just remember

When you think you're alone
In the middle of the night
When you've just had an awful dream
And you're shivering with fright
You lie there alone and scared
And wonder if anyone cares
If you look into your heart
You'll always find Me there

Sometimes life is just too hard
And you need to get away
You need someone to talk to
Who will listen to what you say
Someone who will let you know
That they'll always be there
When you can't find anyone
Just remember that I care

When there is nowhere else to go
You can always come to Me
I promise that I'll be there
In your greatest hour of need
I'm sure you can find Me
If you take the time for prayer
When the whole world seems against you
Just remember that I care

(author unknown)

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

my story (3)

my loneliest night

I came home to a very quiet & lonely apartment. There was no one I could talk to. Lord, where are You?

Tears rolled down my face. I felt so lost & lonely. I tried to make sense of what was happening. I couldn't believe I had succumbed to the very illness I had worked so hard to avoid all these years. I had seen how my late sister had struggled & suffered when she had breast cancer 18 years ago. Haven't I followed the healthy lifestyle as prescribed by health books? Then how come I still have cancer? What has gone wrong? What stage is my cancer? Will I die? How long more can I live? What should I do now? There were so many questions but no answers.

I knelt down beside my bed in desperation. I cried out to the Lord. I questioned, I pleaded, I implored. I told God I was scared. I prayed, "Lord, I don't know what to do but my eyes are on You." I was on my knees for hours, with my Bible before me. I didn't sleep the whole night. I could sense the Lord's presence in my loneliest moments. God saw my anguish, my pain, my fears. I asked the Lord for a Bible verse to assure me He would be with me all the way. I opened my Bible & this verse caught my eyes :

"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." (Psalm 73:26)

God spoke to me. I heard Him. God had given me His word. God promised He would be my Strength & my Portion forever. That was sufficient. That was all I needed to know - that God was with me & I was not alone. God's words gave me comfort. God's words gave me assurance. God's words gave me hope against all hope. I ended my prayer, "Lord, no matter how hard or uncertain the journey, I know I can trust You all the way."

I lifted myself up. I felt much strengthened. I was ready to begin my journey with cancer. God had assured me He would fight this battle for me. This battle belonged to God. The battle would be fought not in my strength, but in His strength. If God is with me, what do I fear? The words of the psalmist came to my mind, "When I am afraid, I will trust in You......in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can 'cancer' do to me?" (Psalm 56:3-4)

I spent the wee hours of the morning sending emails to all my contacts. Although tired & hungry, I felt I was ready for the battle ahead of me. God had strengthened me. God had comforted me. God had assured me. I was confident I would win the battle against cancer in the Lord's strength. God is Sovereign & is in full control of my life. I submitted myself to the Lord's will.

The journey into the unknown had just begun. The worst was yet to come. In the coming weeks & months, I suffered the most agonising pain in my life

........ to be continued in the next instalment.

Lesson : God is strong when we are weak.
When we are at the lowest point in our life, only God's strength is sufficient to sustain us. God is strongest when we are weakest.

Application : What will you do when your burden is so heavy you feel you can't carry on anymore?

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

my story (2)

"What? Nose cancer?"

In early July 2006, after less than 2 weeks of swimming lessons, my left ear developed an unusual ringing sound. I stopped my swimming lesson immediately.

I had a strange feeling something was wrong with my left ear. Maybe water had gone into my ear & it should clear, I thought. When it didn't get better, I went to consult a doctor who prescribed ear drops for infection. But my left ear not only grew worse, it was now blocked. I couldn't hear clearly. I became very concerned. I was referred to an ENT specialist. A biopsy was done on 8 Aug 2006. The result confirmed a malignant tumour behind the nose. I was told I had nose cancer.

The news came as a shock to me. It had started as an innocent ringing sound on my left ear. How could it turn out to be cancer? How could a small problem turn out to be so serious? It just didn't make sense to me. Everything was fine just one month ago. How could things change so fast within a month? I never had problems with my nose before -- no bleeding, no sinus, no running nose. How could I possibly have nose cancer? If it had been breast cancer, I think I might have believed it more easily as my sister had breast cancer. But nose cancer? I wished it was all a dream but it was not. The report was right before me. I had been diagnosed with nose cancer.

I was very calm when the ENT doctor broke the devastating news to me. I was too shocked to cry. But the doctor had tears in her eyes. She probably felt guilty as she knew that her ENT team at Alexandra Hospital had failed to do a proper diagnosis of my ear problem. They had time & time again dismissed my fears as unfounded. They kept telling me my ear problem was a "common problem for people your age". It was only after I had made a lot of noise & insisted on more tests to be done that a biopsy was finally performed. And the biopsy result was something they had never expected.

When I came out of the doctor's room, I appeared strong & composed as I walked towards my 3 friends who had come unannounced to be with me. God must have sent these angels although I wanted very much to be alone. They brought me out for dinner. But the minute I reached home that night, when I was all alone in my apartment, I broke down in tears.

............ to be continued in the next instalment.

Lesson : God works behind the scene to protect & care for His own.
Imagine this scenario. If I had not moved into this new apartment, I would not have signed up for swimming lessons. If I had not taken up swimming, I might not have discovered I had cancer until much later. Can you imagine what will happen then?

Application : How will you trust God when things don't turn out the way you had expected?

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

my story (1)

Moving In

I had waited 2 years to move into my new apartment. When TOP was finally granted, I was among the first few to move in. I had written in to Far East Organisation to grant me first priority as the tenancy on my rented flat was expiring in end-Sep 2005. FEO was very kind to grant me my request. I moved to Hillview Regency on 6 Oct 2005.

I enjoyed the new facilities & greeneries. There are 2 adult, 2 children, 1 toddler & 1 aerobics swimming pools within the condo development. Being hydrophobic, I don't enjoy anything that has to do with water such as swimming, boating, fishing, etc. But one day, I told myself I must overcome the fear of water by learning to swim. It seemed so silly & wasteful to pay for the facilities without making use of them. If I could swim, I could save myself should I accidentally fall into the swimming pool. If I could swim, I could play in the water with my nephews & nieces whenever they visited me from Malaysia. So I decided to engage a swimming coach for personal swimming lessons.

