Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Marie

Marie was born just before winter, one of eight children in a little house with a table, four chairs, a stove, a single bed and cots that lined the walls. Never enough to eat and always work to do. She carried wood, brought in water, and sometimes even dug with her fingers for the last bits of coal embedded in the cold hard ground. That was her life, but her smile rarely betrayed it so.

Her world was a green meadow all full of flowers bejeweled with the morning dew, the abode of butterflies as evening hastens. Close by was her little stream with beautiful blue-green mallard eggs in occasional clutches along the grassy banks. Sometimes she would sneak away with some "delicious" book and under a favorite tree spend a few minutes that she wished could stretch into uninterrupted hours. She loved rainy spring nights, as she lay close by her sister under the tin roofed porch they shared.

Marie shared with me many thoughts and memories: Of herself as a small child on a church pew, almost ready to topple over, and, as years progressed, of a mother who compelled her to learn things "eternal"; Of Christmases with only a stocking, an apple, and an orange; Of the classmate who, because of her ragged appearance, would scarcely even take her hand; Of dances and how her oldest sister, uncomfortable with walking dark streets alone, would make her go. As her sister, danced, little Marie, nowhere to be found, was fast asleep and warm among the coats; Of her father awakening her in the coolness of pre-dawn summer mornings, and the two of them with buckets in hand walking down an old railroad track together in search of wild berries;  Of the cold she and her sister endured on that little porch with only screens and blankets between them and winter; Of the secret weapon, the Lord provided late one night as she walked home alone from the corner drug where she worked. A paper bag that left one, who lightly but intentionally brushed her dress in passing, stunned and covered in the chocolate malt intended for her mother;

And she told me the bittersweet memory of her sister Dolly, a little girl so full of joy the neighbors called her "Sunshine." She was always ready to help. When mother ask, she was always willing to go. One day this little girl came home from school all wet and cold and talking strange. "I reached up today and touched the fingers of God" she said. After she went to bed that night, things were never quite the same. Each day she grew more ill. Her desperate mother searched and bought the only doll that little house ever would know. And just before she went to sleep that one last time, my mother remembered her singing "Jingle Bells… Jingle Bells." A short time later all her things were burned, except that little doll. Her mother put it in a drawer that was never "ever" to be opened! And my mother remembered her mother's unrestrained cry as that little body was laid to rest in a grave without a stone.

Marie grew up, married, and gave us life. I remember her so often gathering us together, opening the Bible, and smiling as she read. She loved us, but she knew her love was not enough. We would have to make His love our own. As the years progressed, time was not kind. Her body was contorted with pain, but her smile never changed, nor her intercessory prayer. She didn't have to remind us that His "strength is made perfect in weakness." I moved away, but innumerable letters followed through the years. Each punctuated with a "purloined" thought or verse, and very spring she reminded:
"The winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land" (Song 2:12).
Her joy was to commit a little of Scripture to memory each day, and recite or read to shut-ins, those in nursing homes, her children, grandchildren, husband and whoever else she had opportunity. She continually longed for everyone to share her joy.

Her concern for others never faltered, even with labored breath just minutes before her death, she looked at my brother, smiled, and said "it’s time for you to go."

Its only been a year or so since my mother reminisced about that little grave without a stone.
That’s when I noticed the small piece of marble, beside the door, white and round and exquisitely engraved with the likeness of a dove, a remembrance lost to time, some other sadness, a child, a distant grave. I looked at it, I looked at her, she smiled and within the hour she was leading us to the place that only she would know. As I knelt and dug and embed that likeness of a dove in that little unmarked grave, I can still remember her bittersweet smile. Someday I will see them hand in hand running through green meadows all full of flowers, bejeweled with morning dew, the abode of butterflies as evening hastens.

Marie was always listening, and she is listening now for His voice, and the long clear clarion call of the trumpet when all who love Him will stand at attention as the dead come forth from the grave to meet Him in the air…and we will follow.
"For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall not prevent them which are asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words(1Thessalonians 4: 14-18). 
"Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed" (1Corinthians 15:51-52).

Monday, November 18, 2013

The LORD is My Shepherd

A little over two years ago, I awoke in the night to discover half my brain had dissolved without the slightest sensation. Couldn't move left leg or arm or eye. Considering that it involved a major cerebral passage, my recovery was miraculous even though my speech and finger dexterity are still improving. Just last week in response to a query, I maintained, "The LORD is my shepherd, even if the storm returns." Let me share my empathy for a testimony to which mine can hardly compare.

William Ralph Featherston was about twelve when the Civil War began. Little is known of him, except that sometime during those tumultuous years he wrote a poem. My Jesus I Love Thee, a poem that tells all we really know about this young man, and all we really need to know, except that in his twenty-seventh year, the "death dew" lay cold on his brow, and he was not, for God took him.
My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine;
For Thee all the follies of sin I resign.
My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I love Thee because Thou has first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree.
I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

In mansions of glory and endless delight,
I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;
I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

If Ever I Loved Thee

William Ralph Featherston was about twelve when the Civil War began. Little is known of him, except that sometime during those tumultuous years he wrote a poem. "My Jesus I Love Thee,” a poem that tells all we know about this young man, and all we need to know, except that in his twenty seventh year, the "death dew" lay cold on his brow, and he was not, for God took him.

