Me: We are alone, shoot straight with me. What do you think?
Prodigal: Sometimes we have to get alone to have that private conversation and those can be good.
Me: That is what I choose now.
Prodigal: Let me share a story as my answer.
This is from the book Joy In Christ’s Presence by Charles Spurgeon
Jesus Christ does not save the worthy, but the unworthy. Your plea must not be righteousness, but guilt. And, though you are ashamed of yourself, Jesus is not ashamed of you, for you are a child of God. Though you feel unfit to come, let your unfitness only urge you on with a greater earnestness of desire. Let your sense of need make you more fervent to approach the Lord, who can supply your need.
O, my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely. Song 2:14
Prodigal: It is nice to share your home with others.
Me: Yes, it is.
This is from the book Open Heart Open Home by Karen Burton Mains
Entertaining has little to do with real hospitality. Secular entertaining is a terrible bondage. Its source is human pride. Demanding perfection, fostering the urge to impress, it is a rigorous taskmaster that enslaves. In contrast, scriptural hospitality is a freedom which liberates.
Entertaining says, “I want to impress you with my beautiful home, my clever decorating, my gourmet cooking.” Hospitality, however, seeks to minister. It says, “This home is not mine. It is truly a gift from my Master. I am His servant and I use it as He desires.” Hospitality does not try to impress, but to serve.
Entertaining always puts things before people. “As soon as I get the house finished, the living room decorated, my place setting complete, my housework done–then I will start having people in.” The So-and so’s are coming. I must buy that new such-and such before they come.” Hospitality, however, puts people before things. “We have no furniture; we’ll eat on the floor.” The decorating may never get done. Please come just the same.” “The house is a mess-but these people are friends. We never get to see them. Let’s have this time together anyway.”
Because we are afraid to allow people to see us as we really are, we welcome the false ideal of entertaining. To perpetuate the illusion we must pretend we love housework, that we never put our hair in rollers, that our children are so well disciplined that they always pick up their toys. We must hint broadly that we manage our busy lives without difficulty. Working hard to keep people from recognizing our weak points, we also prevent them from loving us in our weakness.
Because hospitality has put away its pride, it doesn’t care if other people see our humanness. Because we are maintaining no false pretensions, people relax and feel that perhaps we can be friends.
Open your house today and guess what a lot of people including me just do not like housework so you can share that with others.
Mark 2:3
And they come unto him, bringing one sick of the palsy, which was borne of four.
Me: Yes, and listening for what God wants us to do.
This is from the book Lead Like Jesus by Ken Blanchard, Phil Hodges and Phyllis Hendry
People who want to lead like Jesus, on the other hand, respond to things that happen to them. Before taking action, they choose to step back from the emotion of the moment, even for just a second or two, and desiring to love and serve, run some value checks on the situation. People who lead like Jesus are quick to listen, slow to judge, slow to become angry, and quick to let someone else receive the praise.
Praise of yourself can increase pride. How you struggle with pride. Just remember to pause and pray.
Proverbs 16:5
The Lord detests all the proud of heart. Be sure of this: They will not go unpunished.
The trip started out as hundreds of others did. Lorie Torbeck of Appleton, Wisconsin, helped by her teenage daughter, Eryn, buckled the seven children who attended Lorie’s home day care into their seat in her big Chevy Suburban to go to the high school.
“Eryn was a cheerleader, and it was yearbook picture day for the team,” Lorid later recalled. “The kids and I had make this quick trip dozens of times.”
Now, as they were driving along a narrow stretch of highway, a white panel truck came toward them. Lorie moved onto the shoulder to give the truck ample room to pass. But as she tried to return to the highway, her tires became stuck in a six-inch drop from the concrete to the gravel shoulder. The vehicle began to fish-tail. “Hold on!” Eryn screamed. The van rolled over.
