Yes, it's certainly been awhile since I've graced you all with my presence...I'm really sorry about that! It seems that life will be only moderately crazy, during the week to come; perhaps that will allow me another chance to write without a full week have passed me by...wordless and wearied. :)
I've been reminiscing over the happenings of my recent trip to Scotland and Ireland. God did so much work in many lives, all throughout my sojourning there. I must be honest. The ministry portion of the trip was not what it was meant to be. I went with a heart willing to serve and give all to bless; I returned having barely survived one of the greatest spiritual struggles of my life.
Perhaps, I'll share more of those particulars some other time. I found God so gracious in redeeming the longings of my heart, however. He took unexpected moments from the tour, the travels, and the time of service and transformed them into life-changing opportunities for His purposes.
I thought, perhaps, you'd like to read of one of these instances. There was a time when I would never have shared this story...I'm just one of those desperately private people, usually. Then, God started to grow me, showing me that it's even the little, hidden things of our lives that sometimes most greatly show the way to Him. I originally gave this story, an excerpt from my journal, to my Mother. Within a week, it had been shared with about 400 people, one of whom committed their life to the Lord. Wonder of wonders...God uses the quiet murmurs of one's heart for His great glory. I hope you'll each enjoy reading. All my love...
September 9th, 2006
I come from a life in which most I know are in control of their reasoning. Tragically, I watched tonight the discouraging truth that that is not always the case...I almost decided to bypass the inclusion of this story, but Christ within me compels me to say what is true but difficult. After all the goodbyes this night, I went down, as always, into the sitting area down near the lobby and seated myself, beginning to write and read my devotions. 'Tis the only area in which to write without keeping Aimee awake and is most unfortunately located very near to the bar. Every night I've been here, I've gotten a glass of water and done my work, although there's a process of misery very near at hand. I had one bothersome fellow come speak to me for a moment, but he took the hint and went elsewhere, leaving me to my writing. Another twenty minutes passed, and the whiskey started flowing through the blood of about three other men, not so very far from me. One of them broke into an alcohol-crazed song and dance. I kept to my "I will not set my eyes upon any unclean thing" status and stayed quietly in my corner, waiting until it would be safe to make my way elsewhere without having to walk through the very center of the spectacle. By only the greatest strength of Christ within me did I manage to hold back the tears. I'll try to explain...here was this man, certainly still relatively young, and God had given him really a beautiful voice. Yet, here he was, humiliating himself, though he'll never know it, just singing and shouting about how he wished he'd never been born, how he didn't know what he was doing here, how he really didn't care and neither did those listening. Oh, no, my dear ones, if only he knew; there was one listening who did care, more deeply than he could've imagined. Something deep inside me seemed to shatter, the hopes for humanity. I just saw , for the first time, the cruel effects of this world's ways...what we might all be except for Christ's great love, hope, cleansing, and redemption. The scene settled itself a bit, and I could hear the main rabble-rouser seating himself with his friends, once more. I readied myself to leave and was just about to rise when a young man sat down right across from me and asked me why I wasn't enjoying the "party." You must remember that I was verging on tears by this time, but I collected my thoughts and managed to say that I had just been greatly saddened by watching everything. I was more than ready to leave, but he wanted to know why I had found it saddening. I answered that it really grieved me to see that God had given a man a beautiful voice and that I had watched it be wasted in humiliating the very one to whom it had been given. I was about two words away from finishing this statement, when I realized that the man speaking with me had to have been the one causing the uproar earlier. I don't know enough about the effects of alcohol to know what was happening in his mind, though he seemed to slip into sobriety time by time, if I were simply reading his face and the depth in his eyes. Many words were exchanged in a brief minute or two until the man insisted that if I didn't like what his song had been, I would have to sing myself. (I had discussed how God gave a voice to be used in loving Him in return, how that had been the dearest joy and purpose in my life.) I flatly told him no and that I had to leave. Not only did he persist, but his two friends just behind me took up the cause, as well. "Oh, God," I prayed, "I have no idea what to do." In an instant, He made it clear to my mind...He had given me an opportunity to sing into the hearts of waiting and lost men, a chance they or I might never have again. I gave God my heart's submission to sing, if He would just give the song, I had no knowledge of what to sing. Then, it was brought to my me..."Father, We Commit to You." I finally stood, telling them I would sing only one song, before leaving them. The men all sat in their places and waited. I begged God for mercy in wordless prayer, then began singing. My voice trembled many a time, but my heart was steadfast. When I finished and opened my eyes, once more, a reverent hush had fallen across the entire room. The man with whom I'd been speaking was in awe--not of me, but of God, I pray, and I reiterated to him what his true purpose was. The most-sober of the three, if that is possible, rose to shake my hand and thank me. He had a receptive heart, and I told him what I had told the friend. Suddenly, he stopped me and said, "Oh, no, you don't understand; God can't love him." My heart broke, and I asked why not. "Because he's a bad man, a sinner...he does bad things." Right then and there, I explained the briefest summary