I was having a hard weekend and on top of that I was tired of acting how the people around me expected me to. I didn’t want to smile. I didn’t want to talk about God to anyone. I saw no fruit coming out of doing so. I was tired of being “right” and just wanted to be “real.”
Lying on my bed thoughts spewed forth like a word processor. And to be honest, I wanted to write. But I wanted to write something as negative as possible, because that would be me, being “real.”
A storm churned in my sleepless state, I wrote:
I was lying on my bed, trying to rest the heaviest part of my body; my head, When a seriously devastating thought said “What if in a blink, I’m dead? Half of me cautioned “Discontinue!” But I still chose to go ahead. And when I allowed it to dwell, I felt I was clutching a never-ending thread.
In seconds my brain was packed full with questions, I wasted almost half an hour deciding where to begin. All the questions had one thing in common:
WHY DO WE DO THINGS THAT GOD CONSIDERS SIN?
So, the question began, “What was the biggest sin you did today?” This was the easiest one, so I hardly did any delay. To that, I answered, “Disobeying God was one of the ways!”
The second question asked; “Why do our hearts know the truth, but our mind plays games?” To that I answered, “It usually happens when I don’t have a defined aim. Instead of doing the will of my God, I work to benefit my temporary frame.”
As the dialogue continued and the temperature rose, I countered back, “Why can’t happiness be bought from money?” Tongue in cheek, God replied, “Some people are so broke, all they have is money.” My heart, in dissatisfaction, continued to dispute. “God, I follow you, but where is fruit?”
God sighed and replied, (with a gentle rebuke) “Son, if you want an answer, you might have to mute.” I stopped computing and listened intently.
“Son, you bend towards me for only a second. Where are your roots? I made you a true solution but you’ve made yourself dilute. If you want to see the fruits, let me delete all things that pollute.”
Hearing this I said, “God I’m ready for reboot”. Then appeared the million-dollar question; “What if someone else knocks me into a hole? God, you can’t blame me when I had no control!”
To this, he said, “It’s no crime to be knocked down, but a sin if you don’t get up! Half empty or half full, soft knock or hard knock; Do you think life is dished out, just ad hoc?”
Reluctant to sleep I made a last plea, “God give me something strong, I need to hold on!” To this God said “Open up to chapter three, verse sixteen in John.”
After reading, I thanked God for the eternal invite And said, God it’s okay now IF I DIE TONIGHT. Now I understand I’m cleansed by your blood, so from today on, I choose to be REAL rather than right.
The day when my heart starts to turn cold, God, help me rejoice, For I know you are turning this molten heart into solid gold.
I ended my writing and was surprised when I read what I’d wrote! I couldn’t find anything negative in it. Then I remembered that I’m created in God’s image, and when he made me, it was GOOD; negatives never make a POSITIVE.
And that is my reality. He reminded me that my works don’t define me. Instead, I’m the person who’s defined by the blood of Christ.
A free invitation is detailed for you (take a look), John chapter three, verse sixteen (in God’s book).
“AMEN.”
*Ashutosh Pandey is an inspirational writer (and studying to teach Math).
Check the story menu:
Me, God and Suicide
“Guess who wrote to me?” I asked Yip, knowing he’d never guess. “Your sister?” “No. Mayo Clinic!”
I’m not sure how they located me. It’s been over 50 years since my heart surgery in 1961. A time when the concept of computers was akin to science fiction, and mobile phones had yet to be invented. I conceded and filled out the survey. I mused, “They are probably patting each other on the back to discover I’m still alive!”
Sixty years-ago heart surgeries were a new frontier. I was seven years old when the hole in my heart was discovered. It was shock for my parents. (I must add that Dad, who was a doctor, liked to claim some of the credit over its discovery—but only after it all came to a good ending.)
The experts of the time advised my parents to have the surgery done immediately. Without it my lifespan would be critically shorter. But the surgery was dangerous and the big question was, was I to be, or not to be? A decision was made, and before leaving for the operation, my father told my older sister, “Frieda may not come back.”
Dad loved to tell me the story, but I treasure my own memories:
I was in 2nd grade (far left with a ribbon around my neck) and tried to be a nice student. I tried to be a friend to classmates who had no friends (encouraged by my mother). I was awarded the certificate of “Best Friend.” My parents found this hard to believe. “Who, Frieda? Best Friend? Impossible! She always pouts and cries! It’s hard work to be her friend!” It was so unbelievable to them, they decided I needed to see a psychiatrist. But first I was first sent to the family pediatrician to rule out any physical causes. Dr. Blood was as good as her name suggested. She diagnosed a hole in the wall of my heart where blood was escaping. She then explained that after the long hours of school I had no energy left, leaving me in tears and pouting. (I still cry when I’m tired. Must have become a habit.)
