The Glory of God In Disc Golf

30 May 2015 1 Comment



WHO, Disc Golfers ?

Who established the laws of aerodynamics,
of angular momentum,
of inertia,
and of lift,
that allow a disc to soar?

Whose immense wisdom governs the spin of everything in the universe
from sub-atomic particles,
to atoms,
to whirlpools,
to worlds,
to suns,
to galaxies,
to black holes,
to Star* plastic?

Who controls the wind and wraps it in chains?

Whose Son holds everything in His perfect grip,
can easily ace Hole 18,
and yet, only wants to be your personal caddie,
carry your overloaded golf bag,
and wade through the nastiest muck to retrieve your lost favorite driver?
I know.
How about you?
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Image by Gloryteller

Rejoice! Rejoice! With All Your Might, Rejoice!

05 Apr 2015 4 Comments

by Gloryteller in Bible, Christ, Christian Poetry, Christian Writing, Christianity, Easter, Evangelism, Faith, God's Glory, God's Grace, God's Love, God's Promises, God's Provision, Good News, Gospel, Holy Spirit, Hope, Inspirational Writing, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Life, Love, Metaphor, Personal Testimony, Redemption, Resurrection, Resurrection Sunday, Salvation, Thankfulness and Gratitude, Worship Tags: , , , , , ,


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Rejoice! Rejoice! With All Your Might, Rejoice!

Hardly a day goes by that I don’t think, in some way,
about Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection.
Today is no different.
But wait,
it is different, for today is The Church’s official celebration of that
creation-changing,
world-changing,
life-changing Day.
Today, let there be loud singing and joyous dancing.
Let there be massive celebration over all the Earth,  for our Jesus is alive!
Let there be all of that but, most importantly,
let Him be the Lord of your life.

Rejoice, My Soul – All People, Rejoice!

I celebrate this holiest
Of all the days of holiness,
For as the sun appears to rise in the East,
The Son of God did arise
On Easter – Resurrection Day,
The greatest Day the Lord Has Made.
I rejoice and I am exceedingly glad in it,
For my Savior lives!
Oh, Lord, He lives!
Now and forever, He lives!
And because He lives,
So can I!
For my heart, too, was sealed
With hardened stone,
And in that darkened tomb
Dwelt death.
With tender touch He moved
The hardened part away
To let in light and life
So death was put to death.
The Holy Spirit Jesus sent
Was sent to live in me.
As Christ began to breathe again
I felt my spirit leap.
It leapeth still in Heaven’s realm,
So graciously removed from hell
That I can only raise my hands and say,
“Rejoice, all people, rejoice!
Hallelujah, praise God, rejoice!”
For our Savior lives and breathes in us!
He arose!
He conquered bitter death and saved!
He does that still, today!

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With love,
Your Gloryteller

 Resurrection Sunday,  4-5-2015
(re-posted from 3-31-2013)
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The Wheat and the Grape – Sacred Harvest

04 Apr 2015 2 Comments

by Gloryteller in Allegory, Bible, Christ, Christian Writing, Comparison, Easter, God's Grace, God's Word, Good News, Gospel, Heaven, Holy Spirit, Inspiration, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Life, Metaphor, Personal Testimony, Redemption, Salvation Tags: , , ,




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 Our Daily Bread said today that “our Savior hung between Heaven and earth
to bear every sin of every generation on His shoulders.”
He hung between Heaven and me . . .
What pain it gives me to see that scene . . .
But the above statement led me to think deeply about
what He had told his disciples
and us,
only the night before He hung there,
what we must do to remember Him;
to remember who He was,
to remember what He did,
how He did it,
and why.

“The Lord’s Supper is absolute genius”
is what I concluded.
(not that I think I’m the first, nor the only, one to think that)
He broke the bread and compared it to His body
which would imminently be broken for us.
He poured the wine out and compared it to His blood
which would soon be poured out for us.

“He hung between Heaven and earth.”
He was, and is now, intermediary between us and The Father.
Not as a wall, but as a bridge.
He made a way to raise us to His shoulders,
thus standing between us and the evil one “in the earth”.

As for myself, there is more here than “meets the eye”.
Have you ever thought about how grains
like corn, barley, rye, and wheat are all separated
from the earth by a woody stem?
The seed head of the wheat plant is the “fruit”, in a sense,
that we use to make our bread.

The same applies to “the fruit of the vine”;
tomatoes, cucumbers, kiwi, guava, and, get this – passion fruit –
and predominantly, grapes.
All grow above the ground on woody or semi-woody vines.
They all contain juice, but grape juice makes wine.
(side note: there is great debate whether Jesus’ “fruit of the vine” was unfermented juice, or wine)
I’m in the wine camp because wine stores better.
I won’t even dwell on apple, orange, peach, plum trees, or berry bushes,
each of which produce juicy fruit on woody stems;
but I’m getting off track.

The point is that grapevines, like wheat plants,
produce their fruit between Heaven and earth on woody stems,
and the final product of both were used at the Lord’s Supper.
The Last Supper of our Lord!

By now you are making the connection I’m getting at.
Lord Jesus compared His body to a broken loaf of bread,
and His covenantal blood to the poured-out juice of the grape,
in order that “as often as you
eat this bread
and drink this cup,
you will do so in remembrance of Me.”
Connecting His spiritual Self to the physical act of
eating and drinking something specific,
is brilliant.
It makes the act sacred, and simultaneously
makes our remembrance of Him sacred.
But for me, it doesn’t end there.
Jesus was always using agricultural metaphors because,
I assume, most everyone in His day knew something of the subject.
Is it a great leap to make that He also connected Himself
with the fruit of the earth?
With harvest?
With life-giving, life sustaining, food and drink?
With saving us from spiritual starvation?
If that connection is only for me to make
in order to strengthen my faith in Him,
to take me deeper into our relationship,
to tell me more of a story I long to know more of,
or to give me insight into something so sacred
that I scarcely can digest it,
Then so be it.
You, dear reader, can make of it what you will.
If it doesn’t do anything for you, leave it.

Here’s the thing:
I maintain that Jesus not only connected Himself to
The Bread and The Cup,
But also to the wheat and the grape.
Rich and ripe,
He stood like a sturdy stalk of wheat
before a terrible threshing,
and He hung like a beautiful cluster of grapes
before a horrible crushing.
He stood and He hung there between Heaven and earth,
between us and oblivion,
between us and eternity.
The first and best fruits of the earth,
until the harvest was finished.
He made Himself our everything,
even our spiritual food and drink.
Essential, lifesaving, sacred, and beautiful.

The Lord’s Supper.
The Lord’s Harvest.
Absolute Genius!

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Seeking Grief Relief . . .

25 Feb 2015 6 Comments

A Stream of Consciousness Outpouring . . .

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Today, I have a heavy heart.
I have an aching heart.
I have a broken heart.

It is so heavy that it has sunk toward the bottom –
away from where it should be and down where it should never be.
Its usual buoyancy has succumbed to the weight of the world.

Another young friend has suddenly and unexpectedly gone to be with God.

On one hand, I realize that the passing of a believer,
no matter how young, should, in a sense, be cause for sweet rejoicing,
but, on the other hand, at this moment it only tastes of bitter loss.
My mind is grappling with my heart.
My heart and mind are at war with each other.
I realize that no-one is guaranteed even one more heartbeat,

but distress is becoming dismay,
off and on, I’ve shed tears all day.

Empathy can be a painful and sore.
Compassion for close ones hurts to the core.

First Rachel . . . and now James . . .

Another who was “bigger than life”,
who had a unique zest for life.
Who was well-loved, and who was full of love himself.

A close friend of my son,
He was only twenty one,

A large portion of our community is reeling.
I can’t help but think that this would be exponentially harder
If that were my own son . . .
The one thing that’s worse than being reminded of one’s own mortality
is being reminded of that of one’s children.

And now I’m conflicted.
My head rejoices for his soul, for him – he knew the Lord.
He is communing with Father God and Jesus,
but my heart grieves for all the reasons it does,
and all the reasons it should,
when a young adult has lost his chance to have a full life;
A life in the world, for that’s where I am!

I have to write these feelings out of me,
but I seem to be stuck.
Frustrated.
Annoyed.
Wounded.
Drifting.
How do I organize a piece such as this?
I don’t.
Won’t.
I refuse.
It has to be spontaneous.

A small part of me wants to rail at God,
but I have this thing called faith in Him.
It’s not His fault; He loves James.
I imagine James talking with Jesus at this moment.
I envision Father God taking a picture of Jesus sitting on His throne.
James is popping up behind Him and getting in the photo by surprise,
with his big smile,
with a wink,
and a “thumbs up”.
I believe that is called “photobombing”, or something like that.
Delightfully classic James . . .
I picture Father and Jesus getting a big, warm, hearty
laugh with James. I’m most certain they are very fond of him.