Dear God, now now–the children are with me! Lorie silently pleaded as the van rolled a second time. Immediately she heard a voice saying, “Don’t be frightened. God is with you, and you will all be all right.” She also had a vision of angels sitting on the children’s laps, wrapping their arms around each little one. “An overwhelming sense of peace came over me,” Lorie said, and she was able to relax even as the truck became airborned and flipped twice more, then came to a rest upright on a small hill.
The sudden silence was horrifying. Lorie was afraid to turn around and look, and instead fumbled for her cell phone. Where was it? Suddenly, everyone was crying. Cars around them were stopping. “Call an ambulance!” Lorie yelled, then turned to help the children.
Seeing everyone alive, she flew into action, pulling back two of the boys who were attempting to scramble through the broken windows, then passing four of the preschoolers to bystanders who had come to help. Eryn unbuckled Makayla, the screaming baby, from her car seat–she had probably saved Makayla from serious injury by wrapping herself around the baby as the van rolled. As the second to last child was removed, it suddenly occurred to Lorie that the van might roll again, but three-year-old Cody was still inside, too far for her reach. “But no one would let me crawl back to reach him,” Lorie recalled. “I had to wait until the police arrived, and they got him out.”
Wearily, Lorie climbed the hill. Good Samaritans had set all the children on blankets and were keeping them warm and safe. Lorie did a quick exam and discovered that four had escaped injury except for bruising from their seatbelts. The other three had glass cuts on their hands, but nothing more serious. As the ambulance arrived, she realized that she was covered in blood from a severed artery. She didn’t know yet that she also had broken a vertebra. “A policeman told me later that when he saw the damage to my truck, he expected to be pulling bodies out of it,” Lorie said. “No one could believe there weren’t more serious injuries.”
Later, Lorie discovered that her aunt, who lived seventy miles away, had been moved to get down on her knees and pray for a relative who was traveling. The feeling came upon her at 3:30 pm, the exact time Lorie’s truck began to roll.
It was a miracle. But a few days later when her day care reopened, Lorie discovered she wasn’t the only one to recognize it. “There were angels in our laps in the truck that day,” a boy told Lorie mater-of-factly, then ran off to play. Before she could react, another child told her the same thing. Lorie remembered her vision: an angel in each child’s lap protecting each little boy and the calm voice that assured her everyone would survive.
Mark 12:32
And the scribe said unto him, well Master, thou hast said the truth: for there is one God; and there is none other but he:
Prodigal: I like to hear the ways that we are protected.
Me: I just read a story, I think you might like.
Prodigal: I am all ears.
This is from the book Where Angels Walk by Joan Wester Anderson
Laura Leigh Agnese of Bethpage, New York was in her home one morning when her three-year-old son Danny tore across the living room floor and tripped. A horrified Laura Leigh watched him, almost in slow motion, hurtle headfirst toward the sharp corner of a table. She took several steps, knowing already that she was too late to break his fall.
But Danny didn’t hit the table at all. Instead, he seemed to stop in midair. Within a few seconds he stood straight up again and ran on.
By the next day, Laura Leigh had forgotten the incident–until Danny, absorbed in play, looked up in her.
“Mommy? I saw a beautiful lady. With wings.”
“Really, Danny?” Laura Leigh smiled. His stories were so imaginative. “What is the lady like?”
“She’s nice,” Danny said matter-of-factly. “She caught me yesterday so I didn’t hit my head against the table.”
Laura Leigh felt a chill. “Did the lady say anything?”
“Uh-hum. She said she was going to watch over me and keep me from getting hurt.”
Now he which establisheth us with you in Christ, and hath anointed us, is God; who hath also sealed us, and given the earnest of the Spirit in our hearts.
Prodigal: We need to remember that we belong to Jesus.
Me: Yes, we do.
Prodigal: That His love is real.
Me: Yes, His love never ends.
This is from the book God Came Near by Max Lucado
The hot air hung thickly in the small cemetery chapel. Those who had fans used them to stir the stillness. It was crowded. The few chairs that had been set out were quickly taken. I found an empty corner off to one side and stood quietly, observing my first Brazilian funeral.