My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine;
For Thee all the follies of sin I resign.
My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I love Thee because Thou has first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree.
I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

In mansions of glory and endless delight,
I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;
I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

Monday, November 11, 2013

The Flying Dutchman



On Nov. 10, 1942, a C-47 called The Flying Dutchman was ferrying replacements and supplies from Port Moresby to an airstrip near Pongani, New Guinea. This may have been the day my father (Pfc. Benjamin Smith, Co. M, 128th) and his best friend were left alone to guard the runway when a sniper made a choice that gave me life.

In any event, The Flying Dutchman never made it to Pongani. Encountering a strong downdraft, it crashed into Mt. Obree while attempting to cross the treacherous Owen Stanley Range.

Seven were killed, and two groups of four shortly went for help, leaving the remaining eight seriously injured and burned survivors alone on what had come to be known as "Ghost Mountain" where even the moss-covered trees illuminated the night with a phosphorescent glow.
It was the eeriest place I ever saw. The trees were covered with moss a half a foot thick. We would walk along a hogback, straddling the trail, with a sheer drop of thousands of feet two feet on either side of us. We kept hearing water running somewhere, but we couldn’t find any. We could thrust a stick six feet down in the spongy stuff we were walking on without hitting anything real solid. It was ungodly cold. There wasn’t a sign of life. Not a bird. Not a fly. Not a sound. It was the strangest feeling I ever had. If we stopped, we froze. If we moved, we sweated (Lt. Paul R. Lutjens, Co. E, 126TH).
In 1967, the Pacific wreck of the The Flying Dutchman was found, and on one of its doors, the following inscribed, including the last recorded prayer, December Thurs-24:

Crashed 1:30 Tues - 10 of Nov. - 1942
Tues-10 17 men alive
Wed-11 16 men alive
Thurs-12 4 men started for help
Fri-13
Sat-14 Tried to put up balloon
Sun-15 Cracker and cheese
Mon-16 4 men started for help-due South leaves eight men left
Tues-17 Small piece cheese
Wed-18 Chocolate bar
Thurs-19 Found one chocolate bar
Fri-20 1/3 can tomato juice
Sat-21 1/3 can tomato juice
Sun-22 Drank last 1/3 can of tomato juice
Mon-23 Last cigarette-even butts
Tues-24 First day-no rain
Wed-25 2nd day-no rain
Thurs-26 Rain today-also clear in morning
Fri-27 Bucket full water this morn-still got our chin up.
Sat-28 Clearest day we have had
Sun-29 Nice clear day. Boy we're getting weak still have our hope
Mon-30 Still going strong on imaginary meals
December Tues-1 My summer is here - went to spring today
Wed-2 Just slid by but Boy it rained
Thurs-3 Kinda cold and cloudy today-still plenty hungry-Boy a cig. would do good
Fri-4 Same ole thing-clear this morn
Sat-5 Boy nothing happened-just waiting
Sun-6 Had service today. Still lots of hope
Mon-7 Year ago today the war started-Boy we didn't think of this then
Tues-8 Nice day - still living on thru this
Wed-9 Cloudy. God is looking out for our water supply
Thurs-10 Just thirty days ago. We can take it but would be nice if someone came
Fri-11 Cold rainy day. We would like to start out before Christmas
Sat-12 Fairly nice day-still plenty of water
Sun-13 Beautiful morning everyone has high hopes
Mon-14 Waiting
Tues-15 Waiting
Wed-16 New water place today
Thurs-17 Running out of imaginary meals. Boys shouldn't be long in coming now. Six more shopping days
Fri-18 Nice and warm this morning. Rained in the afternoon
Sat-19 Pretty cold last night. Cold this morning too. Water pretty low. Five more days till Xmas
Sun-20
Mon-21 Plenty of water
Tues-22 Rained all three days
Wed-23 Thinking about home and Christmas. Still hoping
Thurs-24 Tonite is Christmas eve. God make them happy at home
Fri-25 Christmas Day
Sat-26
Sun-27 Rain every day
Mon-28
Tues-29
Wed-30 Johnnie died today
Thurs-31
Fri-1 New Year's Day
Pat
Mart
Ted

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Confraternity of Those Who Stand Alone


I know essentially nothing of Senator Ted Cruz other than he describes faith as "a personal relationship with Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior,” and having joined the confraternity of Those Who Stand Alone, is standing alone throughout this night "against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." Pray it is with the Spirit's leading:
And there went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, named Goliath, of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span.... And the Philistine said, I defy the armies of Israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together.... And the Philistine said unto David, Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with staves? And the Philistine cursed David by his gods.... Then said David to the Philistine, Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of the LORD of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied. This day will the LORD deliver thee into mine hand; and I will smite thee, and take thine head from thee; and I will give the carcases of the host of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air, and to the wild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel. And all this assembly shall know that the LORD saveth not with sword and spear: for the battle is the LORD'S, and he will give you into our hands. And it came to pass, when the Philistine arose, and came and drew nigh to meet David, that David hasted, and ran toward the army to meet the Philistine. And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth (1 Samuel 17:4-49).

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Yom Kippur


Yom Kippur, Israel’s most holy Shabbat began at sunset today. The Day of Atonement (Leviticus 23:27-32) is when the Children of Israel are to afflict their souls in anticipation of the Day they shall look upon Him whom they have pierced and mourn for Him, as one mourns for an only son (Zechariah 12:10). This day in Israel is typically a day of fasting, prayer, and silence: the streets still, not as much as a taxi, businesses shuttered, radio stations mute, and the pervading silence even constrains the tongue. This is how it began that tranquil autumn morning of October 6 1973:

http://theisraelofgod.blogspot.com/2007/02/zvika-force-of-one.html

Thursday, July 4, 2013