Wednesday, November 30, 2011
God Thing
I woke with The Thanksgiving Prayer on my heart and transferred it to paper and ink. After reading the poem/prayer my wife suggested I ask to lead the prayer for our Thanksgiving meal. It wasn’t that easy since our meal is shared with a hundred or so residents of Whispering Pines RV Park. And I was sure they already had asked someone to pray, and I wasn’t sure I wanted too. I’m not real big on speaking in front of lots of people – even though I do it often enough.
As we walked to the clubhouse, carrying the turkey we’d prepared, I told my wife: “We’ll just leave it up to the Lord, if He wants me to pray, He’ll find a way and someone will ask.”
Our RV Park is not a Christian park by any written rules, but is one by action. We don’t ask if we can say a public prayer before our meals, we do it. We don’t ask if we can hold Bible Study every Wednesday morning and Sunday night sing-a-long, we just do it. We don’t ask if we can include prayer requests in the newsletter, we just do. We have many ministers and Godly people filled with wisdom and grace and gifting for offering an inspiring prayer. Mrs. Johnson has been in charge of organizing the meal for years. She already had everything planned out and I wouldn’t be asked to pray – I was sure of it.
After several minutes of folks chatting themselves up and sitting themselves down, I heard a voice. “Would you mind leading us in prayer?” I turned and saw Mrs. Johnson with her precious smile and glistening eyes.
As we were cleaning up after the meal, I told Mrs. Johnson about the poem/prayer I had written that morning and that her asking me to pray was, in my opinion, a God thing. This led to Mr. Johnson telling me a story about how God uses little things in big ways.
There are these moments we call coincidence, but right when we need it the most, God pulls on the chords of our heart, rolls back the curtain and allows us to see the finger print of a nail scarred hand and hear the breath of The-One-Who-Calls these things God-incidences.
He is here and He hears. Won’t you give Him a listen.
This is a part to the new Wednesday gathering GOD-BUMPS & GOD-INCIDENCES at Jennifer Dukes Getting Down With Jesus.
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Tuesday, November 29, 2011
My Name's Peter
Monday, November 28, 2011
Soon "Holy"
I Bowed on My Knees and Cried, "Holy"
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Mr. Johnson
It’s just one conversation with the man, yet, it reflects
his life, a walking talking billboard for Jesus. And shows how God sees, cares,
always loves, and then at times…even loves, just a little bit more.
Disclaimer: my memory may have muddled some of the facts,
but the Truth, remains crystal clear.
In loving memory of Dick Johnson. 1934—2021.
“Mom had told us all along we would have $60,000 to split
between my brother and me. But, after Mom died things must have changed.” Dick
Johnson said it flat with a shrug of the shoulders and no emotion either way.
“Dad, my step dad, always liked my brother better.” His blue
eyes drifted downward, but only for a moment.
“I always attend my high school reunions. We stay with my
brother, Bill.” He spoke the words with no animosity, no hurt, but with a
breath of excitement, like a grandfather telling a story to a child.
I could be his son considering our difference in age. His
seventy-something years only showed in his skin. Deep-blue-skies were his eyes,
hair, thick and silver as a tinsel tree, and his teeth, his own teeth, were
still a pearly white. His face wore a permanent smile like a Christmas morning
child.
“Bill was in charge of settling the estate after Dad passed.”
Dick’s beautiful blue eyes got shiny. “I never brought it up, but wondered
about the money. Finally, Bill spit it out. ‘You know, Dad left all of the
$60,000 to me.’”
He shifted his feet transferring his weight from one foot to
the other, looked toward heaven, and his smile broadened. Then he looked at me
straight and clear. “God has always taken such good care of me.”
Blue skies filled and almost spilled.
“When we drove to the reunion I told my wife, it hurt. Not
because I wanted the money. But, being loved less, hurt.”
I nodded and then shook my head as if to say, that’s just not
right. But he didn’t tarry—
He planted both feet solid and spread his arms with palms open
wide toward heaven, “But God. He takes care of me. He knows what I need.” Then
his blue skies opened wide and he couldn’t talk for a moment because that big
smile was in the way.
