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“The Storm that Never Happened” by Nells Wasilewski

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Nells Wasilewski Rainbow SidebarIt was on a Wednesday, in the afternoon, when weather reports started flashing like lightening of the encroaching storm.  My friend Barbara and I were at our church, working on different projects.

We were on the second floor when another warning alarm sounded.  Weather warnings were furiously flashing on her phone to take cover immediately. We headed to the basement and suggested that others take the warning and go as well. No takers, so we went alone.

We ensconced ourselves in the ladies restroom, and together we rode out the storm. It was such a peaceful and calming experience to sit there with her and chat about inconsequential things that were happening in our lives. Barbara made a statement, while we were waiting, that will stay with me always.

She has the sweetest most soothing voice, and she said to me:  “If it gets really bad what better place to be than in our church?” After twenty or thirty minutes, Barbara received a notification that the worst had passed.

Upon returning to the upper level of the church, we learned that the storm never happened. The worst of it was some high winds and a sprinkle or two. The storm may never have happened, but a beautiful thing happened that day. I have always loved Barbara, but, now, a new dimension has been introduced to our friendship–one of trust with new insights of who we are. I know in my heart that it was more than riding out a storm together; because, upon leaving the basement, my heart was full of God’s love.

Thought for the Day:  Colossians 3:12 (NIV)12 Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

Prayer:  Elohei Chasdi – God of my goodness, kindness, and faithfulness, thank you for sending friends to ease us through difficult situations. Show us how to express our gratitude to each other and to You. In the name of our Savior and your Son, Amen.

 

Nells Wasilewski

Nells Wasilewski lives in a small southern town, seventy miles southeast of Nashville, Tennessee.  After retiring, she began pursuing her lifelong dream of writing.  Her writing has been greatly influenced by her faith in Jesus Christ, personal, experience and nature. She has been writing poems, prose and stories all her life. Nells has recently started writing devotionals. Her work has appeared in Haiku Journal, Barefoot Review, Three Line Poetry, Poetry Quarterly, 50 Haikus, Dual Coast Magazine, High Coupe Journal, Ancient Paths, Tanka Journal, Hedgerow and Penned from the Heart https://nellswasilewski.blogspot.com

 

History of Hymns by Lucy Neeley Adams: “Tell Me the Stories of Jesus”

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Tell me the stories of Jesus

Summer days or school days, nothing to do, boring day, all were thoughts of my early years. In spite of much fun stuff, I began many pages in my fourth grade diary with the title, “Boring Day.”

My school friend of many years ago agrees. “Yes, those were my feelings too,” Sally remembered. “It was all slightly boring.” Then we often discuss our years of teaching and laugh when we wonder if we too had students who shared our same thoughts about their studies.

Those thoughts are of public school. Sunday school was quite different. I was blessed with great Christian leaders who were committed to children. Their lessons have often been remembered as I grow in my faith.

That was certainly true of a Sunday school class that Mr. William Parker taught. Sensing that the students were restless, he put away all the materials and began to tell them a story. It worked every time. Quickly they became quiet and attentive.

Later that afternoon after church, Parker thought about the countless times his students had said,

“Please tell us another story.” Suddenly an idea flashed into his mind, and he gathered his thoughts and arranged them in a poem: “Tell Me the Stories of Jesus.”

With those first words as a beginning, he continued to write with vivid description about many events in Jesus’ life. The verses explain what it must have felt like to be blessed at his knee, to sing glad hosannas while waving palm branches and to stand at the cross of bitter pain.

William H. Parker was born in Nottinghamshire, England, on March 4, 1845 and died there in 1929.

He worked for an insurance company and was a dedicated Christian layman in his home church, Chelsea Street Baptist.

A friend described him as a person who was “quiet in demeanor, kindly in disposition, always trying to see the best in others. He was one of God’s true gentlemen respected and loved by all.”

Parker’s poem, “Tell Me the Stories of Jesus” was written to honor the devotion of the pupils he taught each Sunday. It was not used as a hymn for several years because it had no music. The beautiful melody, written by Frederick A. Challinor, was chosen as a result of a competition held by the Sunday School Union of the Church of England in 1903.

This hymn is dear to me because Sunday school thoughts flood my memory whenever I hear it. My teacher, Jane McDonald, was a petite woman who had a light of happiness on her face when she told us stories of Jesus. Reading them in the Bible was not as exciting as when she told them. She wanted us to feel what the people felt when they were with him.

Jesus told his disciples that the children who eagerly came to him were an example for all: “Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (Mark 10:15).

That makes me wonder: When I was a child who attended Sunday school and eagerly listened to my teacher, was I receiving the kingdom of God? Yes, because I responded and received him as my Lord and Savior. As an adult, I continue to be eager to hear and obey all of the glorious stories of Jesus.


Parts of this story are from Lucy Adams’ book, 52 Hymn Story Devotions

Lucy Adams

Lucy Adams In 1984 in Nashville, Tennessee I began to write answers for the question, “Why do people write songs?” Those stories first appeared on a radio program that I created: THE STORY BEHIND THE SONG aired on Christian radio station WWGM.

The program began as I sang six words, “I Love to Tell the Story” and said: “Hi friends, this is Lucy Adams and I tell the story behind the song.” I continued the show for five minutes with a message that answered … who, what, where and why of the hymn – plus a verse or two of the music. These programs continued to play for many years in various towns in Tennessee. Visit my blog to learn more about the stories of our favorite hymns at https://www.52hymns.com/about.htm

“The Power of Praise” by Shara Bueler-Repka

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The Power of Praise

“Be exalted, O Lord, in Your own strength! We will sing and praise Your power”—Psalm 21:13.

Nursing homes are never an easy place to be. Many times they are the last destination for ones who have lived a fairly long life. Most residents are not in the minds they once knew, and all ail from one sickness or another.

Bruce’s 93-year-old grandmother had been in a nursing home for quite some time. No longer able to stay with her family because of medical issues, she became a permanent resident.

Bruce, my mother-in-law Betty, and I made our way to the secured area of the facility where she resided. She sat in her wheelchair, absently staring at the floor. As we approached her, she looked up, sheer delight spreading across her face. We hugged and kissed her, wheeling her into the little living room reserved for private family visits.

Although happy to be sitting there together, our conversation started to get a bit strained. Grandma was hard of hearing, couldn’t talk very well, and suffered from memory loss. Long silences filled the gaps in our conversation.

There had to be some way of communicating together.

Suddenly, I felt the Lord impressing on me to sing. However, I choked up with emotion as I fumbled around for a starting point. I sensed the impression again, urging me to continue. Pulling myself together, I asked, “Can we sing?” With great relief, all three of us plunged in, enthusiastically singing out the old familiar hymns: Amazing Grace; What a Friend We Have in Jesus; How Great Thou Art.

Grandma’s face lit up and away she went! The strain was chased from her face as she sang with us at the top of her voice. The wheelchair seemed to melt away. We were all lifted up and out of that nursing home to a familiar and happy place where communication gaps and sickness don’t exist. For those moments, we enjoyed the same space and the same time.

Intrigued, I watched her joyfully expounding on every word. She remembered the words!—words she had sung long ago that had been tucked away in silent rooms somewhere in the recesses of her mind. The melodies of those old hymns led her heart straight to those rooms, unlocking them like special keys to forgotten doors.

Apparently, the singing from our little room wafted through the entire wing of the nursing home, and more than one heart was unlocked that day. The nurses still talk about it. God’s Presence had a profound effect on patients and staff alike.

Praise in the form of music is powerful and transparent, walking through any wall that has been erected and unlocking every door that has been tightly shut. It knows no boundaries. (Acts 16:25-26)

 

 

Shara Bueler-Repka is enjoying life as a singer/songwriter/recording artist, freelance writer, and award-winning author. She and her husband, Bruce, live in their living quarters horse trailer and call “home” wherever their rig is parked. Their mail-base, however, is Hallettsville, Texas. She also loves riding/ministering with her husband and their horses (aka The Boys) in the backcountry and writing about God’s grace in the various adventures on the trail less-traveled. Join the fun and be encouraged on their website: www.ponyexpressministry.com and her blog: www.trail-tails.blogspot.com, or come for a visit on Facebook.

 

“Pedigree of a Savior Part II” by Thea Williams

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Pedigree of a Savior

A friend recently challenged me to read through the Book of Matthew, an account of Jesus’ life with which I thought I was very familiar. Interestingly, there’s always something new to be learned when one revisits previously studied material. As I’m delving into this gospel, I’m seeing old truths that for me are new.

Scandals
God placed the Messianic line in the wombs of many less than reputable women. Chapter one of Matthew lists Jesus’ genealogy. Scattered throughout the long list of His progenitors are five women whose accomplishments included prostitution, adultery and foreign birth. Ruth hailed from Moab, a nation which descended from incest (Genesis 19:30-36), and carried on generations of strife with Israel (https://www.bibleodyssey.org/places/main-articles/moab ).

How amazing that, of all the “nice” women God could have listed in Jesus’ birth record, the ones He saw fit to mention by name were scandal-ridden. Eight times as many men are listed in this chapter as are women, and the one thing that small female fraction had in common was an undesirable background. Yet God used these women with checkered pasts to be vessels of salvation.

Dreams
God used dreams to accomplish His purposes and warn His people five times in the first two chapters. Five times! I read these pages just about every Christmas, yet I never noticed this glaring fact. The dreams fall into categories of:
a) guidance superintending the family into which Jesus would be born (Matthew 1:18-25); and b) life and death warnings which direct the hearers either to do or not do something which will ensure the Son of God’s earthly survival (Matthew 2:12-30).

Obedience
In order for divine guidance to make a difference in the recipient’s life, obedience is crucial. In the aforementioned dreams, Joseph and the Magi acted on the information God delivered to them. The Lord roused these men in order to impart instructions, and they lost no time (but they did lose sleep) to follow His leading.

What Sin Disgraces, Grace Displaces
I find hope and a call to action in these texts. What sin disgraces, grace displaces. Simply put, God loves to use underdogs and transgressors to carry out His plans, and He may use supernatural means to reveal them. Most importantly, if we are willing to be used, we must stand willing to obey.
For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation…: Pedigree of a Savior

 

 

Thea Williams’s short story, “Phoenix,” appears in 50 Over Fifty: A Celebration of Established and Emerging Women Writers. Her work appears in Focus on the Family Magazine and Al Anon’s The Rap. Subscribe to Thea’s blog at www.reflectionsbythea.blogspot.com  By day, Thea educates and prays for young minds at a local school district. Contact Thea at https://www.facebook.com/thea.williams.16 or https://www.youtube.com/user/theabwilliams.

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“Intentional Kindness” by Mary Dolan Flaherty

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Intentional Kindness header

I haven’t been kind lately.

In the last two days, I managed to offend three people. I certainly wasn’t trying to, but my actions or words were not what others wanted, expected, or desired. I ruffled feathers because I wasn’t agreeable. I wasn’t nice. Or kind.

Kindness, one of the fruits of the Spirit, is meeting real needs in God’s way. Strong’s Concordance defines it as Spirit-produced goodness which meets the need and avoids human harshness (cruelty).

Ah…so that’s where I went wrong. The human harshness thing.

While I may have tried—in my humanness—to be kind, or even agreeably nice, I obviously failed. The other person in each of the three situations was presumably hurt in some way by something I said, the way I phrased it, or the fact that I didn’t do what they thought I should do.

Spiritual kindness would have seen beyond my emotions or my need to be validated. Spiritual kindness would have avoided any harsh words or thinking about righting what I considered to be a wrong. Spiritual kindness would have acquiesced generously, considerately, thoughtfully, and without cruelty.

Spiritual kindness, the kindness that is fruit, is impossible on my own. It goes against everything in my sinful nature—retribution, fits of rage, hatred.

These are the things I’d prefer to hold on to.

Had I asked God what He thought or how I should respond before I confronted, challenged, or responded to any of the people I’d offended?

No.

Had I been walking in love, joy, peace, or patience prior to these altercations?

Absolutely not.

I’ve felt distant from God, instead struggling with stress, anger, sadness, and disappointment. In each of the circumstances, I felt justified. I was wronged. I was hurt. I was being imposed upon.

In the heat of the moment, when emotions are high, our human tendency is not to stop and look at our WWJD wristband and ask, “How can I extend the fruit of your Spirit now, Lord?”

Rather, when our backs are against the wall and we find ourselves accused of being nasty, irresponsible, or selfish, our response is typically one of justifying our position and defending our actions.

Accusations fly with blame on the wings, desperately seeking a place to land and nest.

Intentional spiritual kindness is a practiced art, one I have yet to master. And I never will if I keep trying in my humanness.

The fruit of the Spirit is a byproduct of living a life in step with the Spirit. And all the fruit, as I’ve said before, is connected.

Storing up the love of God, the joy we find in knowing Him, the peace that comes from practiced prayer, and the patience only Jesus can offer helps to build our spiritual character. And definitely contributes to kindness.

Even when we do extend the fruit of the Spirit to others, there is no guarantee they’ll accept it. If I say or do something in the spirit of that kindness, the other person is still responsible for how they interpret and receive that message.

If they choose to be offended, that’s their prerogative. We cannot assume that everyone is walking in the same vineyard or orchard.

Sometimes we need to remember to be kind to ourselves by setting boundaries. Sometimes kindness means saying no, upsetting the tidy agendas of others.

Sometimes it challenges and confronts, which can cause relationship rifts. But sometimes, it’s necessary.

While I may or may not have extended the fruit of kindness to those three people, in all fairness, that fruit is Spirit-produced goodness.

Something that comes from God, a generous consideration that can only be produced in me by my Creator. It’s not something I can conjure up and then feel bad about when I fail.

So instead of crawling in a hole and declaring that I am cruel and self-centered and heartless, that I’ll never master being kind, that I am a horrible excuse for a human being, I can breathe easily in the Sonshine, knowing that God extends the same kindness to me that He asks me to exhibit to others.

Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit (Galatians 5:25).

 

Mary Dolan Flaherty

Mary Dolan Flaherty is a quirky gal who loves to encourage people and make them laugh. She writes and speaks with self-deprecating humor and transparency, saying what most people think but won’t admit.  She lives in New Jersey with her husband, whom she affectionately calls Hubbles, and has two grown children and two grand-dogs. Mary enjoys hiking, theatre, music, gardening, and traveling and can be found blogging at SonRiseInsights.com .

“Spread Your Wings” by Pat Jeanne Davis

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Spread your wingsI sat on our front steps that afternoon and watched with some anxiety while my husband showed our son how to ride his bike. We were so happy with our five year old’s success. Later I watched him as he whizzed down the street, both arms in the air. “Look, Mom, I’m flying!” he shouted. It was suddenly for him to spread his wings.

“Be careful,” I told him. “Look out for pedestrians, and keep your helmet fastened.”

Just yesterday, it seems, he was twelve months old and learning to walk. By the time he reached seven, Johnny was skating down the rough pavement in front of our home.

