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“Next time a sunrise steals your breath or a meadow of flowers leaves you speechless, remain that way.”
~ Max Lucado
Three bracketed photos were taken with a handheld Nikon D7200 and combined with Photomatix Pro to create this HDR image. Additional adjustments were made in Photoshop CS6.
"For I know the plans I have for you", declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." ~Jeremiah 29:11
The best way to view my photostream is through Flickriver with the link below: www.flickriver.com/photos/photojourney57/
"Next time a sunrise steals your breath or a meadow of flowers leave you speechless, remain that way. Say nothing, and listen as Heaven whispers, do you like it? I did it just for you."
– Max Lucado
This photo was taken in 2013 during my previous Project 365…please visit my album for this “REMASTERED” Project 365 as I revisit each day of 2013 for additional photos to share!!
Technical Information (or Nerdy Stuff):
Camera - Nikon D7200 (handheld)
Lens – Nikkor 18-300mm Zoom
ISO – 160
Aperture – f/11
Exposure – 1/100 second
Focal Length – 56mm
The original RAW file was processed with Adobe Camera Raw and final adjustments were made with Photoshop CS6.
"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." ~Jeremiah 29:11
The best way to view my photostream is through Flickriver with the link below: www.flickriver.com/photos/photojourney57/
... coffee every morning with Max Lucado is my current therapy du jour. That's Lucado with a long "A" and I found that out listening to some of Max's Upwords on his website:
I've resisted the impulse to go to Max's website, highlight and copy some of his best stories and paste them here for you to read. If you want to read Max Lucado, do it the right way. Go buy one of his books or go check one out at your library. You owe it to yourself to take him seriously.
Day before yesterday I had a big grin at one of Max's stories. He tells of going to the church gym to play basketball. The players are made up of a diverse age and size variety, Max calls the "flat bellies" and the "fat bellies."
The flat bellies are agile and admired for their precision moves. They score a high percentage of baskets as the morning workout progresses. They are however, very tolerant and respectful of the fat bellies.
the fat bellies are very respectful of the flat bellies and admire their precision moves, their high basket scores and their youth and vitality.
The flat bellies respect the fat bellies because the fat bellies have the keys to the gymnasium in their pockets.
We all need to go through life remembering who has the keys to the gymnasium in their pocket.
I'd heard this story before, probably in one of Sherry's sermons (she's been reading Max Lucado for years).
Two battleships have been in stormy seas for days on manuevers off the Pacific Coast. In the early morning hours, still stormy with visibility at near zero, the intercom crackles "forward lookout to bridge, there's a light dead ahead." Because of the weather, the Captain has remained on the bridge and responds, "Forward lookout, this is the Captain, keep observing the light and tell me if it moves starboard or port or remains steady. If it remains steady it means we are on collision course."
A little while later the forward lookout reports the light is remaining steady. The captain sends a signalman out who flashes the message. "Light off point bow, change your course twenty degrees." From the light there comes the signal, "You change your course twenty degrees." The captain has the signalman send, "I am the Captain of this vessel and I command you to change your course by twenty degrees." The response comes, "I am a Yeoman 2nd Class and I instruct you to change your course twenty degrees."
Enraged, the Captain has this message sent, "This is a United States Battleship, change your course twenty degrees." From the light comes the response, "This is a lighthouse, change your course twenty degrees."
I don't need to finish this story. But the question that begs being answered is, "How much of our time do we spend demanding that lighthouses change their courses?"
I got Karen's beautiful red sunset shortly after I'd finished my "Coffee with Max" session and this thought came to mind.
An unusually percentage of males have a visual abnormality known in laymen's terms as "red-green color blindness."
During World War II, one of the sad things was the number of qualified young men who wanted to be aircraft pilots, but were color-blind. As I recall, they became bombardiers or navigators or maybe gunners. They can't be policemen. They will live and die and never know what the color "red" looks like.
I've tried to image how you could describe with words the color "red" to someone, to lessen their loss. I haven't even come up with a vague outline.
The question we all need to ask is, "What are our color-blind spots, our blind spots? What are the things we will never be able to fathom because of a flaw in one of the five senses?" If we know ourselves, our strengths (like the keys to the gym in our pocket) and our weaknesses (like color-blindness) and accept them, we'll be better able to deal with life.
""I have swept away your offenses like a cloud,
your sins like the morning mist.
Return to me,
for I have redeemed you." -Isaiah 44:22
Shepherd, Your sheep are weary
Cold and tired, battered and bruised and torn
And Shepherd, Your sheep are hungry
We got what we wanted but we still need something more
We need to hear Your voice
Whatever You might say
We just need to hear Your voice
Show us the way
Shepherd, Your sheep are lost
We chased our wants that we thought were needs
And now we can't get home
Shepherd, Your sheep are longing
We ate and we ran and then we played and we danced, but we're empty
We need to hear Your voice
Whatever You might say
We just need to hear Your voice
Show us the way, won't You show us the way
And we need to hear Your voice
Whatever You might say
We just need to hear Your voice
Show us the way, please show us
Shepherd, these sheep are Yours
We tried to be king, but we don't want to anymore
Copyright© 2009 Kamoteus/RonMiguel RN
This image is protected under the United States and International Copyright laws and may not be downloaded, reproduced, copied, transmitted or manipulated without written permission.
Antelope Canyon, also known as slot canyons, is located just east of Page Arizona, and is a must visit for anyone serious about fascinating color and shape in nature. Photographers flock there every day to pay the fee and get the guided tour. Yes there is a cost involved to go into both upper and lower canyons. The Navajo tribe owns the rights to the area and monitor it closely to both preserve this natural treasure and to provide employment for tribe. My Images are all from the 'lower canyon'
215a 2 - _TAC3843 - lr-ps2 - text - Max Lucado
FEARLESS - March 20, 2012
Chapter 1 – “Why Are We Afraid”
“Why are you fearful? O you of little faith.” Matthew 8:26
You would have liked my brother. Everyone did. Dee made friends like bakers make bread: daily, easily, warmly. Handshake—big and eager; laughter—contagious and volcanic. He permitted no stranger to remain one for long. I, the shy younger brother, relied on him to make introductions for us both. When a new kid moved onto the street or walked onto the playground, Dee was the ambassador.
But in his mid-teen years, he made one acquaintance he should have avoided—a bootlegger who would sell beer to underage drinkers. Alcohol made a play for us both, but where it entwined me, it enchained him. Over the next four decades, my brother drank away health, relationships, jobs, money, and all but the last two years of his life.
Who can say why resolve sometimes wins and sometimes loses, but at the age of fifty-four my brother discovered an aquifer of will power, drilled deep, and enjoyed a season of sobriety. He emptied his bottles, stabilized his marriage, reached out to his children, and exchanged the liquor store for the local AA. But the hard living had taken its toll. Three decades of three-packs-a-day smoking had turned his big heart into ground meat.
On a January night during the week I began writing this book, he told Donna, his wife, that he couldn’t breathe well. He already had a doctor’s appointment for a related concern, so he decided to try to sleep. No luck. He awoke at 4:00 a.m. with chest pains severe enough to warrant a call to the emergency room. The rescue team loaded Dee on the gurney and told Donna to meet them at the hospital. My brother waved weakly and smiled bravely and told Donna not to worry, but by the time she and one of Dee’s sons reached the hospital, he was gone.
The attending physician told them the news and invited them to step into the room where Dee’s body lay. Holding each other, they walked through the doors and saw his final message. His hand was resting on the top of his thigh with the two center fingers folded in and thumb extended, the universal sign language symbol of “I love you.”
