...is when the tunes playing inside my head,
turn out to be the LORD trying to tell me something...
Thursday, September 30, 2004
why i live here
I live in southmost Texas, right on the border with Mexico. I didn't always live here; I was born in Georgia, then lived a lot of years in Kentucky as well. The reason I now live in Texas is very simple: that's where my husband was about to move to when he and I first met.
Except he decided to hang around in Kentucky for a bit longer - long enough at least to gain himself a bride. And then we were off on a month-long, rambling honeymoon trip going to Texas.
Before we met, my husband had lived in and out of the border area for years, as well as living down in Mexico a few times. He had even spent a year in Paraguay down in South America.
Missionary work is what he did. His heart was with Spanish-speaking people - especially the people of Mexico.
When we first arrived down here in Texas, an old missionary friend of my husband let us park our little step-van on his property while we looked for a place of our own. It was while we lived there that I learned a few quick lessons.
First, that south Texas in June is hot!
Second, that the tap water down here tastes terrible.
The missionary's wife had in her kitchen a dispenser of good, cold, tasty drinking water. And she would invite me into her kitchen and offer me some of her good water to drink. But you know what? She didn't do that for the Mexicans who came by the house every day, the people that her husband worked with and pastored. She didn't invite them in her kitchen, and she didn't offer them any of her good water to drink either.
Now, she did tell me her reason for sharing her water with me - that it was because I was pregnant. (yes, that quickly - it was a very good honeymoon!) She said she was concerned that the chemicals in the water might be bad for the baby. Which sounded plausible. At first.
But then the real reason came and stared me in the face.
She wasn't sharing her water with me because I was pregnant. She was sharing her water with me because I was Anglo like her. Or to be more accurate about it, she was not sharing her water with anyone who wasn't Anglo.
She despised the Mexicans.
I never learned why she did - I never really asked. But I did pay attention to it and learn from it. I learned to be very careful and guard my thoughts and heart. After all, we had come down here to minister to the Mexican people. But how can you minister to or serve or help a people - how can you show the love of GOD to people - when you despise those people?
It's like what Paul said in 1 Corinthians 13 - Love is the main gift. Without love, it's all sour, shallow, empty. Wasted effort. GOD's anointings operate through HIS love - nothing less. Without the love, it all goes haywire.
So I learned that it's a matter of guarding that love - of guarding my heart. Of watching out for thoughts that will mess with my mind, and with my attitudes.
Because it's so easy, when someone treats me bad, to get into thinking, "He's bad, and he's X color, or speaks Y language - therefore everyone who is X color or speaks Y language is bad too, just like him."
Hafta guard against thinking that way. Stay in the love, and out of the hate.
I remember the first time I saw prejudice face to face. I was twelve, and was staying with my grandparents for a few days. The first morning there, my brother and I needed to go to school, so we walked out to the road, hoping to find the bus stop.
We found it all right. Because there was my friend Sallie from school standing at the side of the road, already waiting for the bus. I hadn't known she lived so close to my grandparents. She and I stood together, chatting, till the bus came.
Oh - did I mention that Sallie was black?
At the end of the school day, when the bus dropped us all off again, and Sallie walked up the road to her house, and I walked down the driveway to my grandparents' house - it was then that I got my ugly surprise. My grandmother was waiting for me, white with fury, horrified that I had stood there at the bus stop that morning, standing so close to that, that, black girl!
Except Grandmother didn't use the word black. Grandmother used the word that continues to get Mark Twain in trouble.
I was stunned. My own grandmother? I didn't have the heart - or maybe it was the guts - to tell her that Sallie wasn't just a classmate, but was one of my closest friends.
Grandmother went on and on, ordering me not to stand there with that girl the following morning.
"But that's where the bus stop is."
Oh. Then, she amended, don't stand near her. Stand far away.
Which seemed ludicrous to me. Separate but equal bus stops?
Well, I was left with a choice to make. This was my grandmother after all; my parents had told me to obey her.
But she was wrong. I knew she was wrong.
And anyway - how could I obey her? I could picture it in my head, you know - what it would be like for me to do what Grandmother said. Standing aloof from Sallie the next morning - and the questions she would ask, wondering why I was acting that way - and I would have no answers for her. No answers that would avoid hurting her feelings - or avoid showing disrespect to my grandmother.
Really, my choice was made for me.