By eleven he began playing hockey. It seemed at each turn in the road I would instruct him, “Be careful, Johnny. Keep your helmet fastened and your eyes on the other players.”

Then at twelve, came skateboarding. By this time he wore braces on his teeth, and he had become more muscular and taller than his friends. As I observed him doing some basic moves on his board, again I warned, “Keep your helmet on! And remember, no jumping off high walls!”

Time marches on. At sixteen, Johnny stands six-feet, two-inches and continues to mastered new skills. He has a part-time job and may decide to go away to college when he graduates from high school.

Yet he really surprised me the other day when he announced, “Mom, I’m saving my money to take flight lessons this summer.” Why should that have surprised me? Since he turned ten, I’ve looked at pictures of aircraft plastered on every wall in his bedroom. Nevertheless, other sons fly—not mine!

My husband John tries to reassure me. “Flying is safer than driving a car,” he said. So now Johnny’s a junior driver. I thought he should wait a little longer to start learning this new skill. But his dad says, “Johnny’s ready. He needs to spread his wings.”

This morning, leaving the driveway with him in the driver’s seat, I’m confident he’ll be a careful driver—he had an excellent instructor in his father.

But again I lean over to instruct, “Johnny, have you fastened your seat belt? Watch out for those other drivers!”

As I look back over the past sixteen years since we brought Johnny into our home, I’m reminded of a time when my Heavenly Father nudged me to step out in faith and then to waited on Him.

After years of infertility, my husband and I made the choice to pursue adoption as a means of gaining a family.

There were many disappointments over several years, but at last we were successful. I was forty-six when we adopted Johnny as a newborn.

I knew next to nothing about being a mother, but I was willing and determined. I learned from daily experience with our little one. Johnny taught me how to feel like a parent for the first time. Now our family was complete—or so we thought.

I came to realize that God had His own timetable for my life when fifteen months after Johnny’s adoption, I learned that I was pregnant at age forty-eight. How will I cope with two babies at my age and will he be healthy? I couldn’t help but wonder after the initial unbelief and astonishment subsided.

My physician informed me that I was at high risk of giving birth to a child with a chromosome abnormality. But I knew we were meant to have this baby, too. I began to feel joy and wonder at the prospect. I declined to have an amniocentesis that might reveal any abnormalities.

I had an uneventful pregnancy and Joshua was born just twenty-two months after Johnny came to us. There has never been another time when I felt closer to God as my Father and sensed His presence as during our son Johnny’s first year and during my pregnancy with Joshua.

Today with God’s continual help, I’m meeting the challenges and triumphs of mothering. I find support and direction through reading God’s Word, Christian publications and programs and through my husband. Becoming a mom in my later years is a rewarding experience, and my faith in God has deepened as a result.

Little by little, I’m learning to “let go”—to entrust Johnny and Joshua to God’s care. As I look forward to Johnny’s graduation and the challenges he’ll face, I recall Isaiah 40:31, “But those who wait on the Lord will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.”

When it comes time for Johnny to take those flight lessons—to literally spread his wings—I’ll be ready. Watching as a proud mother, I can imagine myself saying, “Be careful. Fasten into your seat. Wear your harness.” “Spread your wings!”

 

Pat Jeanne Davis writes from her home in Philadelphia, Pa. She enjoys gardening, genealogy research and travel. Her work appeared in Guideposts, The Lookout, Bible Advocate, Faith & Family, GRIT Magazine, Splickety Magazine, Sasee Magazine, RUBY Magazine, Woman Alive and Chicken Soup for the Soul books. She writes historical inspirational novels and represented by Leslie H. Stobbe Literary Agency. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. Visit her at www.patjeannedavis.com

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“History of Christian Hymns” by Lucy Adams

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Hymn Stories

“Let there be Peace on Earth”

by Jill Jackson

A history of Christian hymns

Our troubled world longs for peace. We are bombarded with reports of violence in towns and homes. Our hearts are broken and we ask, “What can I do about it?” Here is just one story in the history of Christian hymns.

Often there are wonderful meetings of peace-loving people who join their hearts and prayers to understand this deep need. I praise God for them.

But what of the people who can’t attend these gatherings? All of us need encouragement and hope for peace in our troubled world.  At times, the best that can happen is that each individual seeks peace in his or her troubled heart. This is what happened to an amazing woman of faith some years ago.

Songwriter Jill Jackson wrote her answer to that question in the song, “Let There Be Peace on Earth.” As she wrote the phrase, “Let peace begin with me,” that was her personal solution, regardless of the world situation. Those words are the theme for the entire song.

Jackson wrote her thoughts in poetic form in 1955. She had just come through severe depression and had tried to take her own life. Through months of recovery, she found a new purpose for living.  It came while listening to a sermon on radio. The preacher’s text was based on John 14:27 in which Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you.”

Jackson’s heart responded to the invitation to accept Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior. In her weakened condition, she said, “If I live, I will put my life completely in God’s hands. If I live, it will not be as the self-absorbed and tormented woman I have become. I will try to be a window glass through which the light can shine.”

God’s light shone in power as she wrote the words about her own desire for inner peace which she prayed would spread into the world.

The lilting melody was composed by her husband, Sy Miller, who worked for Jan-Lee Music in California.

In the 1960s, it was chosen as the theme song for UNICEF. Its popularity carried it throughout the world. All ages and nationalities joined in deeper bonds of unity each time it was performed.

We, too are filled with hope as we sing, “Let There Be Peace On Earth.” Our longing for peace is matched by our memory of God’s promise in Psalm 29:11, “The Lord will bless His people with peace.”

Hymn StoriesJill Jackson and Sy Miller, circa 1956

Lucy Adams

Lucy Adams In 1984 in Nashville, Tennessee I began to write answers for the question, “Why do people write songs?” Those stories first appeared on a radio program that I created: THE STORY BEHIND THE SONG aired on Christian radio station WWGM.

The program began as I sang six words, “I Love to Tell the Story” and said: “Hi friends, this is Lucy Adams and I tell the story behind the song.” I continued the show for five minutes with a message that answered … who, what, where and why of the hymn – plus a verse or two of the music. These programs continued to play for many years in various towns in Tennessee. Visit my blog to learn more about the stories of our favorite hymns at https://www.52hymns.com/about.htm

Visit the RUBY community for more stories about the history of Christian hymns.

 

 

“Pedigree of a Savior” by Thea Williams

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Cross on Bible

My mother was exceedingly proud of her ancestry, which boasted two aristocratic English families whose roots went back to the Mayflower. My father, less than impressed with her credentials, once wryly referred to Mom’s genealogy as her “family twig.”

I received as a Christmas gift a calendar Bible, and as I ingest my daily helpings of God’s Word, I’ve been struck by God’s choice of flawed vessels to bring His Son into the world. For example…

Did you know that Jesus’s distinguished lineage included Jacob, who connived his way through life, lying to his ailing father and alienating his only brother? Also among our Savior’s illustrious ancestors was Perez, the illegitimate offspring of Jacob’s son Judah, whom he conceived with his widowed daughter-in-law when she was posing as a prostitute.

Peyton Place, anyone?

And let’s not forget David, the man after God’s own heart, whose illicit union with Bathsheba resulted in the murder of an innocent man in one of the most shocking cover-ups recorded in God’s Word. These two adulterers later produced Christ’s ancestor Solomon, whose liaisons with foreign women led the wisest king who ever lived into idolatry and compromise that besmirched his throne and ultimately divided his kingdom.

These are the some of the juicier tidbits in Jesus’s history. From a humble beginnings standpoint, Christ descended from Leah, Jacob’s unloved wife, who played second fiddle to her beautiful sister Rachel, and had to be pawned off on unsuspecting Jacob through her father’s trickery. God’s Son could also claim in His list of relatives Rahab, a member of the world’s oldest profession, and her daughter-in-law Ruth, whose widowed status forced her to beg scraps and marital protection from a stranger.

Truth really is stranger than fiction.

I can only conclude that Philippians 2:8 (“And being found in appearance as a man, [Jesus] humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross”) is the understatement of the century – no, the millennium. Better yet, the entire stage of human history.

Christ’s heritage, culminating in His birth to an unmarried teenager who just barely escaped being left at the altar on the strength of a dream given her disgraced fiancé, better qualified Him to land a role in As the World Turns than to head up the divine church.

And yet, this family tree was carefully, painstakingly constructed by none other than God Himself to serve as the vehicle by which He would introduce freedom to handcuffed humanity.

How fitting that the Son of God, who descended from such “colorful” ancestors, chose to grow up in an obscure town which His peers held in contempt. John 1:46 states that the thinking of Jesus’ day was “Can anything good come out of [Jesus’ home town] Nazareth?” Apparently, something good could – and did – come out of this humble, despised city.

Kind of gives you hope for the rest of us, doesn’t it?

 

Thea Williams’s short story, “Phoenix,” appears in 50 Over Fifty: A Celebration of Established and Emerging Women Writers. Her work appears in Focus on the Family Magazine and Al Anon’s The Rap. Subscribe to Thea’s blog at www.reflectionsbythea.blogspot.com  By day, Thea educates and prays for young minds at a local school district. Contact Thea at https://www.facebook.com/thea.williams.16 or https://www.youtube.com/user/theabwilliams.

4 Ways to Strengthen Your Faith and Family Every Day

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No matter where you are on your walk with God, there may come a time in your life when you feel you need to refocus and strengthen your faith. Life comes with many ups and downs and it’s our faith that keeps us moving forward through the good and the bad. You don’t have to wait until your faith is tested during a trying time to renew your faith. In fact, actively working on strengthening your faith will help you have better relationships with your family and loved ones, inspire your family and loved ones to improve their relationship with God, and can help make the trying times feel less so.

The best part is that we are already equipped with everything we need to make our faith stronger – God is on our side! Here are four inspirational and practical ways for you to strengthen your faith and help others find and strengthen theirs.

Practice Prayer and Patience

When was the last time you spoke with God? If you’re not regularly speaking with Him, renew your prayer practice! When speaking about physical strength, experts recommend that you create and nurture a regular exercise routine, and the same can be said for your faith. Build spiritual strength by creating and nurturing a regular faith routine, including church and daily prayer on your own and with your family. Remember, prayers aren’t always immediately answered so practice patience in your faith and remember that He has a plan for you.

Practice Positivity

When the going gets tough, it can be incredibly difficult to not let doubt creep into your mind – doubt about your faith and your purpose. By practicing positivity, you can feel more secure knowing that you are already equipped to overcome difficulties, it’s a matter of knowing that God has a plan and is by your side every step of the way. Find small ways to practice positivity in your daily life– read verses that give you comfort, follow blogs and publications like RUBY with stories that inspire your faith, and lift your family and friends up with encouraging, positive, and faithful acts of kindness.

Spend Time With Your Loved Ones

Stay close to friends and family who you trust and share your values. Encourage regular conversations with your family about your faith and find teaching moments in everyday activities for your children. Remember, it’s important to talk to your children, but it’s especially important to listen to them. Children are full of curiosity and questions, so you will have no shortage of questions and discussions about God with them. Turn to other family-friendly resources, like Pure Flix, that provide value-driven and wholesome content to help instill your faith and values into your children. Plan a movie night with your family or your church and stream from their wide selection of Christian movies to spend time together and spark meaningful conversations inspired by stories with a great message.

Get Involved In Your Community

Renew your faith by taking action through community service. Giving back and helping others is a great manifestation of God’s grace. Choose to get more involved in your church or find another faith-driven organization in your area to help your family and church community get more involved with those who may need God’s ministry the most. Recently, Pure Flix partnered with Convoy of Hope, a faith-based, humanitarian-relief organization, to provide $100,000 worth of food, medicine, and general supplies to families in need. Involvement with amazing organizations like Convoy of Hope allows you to spend time with your family and teach your children valuable lessons about giving and sharing God’s word.

Convoy of Hope

These are just a few ways to focus on your faith today. Practicing your faith and focusing on it every day is what keeps it strong when you need it most. What are some other ways you choose to build your spiritual strength and relationship with God and your family every day?

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My Opinion Doesn’t Mean a Flyin’ Flip by Shara Bueler-Repka

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“Show me Your ways, O Lord; Teach me Your paths. Lead me in Your truth and teach me, for You are the God of my salvation; On You I wait all the day”—Psalm 25:4-5.

When I was a kid, one of my jobs was to pull weeds. And, boy, did we have a lot of them! I think every species of weed God ever created lived on our place. Some of them pulled up quite easily. (I liked that kind.) Others just needed a little tug. But there were those that rose triumphantly out of their hard soil, defiantly challenging me to give it my best shot. I think they were called mustard weeds.

They hated me as much as I hated them—their pretty little yellow flowers belying what they truly were! These kept me from what I really wanted to do—ride my horse, swim in the pool, play in the stream—the good life! So, I set about devising ways to quickly unearth them from their resistant soil.

My first introduction to this ominous task was a comical one indeed. I grabbed a hold of the top of the weed and pulled with everything I had, putting my whole body weight into it (which wasn’t much at eight-years-old). Suddenly the little flowers, stems and all, gave way and rifted through my fingers like a slick rope, sending me sprawling on my backside. Flopped on my fanny in the dirt, I opened my hand. Yellow petal remnants and green stems were all I had to show for my labor.

Undaunted, I figured I’d get a little smarter. I know what I’ll do. I’ll grab a little closer to the root! The process repeated itself, only with more grunting and growling. This particular process, however, yielded less “fruit” than the previous one—the stems and flowers didn’t even come off.

Desperate now, I chose the next trick up my sleeve (albeit a devious one). I’ll just whack off the top of that thing with a hoe—close enough to the ground so you can barely see it. (OK, well, then kick dirt over the top to really cover it). I quickly found out, however, there could be another type of pain in my backside if I didn’t cease and desist this practice. (Yeah, my dad’s pretty smart!)

Stumped as to a resolution and mad on top of that, I stormed to my dad (really it was more like whining to my dad) and explained how those stupid weeds could NOT be pulled out! My dad (God love him) probably chuckled inside, but he never let it show. He knew exactly how to get those weeds out. In fact, it was so simple and easy it took no time at all. The solution?

Water. We soaked the ground around the root and, little by little, the water saturated the dirt. I then grabbed the weed by the base and pulled it up and out with relative ease.

As I thought about my childhood weed escapades, I reflected on my life and the decisions I had made regarding the “weeds of life.” Oh, how I wish I would have asked the Lord His opinion in my situations—His wisdom—instead of running off with my own brilliant conclusions. Many times I whacked off the top of the problem, but didn’t get to the root of what caused it. And, of course in time, the issue (head of the weed) came up again because the root was still there. (Proverbs 14:12; Isaiah 48:17; Hebrews 10:19-23)

As I contemplated the water solution to those mustard weeds, I remembered the verse in Ephesians 5 where God says He “cleanses us with the washing of water by the Word.” As I read the Bible and allow His words to saturate my soul, I’m finding that the hard places in my heart are being softened. (Ephesians 5:25-27)

I’ve also discovered the reason I wanted to make my own decisions—I had a trust issue. This issue was the head of the “weed.” And the root of that weed? Fear.

