to the daughter’s church a Christian artist whose melodious voice shook heaven and earth. The daughter spoke thus to herself: “Perhaps this very night the artist will sing my songs. What delirious joy!” The artist sang many songs. He sang with great beauty and power. A holy hush pervaded the sanctuary. However, he sang no songs composed by the daughter. She was painfully depressed. Sitting in silent solitude, she was suddenly aware of the Lord’s presence. At first, the daughter avoided His eyes, but His questions demanded answers: “Daughter, tell me who suffered by not hearing your songs tonight?” “I suppose only I, Lord.” “Were My people left in the wilder ness?” “Oh, no, Lord! They were deeply moved and uplifted.” “Was the Spirit grieved because your songs were not sung?” “He was grieved by my attitude, Lord — only that.” “Did you thank Him for the com posers of the beautiful songs you heard?” “You know I did not, Lord.” “Did you pray for the artist as he song?” “Lord, I should have, but I was too occupied with thoughts of myself.” “What was your answer to my ques tion when we sat at the piano together that day?” “Must I remember, Lord?” “Can you forget, my daughter?” “Lord, I said I longed for my songs to reveal Your matchless love. Only that.” “Dear daughter, My love must first be revealed in you.” Ashamed and chastened, the daugh ter wept bitterly. Nevertheless, the Lord gently dried her tears, and after ward she reaped the peaceable fruits of righteousness. by Ruth Calkin
Over c^%> Of Coffee I t w a s t h e night before Valentine’s Day this past February. I was very busy bedding down our son Rick who had just skied his way into a broken ankle, so I was unaware of the late hour until the pljone rang. The voice was strangely familiar, yet distant and slightly blurred — “Hon, it’s me, Dick. I’m all right . . . I’m all right . . . please don’t panic . . . I’m all right!” After he told me he was all right five times, I knew my husband was in des perate trouble and certainly, he was not all right. Earlier that evening, as he drove home from his banking class, his car had spun out on the wet freeway, hit the divider fence and when it finally stopped spinning, he found himself hanging out of the car upside down and bleeding heavily from his nose and mouth. Even in the drizzling rain, with his glasses gone and his head almost on the pavement, he could see the on coming cars blinking and slowing down. Finally a man came running toward him. Then a new nightmare began. God had spared his life in the accident only to spare it again at the hands of men who “helped.” Instead of taking my husband home as they said, they decid ed to kidnap, rob and abandon him in a dark wooded area some 20 miles from our home. Later, only by God’s direc tion and intervention, Dick finally found a house and much-needed aid. As we look back on that terrifying experience, we see clearly the hand of God. The men were arrested early the next morning because an alert college student at a local motel cared enough to involve himself. Some weeks later, they pleaded guilty to second-degree robbery and because they had no pre vious record, were released. (I do have a few thousand thoughts on this mat ter of courts and justice, but will not pursue it at this time.) My husband’s life was spared twice within two hours and his wounds have all healed beauti fully. We are so grateful. One of the most intriguing aspects of this whole incident was one we nev er in a million years could have fore seen. After Dick went over the details and the actual route of the accident, kidnap and robbery with the police (five companies were involved because of the distance) they simply did not
by Joyce Landorf
believe any part of it. There were “too many discrepancies.” I guess some men lose all their money in a poker game and don’t want their families to know, or they have been drinking, and then were involved in a hit-and-run accident, so they fake a robbery. Our story was just weird enough to be discredited at all points. During some five hours of waiting, we had the unique experience of tell ing the truth and not being believed. Later, after the men were taken into custody, one of the sheriffs said, “Well, they believe you now!” I’m afraid their belief came too late to be of any com fort to me! I’ve thought back over that night and the events that followed and one thought keeps coming back stronger each day. I know, in some measure, how lonely God must feel. I know what it’s like to tell the truth and not be believed, knowing too, that for many thousands of years God has been tell ing us over and over again in His Word and by His miracles, “Look, I love you. I care for you. I care so much I sent my Son to give His life — so you might live. I love you. This is the truth.” We say, “It’s too incredible. There are too many discrepancies. I can’t believe You.” God a t times must be smitten with anger at our unbelief. Some day, some of us will stand be fore Him and face to face will say, “Lord, NOW I believe You” . . . and He’ll say “It’s too late.” Dear Lord, forgive me for the times I have heard You speak the truth and have refused to believe You. God, help Thou my unbelief. THE PARABLE OF THE COMPOSER A certain daughter was a composer of songs. Sitting with her at the piano one day, the Lord began to question her thus: “Daughter, what is your fondest wish for your songs?” The daughter, with sincere love for her Lord, was quick to respond: “Oh, dear Lord, may the words and music reveal Your matchless love! I ask this and nothing more.” The Lord was content with the daughter’s desire. Looking a t her with compassion He said, “Daughter, hold the words close to your heart.” In the fulness of time there came
MY CERTAINTY I f God be through w ith me, my life shall end No matter how, or where its hours I spend; Bu t i f He yet has tasks for me to do His hand will guide me every danger through. A n d so, I do n o t f e a r , though my way lie Through waters deep, or over mountains high; Secure I lean mil Him, con tent to know Whatever comes, my Fa ther willed it so. L auretta M ertz W alkup
29
JUNE, 1968
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