couple years after she left, she “dropped in” for a visit, was gone again, proverbially came back again (now as a married woman with a child, then another, then another), then cut all ties.

            It’s too long and complicated a story to write here. I wouldn’t want to anyway. Suffice to say, our prodigal never REALLY came home—not in her heart. So, to this day, we have this great divorce—one we didn’t ask for. One we didn’t want. One we hate. But “it is what it is.” (I despise that expression at times.)

            For years I thought the hurt would never go away, but we’ve learned it doesn’t. Sometimes it changes, and then in an instant something will spark a reminder; and it grows again. Even in the past month or so I’ve cried. How is it possible tears never run out? But they don’t.

            There’s some comfort in knowing we’re not alone. Many parents have had prodigal children. Some comfort. Only some. Yes, others we can relate to, talk to, listen to, exchange hugs with. But, in the end, “it is what it is.” If you’re parent of a prodigal, I may understand how you feel, but I can’t promise the pain will ever end. Only hope it does.

            Yes, we can pray. And must. God’s desire is for our children to come home. We know that by His Word. God loves family and wants strong ones. He instructs parents to love their children and children to honor their parents. So, know the prayer for your prodigal aligns with God’s Heart and Mind.

            Herein lies the problem. Not all prodigals come home. As sad as that thought may be, “it is what it is.” Why? Because they’ve not had a heart-change. So, even if a son or daughter returns, if there’s been no real change within, has the prodigal REALLY come home?

            For many YEARS we prayed our prodigal would return. I no longer ask that of God. What I do ask is this: That our daughter returns to God. That’s all. Why? Because, if or when she does, THEN she’ll genuinely “come home,” be it physically or a long-distance reconciliation.

            So, parents of prodigals, don’t give up. I’ve wanted to often. I have numerous times. But God doesn’t give up on those who’ve turned from Him. He still desires a relationship—reconciliation—with them. Being He’s our perfect example, how can I give up? (Remind me of this, though, next time I do. I’m flawed.)

            Your prodigals may come home, and we will rejoice with you exceedingly! But if they don’t, continue to pray for them—that God sends SOMEONE to deliver His and your message!

            One thing I learned from another family going through this is that God can use someone along their wandering way to straighten their sights toward the Savior. It need not be me, us, or anyone who knows our daughter.

            In the case of the family I’ve mentioned, God used a bus driver.

            “You need to go home,” that bus driver said. And that prodigal returned to God then her parents.

            Prodigal, are you the one reading this? Then know you’re always welcomed home. The Savior is waiting.

            So are we.

“There were ninety and nine that safely lay in the shelter of the fold,

But one was out on the hills away, far off from the gates of gold—

Away on the mountains wild and bare, away from the tender Shepherd’s care…

Lord, Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine; Are they not enough for Thee?

But the Shepherd made answer: ‘This of Mine has wandered away from Me;

And although the road be rough and steep, I go to the desert to find My sheep…

But none of the ransomed ever knew how deep were the waters crossed’

Nor how dark was the night the Lord passed thro’ ere He found His sheep that was lost.

Out in the desert He heard its cry—So sick and helpless and ready to die…

‘Lord, whence are those blood-drops all the way that mark out the mountain’s track?’

‘They were shed for one who had gone astray ere the Shepherd could bring him back.’

‘Lord, whence are Thy hands so rent and torn?’ ‘They are pierced tonight by many a thorn’…

And all through the mountains, thunder-riven, and up from the rock steep,

There arose a glad cry to the gate of heaven, ‘Rejoice! I have found my sheep!’

And the angels echoed around the throne, ‘Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own!’…

 

(from the song “There Were Ninety and Nine”—lyrics by Elizabeth Cecilia Clephane, written in 1868)

#prodigal #runaways #home #brokenfamily #reconciliation #prayer

*Photo credit: Lori Lueders

Second Fiddle

            For the past two decades I’ve played violin regularly in the churches we’ve attended. (We moved a lot, so those have been numerous.)

            In one particular church, a lady approached me after the service. “I love to hear you play.”

            “Oh, thank you,” I said, feeling somewhat accomplished.

            Then she abruptly added, “You’re not that good.”

            I howled with laughter. “I know! Compared to all the wonderful players out there, I’m quite mediocre!”

            “Yes, but I can tell you play from your heart.”

            “I do,” I said, hugged her, and proceeded to pack up my violin.

            To this day, when hubby and I share this story, I can’t help but laugh. And believe me! If I was on the pride-climb, THAT knocked me down a notch or two.

            Honestly? I’ve always been a “second fiddle.” That expression implies second place in any given situation.

            When a person plays the violin, however, this could mean one of two things: 1) Second chair next to the first violinist who is concert master/mistress in an orchestra, or 2) Second violin—either first chair or second chair, the latter making one second fiddle to the second fiddle first chair. Confused yet?

            Most of my violin playing life, I played second violin, first chair or second chair. A legit second fiddler! I didn’t mind not being the best. To be honest, I never practiced hard enough to be anything better, much to the chagrin of my mother who tried multiple means to encourage me to do better.

            In our family “second fiddle” went further. My sister arrived first. She excelled in most everything—beauty, grades, style, AND decorum.

          Four and nearly a half years later I showed up—fair in the looks department, average grade-wise in the subjects that “counted,” dressed in big sis’ hand-me-downs, and with a foot in my mouth more often than I wish to admit. I honestly liked my position and didn’t often grumble about it. (After all, how could I grumble with a foot in my mouth?)

            Are you a “second fiddle?” Not the best, brightest, richest, most popular? The list goes on. That’s okay. The problem comes when one isn’t content with this position—or any position we’re placed in.

            As far as talents are concerned, God doesn’t expect us to be first in everything but does want us to use our gifts well. If your best puts you in the second fiddle chair of the proverbial orchestra, that’s okay—as long as you’re doing your best.