But here’s the thing:
I don’t understand.
(why do I always have to understand?)
Why does the Bible say we can pray and, essentially,
get the desires of our hearts?
Hundreds, perhaps thousands of prayers went up for James
when we heard that he had been severely injured in an auto accident.
Our request was for healing, restoration, and life,
none of which was granted. (as far as we know)
My head says he got his promised eternal life,
for James was a believer and follower of Christ from a young age.
Eternal life in Heaven is the ultimate answer to our prayers,
but we also prayed for the miracle of complete physical
restoration here on earth, and that did not happen.
“Your will be done”, we say.
So why bother to pray? (another rhetorical question)
Because He told us to!
Praying must have some affect that we don’t entirely understand –
something great for the prayed-for,
for God, or possibly Jesus, or for the pray-er.
I’m rambling, I know . . .

Jesus said we would be able to do what The Father
enabled Him to do, and even more, including healing, casting out demons,
and even restoring life,
but I don’t seem to be able to do those things
and I would like to know why. (Why do I always question?)
I think He wants me to ask questions, though, for that’s the way I learn.
I do want to learn all I can know about Him.
Moreover, I want to know Him.

I do want to know things;
things most likely beyond my understanding,
and which are perhaps none of my business,
but I pray to know anyway.

However, even in my grief over James, over his family’s heartache,
and over my son’s dismay at the loss of a great friend,
I remain steadfast in my faith.
I would like to know if you, dear reader, have ever felt these things.
If so, I’m comforted to know I’m not by myself in this.
I’m also comforted to know that, by reading this, perhaps
you don’t feel so alone yourself.

I refuse to let these frustrations, these questions, lead me away from
Love and into doubt – or worse even into apostasy.

It was uplifting that one of the Facebook quotes I had written about James
was used by the pastor in the service.
It is a joy that God uses me to help others.

Writing is cathartic, therapeutic, and even healing for me.
Writing is escape, refuge, and security.
Reading is no less.
If you have persevered and gotten this far, please pardon me, dear reader,
for using this forum for my own outpouring, my vent, my relief.

I must remember my “ministry of groaning” in a time like this.
The wordless groaning, (a sort of low, quiet wailing from my soul)
which comes out of the depths of my spirit and manifests itself
even through my voice. (if there is loud music in the background for cover,
the sound of it is all the louder)
When I have run out of tears and words to utter, it seems to help.
God actually put that principle into my spirit one day
when I was desperately praying for another grieving friend.
I told Him I had run out of tears and out of words to say.
“Groan for him“, He said quite clearly.
This “gift” is so personal it is difficult to write about here . . .

Grief is spilling out of my heart, trying to drag the resident joy out with it,
but I must not let it succeed, Lord, don’t let it succeed,
for the joy of knowing You is my only salvation in times of crisis like these . . .

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It has been two weeks, to the day, since I wrote the above.
In that time, I have written much, but not trusted myself to post.
I did not want my own self-centered disillusionment to
take away from the glory of my Lord.

Finally, two mornings ago, the long awaited,
long suppressed,
authentic,
spontaneous, groan came to me.
For myself,
and for others through me.
It can’t “work well” if it is forced.
It has to come with The Lord’s help,
and with His timing.
Without notice, it began in my toes ,
worked its way up through the marrow of my legs,
spread through my core, ever upward,
filling me,
and out through my throat,
expressing wordlessly the pent ache.
Sometimes the groan only comes forth from my heart.
This time, through my voice.
Crying to The Most High Lord more eloquently
than my words could have done.
Groaning for the bereaved family, for the city, for my son,
and for myself.
Sweet sympathy,
concentrated compassion,
the messy turmoil of groaning
bringing order at last.
At last.

All that is left is to somehow turn this piece so that it points
to the great glory of God.
To give God greater glory should always be my primary concern
when I write. His glory and the furtherance of His kingdom.

I think it is best, at this point, to use His own words instead of mine:

Psalm 34:18
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

2Thessalonians 2:16-17
“Now may our Lord Jesus Christ Himself and God our Father, who has loved us and given us eternal comfort and good hope by grace, comfort and strengthen your hearts in every good work and word.”

AMEN

 

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Image by Gloryteller

Perfect and Permanent Memory

28 Jan 2015 4 Comments

The human mind is an imperfect vessel.
When injury, disease, or aging affects our intellectual capabilities,
we need the assurance of a perfect vessel to hold our
belief,
our faith,
our core values, 
and our relationship with God and His Word.
That perfect vessel is our heart.
The heart is where our belief begins,
is nurtured,
and is completed.
It is where the love of God resides
– both His Love, and our love for Him.
Although loss of memory can be disconcerting,
we can rest assured that the heart’s memory is perfect and permanent.

Dr. Jim Richards is a ‘heart man’.
He says: “It stands to reason the door to the Kingdom
is a heart that believes, not a mind that is informed.”

True,
yet I don’t think that, once a heart does believe,
there is anything wrong with a mind that is appropriately informed.
A properly educated mind can serve a faithful, believing heart very well.

The moment I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior,
I felt I was fundamentally changed
– that everything was new inside and out.
That included a ‘new heart’.
A close friend, when I confided that, said
“Yes, you have been given a new heart.
Just be careful what you put into it!”
That’s some sage advice.
I’ve tried to be careful what I let in – what I fill my heart with.
That’s not as easy as it sounds,
but I think that as I’m filling this heart full of Scripture,
sound theology,
love for God and my fellow man,
faith,
hope,
and Christian values,
there won’t be room for anything that shouldn’t be in there.
As I fill it with all those solid things,
I’ve noticed something magnificent
– the Lord pours in joy,
like ice cream,
to fill up all the spaces!
And my heart will remember it all perfectly,
and permanently,
beyond my mind’s understanding.

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The man said, “Love the Lord your God with all your
heart,
 and with all your soul,
and with all your strength,
and with all your mind”;
and, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
And Jesus replied,
“Yes, do this and you will live.”
Luke 10:27
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He. Came. Down.

22 Dec 2014 6 Comments

by Gloryteller in Bible, Christ, Christbirth, Christian Poetry, Christian Writing, Christmas, Evangelism, Faith, God's Gifts, God's Glory, God's Grace, God's Love, God's Provision, Good News, Gospel, Hope, Inspiration, Inspirational Writing, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Metaphor, Personal Testimony, Salvation, Thankfulness and Gratitude, Worship Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,


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He Came Down

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He came down.
Mary said YES,
then He came down.
Born like us.
Born with us.
Born for us.
Born to us.
Born unto us.
Born into us.
He came down from His Glory,
Leaving Holy Home and Father, to become a creation, in a real sense, just like us . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
To be born most humbly into the broken, reeking mess that we, mankind, had made of the world.
To be born into the shameful, smelly mess that I had made of my own wretched heart . . . . . . . . . . .
The defenseless egg of God,
having scarcely a shell.
A tender shoot,
a tiny lamb,
he came down naked,
to be born covered
with another’s blood,
mother’s blood.
Born to be pierced,
and poured out,
and to cover all
others with His
pure, holy blood.
He came down
with only Love as a defense.
Double-sided love.
He came down to the dung heap,
the lowest, the basest of places,
a place of no honor; of ignobility,
because that’s where I was,
I and my neighbors,
hiding under the
layers of dirt.
He could have said
“No, not again”.
He could have said
“To hell with this” . . .
He didn’t have to
rise from His manger
to knock on my
heart’s door.
To clean it all,
just like new,
from ceiling to floor,
window, to wall,
and spend His life,
His all, for me,
to bear away my sin.
Yet, He would be
the first to admit,
if He weren’t so humble,
that He did have to.
Someone had to
do something.
But no-one could
except Himself.
I didn’t deserve
His coming down, this
Wonderful Counselor,
this Mighty God,
Everlasting Father,
Prince of Peace.
This Immanuel.
Savior Lord.
JESUS CHRIST!
But, He came down,
out of love,
bearing light,
carrying forgiveness,
sowing grace like seeds,
ready with a cool drink,
gentle hands to wash our feet,
with tears of compassion,
where sin and mercy meet,
and I’m so glad,
so happy,
so joyously thankful
that He did,
that my glory goes up.
I send it up.
I glorify His name,
Who was born into many names,
and into ONE name,
and that name is
The-Name-Above-All-Names.
He came down,
and now He reigns
King of My Heart.
Glory to God in the Highest Heaven!
That
He.
Came.
Down!
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The Happiest Christbirth to you, today!
LS< Your Gloryteller
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He Came Down

22 Dec 2014 6 Comments

by Gloryteller in Bible, Christ, Christian Writing, Christmas, Evangelism, Faith, God's Gifts, God's Glory, God's Love, Good News, Gospel, Inspirational Writing, Jesus, Jesus Christ Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

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He Came

He Came Down

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He came down. 
Born like us. 
Born with us. 
Born for us.
Born to,
and unto us. 
Wonderful,
Mighty,
Everlasting,
Prince.
  Immanuel.
God With Us!
  JESUS! 
God Saves!
His many names are ONE name,
and that name is:
The Name Above All Names. 
Glory to God in the Highest Heaven! 
He.
Came.
Down!