I finally understood 1 John 4:18 and “perfect love casts out fear.” I’m learning the more I focus on my relationship with Him (reading His Word, letting His Spirit guide my thoughts, talking to Him and asking Him questions, etc.), the more my trust in Him builds. That trust is developing into love for Him and a revelation of His perfect love—His unconditional love. (Proverbs 3:5-6; Lamentations 3:24-25)

Day by day, I’m letting my opinion get lost in His. Contrary roots are disappearing, setting me free, and bringing His amazing peace—the good life. (Galatians 5:1)

 

Shara Bueler-Repka is enjoying life as a singer/songwriter/recording artist, freelance writer, and award-winning author. She and her husband, Bruce, live in their living quarters horse trailer and call “home” wherever their rig is parked. Their mail-base, however, is Hallettsville, Texas. She also loves riding/ministering with her husband and their horses (aka The Boys) in the backcountry and writing about God’s grace in the various adventures on the trail less-traveled. Join the fun and be encouraged on their website: www.ponyexpressministry.com and her blog: www.trail-tails.blogspot.com, or come for a visit on Facebook.

“Love’s Sacrificial Mindset” by Carol Hind

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https://womenofwarfare.wordpress.com/

A Disturbing Narrative

There’s a story in the Bible, which grabs at my heartstrings whenever I read it. I’m troubled by the tragedy that unfolds, by the unnecessary waste of a young life, by the foolishness of a man’s vow, by the fact that our sovereign God did not intervene to save this young woman. It is hard to understand love’s sacrificial mindset.

I’m referring to the story of Jephthah’s daughter.  Have you read it? If not, or should you need to refresh your memory, it can be found at Judges 11:29-40.  In order for you to fully appreciate the message of this article, you will need to be familiar with this disturbing tale.

A Devoted Daughter

Now I’ve often heard about the special bond between a father and his daughter. It is not something to which I can relate, since I didn’t have that kind of relationship with my biological father. However, having walked with God for some years now, I believe I’m beginning to enjoy a similar bond with my Heavenly Father.

There is no doubt in my mind that Jephthah’s daughter loved her father very much. She was obviously watching and waiting for this mighty man of valour to return home from war.  As soon as she sees him, she runs out to meet him. She’s overjoyed at his safe return. She celebrates his triumph in customary fashion, with tambourines and dancing.  Alas, her love and devotion for Jephthah becomes her undoing. Her love for her father costs her life.

Now let’s apply this scenario to ourselves on a spiritual level. Do we love our Father God to the extent that it costs us our lives? I’m not referring to a literal death here. I’m referring to the demise of our old way of thinking and living, which runs counter to God’s commands, his word and his will. I’m referring to our constant challenge as believers.

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.” (Galatians 2:20)

Do we love God with ALL of our heart, soul and strength as He requires? Have we crucified our flesh with its affections, appetites and desires, as His word demands? (Deuteronomy 6:5; Galatians 5:24).

Whilst I reflected on the various elements of this story, I wondered: where was Jephthah’s wife? I imagined her busy at home, tidying up, or preparing a special home-coming meal. And then I remembered Martha.

Martha, who hadn’t chosen the ‘better part’. Martha, who became preoccupied with serving food instead of sitting at Jesus’ feet. Are we like this? Too busy with our personal business, or too busy ‘serving the Lord’ to sit at his feet, to make him a priority in our lives?

If this is the case, may I remind you of Jesus’s words in Matthew 10:38-39? (See Amplified Bible). May I remind you that to be his disciples, we are required to lose our lower life (the life focused only on earthly quests and concerns) and pursue the higher (God-quality and spiritually focused) life?

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God’s Measure of True Love

Now, with regards to our relationship with the Lord, we learn from Revelation 3:16, that He prefers we are cold, rather than lukewarm. Fellow Christian writers and readers, let us not be deceived into thinking we are ok because we go to church, participate in Christian activities and believe in God. Don’t forget, the devils also believe! So let me ask you—are you guilty of loving God with your lips, whilst your lifestyle declares otherwise?

Jesus revealed in no uncertain terms that there will be those who are convinced they are in the right place with God, working his works etc., but the Lord will turn to them and say: I never knew you; depart from me. And let’s not forget the five foolish virgins who found themselves shut out from the marriage feast, to whom the same damning words were spoken: I do not know you!

Are we paying heed to these stark warnings? Do we take them seriously? Do we yet understand love’s sacrificial mindset?

The ‘S’ Factor!

God requires an intimate knowledge of him. Relationship. Not words. Not unfulfilled intentions.

It can be easy in this age of grace to become careless. To be like the prodigal son, to avail ourselves of the rich resources of God’s Kingdom (his love, forgiveness, grace) and squander them selfishly, without care or consideration for the high price paid for us to enjoy our inheritance.

Wake up daughters of Zion! Wake up to the fact that the only life worth living is in our Father’s house, under his protection, submitted to his rules and regulations.

Wake up to the fact that we have an enemy, who hates us, and seeks to deceive and destroy us 24/7. Those suggestions that we can take God’s resources and use them for our own ends, where do you think they emanate from? Satan of course! Embraced and endorsed by our selfish inclinations, by our own carnal appetites and agendas.

We don’t even have to commit terrible sins.  Just not be fruitful.  Just not be concerned about the issues on God’s heart. Just be too busy with our personal dreams and desires to care about the needs of our neighbour, to participate meaningfully in the work of God’s kingdom, to fall on our knees and pray.

Daughters of Zion, I speak to myself and I speak to you all – wake up! Let us understand love’s sacrificial mindset.

Love’s Mature Outlook

Moving on, I’d like to focus on another admirable quality of Jephthah’s loving daughter. She is not bitter with her father, or about her fate. How about you?  Have your experiences of life caused you to become angry with God, resentful about your experiences and negative about your future?

Dear reader, I suffered many years of spiritual malaise because of wrong attitudes. I carried around in my heart an ever increasing record of offenses and was both inwardly and outwardly hostile towards those who hurt me. Yes, life can be unfair. However, spiritual maturity, faith and trust in our Father God, enables us to overcome and carry on with the right attitude.

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Cultivate A Friendship Circle

Jephthah’s daughter called upon her friends and shared her sorrow. They mourned with her.  Do you have good, genuine, spiritual friends whom you can call and depend upon when needed? Who will pray for, and support you if, or when things fall apart?

Now don’t be discouraged if you don’t have such supportive friendships. There’s always the help and counsel of the three Godhead members to fall back on. In fact, you should be pursuing close fellowship with them anyway.

I believe your relationship with each (Father God, Jesus, Holy Spirit), is vital to your spiritual health and strength. Your relationship with them should not be superficial.  But deep. Strong. Like Paul’s—so that you are convinced in your heart that NOTHING can separate you from God’s love.

The Heroine’s Finale

As mentioned at the beginning, the story of Jephthah’s daughter always tugs at my heart.  I usually take issue with God about it. Why did he allow her to die?  It seems so harsh and unfair. I’ve never really gotten an answer.

However, I do acknowledge that God’s ways are higher than my thoughts and ways.  We are not qualified to judge.  Yet isn’t this how we can feel about the things we face in our own lives sometimes—about that false accusation, that persecution, that sudden catastrophe?

Unfair!

Jephthah’s daughter may have lost her life but she made history. God saw to it that she was inscribed within the pages of the Book of books.

There are those seeking to make history, to make a name for themselves, to make it according to worldly standards but in doing so, lose their own lives—whether literally, mentally, or spiritually.

Dear readers, let’s make sure we aren’t so foolish as to gain the whole world, yet lose our own soul.

Let’s remember we are not our own, we’ve been bought with a price. Let’s ensure that when all is done and dusted, our names appear in the Lamb’s Book of Life.

Join us in the RUBY community for more inspirational posts and discover opportunities to connect with other Christian women.

 

https://womenofwarfare.wordpress.com/

I’d describe myself as a God-seeker and recovering perfectionist. From an early age my love of words and insatiable appetite for stories kindled a passion for writing. I’ve enjoyed modest publishing success both in print and online and spent several rewarding years as one of a team of editors for a Christian women’s publication. I like to write devotionals, inspirational articles and poems and occasionally a short story. My blogs are Women of Warfare and Purpose Driven Achiever where you can read inspirational and thought-provoking articles.

Carol Hind Links

“From the Back of the Crowd” by Lesley Crawford

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From the Back of the Crowd by Lesley CrawfordAs the crowd jostled and pushed, attempting to get close to him, she stood at a distance. She watched them as they laughed and chatted, shouting greetings to one another across the busy street.

She felt invisible. No-one welcomed her, or talked to her, or even glanced in her direction. It wasn’t that she expected them to acknowledge her; she knew her place- standing at the back of the crowd, on the outside, looking in. She hated it, but she was resigned to it; it had been twelve long years since life had been different.

Twelve years of sickness and suffering, of doctors and medicines, of hopes raised and dashed. Twelve years of being excluded and avoided and branded “unclean.”  Twelve years of wishing and praying, and hoping for a cure that would bring an end to her isolation. Twelve years of disappointment.

And yet she wasn’t quite ready to relinquish hope, because she knew that right there, in the centre of the crowd, was Jesus.

She had heard stories of the amazing miracles he had done: turning water into wine at a wedding, healing leprosy, curing blindness, enabling a paralysed man to walk for the first time ever. Surely if anyone could help her, it was him.

If only she could figure out how to get through the crowd to approach him. The thought terrified her. Surely someone would notice and send her back where she belonged.

Even if she did get to Jesus, what would she say to him anyway?  Why should he help her? And what if it didn’t work? She had literally tried everything else – there was no other hope.

She was distracted from her thoughts as the crowd suddenly parted and stood aside. A man made his way through to approach Jesus. He made it look easy.

Well, it was easy for him. She recognized him. He was the leader of the local synagogue. Of course Jesus would have time for him.

She could see that something was badly wrong though. The anguish was written all over his face as, close to tears, he fell to the ground before Jesus and pleaded with him: “Please come and help. My daughter is dying.”

Jesus’ concern and compassion was evident as he helped the synagogue leader to his feet and set off with him, reassuring him that he would come to help. It was an expression of such love and tenderness that her mind was made up.

She had to do this – there was nothing to lose. She had to find a way.

She knew there was no way she could walk up to Jesus like that – she wasn’t important enough – but she knew he was powerful – really powerful. Maybe just getting close enough to touch his robe would be enough.

She hurried along to catch up with Jesus as he strode through the town. Running along by the side of the crowd she overtook them all, until at last she was in line with Jesus.

It was now or never.

Before she could lose courage, she made her way through the people surrounding Jesus, she timidly reached out her hand, and she touched him…

And everything changed. It came over her instantly- a feeling that she had almost forgotten. The bleeding that had plagued her for so many years had stopped and she was well!  She could hardly believe it! She was clean at last!

But something was wrong. Jesus had stopped. He turned to the crowd. “Who touched my robe?”

Silence…

At first she thought she might get away with it. One of his disciples tried to persuade him that someone had just brushed against him by accident. It was perfectly possible with the huge crowd pushing and trying to get close. But Jesus waited- he knew that it had been deliberate.

Now she wished she was invisible. She tried to blend into the crowd. What if Jesus was angry that she had touched him? What would the people say? She could feel herself shaking with fear.

Her heart was pounding and it felt like every eye was upon her as she finally stepped to the front of the crowd and fell, trembling, at Jesus’ feet. The words came out in barely a whisper:

“I touched you. I wanted you to heal me.”

She stared at the ground as she waited for his response. She had no idea what to expect. But then gentle hands lifted her head and as she looked into his eyes, she could see only kindness. He smiled at her.

“Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace.”

And as instantly as the sickness had left her, the shame departed. No longer an outcast at the back of the crowd, but someone loved and valued by Jesus. No longer “unclean” but “daughter”.

Thanking him, she rose to her feet and she went, in peace.

(based on Luke 8:40-48)

 

From the Back of the Crowd by Lesley Crawford

Lesley Crawford – I live in Scotland and work doing youth work with a Christian charity.  In my spare time I enjoy music, theatre, reading and writing.  Since August 2015, I have been blogging at http://lifeinthespaciousplace.wordpress.com/ and I write to encourage people that, whatever their circumstances, there is always hope to be found in God.

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“Intentional Fruit: Patient Endurance” by Mary Dolan Flaherty

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Intentional Fruit Patien Endurance

I don’t have a lot of patience. I don’t wait well, and I don’t endure gracefully. I hear the words, “I don’t have patience for this!” come out of my mouth more times a day than I’d like.

Usually, a string of words that are not fit for this holy magazine follow. Guilt and her twin Shame are quick to rescue me, and Grace is pushed aside, useless in her comfort. I’d rather wallow in my self-pity.

I’m not worthy. I messed up again. Why don’t I have any patience? Why don’t you help me, God?

Also known as forbearance, or patient endurance, this is the fourth fruit of the spirit. Perhaps these fruits are listed in no particular order…or maybe they are.

I believe they’re connected. I have no Biblical evidence or documented research to back my theory. It’s just what I think. Don’t take my word. Test it for yourself. But here’s why I believe this:

If I’m lacking patience, another fruit is most likely missing.

Recently, my brand new coffeemaker decided to blow up pods, and I threw a hissy fit. The problem was I had company. Granted, it was family. Thank God. My mother laughed when she heard the string of profanity that followed and said I sounded just like my sister.

But I’m supposed to be the Christian—the one who sets the example for Christ-like behavior. And I messed up.

My husband came to my rescue and patiently (yes, I did use that word—he has what I lack) attempted to fix it. But it kept happening and each time it did, my anger grew. Everyone said they could live without coffee. It was a trivial thing, really. But it threw me.

Why?

Because I was exhausted. Because in my mind, I’d already failed at something earlier in the day, and I felt I failed again. Because everything in me has been off lately, and little things have been getting to me.

The joy I usually have has been missing, and I’m not sure where I left it. Peace like a river that I once experienced is attendeth-ing someone else’s way, making it well with their soul, while mine is struggling to understand just what’s going on. Sorrows like sea billows are rolling (although I’m not quite sure what sea billows are).

The thing about fruit is that you usually don’t see just one apple on a tree, one cluster of grapes on a vine, one berry on a bush. If you do…well, it’s probably not a healthy source of fruit.

If joy and peace are not active and low-hanging fruit, patience will be hard to attain. See, they’re all connected.

But there’s one fruit that comes before them and is the foundation for all other fruit.

Love.

And I still have that. I may not act very loving right now, but I desperately cling to the love God offers me, knowing that even when I reject His offer of peace, joy, and patience, even when sorrows like sea billows are rolling through my life…it is still well with my soul. Love never ends, and is patient and kind (1 Corinthians 13:8 & 4).

