Without Him I Fall

It all started on a Monday morning. Although, in actuality, it probably started the Sunday before… staying up until 1:00am the night before a school day was never a good idea. She knew better – but after all, she was organizing things for her son’s class party later in the week… that had to count for something!

Anyway, it was the usual scramble that morning. The three ring circus had begun. Breakfast, baths, last minute homework… it was nothing unusual. Sure, they were a few minutes behind – but that was nothing new either. As the clock ticked on, however, words got shorter, hair-brushing got a little rougher, smiles disappeared… we all know how it goes.

By the time they were heading out the door, she was frazzled and so was he. To make it all worse, school bus lights were already flashing up ahead! She scooped up her son and charged across the yard and down the hill to the bus stop. They were making good progress – until she tripped on a mass of roots, masked in the early morning dark. As they went tumbling to the ground together she let out a word that she instantly regretted. Pain seared through her leg but she was determined not to miss that bus.

Keenly aware of the neighbor’s gaze from across the street, she hobbled up and they jogged the rest of the way to the bus (which was waiting for them by that point). Her son hopped onto the bus and, lights flashing, he was gone. She stood waving weakly as they disappeared around the corner, leg throbbing and feelings of guilt washing over her. How was it possible to be so bad at parenting? How could she send her little one off to face the day after a morning like that? She limped back home with the weight of regret on her shoulders.
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Can you relate? We’ve all had days like this, haven’t we? Maybe not the same details, but certainly partnered with the same feelings of failure and shame. We tuck mornings like this away into our pocket, ashamed to share them with anyone for fear they find out just how bad a parent we are.

Well, this was actually my story… and as much as I hate to admit, it was just this week. My preference is certainly to keep the entire story to myself, harboring the guilt and determining once again to “do better next time.” This time around, however, the Lord gave me a big, aching wound on my leg to remind me that without him I fall. I fall gracelessly, hurting myself and those around me.

Who on Earth decided that we were fit to be parents to these precious little ones, anyway? Well, sweet friends, it was no one on Earth. It was God – Jesus, who knew our weakness before we even became parents. He knew we’d fail – and yet, he entrusted us with children – HIS children. Oh, the joy and pain of being a momma!!

It was another day to learn that without Him I am nothing. There is nothing good in me unless he puts it there. He’s given me a love for my children (and thank you Lord, love covers a multitude of sins!) and will equip me to serve them joyfully and wholeheartedly if I simply make myself available to Him and ask him to – daily. Constantly. Because I run out real quick! And one day apart from His strength and love, well – I fall on my face.

So, while waiting until mid morning to take my extended time in the Word is my preference, I know I need to set aside some time to pray before the kids are awake to start the day filled with Him – even if it’s just a few minutes.

by Olga Joyce Spivey

"The Awakening" by Elizabeth Grace Taylor

I don’t remember when I started hearing the voice. One day I just realized that it had been there for some time and I just now happened to notice it. It was like the ticking of a clock that you pay no heed to on a normal basis, but when all is quiet, it seems loud enough to drive you batty. At first I just thought of the voice as a nuisance, like the buzzing fly in the house that you can’t seem to find. After a while, though, I thought I must be going mad.

My friends looked at me strangely when I mentioned the voice to them, so I stopped talking about it. I tried to drown it out with the noise and business of life, but whenever I would take a moment to rest, there it was like a broken record, always saying the same thing: "Wake up!"

And so I kept myself running from morning until night, busy with everyday life, terrified to stop for even one second. The voice no longer just bothered me– it terrified me. I tried everything to drive it away, but even with all the noise and distraction, I could hear it faintly in the back of my mind, tickling my brain, like an itch you can’t reach.

The day I collapsed in total exhaustion with no energy to lift my head off the pillow I couldn’t escape the voice anymore. The now familiar words seemed to be screaming in my brain, "Wake up!" "I’m not asleep!" I shouted into the stillness. "Wake up!" I heard again. Several streams of foul words escaped my lips as I struggled to block out the sound but I couldn’t get away from it. "Leave me alone!" I screamed. "Wake up!" it said more insistently. "I can’t! How can I wake up if I don’t even know I’m asleep?" I asked, my anger subsiding leaving me feeling weak and helpless.

