July 24, 2008 by pamela.

I’ve received emails with the following article a few times since yesterday afternoon… and each time I receive it I’m once again encouraged and reminded of the great blessing of motherhood and childbearing specifically. I’m encouraged bcz the ones who have sent it are mothers who not only love their children but also love being mothers — mothers who have borne many children and whose bodies have been made comfortable… for babies… and adored by husbands who appreciate and marvel at the handiwork and blessing of the Lord.

Article by Jeff (The Public Undressing of America) Pollard

The True Meaning of Beauty:
A Pastoral Letter to Fruitful Vines

 Dear Fruitful Vines,

One never knows in God’s mercy and kindness what a simple appeal to a Biblical passage can produce. As I was pondering my last encouragement to you all, I pondered Psalm 128. Verse 3 says, “Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house.” I thought, “You know, instead of saying, ‘Dear pregnant moms,’ maybe, ‘Fruitful Vines,’ instead.” Now “pregnant moms” is a lovely term to me. Nevertheless, from the encouraging replies I received regarding the term Fruitful Vines, it will now be the address of choice!

This also pointed out to me again the importance of words and, especially in our society, of image. You dear sisters have to stand in the checkout lines of Wal-Mart and other stores all the time. Glaring at you are rows of magazines that virtually shout at you, “The Hollywood Harlots are the standard of beauty. You have to look like this, and display that, or you are not beautiful.”

Don’t listen to this. Reject it. Replace this lie with God’s truth.

Some of you mentioned waddling. Some of you mentioned that vines are thin. I was amused. Yet, I was also pierced to my very soul. Our society has made body-sculpting surgeons rich and constantly shoves its artificial, nip-and-tuck, silicone and Botox standard of beauty in your face. Let me tell you something: waddling, as your body bears the children God gave you, is holy. The changes, the aches, the pains, the swelling, the stretch marks, and all the rest-these are all beautiful in the eyes of the Lord and to any man who has his biblical wits about him. It is stunning beauty to see women submitting to the often painful changes that bearing the Lord’s children brings. Being fruitful and multiplying brings glory to the Lord Jesus Christ and is the holy act of bringing God’s elect into this world. Through virgin’s womb, our beloved Savior entered this world. Mary did the most holy waddling that has ever graced the planet. It was not the sultry, sensual sashay of seduction. It was the humble, load-bearing, groaning, aching waddle of the salvation of all God’s elect for all eternity.

Waddle on,groan on, swell up to the glory of the Lord Jesus Christ: you are displaying a true and holy beauty to your God and to anyone who has eyes to see.

My beloved wife used to say in her last trimester, “I feel like a beached whale.” I wish I had told her a million times and more, “But you are beautiful to me and to the Lord.” She was then and she is now the delight of my eyes. Dear Vines, there is a beauty in your fulfilling the eternal purpose of God to which all the airbrushed, surgically enhanced bodies on this planet will never compare. Your self-effacing sacrifice displays the glory of your Lord.

Waddle, swell, and groan to glory of your Savior. He knows true beauty when he sees it…”

The above article by Jeff Pollard posted at Vision Forum | Doug Phillips Blog Permalink

with love and thanks to the LORD for the inestimable gift of motherhood and opportunity for life…

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July 22, 2008 by pamela.

I wrote about all the swooning and fainting at Obama speeches and you know, I thought the whole deal was a perfect set up for the campaign or, rather, the candidate, to appear ‘messiah-like’ in his presentation and presence. He notices the fainting ones… he seemed to care… he was the only one offering help… he was a-mazing. He met felt needs, he presented material people wanted to hear, he appeared to care, he was sensitive, he offered solutions, he promised good things, he seemed to have all the answers…

I kept wondering [and I keep wondering]… is he really only a US Senator? Does he ever go to work? It’s incredible - only in America - could this happen… media driven America and the who-cares-what-he’s-done-I-like-how-he-sounds! What, actually, does he do? Or, what, actually, has he done?  I don’t mean what has he proposed or what has he talked about doing… I mean, what has he done?

Incredible, isn’t it!?!? No real track record of actual accomplishments. No great wisdom or understanding - to produce a change that will be actually wise and beneficial. No wise counsel or solutions - but lots of schmooze for the masses. Is it really *not* important to the American people that the Emperor really has no clothes? Incredible… as with so many other things… poor, poor America.

Here you go: look what Obama has done for you. [keep clicking, there’s more… much more]

But really, Rick Warren’s got all the answers for you here.

[edited Wednesday morning; for incredulity, humour is a bit of a tension reliever.]

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July 15, 2008 by pamela.

and I suppose if I could choose any photo… it would be this:

or this.

If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free… If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.”
–John 8.31b,32,36

He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep
to gain what he cannot lose.”
–Jim Elliot

Posted in Timothy - Ghana, devotionals, Family | Print | 6 Comments »

July 14, 2008 by pamela.