I’ve tried to envision the final moments of my brother’s earthly life: racing down a Texas highway in an ambulance through an inky night, paramedics buzzing around him, his heart weakening within him. Struggling for each breath, at some point he realized only a few remained. But he didn’t panic or cower, he quarried some courage.
Perhaps you could use some? I know I could. An ambulance isn’t the only ride that demands valor. You may not be down to your final heartbeat, but you may be down to your last paycheck, solution, or thimble of faith. Each sunrise seems to bring fresh reasons for fear.
They’re talking layoffs at work, slowdowns in the economy, flare-ups in the Middle East, turnovers at headquarters, downturns in the housing market, upswings in global warming, breakouts of Al Qaeda cells. Some demented dictator is collecting nuclear warheads like others collect fine wines. A strain of Asian flu is boarding flights out of China. The plague of our day, terrorism, begins with the word terror. News programs disgorge enough hand-wringing information to warrant an advisory. “Caution: this news report is best viewed in the confines of an underground vault in Iceland.”
We fear being sued, finishing last, going broke; we fear the mole on the back, the new kid on the block, the sound of the clock as it ticks us closer to the grave. We sophisticate investment plans, create elaborate security systems, and stronger military; yet we depend on mood-altering drugs more than any generation in history. Moreover, “the average child today … has the same level of anxiety as the average psychiatric patient in the 1950s.”
Fear, it seems, has taken a hundred-year lease on the building next door and set up shop. Oversized and rude, unwilling to share the heart with happiness. Happiness complies. Do you ever see the two together? Can one be happy and afraid at the same time? Clear thinking and afraid? Confident and afraid? Merciful and afraid? No. Fear is the big bully in the high school hallway: brash, loud, and unproductive. For all the noise fear makes and room it takes, fear does little good.
Fear never wrote a symphony or poem, negotiated a peace treaty, or cured a disease. Fear never pulled a family out of poverty or a country out of bigotry. Fear never saved a marriage or a business. Courage did that. Faith did that. People who refused to consult or cower to their timidities did that. But fear itself? Fear herds us into a prison of unlocked doors.
Wouldn’t it be great to walk out?
Imagine your life, wholly untouched by angst. What if faith, not fear, was your default reaction to threats? If you could hover a fear magnet over your heart and extract every last shaving of dread, insecurity, or doubt, what would remain? Envision a day, just one day, absent the dread of failure, rejection, or calamity. Can you imagine a life with no fear? This is the possibility behind Jesus’ question.
“Why are you afraid?” he asks.
At first blush we wonder if Jesus is serious. He may be kidding. Teasing. Pulling a quick one. Kind of like one swimmer asking another, “Why are you wet?” But Jesus doesn’t smile. He’s dead earnest. So are the men to whom he asks the question. A storm has turned their Galilean dinner cruise into a white-knuckled plunge.
Here is how one of them remembered the trip. “Jesus got into a boat, and his followers went with him. A great storm arose on the lake so that the waves covered the boat” (Mt. 8:23-24 NCV).
These are Matthew’s words. He remembered well the pouncing tempest and bouncing boat and was careful in his terminology. Not just any noun would do. He pulled his Greek thesaurus off the shelf and hunted for a descriptor that exploded like the waves across the bow. He bypassed common terms for spring shower, squall, cloudburst, or downpour. They didn’t capture what he felt and saw that night: a rumbling earth and quivering shoreline. He recalled more than winds and white tops. His finger followed the column of synonyms down, down until he landed on a word that worked. “Ah, there it is.” Seismos—a quake, a trembling eruption of sea and sky. “A great seismos arose on the lake.”
The term still occupies a spot in our vernacular. A seismologist studies earthquakes, a seismograph measures them, and Matthew, along with a crew of recent recruits, felt a seismos that shook them to the core. He only used the word on two other occasions, once at Jesus’ death when Calvary shook (Mt. 27:51-54), and again at Jesus’ resurrection when the graveyard tremored (28:2). Apparently, the stilled storm shares equal billing in the trilogy of Jesus’ great shake-ups: defeating guilt on the cross, death at the tomb, and now silencing fear on the sea.
Sudden fear. We know the fear was sudden because the storm was. An older translation reads, “Suddenly a great tempest arose on the sea” (NKJV emphasis mine).
Not all storms come suddenly. Prairie farmers can see the formation of thunderclouds hours before the rain falls. This storm, however, sprang like a lion out of the grass. One minute the disciples were shuffling cards for a mid-journey game of Hearts; the next they were gulping Galilean sea spray.
Peter and John, seasoned sailors, struggled to keep down the sail. Matthew, confirmed landlubber, struggled to keep down his breakfast. The storm was not what the tax collector bargained for. Do you sense his surprise in the way he linked his two phrases? “Jesus got into a boat, and his followers went with him. A great storm arose on the lake…” (vs. 23-24 NKJV).
Wouldn’t you hope for a more chipper second sentence, a happier consequence of obedience? “Jesus got into a boat. His followers went with him and… suddenly…a great rainbow arched in the sky, a flock of doves hovered in happy formation, a sea of glass mirrored their mast…” Don’t Christ-followers enjoy a calendar full of Caribbean cruises? No. This story sends the not-so-subtle and not-too-popular reminder: getting on board with Christ can mean getting soaked with Christ. Disciples can expect rough seas and stout winds. “In this world you will [not ‘might,’ ‘may‘ or ‘could’] have tribulation” (Jn. 16:33 brackets mine).
Christ-followers contract malaria, bury children, and battle addictions, and, as a result, face fears. It’s not the absence of storms that sets us apart. It’s whom we discover in the storm: an unstirred Christ.
“Jesus was sleeping” (vs. 24 NCV).
Now there’s a scene. The disciples scream, Jesus dreams. Thunder roars, Jesus snores. He doesn’t doze, catnap, or rest. He slumbers. Who could sleep at a time like this? Could you? Could you snooze during a roller coaster loop-de-loop? In a wind tunnel? At a kettle drum concert? Jesus slept through all three, at once!
Mark’s gospel adds two curious details. “[Jesus] was in the stern, asleep on a pillow” (Mk. 4:38). In a stern, on a pillow. Why the first? From whence came the second?
First-century fishermen used large, heavy seine nets for their work. They stored the net in a nook that was built into the stern for this purpose. Sleeping upon the stern deck was impractical. It provided no space or protection. The small compartment beneath the stern, however, provided both. It was the most enclosed and only protected part of the boat. So Christ, a bit dozy from the day’s activities, crawled beneath the deck to get some sleep.
He rested his head, not on a fluffy feather pillow, but on a leather sandbag. A ballast bag. Mediterranean fishermen still use them. They weigh about a hundred pounds and are used to ballast, or stabilize, the boat. Did Jesus take the pillow to the stern so he could sleep, or sleep so soundly someone rustled him up the pillow? We don’t know. But this much we do. This is a premeditated slumber. He didn’t accidentally nod off. In full knowledge of the coming storm, Jesus decided it was siesta time, so he crawled into the corner, put his head on the pillow, and drifted into dreamland.
His snooze troubled the disciples. Matthew and Mark record their response as three staccato Greek commands and one question.
The commands: “Lord! Save! Dying!” (Mt. 8:25).
The question: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” (Mk. 4:39).
They do not ask about Jesus’ strength: “Can you still the storm?” His knowledge: “Are you aware of the storm?” Or his know-how: “Do you have any experience with storms?” But rather, they raise doubts about Jesus’ character. “Do you not care…?”