Like a breeze in my mind I heard "Wake up!" I couldn’t take it anymore, my carefully constructed calm broke like a dam, and the flood of tears came. "Help me!" I sobbed behind the tears.

It happened so quickly that I’ll never be able to explain it, but suddenly I was blinking as if someone had turned on a bright light. I looked around and realized that I was in a meadow with a small stream over to my right and flowers as far as the eye could see. What took my breath away was not what I saw, but with what clarity I could see it. I realized that what I had been seeing before had been shapes viewed through cloudy, twisted glass.

It was as if a film had been removed from my eyes, like the air had been washed clean with an afternoon shower. Everything was pristine. The sounds reaching my ears were almost unbearably sweet. I had never noticed how flowing water sounded like angels’ wings and how deeply moving the songs of the birds were.

After a long time of just soaking in the beauty around me I began to laugh, but the sound that came out of my mouth did not even resemble a human voice. It was garbled and hoarse. The grotesqueness of it was only amplified by the loveliness of my surroundings. I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop the dreadful noise, and when I did, I caught a glimpse of my skin.

I reeled back in horror at my own flesh, for it was rotting away from my bones. Huge, pus-filled sores covered my body from head to toe. I reached up to touch my head and a large handful of dry, coarse hair fell onto the ground. Shaking, I ran over to the stream to look at my reflection. What looked back at me didn’t even look alive.

Desperately, I tried washing myself in the stream, but it only opened more sores and made them bleed. I covered my ears to block out a hideous gagging sound; I soon realized it was my own sobbing. I lay there huddled on the ground rocking back and forth moaning to myself because of my gruesome appearance, hoping that no one would come along and see me like this. At the same time, I yearned for a gentle touch.

I saw his feet first, and then the hem of a garment– so white that it hurt my eyes to look at it. I realized suddenly that he had been standing there for a while. I didn’t dare move for fear that he would go away as soon as he got a good look at me. I heard the rustling of fabric as he stooped down to me. He put his hand on my chin and lifted my face until I was looking into eyes so filled with compassion and love that I couldn’t look away.

He helped me to my feet. I began to frantically clutch at the filthy, tattered garment that was hanging on my skeletal frame, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it to cover my diseased body. After a time he placed his hands gently on mine to stop my efforts. "Take it off" he said. I stepped back, eyes down, shaking my head. "You don’t want me to do that sir. It’s not a sight you want to see." "I’ve seen it all before," he said gently. "Trust me. Take it off," he repeated. I looked into his fathomless eyes, and for some reason I did trust him.

I began fumbling with the buttons to remove the garment. I dropped my head in shame as the full measure of the disease was uncovered, revealing the consequence of the lewdest of acts. I looked around me trying to decide what to do with the garment. "Give it to me," he said. I recoiled at the thought of my wretched garment spoiling his pure white one. "Please sir," I said, "I don’t want you to be contaminated." He laughed gently and reached out his hand. "You let me worry about that. Now, hand it here." Reluctantly, I handed over the rags.

I stood there speechless as he began to put the garment on himself, covering his white robe with mine. He guided me to the stream and stepped into the water beckoning me to do the same. Confused, I stepped in after him. He got down on his knees and began rubbing my feet with his work-worn hands. Pain, like fire, shot through every part of my body until I felt that I would scream and run, but I couldn’t move a muscle. Gritting my teeth I tried to keep from crying out as his hands moved up my legs. Slowly, methodically, he washed my whole body with his hands and the water from the stream. I shook my head at the uselessness of his gesture, for I had already tried to clean myself before and it had only made it worse.

Suddenly, I noticed that as he washed my skin, my garment began to disintegrate off his body and evaporated as if it no longer even existed. As he worked, he told me about his father and his family in a town nearby. "I will introduce you to them. They’re wonderful people." I shuddered to think what his family would think of bringing this hideous piece of flesh into their town.

Finally he was done, and he asked me to step up onto the bank. As I placed my foot on the soft grass, I gasped. My foot was restored! The sores were gone completely! Tentatively, I touched my arm and chest and hair. I began to laugh, and the sound was like the tinkling of bells. I kicked up my feet and danced and twirled, so filled with an overwhelming joy that I didn’t care how silly I looked or that I was still naked. He began to laugh and dance with me, and we danced until we flopped down on the grass in total exhaustion.