I began my first swimming lesson on 23 Jun 2006. I invested $200 on my swimming gear. Each course of 4 lessons cost me $160. Half-way through the 2nd course, my left ear began to give me problems.

.........to be continued in the next instalment.

Lesson : With God, nothing happens by chance.
Cancer doesn't happen overnight. God already knew that cancer was growing in my nose years before I discovered it. It was not by chance that I moved into my new apartment. If I had not moved into a condo, I would never have thought of taking up swimming lessons. God's timing is always perfect. He knows when & how to alert us of dangers to our lives.

Application : How will you react when something bad happens to you unexpectedly?

thanks for joining me in this memorable journey into the past.
sockkim

my story

October is known by my oncologist as my anniversary month. This is because I completed my cancer treatment on 30 Oct 2006. In the twinkling of an eye, 2 years have flown swiftly by.

In June, I wrote "My Story" in my other blog (my journey with nose cancer) to chronicle my journey with cancer. I received encouraging feedback. One reader suggested I should repeat the story on this blog. Another reader said I should compile my writings into a book. Thank you, readers, for your kind words.

Since October is my anniversary month, I think this is a good time to bring "My Story" series to this blog. There will be one instalment every week. "My Story" is written with the aim that you will love & trust God as you see God in every circumstance of your life.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

you are God's masterpiece

The following is adapted from an article taken from : www.christianity.com.

Isaiah 64:8
Yet, O LORD, You are our Father. We are the clay, You are the potter; we are all the work of Your hand.

Philippians 1:6
Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

Your past sins do not define you. Your painful scars do not define you. Your present sufferings do not define you. They are just shards of brokenness that God will use to lovingly refine your beauty. The transformation from broken into beautiful is neither easy nor instantaneous. It demands a yielded heart and can be quite painful, but it comes with great reward. God will need your broken pieces - scars, pain, suffering, disappointments, failures. You might find it hard to hand over hurts. But difficult as it may be, it's good to hand them over and let our masterful Lord create a stunning work of beauty in you. And He's going to need all of your broken pieces to complete the restoration.

Real beauty isn't about a finished or flawless product. It can't be. It's not possible on this side of eternity to have complete beauty. Our restoration will be complete in the presence of God when we see Him face to face.

Heavenly Father, I am humbled by Your willingness to love and forgive someone like me. Please take the broken pieces of my life and don't allow me to have them back. I surrender to Your healing. Mold me and shape me into a beautiful reflection of Your glory. In Jesus' Name, Amen.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

your scars are beautiful to God (5)

We all have liabilities. We all have scars. It is how we view them that will change our hearts. It is what we do with them that will change our lives. What is your story? Are you ready to experience the power of God working through your life as you share with others those beautiful scars in your life? Are you longing for a life-changing experience? Read this last instalment from "Your Scars are Beautiful to God" by Sharon Jaynes.

Book Review (by Belinda Elliott of CBN.com)

Beauty From Ashes
Author : Sharon Jaynes

Often, if we allow Him to, God will use our deepest hurt to develop our greatest ministry. The reason our scars can be beautiful, she says, is because God gives us opportunities to invest in other people because of the struggles we’ve gone through ourselves.

For this reason, we should not despair when we experience painful circumstances. Rather, we should look for how God may want to use those circumstances.

Jaynes says, “I’ve learned over the years to stop saying, ‘Why did this happen to me?’ Instead, I say to God, ‘Okay, what now?’ This is a shattered dream, now what do I do with it? Where do I go from here?”

If we allow God to replace our wounds with scars, and we are willing to use them to help others, He will redeem even our most painful experiences.

Jaynes says, "Satan wants to use our past to paralyze us. God wants to use our past to propel us. The choice is ours."

Hope this book review has shown you how you can recognise Jesus through your scars, remove your mask & release the power of healed wounds. Give your wounds to the One who sees your beauty & who can turn your pain into purpose and heartaches into hope.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

your scars are beautiful to God (4)

You have a scar, you have been healed but you hide your scar. Physical scars represent a story, a moment in one's life, and they show others that there is a history & a healing. Your internal scars - invisible marks from heartbreak, mistakes & losses - also represent stories of healing & restoration. Here in this 4th instalment from the book, "Your Scars are Beautiful to God", Sharon Jaynes shows how we can allow God to use our scars.

Book Review (by Belinda Elliott of CBN.com)

Show Your Scars
Author : Sharon Jaynes

Once we are healed, the way we allow God to use our scars is by sharing them with others. Too often, Jaynes says, we hide our past hurts from people around us either because we are ashamed or because we fear rejection. Carrying these burdens around – something Jaynes compares to the dust cloud that follows Pigpen around in the Peanuts comic strip -- can limit the ways in which God is able to use us.

“I lost a child a long time ago,” Jaynes says, “and when that happened I didn’t want to talk to anybody except someone who had gone through the same thing I had. I think that is how most people feel when they have gone through a struggle.”

Perhaps the increase in the number of people seeking help from secular support groups supports this idea. “People are going anywhere and everywhere to find someone who has struggled with the same thing they have struggled with,” Jaynes says, “and it’s a little heartbreaking to think that they are having to go outside the church.”

One reason people are afraid to show their scars is because they feel that their past will disqualify them for ministry. Jaynes believes that this doesn’t happen in churches as often as one may think. And if it does ever happen to anyone, she says, they should seriously reconsider their connection with that body of believers. “If we are at a place where we share that struggle and people do not rejoice with us and with God for restoring our lives, then we need to go somewhere else,” Jaynes says.

Churches should seek to create safe places, such as Sunday School or small groups, where members can tell their stories. When that happens, Jaynes says, congregations will see a lot of healing take place.