The next morning, I walked out to the bus stop and stood there with Sallie, chatting till the bus came. I never said a word to her about what Grandmother had said. I knew Grandmother would see and know I had disobeyed her. I wasn't looking forward to what would happen that afternoon when I got back from school.
And when I did get back...
Nothing. Nothing happened. Grandmother didn't say a thing to me about Sallie and the bus stop anymore. My parents never said anything to me about my disobedience to Grandmother either. I don't know if she ever told them, frankly.
I was amazed, though, at how well my parents had sheltered me all my life up to that point. Here I was, 12 years old, and only then finding out that my grandmother was like that. Here I am now, 31 years later, and the memory still haunts me.
Was I right, to disobey my grandmother? I think I must have been right. Love is always better than hatred.
Monday, September 27, 2004
tales by sheya
I started another blog today, one for me to place short works of fiction on. It is can be found here.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
how my husband died
I have told this story many times since it happened on 25 jan 02. And people find it amazing. So I think I will post it here.
We were married nearly 14 years, and had 7 kids. He was the LORD's own gift to me, I know. We matched soooooo well together.
About two months before he died, my husband made arrangements to sell the stock he'd been given in his dad's company back to the company. This would give us a steady income three times a year for the next couple of years.
And then a month before he died, he bought us a new car. Not a new new car, mind you - it was 10 years old - but it was new to us. And newer than the car we were driving.
And right after he bought the car, he got sick.
Vaguely sick. Nothing concrete. He just didn't feel well. Listless. No energy. Suddenly gained about 20 pounds. Began talking in his sleep, too. Weird things, like calling out to me about a bicycle.
The day he died, all the kids were sick except for our oldest son. Just about the whole family spent the day in bed. Myself included - not because I was sick, but because our little one was, and fretful. So I laid in the bed by her, soothing her and nursing her all that long day till she at last fell asleep.
My husband slept almost the entire day; I don't think he got up at all. And at about 3 in the afternoon, he started talking in his sleep.
For once, though, it wasn't a bunch of nonsense! Instead, he was saying, 'Praise YOU, Father! Hallelujah!' And he was swinging his arm too - yes, in his sleep - kind of punching it in the air before him the way he would during singing at church when he was praising and worshiping the LORD.
This went on for about 10 minutes. And I thought as I watched and listened, 'He must be feeling better.'
Later I realized that, yes, he was feeling better - but not in the way I was thinking!
About an hour after this, with the little one finally asleep, I asked my husband if he wanted to go to the store. One of us needed to go, and I thought maybe after what I had overheard, he would feel up to making the trip to the store. He said no, that I should go, and for me to take our oldest boy (the only kid who wasn't sick) to help me with the shoppping.
I kinda argued with him. I thought it was more likely that he would need our son there with him to help out with the other sick children. But then I walked into the kitchen and found that they were all up and watching the tv. So I figured they could help Dad out after all.
I went back into the bedroom to say bye. It had been my habit for a long time to give my husband a kiss good-bye whenever I was going somewhere. I had figured out that one day, our good-bye would be the last we would ever give each other, so I made sure to kiss him before I left the house.
I didn't kiss him that day though. He was lying in the bed with only his feet close to me. For me to kiss him, I would have had to crawl across the bed to reach his face. And the little one was in the bed too, where she had finally - finally! - fallen asleep. I didn't want to disturb the bed and risk waking her up.
So I said bye, I love you. And I think I touched his foot. And I left for the store.
Got back about an hour later. Called out to him, 'We're back!' Don't remember him answering. He was still lying in the bed where I had left him. I puttered around the house some, then sat down on the sofa, feeling a bit drained and sleepy myself.
A knock at the door. The neighbor, bringing a bit of food which I gave to the kids. I walked into the bedroom and through it, going into the little bathroom beyond.
While I was in that bathroom I suddenly heard a voice. Very clearly, it said to me, better go check on him; perhaps he's dead.
Immediately I called out my husband's name. No answer. I went to the bed and shook him. No response.
No response. Because he was gone.
The ambulance came. The police came. The justice of the peace came. The pastor and his family came. It was a dazed evening that I remember little of. I do remember cutting a lock of his hair before they took his dead body away, and telling everyone there what a precious blessing my husband had been to me.
I thought of what I had overheard, of him praising the LORD in his sleep three hours before. And then I understood it. He had indeed been feeling better - wondrously better. He was half-way home to Heaven, and I hadn't figured it out.