            Ironically, when we give God our second-fiddle best from the heart, we’re giving him first place in our love, honor, and service to Him. How sweet a “sound” that is to the Master!

            As C.S. Lewis once said, "It is not important to succeed, but to do right. The rest is up to God."*

            So, should you end up in second chair second violin, you’ll contribute to the harmony needed to complete whatever lifework is being performed. The “first violins” need you! Only then is a masterpiece complete.

 

Give of your best to the Master—Give Him first place in your heart;

Give Him first place in your service; consecrate every part.

Give, and to you will be given’ God His beloved Son gave;

Gratefully seeking to serve Him, Give Him the best that you have…

 

Give of your best to the Master; Naught else is worthy His love;

He gave Himself for your ransom, Gave up His glory above.

Laid down His life without murmur, You from sin’s ruin to save;

Give Him your heart’s adoration, Give Him the best that you have.

 

(from the hymn “Give of Your Best to the Master” by Howard B. Grose, 1902, public domain)

#secondfiddle #violin #talents #givingyourbest

*from LENTEN LANDS by Douglas H, Gresham ~ Harper Collins, 1988

It's Gonna Get "Betterer"

            Grandson TJ (age 4) marched up to the front of the sanctuary with all the other church kids because our son Stephen had prepared a gospel “magic” presentation for them. Beaming with pride, TJ announced to the kids, “THAT’S MY DAD!”

            He, having watched his dad practice all the tricks in advance, was warned NOT to give away any of the endings. Stephen did numerous tricks, then went to the one that makes everyone “ah” and clap.

            This particular trick illustrates what happens when sin enters a life. He began with a clean glass of water and dropped in the element that made the water a little dirty in appearance. Stephen then got ready to add more of the dirtying agent to show the accumulative effect of sin after sin.

            TJ could contain himself no longer. With each drop his dad prepared to add, this four-year-old cried out, “It’s gonna get worser!” And with each drop his arms became more animated with his caution, “It’s gonna get even worser!”

            And it did until the once clean water was as dark as dark could get.

            At this point in the trick, Stephen explained about Jesus coming into the world to die and take away our sins—that “worser” stuff we do—and that, when Jesus comes into a life (as Stephen then stood a red cross in the darkened water and with a few gentle stirs, the water became clear again), He makes it clean as new.

            Now, I cannot give away the secret to how this trick is done. My husband’s performed it for years, so I, too, know each time it’s gonna “get even worser” before it “gets betterer.” But, as Brian says, “A good magician never tells how he does his tricks, and a bad one doesn’t have to.” So from me? Mums the word.

            TJ warned those kids! And, yup, the whole situation “got worser.” But then the Cure!

            We’re living in a world where things are getting “worser and even worser,” and—although it may look like the causes are inflation & debt, cultural changes, leadership making horrible choices, this all comes down to a one-syllable word—SIN. We should be quaking in our boots with what’s to come as we spiral into what looks-to-be unrepairable oblivion. But…

            If you, like I, have Jesus in our lives, we’ve been made clean of that “worser” stuff—SIN, even though we must continue to go to the father to ask forgiveness when we blunder. And, because He’s the Good Father, loving Abba, that He is, He forgives again and again so that we can stand before Him clean—justified—as if we’d never sinned. Cleaned, just like the darkened water was by that red cross in the gospel “magic trick.”e’s

            But what about our world? It continues to get “worser and even worser.” If you’re a believer in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, you can rest assured in these Words from the Bible—God’s Holy Word:

            “Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself that where I am, there you may be also.” John 14:1-6*

            But what do we do while we await the day we join God in Heaven? He gives us promising Words for this also: “These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” John 16:33.*

            Maybe you’re reading this blog post and don’t know Jesus as your Lord and Savior. There’s HOPE for you too. You can ask Him into your life right now. Here are simple steps to know how to do that:

1)      Tell God you’re a sinner. (You can do this by praying, which is talking to Him. He already knows all about you and loves you to the extreme, so this won’t surprise Him. He wants you to know you can come to Him with this confession.)

2)      Let God know you’re sorry for the sins you’ve committed. (He is waiting to lift the load of sin from you. Remember, He died on the cross to take on the sins of the whole world’s people. Then He rose again to conquer death and offer us eternal life.)

3)      Acknowledge what God’s done for you—recognizing Jesus gave His Life to be the payment for your sin, and He rose from the dead. (And only Jesus—the God man—could come back to life. Otherwise, His death would hold no promise.)

4)      Ask Jesus to come into your heart and life. (He’s ready to do so, loves you, and desires to have a place in your heart and life.) And thank Him! (After all, you’ve just received the greatest Gift EVER!)

           If you took the steps above with a sincere heart, then your salvation is sealed. You’re now saved from those sins that once separated you from God!

            Thank You, Savior, for making the Way possible.

          Welcome to the family! Those of us who’ve already accepted Jesus’ free gift of salvation rejoice with you, as do the angels in Heaven!

            Now, this isn’t part of becoming saved, but I strongly recommend you go tell someone what you have done. After all, you’re now the bearer of tremendously good news in a broken world. Others need to know Him as their Savior too and—even if they don’t realize it—are searching for Hope.

 

“What a Day That Will Be” by Jim Hill, 1955—

You can listen to this great hymn now:

Jim Hill - What a Day That Will Be [Live] - YouTube

You may also see the afore mentioned “magic trick” performed

on my husband’s YouTube channel.

And, no, he won’t tell you how it’s done. So there!

https://youtu.be/CAqpjDIhvwM

 

#magictrick #salvationsteps #brokenworld #hopeinHeaven

*from the NKJV version of the Bible

(Photo Credit: Elizabeth Cloud Newsome)