Saturday, September 26, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Forty Days for Life
IF thou forbear to deliver them that are drawn unto death,
and those that are ready to be slain: If thou sayest,
Behold, we knew it not; doth not he that pondereth the heart
consider it? and he that keepeth thy soul, doth not he
know it? and shall not he render unto every man according
to his works?
Proverbs 24: 11-12
Forty days for Life is a time when Christians, all across the nation, set apart their time to pray and fast outside of abortion clinics. Last year sixty babies were saved, in our city alone, by the Lord working in the hearts of those women through the Right to Life workers! We are asking everyone to join us in this fight for life! The forty days goes from September 23- November 1.
There is a link below to the website to give you more information. Our family will participating in this event, so if you would like to come with us just let us know.Please prayerfully consider what the Lord would have you do through this time.
Kayla
Thursday, August 20, 2009
My Son
MY SON
God gave my son to me:
Christ died for him, and he should be
A man for Christ. He is his own,
And God's and man's: not mine alone.
He was not mine to "give." He gave
Himself that he might help save
All that a Christian should revere,
All that enlightened men hold dear.
"To feed the guns!" O torpid soul!
Awake, and see life as a whole,
When freedom, honor, justice, right,
Were threatened by the despot's might;
With heart aflame and soul alight
He bravely went for God to fight
Against base savages, whose pride
The laws of God and man defied,
Who slew the mother and child,
Who maidens pure and sweet defiled;
He did not go "to feed the guns."
He went to save from ruthless Huns
His home and country, and to be
A guardian of democracy.
"What if he does not come?" you say;
Ah well, my sky would be more gray,
But through the clouds the sun would shine
And vital memories be mine.
God's test of manhood is, I know,
Not "Will he come?" but "Did he go?"
My son well knew that he might die.
And yet he went with purpose high,
To fight for peace, and overthrow
The plans of Christ's relentless foe.
He dreaded not the battle field;
He went to make fierce vandals yield.
If he comes not again to me
I shall be sad; but not that he
Went like a man – a hero true –
His part unselfishly to do.
My heart will feel exultant pride
That for humanity he died.
"Forgotten grave!" The selfish plea
Awakes no deep response in me.
For, though his grave I may not see,
My boy will ne'er forgotten be,
My real son can never die;'
Tis his body that may lie
In foreign land, and I shall keep
Remembrance food, forever, deep
Within my heart of my true son
Because of triumphs that he won,
It matters not where anyone
May lie and sleep when work is done.
It matters not where some men live,
If my dear son his life must give.
Hosannas I will sing for him,
E'en though my eyes with tears be dim.
And when the war is over, when
His gallant comrades come again
I'll cheer them as they're marching by,
Rejoicing that they did not die.
And when his vacant place I see
My heart will bound with joy that he
Was mine so long-my fair young son,
And cheer for him whose work is done.
Written by James D. Hughes, WW1
www.iwvpa.net/hughesjd/
God gave my son to me:
Christ died for him, and he should be
A man for Christ. He is his own,
And God's and man's: not mine alone.
He was not mine to "give." He gave
Himself that he might help save
All that a Christian should revere,
All that enlightened men hold dear.
"To feed the guns!" O torpid soul!
Awake, and see life as a whole,
When freedom, honor, justice, right,
Were threatened by the despot's might;
With heart aflame and soul alight
He bravely went for God to fight
Against base savages, whose pride
The laws of God and man defied,
Who slew the mother and child,
Who maidens pure and sweet defiled;
He did not go "to feed the guns."
He went to save from ruthless Huns
His home and country, and to be
A guardian of democracy.
"What if he does not come?" you say;
Ah well, my sky would be more gray,
But through the clouds the sun would shine
And vital memories be mine.
God's test of manhood is, I know,
Not "Will he come?" but "Did he go?"
My son well knew that he might die.
And yet he went with purpose high,
To fight for peace, and overthrow
The plans of Christ's relentless foe.
He dreaded not the battle field;
He went to make fierce vandals yield.
If he comes not again to me
I shall be sad; but not that he
Went like a man – a hero true –
His part unselfishly to do.
My heart will feel exultant pride
That for humanity he died.
"Forgotten grave!" The selfish plea
Awakes no deep response in me.
For, though his grave I may not see,
My boy will ne'er forgotten be,
My real son can never die;'
Tis his body that may lie
In foreign land, and I shall keep
Remembrance food, forever, deep
Within my heart of my true son
Because of triumphs that he won,
It matters not where anyone
May lie and sleep when work is done.
It matters not where some men live,
If my dear son his life must give.
Hosannas I will sing for him,
E'en though my eyes with tears be dim.
And when the war is over, when
His gallant comrades come again
I'll cheer them as they're marching by,
Rejoicing that they did not die.
And when his vacant place I see
My heart will bound with joy that he
Was mine so long-my fair young son,
And cheer for him whose work is done.
Written by James D. Hughes, WW1
www.iwvpa.net/hughesjd/
Thursday, July 30, 2009
A Fowl Occurence
First you must know that I despise birds. Their beady round eyes, their unsanitary feathers, and their unnecessary flapping all contribute to an animal that I don’t like and am slightly afraid of.
When I was asked to house-sit recently, I agreed with no qualms, though I knew that part of my responsibilities would be caring for the chickens. Our family having chickens, I have learned that most of the time these birds run from people unless food is coming. I did not then realize that roosters are completely different from hens.