............to be continued in part (5), the last instalment.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

your scars are beautiful to God (3)

Do you want to be healed? This sounds like a silly question to ask. Of course everyone wants to be healed, you may say. Do you? Have you been wounded by past unhappy experiences but refuse to let go of your feelings of hurt, anger, sorrow, self-pity, despair, revenge?

Some Christians choose to live with these wounds all their lives. They become miserable & deprive themselves of a full abundant life that God has promised. Do you truly want to be healed? Then read this 3rd instalment of the book review.

Book Review (by Belinda Elliott of CBN.com)

Choose to be Healed
Author : Sharon Jaynes

Each of us can be healed, Jaynes says, but first we must answer a question. She recalls the story in John 5 of Jesus healing a man who had lived as an invalid for 38 years. Before He healed him, Jesus asked the man, “Do you want to get well?”

Perhaps the reason Jesus asked this, Jaynes says, is because the man’s life would drastically change once he was healed. He would have to learn to walk and get a job, among other things. Our lives, too, will change when we allow Jesus to heal our wounds.

“I think we can be so comfortable with that wound that it almost becomes who we think we are,” Jaynes says. “‘I am a rape victim.’ ‘I am a woman who has been abused.’ ‘I had an abortion, and that’s who I am.’ We can become very comfortable in that and to let go of it and be healed is scary. You take on a whole new life.”

Healing, Jaynes points out, also involves choices about forgiveness. If our wounds are from poor choices that we made, we must ask God to forgive us and accept that His death on the cross is enough to pay for our sins. Then we need to release the guilt and shame that we have felt.

Healing often involves forgiving others as well. “I think that many people believe forgiveness means that we are saying that what they did is okay,” Jaynes explains. “It’s not okay. What it is saying is that I’m not going to let that control me any longer. I’m giving it to God.”

Until a hurting person accepts God’s forgiveness, forgives themselves, and forgives the person who hurt them, Jaynes says, healing can never take place.

.......... to be continued in part (4)

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

your scars are beautiful to God (2)

Are you ashamed of scars that remind you of your past? A broken marriage? An attempted suicide? A wrong decision? A costly mistake? An unexpected illness? A painful loss? Do you know that God can turn your ugly wounds into beautiful scars? Do you know that God can turn your pain into purpose, your heartache into hope?

As you read this 2nd portion of the Book Review on "Your Scars Are Beautiful To God", I pray that you will find comfort in the "Father of compassion and the God of all comfort" and in turn, you will bring comfort to others (2 Cor 1:3-4).

Book Review (by Belinda Elliott of CBN.com)

When Bad Things Happen
Author : Sharon Jaynes

We will probably never understand some of the things that happen to us in life. When approached with the question of why God allows pain in our lives, Jaynes says she usually refers to something she once heard Dr. James Dobson say. “He said that for us to try to understand God’s ways is like an amoeba trying to understand how the human body works. We just can’t do it,” Jaynes says. “And that is something that we have to come to grips with.”

It is during our times of struggle that we find out what we really believe about God. A tragedy in our lives often leads us to a crisis of belief, Jaynes says. “I think that it’s very easy to believe in God when life is good,” she says. “But when life is not good, then that’s when we really decide if we believe it.”

She tells the story of Wendy, a young woman who was raped. “She was very angry at God because she had been a good girl,” Jaynes explains, “and she thought that if you were good, then bad things would not happen.” Wendy was left with a choice to make.

In the midst of her pain, Wendy had to decide between three options:

God was not powerful enough to stop what happened;
God was powerful enough, but simply didn’t care enough to stop what happened; or
God allowed it to happen and He has some greater purpose behind it.

After struggling for several years, Wendy decided God must have a purpose for what she endured, and she chose to release her pain to Him and trust Him with the outcome. It is a choice we all face when troubles hit our lives.

.........to be continued in Part (3)


nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

your scars are beautiful to God (1)

I am now reading a book, "Your Scars Are Beautiful To God" authored by Sharon Jaynes. Jaynes says, "Each scar represents a moment in time or a passage of time when something happened to us or through us that we will never forget."

Every scar has a story to tell. If you've been hurt, if you carry scars from heartbreaks, mistakes, losses, failures, illnesses or mishaps, this book is for you. This inspiring book will help you see your scars in the light of scriptures.

I will post on this blog a Book Review by CBN.com in small, digestible portions over the coming days. May God give you a word of comfort in whatever situation you are in right now.

Book Review (by Belinda Elliott of CBN.com)
Your Scars are Beautiful
Author : Sharon Jaynes

“Bad things happen to good people.” We hear it all the time. We know that it is true. Yet, when the “bad thing” happens to us, we somehow often seem to be caught off guard. The deep hurts that we experience in life can plague us for years to come.

Author and speaker Sharon Jaynes knows this well. For years, she carried around wounds from her past without even realizing it. Jaynes grew up in a home filled with fighting and violence. Her father was an alcoholic, and his drunken rages left her crouching under her covers at night trying to shut out the sounds of her parents arguing.

At age 12, Jaynes met a Christian woman in her neighbourhood and began spending time with her. Although her family attended church every week, she had never seen a relationship with Jesus modeled in her home. Through her new friendship with her neighbour, she saw more than just the religious rituals her family performed on Sundays. She learned how to have a relationship with Jesus, and she accepted Christ two years later. Within five years both of her parents also came to know Christ. Her story seemed to have a fairy-tale ending.

However, the years of fighting and violence at home left her very insecure. Among her deep-rooted insecurities was the belief that she was ugly and unloved.

“Even though I became a Christian, I still had those wounds,” Jaynes explains. “And I carried them around with me well into my 30s.”

Jaynes began to feel like something was missing from her life. As she attempted to discover what it was, she sensed God telling her to let go of her past hurts. That’s when she began the process of healing – a process that she calls “turning the wounds into scars.”

“There is a big difference between a wound and a scar,” Jaynes says. “Because a scar says, ‘I’ve been healed, and this is my story.’”