"What is your name?" I asked after a time of sweet silence. "Yeshua," he said as he sat up and motioned for me to do the same. "I want you to come meet my family." "Oh, Yeshua, I would love to, but I still need something to wear," I said, feeling it necessary to remind him that I was naked.

Without hesitation, he stood up and removed his outer garment. As he did, I gasped at the scars on his back– scars so evidently deep that I wondered how he was alive. I didn’t have time to ask, however, because the next moment he was leaning down and placing the robe around my shoulders. I began to protest, but Yeshua held up his hand to silence me. "I will get another one at home."

"Now, my friend," he said as he placed his hands on my shoulders and faced me so I was looking into his eyes. "I have something I need for you to do." "I’ll do anything for you, Yeshua," I said. I almost began dancing and singing all over again for the joy that I felt: he was asking me to do something for him! "What is it?" I asked.

He paused for a moment and looked deeply into my eyes. I held my breath as I waited for him to speak. Finally he said, "Tell everyone you see what I have done for you." I sighed in relief. "I don’t think I can help it," I said joyfully. He smiled and reached out his hand for me to hold as we walked together into his village.

by Elizabeth Grace Taylor

Painting a Healing

A couple of years ago, a dear friend's little grand-daughter was attacked by a life-threatening reaction to a vaccination. She was in the hospital for quite some time, unresponsive, and wracked with devastating seizures. We were all praying for her.

During this time, the Holy Spirit moved on me to paint a picture for them(click on the picture to see large), to encourage the family and minister to the little girl. My painting skills were not great, and I had no idea what to paint. So I just started to paint my feelings, and to intercede while I did so.

There were a couple of verses that my friend was holding on to during this time, and I prayed these and painted them into the picture. The family was blessed by the Lord's expression of mercy and love towards them through this painting, and the Lord graciously spared the little girl's life with His healing power. She is still recovering from the effects of the ordeal, but we are believing, holding on to and proclaiming His complete restoration work to be accomplished. She continues to improve, and this is to His glory.

The painting has many symbols. The hand is Jesus' hand, reaching into the family's life, breaking through the difficult circumstances to give them back their daughter, fully restored. The rose had a bit of an unusual look to it, and I remember the Lord saying that she would bear "marks" of her illness and healing. Huge waves are rolling up, destroying some of what they had built in their life, but the wave turns into a protecting angel wing from Heaven. New "buildings" are created in the place of the destruction, and these things are of eternal value. The multi-media artwork has "jewels" as part of these structures.

On the bottom are seashells that weather the storm, but underneath the paint is a sandcastle that represents some of the activities of childhood. The decoupaged crystal rose represents the little girl in her coma state, which is then replaced by the living rose, which draws its life from the Saviour who holds her in His hands.

The sanddollar represents the body of Christ broken for her healing, and also the grandmother's heart as it breaks over her loved ones' suffering. Out from it come five doves, representing the grace of God. The doves are flying upward in prayer, becoming the Holy Spirit dove who carries a golden censer with incense, which is the prayers of the saints.

On the top left of the picture is a temple representing the presence of God in Heaven and in His body, which is His temple on earth. Out from this come the words "Talitha cumi", which means "Little girl, arise". It was the words Jesus spoke to the little girl in Mark 5:41. Here, it shows that the Church was responding to the Word spoken in Heaven and was speaking the Word out in faith, to the same effect as when Jesus spoke it when He was here on earth, and with the same effectiveness. Other Scripture verses were painted into it, then covered , and I don't remember now what they were.

The other Scripture that inspired this painting is Isaiah 54: 11-17 NKJV:

"O you afflicted one, tossed with tempest, and not comforted, Behold, I will lay your stones with colorful gems, And lay your foundations with sapphires. I will make your pinnacles of rubies, Your gates of crystal, And all your walls of precious stones. All your children shall be taught by the LORD, And great shall be the peace of your children. In righteousness you shall be established; You shall be far from oppression, for you shall not fear; And from terror, for it shall not come near you. . . No weapon formed against you shall prosper. . .This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, And their righteousness is from Me," Says the LORD."

Praise the Lord for His wonderful work: that which He has already done, and that which He is about to do! He gets all the glory.

Karen Gladys Henry © 2008 All Rights Reserved.