The first morning that I was house-sitting, I walked to the chicken pen, unthinking, in my sparkly flip-flops (when I told this story at home, everyone reminded me how foolish that was, and I told them that I now know that from experience). I opened the gate, slipped inside, and as I was fastening the latch there was a tornado with claws at my feet! At this point, I was not slightly afraid, I was terrified. I don’t know how I got the rooster away from my feet, but as he stood posturing I looked for a weapon to keep him away. The only thing I saw at that moment was two dried out oranges, which I grabbed as I walked to the chicken coop. I watched the rooster, and when he began to come at me again, I threw the oranges at him, only hitting him once, but that gave me enough time to get to the rake. This rake quelled his fighting spirit for the time being, but I made sure to keep my eye on him and my hand on the rake.
The next day I remembered that I had not checked the chickens water that morning, and it was nearing one hundred and ten degrees. I was tempted to just leave them, but the poor hens had not attacked me, and the rooster wasn’t mine. So I went to the pen, after putting on some boots from the house. Opening the gate, I grabbed the rake which I had left right by the entrance. The rake was still required if I did not want to be attacked, and I kept the full length of it between the rooster and me. Because he still looked nasty, I pushed the him away from the water until I was done being near it. As I walked from the pen, I saw him rush to get a drink, and I thought that maybe the next morning he would be a bit more agreeable out of thanks.
Maybe not. As soon as the rooster saw me the last morning, he began to posture and crow, threatening violence. I hurried through the chores as quickly as I could while grasping the handle of the rake. I was no longer terrified of the rooster, but I was becoming thoroughly disgusted with his bad manners. I left the pen with defiant glance, glad that for the time being I was done fighting him to gather eggs and feed his brood. When I came home that afternoon and looked out the back window at our chickens, I realized that maybe the female version of the chicken family was not as bad as I had thought. Of course, with such a comparison, anything would appear wonderful!
When I was asked to house-sit recently, I agreed with no qualms, though I knew that part of my responsibilities would be caring for the chickens. Our family having chickens, I have learned that most of the time these birds run from people unless food is coming. I did not then realize that roosters are completely different from hens.
The first morning that I was house-sitting, I walked to the chicken pen, unthinking, in my sparkly flip-flops (when I told this story at home, everyone reminded me how foolish that was, and I told them that I now know that from experience). I opened the gate, slipped inside, and as I was fastening the latch there was a tornado with claws at my feet! At this point, I was not slightly afraid, I was terrified. I don’t know how I got the rooster away from my feet, but as he stood posturing I looked for a weapon to keep him away. The only thing I saw at that moment was two dried out oranges, which I grabbed as I walked to the chicken coop. I watched the rooster, and when he began to come at me again, I threw the oranges at him, only hitting him once, but that gave me enough time to get to the rake. This rake quelled his fighting spirit for the time being, but I made sure to keep my eye on him and my hand on the rake.
The next day I remembered that I had not checked the chickens water that morning, and it was nearing one hundred and ten degrees. I was tempted to just leave them, but the poor hens had not attacked me, and the rooster wasn’t mine. So I went to the pen, after putting on some boots from the house. Opening the gate, I grabbed the rake which I had left right by the entrance. The rake was still required if I did not want to be attacked, and I kept the full length of it between the rooster and me. Because he still looked nasty, I pushed the him away from the water until I was done being near it. As I walked from the pen, I saw him rush to get a drink, and I thought that maybe the next morning he would be a bit more agreeable out of thanks.
Maybe not. As soon as the rooster saw me the last morning, he began to posture and crow, threatening violence. I hurried through the chores as quickly as I could while grasping the handle of the rake. I was no longer terrified of the rooster, but I was becoming thoroughly disgusted with his bad manners. I left the pen with defiant glance, glad that for the time being I was done fighting him to gather eggs and feed his brood. When I came home that afternoon and looked out the back window at our chickens, I realized that maybe the female version of the chicken family was not as bad as I had thought. Of course, with such a comparison, anything would appear wonderful!
Friday, July 10, 2009
Radical Christian - Paul Washer - Sermon Jam from I'll Be Honest on Vimeo.
This man is quickly becoming my favorite preacher. When I listen to him cry out about sending his son into the worst part of the battle I wonder if I have the same courage to pray this for my sons (or daughters for that matter). My wife and I have for some time now been wondering, where is our cross supposed to be? Where is our suffering supposed to come from?
We have it too easy in this country. I am ashamed of my behavior when I hear about people like the young man in the video. What more should I be doing? How should I be teaching my children? I would hope that they would relish a chance to proclaim the gospel--to make that the focal point of their lives--and I would hope that I would encourage that, whatever the cost. The major question I have is this, is the greatest mission field our own city, or state, or country? I'm beginning to think so. I pray that my children will be willing to give their all for the cause of the gospel, but how can I pray that for them, when there are times I feel trepidation for something as simple as giving thanks for a meal in public sometime?
For those of you who read this, we covet your prayers for strength. The time is coming, maybe soon, when we may have an opportunity to make life ending choices; but pray for us that we can make the harder choices. The ones that will require us to live an example to the world every day. It's harder to live through a long, tedious trial than it is a short dramatic one. I hope this video inspires you. Make the hard choices well, and please pray that we would do the same.
Dad
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Behold the Goodness of the Lord!
The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places;
Yea, I have a goodly heritage.
Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth:
My flesh also shall rest in hope.
Thou wilt show me the path of life:
In thy presence is fulness of joy;
At thy right hand are pleasures forevermore!
Psalm 16:6,9,11
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Happy Independence Day!
Her whole mind seemed to be lighted up by that thought. This is what it means to be free. It means, you have to be good. "Our father's God, author of liberty-" The laws of Nature and of Nature's God endow you with a right to life and liberty. Then you have to keep the laws of God, for God's law is the only thing that gives you a right to be free.
Little Town on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder
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