In her book, "Your Scars Are Beautiful to God", Jaynes encourages readers to embrace their scars and allow God to use them in the lives of others. She says God prompted her to write the book after reading the familiar Scripture passage about the resurrection of Christ.

Jaynes says, “When Jesus appeared to His disciples, they did not recognize Him when He walked in the room until He showed them His scars. Once they saw His scars, then they knew who He was. And as I was reading that I felt like God was saying to me, ‘that is still how people know Jesus today.’ ”

Jesus could have healed His scars and come back without them. Instead, He chose to keep them. Jaynes believes that is because He had a message for us. Our scars are important, and He wants to use them.

........to be continued in Part 2.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

are you prepared for a storm?

Can you sleep soundly when a storm suddenly comes upon your life? How secure is your life? When the storms of life hit you such as sickness, sadness or sorrow, will you collapse or will you stand firm? How prepared are you for an earthquake, typhoon or tsunami which strikes when you least expect it?

The following story reminds us that we need to prepare ourselves against the storms of life by grounding ourselves firmly in the Word of God. Have you?

Refuge from the storm
(author unknown)

Years ago a farmer owned land along the Atlantic seacoast. He constantly advertised for hired hands. Most people were reluctant to work on farms along the Atlantic. They dreaded the awful storms that raged across the Atlantic, wreaking havoc on the buildings and crops.

As the farmer interviewed applicants for the job, he received a steady stream of refusals. Finally, a short, thin man, well past middle age, approached the farmer. "Are you a good farmhand?" the farmer asked him. "Well, I can sleep when the wind blows," answered the little man. Although puzzled by this answer, the farmer, desperate for help, hired him.

The little man worked well around the farm, busy from dawn to dusk, and the farmer felt satisfied with the man's work.

Then one night the wind howled loudly in from offshore. Jumping out of bed, the farmer grabbed a lantern and rushed next door to the hired hand's sleeping quarters. He shook the little man and yelled, "Get up! A storm is coming! Tie things down before they blow away!"

The little man rolled over in bed and said firmly, "No sir. I told you, I can sleep when the wind blows." Enraged by the old man's response, the farmer was tempted to fire him on the spot. Instead, he hurried outside to prepare for the storm.

To his amazement, he discovered that all of the haystacks had been covered with tarpaulins. The cows were in the barn, the chickens were in the coops, and the doors were barred. The shutters were tightly secured. Everything was tied down. Nothing could blow away.

The farmer then understood what his hired hand meant, and he returned to bed to also sleep while the wind blew.

SPIRITUAL TRUTH: When you're prepared, you have nothing to fear. Can you sleep when the wind blows through your life? The hired hand in the story was able to sleep because he had secured the farm against the storm. We secure ourselves against the storms of life by grounding ourselves firmly in the Word of God.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

do it anyway

Do It Anyway
by : Mother Theresa

People are often unreasonable,
illogical and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you
of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win
some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank,
people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building,
someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness,
they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today,
people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have,
and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis,
it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

you call Me but .....

You call Me the Way
but you don't follow Me.

You call me the Light
but you don't see Me.

You call Me the Teacher
but you don't listen to Me.

You call Me the Master
but you don't obey Me.

You call Me the Lord
but you don't serve Me.

You call Me the Truth
but you don't believe Me.

Don't be surprised if one day
I don't know you.

Jesus said: "If you love Me, you will obey what I command." (John 14:15)

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

unconditional acceptance

The world system has become more & more elitist. You can see evidences of this around you. Some friends had shared with me their concerns that some signs of elitism are creeping into their churches. It would be very sad if the church of Jesus Christ becomes elitist one day.

What I know is that Jesus came into the world for sinners, the poor, the undeserved, the untouchables, the unloved & the unlovable, the "harassed & helpless" (Matt 10:36). The Lord Jesus reminded us, "Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for Me." (Matt 25:45)

Do you feel unloved, unaccepted, forgotten & abandoned? I hope that the following inspiring story will assure you that God loves you unconditionally. Come to Jesus. Only Jesus can give you hope.

Unconditional Acceptance
(author unknown)

I am a mother of three (ages 14, 12, 3) and have recently completed my college degree. The last class I had to take was Sociology. The teacher was absolutely inspiring with the qualities that I wish every human being had been graced with. Her last project of the term was called "Smile". The class was asked to go out and smile at three people and document their reactions.

I am a very friendly person and always smile at everyone and say hello anyway, so I thought this would be a piece of cake, literally.

Soon after we were assigned the project, my husband, youngest son and I went out to McDonald's one crisp March morning. It was just our way of sharing special play time with our son. We were standing in line, waiting to be served, when all of a sudden everyone around us began to back away, and then even my husband did. I did not move an inch…….an overwhelming feeling of panic welled up inside of me as I turned to see why they had moved.

As I turned around I smelled a horrible dirty body smell, and there standing behind me were two poor homeless men. As I looked down at the short gentleman, close to me, he was smiling. His beautiful sky blue eyes were full of God's Light as he searched for acceptance. He said, “Good day!” as he counted the few coins he had been clutching. The second man fumbled with his hands as he stood behind his friend. I realized the second man was mentally deficient and the blue eyed gentleman was his salvation.

I held my tears as I stood there with them. The young lady at the counter asked him what they wanted. He said, “Coffee is all, Miss” because that was all they could afford. (If they wanted to sit in the restaurant and warm up, they had to buy something. He just wanted to be warm).

Then I really felt it – the compulsion was so great I almost reached out and embraced the little man with the blue eyes. That is when I noticed all eyes in the restaurant were set on me, judging my every action.

I smiled and asked the young lady behind the counter to give me two more breakfast meals on a separate tray. I then walked around the corner to the table that the men had chosen as a resting spot. I put the tray on the table and laid my hand on the blue eyed gentleman's cold hand. He looked up at me, with tears in his eyes and said, “Thank you.”

I leaned over, began to pat his hand and said, "I did not do this for you. God is here working through me to give you hope."