I could conjure of salvation. Be not misled; he had certainly drunk too much, and I can't think he would remember any of it by the morning, but I pray he will. The first man who had been shouting and singing rose very quietly, almost in a child-like manner, before lightly kissing my hand and saying good night. I was nearly to the safety of the lobby, when I heard someone yell out to me, "You lied to me; you're a Mormon!" I turned to find the man that had tried to talk earlier, when I'd asked to be left to my writing. I didn't know what he was meaning, but I wasn't about to have the little the other three men might remember be associated with Mormonism, so I quietly corrected this other fellow and began to leave again. He was far from finished, however, and I spent the next five minutes very meekly and gently expressing my heart in response to his every question. A lady from the front desk came to me and said there was a call for me. I left, grateful for God providing a way of escape, and followed the woman, not knowing it to be a ruse. Suddenly, I was in the manager's office being told that he had received complaint about religious argument near the bar, and I was being told to leave in a firm but muted tone. I explained that I had only come there looking for a quiet working place, that I had never meant to cause him any additional concerns in an already terrible evening. I told him I would be very willing to go elsewhere, and he led me through the halls and up flights of stairs, before depositing me in a locked boardroom. He was as courteous as could be expected and even offered me some water, but shortly he left, and suddenly I was alone in an empty room with a journal in one hand, a Bible in my other hand, and a piercing pain in my heart. As soon as the door had closed and the footsteps faded, I broke into great sobs. "Oh, Father, my precious Father! Did I fail You? Did I cause You shame?" I pleaded. His response came as I opened my Scriptures for tonight...Prov. 9 (Verse 7, especially, struck me) and Psalm 9 (incredible comfort to my soul, even in the depths of my distress for the others' souls and for my Savior's name.) I gave all I had to give with all the gentleness this world can know, and it cost my soul more deeply than any will ever understand. I have the hope resting within me that some fruit will be borne of the sacrifice, for I only found later that one of the three had used their cell phone to record the song...I pray its words will draw them to the Savior, when their hearts are not so dimmed by drink. Will they ever recall this night? Will I simply be some angel unseen in a dream perhaps forgotten? I cannot know, but I will rest in the promise that God's Word cannot return back void. I sat in the room there writing awhile before I could no longer. I put my usual things away and wrote a note to be left for the manager, one that will reconcile any wrong and hopefully, bring him to some understanding of my heart...
That's the close of my little tale, dear ones. I pray God may have used it in some way to bless your hearts. I look forward to "talking" with you soon. God be with you!
I've been reminiscing over the happenings of my recent trip to Scotland and Ireland. God did so much work in many lives, all throughout my sojourning there. I must be honest. The ministry portion of the trip was not what it was meant to be. I went with a heart willing to serve and give all to bless; I returned having barely survived one of the greatest spiritual struggles of my life.
Perhaps, I'll share more of those particulars some other time. I found God so gracious in redeeming the longings of my heart, however. He took unexpected moments from the tour, the travels, and the time of service and transformed them into life-changing opportunities for His purposes.
I thought, perhaps, you'd like to read of one of these instances. There was a time when I would never have shared this story...I'm just one of those desperately private people, usually. Then, God started to grow me, showing me that it's even the little, hidden things of our lives that sometimes most greatly show the way to Him. I originally gave this story, an excerpt from my journal, to my Mother. Within a week, it had been shared with about 400 people, one of whom committed their life to the Lord. Wonder of wonders...God uses the quiet murmurs of one's heart for His great glory. I hope you'll each enjoy reading. All my love...
September 9th, 2006
I come from a life in which most I know are in control of their reasoning. Tragically, I watched tonight the discouraging truth that that is not always the case...I almost decided to bypass the inclusion of this story, but Christ within me compels me to say what is true but difficult. After all the goodbyes this night, I went down, as always, into the sitting area down near the lobby and seated myself, beginning to write and read my devotions. 'Tis the only area in which to write without keeping Aimee awake and is most unfortunately located very near to the bar. Every night I've been here, I've gotten a glass of water and done my work, although there's a process of misery very near at hand. I had one bothersome fellow come speak to me for a moment, but he took the hint and went elsewhere, leaving me to my writing. Another twenty minutes passed, and the whiskey started flowing through the blood of about three other men, not so very far from me. One of them broke into an alcohol-crazed song and dance. I kept to my "I will not set my eyes upon any unclean thing" status and stayed quietly in my corner, waiting until it would be safe to make my way elsewhere without having to walk through the very center of the spectacle. By only the greatest strength of Christ within me did I manage to hold back the tears. I'll try to explain...here was this man, certainly still relatively young, and God had given him really a beautiful voice. Yet, here he was, humiliating himself, though he'll never know it, just singing and shouting about how he wished he'd never been born, how he didn't know what he was doing here, how he really didn't care and neither did those listening. Oh, no, my dear ones, if only he knew; there was one listening who did care, more deeply than he could've imagined. Something deep inside me seemed to shatter, the hopes for humanity. I just saw , for the first