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Merry Christmas,

LS<

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Joy-Flower

17 Nov 2014 4 Comments

by Gloryteller in Belief in God, Bible, Christ, Christian Fiction, Christian Writing, Compassion, Faith, God's Love, God's Provision, Good News, Heaven, Hope, Inspiration, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Joy, Life, Love, Metaphor, Mourning, Parable, Prayer Tags: , , , ,

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As he entered the dimly lit room, Yao Lin-On carried the capsule he had made like it was a knife . “This will end my daughter’s suffering,” was his only thought as he approached her bed. He had witnessed the terminal suffering of one of his nieces from the same slowly-disabling, flesh-wasting illness, several years in the past. Those horribly painful images had never left his memory, and he was determined not to let his precious Le-Lan walk the same agonizing path. He wept once again as he looked at her small, sleeping form. “At least she seems to have no pain when she is in deep sleep, but when she wakes, the medication is terribly insufficient . . . How can I let this continue, God? I, the one she has trusted, the one who brought her to this new country, to these new beliefs, to this new Father God and Jesus. I, who daily shared Biblical teachings with her, and worked to make sure that she understood Your Word. I, the one who cared for her after the loss of her mother. I, who love her dearly. I, the only one left to do what, it seems, You, God, won’t do. Yes, I have pleaded in my prayers, I have begged, I have asked politely, I have screamed, I have enjoined and bargained. All to no benefit for Le-Lan. Where is her healing? Where are the promises? Where, at the least, is merciful death? It must be that, now, at the end of my sanity, it is left to me to condemn myself to hell for her sake. Is that what You want? I retain my faith in You! Why are You leaving the task to me, Lord?”

He sat in the hard wooden chair next to the unconscious girl’s bed, laid the large, white capsule on the nightstand next to her teacup, and took her hand gently, as not to wake her. Her fingertips were black. He moaned aloud as he looked at her once-beautiful head of hair, now in ragged patches, at her missing teeth, where her room-brightening smile had been. “I cannot let her suffering be. I can’t let my little Joy-Flower wither away in pain. In a moment, little one, in just a few more moments, My Joy, I will wake you and give you your tea. So hard, this seat, so heavy my arms, so achingly tired.”

He felt her hand stir, her patchy breathing quickening. “Papa? I’m glad. . . , I’m glad you are here,” she whispered in English, the difficult language that, together, they had worked so hard to learn.
“Yes, I’m always here for you, sweet child. Be still, everything is, what is the word? . . . Okay.”
“Papa, lean closer . . . . please listen even if this is hard to understand. I’ve been talking to Jesus. He has been with me all through my illness. When it hurts so bad, Papa, He puts His cool hand on my head. He holds my hand while you hold the other. Papa, He sings to me while you cry. He tells me that you might lose your faith in Him because of me. Oh, Papa! I don’t want that! You must trust Him. Remember all the amazing things we learned about Him? They are all true, Papa!”
“I know they are, sweetheart, shhhh, don’t tire yourself.” He looked away and thought, “Maybe they are true, but He still has some things to answer for . . .”

“Papa . . . . . . . . .” she paused, “I know what you want to do tonight . . . “
Yao Lin-On’s body jumped, startled, rattling the hard chair.
“There is nothing I can do to stop you, but I want you to change your mind. Poppy please, don’t do it. If you love me, don’t.”
He stared at her face. “How could she know?” He was angry. “You know nothing of it,” he wanted to say.
“Poppy, listen,” she whispered faintly, but urgently, “If you do this thing that you think will help me, you will tear us apart forever. You will condemn yourself. If you do it, we will be apart forever. Poppy, it would break my heart if Mama and I were without you. We love you so much, and so do Jesus and the Father.” Please don’t, Poppy, please.”
“Poppy” was her most loving name for him. Mountain brooks of tears ran down his face.

“We do love you, Yao Lin-On, father of our delightful Le-Lan. We share your concern for her. We are also very concerned for you. We hear your prayers for healing and for a miracle. What you don’t realize is that what you keep praying for, We have already done. Le-Lan’s body lingers in your world, but her LIFE has been with Us since the moment she believed in her Savior. She hangs on because her story is not finished, mostly where you are concerned, but also with others who are watching her. Have you not noticed that through all her trials, she never once lost faith? Haven’t you seen that she always proclaims Our kingdom with her body and her spirit, no matter how hard her path? Through your own diligence, she had teachers who understood that in order to awaken to a new life, a person has to die in the old one. Le-Lan knew that she had to die to her self, in order to live in Christ Jesus on earth, and she knows that soon she must sleep the last sleep, which you call death, in order to live in Heaven with Us. She will follow her own path into that sleep, her last thought on earth will be of Us, and she will awaken fully alive in Our arms. Your part is to wait and watch over her sleep. Only wait and keep faith until your own last thought, in your own last sleep. We hope that last thought is only of Us, and that you will follow beautiful Le-Lan into Our waiting arms.“

Yao Lin-On looked at the sleeping Le-Lan as he came back to himself. “Was it a dream? A miracle? An inner conversation with himself?” He thought and thought as he stared at the euthanasia capsule for a long while, shuddered, took it away, and flushed it down the toilet. Returning to Le-Lan, he found that she was breathing steadily and beginning to awaken. With emotions boiling over, he took her frail body into his arms.
“I brought you some tea, Joy-Flower, can you drink some? Do you feel a little better, this morning?”
“No, Papa, I . . . feel  . . . worse . . . today. My . . . stomach hurts . . . so bad.”
He bit his own lip hard to drive back the tears.
“But . . . I sure do love you, Poppy,” she whispered slowly and softly into his ear.
“I love you right back, my Joy-Flower.”
He had a sense of calm peace, then, and, for far too many days, he knew that those were the last words he would hear on earth from Le-Lan. She, at last, slept her final sleep. Yet, he was confident in proclaiming that those were the first words he would hear from her in Heaven. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did, how many others were amazed, and changed, after watching the pain, and the faith, of the man of God, Yao Lin-On, and his beautiful daughter of God, Yao Le-Lan, Joy-Flower.

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About the making of Joy-Flower

One of my writer friends commented:
“Absolutely beautiful. How did you come up with this storyline?”
My reply was this:
 “It’s difficult to explain God’s involvement, participation, and presence in the creation of this story, but I’ll try. One morning I awoke (or did I?) and it was in my heart to write about the subject of a man being angry at God for what he perceived were broken promises and unanswered prayers. Then I “heard” Him say the name of the protagonist. I was a little surprised, and had the audacity to question, “Why the Asian name? What do I know of this?” I soon began to lay out the story and He filled in my blanks. It even took an unexpected turn into another unexpected, complex subject. It was all done in one “take”. I’m confident that Joy-Flower has a purpose far beyond what I can imagine, and that one day He will tell me the whole story behind it; the rest of the story of  its future. Thank you so much for reading it, J.! Your question made me think about it, which stretched my pen further than I thought it could go. I needed that!”

So, if I were pressed to describe writing, from my perspective it seems to be the expression of the inexpressible, using combinations of words that have not been combined before, with the nearly incomprehensible involvement of our nearly unfathomable God.
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Joy-Flower
Copyright by Gloryteller, Len Snider, 11-4-2014
All rights reserved
The names of the two main human characters are fictitious.

 

 

 

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Joy-Flower

04 Nov 2014 4 Comments

by Gloryteller in Belief in God, Bible, Christ, Christian Fiction, Christian Writing, Compassion, Faith, God's Love, God's Provision, Good News, Heaven, Hope, Inspiration, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Joy, Life, Love, Metaphor, Mourning, Parable, Prayer Tags: , , , ,

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As he entered the dimly lit room, Yao Lin-On carried the capsule he had made like it was a knife . “This will end my daughter’s suffering,” was his only thought as he approached her bed. He had witnessed the terminal suffering of one of his nieces from the same slowly-disabling, flesh-wasting illness, several years in the past. Those horribly painful images had never left his memory, and he was determined not to let his precious Le-Lan walk the same agonizing path. He wept once again as he looked at her small, sleeping form. “At least she seems to have no pain when she is in deep sleep, but when she wakes, the medication is terribly insufficient . . . How can I let this continue, God? I, the one she has trusted, the one who brought her to this new country, to these new beliefs, to this new Father God and Jesus. I, who daily shared Biblical teachings with her, and worked to make sure that she understood Your Word. I, the one who cared for her after the loss of her mother. I, who love her dearly. I, the only one left to do what, it seems, You, God, won’t do. Yes, I have pleaded in my prayers, I have begged, I have asked politely, I have screamed, I have enjoined and bargained. All to no benefit for Le-Lan. Where is her healing? Where are the promises? Where, at the least, is merciful death? It must be that, now, at the end of my sanity, it is left to me to condemn myself to hell for her sake. Is that what You want? I retain my faith in You! Why are You leaving the task to me, Lord?”

He sat in the hard wooden chair next to the unconscious girl’s bed, laid the large, white capsule on the nightstand next to her teacup, and took her hand gently, as not to wake her. Her fingertips were black. He moaned aloud as he looked at her once-beautiful head of hair, now in ragged patches, at her missing teeth, where her room-brightening smile had been. “I cannot let her suffering be. I can’t let my little Joy-Flower wither away in pain. In a moment, little one, in just a few more moments, My Joy, I will wake you and give you your tea. So hard, this seat, so heavy my arms, so achingly tired.”