I started to cry as I walked away to join my husband and son. We held hands for a moment and at that time we knew that only because of the grace we had been given were we able to give.

I returned to college, on the last evening of class, with this story in hand. I turned in my project and the instructor read it. Then she looked up at me and said, "Can I share this?"

I slowly nodded as she got the attention of the class. She began to read and that is when I knew that we, as human beings and being part of God's world, share this need to heal people and be healed.

I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever learn : UNCONDITIONAL ACCEPTANCE.

God loves you as you are. Come to God as you are. Jesus said, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor but the sick.........For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners." (Matthew 9:13)

nothing can separate us from the love of God,

sockkim

lessons from Noah's ark

The story of Noah's Ark is an all-time favourite with children. There are 11 lessons we can learn from this great Bible story.

1 Don't miss the boat.
2 Remember that we are all in the same boat.
3 Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.
4 Stay fit. When you're 600 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.
5 Don't listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.
6 Build your future on high ground.
7 For safety's sake, travel in pairs.
8 Speed isn't always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.
9 When you're stressed, float a while.
10 Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.
11 No matter the storm, when you are with God, there's always a rainbow waiting.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

no time

poem by : K. J. Koshy

I knelt to pray but not for long,
I had too much to do.
I had to hurry and get to work
For bills would soon be due.

So I knelt and said a hurried prayer,
And jumped up off my knees.
My Christian duty was now done
My soul could rest at ease.

All day long I had no time
To spread a word of cheer.
No time to speak of Christ to friends,
They'd laugh at me I'd fear.

No time, no time, too much to do,
That was my constant cry,
No time to give to souls in need
But at last the time, the time to die.

I went before the Lord,
I came, I stood with downcast eyes.
For in his hands God held a book;
It was the book of life.

God looked into his book and said
"Your name I cannot find.
I once was going to write it down...
But never found the time"

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

refuse to quit

In 1902, a 28-year-old aspiring poet received a rejection slip from the editor of the prestigious Atlantic Monthly. Returned with a batch of poems he had submitted was this curt note : "Not one worthy of publishing." That poet's name was Robert Frost.

In 1905, the University of Bern turned down a dissertation by a young PhD, calling it "fanciful and irrelevant." The name of that physics student was Albert Einstein.

In 1894, a 16-year-old boy found this note from his speech teacher in Harrow, England, attached to his report: "Hopeless......seems incapable of progress." That boy's name was Winston Churchill.

What's the message for us? Even when situations or circumstances offer us no hope or encouragement, refuse to quit!

Listen to the words of Joab, the commander of King David's army : "Be strong and let us fight bravely for our people & the cities of our God. The Lord will do what is good in His sight." (2 Sam 10:12).

Joab knew that as long as you stay on the battlefield, God can give you victory. But if you quit, what more can God do for you?

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

how do you handle adversity?

This is an inspiring story on adversity. When you go through the darkest valley or the greatest trial in your life, will you be a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?

Carrot, egg & coffee bean
(slightly modified version)
original written by : Mary Sullivan

A daughter went to her father and told him about her life, and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it, and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as one problem was solved a new one arose.

Her father took her to the kitchen. He filled three pots with water. In the first pot, he placed carrots, in the second he placed eggs and the last he placed ground coffee beans. He let them sit and boil without saying a word.

In about twenty minutes he turned off the burners. He fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. He pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then he ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.

Turning to his daughter, he asked, "Tell me what do you see?"

"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.

He brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that the carrots got soft. He then asked her to take the egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard-boiled egg. Finally, he asked her to smell and sip the coffee. The daughter smiled, as she smelled and tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, "What's the point, father?"

Her father explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity - boiling water - but each reacted differently.

The carrot went in strong, hard and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak.

The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior. But, after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened.

The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water they had changed the water.

"Which are you?" he asked his daughter. "When trials and adversity knock on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?"

What about you?

Are you the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity, do you wilt and become soft and lose your strength?

Are you the egg that starts with a passive heart, but changes with the heat? Do you have a fluid spirit, but after an illness, a financial hardship or some other trial, have you become hardened and stiff? Does your shell look the same, but on the inside, are you bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and a hardened heart?

Or, are you like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavour. If you are like the coffee bean, when things are at their worst, you become better and change the situation around you.

When the hours are the darkest and trials are their greatest do you elevate to another level?

How do you handle adversity? Like the CARROT, the EGG, OR the COFFEE BEAN?

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

It's in the valleys that I grow

poem by : Jane Eggleston

Sometimes life seems hard to bear,
Full of sorrow, trouble and woe
It's then I have to remember
That it's in the valleys that I grow.

If I always stayed on the mountaintop
And never experienced pain,
I would never appreciate God's love
And would be living in vain.

I have so much to learn
And my growth is very slow,
Sometimes I need the mountaintops,
But it's in the valleys that I grow.

I do not always understand
Why things happen as they do,
But I am very sure of one thing.
My Lord will see me through.

My little valleys are nothing
When I picture Christ on the cross
He went through the valley of death;
His victory was Satan's loss.

Forgive me Lord, for complaining
When I'm feeling so very low.
Just give me a gentle reminder
That it's in the valleys that I grow.

Continue to strengthen me, Lord
And use my life each day
To share your love with others
And help them find their way.

Thank you for the valleys, Lord
For this one thing I know
The mountaintops are glorious
But it's in the valleys that I grow!

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

God always answers prayers

Do you believe that God always answers prayers? God's answers can be "Yes", "No" or "Wait" but it is still an answer. God sometimes answers our prayers in a way we least expect it or not in the way we want it to be answered. But our Heavenly Father knows what is best for His children (Matthew 7:11)

If you love dogs, you will love the following inspiring story. It's a long story but it will touch your heart to know that God can use an ugly dog to answer someone's desperate prayer.

Dad & Cheyenne

"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" my father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?'

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes.I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.

What could I do about him? Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had revelled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered gruelling lumberjack competitions and was placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later, that same day, I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, Dad had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.

But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then, finally, stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation.