He’s a very patient God. I wish I were as patient with myself as He is with me. But as I live by the Spirit, I do my best to keep in step with the Spirit (Gal 5:25).

I do my best. The desires of the flesh are constantly at war with the desires of the Spirit, and the flesh too often wins. I can allow guilt and shame to move in with me, or I can accept the grace God offers and move on.

I cannot exhibit patience unless I accept the love of God that is patient with me. And so, I will wait. I will patiently endure the dark night of the soul, knowing that God’s got this.

And I thank Him that the fruit of the Spirit never dries up—it’s always there, ripe and fresh. Kind of like God’s mercies—new every morning. Patient, loving, and kind.

 

Mary Dolan Flaherty

Mary Dolan Flaherty is a quirky gal who loves to encourage people and make them laugh. She writes and speaks with self-deprecating humor and transparency, saying what most people think but won’t admit.  She lives in New Jersey with her husband, whom she affectionately calls Hubbles, and has two grown children and two grand-dogs. Mary enjoys hiking, theatre, music, gardening, and traveling and can be found blogging at SonRiseInsights.blogspot.com.

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“At the Kitchen Table with Momma – Somewhere Between Heaven and Earth” by Sharon L. Patterson

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At the Kitchen Table with Momma Somewhere between Heaven and EarthI sat up in bed, still startled from what I had just experienced.  For a moment, I questioned where I was until I looked to see my husband sleeping soundly bedside me. Was that a dream I just had?  It seemed so much more.  It was SO REAL!  As my husband stirred from sleep I felt compelled to share the dream with him.

“Honey, this is going to sound really strange to you, but I feel like I have just spent time with Mother.”

His quizzical look prompted an immediate response, “I know-it’s impossible.” Mother had passed away a few years earlier.

“What makes you say that?” my husband queried back as he got out of bed to get ready for work.

“Well, to begin with, I can describe the atmosphere of the room we were in. I can still see and smell the flood of sunshine coming through the large open window. It felt like a cool spring morning.  I was conscious of the freshness of it.”

“What do you mean you could smell the sunshine?”

“When I was a girl, Mother and I would hang clothes on the line.  When they were dry, and we brought them inside, you could smell the sunshine. That is how the room smelled.”

Before he thought me completely daffy, I continued: “There were silk organza ruffled curtains on that window – mother’s favorite. She and I were sitting at the kitchen table. You know, the dinette like the one she and dad had forever.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Mother apologized to me.”

“What for?”

“For all the things she did that she knew hurt me during the years when she was drinking.”

There had been no time for us to talk about much of anything as mother’s death at forty-four was quite sudden and unexpected. She had an acute epileptic seizure and was gone in an instant. I was at school when I got the call. I remember thinking, “I didn’t even get to tell her good-bye.”

But today, somewhere between heaven and earth, Mother and I met at the kitchen table. We had time to talk about things in both our hearts.

I don’t know what exactly happened, but I know that the conversation led to a great healing in my soul that is just as real at the smell of fresh sunshine that flooded that room.

 

Sharon Patterson, retired educator, career military wife, and leader in women’s ministry, has written inspirational encouragement in various forms from greeting cards to short stories, poetry, and Bible studies for over thirty years. She has authored three books, and is a contributing author for several of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. She and her husband Garry live in Round Rock, Texas. They have three sons and five grandchildren. You can read more of Sharon’s inspirational articles in the April 2017 issue of RUBY magazine.

“He is Alive!” by Donna B. Comeaux

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Mary wrapped barley bread, dried olives, dates, and figs in a cloth and placed them in her husband’s pouch. Cleopas extended his arms, allowing his wife to tighten his girdle with a clasp then tuck coins in one side of it and on the other side a small serving of figs and nuts.

When Cleopas lowered his arms, Mary beckoned him to raise his left again so she could slip a water-filled goatskin up his arm and over his shoulder. Mary tugged at the sword fastened to his girdle.

Satisfied that it was tightly in place, she took a step back and looked him over. Her sad penetrating eyes grew with concern.

“I wish you would stay with us,” Mary whispered. “There is danger.”

Cleopas kissed his wife on the forehead then held her tight. “I will return before nightfall tomorrow.  Do not worry.”

Mary gazed over her shoulder at the disciples.  “Everyone is so worried what the Romans will do next. I am afraid for you.”

“Meydad is with me and we will protect one another if anything goes wrong. There is no need for concern.  If Ha’Adon is willing, I will return.”

“Be safe,” Mary said.

“Meydad, come. We must go.”

Cleopas took one last look at the disciples, each one standing or sitting in various areas of the room, their faces perplexed from the stories they had been told by the women, and Peter.

Earlier this morning they discovered Yeshua’s tomb was empty.

Peter fled the house with John (whom Yeshua loved), Cleopas and several other disciples at Peter’s heels, all rushing to the tomb. It was as the women had said. The tomb was empty. Yeshua was gone. Distraught and weakened by what he had seen, Cleopas returned to the house, wondering what all of this meant.

The disciple hugged his wife again then he and Meydad set out for Emmaus on foot. They took time to labor through memories of the last three days, how they had gone from joy to that of sadness.  Cleopas couldn’t believe that one day he had witnessed Yeshua riding into the city on a donkey, everyone rejoicing and praising the Messiah. Then the next day, Yeshua was carrying his cross on that long walk to Golgotha.

Cleopas couldn’t reconcile the live Messiah with the dead Messiah who had succumbed to a torturous beating and crucifixion. To complicate matters, the women and Peter claimed to have seen him.  Cleopas didn’t know what to make of this.

I am the resurrection and the life . . .

Those words burned in his soul even now, but he no more understood them today than he did yesterday.

“What are you thinking, Cleopas? You have not said a word since we left Jerusalem,” Meydad said.

“I am searching for understanding.”

“I am too. Do you still believe Yeshua was the Messiah?”

“I do, but there is so much that does not make sense to me.”

“Now that he is dead, the answers may have been buried with him,” Meydad said.

“I do not get it, Meydad. One day he is preaching ‘I am the way,’ and the next day he is gone. And we do not even have a body to prove he died. I know he died. I saw him. Bloody linen in the tomb attests to the fact that he was there.”

“You think the Romans took him?”

“Perhaps. No! I do not know. But if the women and Peter saw him, then where is he?” A long silence wedged between Cleopas and Meydad as the two men pondered the question.

“You should have seen him in the temple, Meydad. There has never been anything like it. He sat among our people teaching with authority. He spoke of love and unity . . . of G-d the Father. He spoke of a new heaven . . . a new earth. His words brought peace and hope.”

“That may be, but we are still under Roman rule,” Meydad said, stating the obvious. “There is no new heaven or earth here. He failed to rescue us from the hands of these butchers. All he may have done was make things worse for us. Our people are nervous . . . scared. They have no idea what will happen next. It seems to me that we are far worse than we were at the beginning.”

“I do not believe it,” Cleopas said, trying his best to hold on to hope.

“You mean you will not believe it.”

“Here is what I know, Meydad. Yeshua was crucified for a debt he did not owe. He died in place of Barabbas. It is Barabbas who should have died on that cross. Not Yeshua.”

“Why do you think Yeshua let it happen?”

“Meydad, what makes you think he allowed it?”

“For one thing, he never defended himself. Is that not odd?”

“That is so troubling to me.”

“For another thing, the miracles he performed are widely known. Are you forgetting about Lazarus, how he raised him from the dead?”

“How could anyone forget Lazarus’s resurrection?”

“Then why Yeshua did not prevent his own death? Did he not have the power?”

“Of course he did. He fed five thousand people with three fish and two loaves of bread, Meydad! He made the blind see and he healed the sick. Of course he had power.”

Cleopas stopped for a moment and dragged his hand across his face. “That is the very part of all this that I cannot comprehend.

He did not need to suffer.” Cleopas walked ahead, his feet pounding the dusty road in anger. ”

There he was standing in the midst of all Roman and Jewish authority at a perfect time to destroy them and declare his kingdom.

He had the power to end all Roman rule with a mere word from his mouth, but he did not do it. He never said a mumbling word. Why? Why?” Cleopas was clearly frustrated.

“Maybe it was just his time to go,” Meydad concluded.

“But there is so much more work to be done,” Cleopas said. He wasn’t quite sure who he was trying to convince, Meydad or himself.

“Do you believe the women? Do you believe Peter? You think he is alive?”

“If so, where is he?”

The Road to Emmaus with Jesus

“Are you the only one in all of Jerusalem who has not heard what has happened there?” Cleopas asked, his emotions on the brink of collapse.

“What things?” the traveler asked.

“The things about Yeshua of Nazareth, a prophet mighty in deed and word in the sight of G-d and all his people . . . how our chief priests and rulers ridiculed him, falsely accused him, then delivered him to Pilate to be crucified.

We were hoping he was the one who would redeem Israel. But now he is dead. He has been gone away from us for three days. Our hearts ache for him.” Cleopas choked up, tears welled in his eyes.

“Then something strange happened this morning,” Cleopas continued. “Our women went to his tomb with spices to prepare for his burial, but they came back to the house claiming he is alive . . . that his tomb is empty . . . that they had seen him.

I followed Peter to the tomb and we found it indeed empty.  How can all this be? How is it that he is now alive? What does it mean? And where is he?”

“Oh, foolish men who are slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary for Yeshua to suffer these things and enter into his glory?”

Then beginning with Moshe (מׄשֶׁה) and all the prophets, the traveler explained to them all things found in the scriptures.

By the time they reached Emmaus, it was nightfall and they pleaded with the traveler to stay with them.

Women and children helped prepare the evening meal, lit candles, and set wine on the table before their guests. There was something different in the air—an unusual warmth, a welcomed peace that neither Cleopas nor Meydad understood.

They enjoyed the traveler and admired his knowledge of the scriptures. In fact, Cleopas hadn’t heard such teachings since . . .

Cleopas furrowed his brow as memories of the Messiah flowed through him like warm honey.

“. . . have you not read what God said to you, ‘I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’? He is not the God of the dead but of the living.”

Cleopas also remembered, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come that they may have life, and have it in all its fullness.”

He almost fell to his knees when he recalled how Yeshua sat on the mountain, saying:  “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth . . . .”

The disciple wiped away tears and forced himself to leave the memories behind him and join the others at the table.

When everyone was poised and ready to eat, the traveler gave thanks and broke bread, passing a portion to each of them.

At once, fear and elation rushed through Cleopas, then Meydad, for they recognized the traveler as Yeshua! 

“Yeshua . . . Ha’Adon!” Cleopas and Meydad shouted.

Then Yeshua disappeared.

Cleopas and Meydad stared at one another, in awe of what they had seen. Their hearts pumped with joy.

They were so excited that they tried to talk at the same time, but it was Cleopas who was the most outspoken.

“Did our hearts not burn within us while he talked on the road and opened the scriptures to us?”

Cleopas asked. “Hurry! Hurry!! We must go to Jerusalem and tell the others.”

When Cleopas and Meydad returned to Jerusalem, they pounded the locked doors of the house where the apostles were gathered.

John (the one whom Yeshua loved) opened the door and Cleopas rushed pass him and declared, “It is true!  The Lord has risen and he appeared to Simon just as he said. And now he has appeared to us!”

Cleopas grabbed Nathaniel by the arms and shook him. “ It is true, Nathaniel. Thomas, James, Philip, do you hear us? It is true! We have seen him! We have seen the Lord!  We have seen Ha’Adon! He is alive. I tell you, he is alive!”

 

 

Donna B. Comeaux

Donna B. Comeaux has been writing for the RUBY Magazine (http://rubyforwomen.com) since 2013.  In 2014, Donna wrote devotionals for Hopeful Living, a publication designed to encourage senior citizens, and for Believer Life.  Her website is located at:  www.awriterfirst.wordpress.com.  Not only will you find other inspirational stories on her website, you will also find tips for writers, devotionals, and a few of Donna’s political views as well. Donna and her husband, Glenn, have two grown sons and eight grandchildren. They reside in Oklahoma.

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“Sometimes in the Silence” by Nina Newton

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James 1:5-6

There are days, I know we all have them, in a brief moment of silence, when we wonder if we are doing everything that God intends for us. Especially as women, we often find ourselves busy, busy, busy with daily tasks that frequently seem endless. Which of course, they are. Because no matter how many times you fix supper, you will have to do it all over again tomorrow. And  laundry. You can do a thousand loads of laundry, and tomorrow there will be MORE laundry.

If you are a mom of any age, if you still have children at home, there is a never-ending round of activities that require your attention. Some days I just feel like I’m running in circles, and nothing I am doing, nothing in which I am investing my time and energy, will last. Everything will have to be done all over again tomorrow.

That is when I find myself, in those all-too-seldom moments of quiet . . . sometimes in the silence, I stop and think about all of that. And I’ll be honest, some days I get discouraged, wondering if anything I am doing is making any difference in the world. If you are honest, you will admit that you feel that way on occasion, too.

One day recently I was asking God to give me just a bit of guidance, just so I would have a greater sense of confidence that I am actually hearing Him correctly, and this daily round of running to dentist appointments, piano lessons, volleyball practice, orthodontist appointments, choir concerts, and youth group meetings matters to anyone.

When I finally landed back home, and the girls were quietly doing other stuff (besides fighting like sisters often do!), I sat down at my desk to work on the RUBY magazine – and again I asked God to give me a clue. Does anything that I am doing with my life make any difference at all, to anyone? Or is all of this activity just keeping me distracted from something else, something bigger, something more important?

That’s when I suddenly realized, as I was reading through some of the submissions for this issue of RUBY magazine, that MY writers – yes, MY writers – some of YOU who share your heart and love for the Lord with all of us who read your words – YOU are my ministry. Especially when I read the words of new writers who are timid and afraid to put their precious ideas and thoughts down in black and white and send them off to someone (me!) that they don’t even know – and they trust me to treat their voice and their words with respect.

I have been so encouraged, and truly blessed, by the writing that is submitted each month for our little magazine. And I am so grateful and honored that God has given me the gift of your friendship. I have learned so much from MY writers, and I am so excited to look to the future with all of the opportunities that God will give us, together, to share His words of blessing, inspiration, and encouragement with the world.

So if you ever wonder what you are doing, if God is using you, or if anything you are doing every day is making a difference in the world – know you are not alone, and remember that He has given you a story, and words of encouragement, so that you can share them with the world. We make a pretty good team, I think!

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“Jubilant Easter” by Alisha Ritchie

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Jubilant Easter by Alisha Ritchie

“’He himself bore our sins’ in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness…” 1 Peter 2:24 NIV

The truth is I miss the Easters of the past when my kids were small. It was always so much fun to pick out cute church clothes that coordinated with each other. We dyed eggs in bright colors, made special crafts, and hid Easter eggs in the yard probably a million times. I bet there are still some eggs hidden out there to this day.

I always loved picking out special items to put in their baskets to open on Easter morning, taking extra care to find their favorite candy (actually, I still give them goody baskets). We had so much fun sharing those special times together while we celebrated the resurrection of Jesus.