Dad, a child psychiatrist, was intrigued by the surgery and wanted to understand all aspects of it. He studied it and drew pictures of the procedure, including the (now old- fashioned) heart and lung machine that would be attached to my body. He made multiple carbon copies and mailed them to my relatives.
Mom and Dad packed me up and we traveled to the Mayo Clinic, in Rochester, Michigan. I was excited, probably from all the gifts I received. Understandably, my sisters were a bit jealous of the gifts, especially my blue silk pajamas with matching robe (I felt guilty about that). I ended up with a lot of very nice things. I felt quite angelic in the soft blue silk. I had a small suitcase, the perfect size for me to carry by myself (which I proudly did). I had stuffed animals and zillions of ‘Get Well’ cards. It was a time my parents allowed me to get pampered.
I was kept in the dark about the risks, and loved having my parents all to myself at the hospital. Before the operation, a nurse was taking me to the lobby to meet my whole family. She asked if I’d like to walk or ride? I looked at the wheelchair she was offering, an ancient wicker one with a backrest twice as tall as I was. Greeting my family in a chariot would be a magnificent entry. “I’ll ride!”
I awoke in the ICU with my mother dozing beside me. It took a few moments for me to figure out where I was. I tried to peer through the foggy, heavy plastic walls of the oxygen tent. “Mommy?”
She immediately woke and gave me a reassuring smile. “I’m so thirsty!”
“I’ll call the nurse.” She rang a bell.
I was given water in the tiniest cup imaginable. It seemed to me to be about one inch tall and half full. It had a huge straw in it that was bent at the top. The nurse waved her finger at me. “Drink slowly!”
That was when I discovered two pipes protruding from my chest, and not long after that a glimpse of the long scar down the middle of my ribcage with about 25 stitches in it. On my abdomen was another long rainbow-shaped scar with the same number of stitches. The excitement and novelty of this new experience diminished as pain set in. Nonetheless, I progressed well and was given a good report. My parents were overjoyed.
Soon, we were heading home. At first all went well, but soon I developed severe chest pain. The doctors tried all sorts of drugs, from aspirin to steroids, which led to nightmares and hallucinations. Scary, geometric figures from outer space came charging at me in the night and sent me knocking on my parent’s door. Dad always got up and led me into the kitchen saying, “I’ve got just the thing for nightmares!” The ice cream emerged and he’d dish up two bowels. We laughed and talked nonsense. His psychological ploy was incredibly successful.
But a cure was not found. I was confined to a wheel chair for the next 6 months. All physical activity was banned. The pain in my chest lasted about 10 days and would show up about 2 times yearly. This continued over the next 20 years. When the pain came, I had to lie with my head propped up on two or three pillows in order to breath. Twenty years on, the pain still chastised me.
Soon after Yip and I married we were caring for 100 children. (No starting small for us!) Yip’s mother planned to visit from Canada for three weeks. The pain began. It was more severe than I’d ever experienced before; it shot down my left arm like arrows, indicating signs of an approaching heart attack. Two friends came to pray for me, and one of them brought their son, a young boy named Brad. Brad was curious about what had happened to Frieda, and now curious to know what would happen to her when they prayed.
People were praying, but I wasn’t listening. I was too busy having my own talk with God: “I know you can heal me, but I don’t know if you WILL heal me.” That was as much faith as I could muster. Then added, “If you can, at least, heal me while Yip’s mother is here.” (As though that was “the least”, God could do!)
After prayer I breathed deeply to check my pain level. There was no pain. I took another breath. Still no pain. I got up and moved around. Still no pain. I had been healed! Brad was amazed. My two friends who prayed were also amazed and rejoiced. Brad took note. He never forgot what he’d seen. It was the first time Brad’s father also witnessed such an instantaneous miracle. And me? It was a miracle that would mark the rest of my life.
While Yip’s mother spent the month with us, I had no problems at all. I cooked, cleaned, and took her on trips. Her last day arrived and Yip left with her for the airport. As I waved them off and turned to go inside, I was stabbed with sharp chest pains! My immediate reaction was, “God! This is not funny!”
I was alone, riddled with blasphemous pain. I was frustrated and asked God what in the world was He doing? I let Him know how unimpressed I was with His little joke. He responded. I heard God’s inaudible voice, very clearly in my spirit: “Trust in me, and trust you’ve been healed by faith.”
Now, I had to stop and ponder why God was saying this to me. What did it mean? How could I trust that I was healed by faith when I knew I was no longer healed? A self- examination began. Where was I not trusting God in my life? I honestly surprised myself when I found so many areas I was worrying about. I couldn’t be trusting God if I was plagued with worry. And I had vast storehouses of worry. What if there was an earthquake? What if there was a scorpion in my bed? What if my husband stopped loving me? (New wife syndrome.) What if a cobra bit me? How can we live without an income? What if Yip would die in an accident?
