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