This is the day of feasting! My mouth can't wait for a generous "chunk" of that succulent turkey, delicious ham, mashed potatoes and a sundry of wonderfully prepared vegetables. And then, just when you think you can't eat another bite, your eyes fall on the table covered with deserts that make your mouth juices begin to flow. It's fun.

But the celebration sometimes misses the mark. We feast in celebration of the time when the Pilgrims gathered with the Native Americans, who were largely responsible for teaching them how to raise their crops in the New World, and feasted. It was a time of giving thanks to God for blessing, life, and friendship, all of which are very worthy of thanksgiving.

Author --Adelaide A. Pollard, 1862-1934
Composer --George C. Stebbins, 1846-1945
Tune Name --"Adelaide"
Scripture Reference - Jeremiah 18:3,4

"But now, O Lord, Thou art our Father; we are the clay, and Thou our potter; and we all are the work of Thy hand." Isaiah 64:8

It really doesn't matter what you do with us, Lord-just have your way with our lives ...

This simple expression, prayed by an elderly woman at a prayer meeting one night, was the source of inspiration that prompted the writing of this popular consecration hymn, in 1902. From that time to the present, it has been an influential hymn in aiding individuals to examine and submit their lives to the Lordship of Christ.

The author of this hymn text, Adelaide A. Pollard, was herself experiencing a "distress of soul" during this time. It appears that it was a period in her life when she had been unsuccessful in raising funds to make a desired trip to Africa for missionary service. In this state of discouragement, she attended a little prayer meeting one night and was greatly impressed with the prayer of an elderly woman, who omitted the usual requests for blessings and things, and simply petitioned God for an understanding of His will in life. Upon returning home that evening, Miss Pollard meditated further on the story of the potter, found in Jeremiah 18:3,

It was an unusually cold day for the month of May. Spring had arrived and everything was alive with color. But a cold front from the North had brought winter's chill back to Indiana. I sat, with two friends, in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the towns-square. The food and the company were both especially good that day.

As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read, "I will work for food." My heart sank. I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways.

On Tuesday the best man I know will do what he always does on the 21st of the month. He'll sit down and pen a love letter to his best girl. He'll say how much he misses her and loves her and can't wait to see her again. Then he'll fold it once, slide it in a little envelope and walk into his bedroom. He'll go to the stack of love letters sitting there on her pillow, untie the yellow ribbon, place the new one on top and tie the ribbon again.

The stack will be 180 letters high then, because Tuesday is 15 years to the day since Nellie, his beloved wife of 53 years, died. In her memory, he sleeps only on his half of the bed, only on his pillow, only on top of the sheets, never between, with just the old bedspread they shared to keep him warm.

Read more...

Donna's fourth grade classroom looked like many others I had seen in the past. Students sat in five rows of six desks. The teacher's desk was in front and faced the students. The bulletin board featured student work. IN most respects it appeared to be a typically traditional elementary classroom. Yet something seemed different that day I entered it for the first time. There seemed to be an undercurrent of excitement.

"I will sing unto the LORD as long as I live: I will sing praise to my God while I have my being. My meditation of him shall be sweet: I will be glad in the LORD." - Psalm 104:33-34 KJV

Many of our finest gospel hymns have been born out of some tragic experience or event. "My Redeemer," though expressing a joyful note of praise, was found in the wreckage of a train accident which had just claimed the life of its author, P. P. Bliss, a noted contributor to early gospel music.

At the age of thirty-eight and at the very height of his fruitful musical ministry, Philip Paul Bliss's life ended suddenly in tragedy.

I was pensively looking out the sliding glass door as the rain pelted against the glass. I could not help wondering when all the rain would stop. Abruptly, I was brought back to reality by the cooing voice of the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage.

"Who are you looking for, Noah?"

"No," I said before thinking, "I'm wondering how Noah put up with all of Mrs. Noah's questions during the flood."

Oops! Did I say that aloud?

I'm not quite sure what happened next but there was some mention about somewhere where the sun doesn't shine. I can't be sure because I was in too much of a tizzy at the time to follow her exact words. Of course, at the time there were more words than I could follow on my best day.

Jealousy is a very powerful emotion and if left unattended it can literally wreck havoc in our relationships and marriage. Why do we get jealous of our spouse? Why does jealousy hurt so badly? Jealousy hurts because we feel this emotion usually after our spouse has harmed us in some way. But sometimes we feel jealous for no reason whatsoever and this is very harmful to our relationships.

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble" -Psalm 46:1

This beloved gospel hymn text's author, Horatio Gates Spafford, had known peaceful and happy days as a successful young attorney in Chicago, Illinois. He was the father of four lovely daughters, a deeply spiritual and devoted student of the Scriptures, and a loyal supporter and friend of D. L. Moody and many of the other evangelical leaders of his day. Then he experienced a series of calamities, beginning with the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, which wiped out much of the family's real estate investments.

I'll never forget Easter 1946. I was 14, my little sister Ocy, 12, and my older sister Darlene, 16. We lived at home with our mother, and the four of us knew what it was to do without many things. My dad had died 5 years before, leaving Mom with seven school kids to raise and no money. By 1946, my older sisters were married, and my brothers had left home. A month before Easter, the pastor of our church announced that a special Easter offering would be taken to help a poor family. He asked everyone to save and give sacrificially.

When we got home, we talked about what we could do. We decided to buy 50 pounds of potatoes and live on them for a month. This would allow us to save $20 of our grocery money for the offering. Then we thought that if we kept our electric lights turned out as much as possible and didn't listen to the radio, we'd save money on that month's electric bill.