Goffee
by Joyce Londorf
a time of sadness and anxiety, but for you (and many in like circumstances) you can shout to the roof tops, “ This is the day the Lord hath made and I shall be glad and rejoice in it!” Our love, Joyce and Dick Landorf T H E TH O R N I stood, a mendicant of God Before His royal throne, And begged Him for one priceless gift For me to call m y own. I took the gift from out His hand, But as I would depart I cried, “ But, Lord, this is a thorn, And it has pierced my heart.” “ This is a strange and hurtful gift Which Thou hast given me.” He said, “ Nay, child, I give good gifts, And gave m y best to thee.” I took it home, and though at first The cruel thorn hurt sore, As long years passed I grew at last T o love it more and more. " I ’LL T E L L MY FA TH ER O N YO U !” It was one humdinger o f a fight by any standard. The scene of battle was a smooth dichondra lawn in the middle of our block. Restraining an urge to interfere, I watered our lawn — and watched. Plainly, the two eight-year- olds were not on friendly terms, and judging from the wrestle and. tussle I doubted that a genuine friendship would soon develop! I was beginning to think the battle would never end, but three solid blows and one bloody nose later, “ Little Los er” threw in the towel and limped down the street toward his own house. Then just before he opened his front door, he clenched his fist and shouted, “ I’ll tell my father on you, you big bully!” I had a feeling he meant it. “ Big Bully,” however, gave no indica tion of disturbance. He sat on the cool I learned He never gives a thorn Without this added grace; He takes the thorn to pin aside The veil which hides His face! — Martha Snell Nicholson
lawn, proud as punch, drinking in his glorious victory. Then all of a sudden it happened. “ Little Loser,” true to his threat, walked out of his house and down the street with his father — a dad who stood over six feet tall and tipped the scale at 200 pounds. Hand-in-hand they walked, slowly, steadily. Quite obvious ly “ Little Loser” had lost every trace of fear. “ Big Bully” gulped. He quaked. Like a streak of jagged lightning, he was on his feet and out of sight. Oh, for a camera at that precise moment to catch the smile of triumph as “ Little Loser” looked up into the serene face of his father! But who needs a camera to catch a glimpse of the smile of subtle Satan? He is always active, always present. A “ Big Bully” or masked as an “angel of light,” he booby-traps us every time. He burglarizes us. He waves his wand of depression and fear and doubt over our minds. He thwarts and antagonizes and pricks. He counterfeits. He neatly attempts to convince us of his non existence. He delights when we belittle his power. He is the master of camou flage. He plagues us with doubt and apprehension and envy and pride. He charges with super-strength, often des troying our poise and perspective. He buffets and harasses until (like “Little Loser” ) we are forced to shameful de feat. We simply cannot match him! Nor can we lift a finger against him. We fight against principalities and powers, not against flesh and blood. God’s Word makes it vividly clear how powerless we are in ourselves. I am. You are. And often we must learn the great truth through painful experience. What are we to do? We have but one choice, hut we need no other! Rec ognizing Satan’s power, acknowledging his divisive methods in our lives, our homes, in our churches, on our cam puses, in our nation, we must put on God’s protective armor (Eph. 6) and boldly proclaim, “ I’ll tell my Father on you!” Then, with our hand in our Fa ther’s, we must look into His face and tell Him all about it, rejoicing that He is our safety, our protection, our Vic tor! It was settled once and for all at the Cross! He who is within us is great er than he who is in the world (I John 4:4). “Satan, I’ll tell my Father on you!”
AN OPEN LETTER TO JEAN y dear J e a n , Here we are surrounded by many sources which cause us to pause and, in this Thanksgiving month, praise our Lord. Yet I can think of several reasons why your heart is not able to rejoice. In fact, I can easily list some reasons why you should panic. 1) You have just been told by doc tors that you have cancer. 2) It’s been a little over two years since you anguished by the side of your dearest friend and co-worker (my mother, Marion Miller) and later, wept at her coffin. 3) Marion’s symptoms, disease and surgery, are quite identical to yours. Now, while I know, humanly speak ing, you should panic, I also know why you won’t: 1) You know by past tests, trials and hard places, that the greater the stress and tragedy, the greater the impact of God’s power and love toward us. You saw this in Marion’s life. The more the disease devoured her, the more God shone through. 2) You are also, just now, finding as we all do when faced with a life or death situation, that material posses sions ( those things we all think are so terribly important) are really of very little consequence and once you see this, you begin to open your heart to the people around you and you see them as never before. 3) The biggest reason that you’ll not panic is simply this; now you have a first-hand opportunity to put your faith in Christ to its most extensive challenge. Romans 8:28 will speak eloquently to your troubled heart; the 23rd Psalm will be as a cool, soothing balm to your ravaged nerves; James 1:12 will stand out from the Scriptures like a bright and shining crystal prism of hope. When the road gets particularly rough and you instinctively know others are not holding you up in prayer as much as they did at first, the truth of James 4:6 will dawn on you so completely you’ll smile and wonder why it took you so long to understand it. Oh, dear Jean, you have our love, our prayers and our confidence that others will see God working through you. This Thanksgiving day, for those who do not have the hope in Christ, will be
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THE KING'S BUSINESS
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