I have never mourned his death. There was no need to. He is Home - Home where I wanna be. He is happy there, and safe, and not sick anymore. I have no need to mourn him, because I live in that Hope.
As Paul said, we do not sorrow as those who have no hope.
I have indeed that Hope. And in that hope is Peace.
the washing machine!
Finally remembering to post about that washing machine...
Back in March, my washing machine started acting up. It stopped spinning properly, so that the clothes would come out of the cycle still fairly wet. Some of them in the bottom would even be sopping wet. I would have to wring them out by hand before putting them in the dryer. And even with wringing the water out of them, I would often have to run the dryer an extra cycle to get them dry.
And what did I do? What do you think I did? I grumbled about it!
I didn't have any spare money to fix or replace the thing. And with 7 kids, the washer is in just about constant use. And I would stand there at the machine, pulling out wet clothes, wringing them by hand, murmuring and complaining under my breath.
And one day as I was doing that, I heard a voice very clearly in my head say, 'Why don't you thank ME for a new washing machine instead?'
That floored me. It was the LORD, of course. And I knew better than to be whining and complaining. So - I apologized. And started doing what HE had just told me to do. I started thanking HIM for a new washing machine. Every time I stuck my hand into the old machine and pulled out those very wet clothes, it would remind me to be grateful that the LORD was going to provide me with a new washing machine. And I would thank HIM for it.
I didn't know how HE was going to do that. But HE said to thank HIM for it. So I did.
It was about three weeks later that I got an envelope in the mail from my parents. Big envelope full of legal papers and such, stuff about their wills. I pulled out the papers and tossed the envelope on the desk top.
As I was looking over the legal papers, my 6 year old came and picked up the envelope I had discarded. 'Oh,' I said, 'honey, would you throw that away for me?'
She started to, then looked inside it first. 'Momma,' she said, 'there's something still in here.' And she reached in and pulled out
A small envelope. And inside that was
A check. For $2000. Which I had not expected would be in there.
And I had nearly had her throw it away!
Can you guess what I did the next day? Yep - I went to the store and got me a new washing machine!
Thank YOU, LORD Jesus!
peace, happiness, and office furniture
~~~as originally posted @ the infrequent blogger on friday, 17 sept 04~~~
Several years ago, before I met my late husband, I worked in an office. I was the file clerk. Business was booming back then, and every so often one of the file cabinets would become so full that I could barely cram another sheet of paper in - much less, put my hand in to pull the files out to find things. When that would happen, I would tell my supervisor, and she would order a new file cabinet.
One day, during the interval between ordering a new file cabinet and it being delivered, I was trying to fit just one more bit of paper into an already overstuffed drawer. I remember saying to myself in frustration, ‘I’ll be happy when I get that new file cabinet.’
And I distinctly heard a voice (but no one was there) say to me in reply, ‘Why can’t you be happy now?’
I’ve thought about that one for years.
As for peace…
For months now, ever since April, whenever I pray, I hear the LORD saying to me, ‘Be at Peace.’
Hmmm…You’d think I would figure it out, that if I’m being told to be at peace - it means I’m not really at peace. Right?
I am notorious for being slow on the uptake. sigh
Well, from April till now has not exactly been the most peaceful period of my life. Mostly on the inside - the battlefield of the mind.
But then a few days ago, I had a vision of the LORD giving me swimming lessons. I saw myself floating on my back in the water, and could feel the LORD’s hand under my back, holding me up. No matter how deep the water would get. (And I don’t like being in water that’s over my head.)
Sweet vision. So peaceful.
Then came Saturday’s night yell-fest at GOD - and Sunday morning, as chronicled in ‘Compassion.’ And now?
Peace is my choice. I can’t always choose my circumstances, but I can choose my reactions. I choose Peace. And I may mess up tomorrow! Because the enemy of our souls is relentless, and he does not want me to be at Peace, but in turmoil.
But I choose to be at Peace even in the heart of the storm, as it rages all around me.
So help me, LORD Jesus.
This is the last post I plan to import from the infrequent blogger. I could probably go ahead and shut that blog down, but I guess I'll at least give it a couple more days, just to see if anyone is even looking at it anymore.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
back seat of the station wagon
For a long time, one of my favorite sayings has been, "You can't drive in the rear-view mirror." Meaning it's hard to move forward, when you're constantly looking backward. It's easy to see that when it's applied to driving a car - not so easy sometimes when it's applied to living a life. But to be constantly looking back, grieving over the past - well, it makes it hard to go forward, doesn't it?