Fear does this. Fear corrodes our confidence in God’s goodness. We begin to wonder if love lives in heaven. If God can sleep in my storms, if his eyes stay shut when my eyes grow wide, if he permits storms after I get on his boat, does he care? Fear unleashes a swarm of doubts, anger-stirring doubts.
And it turns us into control freaks. “Do something about the storm!” is the implicit demand of the question. “Fix it, or…or…or, else!” Fear, at its center, is a perceived loss of control. When life spins wildly, we grab for a component of life we can manage: our diet, the tidiness of a house, the armrest of a plane, or, in many cases, people. The more insecure we feel, the meaner we become. We growl and bare our fangs. Why? Because we are bad? In part. But also because we feel cornered.
Martin Niemöller documents an extreme example of this. He was a German pastor who took a heroic stand against Adolf Hitler. When he first met the dictator in 1933, Niemöller stood at the back of the room and listened. Later, when his wife asked him what he’d learned, he said: “I discovered that Herr Hitler is a terribly frightened man.” Fear releases the tyrant within.
It also deadens our recall. The disciples had reason to trust Jesus. By now, they’d seen him “heal all kinds of sicknesses and all kinds of disease among the people” (Mt. 4:23). They had witnessed him heal a leper with a touch and a servant with a command (Mt. 8:3, 13). Peter saw his sick mother-in-law recover, and they all saw demons scatter like bats out of a cave. “He cast out spirits with a word, and healed all who were sick” (Mt. 8:16).
Shouldn’t someone mention Jesus’ track record or review his resume? Do they remember the accomplishments of Christ? They may not. Fear creates a form of spiritual amnesia. It dulls our miracle memory. It makes us forget what Jesus has done and how good God is.
And fear feels dreadful. It sucks the life out of the soul, curls us into an embryonic state, and drains us dry of contentment. We become abandoned barns, rickety and tilting from the winds, a place where humanity used to eat, thrive, and find warmth. No longer. When fear shapes our lives, safety becomes our god. When safety becomes our god, we worship the risk-free life. Can the safety lover do anything great? Can the risk-averse accomplish noble deeds? For God? For others? No. The fear-filled cannot love deeply; love is risky. They cannot give to the poor. Benevolence has no guarantee of return. The fear-filled cannot dream wildly. What if their dreams sputter and fall from the sky? The worship of safety emasculates greatness. No wonder Jesus wages such a war against fear.
His most common command emerges from the “fear not” genre. The gospels list some 125 Christ-issued imperatives. Of these, twenty-one urge us to “not be afraid” or to “not fear” or to “have courage,” “take heart,” or “be of good cheer.” The second most common command appears on eight occasions. If quantity is any indicator, Jesus takes our fears seriously. The one statement he said more than any other was this: Don’t be afraid.
Siblings sometimes chuckle or complain at the most common command of their parents. They remember how Mom was always saying: “Be home on time.” “Did you clean your room?” Dad had his favorite directives too. “Keep your chin up.” “Work hard.” I wonder if the disciples ever reflected on the most-often repeated phrases of Christ. If so, they would have noted: “he was always calling us to courage.”
“So don’t be afraid. You are worth much more than many sparrows.” (Mt. 10:31 NCV)
“Take courage, son, your sins are forgiven.” (Matthew 9:2 NASB)
“Don’t worry about everyday life—whether you have enough…” (Mathew 6:25)
“Don’t be afraid. Just believe, and your daughter will be well.” (Luke 8:50 NCV)
“It’s all right. I am here! Don’t be afraid.” (Matthew 14:27 NCV)
“Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” (Matthew 10:28)
“Do not fear, little flock, for it is your father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” (Luke 12:32)
“Don’t be troubled. You trust God, now trust in me…. I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am.” (John 14:1-3 NLT)
“.. don’t be troubled or afraid.” (John 14:27)
“Why are you frightened?” he asked. “Why are your hearts filled with doubt?” (Luke 24:38 NLT)
“You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed.” (Matthew 24:6 NIV)
Jesus came and touched them and said, “Arise, and do not be afraid.” (Matthew 17:8 NKJV)
Jesus doesn’t want you to live in a state of fear. Nor do you. You’ve never made statements like these:
“My phobias put such a spring in my step.”
“I’d be a rotten parent were it not for my hypochondria.”
“Thank God for my pessimism. I’ve been such a better person since I lost hope.”
“My doctor says, if I don’t begin fretting, I will lose my health.”
We’ve learned the high cost of fear.
The question of Jesus is a good one. He lifts his head from the pillow, steps out from the stern into the storm, and asks: “Why are you fearful, O you of little faith?’” (vs. 26).
To be clear, fear serves a healthy function. It is the canary in the coal mine: warning of potential danger. A dose of fright can keep a child from running across a busy road or an adult from smoking a pack of cigarettes. Fear is the appropriate reaction to a burning building or growling dog. Fear itself is not a sin. But it can lead to sin.
If we treat fear with angry outbursts, drinking binges, sullen withdrawals, self-starvation, or vice-like control, we exclude God from the solution and exacerbate the problem. We subject ourselves to a position of fear, allowing anxiety to dominate and define our lives. Joy-sapping worries. Day-numbing dread. Repeated bouts with insecurity that petrify and paralyze us. Hysteria is not from God. “For God has not given us a spirit of fear…” (2 Tim. 1:7 NKJV emphasis mine).
Fear will always knock on your door. Just don’t invite it in for dinner and, for heaven’s sake, don’t offer it a bed for the night. Let’s dedicate some pages and thought to Jesus’ teaching about fear, examining a select number of his “Do not fear statements.” The promise of Christ and the contention of this book are simple. Fear may fill your world, but it doesn’t have to fill your heart. You can fear less tomorrow than you do today.
When I was six years old, my dad let me stay up with the rest of the family and watch the movie Wolfman. Boy, did he regret that decision. The film left me convinced that Wolfman spent each night prowling our den, awaiting his preferred meal of first grade, red-headed, freckle-salted boy. My fear proved problematic. To reach the kitchen from my bedroom, I had to pass perilously close to his claws and fangs, something I was loathe to do. More than once, I retreated to my father’s bedroom and awoke him. Like Jesus in the boat, Dad was sound asleep in the storm.
How can a person sleep at a time like this? Opening a sleepy eye, he asked to be reminded, “Now, why are you afraid?” And I would remind him of the monster. “Oh, yes, the Wolfman,” he’d grumble. He would then climb out of bed, arm himself with superhuman courage, escort me through the valley of the shadow of death, and pour me a glass of milk. I would look at him with awe and wonder, “What kind of man is this?”
God views our “seismos” storms the way my father viewed my Wolfman angst. “Jesus got up and gave a command to the wind and the waves and it became completely calm” (vs. 26).
He handled the great quaking with a great calming. The sea became as still as a frozen lake, and the disciples were left wondering, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!” (vs. 27).
What kind of man, indeed. Turning typhoon time into naptime. Silencing waves with one word. And equipping a dying man with sufficient courage to send a final love message to his family. Way to go, Dee. You faced your share of “seimos” moments in life, but in the end, you didn’t go under.
Here’s a prayer that we won’t either.
From Fearless
© Max Lucado, 2009, Thomas Nelson Publishing
“O testemunho do Senhor é fiel, e dá sabedoria aos simples.”
(Salmos 19:7)
Uma pequena semente tornando-se uma árvore altaneira.
Uma haste estreita repelindo a terra.
Um arco-íris arcado no meio das nuvens negras...
Crianças correndo na praia. (GRIFO MEU)
“O testemunho do Senhor,” escreveu Davi, “dá sabedoria aos simples”.
O testemunho do Senhor.
Quando foi a última vez que você o testemunhou?