“When we got to the reunion, someone I hadn’t seen in
twenty-five years poked me in the chest and said, ‘Dick Johnson, you saved my
marriage. The last time we were here my husband Bob got so drunk I was going to
divorce him. But you took him aside and got in his face. You told him he better
stop that drinkin’ and start followin’ Jesus or he was gonna lose his wife and
maybe his life. Well, that talkin’ to turned him around and although it was an
uphill climb, we’ve been on a honey moon walkin’ with Jesus ever since. Thank
you.’”
He simply took an exited breath and kept going his face all
alight “Before too long Tommy Barns walked up, I remembered him, but he didn’t
think I did. Tommy’s dad had died and they were dirt poor. I use to sneak
pencils and erasers on his desk, ‘cuz I knew he didn’t have any. The other
kids, they were mean. They’d tease him because his clothes were ragged and most
of the time dirty. I just tried to be his friend, although he wouldn’t talk
much.”
Mr. Johnson laughed right out loud and put both hands over his
ears. “He sure made up for it. Tommy talked my ears off that night. He told me
about his wife, his kids, grandkids and…career as a preacher.” He chuckled at
that. I did too.
He paused for a moment and stared into decades past. His smile
dropped, but just a little. He looked me square in the eyes and pulled in a
deep breath. “Billy told me about the first time he saw me sneak the pencil and
eraser on his desk. ‘Dicky, I was gonna kill myself that day. You and Jesus, saved
my life.’”
He crossed his arms and hung his head. I’m sure he was trying
to keep the tears at bay. I know I sure was—and failing.
For an eternal moment we stood, outside of time. The room we
were in was noisy and crowded, over a hundred people enjoying Thanksgiving
dinner, but to me, and to him, it was silent, holy, and still.
He finally raised his head with a great big grin.
“Billy Cards, oh my Lord, he could curse a blue streak and had
a temper that wouldn’t quit. Well, I hadn’t seen him since he got mad and stormed
off the job.
“We were working construction. One day he blew a gasket, I
don’t even know why. But he didn’t have to have a reason. He just blew and took
a swing at the crew leader. And that was it, he was gone.
“Well, anyway, the reunion was pretty much wrapped up and we
were walking to the car, when I heard him shout. I heard Billy shout everyday
on the job for years. I’ll never forget that voice. I turned and there he
stood. All smiles. ‘Hey Dick, hey man how’s it goin’? Bet you don’t remember me;
I knew you’d be here.’ He ran up and gave me a hug. A hug from Billy Cards, who
would’ve thought? A slug maybe, but a hug—no way.
“He used to get so mad at me. I must have told him at least a
thousand times, Jesus could help him tame that tongue and temper. He’d just get
mad. But there stood he stood—only he looked younger than I remembered. Oh, I
suppose there were more wrinkles, but his countenance, was younger.
“After the hug Billy said, ‘Man, you led me to Jesus.’
“Well, I didn’t know that. Billy told me about the day he got
fired. How he went out and got drunk, which was no surprise. But then, all that
night he kept hearing my voice saying, Jesus loves you and You need
Jesus and Jesus can help you. The next morning before his feet hit
the floor, his knees did, and he asked Jesus to help, and…He did.
Now, a down pour from those blue skies, with a smile as big
and bright as heaven, “God is so good, and His timing so perfect, He loved me a
little more right then, just because, He knew I needed it.”
Without blinking, tears streaming, this man of God, royal with
years of wisdom from serving The King said bold and unwavering, “And that
treasure, real-eternal-treasure is worth more, much more than anything
money can buy.”
At that moment, I think, he looked younger than me…at this
moment, I know he does.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Soon Behold
We shall behold Him
If you need prayer you can slip me a personal e-mail dougspurling@aol.com or call 612-554-2522.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Soon
Dear friend, one day soon this song will come true
On that day I hope you're not here to read this
but just in case you do
I want you to know
I've gone to be with Jesus,
and now His face I see.
Yes soon The King is coming
I can almost hear Him telling
the chariots, "Be steady"
before they leap from Heavens Home
Oh how I pray you'll be ready
for His face to see
And together we'll say:
"He's coming for me."
Oh, the King is coming
All the railroad road cars are empty
Happy faces line the hallways
Oh, the King is coming
I can hear the chariots rumble
Oh, the King is coming
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
The Waitress
See that girl right there? The one that just flew by like she was headed to a fire, the one with blond hair and braids wrapped like a gold crown – she’s our waitress.