As the kids have grown into teenagers, you can imagine that some of their excitement over dying eggs and our other Easter traditions has dwindled. They no longer have an interest in posing for sweet nature pictures or decorating bunny shaped cookies with sprinkles.

At times, I must admit I have found myself feeling sorry for myself and a little down because the holiday just isn’t the same anymore.

But then God touched my heart with words I heard as loud and clear as though they were spoken directly into my ear.

“Just because your circumstances have changed, that doesn’t alter what I did for you on the cross.”

Immediately, I was ashamed and humbled for my attitude toward Easter. I knew the Lord was right. Easter is meant to be a time of celebration, joy, and gratitude for Jesus’ sacrifice on Calvary, His resurrection, and ascension to Heaven.  All of this for me, an underserving sinner.

My heart was focused on the wrong things. There was nothing flawed with the traditions and activities my kids and I enjoyed together in the past.

But when I longed for those things more than I longed for my Savior, when I placed those things in higher esteem than I did the honor and praise He deserved, then they became a problem.

I was too fixated on the memories of the past and what I perceived I had lost with my children forever. However, I needed to focus my heart on the most important memory of the past, the cross, and what I had gained forevermore, eternal salvation through Jesus Christ, my Savior.

How could I feel anything but joy this Easter holiday? The different seasons of my life will come and go. There will be an abundance of memories made, wonderful traditions initiated, and even some traditions that will be dissolved.

Our family will share many new experiences together and will forever be knitted with a bond of love and loyalty. And surely, many things will change along our journey together which will cause me to have to adapt even more.

But inevitably, the Lord will help guide me through, just as He did this Easter. He has taught me that even though my world changes, He is still the same God He says He is and is faithful to His promises. No matter what I face, nothing can alter the cross and what Jesus did for me.

That, no doubt, is reason enough for my heart to bubble over with great, jubilant joy!

Alisha Ritchie writes from North Carolina where she enjoys spending time with her husband, Brandon, of almost twenty years, and two busy but wonderful teenagers, Zack and Abby. She is a Physical Therapy Assistant by profession but in recent years has also become a multi-published author of devotions and inspirational stories to inspire others in their walk with God. You can read more of her writing at www.seekhimdaily.wordpress.com

 

Snuggle Sessions with God

by Alisha Ritchie

Snuggling… Relaxing… Cherishing time together…

There’s nothing quite like cuddling up under fluffy blankets with your children and enjoying a good book together. This time represents warmth of home and relationships- a closeness and bond between parent and child that cannot be replaced.

God beckons you as His child, “Come, and sit down. Spend time with me in a safe haven of shelter and rest. Let’s share our hearts together and know each other better. Let my love warm you and my voice assure you, you are loved.”

Cozy up with Snuggle Sessions with God to help you abide in the Lord’s peaceful presence in today’s hectic world. These fifty-two devotions will inspire you to look for Him, busy at work, in the everyday activities of life. Your faith will be renewed and your spirit refreshed, as you become increasingly aware of the Lord’s continual presence in every aspect of your life.

The book can be purchased at Amazon, or Dancing with Bear Publishing, or Barnes and Noble.

Snuggle Sessions with God by Alisha Ritchie is also available from RUBY’S Reading Corner

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SPECIAL GIFT from Ifeoma Samuel of “Purposeful and Meaningful”

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A special gift from Ifeoma Samuel of “Purposeful and Meaningful” for the readers of RUBY magazine!

With every purchase of the special Easter issue of RUBY magazine, you will receive a gift of Overcome Failure: Get Back on Your Feet, an eBook and companion workbook by Ifeoma Samuel

All you have to do is email us at editor@rubyforwomen.com with proof of purchase and you will receive both the eBook and companion workbook of Overcome Failure: Get Back on Your Feet by Ifeoma Samuel

ORDER YOUR COPY OF THE SPECIAL EASTER ISSUE OF RUBY MAGAZINE HERE!

RUBY magazine April 2017

 

We are especially thankful to Ifeoma for her generosity in sharing her book Overcome Failure: Get Back on Your Feet with the readers of RUBY magazine. Be sure to visit her at Purposeful and Meaningful.

Ifeoma Samuel, happily married to her sweetheart Obiora Samuel, is an author, a blogger and an occasional Speaker. She enjoys using her writings to share everyday life stories about God’s immense love. Her book “My 30 Days Journey To a Fulfilled Life” and her latest book “Overcome Failure; Get Back on Your Feet” both available on Amazon. You can find her writing regularly over at her blog Purposeful and Meaningful or visit on Facebook, Pinterest or Youtube.

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“Your Country Needs You!” by Carol Hind

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Your country needs you

Lot chose to live in the country of Sodom and Gomorrah but the inhabitants’ ungodly behaviour vexed his righteous soul. However, if it were not for Abraham’s appeal to God, Lot may well have been destroyed alongside those degenerate souls (see Genesis 18:16-33).

Fast forward to today’s world and I think many of you readers will agree that it has reached a similar state of lawlessness and depravity.

The Bible declares that “…the whole world lieth in darkness” or “under the sway of the wicked one” (1 John 5:19). Certainly, as Christians and prayer warriors, the reprehensible acts of so-called Church leaders who abuse their power and position, the various international crises, the troubling escalation of social ills, can seem utterly overwhelming and unsolvable.

But hallelujah! We serve a God who is able (and willing) to heal our lands and deliver the ungodly from the grip of the Enemy (2 Chronicles 7:14). He is merely looking for someone to step into the breach, to seek his assistance, to plead for his mercy, to make a demand upon his miraculous might.

So I sought for a man among them who would make a wall, and stand in the gap before me on behalf of the land, that I should not destroy it; but I found no one. Ezekiel 22:30 (NKJV).

Will you be that person? Will you allow God to transform your concerns into compassion? Will you don your spiritual armour today and pray?

Dear WoW! follower and visitor, your country needs you! Not as a critic. Not as a self-appointed judge. But as a committed soldier in Christ’s army, as a stalwart warrior. Please don’t hesitate to enrol and take your place on the battlefield. Your prayers can make a difference!

Wishing you all a blessed and victorious week!

 

Carol Hind: I am a God-seeker and recovering perfectionist. From an early age my love of words and insatiable appetite for stories kindled a passion for writing. I’ve enjoyed modest publishing success both in print and online and spent several rewarding years as one of a team of editors for a Christian women’s publication. I like to write devotionals, inspirational articles and poems and on the odd occasion, a short story. Read more of Carol’s inspirational posts on her blog, Women of Warfare.

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“Sins vs. Virtues – Part 1: Envy” by Beth Brubaker

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never envy the success of another woman

Envy is defined as ‘a feeling of discontent and ill will because of another person’s advantages or possessions; a resentful dislike of another who has something that one desires.’

Let’s face it – we’ve all felt envy at one time or another. Joseph’s brothers were so envious of God’s preference and Joseph’s specially made cloak, they sold him to slavers- not exactly the warm-fuzzy family feelings we should have for siblings.

We envy neighbors for their new car, new baby on the way, or that others have more money/influence/things than we do. Envy is definitely not hard to muster if we keep our eyes on everyone else’s prize.

God listed seven deadly sins – and Envy is a biggie on that list.

‘Thou shall not covet’ is in the Ten Commandments, so you know God means business when it comes to not wanting other peoples’ stuff. But what do you do to fight being envious of others?

You love others. Be kind to others. It also helps to get perspective and really look at those we envy. Why are you envying them?

Are you envying their things? Things get old and break. Things are temporary. Fight this urge by looking at all of the good things you have- and can share with others.

Are you envying their money? Money doesn’t mean happiness and spends way too fast to be completely enjoyed. The best way to fight this is to come up with a budget that allows you to splurge once in a while.

You can also budget to get gifts for family and friends, or to save for something special for you and your loved ones. God doesn’t want us to hoard money for its own sake – it’s not like we can take it with us when He calls us home!

Are you envying relationships? Look into your heart to see why you feel that way. God isn’t done molding us yet and that soul mate or bestie might just be around the corner – He’s just waiting for you to get through the road blocks.

A great way to start fighting this is to strike up a conversation with the one you envy, asking about them instead of talking about yourself. Eventually you’ll see why they are a relationship magnet, and you’ll either learn from them or realize you’re not the same type he/she is.

And that’s okay!

Believe me, this is one issue I’m an expert on – It took me a long time to stop envying my husband for his vast amounts of friends. He’s an extrovert and I’m an introvert. There was no way I was ever going to be the magnet he is. The circle of friends I have is a small, but a good one. Once I realized this, it was a whole lot easier to stop envying him and cherish the friends I have!

Are you envying the attention they get? This is another heart issue that you need to talk about with God. You might not be ready for all that attention and need a little more tempering or training. Ask me how I know.

Being in the limelight might seem glorious, but when you’re up there, seeing an ocean of faces looking back at you, it can be an entirely different story!

Fight this by earning that attention – whether you want to be a speaker, a writer, or a good storyteller in social situations – by learning the skills needed for the attention that you want.

The person you’re envying might be years ahead of you and look like they’re a natural, but trust me; it’s a very rare talent that is considered ‘natural’!

The one you envy probably worked very hard to get to that point, and all you’re seeing now is the polished version of their efforts.

Envy can destroy what God wants for you, because you’re too busy trying to be in someone else’s shoes. If you’ve ever gone to the thrift store and tried on shoes, you know what I’m talking about – the fit isn’t always good because that shoe molded to someone else’s foot.

God wants you to put on the new shoes He made for you, not someone’s cast-offs. The shoes He made for you are perfectly suited just to you, and there you are, trying on thrift store shoes!

Don’t envy your neighbor. They might have that new car, but the rest of their life could be a mess. Instead of envying them, get to know them, and introduce them to God. That, my dear readers, is the best way to fight off envy!

 

Beth Brubaker, Assistant Editor is a humorist poet and songwriter, and her day jobs include homemaking, writing, and paper and fabric arts. Beth’s passion is the written word, and is developing ways of sharing her brand of humor with the world through poems, songs and stories. Don’t miss Beth’s columns and puzzles in every issue of RUBY magazine! You can read Beth’s posts on her blog Footprints in the Mud at http://footprintsinthemudblog.blogspot.com or email her at bethatruby@aol.com.

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RUBY April 2017 Special EASTER issue!

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The April 2017 issue of RUBY magazine is our special EASTER edition! Filled with inspirational articles, short stories, poems, book reviews, and recipes that celebrate spring and the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, you and your family will be blessed by all of the great resources in this issue of RUBY magazine.

 

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“Waiting for the Messiah: In Full Unity” by Donna B. Comeaux

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“Beulah, I do not understand why Avi does it—sit there day after day weaving away, hardly sleeping.”

“Shh, Ephah, she will hear you.  Let her be.  Whatever Avi is doing she has her mind fixed on it and there is nothing we can say to change her purpose. Now, come,” Beulah said as she tugged on Ephah’s arm.

Ephah pulled away and reached for the long cloth covering Avi’s open door.  “I think we should go in and sit with her and find out what she is doing, Beulah.”

“No!  Ephah, do not.”

“Are you not curious?”

“Yes, of course I am, but it is none of our business.  We should go.  We have work to do.  The men will be home from the field soon and I must cook lentils and lamb stew for dinner, at the request of my husband.”

“Humph.  Tomorrow then,” Ephah said, sorely disappointed that they did not have time to go inside and probe Avi about her sudden withdrawal from her people.  “Tomorrow we will make her tell us.”

“No, Ephah.  No.  Tomorrow we must busy ourselves with preparations for the Pesach. We have one week left to get ready.  Tomorrow, and all the days thereafter, we must leave Avi alone.  We have too much to do. Come, go quickly.  There is so little time.”

A slight breeze blew the thin covering nailed to Avi’s door and cooled the stillness in her one-room bavith.  Plumes of dust entered the room as the two women outside scurried away.

Avi stopped weaving and listened.  “Adonai, thank you.  It is peaceful again.”

Avi stood then stretched her back and wiggled her toes, shook the mat and repositioned the blanket that she had folded underneath it.  The earthen floor of her bavith was smooth, hard packed; the walls made of clay. The bavith was old, built by her late husband and two sons—all dead now.  Her roof, well-established, had a beam that ran from wall to wall and atop was a healthy crop of grass, barley, and the dying beginnings of a fig tree that wouldn’t survive the summer’s heat.

Simmering in a corner of the bavith was a pot of lentil soup.  From the market, she had purchased a leg of lamb and placed half of it in the soup; the other half she shared with a neighbor.  A small basket protected a portion of raw grain, enough to last three days.  In a tiny bowl covered with a cloth were a handful of dates, olives, and a small serving of buttermilk cheese to nourish Avi if she needed to eat before dinner.

On the opposite side of the bavith where she was hard at work, was a bed mat rolled up neat, pressed against the wall.  Next to the mat, all the clothes she owned lay wrapped and tied with a string.

For nearly a year, without fail, she rose early to fetch water from the well, filling two goatskins to capacity, doing so before the other women came to gather and participate in idle talk.  Then she’d rush back to her bavith to cook today’s meal before returning to her sewing.

Avi shared Ephah’s need to understand, but even Avi didn’t know why weaving the garment until the wee hours of the morning had become an obsession.  Sewing this garment, a man’s ef’-od, was a mystery to her, and she had no idea who would wear it.  Without knowledge of his breadth, height, and age, everything about this undertaking seemed pointless.

But the moment she made up her mind to stop fighting the message that kept running through her mind as she slept, her energy increased and she soon discovered that four hours of rest each night was sufficient.

With a week left before the Pesach, her people’s commemoration of G-d passing over them when he slew the first born of Egypt, Avi became more determined than ever to finish her work.  Everyone in Jerusalem anticipated the holiday—buying and selling goods to ensure they had enough to host kinsmen and friends coming from afar.

Avi worked tirelessly and as she did so she pondered rumors of a man claiming to be the Messiah close to her heart. Ancient stories of the coming King had circulated throughout Israel long before her birth. As a child, she remembered the elders talking around campfires, saying, “He will rule the earth and bring us peace.”

They celebrated this promise in full expectation—dancing to lively music, roasting the best lamb, feasting on honey, and drinking the finest wine.  Recent rumors of this miracle worker who had come to save Avi’s people spread through Jerusalem like warm honey.

She had yet to investigate these stories to determine if they were myths or truths.  Perhaps he was another imposter who might leave her people downtrodden once again, casting doubts upon the ancient tales of the patriarchs.

She’d been too preoccupied with the task at hand to walk a mile or two or three to witness the teacher everyone raved about.  The vast majority of her people reported he had healed the blind, made the lame walk, turned water into wine.

The entire countryside went into an uproar when he supposedly raised Lazarus from the dead.  The most absurd story of all, at least for Avi, was his ability to walk on water.  Avi couldn’t put that story to rest.  It agitated her, woke her in the middle of the night, caused her to call upon Adonai and cry herself to sleep.