Um passeio num prado verde com a grama na altura do joelho.
Uma hora ouvindo gaivotas ou olhando conchas do mar na praia.
Ou assistindo aos raios de sol iluminando a neve em um amanhecer de inverno...
Chega um momento quando nós devemos largar nossas canetas e nossas explicações
e sair de nossos escritórios e bibliotecas.
Para realmente entender e acreditar no milagre na cruz, deveríamos testemunhar os milagres de Deus todos os dias.
(Max Lucado)
People came to Jesus. My, how they came to Him. They touched Him as He walked down the street; they followed Him around the sea; they invited Him into their homes and placed their children at His feet. Why? Because He refused to be a statue in a cathedral or a priest in an elevated pulpit. He chose instead to be—Jesus.
There’s not a hint of one person who was afraid to draw near Him. There were those who mocked Him. Those who were envious of Him. There were those who misunderstood Him. There was not one person who was reluctant to approach Him for fear of being rejected. Remember that.
Remember that the next time you find yourself amazed at your own failures. Or the next time acidic accusations burn holes in your soul. Remember. It’s man who creates the distance. It’s Jesus who builds the bridge!
Read more Lucado Inspirational Reader
maxlucado.com/listen/jesus-builds-bridge/?utm_source=MaxL...
It's a dark fog that slyly imprisons the soul and refuses easy escape. It's a silent mist that eclipses the sun and beckons the darkness. It's a heavy cloud that honors no hour and respects no person. Depression, discouragement, disappointment, doubt... all are companions of this dreaded presence.
The fog of the broken heart disorients our life. It makes it hard to see the road. Dim your lights. Wipe off the windshield. Slow down. Do what you wish, nothing helps. When this fog encircles us, our vision is blocked and tomorrow is a forever away. When this billowy blackness envelops us, the most earnest words of help and hope are but vacant phrases.
If you have ever been betrayed by a friend, you know what I mean. If you have ever been dumped by a spouse or abandoned by a parent, you have seen this fog. If you have ever placed a spade of dirt on a loved one's casket or kept vigil at a dear one's bedside, you too recognize this cloud.
If you have been in this fog, or are in it now, you can be sure of one thing- you are not alone. Even the saltiest of sea captains have lost their bearings because of the appearance of this unwanted cloud. Think back over the last two or three months. How many broken hearts did you encounter? How many wounded spirits did you witness? How many stories of tragedy did you read about? The woman who lost her husband and son in a freak car wreck. The attractive mother of three who was abandoned by her husband. The child who was hit and killed by a passing garbage truck as he was getting off the school bus. His mother, who was waiting for him, witnessed the tragedy.
The list goes on and on, doesn't it? Foggy tragedy's How they blind our vision and destroy our great dreams. Forget any hopes of reaching the world. Forget any plans of changing society. Forget any aspirations of moving mountains. Forget all that. Just help me make it through the night!
The suffering of the broken heart.
Go with me for a moment to witness what was perhaps the foggiest night in history. The scene is very simple; you’ll recognize it quickly. A grove of twisted olive trees. Ground cluttered with large rocks. A low stone fence. A dark, dark night. Now, look into the picture. Look closely through the shadowy foliage. See that person? see that solitary figure? What’s he doing? Flat on the ground. Face stained with dirt and tears. Fists pounding the hard earth. Eyes wide with a stupor of fear. Hair matted with salty sweat. Is that blood on his forehead? That’s Jesus. Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. Maybe you’ve seen the classic portrait of Christ in the garden. Kneeling beside a big rock. Snowy- white robe. Hands peacefully folded in prayer. A look of serenity on his face. Halo over his head. A spotlight from heaven illuminating his golden-brown hair. Now, I’m no artist, but I can tell you one thing. That man who painted that picture didn’t use the gospel of Mark as a pattern. Look what Mark wrote about that painful night:
When they reached a place called Gethsemane, he said to his disciples, ” Sit here while I pray.” And he took Peter and John with him. Horror and dismay came over him, and he said to them, ” My heart is ready to break with grief; stop here, and stay awake.” Then he went forward a little, threw himself on the ground, and prayed that, if it were possible, this hour might pass him by. ” Abba, Father,” he said, ” all things are possible to thee; take this cup away from me. Yet not what I will, but what thou wilt.” He came back and found them asleep; and he said to Peter, ” Asleep Simon? Where you not able to keep awake for one hour? Stay awake, all of you; and pray that you may be spared from this test: the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Once more he went away and prayed. On his return he found them asleep again, for their eyes were heavy; and they did not know how to answer him. The third time he came and said to them, ” still sleeping? Still taking your ease? Enough! The hour has come. The son of Man is betrayed to sinful men. Up, lets go forward! My betrayer is upon us.”
Look at those phrases. "Horror and dismay came over him." "My heart is ready to break with grief.” ” He went a little forward and threw himself on the ground.” Does this look like the picture of a saintly Jesus resting in the palm of God? Hardly. Mark used black paint to describe this scene. We see an agonizing, straining, and struggling Jesus. We see a ">an of sorrows.” We see a man struggling with fear, wrestling with commitments, and yearning for relief.
We see Jesus in the fog of a broken heart.
The writer of Hebrews would later pen, "During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the one who could save him from death.”
My what a portrait. Jesus in pain. Jesus is on the stage of fear. Jesus is cloaked, not in sainthood, but in humanity. The next time you think that no one understands, reread the fourteenth chapter of Mark. The next time your self-pity convinces you that no one cares, pay a visit to Gethsemane. And the next time you wonder if God really perceives the pain that prevails on this dusty planet, listen to him pleading among the twisted trees. Her’s my point. Seeing God like this does wonders for our own suffering. God was never more human than at this hour. God was never nearer to us than when he hurt. The incarnation was never fulfilled as in the garden. As a result, time spent in the fog of pain could be God’s greatest gift. It could be the hour that we finally see our Maker. If it is true that in suffering God is most like man, maybe in our suffering we can see God like never before. The next time you are called to suffer, pay attention. It may be the closest you’ll ever get to God. Watch closely. It could very well be that the hand that extends itself to lead you out of the fog is a pierced one.
(A chapter from No Wonder they Call Him Savior by Max Lucado.)
I apologize for how long it is but I really hope you take the time to read it.
People came to Jesus. My, how they came to Him. They touched Him as He walked down the street; they followed Him around the sea; they invited Him into their homes and placed their children at His feet. Why? Because He refused to be a statue in a cathedral or a priest in an elevated pulpit. He chose instead to be—Jesus.
There’s not a hint of one person who was afraid to draw near Him. There were those who mocked Him. Those who were envious of Him. There were those who misunderstood Him. There was not one person who was reluctant to approach Him for fear of being rejected. Remember that.
Remember that the next time you find yourself amazed at your own failures. Or the next time acidic accusations burn holes in your soul. Remember. It’s man who creates the distance. It’s Jesus who builds the bridge!
Read more Lucado Inspirational Reader
maxlucado.com/listen/jesus-builds-bridge/?utm_source=MaxL...
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It was our first evening in Chiang Mai. I twisted my back as i grabbed my bags to get out of the transport at the motel.
The vacation was just about to start; literally, when it seems that it would be stopped.
Ping was worried but never once did i detect any sign of disappointment. She prayed for my back , and praise God, it was functional within an hour of rest!
For my friend, Sue Anne, (sueymarky). Thank you for your friendship. It's been my pleasure getting to know you and your family.
"Next time a sunrise steals your breath or a meadow of flowers leave you speechless, remain that way. Say nothing, and listen as heaven whispers, "Do you like it? I did it just for you."
