Two Wolves
One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.
He said, "My son, the battle is between two "wolves" inside us all.
One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather:
"Which wolf wins?" The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."
Directions To Our Father's House
Make a Right onto Believeth Blvd. Keep straight and go through the Green Light, which is Jesus Christ. There, you must turn onto the Bridge of Faith , which is over troubled water. When you get off the bridge, make a Right turn and Keep Straight. You are on the King's Highway - Heaven-bound.
Keep going for three miles: One for the Father, One for the Son, and One for the Holy Ghost. Then exit off onto Grace Blvd. From there, make a Right turn on Gospel Lane . Keep Straight and then make another Right on Prayer Road .
As you go on your way, Yield Not to the traffic on Temptation Ave. Also, avoid SIN STREET because it is a DEAD END. Pass up Envy Drive , and Hate Avenue . Also, pass Hypocrisy Street , Gossiping Lane , and Backbiting Blvd. However, you have to go down Long-suffering Lane , Persecution Blvd. And Trials and Tribulations Ave. But that's all right, because VICTORY Street is straight ahead!
Grandma's Hands
Grandma, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the
patio bench. She didn't move, just sat with her head
down staring at her hands. When I sat down beside her
she didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I
sat I wondered if she was OK.
Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but
wanting to check on her at the same time, I asked her
if she was OK. She raised her head and looked at me
and smiled."Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking", she
said in a clear strong voice.
"I didn't mean to disturb you, grandma, but you were
just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted
to make sure you were OK," I explained to her.
"Have you ever looked at your hands?" she asked. "I
mean really looked at your hands?"
I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I
turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I
guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried
to figure out the point she was making.
Grandma smiled and related this story:
"Stop and think for a moment about the hands you
have, how they have served you well throughout your
years. These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled and
weak have been the tools I have used all my life to
reach out and grab and embrace life.
They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I
crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and
clothes on my back. As a child my mother taught me to
fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on
my boots.
They dried the tears of my children and caressed the
love of my life. They wiped my tears when my husband
went off to war. They have been dirty, scraped and
raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy
when I tried to hold our newborn daughter. Decorated
with my wedding band they showed the world that I was
married and loved someone special. They wrote the
letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my
parents and spouse.
They have held children, consoled neighbors, and
shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand. They
have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and
cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky
and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this
day when not much of anything else of me works real
well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again
continue to fold in prayer. These hands are the mark
of where I've been and the ruggedness of my life.
But more importantly it will be these hands that God
will reach out and take when he leads me home. And
with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I
will use these hands to touch the face of Christ."
I will never look at my hands the same again. But I
remember God reached out and took my grandma's hands
and led her home. When my hands are hurt or sore or
when I stroke the face of my children and husband I
think of grandma. I know she has been stroked and
caressed and held by the hands of God. I, too, want to
touch the face of God and feel his hands upon my face.
Moses and Jesus
A burglar broke into a house one night.
He shined his flashlight around, looking for valuables; and when he
picked up a CD player to place in his sack, a strange, disembodied voice
echoed from the dark saying, "Jesus is watching you."
He nearly jumped out of his skin, clicked his flashlight off, and
froze.
When he heard nothing more after a bit , he shook his head, promised
himself a vacation after the next big score, then clicked the light on
and began searching for more valuables. Just as he pulled the stereo out
so he could disconnect the wires, clear as a bell he heard, "Jesus is
watching you."
Freaked out, he shined his light around frantically, looking for the
source of the voice.
Finally, in the corner of the room, his flashlight beam came to rest
on a parrot.
"Did you say that?" he hissed at the parrot.
"Yep," the parrot confessed, then squawked, "I'm just trying to warn
you."
The burglar relaxed. "Warn me, huh? Who in the world are you?"
"Moses," replied the bird.
"Moses?" the burglar laughed . "What kind of people would name their
bird Moses?"
"The kind of people that would name their Rottweiler Jesus."
Christians
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not shouting "I'm clean livin'."
I'm whispering "I was lost,
Now I'm found and forgiven."
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I don't speak of this with pride.
I'm confessing that I stumble
and need Christ to be my guide.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not trying to be strong.
I'm professing that I'm weak
And need His strength to carry on.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not bragging of success.
I'm admitting I have failed
And need God to clean my mess.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not claiming to be perfect,
My flaws are far too visible
But, God believes I am worth it.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I still feel the sting of pain.