The list went on and on, then on and on. I had to evaluate every worry one by one as it arose, such as earthquakes. Earthquakes were not in my control; God was in control. I began to see the folly in worrying over things outside of my control, and realized it was useless for me to hold onto them. I threw earthquakes out the window. I continued down the list. I dealt with each worry until I was sure it was no longer hidden in a mental cupboard for me to uncover and indulge in again. I could breathe again. Literally! I could breathe! I took a deep breath. No pain. Another breath. No pain. I was elated and danced around the room. No pain. I was healed again—a second miraculous healing of the same disease, but this time I prayed alone. Healed twice of the same disease seems tongue-in-cheek, but that’s what happened.
It was now clear. My pain, my problem, was psychosomatic. God healed me physically of pain the first time. The second time He dealt with the root of the problem. If God had stopped after the first healing, I’d still be stuck with all my worrying. God cared too much about me to leave me with worry. I couldn’t trust God at all if I didn’t believe His words. I’d not only heard Him, but read the Bible and was aware of His promises, such as Matthew 11:28; Come to me, all you that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Did I trust Him?
Two healings happened. God played the part of a teacher and showed me he could heal pain, but it was up to me to trust God enough to stop worrying. The cure was in my hands. I experienced firsthand, that stress can play havoc on our bodies. Worry can kill us—literally. And psychosomatic pain is REAL.
When I share this story, people are surprised, because the changed ME is very laid back, calm and peaceful (“Frieda” is German for peace). Worry stays light years away; as do those geometric figures from outer space which once haunted me.
And then, there is Jerimiah 29:11; “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
God knew the plans for my future. I needed to be stress-free. The future for me included three episodes of near death. When my first child was born it was only prayer that saved me. Second was a brain operation, which surprised me. Finally, to top everything was a rare condition that put 13 screws and rods in my neck and left me half lame. That is a recovery I’m still facing. Had God not loved me enough to help me throw worry out of my life, I would never have managed those hard times and many others.
(One daughter shares her hair over my pre-operation bald head.)
(Another daughter brought me a wig.)
It was thirty years after releasing my worries to God, I was in the hospital for a brain tumor operation. The night before the surgery, my surgeon came to visit. We had a brief chat and as he left, he turned and said, “Aren’t you even a little scared?” I thought to myself, “No.” I didn’t think he would believe that answer, so I said, “Well, maybe a little.”
The doctor shook his head and left. My rock-solid security was a miracle. Brad, the boy who prayed for my heartaches never forgot that miracle. It laid a foundation in Brad’s faith and confirmed his dad’s faith. My Dad loved to tell me the story of my heart operation, but his story was only the beginning of a bigger one; I had greater treasures to come. Miracles are never forgotten.
The Sun Came Searching
By Kim Balke
(Photo by Tom Balke) Kim is a poet, friend and a heart-transplant patient, whose life is full of medical challenges. She cannot afford worry. The beautiful imagery of what she writes is from a deep, emotional and spiritual experience of knowing who to trust.
Kamla phoned. She was eagerly searching for a verse, but all she could remember about it were two words, my cup. She asked, “Do you know where the verse is?” Kamla’s heart was like a cup that overflowed. Her faith in God, her passion to serve, her marriage and children were all part of what made her heart overflow. Even I was included in the overflow. It was such a privilege to be part of her joys. I tried to remember a verse that included the words my cup, but it was her husband who came up with the verse.
भजन संहिता 16:5-6
नहीं, बस मेरा भाग यहोवा में है। बस यहोवा से ही मेरा अंश और मेरा पात्र आता है। हे यहोवा, मुझे सहारा दे और मेरा भाग दे। मेरा भाग अति अद्भुत है। मेरा क्षय अति सुंदर है।
Psalm 16:5-6 ESV
The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.
The Psalm had many promises and was prophetic for Kamla. In it, she saw hope for the future. That was no small dream for Kamla. She was bedridden for the last 18 years of her life with a rare terminal illness. Hope was her life-line. Death was no threat to her, for she never allowed it to cast a shadow on Hope. The lines of Psalm 16 spoke to Kamla of Hope, “He’s the cup…. From him comes my inheritance…Boundary lines you’ve given me fall in places of sanctuary.”
After that phone call, I turned the Psalm into a song as a gift for Kamla, but she died before I had the chance to sing it. Kamla gained her inheritance, heaven, and was simultaneously released from years of pain and suffering. She reached her safe sanctuary, her refuge.
The song, Kamla’s Hope, uses these verses: Psalm 16:5-11, Ps. 4:8, Ps. 73:25,26, Rev. 22:17
Kamla’s Powerful Cup
The Lord’s my chosen portion He’s the cup, from him I drink. From him comes my inheritance In Him, my needs complete. Boundary lines you’ve given me Fall in places of sanctuary My heart and mind are advised at night He counsels me continually. He is before me, at my right hand I cannot be shaken; He makes me glad Overflowing Joy —like a well spring I’m drenched.