It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counselling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."

I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odour of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs,spotted dogs . . . all jumped up, trying to reach me.

I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen, a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.' He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"

"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house, I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.

"Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.

"You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!' Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides,his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.

We stood glaring at each other like duel lists, when, suddenly, the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favourite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers." "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before : the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article . . .

Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . .his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . .and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

do you feel useless?

Do you sometimes feel useless? You look at fellow believers around you. They all seem so gifted & talented. You look at yourself. You seem so worthless. You feel so ordinary. You see yourself as a second-rate Christian with no special gifts or talents to offer to God.

It doesn't matter who you were yesterday, what happened to you or what you did. God wants you to know you are worth much more than sparrows to Him. God wants to do something with your lives today. The poem below tells how God picks a vessel for His use. God can use you. God can make you beautiful in His eyes.

The chosen vessel

"Take me," cried the gold one.
"I'm shiny and bright, I'm of great value and I do things just right."

But God passes by the gold, silver, brass, crystal,
and wooden urns, and chooses the vessel of clay.

Then the Master looked down and saw the vessel of clay.
Empty and broken, it helplessly lay.

No hope had the vessel that the Master might choose,
To cleanse and make whole, to fill and to use.

"Ah! This is the vessel I've been hoping to find,
I will mend and use it and make it all mine."

Then gently He lifted the vessel of clay.
Mended and cleansed it and filled it that day.

Spoke to it kindly, "There's work you must do,
Just pour out to others as I pour into you."

Why would God deliberately choose improbable people? I believe it is because He wants to make clear that the power lies in Him, not in us. When people observe drastic healing and transformation in their broken lives, their eyes turn toward Him.

Throughout the ages, God continually chose to heal and transform the most improbable candidates. And He never changes. From the beginning, his permanent and everlasting plan was to save us from life’s wounds as well as our own disasters.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

God watches over us

Do you sometimes feel so alone when you go through a crisis in your life? Does God sometimes seem so silent & far away when you needed Him most? The story below will bring you God's comfort that God is always near, always watching over you.

The Passenger

The passengers on the bus watched sympathetically as the attractive young woman with the white cane made her way carefully up the steps. She paid the driver and using her hands to feel the location of the seats, walked down the aisle and found the seat he’d told her was empty. Then she settled in, placed her briefcase on her lap and rested her cane against her leg.

It had been a year since Susan, thirty-four, became blind. Due to a medical misdiagnosis, she had been rendered sightless and she was suddenly thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity. Once a fiercely independent woman, Susan now felt condemned by this terrible twist of fate to become a powerless, helpless burden on everyone around her. “How could this have happened to me?” she would plead, her heart knotted with anger. But no matter how much she cried or ranted or prayed, she knew the painful truth - her sight was never going to return. A cloud of depression hung over Susan’s once optimistic spirit. Just getting through each day was an exercise in frustration and exhaustion. And all she had to cling to was her husband, Mark.

Mark was an Air Force officer, and he loved Susan with all of his heart. When she first lost her sight, he watched her sink into despair and was determined to help his wife gain the strength and confidence she needed to become independent again. Mark’s military background had trained him well to deal with sensitive situations and yet he knew this was the most difficult battle he would ever face.

Finally, Susan felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get there? She used to take the bus but was now too frightened to get around the city by herself. Mark volunteered to drive her to work each day even though they worked at opposite ends of the city. At first, this comforted Susan and fulfilled Mark’s need to protect his sightless wife who was so insecure about performing the slightest task. Soon however, Mark realized that this arrangement wasn’t working – it was hectic and costly. Susan is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted to himself. But just the thought of mentioning it to her made him cringe. She was still so fragile, so angry. How would she react?

Just as Mark predicted, Susan was horrified at the idea of taking the bus again. “I’m blind!” she responded bitterly. “How am I supposed to know where I’m going? I feel like you’re abandoning me.” Mark’s heart was broken to hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. He promised Susan that each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her, for as long as it took, until she got the hang of it. And that was exactly what happened.

For two weeks, Mark, military uniform and all, accompanied Susan to and from work each day. He taught her how to rely on her other senses, specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and how to adapt to her new environment. He helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out for her and save her a seat. He made her laugh, even on those not-so-good days when she would trip exiting the bus or drop her briefcase. Each morning, they made the journey together and Mark would take a cab back to his office. Although this routine was even more costly and exhausting than the previous one, Mark knew it was only a matter of time before Susan would be able to ride the bus on her own. He believed in her, in the Susan he used to know before she’d lost her sight, who wasn’t afraid of any challenge and who would never, ever quit. Finally, Susan decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own. Monday morning arrived, and before she left, she threw her arms around Mark, her temporary bus riding companion, her husband and her best friend. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, his love. She said good-bye, and for the first time, they went their separate ways. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday … Each day on her own went perfectly, and Susan had never felt better. She was doing it! She was going to work all by herself!

On Friday morning, Susan took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying for her fare to exit the bus, the driver said, “Boy, I sure envy you.” Susan wasn’t sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the courage to live for the past year? Curious, she asked the driver, “Why do you say that you envy me?” The driver responded, “It must feel so good to be taken care of and protected like you are.” Susan had no idea what the driver was talking about and asked again, “What do you mean?” The driver answered, “You know, every morning for the past week, a fine looking gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the corner watching you when you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely, and he watches you until you enter your office building. Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little salute and walks away. You are one lucky lady.”

Tears of happiness poured down Susan’s cheeks. For although she couldn’t physically see him, she had always felt Mark’s presence. She was blessed, so blessed, for he had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift she didn’t need to see to believe – the gift of love that can bring light where there had been darkness.

God watches over us in just the same way. We may not know He is present. We may not be able to see His face, but He is there nonetheless!

"The Lord will keep you from all harm,
He will watch over your life;
the Lord will watch over your coming & going
both now and forevermore." (Psalm 121:7-8)

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

perseverance

Poem by : Jennifer Kulp

Lord, my spirit is willing,
But my flesh is so weak;
God, every day I cry out to you,
Yet I don’t hear you speak.