I love mornings like this. My favorite part of the day when the sun is just about to peek out of the horizon. It is this part of the day when everything is still dark but the horizon is already lit up. It is quiet all around and one can hardly hear any sound (like cars) except the birds calling to each other.
To me, sunrise will always signify hope. That confident expectation that there is something better to look forward to.
I just wish I could do more justice to this glorious morning with a better lens. But I hope you get the idea.
So thank you for mornings like these. Enjoy it, embrace it. Every morning is a new beginning, what happens today is entirely up to us.
Deus o ama tal como você é, mas se recusa a deixá-lo assim.
Ele quer que você seja simplesmente como Jesus.
Max Lucado
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God’s cure for the common life includes a strong dose of servanthood. It’s a timely reminder. As you celebrate your unique design, be careful. Don’t so focus on what you love to do that you neglect what needs to be done.
A 3:00 AM diaper change fits in very few sweet spots. Visiting your sick neighbor might not come naturally to you. Still the sick need to be encouraged, and diapers need changing.
The world needs servants. People like Jesus who did not come to be served, but to serve. He chose remote Nazareth over the center-stage in Jerusalem, his dad’s carpentry shop over a marble-columned palace, and three decades of anonymity over a life of popularity.
He selected prayer over sleep, the wilderness over the Jordan, feisty apostles over obedient angels. I’d have gone with the angels, given the choice.
Not Jesus. He picked the people. He came to serve! May we do the same.
-MaxLucado
Worry divides the mind. Anxiety splits our energy between today's priorities and tomorrow's problems. Part of our mind is on the now; the rest is on the not yet. The result is half-minded living.
~ Excerpt from Max Lucado's Traveling Light
It's the weekend, guys and gals. Enjoy and have a wonderful one!
I am dedicating this post to a loved one who is the most workaholic person I've known. And a big worrier too.
to stay and not decide on anything, to turn into the DOOR , or to continue...knowing that the end of that corridor is a locked gate.
If you do drop by, please take a moment to read this amazing story..
The Guest of the Maestro
by Max Lucado
What happens when a dog interrupts a concert? To answer that, come with me to a spring night in Lawrence, Kansas.
Take your seat in Hoch Auditorium and behold the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra—the oldest continually operating orchestra in the world. The greatest composers and conductors in history have directed this orchestra. It was playing in the days of Beethoven (some of the musicians have been replaced).
You watch as stately dressed Europeans take their seats on the stage. You listen as professionals carefully tune their instruments. The percussionist puts her ear to the kettle drum. A violinist plucks the nylon sting. A clarinet player tightens the reed. And you sit a bit straighter as the lights dim and the tuning stops. The music is about to begin.
The conductor, dressed in tails, strides onto the stage, springs onto the podium, and gestures for the orchestra to rise. You and two thousand others applaud. The musicians take their seats, the maestro takes his position, and the audience holds its breath.
There is a second of silence between lightning and thunder. And there is a second of silence between the raising of the baton and the explosion of the music. But when it falls the heavens open and you are delightfully drenched in the downpour of Beethoven's Third Symphony.
Such was the power of that spring night in Lawrence, Kansas. That hot, spring night in Lawrence, Kansas. I mention the temperature so you'll understand why the doors were open. It was hot. Hoch Auditorium, a historic building, was not air-conditioned. Combine bright stage lights with formal dress and furious music, and the result is a heated orchestra. Outside doors on each side of the stage were left open in case of a breeze.
Enter, stage right, the dog. A brown, generic, Kansas dog. Not a mean dog. Not a mad dog. Just a curious dog. He passes between the double basses and makes his way through the second violins and into the cellos. His tail wags in beat with the music. As the dog passes between the players, they look at him, look at each other, and continue with the next measure.
The dog takes a liking to a certain cello. Perhaps it was the lateral passing of the bow. Maybe it was the eye-level view of the strings. Whatever it was, it caught the dog's attention and he stopped and watched. The cellist wasn't sure what to do. He'd never played before a canine audience. And music schools don't teach you what dog slobber might do to the lacquer of a sixteenth-century Guarneri cello. But the dog did nothing but watch for a moment and then move on.
Had he passed on through the orchestra, the music might have continued. Had he made his way across the stage into the motioning hands of the stagehand, the audience might have never noticed. But he didn't leave. He stayed. At home in the splendor. Roaming through the meadow of music.
He visited the woodwinds, turned his head at the trumpets, stepped between the flutists, and stopped by the side of the conductor. And Beethoven's Third Symphony came undone.
The musicians laughed. The audience laughed. The dog looked up at the conductor and panted. And the conductor lowered his baton.
The most historic orchestra in the world. One of the most moving pieces ever written. A night wrapped in glory, all brought to a stop by a wayward dog.
The chuckles ceased as the conductor turned. What fury might erupt? The audience grew quiet as the maestro faced them. What fuse had been lit? The polished, German director looked at the crowd, looked down at the dog, then looked back at the people, raised his hands in a universal gesture and . . . shrugged.
Everyone roared.
He stepped off the podium and scratched the dog behind the ears. The tail wagged again. The maestro spoke to the dog. He spoke in German, but the dog seemed to understand. The two visited for a few seconds before the maestro took his new friend by the collar and led him off the stage. You'd have thought the dog was Pavarotti the way the people applauded. The conductor returned and the music began and Beethoven seemed none the worse for the whole experience.
Can you find you and me in this picture?
I can. Just call us Fido. And consider God the Maestro.
And envision the moment when we will walk onto his stage. We won't deserve it. We will not have earned it. We may even surprise the musicians with our presence.
The music will be like none we've ever heard. We'll stroll among the angels and listen as they sing. We'll gaze at heaven's lights and gasp as they shine. And we'll walk next to the Maestro, stand by his side, and worship as he leads.
These final chapters remind us of that moment. They challenge us to see the unseen and live for that event. They invite us to tune our ears to the song of the skies and long—long for the moment when we'll be at the Maestro's side.
He, too, will welcome. And he, too, will speak. But he will not lead us away. He will invite us to remain, forever his guests on his stage.
From When God Whispers Your Name
Do you carry a load of guilt? So many do. If our spiritual baggage were visible, you know what you’d see? Suitcases of guilt, bulging with binges, blowups, and compromises. The kid with the baggy jeans and nose ring? He’d give anything to retract the words he said to his mother. But he can’t. So he tows them along. The woman in the business suit that looks like she could run for Senator? She can’t run at all. Not hauling that carpet bag wherever she goes. So what do we do?
In Psalm 23:3 David said it like this, “He leads me in the paths of righteousness.” The path of righteousness is a narrow, winding trail up a steep hill. At the top is a cross. At the base of the cross are bags, countless bags full of innumerable sins. Calvary is the compost pile for guilt. Would you like to leave yours there as well?
From Max Lucado's "Traveling Light"
www.maxlucado.net/collections/best-sellers/products/trave...
Hoje queria homenagear uma amiga que sempre nos tras benções em suas postagens.
Há pessoas que são sempre canais de maldições, ligando o dono das maldições aos outros esquecendo que essa ligação nunca traz beneficios e sim maleficios e há pessoas como a Tereza que são canais de Benções, ligando o Pai das Benções a todos que quiserem se apropriar e como é bom ser canal de benções para outras pessoas.
A pouco tempo comprei um livro chamado 365 Benções escrito por um grande autor chamado Max Lucado.
Estou pensando quando comecar e se vou postar diariamente os versiculos que ali se encontram, mas a Tereza Duarte ja tem nos mostrados alem de maravilhosas fotos, uma benção diaria em suas Postagens...