On the other hand...
I drive a station wagon. I need to; I got a whole slew of kids (hmmm - that's assuming that 7 kids = 1 slew). So I need all the seating of a station wagon. All the seating!
If you're not familiar with how a station wagon is set up, the front seats, naturally, face forward. And the middle seats face forward. But the seats in the very back face backwards.
And those back two seats are where my youngest two kids sit. Not that they like sitting back there. Any time they see a chance of sitting elsewhere, they will go for it: "Can I sit in the middle? Please? Please please please?"
Which explains why so often as I'm driving, when I glance in the rear-view mirror - I will see two young faces looking back at me from that rearmost seat. Instead of them sitting properly in their seats, facing backwards, buckled in (the way they were when we started out), they will have turned around and are now obviously up on their knees, facing forward, hanging over the seat.
They were doing it again Wed morning. And here I was trying to drive forward while glancing repeatedly in the rear-view mirror, calling out their names, demanding that they sit down the right way and stay in their seat belts!
Which is what triggered off this set of thoughts.
You see, so often lately, I have been either trying to live in the rear-view mirror, pining for what is behind me that I no longer have, cringing over past mistakes that can never be undone. Or I have been craned around peering over the seat at what's coming, trying to see it before I get there: "Are we there yet? How 'bout now? Well, how 'bout now!"
And the driver gently - not hollering, the way I do too much - but very gently - sits me back down the way HE wants me to be, and fastens my seat belt around me, and tells me not to worry. 'Cause HE's the one driving, not me - and HE knows the way HE's taking me, and how long it will take. As for me, I should get relax and enjoy the scenery. And just let HIM drive.
King Jesus knows where HE is taking me. And HE likes to tell me about what it's gonna be like, when I get there. Or when we get there. 'Cause HE's going with me.
I just gotta remember to let HIM drive.
No running ahead - no lagging behind. Just content. Content where HE has me now......and again now......and again now. For every now of my life.
Now, that's the way to ride!
the post that titled this blog - updated
I originally posted this on my previous blog, the infrequent blogger, last wednesday, 15 sept 04:
Timing. Timing is everything; remember that.
Monday afternoon, I was just starting to compose a new post for this blog, writing about what I call 'mental radio' - when I suddenly couldn't get into the blogger site anymore. So I decided to reboot.
And my computer died.
That was Monday afternoon. Monday evening, I got an envelope in the mail.
With a check in it.
A very nice substantial check.
So...Tuesday, I went and bought a new computer!
Like I said, timing is everything.
And, by the way, there is no such thing as coincidence. Things like this happen to me a lot. This was GOD's doing, arranging for the money to show up just when I needed it.
[Mental note: remember to blog about the washing machine.]
Most of the time, the 'coincidences' of my life are not about money, though, I might add. More often, it's things like I mentioned in 'Compassion' - three different people giving me the same Bible verse within 24 hours - things like that.
Nice when it is money though - when I need it.
So - thank YOU so much, LORD Jesus - for my new computer. May I only use it to please YOU.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog...
Mental radio - that's what I call it. When you get a tune stuck in your head, and it just keeps playing over and over again in the back of your head. And sometimes it is horribly annoying, because it's a tune you hate!
For me, most of the tunes on the radio station of the mind are from my growing-up years. 70's mostly. Some 80's. Some 60's. Even some 50's, from before I was born. Ancient history!
Monday's tunes were a lot of ABBA: 'Take a chance on me' and 'Knowing me, knowing you.' (I wasn't especially an ABBA fan, by the way.)
The weird part lately is that I have been noticing a correlationship between what's playing on Mental Radio, and what's going on in my life.
I have a dear friend. We are so close, our nickname for each other is 'twin.' I love him like I love my own brother.
He has had a lot of hurts in his life. A lot. And I pray for him a lot.
He was recently going through a particularly rough time. And during that time, it finally dawned on me (took a few days; I am well known for being clueless) that the tune that kept running through my head was Elton John's 'Daniel.' Not all of it; I couldn't remember all the lyrics; I still don't. Mostly, it was the phrase 'Daniel my brother' and the line 'Do you still feel the pain from the scars that won't heal?'