In His Love… in His love… You will show me the path of life In your presence is fullness of joy. In peace I lie down and sleep; You alone make me dwell safely.
The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” All say, “Come.” If you’re thirsty then come! Come and take life-giving water, If you want, come and take, it’s free! Whom have I in heaven but thee? And none I desire besides thee. My flesh and my heart fail me: But God is my portion forevermore. He says Come. He says Come.
Because of her disease, Kamla lost her hair, which in time, grew back. She disliked the stubbiness that began to poke through, but it was her inner beauty that was seen. Kamla knew how to love. In that, she was a rock. A spring that gushed life. No matter how difficult her life became, she pressed on.
She renewed her sense of living with every day she was given. Kamla’s last day, she spoke only two words; Lord Jesus.
स्वर्ग में मेरा और कौन है ? तेरे संग रहते हुए मैं पृथ्वी पर और कुछ नहीं चाहता। मेरे हृदय और मन दोनों तो हार गए हैं, परन्तु परमेश्वर सर्वदा के लिये मेरा भाग और मेरे हृदय की चट्टान बना है। Ps. 73:25,26
Death always evokes in us thoughts of heaven, even though Heaven is not about death, but life. My father wrote a line in a poem “stretch beyond imagination.” When I think of Heaven, it’s hard to envision its beauty. Unmarked boundaries stop my imagination. And when I view an awesome sunset, I realize there is so much more—stretch beyond imagination. That would be Heaven.
My vision is limited, yet it doesn’t stop my imagination from wanting to know what God has in store for me. In the sunset below, the heavens are beautifully mirrored on the wet roof. It makes me certain that the mysterious magnetic pull between heaven and earth, plus God’s own image reflected in us, is full of love and smothers us in grace daily. Life is given in our mother’s womb, and that goes stretch beyond imagination. What greater love can do such amazing things? I was created in love and that’s enough assurance— nothing is impossible with God.
Kamla reached her goal; Heaven, a place more beautiful than we can fathom, better than this sunset—stretch beyond imagination.
Photo by Tom Balke
Photo by Sonu Kumar
By guest thinker, writer, and illustrator, my granddaughter, Joshna Kumar.
The Thought:
“I was thinking about how my brother, Vijay, connected simple, every-day examples with God. He does it so easily and his examples make sense. As I was thinking, suddenly, a thought came to me on June 6th, 2021, on a Saturday night. I was already in my bed trying to go to sleep. I had this thought. I started thinking about a tap…
But a tap needs other parts to make anything happen… so my thought went further.
A tap, a pipe, and a well. Connecting pieces, like a puzzle, that fit together.
The tap connects to a pipe, the pipe connects to a well. But these connecting pieces are useless on their own, or together, without water, the Source.
To use this example in life, we, are the tap. A tap can be turned on, allowing the Source of life-giving water to flow to many people. The Source, drawn from the well, is a holding place for the Source’s inextinguishable love. The pipe connects us to the Source of love, which is God.
Our connection to the Source, to God, could be the Bible, listening to music, our personal relationships—anything that connects us deeply to God and his never-ending love.
Sometimes we may be having a strong and easy relationship with God, but sometimes our pipe gets bent, has angles, coils, and ups and downs. Sometimes our pipe leaks, or is clogged with dirt (like bad thoughts or a million other mucky stuff). We need to continuously throw out the dirt so it doesn’t contaminate the clean water, preventing the tap from releasing the Source’s pure water.”
Granny’s thoughts interrupted The Thought.
She loosened her collar and gasped, “Is this theologian really my granddaughter? Then Granny gave Joshna a piece of her mind:
“Pipes do have their many ups and downs, just like all of us have in life. The light grows dim when you look through a bent, dirty pipe. God also had a great thought way back in the beginning. He thought, “I’ll create light and water first.” He understood people needed them, just like they need Him, The Source.”
Joshna smiled cooperatively, and continued to expand on her Thought:
“So, returning to simple life examples (and I hope to impress my brother, Vijay), we are the tap and can give water to many people. If the well is full of water, but our taps haven’t been turned on, we are defeating our perfectly planned purpose. When turned to “on,” we are conduits and others can benefit from us, free to fill slowly or all at once. We open our tap up and are filled to overflowing with The Source. We have plenty to share. When needed, God straightens the pipe, fixes the leak, and cleans out the dirt. The tap, the pipe, and the well have a perfectly planned purpose. To share the Source, God’s love.”
Happy Trails to Willy
Our 1964 canvas camouflaged Willys jeep Had a crank in the front that was really neat Driving down vertical Himalayan roads Playful Willy sent a wheel for a roll! We cried aloud, “God, look! That’s our wheel!” Poor Willy died, but God had more still His plan was no old, cranky military jeep But a snazzy Isuzu with AC and bucket seats!