Foto: Flor de Trevo - Meu Jardim - Penha - Rio de Janeiro
Serie Homenagens
God Adopts Us
When we come to Christ, God not only forgives us, he also adopts us! It would be enough if God just cleansed your name, but he does more. He gives you his name. It would be enough if God just set you free, but he does more. He takes you home.
Adoptive parents understand this more than anyone. We biological parents know well the earnest longing to have a child. But in many cases our cribs were filled easily. We decided to have a child and a child came. In fact sometimes the child came with no decision. I’ve heard of unplanned pregnancies, but I’ve never heard of an unplanned adoption.
If anybody understands God’s ardor for his children, it’s someone who has rescued an orphan from despair, for that is what God has done for us. God sought you, found you, signed the papers and took you home!
from The Great House of God
MaxLucado.com.
"But of all my questions, my first would be about Bethlehem. I’d like to know about the night in the stable. I can picture Joseph there. Moonlit pastures. Stars twinkle above. Bethlehem sparkles in the distance. There he is, pacing outside the stable.
What was he thinking while Jesus was being born? What was on his mind while Mary was giving birth? He’d done all he could do—heated the water, prepared a place for Mary to lie. He’d made Mary as comfortable as she could be in a barn and then he stepped out. She’d asked to be alone, and Joseph has never felt more so.
In that eternity between his wife’s dismissal and Jesus’ arrival, what was he thinking? He walked into the night and looked into the stars. Did he pray?
For some reason, I don’t see him silent; I see Joseph animated, pacing. Head shaking
one minute, fist shaking the next. This isn’t what he had in mind. I wonder what he said…
This isn’t the way I planned it, God. Not at all. My child being born in a stable? This isn’t the way I thought it would be. A cave with sheep and donkeys, hay and straw? My wife giving birth with only the stars to hear her pain?
This isn’t at all what I imagined. No, I imagined family. I imagined grandmothers. I imagined neighbors clustered outside the door and friends standing at my side. I imagined the house erupting with the first cry of the infant. Slaps on the back. Loud laughter.
Jubilation.
That’s how I thought it would be.
The midwife would hand me my child and all the people would applaud. Mary would rest and we would celebrate. All of Nazareth would celebrate.
But now. Now look. Nazareth is five days’ journey away. And here we are in a … in a sheep pasture. Who will celebrate with us? The sheep? The shepherds? The stars?
This doesn’t seem right. What kind of husband am I? I provide no midwife to aid my wife. No bed to rest her back. Her pillow is a blanket from my donkey. My house for her is a shed of hay and straw.
The smell is bad, the animals are loud. Why, I even smell like a shepherd myself.
Did I miss something? Did I, God?
When you sent the angel and spoke of the son being born—this isn’t what I pictured. I envisioned Jerusalem, the temple, the priests, and the people gathered to watch. A pageant perhaps. A parade. A banquet at least. I mean, this is the Messiah!
Or, if not born in Jerusalem, how about Nazareth? Wouldn’t Nazareth have been better? At least there I have my house and my business. Out here, what do I have? A weary mule, a stack of firewood, and a pot of warm water. This is not the way I wanted it to be! This is not the way I wanted my son.
Oh my, I did it again. I did it again didn’t I, Father? I don’t mean to do that; it’s just that I forget. He’s not my son … he’s yours.
The child is yours. The plan is yours. The idea is yours. And forgive me for asking but … is this how God enters the world? The coming of the angel, I’ve accepted. The questions people asked about the pregnancy, I can tolerate. The trip to Bethlehem, fine. But why a birth in a stable, God?
Any minute now Mary will give birth. Not to a child, but to the Messiah. Not to an infant, but to God. That’s what the angel said. That’s what Mary believes. And, God, my God, that’s what I want to believe. But surely you can understand; it’s not easy. It seems so … so … so … bizarre.
I’m unaccustomed to such strangeness, God. I’m a carpenter. I make things fit. I square off the edges. I follow the plumb line. I measure twice before I cut once. Surprises are not the friend of a builder. I like to know the plan. I like to see the plan before I begin.
But this time I’m not the builder, am I? This time I’m a tool. A hammer in your grip. A nail between your fingers. A chisel in your hands. This project is yours, not mine.
I guess it’s foolish of me to question you. Forgive my struggling. Trust doesn’t come easy to me, God. But you never said it would be easy, did you?
One final thing, Father. The angel you sent? Any chance you could send another? If not an angel, maybe a person? I don’t know anyone around here and some company would be nice. Maybe the innkeeper or a traveler? Even a shepherd would do.
I wonder. Did Joseph ever pray such a prayer? Perhaps he did. Perhaps he didn’t.
But you probably have.
You’ve stood where Joseph stood. Caught between what God says and what makes sense. You’ve done what he told you to do only to wonder if it was him speaking in the first place. You’ve stared into a sky blackened with doubt. And you’ve asked what Joseph asked.
You’ve asked if you’re still on the right road. You’ve asked if you were supposed to turn left when you turned right. And you’ve asked if there is a plan behind this scheme. Things haven’t turned out like you thought they would.
Each of us knows what it’s like to search the night for light. Not outside a stable, but perhaps outside an emergency room. On the gravel of a roadside. On the manicured grass of a cemetery. We’ve asked our questions. We questioned God’s plan. And we’ve
wondered why God does what he does.
The Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of a confused pilgrim.
If you are asking what Joseph asked, let me urge you to do what Joseph did. Obey. That’s what he did. He obeyed. He obeyed when the angel called. He obeyed when Mary explained. He obeyed when God sent.
He was obedient to God.
He was obedient when the sky was bright.
He was obedient when the sky was dark.
He didn’t let his confusion disrupt his obedience. He didn’t know everything. But he did what he knew. He shut down his business, packed up his family, and went to another country. Why? Because that’s what God said to do.
What about you? Just like Joseph, you can’t see the whole picture. Just like Joseph your task is to see that Jesus is brought into your part of your world. And just like Joseph you have a choice: to obey or disobey. Because Joseph obeyed, God used him to change the world.
Can he do the same with you?
God still looks for Josephs today. Men and women who believe that God is not through with this world. Common people who serve an uncommon God.
Will you be that kind of person? Will you serve … even when you don’t understand?
No, the Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of an honest heart, nor the last. And perhaps God didn’t answer every question for Joseph. But he answered the most important one. “Are you still with me, God?” And through the first cries of the God-child the answer came.
“Yes. Yes, Joseph. I’m with you.”
There are many questions about the Bible that we won’t be able to answer until we get home. Many knotholes and snapshots. Many times we will muse, “I wonder …”
But in our wonderings, there is one question we never need to ask. Does God care? Do we matter to God? Does he still love his children?
Through the small face of the stable-born baby, he says yes.
Yes, your sins are forgiven.
Yes, your name is written in heaven.
Yes, death has been defeated.
And yes, God has entered your world.
Immanuel. God is with us."
This passage excerpted from:
He Still Moves Stones
Max Lucado ©1999.
Word Publishing: Nashville
... Well Max is still with me. We had coffee again this morning; I was sure he would have deserted me by now. Evidently he's able to overcome my mild attention deficit disorder as well as my sometimes bi-polar tendencies. Edith Javens, my psychotherapist says all artists are dyslectic, so Max has his work cut out for him.
