Whatever is Pure, Inspiring Christian Poetry, Devotionals and Testimonies February 2009

I gazed out the window of my office, watching a hundred giggling, shrieking and happy children play in the packed dirt compound of our preschool. Although I did not speak their language, I recognized the games: Tag, I Spy, King of the Mountain, and Spin Me until I'm Dizzy. Girls whispered secrets to each other and the boys pretended not to care that they were the targets of girlish gossip. Most of the children in my school had been born in the refugee camp they called home. Plump cheeks, sturdy legs, shiny hair, bright eyes and dazzling smiles bore evidence of a healthy diet at home and good health care. We supplemented their diet with highly nourishing milk biscuits in the morning and afternoon. Although their living conditions were harsh and the camp hygiene was rudimentary at best, the children under my care rarely were seriously ill.

One child stood out from the rest. I wondered if she was the result of an interracial relationship as her hair was much lighter than her playmates and her skin did not have the deep mahogany lustre of her friends. At one point, she shouted out in complaint at some schoolyard injustice, and as she did, I could see that her teeth were in terrible condition. Her teacher called her over in quiet reprimand over her choice of words. Again, I needed no translation. I did not need to speak her language to know that she had chosen to express herself in more colourful terms than was appropriate for a five year old. When the girl drew closer still, I could see her legs were slightly bowed from rickets and she had the telltale signs of a belly full of parasites.

I asked my translator when her family arrived in the camp, expecting him to say they had just arrived that week. In my mind's eye, I could see her healthy and well, running with the other children after a couple months of healthy food and medical care. I was startled out of my happily-ever-after dream, when I learned she had been born in the camp to Cambodian parents. The contrast was marked. Why?

The story went that the girl's mother had died shortly after she was born. The grief-stricken father had no idea how to raise a child and relied on the help of the older women in the camp. As they felt pity for the poor motherless thing, they gave into her every whim. I discovered the girl's diet consisted of some rice and meat but her mainstays were black-market candy and soda. Her craving for sweets was so entrenched that she scorned the milk biscuits provided. They were too bland. Her father worked two or three jobs in order to finance his daughter's odd diet as she refused to eat the provided fresh greens, rice, beans and fish that were provided by the United Nations. Even so, he could not provide much. Although many agencies and officials tried to intervene, there was little they could do without the cooperation of her caregivers. His daughter was starving to death in the land of plenty.

Our Creator provides us with an abundance of nourishing food and a 'daily food guide' that if properly followed, will see us into maturity as healthy, productive and joy-filled children of the High King. He invites us to take advantage of the 'whole meal deal'. Entrees of worship, bible reading and study, drawing away to be alone with Him, fellowship with believers, being of service and witness to others and sacrificial giving are laid out for us to feast upon on a regular basis. A host of nourishing side dishes that are too numerous to list here are laid out in His Word. He knows that we will be undernourished if we limit ourselves to only one dish. Worship in itself is a glorious and delightfully toothsome morsel. A lively discussion of theological matters can be a meaty and hearty dish to nosh upon. However tempting it might be to go for seconds and thirds of our favourite spiritual dishes and leave the rest for others; we need to have a sampling of all God has for us on our plates. Although we all have our gifts, callings, and personal preferences, God asks us to 'taste and see' that all he lays before us is wholesome and created for our good.

He stood six cubits and a span!
Was ever warrior so tall?
Far mightier he than any man.

The Israelites turned tail and ran,
For not the bravest of them all
Dared face six cubits and a span -

Except for one, from Jesse's clan,
A shepherd lad, well-formed but small,
With no more might than any man.

Was this the worker of God's plan?
Could he as champion of Saul
Cut short six cubits and a span?

"Kill," mocked Goliath, "if you can,
And lead us Philistines in thrall!
Just prove yourself the mightier man!"

But, ending what his boasts began,
A single pebble made him fall,
The whole six cubits and a span -
For God has far more might than man!

©2009 Ray Checkley

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Use All Of Your Resources

Alice had just turned 40 years old and was entering a new phase of her life.

She had worked hard and earned a good salary, and she had wisely saved and invested much of her money. Now she was preparing to serve humanity as an entrepreneur.

For several years, Alice had been thinking of inventing a new type of automobile fuel. One day, she invited her best friend, Adria, to brainstorm with her.

Adria was interested in being Alice’s business partner. “I love orange juice,” said Adria. “I’ve been thinking about using orange juice as fuel. What do you think?”

“Orange juice is most certainly an unusual idea for auto fuel,” Alice said. “But if we use orange juice, we will create a shortage of orange juice for drinking. The whole world will eventually start smelling like burned orange juice. Also, the price of oranges and orange juice will go sky high. Plus, the Lord won’t be pleased if we follow through on this idea.”

“Okay,” Adria said. “We can use leaves from the trees as auto fuel. We can grind the leaves into a super-fine texture and create some sort of synthetic liquid to blend with those ground leaves.”

Alice wasn’t really thrilled with Adria’s idea. “Your idea certainly shows you have been thinking about this project,” Alice said. “But harvesting tree leaves will cause severe problems with the weather, we won’t have nearly as much beautiful greenery to observe, we will be causing problems for future generations. And the Lord won’t be pleased.”

“My next idea,” Adria told her friend, “is to use dirt for fuel. We can grind it up into dust, mix it with water and - presto - we will never have to buy gasoline ever again!”

“My friend,” Alice laughed, “This is an impossible idea! If we mix ground-up dirt with water, eventually we will run out of both dirt and water. We won’t have anywhere to stand, walk, or drive. We won’t have any need for automobiles, so we won‘t be able to go on vacation. And without water, we will die. Plus, the Lord won’t be pleased.”

“I suppose you have a better idea!,” Adria said.

“Yes, I do,” Alice smiled. “We can use hot air. Air is very plentiful. We can invent a machine to constantly heat, purify and recycle the air!”

“It’s a great idea,” Aria laughed. “And you are so full of this resource, you can provide the world with all it needs for the next 20 years!”

“And you can supply the hot air for the next 20 years!” Alice grinned.

©2009 Greg Miller
Greg is a freelance writer who lives in Johnson City, Tennessee. He also works as the religion editor of a daily newspaper in northeast Tennessee. To contact Miller for preaching and other speaking engagements, Christian Creativity Seminars, puppet ministry, etc., please e-mail him at kidcool4jesus@yahoo.com.please e-mail him at

Who am I, one person in so many,
That God hears me when I call?
So many billions
Still, He hears one voice
Out of them all.
Sea of soul, some great, some mighty, some small,
Who am I that He hears me when I call?
I am a Mighty Warrior
Who goes boldly before the throne of God.
I array myself with the Holy Armor,
Awaiting the battle call!
Armed with the breastplate of righteousness,
I girt my loins with the truth I wear.
I put on the helmet of salvation,
The blood-bought covering of God.
Walking in the path of light,
I bind my feet in the gospel of peace.
My shield in my left hand, up high I hold,
As evil comes against me, my faith is bold.
My sword in my right hand, as His Spirit befalls,
One with God standing straight and tall.
That’s who I am,
A Mighty Warrior
Who He hears,
When I call.

©2008 Diana Hill

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