I have my share of heartaches
So I call upon His name.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not holier than thou,
I'm just a simple sinner
Who received God's good grace, somehow!
We Is Friends!
Me and you is friends;
You smile....I smile!
You hurt....I hurt!
You cry....I cry!
You jump off bridge....I gonna miss your e-mails!
Many of you have done bible studies written by Beth Moore. She's also a fiesty Texan, wife and mother of two daughters.
This is one of her experiences. (You may have already heard this one.)
HAIRBRUSH EXPERIENCE OF BETH MOORE AT THE AIRPORT
April 20, 2005, at the Airport in Knoxville , waiting to board the plane, I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I'd had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because I want to tell you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego.
I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped over in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins and bones.
The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy, gray hair hung well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails were long, clean but strangely out of place on an old man.
I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my face. As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found myself wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I remembered that he was dead. So this man in the airport...an impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us somewhere? There I sat; trying to concentrate on the Word to keep from being concerned about a thin slice of humanity served on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while, my heart was growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him.
Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern, and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking old man.
I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall. I've learned that when I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen. And it may be embarrassing.
I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my spirit and I started arguing with God in my mind. "Oh, no, God, please, no." I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it into heaven and said, "Don't make me witness to this man. Not right here and now. Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same plane, but don't make me get up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking audience. Please, Lord!"
There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, "Please don't make me witness to this man. Not now. I'll do it on the plane." Then I heard it... "I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to brush his hair."
The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair? No-brainier. I looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, "God, as I live and breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I'm on this Lord. I'm your girl! You've never seen a woman witness to a man faster in your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is not redeemed? I am going to witness to this man."
Again as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word, God seemed to write this statement across the wall of my mind. "That is not what I said, Beth. I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush his hair."
I looked up at God and quipped, "I don't have a hairbrush. It's in my suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair without a hairbrush?" God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk toward him as these thoughts came to me from God's word: "I will thoroughly furnish you unto all good works." (2 Timothy 3:17)
I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself. Even as I retell this story, my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies. I knelt down in front of the man and asked as demurely as possible, "Sir, may I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"
He looked back at me and said, "What did you say?"
"May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"
To which he responded in volume ten, "Little lady, if you expect me to hear you, you're going to have to talk louder than that."
At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, "SIR, MAY I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?"
At which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room looking more peculiar than old Mr. Longlocks.
Face crimson and forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on his face, and say, "If you really want to." Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God didn't seem interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my heart until I could utter the words, "Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But I have one little problem. I don't have a hairbrush." "I have one in my bag, " he responded.
I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly believing what I was doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man's hair. It was perfectly clean, but it was tangled and matted. I don't do many things well, but must admit I've had notable experience untangling knotted hair mothering two little girls. Like I'd done with either Amanda or Melissa in such a condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of the strands, remembering to take my time not to pull.
A miraculous thing happened to me as I started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody else in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments except that old man and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until every tangle was out of that hair. I know this sounds so strange, but I've never felt that kind of love for another soul in my entire life. I believe with all my heart, I - for that few minutes - felt a portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart for a little while like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for a short while.
The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be God's. His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant's.
I slipped the brush back in the bag and went around the chair to face him. I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knees and said, "Sir, do you know my Jesus?"
He said, "Yes, I do." Well, that figures, I thought.
He explained, "I've known Him since I married my bride. She wouldn't marry me until I got to know the Savior." He said, "You see, the problem is, I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had open-heart surgery, and she's been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride."
Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment when we're completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other hand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll never forget it.
Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was deeply ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so proud to have accompanied him on that aircraft.
I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said, "That old man's sitting on the plane, sobbing. Why did you do that? What made you do that?"
I said, "Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!"
And we got to share.
I learned something about God that day. He knows if you're exhausted, you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to move on but you feel too responsible to budge. He knows if you're hurting or feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning under a wave of temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you as an individual. Tell Him your need!
I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how many opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way. . all because I didn't want people to think I was strange. God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.
John 1:14 "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We Have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth."
Be Blessed!
World's Greatest Man
The Greatest Man in History was and is Jesus Christ, He had no servants, yet they called Him Master. Had no degree, yet they called Him Teacher. Had no medicines, yet they called Him Healer. He had no army, yet kings feared Him. He won no military battles, yet He conquered the world. He committed no crime, yet they crucified Him. He died and was buried in a borrowed tomb, yet He lives today. I feel honored to serve such a Leader who loves us!