He felt her hand stir, her patchy breathing quickening. “Papa? I’m glad. . . , I’m glad you are here,” she whispered in English, the difficult language that, together, they had worked so hard to learn.
“Yes, I’m always here for you, sweet child. Be still, everything is, what is the word? . . . Okay.”
“Papa, lean closer . . . . please listen even if this is hard to understand. I’ve been talking to Jesus. He has been with me all through my illness. When it hurts so bad, Papa, He puts His cool hand on my head. He holds my hand while you hold the other. Papa, He sings to me while you cry. He tells me that you might lose your faith in Him because of me. Oh, Papa! I don’t want that! You must trust Him. Remember all the amazing things we learned about Him? They are all true, Papa!”
“I know they are, sweetheart, shhhh, don’t tire yourself.” He looked away and thought, “Maybe they are true, but He still has some things to answer for . . .”

“Papa . . . . . . . . .” she paused, “I know what you want to do tonight . . . “
Yao Lin-On’s body jumped, startled, rattling the hard chair.
“There is nothing I can do to stop you, but I want you to change your mind. Poppy please, don’t do it. If you love me, don’t.”
He stared at her face. “How could she know?” He was angry. “You know nothing of it,” he wanted to say.
“Poppy, listen,” she whispered faintly, but urgently, “If you do this thing that you think will help me, you will tear us apart forever. You will condemn yourself. If you do it, we will be apart forever. Poppy, it would break my heart if Mama and I were without you. We love you so much, and so do Jesus and the Father.” Please don’t, Poppy, please.”
“Poppy” was her most loving name for him. Mountain brooks of tears ran down his face.

“We do love you, Yao Lin-On, father of our delightful Le-Lan. We share your concern for her. We are also very concerned for you. We hear your prayers for healing and for a miracle. What you don’t realize is that what you keep praying for, We have already done. Le-Lan’s body lingers in your world, but her LIFE has been with Us since the moment she believed in her Savior. She hangs on because her story is not finished, mostly where you are concerned, but also with others who are watching her. Have you not noticed that through all her trials, she never once lost faith? Haven’t you seen that she always proclaims Our kingdom with her body and her spirit, no matter how hard her path? Through your own diligence, she had teachers who understood that in order to awaken to a new life, a person has to die in the old one. Le-Lan knew that she had to die to her self, in order to live in Christ Jesus on earth, and she knows that soon she must sleep the last sleep, which you call death, in order to live in Heaven with Us. She will follow her own path into that sleep, her last thought on earth will be of Us, and she will awaken fully alive in Our arms. Your part is to wait and watch over her sleep. Only wait and keep faith until your own last thought, in your own last sleep. We hope that last thought is only of Us, and that you will follow beautiful Le-Lan into Our waiting arms.“

Yao Lin-On looked at the sleeping Le-Lan as he came back to himself. “Was it a dream? A miracle? An inner conversation with himself?” He thought and thought as he stared at the euthanasia capsule for a long while, shuddered, took it away, and flushed it down the toilet. Returning to Le-Lan, he found that she was breathing steadily and beginning to awaken. With emotions boiling over, he took her frail body into his arms.
“I brought you some tea, Joy-Flower, can you drink some? Do you feel a little better, this morning?”
“No, Papa, I . . . feel  . . . worse . . . today. My . . . stomach hurts . . . so bad.”
He bit his own lip hard to drive back the tears.
“But . . . I sure do love you, Poppy,” she whispered slowly and softly into his ear.
“I love you right back, my Joy-Flower.”
He had a sense of calm peace, then, and, for far too many days, he knew that those were the last words he would hear on earth from Le-Lan. She, at last, slept her final sleep. Yet, he was confident in proclaiming that those were the first words he would hear from her in Heaven. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did, how many others were amazed, and changed, after watching the pain, and the faith, of the man of God, Yao Lin-On, and his beautiful daughter of God, Yao Le-Lan, Joy-Flower.

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Copyright by Gloryteller, Len Snider, 11-4-2014
All rights reserved
The names of the two main human characters are fictitious.

 

 

 

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The Psalm That Is Music To My Soul

02 Nov 2014 4 Comments

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Hallelujah!!!
   Have I found my defining verses?
 My life statement?
My heart’s fondest song? 
There are so many to choose from, but I think this one was chosen for me.
May I quote it for you?  
OK, I will.

Psalm 57:7-11  :

“My heart is steadfast, O God,
my heart is steadfast;
I will sing and make music.
Awake, my soul !
Awake, harp and lyre !
I will awaken the dawn.
I will praise you, Lord, among the nations;
I will sing of You among the people.
For great is Your love reaching to the heavens;
Your faithfulness reaches to the skies.
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens;
Let Your glory be over all the earth.”

Ohhh, 
I pause,
breathless in absolute wonder of it . . .

Do you have a Bible verse, or set of verses that define your life,
or are your heart’s fondest song? 
Please share them with all of us. 
  We will be blessed to hear them!
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Image by Gloryteller

Incognito – Or Not

28 Jun 2014 4 Comments

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“Incognito” in our age implies “wanting to remain anonymous, or unknown”.
The word is from Latin, and it means “not known”.
I can’t debate the great C.S. Lewis, but I do know that God doesn’t want to remain anonymous.
If He is not known, it is because people refuse to know Him in spite of ALL He has done to make Himself known.
The first two sentences shine brilliantly.
We can ignore, but in no way evade, His presence.
He walked the earth in ragged sandals.
In a sense, He inhabits, and breathes inside, every living creature.
All Creation is FILLED with His glory!

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Image by Gloryteller

I AM

03 Jun 2014 4 Comments

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I exist, therefore I am — I think.
Humor. Jocularity. I can laugh!

I have roots in reality, therefore I am.
More accurate.

I live, therefore I am.
More true.

I have being, therefore I am.
Truer still.

Finally, I believe, therefore I AM!
Because of my being and my living,
Those two words became one word.
I came to believe in the Living God,
Through the being of the living Savior,
Who existed, Who died, and Who loves, and  lives in me.

In Him, I have thought.
In Him I have:
Existence!
Reality!
Being!
Truth!
Belief!
Love!
Life!
Everything good, desirable, worthwhile, now and evermore!

In Him, I am a living spirit-self currently residing in a body which is cognizant of all the above wonders.
Rejoice, O my soul,
My spirit,
My body,
My self!

Indeed!
Because He lives, I am.

I AM!

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Afterthought:  “I write, therefore I am — a whole other post”, I laugh!

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One Man’s Story Illustrating The Meaning Of Ressurection Sunday – Easter – “I Am Not My Own”

16 Apr 2014 4 Comments

by Gloryteller in Belief in God, Bible, Christ, Christian Writing, Easter, Evangelism, Faith, Forgiveness, Gifts of the Holy Spirit, God, God's Bounty, God's Gifts, God's Glory, God's Grace, God's Love, God's Promises, God's Provision, Good News, Gospel, Heaven, Holy Spirit, Hope, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Joy, Life, Love, Metaphor, Personal Testimony, Redemption, Resurrection, Resurrection Sunday, Salvation, Thankfulness and Gratitude, Trinity, Worship Tags: , , , ,

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It has been almost ten years since the guy in this story believed God for the first time.  Seven years after “his” rescue, “he” was commissioned to write about that very personal Life-event. This is the first story that the Holy Spirit of Jesus poured into “him” and then helped that hatching writer set into words. Although it is full of metaphor and illustration, which some might find challenging, even troubling, it is based upon, and inspired by “his” own personal rebirth, transformation, and resulting personal relationship with “his” Savior:

I Am Not My Own

 

“Waiting to die” pretty much summed it up. Nothing before me. I was lost without a compass or map. No sun to show direction. Just utterly lost. No purpose. No meaning. I must have taken a wrong turn sometime, somewhere in the past, somewhere back on the journey up this metaphoric trail called “life”. I had relied completely upon myself, needing no-one else. I knew something had been missing, but I had ignored that thought. Looking after my own wants and desires, I took little accounting of others’ well-being. I admit life had been mostly about me, yet there was an emptiness, and that I had ignored as well. But surely it isn’t my fault that I found myself in a bad place! Where was the love? Where was this God my mother and grandfather talked about? I had shaken my fist at the sky in anger.
“You don’t exist and I hate you.”
I had always been right. I just didn’t make mistakes. Yet there must be something more. No, that’s silly, this is all there is! Me, Myself and I. Live for today, for you only get one chance at life. “I am my own man. I‘ll do it my way!” I shouted my arrogant mantra. “Take pleasure while you can before it’s too late.”