I’ve been beaten so many times.
You know what I’ve been through;
I can’t overcome this giant.
Yet it’s the only thing I must do.

I fought this trial too many times.
I used all the strength in me;
Yet I lost in every battle,
And once again I’m not free.

Lord, I’m tempted to just call it quits,
And lay here on the ground;
I will let the giant win again.
I have fought too many rounds.

As I am now at my lowest,
Tears flow down my cheeks;
I cry out to God again,
“Jesus, I am just too weak!”

Suddenly I felt my body
Being lifted up by my Lord;
He helped me back on my feet,
And said, “Lets do this once more.”

I stood up to that giant,
And fought as hard as I could;
He used old tactics to make me give up.
Yet he only thought I would.

I was determined to not back down.
I had been here long enough;
It’s not the number of times I get hit.
It’s the number of times I get up.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

nothing happens by chance

We have read many inspiring stories about 2nd world war survivors. Here is another one. This inspiring story is based on the true life story of a Jew named Herman Rosenblat. The story has been made into a movie called "The Fence".

The story reminds us that many things that happen in life does not happen by chance. In the midst of your suffering, know & believe that the Sovereign God is behind the scene guiding every event in your life.

The Fence
by Herman Rosenblat

The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated.

"Whatever you do," Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, "don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen".

I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker. An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, then asked my age.

"Sixteen," I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.

My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, "Why?" He didn't answer. I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her.

"No," she said sternly. "Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers." She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood. She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.

My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany. We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers.

"Don't call me Herman anymore." I said to my brothers. "Call me 94983."

I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.

Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin. One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice. "Son," she said softly but clearly, "I am sending you an angel." Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.

A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a young girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German.

"Do you have something eat?" She didn't understand. I inched closer to the fence and repeated my question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, "I'll see you tomorrow."

I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her except that she understood Polish and seemed to me to be just a kind farm girl . What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.

Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia.

"Don't return," I told the girl that day. "We're leaving."

I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.

We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 am.

In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.

At 8 am there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers.

Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too.

Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.

Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America, where my brother Sam had already moved.

I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.

One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. "I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date."

A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend, Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.

The four of us drove out to Coney Island. Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time.

We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, "Where were you, during the war?" she asked softly.

"The camps," I said, the terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.

She nodded. "My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin," she told me. "My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers."

I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were, both survivors, in a new world.

"There was a camp next to the farm." Roma continued. "I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day."

What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. "What did he look like? I asked.

He was tall. Skinny. Hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months."

My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be.

"Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?"

Roma looked at me in amazement.

"Yes."

"That was me!"

I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it. My angel.

"I'm not letting you go," I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.

"You're crazy!" she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week. There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go. That day, she said yes.

And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

don't give up!

Sometimes in the midst of our trials, we just want to give up. There is simply no point in going on anymore. No one understands. No one cares. The suffering is too hard to bear. We don't understand what's happening to us. We see no light at the end of the tunnel. We become discouraged. Even God seems to have given up on us.

I pray that the following story will encourage you to persevere & not give up when you go through hard times in your life.

The fern & the bamboo

One day I decided to quit...
I quit my job, my relationship, my spirituality...
I wanted to quit my life.

I went to the woods to have one last talk with God.
"God", I asked, "Can you give me one good reason not to quit?"

His answer surprised me...
"Look around", He said. "Do you see the fern and the bamboo?"

"Yes", I replied.

"When I planted the fern and the bamboo seeds,
I took very good care of them.
I gave them light.
I gave them water.
The fern quickly grew from the earth.
Its brilliant green covered the floor.
Yet nothing came from the bamboo seed.
But I did not quit on the bamboo."

"In the second year the fern grew more vibrant and plentiful.
And again, nothing came from the bamboo seed.
But I did not quit on the bamboo."

"In year three there was still nothing from the bamboo seed.
But I would not quit."

"In year four, again, there was nothing from the bamboo seed.
I would not quit."

"Then in the fifth year a tiny sprout emerged from the earth.
Compared to the fern it was seemingly small and insignificant...
But just 6 months later the bamboo rose to over 100 feet tall.
It had spent the five years growing roots.
Those roots made it strong and gave it what it needed to survive.
I would not give any of my creations a challenge it could not handle."

He asked me. "Did you know, my child,
that all this time you have been struggling,
you have actually been growing roots?"

"I would not quit on the bamboo.
I will never quit on you.
Don't compare yourself to others.
The bamboo had a different purpose than the fern.
Yet they both make the forest beautiful."

"Your time will come", God said to me.
"You will rise high."

"How high should I rise?" I asked.

"How high will the bamboo rise?" He asked in return.

"As high as it can?" I questioned.

"Yes." He said, "Give me glory by rising as high as you can."

I left the forest and brought back this story.
I hope these words can help you see that God will never give up on you.
Whether you are a fern or a bamboo,
Never, Never, Never Give up.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

God always has a purpose

Disappointment, discouragement, disillusionment, dejection, difficulty, disaster, disease, death. All of us have faced these at some point in our lives. They have existed since the days of Adam when sin entered the world. So the question we should ask ourselves is not "why does it happen?" but "what should we do when it happens?"

The apostle Paul encountered these problems more than anyone of us (1 Corinthians 6:4-10) yet he could "give thanks in all circumstances" (1 Thess 5:18). We praise & give thanks to God not only for good times but for bad times too. When I was a young Christian, we used to say "PTLA" whenever something bad happened to us. The acronym stands for "Praise the Lord always" or "Praise the Lord anyway".

I would like to share the following story which tells of an elderly couple who were brought together after some 35 years by a seemingly "coincidental" circumstance. I hope the story will comfort us to know that everything God allows to happen in our lives happens for a purpose.

The gold & ivory tablecloth
by : Howard C. Schade
original source : Reader's Digest, 1954

At Christmas time men and women everywhere gather in their churches to wonder anew at the greatest miracle the world has ever known. But the story I like best to recall was not a miracle -- not exactly.