I've been having Coffee with Max for over a week now. I got about halfway through his trilogy which includes The Eye of the Storm, He Still Moves Stones and A Gentle Thunder. This is printed by Word Publishing. One morning I brought it into my computer room from the kitchen, which is the scene of my coffee rituals, forgot I'd left it there and the next morning had a choice of going all the way back to my computer room (aka: bedroom, warehouse, dog house, cleaning lady's nemesis). I found another book in Sherry's bookcase by Max Lucado entitled A Love Worth Giving, so I opted to read it and save the trilogy for later. You've probably noticed my writing style already. I call it Free Fall, which is done by sitting down to your keyboard and letting everything that pops into your brain fall out onto the keyboard. It can be edited later. If you decide to read Max Lucado, try to get the trilogy, but if you can't find it, grab anything with his name on it. I don't think you'll be sorry.
Max tells the story of Arthur and Skinner who were best friends all the way through high school. When Arthur went out for football, Skinner followed. When Skinner got the position on the team Arthur wanted, putting Arthur on the bench, their friendship endured. They double dated together and when Arthur joined the Army, Skinner was right behind him. They did basic training together, where shipped to the Philippines together and only then were they separated when one was sent to Bataan and the other to Manila. When Bataan fell, Arthur became a Japanese POW, Skinner followed as a POW a month later.
Arthur learned Skinner was in the same prison camp where he was being held and volunteered for work parties, trying to get near the compound where Skinner was in the section where prisoners not expected to live were housed.
One day the work party did some work next to the fence of the compound where Skinner was. Arthur got permission from a guard to spend five minutes at the fence, if he could get Skinner to respond. Finally, after many shouts, Skinner appeared, all 79 pounds of him, wracked with a dozen tropical illnesses. Only his smile and spirit remained. When the five minutes were almost over, Arthur slipped a treasure to Skinner in hopes he could barter it to get medical treatment. It was his high school gold class ring, he had kept out of sight from the guards. I was planning to use it if things really got in a life or death mode. Now, he found himself looking that mode straight in the eye.
When Skinner returned to his barracks with his secret treasure, he went to the the kindest of the guards and offered it to him. The guard asked if this had great value and Skinner nodded to the affirmative. Several days later the guard brought Skinner a handful of sulfa tablets, later some food and even later some clothes.
Years later when both Arthur and Skinner were home and their lives had regained a measure of normality, Skinner brought Arthur a present. In it was an exact duplicate of the ring Arthur had given him in the prison camp. Skinner told Arthur to take good care of this because "it cost me a whole $18." What a contrast of values. Eighteen dollars as opposed to life itself. Arthur loved his friend Skinner enough he gambled his life to save Arthur's.
Now THAT is a love story.
But, what do the two guys in the image, sitting in a restaurant have to do with Arthur and Skinner? First off, let me say that Max is a very positive person and his love story is a happy one, ending and all. I've never been able to put my positive skills into working order, so my love story will be a negative one. Also, I never hesitate to use fiction as an illustration. What's the old cliche "Truth is stranger than fiction" and of course most fiction is based on a high degree of truth. I believe it.
The two guys in the illustration are Don Draper (on the right) and Adam Whitman (on the left). Adam is Don's baby brother, but Don is living with a stolen identity and wants no association with Adam at all. He has risen high in the advertising business, in fact created a spot for himself where the air is very thin and the slightest mishap can cause respiration to cease. Don and Adam are from a very loveless, dysfunctional family, filled with cruelty, lawlessness and hate. Don escaped into the army and was swallowed up in the quagmire of Viet Nam. It was in that quagmire he changed from Whitman to Draper.
Adam was a small boy when Don went away and has survived the squalor of his life by the great love he has for his older brother and lives for the day Don will return from the Army, a thing Don can't do without revealing the fraud of his new identity.
An aside here, I've always wondered why some great stories haven't surfaced about people who found themselves "non-persons" after 9-11 and began new lives. Where have all the writers gone? Long time passing.
Adam is the janitor in an office building in New York and one day sees a newspaper picture of Don who has just won an important award in the advertising field. Adam looks Don up and comes to the office to visit. Don is devastated by the discovery and arranges to meet Adam.
They meet at Adams slum apartment where Don cruelly hands him $5,000 (his total savings) and tells him to leave New York and never to contact him again. Now Adam is devastated. Devi station is the end result of a love that goes only in one direction.
This particular story ends with Adam hanging himself in his apartment with the $5,000 scattered over the lamp table. It's a long time before Don learns what Adam has done and though deeply saddened, he still maintains is intense focus on his career and protecting his false identity.
Love can take some very different turns. Max points out that in Greek there are many names for love, eros, agape and others and the meanings are much clearer. We're left with only the one.
The Adam/Don love story came from AMC's original series MAD MEN which is in it's second season now.
For those who have toiled long and hard, and for those whose faith is on shaky ground due to our result orientated culture...Do NOT lose heart in Serving the Lord.
"I heard Robert speak recently. I watched other men carry him in his wheelchair
onto the platform. I watched them lay a Bible in his lap. I watched his stiff fingers force
open the pages. And I watched people in the audience wipe away tears of admiration
from their faces. Robert could have asked for sympathy or pity, but he did just the
opposite. He held his bent hand up in the air and boasted, "I have everything I need for joy."
"His shirts are held together by Velcro®, but his life is held together by joy." Quoted from Max Lucado:
maxlucado.com/pdf/peace.defies.pain.pdf
Isaiah 61:11
For as the soil makes the sprout come up and a garden causes seeds to grow, so the Sovereign LORD will make righteousness and praise spring up before all nations.
something i received in the mail which i thought would be an encouragement. It was to me.
Don't give up.....
One day I decided to quit...
I quit my job, my relationship, my spirituality... I wanted to quit
my life.
I went to the woods to have one last talk with God.
'God', I asked, 'Can you give me one good reason not to
quit?'
His answer surprised me...
'Look around', He said. 'Do you see the fern and the
bamboo?'
'Yes', I replied.
'When I planted the fern and the bamboo seeds, I took very good
care of them.
I gave them light.
I gave them water.
The fern quickly grew from the earth.
Its brilliant green covered the floor.
Yet nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did not quit on the
bamboo.
In the second year the Fern grew more vibrant and plentiful.
And again, nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did not quit on
the bamboo. He said.
'In year three there was still nothing from the bamboo seed.
But I would not quit.
In year four, again, there was nothing from the bamboo seed. I
would
not quit.' He said.
'Then in the fifth year a tiny sprout emerged from the earth.
Compared
to the fern it was seemingly small and insignificant...But just 6
months later the bamboo rose to over 100 feet tall.
It had spent the five years growing roots. Those roots made it
strong and gave it what it needed to survive.
I would not give any of my creations a challenge it could not
handle.'
He asked me. 'Did you know, my child, that all this time you have
been struggling, you have actually been growing roots'.
'I would not quit on the bamboo.
I will never quit on you.'
'Don't compare yourself to others.'
He said.
'The bamboo had a different Purpose than the fern.
Yet they both make the forest beautiful.'
'Your time will come', God said to me.
'You will rise high'
'How high should I rise?'
I asked.
'How high will the bamboo rise?' He asked in return.
'As high as it can?' I questioned.
'Yes.' He said, 'Give me glory by rising as high as you
can.'
I left the forest and brought back this s to ry.
I hope these words can help you see that God will never give up on
you.
Never, Never, Never Give up.
For the Christian Prayer is not an option but an opportunity.
Don't tell the Lord how big the problem is,
tell the problem how Great the Lord is!
My younger boys were so kind to help me out on this one as it included a favorite activity... reading. The book: You Are Special by Max Lucado
Come and Visit me at
God’s plan for humanity, crafted in the halls of heaven and carried out on the plains of earth. Only holiness could have imagined it. Only divinity could have enacted it. Only righteousness could have endured it.