Surprise Supplies
Mr. Campers always regretted selling it to us. His 1964 canvas-covered, compact little jeep was a gem. And we got it cheap. When we finally sold it, we regretted it too. Working or not, it was a priceless 1964 crank-up military jeep.
When we first got it, we were so pleased! We finally had a vehicle to use in the mountains as well as the plains. Then Willy started acting up. When Willy pouted, we’d have to attach the crank in the front to start him up. It took muscles to give it a whirl, so Yip would twirl, while I sat behind the wheel and pressed the gas pedal at the precise moment.
One day, we drove down the mountain-side with a full jeep-load of children popping out of the canvas windows and sides, and we pulled a loaded trolly behind us. Then, a wheel rolled down the road ahead of us. Yip, who was driving, wondered, “which idiot lost a wheel?” He hit the brakes, speculating where the 3-wheeled car was, but the brakes didn’t work, even pressed fully down to the floor. Then Yip realized we were the three-wheeled brakeless car!
“Everyone down! Hang-on tight!” Yip slowly drove the jeep against the steep mountain side, scratching it along the wall of rock. It was the only way we could come to a stop. At least we weren’t on the cliff side of the road. That would have been fatal.
Thankfully, everyone was fine. Except Willy.
“Okay,” said Yip. “Tim and I will look after Willy, the rest of you start walking.” Tim was a young man who came from Wales to help us. “We’ll meet you at the bottom of the mountain.”
It was about 10 kilometres to the bottom of the mountain. The kids were excited. An adventure! I had 3 small children of my own, plus 5 little boys—all under the age of 7. The question for me was, how would I ever control them on 10 kilometres of curvy road while carrying a baby? I don’t know how we managed, but we got down the mountain and waited for Yip.
Willy dying was a sad happening. He’d been so faithful when we needed him.
There were many trips up and down the mountain. We’d had lots of neighbours needing day and night emergency runs to the hospital. Willy rushed us to the hospital for our children’s births as well. Once, in monsoon, while crossing the rivers to get to the mission hospital for our second child, Willy nearly drowned.
We got there just in time on 2 spark plugs. As Willy aged he would only start with a crank. When that failed, we prayed, pushed, pumped the gas pedal, and then leapt in while Willy was coughing and sputtering—hoping he’d take off. Finally, the day came when Willy refused to start at all, not even by prayer. We had to accept it. Willy, our steadfast and stalwart friend, had died. We prayed together for a car.
The next week Yip had to go to Delhi for some pending work. As he walked up the steps of a hotel, he spotted an acquaintance he’d met a few times.
“Oh, hi Yip!” Jeff yelled.
Yip turned and greeted him.
“Hey Yip,” said Jeff with raised eyebrows. “Do you need a car?”
Yip was so surprised his words were glued to his mouth. Before he could spit them out, Jeff said, “Because God just told me to give you, my car.”
Yip stared wide-eyed. His mouth made silent, awkward shapes while he tried to find the words.
“Um … yeah … .”
Jeff looked a little embarrassed. “It’s parked over there, but if I you don’t mind, can I give it to you tomorrow? Would that be alright?”
Yip, finally able to speak, said, “That would be fine.” But his look of shock and surprise, gave him away.
Jeff grinned and slapped Yip on the back, making the arrangement to hand the car over to him the next day. And that’s what happened. Yip drove home in a fancy Japanese ISUZU, with seat belts, air-conditioning, buckets seats, and a CD player. God’s plan was no old, cranky military jeep, but a snazzy Isuzu with AC and bucket seats!
Who would have thought of that?
Climb every mountain?
Resolutions?
Fruitless resolutions?
Solution?
Pin your hopes and dreams on the one who actually can pull you through every new year, every new day, every hour and minute… and every resolution.
It’s the end of all resolutions.
All I Want
My father called me a worry-wart when I was small. When we took a family trip, I sat in the rear of the station wagon, facing backwards. Dad noticed. As we’d drive off and left our home in the distance, I’d stare out the back window, noting every turn, every sign, colours, stores and houses. On the way home again, Dad called me to the front and sat me on his lap.
“You drive us home.”
I took the wheel and drove home. I knew how to get home. I could do it. I never wanted to get lost or loose the way home.
When I thought about Christmas, I thought that it’s all about finding the way home. “In the beginning God made heaven and earth.” God planned to connect earth to heaven, even though they were such opposite poles. So, he searched hearts to find the special woman to birth Jesus. He found Mary. Mary’s eyes focused upward on home”.
Heb. 4:6:
“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”
It wasn’t a throne; it was an old, broken, well-used manger in a barn, where Jesus Christ, the new-born baby lay. His bewildered mother was awe-struck, she could only praise and thank God continually.
Mary knew without doubt, this baby was heavenly. She’d had no relationship with a man. Added angelic assurance was given by Gabriel (the angel who appears 4 times in history over hundreds of years). More than anyone in the whole world, Mary had assurance that this baby was the longed-for Messiah. The Saviour.