Darker and colder. Hope is fading…….  Wait. The “trail” splits up ahead.  I have a choice of directions in which to take my life, but I can’t tell which way would be best.  For the first time, I can’t tell which way to go.  My superior intellect should be able to divine the right way. Intuition. Deduction. Maybe I can get back in the game. Yes, the Universe will tell me the way. I’ll meditate. “Ohhhmmmm.” I’ll close my eyes. Breathe deep – let it out. “Ohhhmmmmm.”  “Find the right  way, before it’s too late…….. too late………………. too late…………………………..”

Suddenly I find myself on a real trail;  a rocky, dusty, steep, very real mountain trail.

The sky is dreary and the air is heavy with the feeling of an impending storm. I’m not alone on my ascent up the mountain. There is a man struggling to carry or drag something on the trail above me. As I draw closer to him I notice that he is struggling with a heavy wooden cross. His robe is soiled and dusty, and heavily bloodstained. His straining face is shining with sweat and his features are wracked with excruciating pain. In surprise turning to shock, I notice that a wreath of long, cruelly sharp thorns has been pressed into the skin of his scalp and forehead. Rivulets of blood are slowly trickling into his eyes and down his bruised, battered cheeks. One eye is nearly swollen shut. He doesn’t seem to know I’m here.

I stop as he loses his footing and falls to one knee in the rocks. Breathing hard – nearly panting, he manages to rise and lift the cross to his shoulder but it is apparent that his strength is failing. It seems urgent that he reach the summit with that cross. In an unusual moment of pity, I wonder if there is anything I can do to help him. I’m not without compassion, am I? But no, he is probably some sort of criminal who doesn’t deserve my help and, anyway, I wouldn’t want to get into trouble. The same men who have hurt him could very well do the same to me. Yet torture of this kind is sort of disturbing no matter who he is or what he has done.

He is nearing the top of the dry, barren mountain. I follow him at a safe distance, with a sort of morbid curiosity, and watch as he shuffles painfully across a flat area until he stops, pauses, then half shrugs and half throws the cross off his shoulder onto the hard ground. He drops with painful exhaustion onto his hands and knees over the heavy wooden cross. His fingers come away covered with his lifeblood when he touches his punctured forehead.  He places his shaking hand upon the crossbar and turns his face toward me, then he stares right into my eyes and one corner of his mouth lifts in just a hint of a smile. Blood is dripping from his wounded head onto the cross. I am so startled that I look away in confusion and embarrassment. I do not know him, yet this pitiful man acts like he knows me. Frightened, and not knowing why, I turn away and quickly walk down and around a small hill until I find a cave-like formation in the rocks where I can be out of the blast of the wind and hopefully sheltered from the gathering storm.

I sit with my knees bent and my arms around them. Thinking. Wondering. Who was that man?  What happened to him? What is he doing? Why?  The wind, which had been raging, suddenly becomes completely still. The light begins to fade. In a short time it is completely dark and I am desperately afraid, for I know it is only midday. If I should move, I risk falling into a hole or off a cliff.

“Helllp! Someone, please help me!”  Silence…..      Impatient, I take a few tentative steps, carefully feeling for safe places to put my feet. I take a few more steps but a ledge of rock shifts under me and I find that I’m sliding down a slope. I manage to grasp the edge of a large, flat rock as I slide past it. The edges of the rock are sharp, cutting my palms as I try to hang on. Now I am hanging in the air by the tips of my fingers.
“Hellllllp!” I cried again. “For the love of god, someone, anyone. I’m falling. Save me. Oh my god, save me.”
A small light appears below my feet. A glow like a small candle. Greenish yellow. I look down and see that my feet are just above a solid, flat rock so I drop onto it. Now what?
“You’re welcome” someone says. “Now come, there is something you should see. Just be quiet and follow me.”
“Who’s there?  Who are you?” No reply. The tiny light moves across the rock such that it lights a path for my footsteps. I can tell that we are circling upward and to the right. “Thanks for the help. I thought I would die!”
“Yes, you would have. Shhhhh”
I follow and reach a flat place. The light moves away from the ground and stops near a pair of feet. The feet are nailed to a post with a huge iron spike! Oh, my lord, I need to get away from here! The light winks out. But, I can’t get away if I can’t see. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Let me awaken from this nightmare! The light appears higher up. I see a hand nailed to a crossbeam. I can’t look. Someone has nailed this guy to the cross he was carrying!
I’m horrified. This is too much. “Let me go! Get me out of here!”
“Wait”
Now the glow moves across the beam until it reaches a vertical post and I see a sign with words written on it in a foreign language. Beneath the sign I see a wreath made of thorns upon a head which is hanging down. Then I’m shown the man’s other hand – also pierced with a nail. So much blood. I feel ill and kneel on the cold stone. Obviously it is the same man I followed up the path.
“Who is this poor man?”
“Soon you will know,” the voice said softly.
“What has he done to deserve this?” I whispered.
“Nothing. He has done only good. What you see is innocent blood. Now we must move away so that he can finish what he came to do – what has to be done that only he can do.” I follow the light behind a large boulder then stand and wait.
The light is gone again. It is still dark as midnight. No stars or moon or sun.
“ Don’t leave me. You still there? ”
“ I Am.”
“What is that stench?”
“ Be still, it’s coming. They are all coming.”
The smell of dead things hits me. Sulfur. Every foul smell I have ever smelled hits me. I see something coming from beyond where the crucified man is. It is black. More black than the dark. So black that it stands out against the darkness. It is floating like a hairy, spiny blanket and reminds me of a sting ray the way it moves through the air. Terrifying sounds begin to blare from the thing. A cacophony of screams, wails, and growls. The sounds of terror and of war and of hate. It opens its yawning maw revealing row upon row of sharp yellow teeth. Anything that got near that vicious mouth would be snatched in and cut to bits.
“What in the world is that?” I asked, terrified. Whatever it is, I think it sees me. It is between me and the cross and it is looking to devour me like prey. I am paralyzed with fear. Then the man on the cross intervenes. He says something I can’t understand as though speaking directly to the predator. I hold my breath. It turns toward him. What a relief!
“ It is something you have never understood. Close your eyes so that I can make you see a little better.” With that the light appears like a small oil lamp, touches me on the forehead and then over my heart, and disappears. Something inside me says “That is the first sin.” Now the hideous thing is settling onto the cross for I can see its outline wrapping around the outline of the cross and the figure of the man. I hear the sounds of a violent, gasping struggle. Sin seems to be trying to suffocate him and crush him with its considerable weight. It seems to burn him like strong acid, yet he appears to be neutralizing and absorbing it.
I breathe a sigh of relief until I see more sins coming from all directions, heading straight for him like wasps with stingers bared. They attack him like the first, only by the hundreds, then millions, then billions. The expanse of the dark sky is filled with them. Piling onto him. The man is in agony beyond my understanding. This is no ordinary man.
“How can he endure this nightmare? Isn’t it enough that he has been tortured, and hangs there bleeding to death? Now he has to be attacked by these monstrosities?” As if in reply all I can hear is the muffled sound of weeping. I can’t help but weep myself and sink to my knees under the constant streams of unspeakable things passing overhead. I curl up and cover my ears. All the while the inner voice is comforting me. Giving me small insights. Keeping me from going crazy with terror. “How long have I been here?”
“Nearly three hours.”
“This is horrible, why do I have to watch this? Worse yet, why is it happening to this nice man if, as you say, he is innocent? What in god’s name is going on?”

“This mysterious, wondrous man is receiving all the blasphemy, all the malicious thoughts and deeds, all the selfish ideas and cruel acts that ever happened and that will ever happen. He is absorbing them somehow. To His very marrow. I am not even certain exactly how He is doing it. It is supernatural, for He is beyond nature now. I can feel how He recognizes each individual sin-beast and recalls the depth of His own love for the bearer of each monster. And there’s even more to it than that. He is becoming sin, transforming into it because of its viciously contaminating nature. And yes, you spoke well, He is doing it all in God’s name. I know that a multitude of angels could be called to save Him, but He knows He must do this and do it alone – completely and terribly alone. This is the only way – to trade places with you – to endure what you could never endure. He who has been perfect is ready to give up everything He holds very dear – even His relationship with His Father and His eternal life in Heaven and He is doing it all for you. He is becoming what he despises most to save you. You did ask to be saved, remember? This poor guy, as you call Him, is the Way, the Truth, and the Life! No one can come to the Father except through Him because of what He is doing right now! You are seeing Lord Jesus, the one and only Son of God, in His finest hour. Giving His utmost. Giving His all for His brothers and sisters. He is working toward His own destruction. Yes, you are right. It is almost too much for even me to bear.”
I still had my doubts.
“ Are you telling me that this Jesus, God, Heaven stuff is real?”
“ What do you hear inside?”
I sat in stunned silence and listened…. In a very small voice I heard myself say “Yes, I’ve been so wrong……..”

“Stand up, you should see this”
I stood. The last of the black abominations was being taken in. Save one. It was massive. Uglier and nastier, more foul-smelling and noisier than any of the others. I shuddered. “What in the world is that?” There was a long pause……..