Not long after the dreams ceased, for reasons she still couldn’t comprehend, Avi saved every denarius earned from repairing neighbors’ old garments and bought fine expensive yarn.  Since Avi’s family died many years ago, it didn’t make sense to buy it.  What would she do with this elaborate twisted fiber?

Avi wondered if she had acted foolishly.  So taunted with worry, she wrapped the yarn of fine linen inside her cloak then sat near a lamp and stared at it as if expecting it to move about her bavith and perhaps convey a message that she had somehow missed from the Holy One.

Then one day about ten months ago, she set her loom in the middle of her bavith. Upon a thin strip of leather, she placed seven needles. She commenced to inserting these sharp splinters of bone and bronze in and out of the yarn to begin the painstaking task of weaving a seamless garment from top to bottom.

Every day since Avi sewed, stopping long enough to fetch water, cook, eat and drink, bathe and lie down.  Her source of income came to a halt for she had given up mending her neighbors’ cloaks and scarves and belts, but was never without necessities.

Three days before Pesach, something strange occurred.  She fastened the hem then clipped the thread and held the finished ef’-od up to examine it.  “Perfect,” Avi said.  Delight filled her eyes.  She started to mount it to the wall to stretch and shape it in case the man who would wear it proved to be much larger, but an eruption outside interrupted her.  Avi held the undergarment tight to her breast, refusing to allow it to touch the ground as she stepped outside.

Not far away, people shouted praises, fanning palm branches high and low.  Something moved her forward, arms gently caressing the ef’-od in her hands, her feet unable to stop until . . .

Their eyes met.

No one ever described him, or told of the kindness in his eyes, the joy emitting from his face.  If they had, their report was inaccurate.  There was much more to him than the miracles they proclaimed.

Avi searched for a word to describe him, but all her mind could come up with was love—something she felt the moment they locked eyes.

The crowd all about him shouted, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel.”

As if someone had bellowed a thunderous command, the people stepped aside, making a clear path for Avi which led directly to him.

Before she drew in a breath to speak, he said, “Thank you.”

“My Lord, are you the one they speak of . . . Yeshua . . . the chosen one . . . the one who has come to save us?”

“I am he,” Yeshua said.

Avi loosened her grip on the garment, knowing without a doubt that the ef’-od belonged to him.

After she gave him the robe then fell to her knees and hid her face. In a low muffled voice she praised him.

Overcome with unspeakable joy, Avi couldn’t articulate her thanksgiving above a whisper, but the Yeshua heard every word.  Yeshua touched her arm.  Avi stood.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Avi said, “for I have received endless joy on this day and forever.  All is now well with my soul.”

Avi’s spirit confirmed what her heart had wrestled with for quite some time.

As she worked on the garment, a burning grew inside her, driving her, encouraging her, guiding her hands until she finished.

Now, in this moment, gazing upon the Messiah, everything in her was complete and fully satisfied.

Point of Interest:  Just as Ahijah tore his clothes into twelve pieces to represent the twelve tribes of Israel, depicting the division of the kingdom (I Kings 11:29-39); Christ’s seamless undergarment represents one robe in which we are all clothed and cannot be torn apart.

 

Donna B. Comeaux has been writing for the Ruby for Women Magazine (http://rubyforwomen.com) since 2013.  In 2014, Donna wrote devotionals for Hopeful Living, a publication designed to encourage senior citizens, and for Believer Life.  Her website is located at:  www.awriterfirst.wordpress.com.  Not only will you find other inspirational stories on her website, you will also find tips for writers, devotionals, and a few of Donna’s political views as well. Donna and her husband, Glenn, have two grown sons and eight grandchildren.  They reside in Oklahoma.

 

 

 

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“A Glorious Dark” by A.J. Swoboda – a celebration of Easter – book review by Michele Morin

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"A Glorious Dark" celebrates the Easter storyFor years I celebrated Easter as if it were a stand-alone holiday, singing “Up from the Grave He Arose” without giving much thought to the horror of the Dying or the silence of the Dead. Providentially, my early efforts to incarnate and to enliven an invisible God in the hearts of four sweet boys found a way into the obtuse heart of their mother as well.

Therefore, this Lenten season, I will be re-reading A Glorious Dark, a book about believing which confronts the loss and defeat of Friday and the awkward silence of Saturday with Easter Sunday morning resurrection truth. Where memoir meets theological pondering, author A.J. Swoboda’s story winds through his faith journey, with the bonus of startling spotlight quotes which he aims at himself and at all of us who say that we believe.

Here’s one of the dozen or more:  “Many envision faith as a kind of hall pass for laziness, excusing them from a life of action, doing, and working hard.”  Ouch and amen.

What we believe about one weekend in history, the three days’ journey from Golgotha to the garden tomb, impacts our whole experience of the Christian life. A Glorious Dark challenges the reader to enter into Friday, to “own up to our part of the evil in the world.” This involves trusting for the lavish grace to have our emptiness filled, our requests denied, and our fatherlessness remedied by the Father. On Friday, we turn our faces away from our “sponge” of choice and embrace our identity as pilgrims, lifelong seekers of the will and the voice of God.

With candor, Swoboda describes the bleak-hearted rising of post-crucifixion Saturday, and because much of the Christian life is lived under Saturday-like conditions, it is helpful to hear that we must “sit in Saturday;” we must “squat in the tomb” in order to enter into the grief and disappointment of the original disciples. Saturday is our opportunity to remember our own mortality, to remember that we live with Jesus in his death. On Saturday, we evict ourselves from the center of the universe by “embracing the gift of waiting,” and by mourning our failure to see others and their grief.

Resurrection Sunday not only verifies all that Jesus claimed, but it points to his future coming, the ultimate surprise which will serve to further verify all that we hold true. As the church meets to celebrate the resurrection every Sunday, we also reenact the resurrection, celebrating the mystery with “people we normally wouldn’t love, [who] breathe down our necks, [but who] hold our feet to the fire of our beliefs.” Sunday faith perseveres when my theology cannot account for the chaos I see around me.

A Glorious Dark reveals a God who “stand[s] tall” above human history and invites (rather than scorns) the questioning heart.  After all, of the thirty-one questions Jesus posed in the Gospels, He answered only three. When God does not break into history to rectify the list of problems set forth in my latest memorandum/prayer, it will be helpful to remember the messy way in which that one weekend in history played out for those who were on the scene. Once again, the life of Jesus will be made manifest, a glorious life emerging from a glorious dark.

 

Michele Morin is a teacher, blogger, reader, and gardener who finds joy in sitting at a table surrounded by women with open Bibles.  She has been married to an unreasonably patient husband for nearly 27 years, and their four children are growing up at an alarming rate. She blogs at Living Our Days because “the way we live our days will be, after all, the way we live our lives.”

“Senseless” by Thea Williams

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My neighbor’s dog was deaf and blind. She started out with hearing and vision, but age took its toll on this “short person in a fur coat.”


We knew this beige, wide-eyed shih tzu for 13 years. Her name was Dusty Miller, and she comforted everyone in our family at one time or another. When my father lay weak and helpless on what would become his death bed, Dusty curled up at his feet. When my sons had a bad day at school, they went down the street and scooped up Dusty. 


In her later years, Dusty found the most enjoyment from being in familiar surroundings because she was minus two of her senses. We carried her up and down stairs and guided her in safe directions when walking. 

 

One night towards the end of her life, I took Dusty out to “do her business” so her “mommy,” Anita, could do some business of her own. As usual, I steered her around obstacles and out of harm’s way, nudging her onto grassy surfaces so she could do her thing. I watched with great interest as Dusty circled and sniffed and even poked her whole face into the earth beneath her. 


She was compensating for what she didn’t have, calling on her senses of touch and smell to make up for that which she lacked. 


Like Dusty, I’m playing hurt at the moment. Breathing trouble secondary to a bad case of flu sent me to the hospital yesterday in the wee hours of the morning. Technology problems have me in a tizzy, spending many hours and dollars on computer snafus which an end user like me just doesn’t cotton to. In short, life on life’s terms isn’t pleasing me right now.


What’s a girl to do? Here I am, trying to serve the Lord with my writing talents, and I’m running into stop signs. But we don’t sit at stop signs endlessly, do we? We pause, evaluate our surroundings, and use our best judgment to move ahead when an appropriate amount of time has passed. 


That’s just what God’s been guiding me to do. He’s assuring me He’s in control, despite appearances to the contrary. He’s instructing me to move forward in any direction that’s not blocked, making headway wherever possible. This article is the first step in that direction.


Like Dusty, I’m figuring out how to work around my deficiencies, and not let them render me senseless.

 

“If there is first a willing mind, it is accepted according to what one has, and not according to what he does not have.” 

2 Corinthians 8:12

Thea Williams’s short story, “Phoenix,” appears in 50 Over Fifty: A Celebration of Established and Emerging Women Writers. Her work appears in Focus on the Family Magazine and Al Anon’s The Rap. Subscribe to Thea’s blog at www.reflectionsbythea.blogspot.com  By day, Thea educates and prays for young minds at a local school district. Contact Thea at https://www.facebook.com/thea.williams.16 or https://www.youtube.com/user/theabwilliams.

“I Am Waiting” by Suzane Avadiar

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Have you ever waited??

For someone . . . for something . . . for the next step . . . for healing . . .for breakthroughs and miracles . . for life to happen? I think at least once in our life, we all experience a season of waiting; I know I have.

At times, my season of waiting reminded me of the winters in Minnesota – perpetual and in sub-zero temperatures! Still, I was constantly finding pockets of warm relief and burning hope in Jesus and it kept me going.

Until not too long ago when I hit a frozen wall and felt the chill right down to my bones…

I still don’t quite know what happened but suddenly I felt encumbered by the weight of waiting. I felt snowed in and all at once, my season of waiting simply became too excruciating.

And the disquiet began; the 3am restlessness in bed that allowed panic and anxiety to arrest me, as I grappled with the unknown.

The fear that would only subside when sadness stopped by to lull me back to sleep.

The constant need to put on my “game face” so I wouldn’t inconveniently break down in random places or worse still, let people see my fragile interior.

Because that was my true state – I was fragile. I was struggling. Plain and simple. I believed God had forgotten me and His Word that promised me that “He will never leave me nor forsake me” threatened to become a mere theory.

My head grasped His Words but my heart resisted it – because my reality did not reflect it.

I began to allow my fear of the unknown and the uncertainty, which accompanies a season of waiting, to push God’s Word back into that tomb.

Only He could resurrect it again in my heart.

Then one day during my draught, when the usual silence deafened my ear, I heard something that felt like a punch in my gut. I had just come home and as I turned the key into my door, I heard:

“If I do not give you anything else, will you still love me? Or will you fall out of love with me?”

I knew it was God because I heard those words in first person and the writer in me knew enough to know that they weren’t my words or my thoughts.

I collapsed to the floor and broke down in wailing tears! All I could think of at that moment was that I broke my Father’s Heart!

And I said, without flinching or thinking and with all the conviction I could muster, “I don’t want anything else Lord. Just you. You are enough. I’m sorry.”

And finally, for the first time, I fully understood what it meant to say that Christ is enough. I got it and more importantly, my heart got it!

Not a whole lot has changed since that day. That season is not yet over. I am still waiting, but I’ve come to realize that SO IS HE!

Not unlike the time when He waited for Noah to complete the ark. While Noah took what must have felt like an eternity to build the ark, probably under scrutiny and scornful gazes, God had patiently waited.

He could have snapped a finger and built the ark in an instant to accomplish what He needed to do on earth. After all, He was eager enough to start, afresh but He didn’t.

God waited.

He waited for Noah to build the ark in his own time because He needed to accomplish something in Noah, too.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” – Romans 8:28

Centuries later, my Abba is still waiting. The great I AM is waiting – this time for me.

Waiting for me to take my eyes off what I don’t yet have and set my gaze back on what I do have – Jesus.

Waiting for me to let Him do what He needs to do in me during this season of waiting, so I will be ready for where He is leading me.

He is waiting for my transformation to be made complete and for me to wholly step into all that He has called me to be.

Just knowing that He too is waiting for me, makes me eagerly say, “Take this too Abba. Take my waiting.”

Because the truth is, the winter of waiting is a burden that’s too heavy to bear alone and giving it to Jesus so I can be still, and rest in Him makes the walk lighter and the wait warmer.

Have you been waiting? What does your season of waiting feel like?

 

Suzane Avadiar is a freelance writer, cat-lover and avid traveler. Over the last 16 years, she has written extensively for various publications and companies in the global marketplace. Writing is not only her full-time job but also her passion and instrument of worship. She now writes solely about her faith and has a deep desire to reveal the heart of God through her writings. Suzane writes daily devotions on social media for her church, C3 Subang and is currently completing her first book, Sent to Journey – a Devotional for Travelers. She blogs at www.senttojourney.wordpress.com and resides in Malaysia.

“Secret Admirer” by Pat Jeanne Davis

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“Maybe your secret admirer will shovel you out again tomorrow.”

Trudi laughed at her mother’s words. “That’s as likely as a snow angel coming to my aid.” She didn’t know who’d shoveled their driveway this morning, but it couldn’t be an admirer.

Trudi crossed the living room to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes. She swiped the sleeve of her terry robe down the misty pane and gazed out. “Ray’s attending a conference for another day, and he’s already extended the date for my proposal. So snow or no snow, the deadline is tomorrow.”

She watched large flakes drift down against the street light. Ray hired her three months ago. He was a wonderfully easy-going boss and one of those rare single men that she got along with well. If only he could see her as more than a co-worker. Trudi dropped the curtain and made her way back to the kitchen table.

Her mother leaned forward and touched her arm, as though reading her thoughts. “You know what they say, dear, about good things coming to those who wait.” She patted Trudi’s hand in beat with her usual advice –“Don’t give up hope.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Trudi wanted to believe in that promise. But how much longer before Ray noticed her? She stood and gave her mother a hug. “Need to turn in if I’m going to get up an hour earlier.”

The next morning Trudi rolled over, opened one eye and hit the alarm button. She pulled the covers over her head, before remembering that she needed to get up immediately. Hoisting herself out of bed, she walked to the window and mentally prepared herself for the job outside.

Trudi pulled up the blind. A man, his back toward her, shoveled the last of the snow cover blanketing the driveway. She rapped on the pane, hoping to capture his attention. But he didn’t look up.

She wanted to find out about him, but she needed to get to work. A snow angel could come in all disguises—even that of a thoughtful neighbor.

Pulling her car into the parking lot of her office, Trudi noticed it stood empty except for one other vehicle.

She pulled alongside the car, spotting a snow shovel in the back seat, its broad blade glistening wet.

The driver—wearing a navy jacket, white scarf and cable-knit cap—stepped out as she approached him. “Looks like we’re the first to arrive.”           

Where have I seen him before?

The stranger extended his hand. “Name’s Ben.”

“Trudi. Human Resources,” she said, releasing her hand from his. “Some snow!”