When our youngest daughter was in her teens, her curiosity arose; she wanted to know who her real birth mother was. She searched and found family members in a tiny village in rural India; but the connection was missing.
Our oldest son also wanted to know who his mother was. She was alive, at least for some time, but her whereabouts were unknown. Locating her was impossible. There was a deep yearning in him; but there was another missing connection.
I grew up going to church. The people, who attended church with me, questioned, “who is God?” I followed my heart to find “home.” I discovered that that my fear of getting lost was a deeper. What is home? What is family? What connection was I searching for?
Gen. 1:1 —”In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” The plan; to join the two together. The intersection of both through Jesus. Jesus was the 2nd person in the world, after his mother, to have 100% assurance that He, Himself, was the Messiah. As a twelve-year old boy, His parents lost him in Jerusalem. But he was not lost. When they found Him in the temple, His comment was;
“Didn’t you know I’d be in my father’s house?” Mary knew His father —God.
There was a time I didn’t believe in Jesus. I went to church, but didn’t “believe.” In fact, I didn’t even like God. But, after I met Him at a specific time and place, a specific day in my life —I was changed. Like Mary, I was 100% assured who Jesus is.
In childhood, I focused on an earthly home and family. Mary’s eyes were focused on a heavenly one. When opposite poles of magnets approach each other, they attract each other. Any north-south combination will pull them together. If you can think of earth and heaven as two opposite poles, you know they are attracted to each other. But how to cross such a vast, void and pull them together? God’s plan.
In the above manger scene, at the rear, a family peeps in, trying to see the baby in the broken manger. They know they are not worthy to view the Saviour of the World.
Sin. God ordered his creation to multiply and have dominion over all other creation. Angels were sent to protect them, lest they fall.
Even so, they fell. The burden of sin was a great weight on them. God did not create robots. People had their free choice, and a conscious… and “consequences.”
The plan: Jesus, God’s son, would be the sacrifice for sin.
“In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth”; Jesus was there. Jesus knew the plan before he was born as a baby, yet being born in human form, he, like us, had to understand this relationship with God through prayer. Jesus spent many hours praying for God’s presence and revelation in his life. Born in a barn, he lay in a manger. Nothing could be more basic. Like us, Jesus grew. Jesus took on everything human, including our sorrows and weaknesses.
He had the whole mortal experience; yet, he was God.
Jesus, fully God, lived in the weakness of human form, including every human temptation. But he did not sin. He knew his course would lead him to death —followed by eternal life and freedom for all humans from the sting of death. He too, wanted to go “home.”
He promised that whoever believes in him will not perish, but have everlasting life. It was for us, that He willingly and lovingly, drank the cup of suffering. Jesus, at the right hand of God, has prepared a house for us. I suppose that’s why the verse in Matthew 7:7 says; “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek and you shall find; knock and the door shall be opened to you…”. It’s not an earthly door that you are knocking on; it’s the connecting door from earth to heaven.
It’s the way home.
John 14: 2:
“In my father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?”
I am inspireless, said I. I don’t think that’s a word, said he. That’s what I mean. I’m so inspireless I can’t even write words.
I often feel bereft of all inspirity. As you now understand. Even when writing songs… However, these days songs are gushing forth, I’m nearly frothing at the mouth with good and bad ones… still going strong.
In the end, it’s God. All the time, its God. There is nothing in me, nor do I want there to be anything happening in me, without God. He’s the SOURCE. The TAP is connected to the pipe The PIPE is connected to the well, And nothing happens in the TAP If everything is not connected together. Get it? Maybe I’ll explain later.
Holy Spirit
by Frieda McRae
Accompanied by Michael Sethi
It seems that I will never write a song again For your Spirit falls upon me, I know not when Your power overwhelms me Humbles me within, I pray, Oh God Put a new song on my lips again From the power of Your love And the life of Your Word Filling me up and Bowing me down before my God Holy Spirit, Breath of Life Breathe on me and give me life Spirit come upon me in such a way That I might know newness of day Holy Spirit, Breath of Life I fall before Your awesome light Spirit come upon me So that all I know Will be from You alone
—Friend and guest writer, Simi Sara Thomas, shares her story, BUT, all our stories—
I have spent a major portion of my life on the heavier side of the weighing scale, and I hate to admit it, but I have loathed myself for it almost ALL the time.
My weight story started even before I was born. My mother had a healthy appetite and was an enthusiastic cook, and my father absolutely enjoyed all sorts of good food. Food was always going to be a part of my heritage. I became an emotional eater. When the going got tough, my kitchen always got raided, and with time, so did the various food apps on my phone.
My weight was hit the worst when I was put on some medicines in my last year of college, which fanned my raging appetite even further. Anxiety and uncertainty of the future added to the mix. Food became my sole comfort. I gained 20 kilos that year, but my physical weight was nothing compared to my emotional one. I detested myself more than ever.