On a stand in the midst of the chapel rested the coffin and body of a woman who had been killed the day before in a car accident. Her name was Dona Neusa. I knew her because she was the mother of one of our first converts, Cesar Coutinho. Beside the casket stood Cesar, his sister, other relatives, and someone very special by the name of Carmelita.
She was a tall woman with dark, almost black skin. On this day her dress was simple and her face solemn. She stared earnestly at the casket with deep-set brown eyes. There was something noble about the way she stood beside the body. She didn’t weep openly as did the rest. Nor did she seek comfort from the other mourners. She just stood there, curiously quiet.
The night before, I had accompanied Cesar on the delicate task of telling Carmelita that Dona Neusa had been killed. As we drove, he explained to me how Carmelita had been adopted into their family.
Over twenty years earlier, Cesar’s family had visited a small town in the interior of Brazil. There they encountered Carmelita, a seven-year-old orphan living with poverty-stricken relatives. Her mother had been a prostitute. She never knew her father. Upon seeing the child, Dona Neusa was touched. She knew that unless someone intervened, little Carmelita was doomed to a life with no love or attention. Because of Dona Neusa’s compassion. Cesar and his family returned home with a new family member.
As I stood in the funeral chapel and looked at Carmelita’s face, I tried to imagine the emotions she was feeling. How her life had changed. I wondered if her mind was reliving that childhood memory of climbing into a car and driving away with a strange family. One moment she had been without love, a home, or a future; the next moment she had all three.
My thoughts were interrupted by the noise of shuffling feet. The funeral was over and people were leaving the chapel for the burial. Because of my position in the extreme corner of the building, I was the last to leave. Or at least so I thought. As I was walking out I heard a soft voice behind me. I turned and saw Carmelita weeping silently at the side of the coffin. Moved, I stood in the chapel doorway and witnessed this touching adieu. Carmelita was alone for the last time with her adopted mother. There was an earnestness in her eyes. It was as if she had one final task to perform. She didn’t wail, nor did she scream with grief. She simply leaned over the casket and caressed it tenderly as if it were the face of her mother. With silent teardrops splashing on the polished wood she said repeatedly, “Obrigada, obrigada” (“Thank you, thank you”).
A final farewell of gratitude.
Driving home that day, I thought how we, in many ways, are like Carmelita. We too were frightened orphans. We too were without tenderness or acceptance. And we too were rescued by a compassionate visitor, a generous parent who offered us a home and a name.
Our response should be exactly that of Carmelita, a stirring response of heartfelt gratitude for our deliverance. When no one else would even give us the time of day the Son of God gave us the time of our life!
We, too, should stand in the quiet company of him who saved us, and weep tears of gratitude and offer words of thankfulness. For it is not our bodies that have been rescued, but our souls.
Mark 2:44
And saith unto him, See thou say nothing to any man: but go thy way, shew thyself to the priest, and offer for thy cleansing those things which Moses commanded, for a testimony unto them.
Prodigal: Be grateful when your mood is high, and graceful when your mood is low.
Me: Wise words.
This is from The Soul Winner by C.H. Spurgeon
When you bring others to His feet, you give His joy, and no small joy, either. Is not this a wonderful text: “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.” (Luke 15:10)? What does that mean? Does it mean that the angels have joy? We generally read it so, but that is not the intent of the verse. It says, “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God.” That means there is joy in the heart of God, around whose throne the angels stand. It is a joy that angels delight to behold.
What is this? Is the blessed God capable of greater joy than His own boundless happiness? What a wondrous thought! The infinite bliss of God is more eminently displayed, if it cannot be increased. Can we be the instruments of this? Can we do anything that will make the Ever Blessed glad? Yes, for we are told that the Great Father rejoices beyond measure when His prodigal son, who was dead, is alive again, and the lost one is found.
And there they preached the gospel. Acts 14:17 (KJV)