Sixteen of us gathered for two birthday parties, here in this back room. Our tables are placed in the shape of a horseshoe. Everyone is seated around the outside edge, so we can see each other and talk. But right now I’m just watching. Watching them talk, but mostly watching the waitress.
She was doing fine, working the room from one side to the other, taking orders. She brought the drinks and didn’t spill a drop. Only had to ask once or twice what went where, I thought that was pretty good. Then came the salads, she did that well, too. Only forgot dressing on mine. I acted like I didn’t notice.
And then someone wanted more bread. And another wanted more of whatever it was they were drinking. And all of a sudden everyone was talking at once, asking for this and that. I felt a twinge, swallowed hard and bit my lip. The waitress nodded her golden crown and hurried out the door. How did she hear all that?
When she returned I could tell something was wrong. Her face was a shade closer to the color of her pink shoestrings and she bit her bottom lip. I heard her say, “I’m sorry but we’re out of the Red Snapper can I get you something else?” The Snapper man discussed different options, decided on the Salmon and out the door she flew.
When the food arrived some were disturbed because they didn’t get exactly what they ordered. And ever so politely they voiced their concern. I felt another pang and it wasn’t from hunger. After all the meals were corrected, delivered and delicious, two steak dinners remained on the delivery tray – they had no home.
Our waitress – her forehead shines, and a bead escapes like a jewel from her golden crown. She stands, and for the first time takes a deep breath and exhales slow as she stares at the steak dinners on the tray.
I’m watching her stare at the tray. And her forehead isn’t the only thing that shines. I see another bead as it escapes from the corner of her eye…and then I feel one escape from mine.
I know the rule. If she orders wrong, she pays for the meal. But it’s only her second day; surely they wouldn’t. But, just in case, I reach in my pocket and head her way. With no one looking I slip her a tip much too large. I figure it’ll calm her nerves. And then I offer to pay for the extra dinners so they won’t go to waste.
I return to my seat, and watch the waitress smile through tears.
Why would I do that? You may ask.
Because all I can see is a five year old girl serving me tea from a plastic teapot. I sit on a chair made for Teddy, but that’s O.K. because he’s taking a nap. She pours. First mine then hers. I start to sip, “Not yet Daddy.” And she rushes like the wind over to her bed and pulls out a pan of brownies, from her invisible oven. “Mmmm don’t they smell good Daddy?” Her nose wafts over the imaginary pan.
“Yes, I’ve never smelled anything quite like it. I reach for a brownie and she slaps my hand. “Not yet, they have to cool.”
“Uh oh, whose gonna clean up that mess?” I ask.
“What mess?” She puzzles.
I point at the floor, “The one you made when you slapped my hand. You let go of the pan and dropped the brownies.”
She giggles, “Oh yeah” drawing out the last word so it sounds like a distant siren, “oh yeaaaaeeeehhhh.”
I smile and take a sip of tea (imaginary tea). “Whoa, that’s hot” I say, waving my hand in front of my open mouth.
She giggles “I love you” and puts her hand on my shoulder, “do you want some water Daddy?”
“Why yes, thank you ma’am” I reply…
And there she stands – all grown up in her waitress attire, white shirt, black pants and black tie.
She giggles “I love you” and puts her hand on my shoulder, “do you want some water Daddy?”
“Why yes, thank you ma’am” I reply.
All grown up just like that.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
God's Song
You could find Ann and her bestselling book One Thousand Gifts any time in the Amazon.com jungle. But lately you could also find her in the Amazon – not virtual, but real live jungle, as in snakes, mosquitoes, big humungous bugs and people, beautiful real live people. My friend Glynn Young writes about this mission in his post The least of these.
Ann is part of a team for Compassion International helping introduce folks to children in need of sponsorship. Today I read Ann’s blog When Compassion becomes a Gold Rush and met a boy named Jonathan. Not the Jonathan I’m going to introduce you to in a minute, but a different Jonathon.
Ann's writing and photos take us on a journey deep into the Amazon:
“We wind around a thousand mountains and canoe up a river of gold to find him.
To find the boy someone named Jonathan.”
He’s a boy. Yet he’s a man. He’s fourteen years old and he lives alone because,
“My mother, she runs out on us when I was four.”