It happened to a pastor who was very young. His church was very old. Once, long ago, it had flourished. Famous men had preached from its pulpit, prayed before its altar. Rich and poor alike had worshipped there and built it beautifully. Now the good days had passed from the section of town where it stood. But the pastor and his young wife believed in their run-down church. They felt that with paint, hammer, and faith they could get it in shape. Together they went to work.

But late in December a severe storm whipped through the river valley, and the worst blow fell on the little church -- a huge chunk of rain-soaked plaster fell out of the inside wall just behind the altar. Sorrowfully the pastor and his wife swept away the mess, but they couldn't hide the ragged hole.

The pastor looked at it and had to remind himself quickly, "Thy will be done!" But his wife wept, "Christmas is only two days away!"

That afternoon the dispirited couple attended the auction held for the benefit of a youth group. The auctioneer opened a box and shook out of its folds a handsome gold and ivory lace tablecloth. It was a magnificent item, nearly 15 feet long. but it, too, dated from a long vanished era. Who, today, had any use for such a thing? There were a few halfhearted bids. Then the pastor was seized with what he thought was a great idea.

He bid it in for $6.50.

He carried the cloth back to the church and tacked it up on the wall behind the altar. It completely hid the hole! And the extraordinary beauty of its shimmering handwork cast a fine, holiday glow over the chancel. It was a great triumph. Happily he went back to preparing his Christmas sermon.

Just before noon on the day of Christmas Eve, as the pastor was opening the church, he noticed a woman standing in the cold at the bus stop. "The bus won't be here for 40 minutes!" he called, and invited her into the church to get warm.

She told him that she had come from the city that morning to be interviewed for a job as governess to the children of one of the wealthy families in town but she had been turned down. A war refugee, her English was imperfect.

The woman sat down in a pew and chafed her hands and rested. After a while she dropped her head and prayed. She looked up as the pastor began to adjust the great gold and ivory cloth across the hole. She rose suddenly and walked up the steps of the chancel. She looked at the tablecloth. The pastor smiled and started to tell her about the storm damage, but she didn't seem to listen. She took up a fold of the cloth and rubbed it between her fingers.

"It is mine!" she said. "It is my banquet cloth!" She lifted up a corner and showed the surprised pastor that there were initials monogrammed on it. "My husband had the cloth made especially for me in Brussels! There could not be another like it."

For the next few minutes the woman and the pastor talked excitedly together. She explained that she was Viennese; that she and her husband had opposed the Nazis and decided to leave the country. They were advised to go separately. Her husband put her on a train for Switzerland. They planned that he would join her as soon as he could arrange to ship their household goods across the border. She never saw him again. Later she heard that he had died in a concentration camp.

"I have always felt that it was my fault -- to leave without him," she said. "Perhaps these years of wandering have been my punishment!" The pastor tried to comfort her and urged her to take the cloth with her. She refused. Then she went away.

As the church began to fill on Christmas Eve, it was clear that the cloth was going to be a great success. It had been skillfully designed to look its best by candlelight.

After the service, the pastor stood at the doorway. Many people told him that the church looked beautiful. One gentle-faced middle-aged man -- he was the local clock-and-watch repairman -- looked rather puzzled.

"It is strange," he said in his soft accent. "Many years ago my wife - God rest her -- and I owned such a cloth. In our home in Vienna, my wife put it on the table" -- and here he smiled -- "only when the bishop came to dinner."

The pastor suddenly became very excited. He told the jeweler about the woman who had been in church earlier that day. The startled jeweler clutched the pastor's arm. "Can it be? Does she live?"

Together the two got in touch with the family who had interviewed her. Then, in the pastor's car they started for the city. And as Christmas Day was born, this man and his wife, who had been separated through so many saddened Yule tides, were reunited.

To all who hear this story, the joyful purpose of the storm that had knocked a hole in the wall of the church was now quite clear. Of course, people said it was a miracle, but I think you will agree it was the season for it!

True love seems to find a way.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim

a miracle

Do you believe in miracles? I do. I have experienced 3 miracles in my life. I experienced my 1st miracle when I was 12 years old. I will share these miracles at an appropriate time in the future. But for now, I would like to share the following touching story with you. It's about the childlike faith of a little girl named Tess.

A Miracle
(author unknown)

Tess was eight years old when she heard her Mom and Dad talking about her little brother, Andrew. All she knew was that he was very sick and they were completely out of money. They were moving to an apartment complex next month because Daddy didn't have the money for the doctor bills and our house. Only a very costly surgery could save him now and it was looking like there was no one to loan them the money.

She heard Daddy say to her tearful Mother with whispered desperation, "Only a miracle can save him now." Tess went to her bedroom and pulled a small box from its hiding place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Carefully placing the coins back in the box, she slipped out the back door and made her way six blocks to the drug store.

She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention but he was busy talking to another man and couldn't be bothered by an eight year old at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing ... she cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good ... Finally she took a quarter from her box and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!

"And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. "I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages." he said, without waiting for a reply to his question.

"Well, I want to talk to you about my brother." Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's really, really sick ... and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?"

"We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry but I can't help you." the pharmacist said, softening a little.

"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs."

The pharmacist's brother happened to overhear the conversation. He was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, "What kind of a miracle does your brother need?"

"I don't know." Tess replied with eyes filled with tears. "I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money."

"How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago.

"One dollar and eleven cents." Tess answered. "And it's all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to."

"Well, what a coincidence." smiled the man. "A dollar and eleven cents - the exact price of a miracle for little brothers." He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her hand and said , "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let's see if I have the kind of miracle you need."

That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstong. a surgeon, specializing in neurosurgery. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn't long before Andrew was home again and doing well. Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.

"That surgery", her Mom whispered, "was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?"

Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost ... one dollar and eleven cents, plus the faith of a little child.

nothing can separate us from the love of God,
sockkim