“Don’t you know?……………. That one is yours.”
Hanging my head and through my sobs I confessed. “Yes, it is so full of unforgiveness, and selfishness, and every other bad thing. Yes mine is the worst. I‘m so sorry.” Just the weight of my terrible sin alone should have crushed Him, yet He bore them all. I don’t understand.”
“He accepted your punishment. Now you are almost free. Your ‘lifesaving’ is a gift from Us, but there is just one more thing you must do. I’ll see you soon, there’s something I must do too.  Don’t worry, it’s a good thing.”
“Us?  Who?…. Wait !…. What do I do now?!!
“You have been chosen, but He doesn’t ever force.  You can accept His choosing or reject it.  So choose.  Choose wisely, for as you have seen, Life and death have been laid before you. Of course Life is preferred.  Who, or what, will be your Lord?  We have great hopes for you, but the choice is yours and there can be no compromise. Choose.”  Then the Light-Being was gone.

I stand here in shock as the sky’s light begins to return. Am I witnessing my first dawn? I turn toward Jesus. The cross seems worn and bent. He seems almost……..

But even now He is dying, and with His last breath I hear Him declare loudly, not in defeat, but in triumph:

“IT IS FINISHED!”

All creation seems to be groaning and weeping. Nooooooo! How can this be! I can’t lose Him now! All Heaven and Earth is wailing in protest, the thunder is deafening and an earthquake is throwing me into the air. My landing is sure to hurt, but I’m not afraid, for suddenly belief overtakes me.  My fear is gone.  I believe that I will be delivered to safety and the name of my Savior is Jesus Christ, Messiah, Son of God. Immanuel. God With Me. I believe, and everything has changed! But, oh, how I wish He weren’t gone. I so would have liked to talk with Him…… Noooooooooooooo!!!

I can’t watch as they take His body away. I simply stay in a fetal position behind my boulder and wonder in awe – and in deep sadness. For another day, maybe two, I just wait and think.  I think of how stupid I was to set myself up as my own god, as judge of who I thought should be forgiven or not forgiven; who should be condemned or glorified.

Why do I feel light and new?  I don’t deserve to.  My burden is gone but so is He. I should be sad and I am, but somehow this air is clean and fresh. Are those birds that I hear? Why do I hear someone singing?

Toward dusk, I stand and walk to the cross. The cuts on my palms are open and bleeding again and they hurt. Standing at the foot of this horrible post, I feel small. I can hardly bear to look at it, yet something catches my eye. There is something written there behind where His wonderful, pure heart once beat. He must have done it when He collapsed atop the cross and smiled at me. There are words in a foreign language with my name under them. Another is there beside mine. I see crimson hand prints on both sides of the cross where his hands gripped it. I don’t know how it could be that the blood is still fresh, but it is. Impulsively I stand on my tiptoes, stretch, reach upward and place my hands over his hand prints. Mercy, Lord!  Instantly a circuit is completed! My hands are held firm! His blood enters my cuts and there is no more pain. Not in my hands nor my heart. Connected by blood, I feel His presence! He is my Savior. My Lord Jesus! I am His and He is mine! A bright, white light wraps itself around my feet and travels up my legs. Engulfing. Permeating. It reaches my chest, then the top of my head. I feel clean and new and whole. The feeling of a warm blanket descends upon my head and, as it slowly falls, wraps me in comfort from head to toes. My whole body – my whole being – tingles with joy as though sparkling light is becoming a sensation inside me. I lift my palms from the cross and, like a child, raise them to the sky. I have chosen Life. He is alive in me and I live in Him.  At last I know who and whose I am, and why. “Thank you Father, Thank You, Thank You; Thank You, Jesus!” I just sit at the foot of the cross and weep out joy for a long time…………..

I awake at dawn smiling , whispers of sunshine warming my face. I’ve slept soundly all night and remember dreaming that I enjoyed a banquet in a palace full of beautiful people. After an amazing meal, there was a party. Everyone there smiled at me. All through the night we had such fun singing and dancing……

Whispers.  Laughter.  Exuberance!  My eyes opening.  The little Light-Being was back, bouncing all over the ground and over me. Excitedly it announced, “Joyous News!  Happy, Happy Morning!  He is alive, indeed it is true! The stone was not as heavy as it looked, nor the tomb secure from Light in its darkness! He awoke and walked alive from His grave!  Death is undone! His work is indeed finished today! All that He gave up has been restored to Him.  Everything!  Even now He walks among His people. He even knows of your choice!  He wants to talk with you! Come quickly!”
I was already running down the trail as all my inner-being proclaimed, “‘My Savior Lives!’  Wait, who are you?  Slow down!”
And in the distance ahead, behind me, and in my inner, renewed soul, I heard, “I AM the Wind at your back!”

It seems a season later.  A day perhaps? I am a different person now – a new person with a new heart. It’s simple, yet hard to explain. My fears and doubts are gone. Selfishness is replaced by love. I know meaning, yes, and purpose. And there is this joy – this amazing joy! I look at my cupped hands. They are completely healed, and in them the little bubble of Light wiggles and pulsates. I ask it, “I wonder what those words meant. The ones on the cross, in the blood that doesn’t ever seem to dry. What would He write to me in His own blood?”

“Don’t you know? Can’t you guess? My child , it’s in Aramaic. He is saying

“I LOVE YOU”

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Oh my dear Lord! Now my Father and Creator and I can talk and have fellowship. He tells me I will always be His and that He will always be mine! He said I could keep the little Light-Being which led me to Him and which helped me to see, even when times were darkest.  In fact it has expanded to fill my inner- man, and resides in me today, and to this day, He and my Lord Jesus still love to show me my page in His Book of Life.
It says: “(Len, grandson of David) — Acquired, and adopted, December 2, 2004 AD at 9:33 am central time. On that day, Father and I danced and sang with him, and all Heaven and the angels rejoiced until half-past eternity!”
(He has a great sense of humor!)

Acquired! Wow!

And that’s how I learned that I am not my own, but that I was acquired – purchased by His blood and paid for by Him dying in my place and carrying my sin away! Acquired and purchased not as a mere possession, but redeemed and adopted as a treasured son, brother, and heir.

Not my own! Entirely His!

Oh, and about that name that I saw beside mine on the cross, written in His blood. My dear friend, haven’t you guessed?  Do you not know?

It is yours!!

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Copyright © 11-22-2010  by Len, Gloryteller.  All rights reserved.

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Remembering Rachel 3-31-14

02 Apr 2014 7 Comments

~  ~  ~

 For the family and close friends of dear Rachel S.
whose sense of loss must dwarf my own.
~And in honor of Rachel~

~  ~  ~

The whole congregation prayed as one for a miracle – for Rachel’s healing.
Many prayers have been said for Rachel and her family.
I don’t know why those prayers don’t seem to have been answered.
Maybe they have, I think they have, but in a way we can’t understand because our wisdom is lacking.
I have no answers for why things happen as they do,
but I do know The One who does.
He asked me to write for Him,
so once again I sit here in a sort of cauldron of amazement mixed with sadness,
and loss mixed with joy, as He feeds me words and I try to copy them properly;
as I try to do this thing that’s not as easy as anyone thinks,
I know it’s not as hard as if I were alone . . .
I sit here and write my heart out for Him and for you . . .

~  ~  ~

A Touching Moment

Over a year ago, on the Sunday when the whole congregation lifted up Rachel in prayer, I saw her standing by herself after the service so I walked up to her and held my hand up, chest high, in the “high five” position. Her eyes met mine with a quiet, gentle, questioning look, but, without hesitation, she raised her hand to mine. What a special surprise it was, when, instead of “high-fiving”, she placed her warm hand perfectly on mine and tenderly held it there for several seconds, while her eyes became clear and bright, and full of life, and she gave me one of her small, heartfelt smiles. In that slight smile was a certain “knowing”, a certain loving compassion, a certain comforting, a certain closeness. She was comforting me! That was the essential Rachel! It was only a small gesture, but she gave me a tender moment of herself – from her heart – that has lasted; one of those rare human moments that will stay with me and be cherished because, through Rachel, God revealed something more of Himself. I can hardly wait to be where Rachel is now, where all of us who know Rachel, and Jesus, will be able to press our hands together, embrace, and rejoice within His loving presence.