I was thinking this morning that God’s grace is sufficient for the day… and then considered: how much grace does God have? How much mercy? The Word says He is plenteous in mercy and that He gives liberally. Can I exhaust the grace of God? Can I ask Him too often for mercy - for grace - for wisdom? Is His ear far from my cry? No… to all of these things, no… His arm is not shortened that it cannot save, His mercy knows no end and there is no accounting of His grace and wisdom - for if the grace of God is sufficient, then whatever He does, is, gives or says will be or is sufficient for me. Always.

I’ve been missing my boy… we passed the half year point since he left for Africa. I’m glad he’s there. Truly, I am glad. But I miss him - I miss his exuberance and enthusiasm for work and play. I miss his quirky characteristics - never giving a straight face or simple smile for a photo - quick wit - ready to help - zealous for the Truth - reading and reading and reading and then sharing what he gleaned. I miss his projects and inventions… seeing him in his reading chair or looking at articles, clips or notes on the computer.

I miss seeing him standing at the kitchen sink eating potato rolls with raspberry jam dripping down his arms.

I miss that he loved, loved, loved Poor Bear and everything Pooh Bear… and volleyball and running. I miss that I cannot see him ministering and preaching the gospel. I miss his eyes… his laugh… his Timothyism’s. I miss his observations of things I missed in places, people and photos.

I know many, many mothers have been or are where I am today. I used to think of that while I was labouring before birth… but that knowledge didn’t really help me then and somehow doesn’t really lift me now, either. But one thing it does is give me more compassion - more compassion for those who have gone before me and more compassion for mothers who are facing loss, disappointment, regret or hurting hearts today.

But I still miss my boy. a. lot.

God gives more grace. Praise His name. And I sing:

He Giveth More Grace

He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction He addeth His mercy;
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

Fear not that thy need shall exceed His provision,
Our God ever yearns His resources to share;
Lean hard on the arm everlasting, availing;
The Father both thee and thy load will upbear.

His love has no limit; His grace has no measure.
His pow’r has no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!

Annie Johnson Flint

God has given me everything I hoped for………………..

Timothy’s pages

 

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July 3, 2008 by pamela.

The contents of Timothy’s bags was pretty minimal when he left for Ghana six months ago. There were few necessities and few luxuries and I suppose that were he to have had to dump his possessions or to make a choice what to take and what to leave behind, the soccer balls would not have been in the ‘left behind’ grouping. There were few items on the priority list, but topping that list was soccer balls, for Timothy knows that wherever he goes, soccer is the universal language — it’s the great equalizer — anywhere.

Timothy had an opportunity to go with his Ghanaian friend, Clem, to visit Clem’s home village. A treat was to go to the beach. and. play. soccer.

Then… “small friends in Tacrodi”

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July 3, 2008 by pamela.

This pic’s from Timothy in Ghana.

There’s a story here. Hmmmmm.

Timothy says that’s the Methodist church in the back ground. A very typical sight in the extremely poverty stricken area.  Makes me think:  what are we saying here in the States with our exceeding wealth and mega-buildings and mega programs and mega institutions?

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July 3, 2008 by pamela.

I often say, your sphere of influence is greater than your sphere of acquaintance.   And now, my new favourite phrase is: you can number the seeds in an apple, but you cannot number the apples in a seed.  For, who can know the influence of a life?  Who can measure the value of a life yielded to Christ?

I’ve not been able to blog lately… so much time and so little to do.  Reverse that.   But I did receive a letter in the mails today that I thought would be worth the time of reading.  Truly, there is little encouragement in the pages of news and reports these days.  Surely, it seems, the whole world’s gone mad.  And the church with it.  O, may God help us all. What a sorry state when a man turns his back on God… but when ‘church’ leaders turn their backs on the Truth of the Word of God.  A certainty: perilous times have come… and I must suppose that judgment must begin at the house of God. (2Timothy 3.1; 1Peter 4.17)

 

Back in 1921, a missionary couple named David and Svea Flood went with their 2 year old son from Sweden to the heart of Africa to what was then called the Belgian Congo. They met up with another young Scandinavian couple, the Ericksons, and the four of them sought God for direction.

 
 In those days of much tenderness and devotion and sacrifice, they felt led of the Lord to set out from the main mission station and take the gospel to a remote area. This was a huge step of faith. At the village of N’dolera they were rebuffed by the chief, who would not let them enter his town for fear of alienating the local gods. The two couples opted to go
 half a mile up the slope and build their own mud huts’. They prayed for a spiritual breakthrough, but there was none. The only contact with the villagers was a young boy, who was allowed to sell them chickens and eggs twice a week.
 
 Svea Flood, a tiny woman only four feet, eight inches tall, decided that if this was the only African she could talk to, she would try to lead the boy to Jesus. And in fact, she succeeded. But there were no other encouragements.
 
 Meanwhile, malaria continued to strike one member of the little band after another. In time the Ericksons decided they had had enough suffering and left to return to the central mission station. David and Svea Flood remained near N’dolera to go on alone. Then, of all things, Svea found herself pregnant in the middle of the primitive wilderness. When the time came for her to give birth, the village chief softened enough to allow a midwife to help her. A little girl was born, whom they named Aina. The delivery, however, was exhausting, and Svea Flood was already weak from bouts of malaria. The birth process was a heavy blow to her stamina. She lasted only another seventeen days.
 
