Inspiring Christian Stories, Poetry and Thoughts - "WHATEVER IS PURE" ARCHIVES May 2012

Finally, brothers, whatever is true,
whatever is noble, whatever is right,
whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable
- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -
think about these things.

Phil 4:8 NIV

"Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead." Philippians 3:13

Once we forget the past, we can then reach out to embrace the future. If we continue to remember the past, it will press against our "present" and keep us from the future that God has planned for us. We can't look backward and forward at the same time. When you asked Christ into your life, He put all your sins in the past, and they are forgotten. No matter how bad you were and may have sinned, these are no longer considered, as God did away with all of them. I have heard the old phrase that God put our sins as far from us as the east is from the west. I'm glad He didn't say from north to south, because then we would meet our sins again, because if you start walking south, eventually you'll reach the south pole, and then you'll be going north, and can eventually reach the north pole. There is no east or west pole. When God forgives us of our sins, He forgets them. He never meets them again, and He doesn't intend for us to meet them again either. Therefore, we leave the past sins behind, and look to our future glory in Christ. Don't let yourself be burdened down with the memory and guilt of past sins. Christ shed His blood on the cross, so that we might no longer be bowed down with the weight of all our sins, as He wants us to give them over to Him. If you are struggling with something in your past, maybe it's time that you turned it over to God. Remember that God has a plan and a purpose for your life, and if you are in bondage to your past, break the strings that bind you and free yourself. God has a future for you that is bright, and has big plans for you.

God Is Under My Bed!!

My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one night. He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped outside his closed door to listen.

"Are You there, God?" he said. " Where are You? Oh, I see. Under the bed.

"I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement.

But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor.

Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult. He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will.

He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different.

Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life? Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, returning to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.

The only variation in the entire scheme are laundry days, when He hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.

He does not seem dissatisfied.

He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work.

He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores. And Saturdays - oh, the bliss of Saturdays!

That's the day my dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside. "That one's goin' to Chi-car-go!"

Kevin shouts as he claps his hands. His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights. I don't think Kevin knows anything exists outside his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.

He doesn't know what it means to be discontent. His life is simple.

He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats.

He recognizes no differences in people, treating each person as an equal and a friend.

His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be. His hands are diligent.

Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it. He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax. He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others.

His heart is pure. He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue. Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere.

And he trusts God. Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child.

Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an "educated" person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity, I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.

It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions. It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap - I am.

My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not submit them to Christ. Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn?

After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the Goodness and Love of The Lord.

And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed. Kevin won't be surprised at all.

- Lighten Up! Brethren

©2012 Living Hearts 2 Offer

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You’ve seen or heard Gene Kelly splish-splashing down a Hollywood back lot in Singin’ in the Rain? Bah, humbug. You should’ve seen ME tap-dancing in the backyard today, celebrating the long-awaited arrival of a Real Summer Day. “I’ve died and gone to San Diego!” I crowed.

I couldn’t help it. You just don’t know what month after month of dripping skies and drooling Seattle-style weather does to a solar-powered San Diego native. After an agonizingly wet autumn, a dark winter emanating all the charm of the deepest, darkest hole in the bowels of oblivion, and a nose-biting, curt spring - all of sweeping past with the speed of a growing Redwood – imagine my delight when the first day of Real Sun finally put in an appearance!

Talk about “worth the wait”!

Sun-swathed and sapphire, morning pours out balmy breezes and a flawless curve of blue sky. Red-breasted robins hop about. Sprays of purple, blue, crimson and pink Rhododendrons light up fences and yards like neon signs. Rivers and waterfalls spear slashes of glittering sun and toss them ashore willy-nilly. Friends seem friendlier. Neighbors seem more neighborly. Everyone is smiling. The kids are… well. Let’s not push our luck. Tickling the thermometer at seventy-five degrees, afternoon sashays in with an “all is well with the world” promenade.

Gold-glazed days like this, sun-scrubbed and cerulean, make me want to freeze-dry the moments and stash ‘em in the fridge so I can haul them out, unwrap and inhale next January or February. I can’t imagine a more perfect day this side of glory.

*** She wore life like a garland: fresh, fragrant, and festive. Tall, slender and determined, her amber eyes peered out of an oval face ringed by thick waves of coarse, collar-length russet hair.

A curious, sometimes enigmatic combination of shy reserve and champagnesque effervescence, Peggy LaFleur Naas could enliven any party or melt into the nearest wall, both at the touch of an inner switch and often at a moment’s notice. She could speak her mind in matter-of-fact austerity if she trusted you, knew you well; she could also dilute any set-in-concrete views or opinions into pleasant palatability for the uninitiated.

When Peggy Naas spoke, it was with a sparkling kind of charm that made the listener feel as if he or she was the sole reason for the planet’s orbit. She chose both words and friends with care, exercising the kind of circumspection and attentiveness that let you know that you were something special, exquisite, and quite possibly extraordinary.

Peggy’s Dutch descent manifested itself in an energetic efficiency that rimmed her personality, profession, and plans in snap-to precision. Indeed, Peggy organized her cupboards, calendar and life in meticulous alpha order, balancing books, budgets, and bed times inside a two-story domicile that could pass a White Glove Test with white to spare. One thing no one organized or planned was losing my mom, Peggy Naas, at the age of fifty-four. Mom simply went to bed one night and woke up in glory.

*** Speaking of “glory,” I’ve been wondering: if this worn-out, weary world can trot out summer gold and June jade like the gems I’ve witnessed today, what wonders await me in my Father’s house?

We don’t know much about heaven. We’re given glimpses here and there. “Hors d’oeuvres” prior to the main course. My favorite descriptions include “no more death or mourning or pain.”

Isn’t that terrific? No more tears or sorrow. No suffering. No night. No death. I’m going to go out on a limb and say I bet there isn’t a shred of gray clouds or squishy streets in heaven. Just picture-postcard “weather” into eternity. (Where else did San Diego get it from?) Fanny Crosby calls it a “foretaste of glory divine.” Translation: one heckuva “welcome home.” Mom and a reunion party.

Sounds even better than a San Diego summer. I can’t wait.

Excerpted from how I got to be 50 and other atrocities: a baby boomer reflects on the boom and other splashes of everyday life” by Kristine Lowder.
©2010 Kristine Lowder.

Please email author for permission to reprint or use in any format.