And it hit me - that song was in my head because of my friend, my twin. All those old wounds (and new ones too). And that this was a call for me to pray for him. A lot.
I mentioned that sometimes it's a song you hate. That happened this morning. I was fixing my son a sandwich for his school lunch. Not a PBJ, but I had noticed the jar of marmalade when I was bringing out the sandwich fixings. And suddenly that song about Lady Marmalade started running through my head!
Ugh - I do not like that song. I know enough French to understand the French portion of the song - NOT one of my favorites!
(Can you tell that I was annoyed?)
Ah, but remember what I said earlier about timing?
Lady Marmalade in the song was in New Orleans. And when I recognized that in the song, I was truly floored.
You see, a little earlier while I was online, a friend had pointed me to this posting here.
That post ends with a call to pray - for New Orleans. And my mental radio was also a call to pray.
So please, everyone who reads this: please pray for the people of New Orleans - pray for everyone in the path of Hurricane Ivan - for mercy, for repentance, for opened eyes. As when Jonah went and preached to the people of Nineveh, and they repented and disaster was averted (for a time).
Please. Please pray.
And now for the updates: as I was contemplating reposting the above here at mental radio, I was considering editing it, since the part about Hurricane Ivan was no longer timely - and anyway, he missed New Orleans.
Well...seems ol' Ivan is back somehow - churning away in the Gulf, and not far from New Orleans again!
He is actually supposed to hit further west than that, I understand. But still...please...be praying for those in the path of the renewed Ivan.
(Timing is still everything!)
Oh. And I took the new computer back, and I'm trying to get the dead one fixed now instead.
(Hmmm...Still need to blog about the washing machine...)
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
It rained over the weekend. And I mean, rained! I told the kids it was raining cats and dogs, and one of the kids asked if they could go outside and get them some pets then.
Seriously - one of the kids really said that. No doubt about it - my kids take after me!
And with the rains, came the potholes. The road that goes by my house out front seems to have popped out with new craters overnight.
Yes, craters. You should see the one down at the corner - a real axle-buster. I found it (the hard way) the first time while it was still hidden under a great puddle - kachunk! It was just as I got to the four-way stop though, so at least I was going very slowly when I hit the thing. And now I know where it is, to be careful of it.
There’s one stretch of road near here that I call the minefield. No matter how many times they fix all the potholes, next thing you know, that road is full of them again.
I guess the pavement has become weak there. So as soon as the storm comes, it finds the weakness, and breaks the pothole open again.
Storms are like that; they always find the weakness.
I’ve been going through some storms lately. Storms of emotions. Storms of situations. They swirl in, roar all over me, come nigh to drown me - and lay bare every weakness within me.
On the other hand…
The area where I live has endured drought conditions for about 10 years now. So to get rain at all is a wonder. To get a gully washer is spectacular.
And yet, we get the rain we so badly need - and we complain about it. Like rain is a curse and not a blessing.
Same with storms of the emotions and situations. They stir things up, lay bare our weaknesses, throw us for a loop. And we complain. But maybe, just maybe, they are watering something in us that is dry and perishing. Maybe we would have shriveled up and died if the storms hadn’t come along and battered us.
And maybe the storm are useful to lay bare the weaknesses that need mending.
Paul spoke of light afflictions working in us an eternal weight of glory. [2 Cor 4:17] Paul, who was arrested and imprisoned and beaten and nearly stoned to death. Paul, who went through false accusations and shipwrecks and desertions by his friends. Paul counted these things in his life as ‘light afflictions’ - makes me feel like such a wimp!
Storms - big and small - gully washers to hurricaines - eventually they past. They leave behind a mess; they expose all the weaknesses in our lives.
But then we can see where we need to rebuild. And especially, we can hand the weak areas over to the Master Builder, the LORD Jesus Christ, and let HIM do the rebuilding.
Rebuilding in HIS image.
~~~ the following was originally posted at my previous blog, the infrequent blogger, on monday, 13 sept 04 ~~~
I really needed some compassion yesterday. Deeply badly achingly needed it. What I got instead, though…
I was hurting. Why does not matter; this is not intended to be a personal diary, after all. Just - I was hurting very deeply; my heart was empty and breaking.
The night before, Saturday night, I had gone outside and yelled at GOD for quite some time (well, whispered yelling, if you can picture such a thing - intensity rather than volume). I had had it; I was fed up; what I was seeing was not what HE had promised me. I was at the end of my rope, and I wanted out!