time, the cruel effects of this world's ways...what we might all be except for Christ's great love, hope, cleansing, and redemption. The scene settled itself a bit, and I could hear the main rabble-rouser seating himself with his friends, once more. I readied myself to leave and was just about to rise when a young man sat down right across from me and asked me why I wasn't enjoying the "party." You must remember that I was verging on tears by this time, but I collected my thoughts and managed to say that I had just been greatly saddened by watching everything. I was more than ready to leave, but he wanted to know why I had found it saddening. I answered that it really grieved me to see that God had given a man a beautiful voice and that I had watched it be wasted in humiliating the very one to whom it had been given. I was about two words away from finishing this statement, when I realized that the man speaking with me had to have been the one causing the uproar earlier. I don't know enough about the effects of alcohol to know what was happening in his mind, though he seemed to slip into sobriety time by time, if I were simply reading his face and the depth in his eyes. Many words were exchanged in a brief minute or two until the man insisted that if I didn't like what his song had been, I would have to sing myself. (I had discussed how God gave a voice to be used in loving Him in return, how that had been the dearest joy and purpose in my life.) I flatly told him no and that I had to leave. Not only did he persist, but his two friends just behind me took up the cause, as well. "Oh, God," I prayed, "I have no idea what to do." In an instant, He made it clear to my mind...He had given me an opportunity to sing into the hearts of waiting and lost men, a chance they or I might never have again. I gave God my heart's submission to sing, if He would just give the song, I had no knowledge of what to sing. Then, it was brought to my me..."Father, We Commit to You." I finally stood, telling them I would sing only one song, before leaving them. The men all sat in their places and waited. I begged God for mercy in wordless prayer, then began singing. My voice trembled many a time, but my heart was steadfast. When I finished and opened my eyes, once more, a reverent hush had fallen across the entire room. The man with whom I'd been speaking was in awe--not of me, but of God, I pray, and I reiterated to him what his true purpose was. The most-sober of the three, if that is possible, rose to shake my hand and thank me. He had a receptive heart, and I told him what I had told the friend. Suddenly, he stopped me and said, "Oh, no, you don't understand; God can't love him." My heart broke, and I asked why not. "Because he's a bad man, a sinner...he does bad things." Right then and there, I explained the briefest summary I could conjure of salvation. Be not misled; he had certainly drunk too much, and I can't think he would remember any of it by the morning, but I pray he will. The first man who had been shouting and singing rose very quietly, almost in a child-like manner, before lightly kissing my hand and saying good night. I was nearly to the safety of the lobby, when I heard someone yell out to me, "You lied to me; you're a Mormon!" I turned to find the man that had tried to talk earlier, when I'd asked to be left to my writing. I didn't know what he was meaning, but I wasn't about to have the little the other three men might remember be associated with Mormonism, so I quietly corrected this other fellow and began to leave again. He was far from finished, however, and I spent the next five minutes very meekly and gently expressing my heart in response to his every question. A lady from the front desk came to me and said there was a call for me. I left, grateful for God providing a way of escape, and followed the woman, not knowing it to be a ruse. Suddenly, I was in the manager's office being told that he had received complaint about religious argument near the bar, and I was being told to leave in a firm but muted tone. I explained that I had only come there looking for a quiet working place, that I had never meant to cause him any additional concerns in an already terrible evening. I told him I would be very willing to go elsewhere, and he led me through the halls and up flights of stairs, before depositing me in a locked boardroom. He was as courteous as could be expected and even offered me some water, but shortly he left, and suddenly I was alone in an empty room with a journal in one hand, a Bible in my other hand, and a piercing pain in my heart. As soon as the door had closed and the footsteps faded, I broke into great sobs. "Oh, Father, my precious Father! Did I fail You? Did I cause You shame?" I pleaded. His response came as I opened my Scriptures for tonight...Prov. 9 (Verse 7, especially, struck me) and Psalm 9 (incredible comfort to my soul, even in the depths of my distress for the others' souls and for my Savior's name.) I gave all I had to give with all the gentleness this world can know, and it cost my soul more deeply than any will ever understand. I have the hope resting within me that some fruit will be borne of the sacrifice, for I only found later that one of the three had used their cell phone to record the song...I pray its words will draw them to the Savior, when their hearts are not so dimmed by drink. Will they ever recall this night? Will I simply be some angel unseen in a dream perhaps forgotten? I cannot know, but I will rest in the promise that God's Word cannot return back void. I sat in the room there writing awhile before I could no longer. I put my usual things away and wrote a note to be left for the manager, one that will reconcile any wrong and hopefully, bring him to some understanding of my heart...
That's the close of my little tale, dear ones. I pray God may have used it in some way to bless your hearts. I look forward to "talking" with you soon. God be with you!
posted by Amy | 3:20 PM
2 Comments:
My guitar was a birthday gift and I honestly don't know much about it except that it is an Alvarez. I really do like the sound and look of it; it has really nice bass.
Have a good day!
My bass is the best part of my guitar, too. Thanks for the reply, and keep up the good work!
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