Jonathan tells the translator His father moved away to find work in the village.
“My father, he takes my brother with him when he goes….My brother is my Father’s favorite.”
The boy lights when asked about church and what he thinks of Jesus.
“Yes, yes. I go to church and sing to Jesus. It makes all the time go faster, looking forward to going to church each Sunday.”
Jonathan finally confesses:
“Sometimes, when I am very lonely… I lay in my hammock and …. I just sing these songs to God.”
I couldn’t get the kids in the jungle out of my head. I thought about how good we have it here. And when I got home I went online to the Compassion International website and met another young man named Jonathan. As soon as I saw his picture I fell in love with that face, that… smile?
We sponsored him immediately.
So, like any proud Papa I couldn’t wait to show him off. Please say a warm hello to our new friend and family member Jonathan Paul Sayay Mullo.
And one more thing; tonight before you lay down in your warm bed, look out at the stars and listen, listen real close.You might just here the sound of a child, a lonely child, singing a song to Jesus.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Off Road
Although I told her all the stuff Dad’s tell daughters about car maintenance. I’m not sure it took. I told her every mile driven is a mile closer to a break down, because stuff wears out. I know it sounds negative. But it’s true. In this world things get old. I know it more every day I look in the mirror.
So I started to write a letter. I wanted to show the wisdom in planning her trips. I had already asked her to diary her days, to journal her journey. I hoped this would be a way to log her travels and reveal any excess.
I also wanted to give a Bible example of how God miraculously kept stuff from wearing out. But even then each mile was directed by God himself.
I started out like this…
“Forty years walking the wilderness had to be hard on soles, and souls. Yet believe it or not – the shoes never wore. A miracle? Yes. But, they had to do their part. They didn’t move unless God said move. They parked when He said park. They drove when He said drive. Their GPS was a cloud by day and fire by night.”
Notice how my opening statement alludes to driving? But somehow I got off track. My GPS system detoured.
“Today our navigation is twofold, like the one of old. But written on paper to lead by day and written on heart to lead by night.”
I found myself writing about something unrelated to my daughters driving habits. We took an off-road detour, an uncharted path. If you rode along you’ll remember we bumped down a dusty road. And we got dirty and bloody. I saw things I had never seen before. Like; The Word on wood and blood in dirt. And the Bible is like a cloud by day for the easy stuff and The Word in our heart is like the fire by night for the hard stuff.
Maybe that’s His way. We start out with our good intentions to show someone else just how it is. And God happens. He takes us off road and shows us a thing or two.
I have a confession to make; the whole miracle thing bugged me anyway. Why did He make their stuff not wear out? I mean it was their own doggone fault for having to wander around out there anyway. Why not let them figure out how to get new shoes themselves? I probably would have - but not God. After all, I didn’t want my daughter to think: “Sweet! If I do everything God wants, and only go where He wants me to go, and stay where He wants me to stay – then my car won’t wear out.” But, maybe God doesn’t mind if she does.
Maybe He’s got other plans, maybe He doesn’t mind if she enjoys playing with the new toy she’s thankful for. And He knows some things can only be learned my living. The attitude of the heart is more important than knowing the dos and don'ts of life.
And maybe, if we let Jesus take the wheel we’ll find we’re in for the ride of our lives.
(PHOTO COURTESY OF PHOTO BUCKET)
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Blood-Ink
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14
… I will put My laws in their mind and write them on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be My people. Hebrews 8:10
Your word I have hidden in my heart, That I might not sin against You. Psalm 119:11
Your word is a lamp to my feet And a light to my path Psalm 119:105
Thousands upon thousands are waiting in the valley of decision. There the day of the Lord will soon arrive. Joel 3:14
Soul worn? Do you park when God says park? Go?
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Uncommon
About seven billion people are breathing this planets’ air right now and increasing by about 3 people per second – or so they say. Out of all those folks and all the folks who have ever lived since dirt became Adam nobody is, has been, or ever will be just like you.
Think about that. Right now at this very moment in time, no person on the planet can do you as good as you . No one can do exactly what you can do exactly like you would do it. No one can reach out and help the people you can exactly the way you can. No, they can’t do it better either, (in case that’s what you were thinking.) No one is better at being you than you.