“Yeah, sure is. Any trouble getting here?”

“No. Thanks to a kind stranger who shoveled me out.”

Ben blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “Freezing, isn’t it? Look, I’m off to grab some coffee. Can I buy you one?”

“No thanks . . . Ben. Gotta get upstairs.” Ray was counting on her.

He gave a broad smile. “Maybe another time soon.”

Ben held the door open, and they entered the lobby.

Before she could ask him what floor he worked on, he’d ducked into the coffee shop.

Trudi stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the top floor. Dropping her proposal on the secretary’s desk, she crossed her fingers and hoped Ray would be proud of her efforts.

The next day, her heart flip-flopped when she entered Ray’s office and saw him sitting behind his desk.

He looked up. “Have a minute?” he said, gesturing to a chair. Our department head e-mailed me last night to say he’s impressed with your work.” He grinned. “You put a lot into it, Trudi, and it’s paid off.”

Her knees weak with relief, she sank into the chair.

Ray brought his chair around his desk and sat next to her. “You’ve scored with management, you know.”

But have I scored with you, too? Is the waiting over?

He drew his chair closer. “I think you’re in line for a change of status.

”You mean a job promotion?” It wouldn’t hurt, but she mainly longed for a change of status with him.

He placed an arm over the back of her seat. “Yes, a promotion.”

The brush of his arm against her skin caused her to grow warm.

Ray leaned closer and locked his sapphire blue eyes with hers. “This calls for celebration.”

She bit her lip to contain her excitement.

His whisper brushed her ear. “Could we go out tomorrow evening?”

Could they ever!

She swallowed down her shout of joy. “Sounds good.”

Trudi saw Ben’s tall frame in the doorway. He knocked and walked into the office. “You wanted to see me, Boss?”

Ray winked. “Tomorrow night, then.”

Ben cleared his throat. “I can come back.”

Ray leaned back against his chair. “Trudi, this is Ben. He’ll be working with me for a while.”

She nodded. “We introduced ourselves yesterday. Welcome aboard.”

Ben smiled. “Thanks.”

Trudi stood. “If that’s all for now. . .” She had only until tomorrow evening to wait for something more.

She paused outside the doorway when she heard Ben say, “When you discovered I lived on Trudi’s street and asked me to shovel her drive, I didn’t expect her to be so attractive.”

Ray laughed. “Or that I was seriously interested in her.”

Ben continued, “I tried to get to know her, but it seems Trudi’s had her eyes on you the whole time despite my hard work.”

Trudi smiled. In a roundabout way she’d already thanked Ben in the parking lot. He may have dug her out, but he was only a courier for her admirer.

Hadn’t Mom said good things happen to those who wait?

“Message received, Ray, loud and clear,” she said to herself.

 

Pat Jeanne Davis writes from her home in Philadelphia, Pa. She is married and mom to two sons. Pat loves to work in her flower garden and travel. She has completed two historical inspirational novels and is represented by Leslie H. Stobbe and is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. She loves to hear from her readers. Please visit her at www.patjeannedavis.com

“Patches of Fog” by Judith Vander Wege

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Patches of Fog by Judith Vander Wege

“Patches of fog won’t hold up under sun.” I clipped this intriguing phrase out of a newspaper, pondering its meaning.

“Patches of fog” reminded me of the confusion and depression I’d experienced.

“Lord, give me clear sailing,” is what I often cry when I feel the fog’s so thick I’d really rather die.

Then, just for a moment, He’ll cause the fog to lift.

But He says, “My grace, sufficient, is the greater gift.

“When at last, you’ve stood the test,”

He gently lets me know, “you’ll receive the crown of life. The trials help you grow.

God didn’t abandon me in the fog; He sent sunshine to penetrate it and break it up. “Patches of fog won’t hold up under sun” became a promise to me that eventually the depression and confusion would be gone. Like most promises, it is linked with responsibility.

I had to choose whether or not to expose my “fog” to the sun.

God revealed underlying attitudes of rebellion, self-righteousness and resentment.  As I confessed these, (i.e. “laid them out in the sun”), He forgave me and cleansed me of them.

God sent His sunshine through other Christians, also. They prayed and talked with me—when I sought them out. I could feel His light and warmth driving away the fog as I attended worship services, sang praises, prayed, read my Bible, and listened to Christian music. The sun couldn’t shine on me if I hid in a cubby hole. I needed to get out into the sunshine to let it warm me and lighten my heart.

Some fog seemed endless. However, God works in fog as well as in light. The Psalmist mentions God riding on the clouds. Perhaps I needed to experience it in order to call out to God. When I called to Him in my distress, God delivered me and began to work out His loving purpose in me.

The Psalmist says, “The LORD does whatever pleases him, in the heavens and on the earth, …. He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth; he sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from his storehouses,” (Psalm 135:6-7, NIV).

These verses say to me, “When your world is coming to an end, God is the one who makes it foggy and scary and bitterly cold.” Why would He do this? He must have a good reason. I came to realize I’d been clinging to some idols. Other people, my emotional needs, my natural desire to be loved and appreciated, had become more important to me than obedience to God. He knows it is best for us to worship Him alone. It took a storm to rip me away from idols to which I had clung.

Jesus came to me in my cloud of depression and confusion, warming my emotions with reassurances of love. This sunlight gradually broke my fog into patches and drove it away. Now, if I hit a patch of confusion or depression, I turn to God, exposing my heart to His sunlight through His Word, prayer, worship, or Christian fellowship. Soon the fog is gone.

“Patches of fog won’t hold up under sun;” they disappear.

 

Judith Vander Wege: I’m a Christian Writer, Composer, Bible Study Leader, child of God and follower of Jesus Christ. I’ve had nearly 300 short manuscripts published in such magazines as The Quiet Hour, ALCW Scope, Standard’s Devotions, Aglow, Evangel, Foursquare World Advance, Live, Power for Living, Vision, The Lutheran, Upper Room, Light From the Word, and Columbia Basin Herald. You can read more of my bio on my web site’s “about” page at judithvanderwege.org or .com. I have a Facebook page at Facebook.com/JudithVanderWege

 

 

“February” by Thea Williams

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A deceptively warm February 40 years ago saw my beloved father experiencing a near-fatal heart attack. I can never forget learning, after enjoying an overnight visit with a school friend, how my mom, hands full with three minor children, no job or even driver’s license, elected to leave me an extra day in the company of relative strangers while she dealt with the crisis. I remained there, blissfully unaware that my dad lay critically ill as I dressed Barbie dolls.

Fast forward 20 years to February 1991. I shivered on a cold gurney, awaiting surgery which would remove the remains of my unborn child, who had died before ever leaving the womb. Although the calendar said I was only 14 weeks pregnant, this baby already had a name – Abigail – and a huge place in my now broken heart. In short, I was devastated. I remember desperately waiting for the calendar page to turn so I could shudder off the cold, bleak month that had claimed my daughter’s life.

In February 2003, my precious mother took her last breaths, following years of frail health. Metastasized cancer diagnosed the previous fall caught us all off guard, and swept her away from us in less than three months.

While it stings to revisit all this sorrow, I find great comfort in recalling God’s mercy during those desolate periods. In wandering through each pain-filled song of my life, I find ample evidence of amazing grace rippling through every aching chord.

After Dad’s heart attack my sister Jane, whose goodness is rivaled only by her practicality, bought Mom driving lessons, rendering her less dependent on her ailing husband. Dad mercifully remained with us another 30 years, longer than any male in his immediate family, although his health was irreparably damaged. He was blessed with good quality of life, thanks to the grace of God and the benefits of 20th century medicine. He lived to see all seven of his grandchildren grow out of diapers and into their school years. The realization that we almost lost him made him that much dearer in our eyes.

While nothing could bring back my Abby, family and friends rallied to bind up my wounds. My sister Jo Ann, herself ready to deliver her second child, realized the seeming unfairness and understood why I couldn’t bring myself to visit newborn Madelyn when she arrived March 1. Instead of insisting I celebrate my new niece, Jo and her husband Scott, whom I consider a brother, sent me a glorious begonia with coral blossoms that reminded me life could still bloom even in the starkest winter.

 

For her part, my sister Roz took me out for an expensive haircut, with the thought that a new look might bring a smile to my tear-streaked face. Best of all, the following February found me weeks away from cradling my own darling Aaron, who made his entrance March 16, 1992. Five years later, almost to the day, his precious brother, Ethan, came on the scene. February, indeed, gave way to marvelous March.


When Mom was in the last stages of her illness, Jane packed up her suitcases and nursing skills and boarded a flight home across the country. She made it in time to tend our mother and say goodbye. Roz’s husband Tom, also more brother than brother-in-law, came to the rescue, hauling Mom’s debilitated body up when she would slip down in her hospital bed.

In the aftermath, I cried on the phone with my counselor while emptying Mom’s closet. That dear lady wouldn’t take a cent for our phone session. A neighbor who had never before been kind cleared snow from our driveway, and others we barely knew showed up to her memorial service. We didn’t get through unscathed, but neither were we forsaken.

 

In every season of grief, almighty arms held my family and me high above an abyss of uncertainty and pain. Those arms aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

 

“The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath 

are the everlasting arms.”

Deuteronomy 33:27

Thea Williams’s short story, “Phoenix,” appears in 50 Over Fifty: A Celebration of Established and Emerging Women Writers. Her work appears in Focus on the Family Magazine and Al Anon’s The Rap. Subscribe to Thea’s blog at www.reflectionsbythea.blogspot.com  By day, Thea educates and prays for young minds at a local school district. You can also contact Thea on her FB page. Thea is a regular contributor to RUBY magazine.

“The Plight of the Powerless” by Michele Morin

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Muttering under my breath, I cleaned up the mess that is called “party food.”  Where to put it all?

Refrigerator?  Full!
Cupboards?  Full!

My grouching escalated into a claustrophobic “ti-rage” about my cramped life until, in the quietness of loading the dishwasher, I realized that I had been complaining about one thing:  abundance.

Turn it around, soul!

Instead of cursing the full fridge and the pans falling out of the cupboard, try this:

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits,” (Psalm 103:1).

Comfortable, secure, my sheltered heart has no idea what it is to live the life of the powerless.

As Nehemiah chapter five begins, three groups of people appeal to Nehemiah with their sad situation:

Group One:  Families with no land who need grain to survive.  Perhaps their work on the wall had interfered with their livelihood.

Group Two:  Land owners who have had to mortgage their fields to provide for their families but cannot repay their debt because of famine conditions in the land.

Group Three:  Those who had borrowed heavily to pay Persian taxes (leaden tax tables demanding as much as 40-50%!) and have had to sell their children into slavery because of this indebtedness.  To make matters worse, the oppressors/lenders/mortgage holders/slave owners are their own countrymen, fellow Israelites.

All three groups are coming from a position of powerlessness.  There is a unique fear that only the powerless experience.  Most of us have no knowledge of it, but, like Nehemiah, we must find the courage to look at it squarely, for it is all around us.

I’ve been praying from the Southwell Litany these days.  You can Google it and see that it’s a helpful prayer for a mum’s heart (although I’m pretty sure that George Ridding had bigger things in mind when he wrote it back in the 19th century).  It asks:

” . . . from the weakness of moral cowardice, save us and help us, we humbly beseech Thee,  O Lord.”

If we slip the bands of “moral cowardice” for a moment and look too intensely and for too long at the plight of the powerless, we might find that we need to make some uncomfortable adjustments.  A series by R.C. Sproul has been one of my resources in studying Nehemiah.  He cites the startling statistic that only 4% of evangelicals actually tithe.  I know that I was startled when I heard it because, in my notes, just to make sure that  I got it, I wrote the converse:  96% do not tithe.  The most prevalent reason stated for not tithing was this:  “I can’t live at my current lifestyle and tithe.”

Like the people of God in Nehemiah’s day, we find the glory of God to be too costly.  With extravagant and prophetic gestures (5:12, 13), Nehemiah calls the remnant  back to the Law of God, or as Derek Kidner says in his commentary,  to “making gifts, not loans.”  Nehemiah, by his own example, calls Jerusalem to move beyond generosity and into radical sacrifice.   Verses 17 and 18 give us a peek into Nehemiah’s private journal where he records that 150 people sat at his table on a regular basis and were fed at his expense.  As governor of Jerusalem, he was entitled to a salary and an expense account, but he took neither.  Seeing that it would have been a burden for the people to care for him, he cared for them instead.

This is integrity.  Nehemiah looked at his own possessions and at the powerless and desperate situation of his brothers and sisters and concluded, “I have enough.  I don’t need more possessions.  I don’t need to be more comfortable than I already am.”  Surrounded by people who love me, by warmth and comfort and convenience and plenty, Lord, banish me from the center of my universe.  Open my eyes and my heart to the needs of the powerless.  “From the weakness of moral cowardice, save us and help us, O Lord.”

Michele Morin is a writer and blogger from Maine, where she writes about books she is reading, and God’s grace she receives daily. She is the wife of a patient husband, and mum to four rowdy guys. You can connect with Michele and read more of her inspirational posts, book reviews, and devotionals on her blog, Living Our Days.

“His Hands” by Alisha Ritchie

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Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious hands. Isaiah 41:10 NLT

 On August 24, 1996, I married my soul mate, Brandon, in front of all of our family and friends. As I walked toward him down the long aisle of the church, butterflies swarmed in my stomach. My palms grew sweaty as I realized every eye in the sanctuary was on me at that precise moment. I smiled as I glided along but on the inside, my nerves threatened to conquer me.

Proceeding with the ceremony, we bowed together in prayer at the kneeling bench. As we knelt there, eyes closed, heads down, and hearts open, my hands started to tremble. In the midst of the preacher’s eloquent blessing prayer, Brandon reached over and placed his hand over top of my right hand. He squeezed my palm and kept his hand there throughout the rest of our time on the bench.  He spoke no words, but it was as if he was saying to me by his gentle touch,” It’s ok, I’m here for you.  Don’t be nervous. Everything will work out fine. I’m here no matter what.”

His small act of love warmed my hand and my heart. He brought peace with his touch and calmed my anxiety. From that instant, a calmness washed over me as my nerves were pushed to the back pew and my excitement for the future welled up inside me. I knew we were meant to be and his effect on me further proved the point

Throughout our marriage, Brandon’s hands have been there to help calm my nerves and tensions on many occasions. From praying for me, to wiping tears from my eyes, his gentle touch always makes it better. He is always there to take his turn driving the kids to their activities or washing the dishes because I am stressed or too busy to get it all done.

And those hands have shared in an abundance of happy moments, too. They were there to cradle both of our newborn babies closely to his chest. They shoot basketballs with my son and hit volleyballs to my daughter.

They toss sticks to our rowdy dog as he playfully fetches them. They hold me close as we celebrate birthdays and anniversaries. They guide me on beautiful walks on the beach and in the forest as we hike to see waterfalls. They teach small group Bible studies at church and type on the computer countless hours to provide for our little family.