It wasn’t long after that I reached the veritable sundar aur susheel, shaadi ke layak (beautiful and capable, able to be married) age, minus the sundar (beautiful) part, of course! Getting married was my hearts-desire, but my heavyweight appearance got me more rejections than I cared for. It was a vicious cycle of “I want to get married” to “nobody cares!” to “nobody should care! I’m ugly!”
And so on and on it went on for about seven years till I reached a point of true devastation. I hated myself more than ever, and to add insult to injury, there was no groom to be found! It was unbearable pain, and I had nowhere to turn.
So, I turned my eyes heavenwards, and gave up.
I gave up the relentless hate-relationship with myself, because I was inevitably becoming the root of my unhappiness.
I gave up trying to measure up to the body standards that people around me seemed to expect from me.
I gave up looking for love in others.
I gave up seeking constant approval to be alive.
It had finally dawned on me that I didn’t need permission to breathe. I didn’t need to be a specific size or shape to be loved. I didn’t need to be anything but me.
I could, however, want to have a healthier body weight and lifestyle, of course. And understanding this difference between needing and wanting made all the difference.
I was no longer motivated (or demotivated) by what people outside me wanted, or thought what was correct for me. Wanting to be better, and healthier, was up to me now, and I was pumped by this realisation.
I joined a gym eventually, started eating more home-made food, and even began cooking, which was hitherto a much-despised endeavour. I also took therapy sessions with a counsellor, and consciously replaced my negative self-talk, with my favourite bible verses.
It won’t be honest to say that I transformed overnight, like in the movies.
I am still on that journey of healing. I still have my weak moments when I give in to self-loathing, but they are fleeting and infrequent. I still go on binge-eating sprees, but they are far less intense than they used to be. I still fall short of people’s expectations, but I have stopped punishing myself for it.
Because that’s what it was, right? A self-imposed punishment for not being a perfect specimen.
I didn’t lose much weight (because habits don’t die easy!) but I gained a whole lot of confidence in being resilient and persevering. I learned a lot about the things that trigger my overeating, and eventually started recognising and avoiding them. It was slowly becoming real to me that I am, indeed, “fearfully and wonderfully made”, loved beyond all measure, beyond all reason, and I started showing myself the kind of sympathy and love that I was known to show to others around me.
I don’t know what brought you to this article, but if you are a victim of body-shaming, be it by others or self-imposed, please know that you are worthy of love just as you are, right now.
There are so many, many people surrounding us; witnessing what we’ve done, Just like God watches over us, there are so many people keeping watch! So, throw down every weight, every hindrance, every sin; Lighten up and win the race that you’re meant to win. Run your race with patience, endurance and resolve To reach the finish before, before the sun sets down While racing keep your eyes on Jesus (the anchor of your soul) The author and finisher of life, where our faith is resting and alive.
For the joy he saw before him, he threw his life away, He only saw the prize ahead, what was to gain instead He saw joy and life with you and me; spent in eternity He never saw the shame, kept his eyes on the gain And that’s why he’s now seated at the…. Throne…. Of…. Grace.
That sin, which entangles us now let us run the race to win. And be strapped to Jesus the leader of our faith, seated at the right-hand throne of Grace. Let’s run with the endurance the race in front of us, Throw off extra baggage and get rid of the sin that trips you up Fix your eyes on Jesus, keep your eyes fixed on him. Your faith and life depend on it from beginning to end. Fix your eyes on Jesus, let’s keep our eyes fixed on him, Chuck off the baggage and the sin that trips you up Fix your eyes on Jesus, keep your eyes fixed on him. Your faith depends on it from beginning to end, Your faith depends on it from beginning to end.
“Love speaks in flowers. Truth requires thorns.” ― Leigh Bardugo, The Language of Thorns: Midnight Tales and Dangerous Magic
Lucky was smart. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but had enough guts and drive to make up for anything she lacked. She was an orphan with a few uncaring relatives who had nothing, yet, you knew she would be alright. She would make something of her life.
We looked after Lucky for a few years as she entered adulthood. It was apparent that Lucky would manage. After she trained as a teacher, she wanted to marry. We weren’t very pleased with her choice.
You see, Raju wanted to marry her, but he displayed an extremely questionable character. His reputation preceded him like bad news. Though his character was less than stellar, we couldn’t outright forbid her to marry him. Instead, we advised and counselled, hoping and praying she would understand the gravity of marrying this man.
The girls we cared for all had the same fear about marriage. Their worst nightmare was a husband who drank and then would beat them. That was the reality of their young lives —seeing their mothers beaten and abused. They knew first-hand the poverty that resulted from “drink”. And though horrific, having a husband who drinks was the reality they expected. The best outcome they could hope for would be to marry anyone —as long as he didn’t drink. They didn’t have the luxury to indulge in daydreams about anything fanciful. We sent Lucky to train as a teacher, as that was her first choice of careers. Lucky became a teacher, and a good one. She took great efforts to make sure that each child learned the subject, and enjoyed playing with them. She loved children and especially the little ones. I knew she’d one day make an excellent mother.