~  ~  ~ 

Speaker For A Sister

I read a book  (second in the “Ender” series by Orson Scott Card) in which a man, when called upon to do so, “speaks” the life of a “departed” person publicly. This “speaking” involved the Speaker’s researching the life of the deceased through opening records and interviewing people. He looked for The Truth of the subject’s life no matter how painful that truth might be when he spoke it, for in The Truth is healing, and in The Truth is freedom for the living.
The truth is that, although we were friends and fellow believers, I’m not sure I knew Rachel well enough to “speak” for her. The only Truth I can try to speak is His Truth. Here’s some truth: All of the people I know, and know of, who did know her better than I, said that she was loved, and/or liked, and/or highly valued, and/or cherished by them all. 
She was beautiful in the all the various ways we think of beauty.
She sang beautifully, especially during worship.
She was adventurous.
She liked a little non-conformity.
She liked to wear exciting colors.
She was intelligent, witty, and kind.
She would be the first to admit that she was far from perfect.
She was a gifted artist who also wrote well.
She liked learning and teaching, and did both well.
She loved people and enjoyed helping them.
She was a thinker, and a doer.
She loved and followed Jesus, and would want to tell me that I should have listed this first.
She would have been right once again.
I was notably impressed by the dignity, and quiet humility,
and faith that she maintained throughout her illness.
That alone was a huge testimony of her faith.
~I am a poor speaker for her.~
I’m glad that there are many others coming forth who are better-qualified than I.
For the testimony of her life, as she lived it with God foremost, is a wonderful, powerful thing,
even as is the testimony of her death, (“the death of a saint is precious in the sight of the Lord”)  and it needs to be spoken often and well.
She was that kind of “bigger than life” sort of person. I heartily agree with my friend, who wrote publicly:
“The world is a better place because of her life, and a much poorer place because of her death.”
I, for one, am humbled and thankful that I had the privilege of sharing a tiny part of her life,
and to be able to, in my tiny way, “speak” for her here.
Mine is only one of many lives that is richer for having known her.

~  ~  ~

Of God, Grief, and Glory

On a highly personal note, I have a personal “revelation” that He seems to want shared:
I was sitting by myself in the back of the church, excited to be worshiping in His house again, when The Lord began sharing His Spirit with me. (If you have questions concerning this, I can’t adequately explain it, not at this moment.
It takes a kind of knowing, so please bear with me. Just go with it.)
He shared His excitement with me, conveyed that He was glad I was there when and where He wanted me to be, but He was especially excited that very soon He would be bringing Rachel to Himself – that’s the way He expressed it.
(I had been told earlier that Rachel was barely hanging on to life)
He wanted to comfort me in my sense of loss and concern.
He poured into me, strongly, how much He cares for Rachel; how deeply He loves her;
so much that He sent Jesus to shed His blood for her and give up His life for her, to save her life – her second life – the most important one, by far. He showed me how He had redeemed her for this day, her day of glory, and forever more. Do I need to describe the peace and comfort that settled upon me? How I wept when I realized that He was not only speaking of Rachel, but of you and me, dear reader?

I hesitate to share such intimate personal testimony.
Could it be misunderstood? Misused?
I want to keep it to myself. Selfishly? Maybe.
Defensively? Sure.
But it’s all I have to give you, so
He says I must give it.

I write my heart out for Him and for you . . .

~  ~  ~

This next closing poem was inspired by something Rachel wrote.
I dedicate it to her memory:

Why A Blue Sky ?

Why is the sky blue?
Why am I me, and you, you?
Why do we live, and breathe, and move?
Why do tears fall as they do?
Why, Some things are not for me to know!
Except that I can ultimately say
That in God’s kind goodness,
In His wise reason,
In spite of our rudeness,
To enrich our every season,
  Out of His great love,
He intended it all to be just this way.

*****

(I can also say that I’ll soon know why,
when I have my own glorious day,
Though I may have glorified Him poorly in my life,
May I glorify Him well in my death)

~  ~  ~

If she were here, I’d say “See what you did Rachel?
See what you inspired in all of us?”
And she would flash that beautiful smile and probably wink
and smack me with a real “high five”.

With love,
Missing you, and
Looking to see you soon, Sister.

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A Re-run To Fill The Seeming Void – – – HIS PRAYER EXPANDED

18 Mar 2014 Leave a comment

~  ~  ~

I’ve not been forthcoming with new material, but I’ve been writing right along.
While I finish that work, here’s a re-run to mark time.
I assure you that new material is forthcoming,
assuming that I’m still working here in the physical “plain”
(or plane, if you’re literal and a discerning speller, that was an ordinary pun, haha)


^  ^  ^

My Father

Oh, my Father-God and my Lord, Who walks the vast halls of Heaven,
where You live, and breathe, and reign sovereign
over everything finite and eternal.
From where You speak.
From where You write Your Word.
From where You see all, know all, and do all.
From where You give Your unfathomable grace,
your mercy, and forgiveness.
From where You open Your hands and pour out goodness,
and from where You sent Your Love Incarnate, Immanuel.

Your name is Holy.
Let me kneel humbly, respectfully,
in reverence to Your glorious name.

May Your kingdom, Your realm, be established,
may Your kingship be proclaimed,
may everything You desire to happen
be done here on Earth, just as it is in Heaven.

I ask that You continue to provide all I need
in the form of wholesome food and water to nourish my body,
as well as Your Living Bread, and Your Living Water,
and understanding of Your Word, with personal revelation,
to nourish my soul.

I ask that You help me remember how You paid my debts
on the horrible cross of torture.
How You took my sin upon Yourself, Jesus.
How You gave Yourself in propitiating atonement, and in conciliation,
and appeasement, for my trespasses against You, Father-God.
Help me Lord to continue to learn to forgive others their debts against me,
their trespasses, wrongs, crimes, and sins against me,
just as You have so mercifully and graciously forgiven mine through Christ.

I ask You, Lord, to lead me away from the temptations of this world.
Help me keep your Word, Your principles, in obedience.
Lead me through the minefields, the snares, and the pitfalls,
for they are many, and my enemy shows me only the bait,
but hides the trap well.
Protect and deliver me from that devil, from that evil one, in Jesus name!

And finally, Almighty Father, I want to proclaim Your Kingdom.
It is the Kingdom of kingdoms, and You are the King of kings!

I proclaim that Your power is absolute.
It is the power that created Beautiful Creation in its entire completeness.
It is the power to create human beings in Your image;
human minds, souls, and hearts.
It is the awe-inspiring, miraculous power to change those hearts,
and save those souls.

And, I proclaim Your Glory, Lord.
How can I explain Your Glory?
It is too beautiful, too splendidly colorful, too exquisitely bright!
How can I illuminate it?
It blinds my eyes, baffles my mind, closes my mouth.
It is love unleashed, fervent, and intense.
It is Your inexplicable mercy, and grace, and kindness, and generosity.
It is as inexplicable as You, my God.
You’re glorious in Your Glory.
You ARE the Most High Lord,
Holiness Itself,
Ancient of Days,
The Great I AM.

Yes, Yours is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory,
for all time, and through unfathomable eternity.
You are my ABBA, my Heavenly Father-God
to Whom I pray this prayer, as You have instructed.
I ask these things and proclaim these things
in the love of Jesus’ most holy name.
Amen, and Amen.


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Indescribable

28 Feb 2014 6 Comments

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And we all,
who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory,
are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory,
which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.
2 Corinthians 3:18

~  ~  ~

God,
through His Word,
through His physical presence on earth,
through His presence in us,
describes something which,
through words alone,
is by its nature,
basically indescribable;
His glory.
Yet I persist in trying to describe it.
For His own reasons, He asked me to.
I don’t fully understand that, but I willingly comply.
He unveiled my face.
How can I describe the glory of God,
Even to willing believers,
Unbelievers notwithstanding?
Understanding of it can only bloom out of personal knowledge.
I’m a scribe for the impossibly indescribable.
How can I explain the joy which comes out of knowing Him,
The love,
Compassion,
Forgiveness,
Mercy,
Grace,
Spirit?
. . . I can’t.
I can only attempt to tell my perception of them.
How they affect me.
How they feel inside the heart of my spirit.
I can’t express the wonder of those concepts
without His intervention in the heart and mind of the reader.
Even though transformed,
Even though called and qualified,
I can’t on my own merit, describe the indescribable. 
Glorytelling would be a glaring futility without the guiding companionship of His Spirit.
Where does this come from,
This contemplation of the Divine,
This glorytelling,
This scribing of the indescribable?
Where does your own high calling come from?
It comes from the lovingkindness of the Lord,
From His wise will,
From the heart of His Holy Spirit,
And the image He pours us into, shines with ever-increasing glory,
And THAT, once again, is exquisitely indescribable.

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Of A Lifetime – This One Great Gift

14 Feb 2014 4 Comments


♥   ♥   ♥

I close my eyes to write in my head
and I see you.

God-made.
God-formed.
God-raised.
God-borne.

God-loved,
God-sent,

Then given.
Presented to me;

God-given.

To have and to hold
in all the ways of having and holding.
To love and be loved
in all the ways of loving and being.
To share the hard stuff – relational stuff –
like patience and kindness,
endurance and longsuffering,
the Battle of Human Failings,
the monotonous work of the ordinary,
the grinding load of day-to-day servitude,
joy and heartbreak,
often mere survival,
yet ordained to survive
because there is only one He gives.
He allows no other while life endures.
And He never leaves nor forsakes,
but comforts and soothes.
Freely gives His grace.
His companionship.
His forgiveness and mercy.
His unconditional blessing.
For us, together.

Yes, I close my eyes to write in my head,
and I see you.
I see the Love that was,
that is,
and that is to come,
and I know that I’m greatly blessed.

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Chicken Proverbs – And God Created The Chicken –

08 Jan 2014 2 Comments

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Still being in a festive mood, even this long after celebrating
Christ’s birth and Christmas, I’m stretching my writer-wings
to launch this new blogging year with something I hope will be
fun for you to read:

And God Created The Chicken!