Brandon is faithful to always be there, no matter what- just as he “said” to me with his graceful hands on our wedding day.

God is a lot like that. He is always available to help me with His trustworthy guidance…any day, any hour, any second. He promises in Isaiah to provide strength and assistance when I’m struggling. He desires to calm my fears and give peace with His presence. He gives hope with the reassurance in my relationship with Him as my Lord and Savior.

I have confidence in His ability to be victorious over any obstacle. His relentless love constantly pursues me and continues to work personally in my life every day He cares so much about me (and you) that He reaches out to grasp me tightly with His Holy hand when I’m too feeble to stand on my own.

As I think about how God moves in my life, I realize part of God being faithful to His promises in Isaiah is by sending Brandon into my life. He has blessed me with a devoted husband to do life with- through the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful. It’s almost as if Brandon’s hands are an extension of God’s own hands, always there guiding, protecting, and helping.

Take comfort in the knowledge God loves you and wants to share in every part of your life, no matter how big or small. He is dependable and loyal to His Word. He will not fail as you trust Him in every area of your life, giving over all your thoughts, worries, dreams, and hopes to Him. Let the Lord’s hands provide tranquility on your amazing journey of life.

Lord, thank you for being my Lord and Savior and for caring so much that You desire to have a personal relationship with me.  You are steadfast as You share in all the moments of my life, whether good or bad.  Grow my trust in You as I learn to depend on You completely.  In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.

 

Alisha Ritchie writes from North Carolina where she enjoys spending time with her husband, Brandon, of almost twenty years, and two busy but wonderful teenagers, Zack and Abby. She is a Physical Therapy Assistant by profession but in recent years has also become a multi-published author of devotions and inspirational stories to inspire others in their walk with God. You can read more of her writing at www.seekhimdaily.wordpress.com

“Sing like the birds……” by Cynthia Knisley

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Change is around us everywhere!  By now the New Year is well underway, and we remember to write 2017 on our checks and correspondence. Our nation has a new leader who has promised all kinds of change that will affect Americans and countless others around the globe. Change in our personal lives occurs, embodying both joy and pain.

Elementary children grow up and move on to middle school. High schoolers begin to drive and date, and before long they select a college and prepare to live independently. Sweethearts decide to marry and newly-weds begin a family. Now that involves huge change!

If a bundle of joy has arrived at your doorstep recently you know that schedule and household are turned up-side-down, and you wonder if life will ever be the same again. Work assignments change and families sell homes and move to far-off places, leaving behind friends and familiar settings.

Parents suddenly find they live in an empty nest or one spouse decides to leave, or both occur at the same time. Older folks become frail and require new living situations and special care.

There is one thing that is certain in life, and that is change. It can result from conditions that are out of our control or from decisions we make. In either case, change requires adjustment and the way we approach the process determines the outcome.

I recently reached a significant crossroad in my life and discovered that faith played a major role in my ability to reach a decision and to adjust to the result. This is what occurred.  While attending women’s retreat at a beautiful seaside resort I found myself wrestling with a key life choice. Should I retire from a career that I loved?

I had considered the pros and cons for several years. The quiet retreat setting gave me time to pray and suddenly a lovely metaphor came to mind, the words of a pastor some time ago:

“Faith is like the birds that sing joyfully in anticipation of the morning light— in the darkness, before the sun rises.”

Then I knew that God would be with me in the change experience and I could be at peace about it, even though the outcome was still unclear.  I could sing like the birds, in advance, trusting in the unseen, and goodness would follow.

He would be there in the uncharted territory of my new situation.  And He was!  May your faith carry you onward into change and happily into the new adventures on the other side.

 

 

Cindy Knisley:  After years as a “stay-at-home” mom, Cynthia enjoyed a fulfilling second career as a high school language teacher and curriculum developer. Recently, she took a leap of faith and left the classroom in order to devote more time to family—aging parents, adult children, and lively young grandchildren. Her home is in West Chester, PA, where she plays classical music, bakes bread, and tends a “secret garden.” A novice blogger, she welcomes you to her posts at faithtofigs@myblog.com.

“Winter Snowdrops” by Rejetta Morse

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As snow falls from the cloudy skies

the cold winter winds blow

as tiny snowdrops rest below

the soft blanket of snow.

Soon at the bright morning sunrise

cold waters start to flow

from snow that melts above the bulbs

that rest below the snow.

As soon as water wakens them

their sharp green leaves arise

and cuts through frozen snow – they climb –

below the bright sunrise.

Now with a willing heart they weave

their tiny silky heads

through the deep snow – they rise and peek –

their crowns above their beds.

As heat rises from their bodies

the snow melts where they stand

and breathes sweet fragrance of the spring

over the wintry land.

Then they stretch their long green arms

with tiny bells to ring

with white blossoms that dangles from

their arms to welcome spring.

They nod their heads and take a bow

and ring a joyful tune.

As nature wakens as they ring:

“Springtime will be here soon.”

Song of Solomon 2:12

The flowers appear on the earth . . .

Rejetta Morse enjoys writing poetry so she can write about God and how He speaks through nature. Writing poetry is a new found purpose and hobby she discovered over recent years which brings her joy, peace, and encouragement. She also enjoys reading poetry and is working to learn more about the craft of poetry. She spends her free time singing with her church choir and listening to gospel music, watching biographical movies, and encouraging other people. Rejetta is a regular contributor to RUBY magazine.

“Footprints in the Mud: Microwave Mentality vs. a Simmered Soul” by Beth Brubaker

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Life goes too fast.

We get caught in the fast lane of life, taking bits and pieces of God’s Word as we rush by, barely able to taste the goodness given before we zip off to the next task.

It’s so easy to follow in the wake of others in the fast lane.

Have you ever been in one of those above-ground pools and tried to make a ‘whirlpool’ by getting everyone to run/swim in the same direction?

It’s really easy to follow the flow, but try to walk against the whirlpool or slow down? It takes a lot of effort and is almost impossible.

Another example is instant rice. Great for on-the-go eating, but try to make a risotto with it, and all you’ll get is mush. Why? Because you need to simmer the rice slowly as you stir, stir, stir.

You have to simmer the rice as it absorbs the liquid. Instant rice just can’t take that kind of abuse, and dissolves entirely when you try.

Unfortunately, these analogies are also accurate concerning faith in God.

Microwave moments are fine as long as we also have a simmered soul to outlast the busyness.

What is a simmered soul? It’s when you make the time to get to know God in deep prayer, pausing for a minute or three to listen, digging deep into His Word, and discussing scripture when fellowshipping.

Sometimes you need to be chin-deep in His soothing waters before you feel your soul relax.

We can’t do that if we’re too busy to read!

Don’t get me wrong, grabbing God’s blessings here and there is great when we can do it, but it shouldn’t be the only thing keeping us afloat.

I love my prayer droplet moments; those times when I’m too busy to blink, but manage to slip in a prayer here, read a daily verse there, or bless a friend (or they bless me!) with a scripture told in passing or on the phone.

That’s good.

But to make the time to bask in His blessings, to fully understand a verse that had perplexed me, or to have a really great God-talk with a friend? That’s like slipping into a warm, scented bathtub after a really long day. Aaaah.

Much better than a quick shower!

Life can be like instant rice. However we should strive to be more like the risotto- it might take longer, but the spiritual results (and a simmered soul) are worth it!

I know it’s hard. I’ve been there. Sometimes I fall back into the whirlpool and have to swim my way out of it again. That’s why I’m saying make the time, not find the time.

For someone who’s busy (especially us moms!), there is no time to find- we have to put it on our lists or schedule it in somewhere, otherwise it won’t get done.

Microwave moments happen. Just don’t forget to simmer your soul deep within His Word when you can. God loves it when you spend time with Him!

Beth Brubaker, Assistant Editor of RUBY magazine is a humorist poet and songwriter, and her day jobs include homemaking, writing, and paper and fabric arts. Beth’s passion is the written word, and is developing ways of sharing her brand of humor with the world through poems, songs and stories. Don’t miss Beth’s columns and puzzles in every issue of Ruby for Women! You can read Beth’s posts on her blog Footprints in the Mud at http://footprintsinthemudblog.blogspot.com or email her at bethatruby@aol.com.

Images from Pinterest and Pixabay

 

“So Many Voices” by Nina Newton

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Are you listening to so many voices all around you that you can't hear God's voice?

Are you listening to so many voices all around you that you can’t hear God’s voice?

“Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.” James 1:4-5

Technology has changed our lives. Everyone has experienced some of the benefits and blessings of technology, even those who don’t pay much attention to all of the “new-fangled” stuff out here.

Grandmas and Grandpas, although often not even realizing it, benefit from faster communication and information storage and accessibility at the doctor’s office. Grandma might not be on Facebook (or she might be, and you don’t know it!), but her life has been touched by technology.

But we have also experienced the negative side of technology through the explosion of “noise” all around us. It is an amazing thing to be able to click a few links and read a daily devotional or Scripture verse. We have access to Bible studies, Christian communities, and inspirational articles that offer encouragement and guidance.  I often wonder, however, if there is just too much of a good thing.

Because my job is to discover and share insightful and encouraging information wherever God leads, I also frequently come across voices that give me pause, and cause me to ask myself, “Can that be possible?” With the easy accessibility to seemingly unlimited information, don’t you sometimes find that there might just be way too many voices?

There are voices calling you to “Look over here! We’ve got just what you’ve been searching for!” or “99 Ways to Fix Your Marriage,” or “Seven Reasons Why Your Church is Failing.”

The other day as I was reading and doing a bit of research I came across a headline that said something like “Stop Putting Your Family First.” I found that intriguing, partly because that has been a topic of interest to me for many years. Raising children in the church for many years, I discovered that Christian trends come and go, kind of like fashion fads where every season we need something new and different.

I knew families who felt called to the mission field, who would travel to the other side of the world to preach the Gospel to the lost souls on another continent.

They would either raise their children on the mission field in the native environment, or send them off to boarding school, or sometimes they would send their children home to the United States to live with relatives while they went to school.

Then there were families who felt God had called them to invest all of their time, energy, and spiritual gifts into raising their own children, including home schooling them to make sure that the children were prepared to share the Good News of the Gospel with those in their neighborhoods.

And then there were the parents who were just trying to get through a day, making sure they had the resources to feed and clothe their children, keep a roof over their heads, pray with them every morning and tuck them in with a prayer and Bible reading at bedtime. There has always been a variety of ways in which families honor God with their lives, their homes, and their families.

But recently, it seems with the advent of technology, the voices keep coming, louder and more frequently, reminding us that we just aren’t doing it quite right. Information is good. Information overload can be harmful, especially if you are the kind of person who is striving to honor God with your life, and all of this “noise” is confusing you.

Here’s some advice from this Vintage Mama – trust God to guide YOU, find wisdom and guidance from His Word and learn as much as you can. But be careful of all of the voices out here calling you to look this way, and run that way, and second-guess yourself every step of your journey.

God is big enough to let you know when you’ve gotten off track, we really don’t need to be scolded and chastised from every direction we look by those who have it all figured out . . . or do they?

Just a thought. But I’m pretty sure that if you seek God for direction in your life, He will honor His Word, and speak directly into your heart.

Seek God's wisdom and you will hear Him above all the other voices calling you to follow.

Nina Newton is the Senior Editor for RUBY magazine, blog, and community website. She is also a free-lance writer and editor. You can connect with her and read more of her creative and inspirational posts on her blog, Vintage Mama’s Cottage.

“Intentional Love” by Mary Dolan Flaherty

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We love him because he first loved us (1 John 4:19)

February may as well be called the Love month. Valentine’s Day demands that we declare our love to our intended.

Then there’s President’s Day—which is, apparently, the best time to buy a mattress—and who doesn’t love a sale? If you live in a colder climate, the opportunity for snow days abounds. Kids love those.

Moms, maybe not so much.

I love so many things. Should I celebrate them all this month? I love my husband, but I also love ice cream. I love my children, but I have a few favorite television shows that I also love. Are they two different kinds of love?

Merriam-Webster defines love as an unselfish, loyal, and benevolent concern for the good of another. I can apply this to my husband, but maybe not the ice cream. The first is a person. The other is a thing.

And then there’s that word—unselfish. Loyalty , benevolence, and concern are easy. Unselfishness? Not so much. My love too often comes with conditions.

Jesus said, My command is this: love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (John 15: 12-13).

Ah, now we’re getting to the meat of love. I’d lay my life down for my children, but not for a television show.

That’s real love. It’s easy when the spouse, child, parent, or friend is lovable.

But what about the hard-to-love? The belligerent child? The angry spouse? The needy friend? The aging parent with dementia? The negative co-worker or demanding supervisor?

That’s when we need to love with intention. We need to love them like Jesus loves us. After all, He made the ultimate sacrifice. He laid his life down for you and me—and for each one of those difficult to love people—when we didn’t deserve it.

And He commands us to do the same both for those who are easy to love, and those we feel don’t deserve our love.

We may not have to literally lay our life down, but we are often asked to sacrifice something just as important—time. And that’s where selfishness rears its ugly head.

Some folks are a challenge to love, and I’d rather not. Like the elderly curmudgeon who comes to my office each month to pay his bill—and complains about it every time.

But when I took the time to listen, I discovered that when he was young, he wanted to serve his country and wasn’t accepted in the service because of a medical condition.

And that his wife had recently suffered a stroke, and he didn’t feel she had gotten the care she needed because she was old.

“No one cares about old people,” he told me. “They’d just as soon let them die.”

By tossing him aside because he was a grumpy old man, wasn’t I doing the same?

Among all the fruits of the Spirit listed in Galatians 5, love is the first (v22).

Maybe it’s because it’s the most important. Perhaps it should be the easiest. Or at least, the most obvious. Or, maybe it’s because God is love (1 John 4:8).

If God is in us, then we ought to love others. It should be easy. Natural. Intentional. But our selfish desires get in the way.

We don’t want to invest the time. Or give up the things we love. We’d rather watch our favorite television show than meet our lonely friend for coffee.

We’d rather hit that mattress sale than prepare a meal for the neighbor who just had surgery. We’d rather tell the curmudgeon to mail his payment than listen to his griping.

But we are told in the preceding verses that if we live by the Spirit we will not gratify the desires of the sinful nature (Gal 5:16), and guess what one of the fruits of the sinful nature is?

Selfish ambition (v 20).

Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit (v25). Let us crucify that sinful nature and love intentionally. Let us take the time to listen, to care, to love.

You’ll sleep better at night. Of course, it could be that new mattress.

Mary Dolan Flaherty is a quirky gal who loves to encourage people and make them laugh. She writes and speaks with self-deprecating humor and transparency, saying what most people think but won’t admit.  She lives in New Jersey with her husband, whom she affectionately calls Hubbles, and has two grown children and two grand-dogs. Mary enjoys hiking, theatre, music, gardening, and traveling and can be found blogging at SonRiseInsights.blogspot.com