Yip and I had just started a school, beginning with Nursery and Kindergarten class. We had a dozen students in each class, and Lucky was one of the main teachers. When we first decided to run the school, it was agreed that I would not be involved. Well, that sure didn’t happen. I was learning the ropes of being Principal. Our eldest child was in Kindergarten, and our second one in Nursery. They were part of the reason we started the school, along with the fact there were no other English medium schools for 30 km.
Our third child was a one-year-old, and because I couldn’t leave her alone at home, I took her with me. She was quite a distraction, but in some ways a great addition to the class. She forced the children who loved to fuss over her to speak English. Our school, from the very beginning, was known for teaching students English. Most English medium schools in the village areas used Hindi regardless.
When the school began I told my children, “Now when you are at school, you must call me “Ma’am like all the other students.” Hmmm. Instead, the whole class ended up calling me “Mom.”
It was around that time, in 1989, that my husband had to travel to New Delhi for some work. While at the Embassy, he ran into an acquaintance. Someone he’d known, but was not close to personally. They met as Yip was ascending the stairs and Jeff, was descending.
“Oh, Yip! Hello!”
“Hi there Jeff!” And that was the extent of conversation expected by Yip beyond a short exchange of pleasantries. But that didn’t happen. The conversation was most amazing.
“Yip, by any chance, do you need a car, because God just told me to give you mine?”
“Ah … well, yes, I guess we do need a car.” We had actually been praying for a car because our little 1964 crank-up, canvas-covered Willy’s jeep had just died. When the crank was no longer able to start her up, prayer worked. Now prayer was also having some frustrations.
“Well, then, that’s really great,” said a jubilant Jeff. My car is parked right over here.” Then he frowned and politely asked, “If it’s not too much trouble, can I give it to you tomorrow?”
Yip, totally awe-struck, could hardly speak. “Yeah, sure! Great!”
Yip drove back from Dehli in the fanciest car we’d ever seen: an Isuzu equipped with power steering, CD player, air-conditioning, plush seats, and even seat-belts! Quite the dream. But it was real —and timely. My mother was coming to visit. She was paraplegic and couldn’t travel without seat-belts. It certainly was the answer to prayer that we were looking for.
And so, Yip made a triumphant, quite surprising entry back onto the campus where we lived with the children we looked after. It was then that Lucky and Raju became engaged. She decided against our counsel and soon after their engagement the consequences of marrying Raju began to show. Raju, the man she wanted to marry had nothing to offer financially, but he convinced Lucky that they would manage. Lucky, easily convinced, displayed her characteristic fearlessness.
A few months prior, Lucky’s sponsor died and left an inheritance for her. We put the money into a bank account and used it for her training and further financial needs, which her sponsor would have wanted. Lucky, Raju, and everyone around saw our wonderful new-used car.
Much to our great surprise, Lucky laid a court-case against us. Immediately we understood that Raju was the root of her actions. His strong influence seemed to have manipulated her thoughts and understanding beyond repair. She officially went to court and claimed that we had used her inheritance to buy the “new” car. I was utterly devastated and thoroughly distraught that she would believe that, or want to put a case against us. All the care and love and time that I’d given her personally seemed to count as nothing to her. It made me very sad.
So, I cried.
It’s not Fair
(from Ps.142)
I cry out loud. Oh God, with my voice, I plead mercy. Without shame I complain. I tell him all my troubles. Lord, when my spirit fails, you know my path. You see the trap laid for me… I’m the catch. On my right, no one there notices me…
No refuge, no safe house, no one loves me. I cry out, oh, God, I cry out. You are my refuge, my safe house, my portion. My lighthouse that leads me home. Attend to me, deliver me; crushed in prison… oh Lord, come set me free. Oooooo ummmmmmmm oooooo uuuuuaaaaaahhh
I said to Yip, “Why? Why are we here when no one wants us here? Why are we here?” Yip looked at me sternly and said; “We’re here because God wants us here. We go when God wants us to go.”
I think I had that sort of dumbfounded look on my face —the look that says why didn’t I know that? It was all that needed to be said. I got it. I understood. And being satisfied, I left my pity-party behind, as well as the anger of betrayal. Lucky had traded all my care for personal gain. But I knew it would do her no good. She was the one to be pitied. The court case died. Lucky lost out. She taught all her life, and she was a good teacher. Her husband became a paraplegic early in their marriage. They had two sons and three daughters, and she was a wonderful mother. Lucky died of cancer. I look back at Lucky with much love and respect, for all that she faced in life, for all she overcame.
Some people complain because God put thorns on roses, While others praise Him For putting roses among thorns.