And when I was all yelled out and sat down, HE reminded me gently that it was a package deal - out was out - either stick with HIM and see things through, or…
I didn’t want the or. But I was still hurting. Aching, aching.
And then it was Sunday morning. So I got the kids ready and we went to church. But once we actually got inside the building, I started crying and crying. I wanted/needed some privacy, so I went into a back room by myself.
There my best friend found me. She sat with me, heard me out, started to comfort me. But then she said something that made me livid. I know she did not mean for it to come across this way - often what one person says and what the other person hears are not quite the same thing - but what I heard her saying was that my troubles were because I was sliding back from GOD. Accusing me. Judging me.
I blew up at her. Stormed out of the church building and away down the sidewalk. Angry, angry, angry! All the things I’d been yelling at GOD the night before came roaring back up again on the inside.
I went around to the shady side of the church building and sat down, leaning my back against the building. Praying, hurting. “LORD, sent me someone to comfort me who won’t judge me. Someone who won’t try to make me come into the building (as if getting the hurting inside a building is the goal - as if setting foot in the building will magically make the hurting go away). Someone who won’t just talk, talk, talk at me. No, what I want, LORD, is someone who will just sit here with me in silence - just wrap an arm around my shoulder and let me cry . Someone who will just love me with YOUR heart.”
I heard a motorcycle drive up to the building and park. Moments later, a young man I vaguely remember seeing at the church came over. He introduced himself, asked me some questions. I poured out the story of my anguish.
Did he sit down by me? No. Did he wrap an arm round me? No. Did he keep silence, as I had prayed for? Oh, no!
Did he judge me? You betcha! Started in about walking in victory, blah, blah, blah. Pity party, blah, blah, blah. He was just filling the empty air with words, words, words.
And I sat there, thinking about Job. And how when his three friends came to comfort him, they first sat by him in silence for a solid week. And that had been their wisdom. It was when they opened their mouths to speak, that was when the trouble began.
The young man offered to go inside and get someone else. Fine. So he did. He brought out a lady who is very sweet and dear to me, who is like a grandma to my kids.
Did she sit by me? Yes. Did she put her arm around me? Yes. Did she keep silence?
No. Did she ask what was wrong? No. She began to talk.
And all the things she was saying were true things. But they didn’t apply to my situation. And, frankly, they came across as more accusation - you aren’t close to GOD anymore! More judging me.
Then my friend, the one I had blown up at, came outside and found us. She apologized, bless her heart.
Finally, they all left me alone again. Alone felt better. I sat there for a while, thinking over what had happened, analyzing it, praying about it.
Gaining a heart of compassion.
You see, for some time now, I have been visiting a Christian chatroom online. And I have seen people come into the chatroom who are hurting, asking for help, for compassion. And I have seen them be helped.
But I have also seen people come into the chatroom, asking for help, for compassion, for comfort - and seen them be judged: “You’re just looking for attention! You’re just having a pity party! Are you a Christian?”
And having now been on the receiving end of such compassion - may I see more clearly how to comfort others who are hurting! It’s not that my comforters didn’t mean well for me. They did. I know they meant well with their words, especially those who have known me for so long.
But it all came across as just words, words, words, filling the empty air. Band-aids being stuck on a heart attack.
After a bit, I needed to visit the bathroom, so I went inside. Came back out into the lobby and stood there, not sure what to do next. Go in and hear the last of the sermon? Or what?
And here came my friend, looking for me. She had brought me a cup of water. A small thing, I know. But so thoughtful!
I went inside then. The sermon was nearly over. And when it was over, as we stood to our feet praying, as I was praying privately…HE came to me, the LORD Jesus did, and filled my heart with joy. So I am much better now, tremendously better.
But I hope I never forget the lesson from this, on how to show compassion - and how not to.
And it occurs to me that about three weeks ago, a friend quoted a Bible verse to me over the phone. Later that night, another friend online gave me the same verse. And the next evening at church, Pastor finished his sermon by quoting that same verse.
And the verse?
2 Cor 1:4 Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
mental radio - my first post!
welcome to mental radio! just a brief note now - bbl with more.
your hostess - sheya joie
~~~ mental radio ~ contents copyright © 2004 ~ sheya joie yonathi ~~~