 Inside David Flood, something snapped in that moment. He dug a crude grave, buried his twenty-seven-year-old wife, and then took his children back down the mountain to the mission station. Giving his newborn daughter to the Ericksons, he snarled, ‘I’m going back to Sweden. I’ve lost my wife, and I obviously can’t take care of this baby. God has ruined my life.’ With that, he headed for the port, rejecting not only his calling, but God himself. Within eight months both the Ericksons were stricken with a mysterious malady and died within days of each other. The baby was then turned over to some American missionaries, who adjusted her Swedish name to ‘Aggie’ and eventually brought her back to the United States at age three.
 
 This family loved the little girl and were afraid that if they tried to return to Africa, some legal obstacle might separate her from them. So they decided to stay in their home country and switch from missionary work to pastoral ministry. And that is how Aggie grew up in South Dakota. As a young woman, she attended North Central Bible College in Minneapolis. There she met and married a young man named Dewey Hurst. Years passed; the Hursts enjoyed a fruitful Ministry. Aggie gave birth first to a daughter, then a son. In time her husband became president of a Christian college in the Seattle area, and Aggie was intrigued to find so much Scandinavian heritage there.
 
 One day a Swedish religious magazine appeared in her mailbox. She had no idea who had sent it, and of course she couldn’t read the words. But as she turned the pages, all of a sudden a photo stopped her cold. There in a primitive setting was a grave with a white cross-and on the cross were the words SVEA FLOOD. Aggie jumped in her car and went straight for a college faculty member who, she knew, could translate the article. ‘What does this say?’ she demanded. The instructor summarized the story: It was about missionaries who had come to N’dolera long ago … the birth of a white baby… the death of the young mother … the one little African boy who had been led to Christ … and how, after the whites had all left, the boy had grown up and finally persuaded the chief to let him build a school in the village. The article said that gradually he won all his students to Christ… the children led their parents to Christ… even the chief had become a Christian. Today there were six hundred Christian believers in that one village…. All because of the sacrifice of David
 and Svea Flood.
 
 For the Hursts’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, the college presented them with the gift of a vacation to Sweden. There Aggie sought to find her real father. An old man now, David Flood had remarried, fathered four more children, and generally dissipated his life with alcohol. He had recently suffered a stroke. Still bitter, he had one rule in his family:
 ‘Never mention the name of God because God took everything from me. After an emotional reunion with her half brothers and half sister, Aggie brought up the subject of seeing her father. The others hesitated. ‘You can talk to him,’ they replied, ‘even though he’s very ill now. But you need to know that whenever he hears the name of God, he flies into a rage.
 
 Aggie was not to be deterred. She walked into the squalid apartment, with liquor bottles everywhere, and approached the seventy-three-year-old man lying in a rumpled bed. ‘Papa~’ she said tentatively. He turned and began to cry. ‘Aina,’ he said. ‘I never meant to give you away.’ ‘It’s all right, Papa,’ she replied, taking him gently in her arms. ‘God took care
 of me.’ The man instantly stiffened. The tears stopped. ‘God forgot all of us. Our lives have been like this because of Him.’ He turned his face back to the wall. Aggie stroked his face and then continued, undaunted. ‘Papa, I’ve got a little story to tell you, and it’s a true one. You didn’t go to Africa in vain. Mama didn’t die in vain. The little boy you won to the Lord grew up to win that whole village to Jesus Christ. The one seed you planted just kept growing and growing. Today there are six
 hundred African people serving the Lord because you were faithful to the call of God in your life. … Papa, Jesus loves you. He has never hated you.’ The old man turned back to look into his daughter’s eyes. His body relaxed. He began to talk. And by the end of the afternoon, he had come back to the God he had resented for so many decades. Over the next few days, father and daughter enjoyed warm moments together. Aggie and her husband soon had to return to America-and within a few weeks, David Flood had gone into eternity.
 
 A few years later, the Hursts were attending a high-level evangelism conference in London, England, when a report was given from the nation of Zaire (the former Belgian Congo). The superintendent of the national church, representing some 110,000 baptized believers, spoke eloquently of the gospel’s spread in his nation. Aggie could not help going to ask him
 afterward if he had ever heard of David and Svea Flood. ‘Yes, madam,’ the man replied in French, his words then being translated into English. ‘It was Svea Flood who led me to Jesus Christ. I was the boy who brought food to your parents before you were born. In fact, to this day your mother’s grave and her memory are honored by all of us.’ He embraced her in a long, sobbing hug. Then he continued, ‘You must come to Africa to see, because your mother is the most famous person in our history.’ In time that is exactly what Aggie Hurst and her husband did. They were welcomed by cheering throngs of villagers. She even met the man who had been hired by her father many years before to carry her back down the mountain in a hammock-cradle. The most dramatic moment, of course, was when the pastor escorted Aggie to see her mother’s white cross for herself. She knelt in the soil to pray and give thanks.
 

O, the inestimable value of a life lived for Christ!

Praise Him.

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