When God chose to reveal himself, he did so through a human body. The hand that touched the leper had dirt under its nails. The feet upon which the women wept were calloused and dusty. And his tears—oh, don’t miss His tears. They came from a heart as broken as yours or mine has ever been. So people came to him! Not one person was reluctant to approach him for fear of being rejected.
Remember that the next time you find yourself amazed at your own failures! Or the next time you hear a lifeless liturgy. Remember… it’s man who creates the distance. It’s Jesus who builds the bridge!
In the Manger -Max Lucado
maxlucado.com/listen/jesus-is-the-bridge-builder/?utm_sou...
"I remember some years ago when my doctor said, “Nothing to worry about, Max—your condition is pretty common for folks in their mid-age!”
Don’t you hate it when someone reminds you? Of all the things you couldn’t count on, there was one thing you could, and that was your youth. Just because you’re near the top of the hill doesn’t mean you’ve passed your peak. Your last chapters can be your best. What was intended to be an island of isolation for the apostle John became a place of inspiration, and in his final years he wrote the last book of the Bible.
When J.C. Penney was ninety-five years old, he affirmed, “My eyesight may be getting weaker, but my vision is increasing.” Many are anticipating the destination. I hope you are. And I hope you’ll be ready when you get home.
Age is no enemy. It’s a mile-marker—a gentle reminder that home has never been so near!"
-from MaxLucado, He Still Moves Stones.
Deliverance
You’ll get through this! You fear you won’t. We all do. We feel stuck, trapped, locked in. Will we ever exit this pit? Yes! Deliverance is to the Bible what jazz music is to Mardi Gras: bold, brassy, and everywhere. Out of the lion’s den for Daniel, the whale’s belly for Jonah, and the prison for Paul.
Through the Red Sea onto dry ground. Through the wilderness, through the valley of the shadow of death. Through! It’s a favorite word of God’s. Isaiah 43:2 says, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you… when you walk through the fire, you will not be burned.”
It won’t be painless. Have you wept your final tear, received your last round of chemotherapy? Not necessarily. Does God guarantee the absence of struggle? Not in this life. We see Satan’s tricks and ploys, but God sees Satan tripped and foiled. You’ll get through this!
From You’ll Get Through This
MaxLucado
Prints and Downloads are available at bit.ly/16QwgdA
Our prayers may be awkward. Our attempts may be feeble. But since the power of prayer is in the One who hears it and not in the one who says it. Our prayers do make a difference. - Max Lucado
#MaxLucado #prayer #pray #prayers
Here are a few books that I am reading now, or at least have started. Marley and Me is a great book so far. I wonder why I don't get enough sleep at night!
Subtitle::
Falling Apart in Perfect Condition
Restored by God, Perfectly Loved
Book Description::
Love Story is an exquisite narrative that exposes the emotional and human underside of major biblical events, including Adam and Eve’s dramatic fall in the Garden of Eden, Sarah and Abraham’s struggle to have a child, Mary’s surprise at
being pregnant with Jesus, Paul’s trauma on the road to Damascus, and concludes with a triumphant picture of the second coming of Christ. This book is a dramatic connecting point for all readers, inspiring them to grasp the poignant nature of God’s immense, all-consuming love.
About the Author::
Nichole Nordeman has twice been named GMA’s Female Vocalist of the Year and is also a noted lyricist who has won 9 Dove Awards. Nordeman lives in Tulsa, OK.
Have you read it?
This was supposed to be a gift for a friend, but we lost touch before I gave it to him. I'm finally letting go of it. Do you have any gifts sitting around your house that you never gave?
My parents were inducted as elders to their church, Oakhills Church, in San Antonio Texas. Their church is nice, and Max Lucado is a giant in the Christian community. David Robinson from the Spurs also teaches here now and again. Both Max and David baptized me in a river which was a lifetime dream of mine.
It was kind of fun watching dad's face all glowing- even though it looked like the Republican National Convention up there. I know he wishes I went more often, and I am very happy for him... but my path to God is different than his path... and he just doesn't get that.
Kerstavond hadden we onze kerstmusical. De kinderen hadden dit jaar een musical versie van het boek Krummel van Max Lucado voorbereid.
Kerstavond hadden we onze kerstmusical. De kinderen hadden dit jaar een musical versie van het boek Krummel van Max Lucado voorbereid.
My parents were inducted as elders to their church, Oakhills Church, in San Antonio Texas. Their church is nice, and Max Lucado is a giant in the Christian community. David Robinson from the Spurs also teaches here now and again. Both Max and David baptized me in a river which was a lifetime dream of mine.
It was kind of fun watching dad's face all glowing- even though it looked like the Republican National Convention up there. I know he wishes I went more often, and I am very happy for him... but my path to God is different than his path... and he just doesn't get that.
My parents were inducted as elders to their church, Oakhills Church, in San Antonio Texas. Their church is nice, and Max Lucado is a giant in the Christian community. David Robinson from the Spurs also teaches here now and again. Both Max and David baptized me in a river which was a lifetime dream of mine.
It was kind of fun watching dad's face all glowing- even though it looked like the Republican National Convention up there. I know he wishes I went more often, and I am very happy for him... but my path to God is different than his path... and he just doesn't get that.
My parents were inducted as elders to their church, Oakhills Church, in San Antonio Texas. Their church is nice, and Max Lucado is a giant in the Christian community. David Robinson from the Spurs also teaches here now and again. Both Max and David baptized me in a river which was a lifetime dream of mine.
It was kind of fun watching dad's face all glowing- even though it looked like the Republican National Convention up there. I know he wishes I went more often, and I am very happy for him... but my path to God is different than his path... and he just doesn't get that.
My parents were inducted as elders to their church, Oakhills Church, in San Antonio Texas. Their church is nice, and Max Lucado is a giant in the Christian community. David Robinson from the Spurs also teaches here now and again. Both Max and David baptized me in a river which was a lifetime dream of mine.
It was kind of fun watching dad's face all glowing- even though it looked like the Republican National Convention up there. I know he wishes I went more often, and I am very happy for him... but my path to God is different than his path... and he just doesn't get that.
My parents were inducted as elders to their church, Oakhills Church, in San Antonio Texas. Their church is nice, and Max Lucado is a giant in the Christian community. David Robinson from the Spurs also teaches here now and again. Both Max and David baptized me in a river which was a lifetime dream of mine.
It was kind of fun watching dad's face all glowing- even though it looked like the Republican National Convention up there. I know he wishes I went more often, and I am very happy for him... but my path to God is different than his path... and he just doesn't get that.
My parents were inducted as elders to their church, Oakhills Church, in San Antonio Texas. Their church is nice, and Max Lucado is a giant in the Christian community. David Robinson from the Spurs also teaches here now and again. Both Max and David baptized me in a river which was a lifetime dream of mine.
It was kind of fun watching dad's face all glowing- even though it looked like the Republican National Convention up there. I know he wishes I went more often, and I am very happy for him... but my path to God is different than his path... and he just doesn't get that.
Every month I create my own desktops for my laptop. Thought I'd share my April creation :)
Quote: Max Lucado; Material: Kristin Aagard, Cherie Shields, Sara Ellis; Fonts: Mr. Wade, Miss Brooks, Modern No. 20; photo and mask: me...
Went to church with my parents at the AT & T Center in San Antonio to see Michael W Smith. It was great to get a shot of both David Robinson from the San Antonio Spurs and Max Lucado on stage because I was baptized in a river by the two of them in 2006.
Marilyn Meberg, Sandi Patty, Nicole C. Mullen, Luci Swindoll, Sheila Walsh, Nicole Johnson, Patsy Clairmont, & Max Lucado