Soon we will go back to dust. A memory is all that will remain. Today, right now,
do you with all your heart – and have no worries that it’s not like anyone else. It’s not suppose to. Just be you.
Ask for help to be who you were created to be. Even if you don't pray, now's a good time to take a moment and say, "God, today, I want to be me, I want to be happy in my skin. Since you made me, then I guess you should know me, and who I should be. So, I'm going to give it a try, will you help me find my way to me?"
Make a list, even if it's just in your head, of everything you have to be thankful for as you go through the day.
Today, right now, this moment, be You. And think: You are one in seven billion, a super star at being you.
Say to the smiling face in the mirror, “today, you’re the best in the world, no one can do you better than you. Go get ‘em.” As you walk away say, “watch out world – here I come.”
Have the greatest day because you are.
No matter what comes your way remember you are first class, top of the world, created in the image of God – You-nique.
.
Friday, November 4, 2011
United We Stand
SPRINGFIELD, Ore. -- Edward Zivica, a 70-year-old who served in the Navy in the 1960s, faces a hard choice come Veterans Day next week: He can obey the rules and remain in his apartment complex, or he can follow his tradition of hanging the American flag outside his place.
The managers at his subsidized housing project in Springfield, Ore., have given him notice he'll be evicted if he again violates the rules against putting anything on the exterior walls.
That notice came after the flag went up on Oct. 27 for Navy Day, one of several that Zivica marks by hanging it outside the community room near the main entrance. He'd gotten a letter from the management in June telling him to quit.
The flag, he said, was one the Army sent when his dad, a World War II veteran, died. Zivica says a brother also served, in Korea, as a Marine.
He told the paper he doesn't have many options for housing, so he would knuckle under and sign a compliance notice, which he called "a confession" and "an apology."
But he also said he finds it hard not to hang the flag on Veterans Day.
"It's one of the biggest days of the year for us," he said. "... I guess we'll see what happens."
(Taken from: Huffington Post 11/3/11)
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Flying the very flag given in memory of a WWII veteran should be a great honor. Cause for celebration.
Yet, rather than counting it an honor they dishonor his memory, the memory of every fallen soldier it represents, and the very country that subsidizes their existence.
The housing project wouldn’t exist if not for what our flag provides. Management used the old illogical excuse that if they allowed this flag then they would have to allow others.
How is it that so many people believe the statement “if we let you do it then we have to let everyone do it”? That statement is not true. Where did it come from? It’s a stupid cowardly copout. It’s absurd to think everyone can do everything just because one is allowed to do it. That would be chaos.
But we can stand up and use our God given ability to think about what’s right and wrong. We can give honor to whom honor is due. Submit to the truth that this is America. We have special holidays to honor our country and those who have served her.
Where has patriotism gone? I don’t think on 9/12/01 management would have had the nerve to evict a 70 year old veteran because he decided to give his place of residence the honor of flying the stars and stripes. Now after ten more years of freedom have we forgotten?
If I could I’d like to bombard St. Vincent de Paul, the managing company of the Aster apartment complex with an outcry against their decision to put a 70 year veteran on the street because of his desire to honor this United States of America. I wish everyone in that complex would stand united and turn in their notice: “If Edward Zivica is evicted we all leave.”
PS: I am pleased to announce that after writing the above post it appears I am not the only one outraged by this event and due to “a lot of attention” the complex is now allowing Mr. Zivica to fly our flag! Yes, this still is the United States Of America! United we stand. God bless you and God bless the United States Of America.
The following from: http://www.svdp.us/news/news-archive/st-vincent-de-paul-response-to-news-story/
St. Vincent de Paul Response to News Story
St. Vincent de Paul has received a lot of attention today regarding a tenant who was asked to stop hanging a flag from the side of the apartment complex without permission. We would like to share the following updated information.
This morning our tenant agreed to provide a list of dates when he would like to fly his flag. St. Vincent de Paul granted him permission to fly the flag on those dates, provided it is done in a manner that's respectful to the flag and our other tenants. In accordance with the rules of the complex, St. Vincent de Paul will be happy to grant permission to put an addtional American flag at the complex if tenants inform us in advance.
Our tenant feels this issue is resolved, and we are pleased to have reached a resolution to this issue.