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Chicken Proverbs,
Sayings,
Adages,
Expressions,
Idioms,
Phrases,
Puns,
Jokes.

First, some background –
some “fractured factoids”:

Chickens Rule!
They rule in terms of  historical significance; they have been in domestication for an estimated 7,000 years, give or take a paltry thousand years.
They rule in their abundant usefulness, which always reminds me of God’s abundant provision for our needs.
They rule in terms of sheer, overwhelming numbers; I have read that there are between 20 and 40 billion domesticated chickens alive today, depending on the reference source.  The “poultry” difference (“paltry” if you don’t like “cheep” puns – patronize me!)  of 20 billion may be due to the fact that the many free-range birds on the ground, (and in the trees) today, run very fast, hide well, and are difficult to count . . .
Observation:  I don’t know eggs-actly why, but the meat of many animals is renamed; beef, pork, veal, venison, for eggs-ample, but poultry meat is named for the bird:  chicken, duck, turkey, pheasant.  I have no eggs-planation.  Oh! that was so cheep!  (I’ve got a million of ’em)
Anyyywayyyy . . .  I have a new batch of “teenage” chickens that I raised from three-day-old chicks.  Watching them brings to mind all the chicken-related adages and idioms, yolks, and so forth, I’ve heard throughout the years. I’ve gathered several below.  (If you lose interest in reading all of these, please skip to the “meat” of this post which begins at the “~~~~~~~~~”  break.  Thank you for not giving up!),
By the way, I won’t bother to explain these.  If you’re mystified, that’s what Internet Eggsplorer is for . . .


Let’s take a peep at some Chicken Proverbs (not the Biblical kind):

“Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
“If you stick your neck out, you might get it chopped off.”
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
“That’s like letting a fox guard the hen house.”
“Chickens are an egg’s way of making more eggs.”
“A poor man only eats chicken when he is sick – or when the chicken is sick.”
“Birds of a feather, flock together.”
“Why did the chicken cross the road?” (“To get to the other side.”)

Some Chicken Sayings, Adages, Expressions, Idioms, Phrases, Puns, Jokes:

“What came first, the chicken, or the egg?
“Our nest egg is diminishing.”
“I really laid an egg yesterday.”
“Caught with egg on your face.”
“He’s coming out of his shell.”
“Hatch an idea.”

“He got nervous and “flew the coop”.
“Feeling too cooped up.”
“She rules the roost.”
“We feathered our nest.”

“I chickened out.”
“Cute chick.”
“I don’t want to hear a peep out of you!”
“Those chickens are coming home to roost.”
“She’s no spring chicken.”
“That ain’t chicken feed.”
“He’s chicken-hearted.”
“Playing chicken.”
“Running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”
“Going to bed with the chickens and getting up with them too.”
“His writing looks like chicken scratching.”
“It tastes like chicken.”
“Getting your hackles up.”
“Her feathers are ruffled.”
“Making it from scratch.”

“Took me under her wing.”
“Mad as a wet hen.”
“She’s like a mother hen with those kids.”
“She has a big brood.”
“He’s in his den brooding.”
“That was a real hen party last night.”
“Cackling like a bunch of hens.”
“Hen-pecked.”
“Scarce as hen’s teeth.”

“Why is everybody always picking on me?”
“Pecking order.”
“Dumb cluck.”
“Henpecked.”

A Chicken Jolk:
“If you treat a chicken badly, she will squawk on you!”

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The large arsenal of chicken-related adages and idioms is not limited to only the above.  There are more.  Can you think of any?
Yes, chickens are ingrained in our society and in our ancestral psyches, but my favorite references to chickens are Biblical.
You knew I would get around to this, didn’t you?!
You are quite clever!

There is “Peter’s ignominious rooster.”  Oh, how he must have sat all that horrible night with a fear and loathing of that bird.
That rooster’s morning song is mentioned in Matthew, Mark, Luke, AND John.  Also, at least one verse in proverbs refers to a rooster’s call.
Thus, the rooster indirectly came to be a symbol for resurrection in medieval times.

My favorites:

Luke 13:34
“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you kill the prophets and stone to death those sent to you! How often I wanted to gather your children together the way a hen gathers her brood under her wings! But you were not willing!

Matthew 23:37  is better in my opinion:
“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones God’s messengers! How often I have wanted to gather your children together as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings, but you wouldn’t let me.

and Psalm 91:4: 
“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”

These verses give me a delightfully real and personal insight into God’s loving, caring, protective character, of which we are the most fortunate beneficiaries.  I have physically felt Him “gather me under His wings”. I hope you have too, for that is a large part of what a close relationship with The Highest Lord of All Creation is about!

Well, I’ve over-covered the subject, and I’ve crowed enough, so I need to get busy out at the coop.  I have to make another chicken run!   Hehehehehe . . .

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He. Came. Down.

24 Dec 2013 5 Comments

by Gloryteller in Bible, Christ, Christbirth, Christian Poetry, Christian Writing, Christmas, Evangelism, Faith, God's Gifts, God's Glory, God's Grace, God's Love, God's Provision, Good News, Gospel, Hope, Inspiration, Inspirational Writing, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Metaphor, Personal Testimony, Salvation, Thankfulness and Gratitude, Worship Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,


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He Came Down

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He came down.
Mary said YES,
then He came down.
Born like us.
Born with us.
Born for us.
Born to us.
Born unto us.
Born into us.
He came down from His Glory,
Leaving Holy Home and Father, to become a creation, in a real sense, just like us . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
To be born most humbly into the broken, reeking mess that we, mankind, had made of the world.
To be born into the shameful, smelly mess that I had made of my own wretched heart . . . . . . . . . . .
The defenseless egg of God,
having scarcely a shell.
A tender shoot,
a tiny lamb,
he came down naked,
to be born covered
with another’s blood,
mother’s blood.
Born to be pierced,
and poured out,
and to cover all
others with His
pure, holy blood.
He came down
with only Love as a defense.
Double-sided love.
He came down to the dung heap,
the lowest, the basest of places,
a place of no honor; of ignobility,
because that’s where I was,
I and my neighbors,
hiding under the
layers of dirt.
He could have said
“No, not again”.
He could have said
“To hell with this” . . .
He didn’t have to
rise from His manger
to knock on my
heart’s door.
To clean it all,
just like new,
from ceiling to floor,
window, to wall,
and spend His life,
His all, for me,
to bear away my sin.
Yet, He would be
the first to admit,
if He weren’t so humble,
that He did have to.
Someone had to
do something.
But no-one could
except Himself.
I didn’t deserve
His coming down, this
Wonderful Counselor,
this Mighty God,
Everlasting Father,
Prince of Peace.
This Immanuel.
Savior Lord.
JESUS CHRIST!
But, He came down,
out of love,
bearing light,
carrying forgiveness,
sowing grace like seeds,
ready with a cool drink,
gentle hands to wash our feet,
with tears of compassion,
where sin and mercy meet,
and I’m so glad,
so happy,
so joyously thankful
that He did,
that my glory goes up.
I send it up.
I glorify His name,
Who was born into many names,
and into ONE name,
and that name is
The-Name-Above-All-Names.
He came down,
and now He reigns
King of My Heart.
Glory to God in the Highest Heaven!
That
He.
Came.
Down!
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The Happiest Christbirth to you, today!
LS< Your Gloryteller
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O Christbirth Tree, O Christbirth Tree!

11 Dec 2013 4 Comments

by Gloryteller in Belief in God, Bible, Christ, Christbirth, Christian Poetry, Christian Writing, Christmas, Comparison, Faith, God's Bounty, God's Gifts, God's Glory, God's Provision, Good News, Gospel, Hope, Inspiration, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Life, Love, Metaphor, Worship Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

 

χ
My
 Christbirth
 **tree is ever-green**
**With everlasting life**
Its branches are its members
***Clothed in colorful lights***
**Lights reflected by ornaments**
******Of all shapes and sizes******
*****Which shine just as brightly*****
********It’s filled with surprises!********
*******Wrapped ’round with garland*******
*************As a bundling rope*************
************The whole tied together***********
***********With warm faith and hope***********
**************The star at its crown is**************
***************Wreathed in white light**************
***************Can be seen near and far***************
************’Cause it’s clear, pure, and bright************
*****************That’s the part of the tree*****************
*******************That ultimately pleases*******************
**************************You see*****************************
*************For the Star at the point and the apex****************
******************************Is Jesus*****************************
****************And the branches, the lights, and ornaments************
*******************************Are we***********************************
************************For He is the Bridegroom**************************
********************We are His church, bride, and wife**********************
*********************The trunk that stands in The Water,********************
***************************The Water of Life.*******************************
Water
of
Life

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Happy Christbirth!

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Compelling Christian Fiction Reads

"The Circle" 4-book series by Ted Dekker.
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"This Present Darkness" and "Piercing the Darkness" by Frank E. Peretti. Tales of spiritual warfare from a unique perspective. Stirred a small controversy, but sold millions. What are we Christians afraid of? Hey, it's fiction!

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