Tamara Lowe at Christ Fellowship

In under two minutes she tells it like it is!
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The Lord will stand by you

Frayed Knot

Are you feeling like a frayed knot these days?
Does your life feel like you are on the wrong end of a lemon?
Did the stuff that hit the fan all land in your life?
Did your dreams shatter?
Did they all come true only to find you had your ladder up on the wrong building?
Did life pull the rug out from under you or was that someone you knew?
Are you over worked, under paid, not appreciated or worse taken for granted?
Com’on did you think I’d have the answer?

What if I told you – this is it. It’s not going to change. It won’t get better if you get a nicer car or a higher paying job or a bigger house or a mate or a better mate or a healing.

Talk about sucking on a lemon lady – not very encouraging. What if every time you complained you left a mountain of dirt behind you? After a few years wouldn’t it be somewhat difficult to get around in your corner of the world?

That’s what happened to me. I kept bumping into ‘Complaint Mountains’ that had accumulated in my life. Dog gone, they nearly squeezed me out. I was forced to my knees before the Lord. “I give up, I can’t do this any more – I don’t even want to do this anymore”, I cried. Then God said to my heart, “be a frayed knot my child”. What? That’s biblical! Oh Lord, “how am I supposed to be your woman under this load?” And God said, “The question is good”.
Long silence……… “That’s it? I was kind of expecting a more definitive answer. Could I maybe get a little help here – a little illumination?” I begged. The quiet was deafening and unending.

From the play “Man and Superman” by the Irish dramatist George Bernard Shaw comes a quote that I pondered for years, “There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it.” As a young woman I could not get my mind around Mr. Shaw’s quote. Life experiences brought a reality to the two tragedies but God brought me a quest and this weeks

Pearl to String: No matter what circumstances I find surrounding me, no matter how unfair, difficult or painful they might be - the constant in my life is not to complain about it but to ask myself: How can I be God’s woman (man) is this situation. Right here, right now. That question always leads me to prayer, thanksgiving and God’s Word. In The Message translation of 2 Corinthians 12:7-10 we see Paul learning to be God’s man in his situation. “Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn't get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan's angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn't think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me, My grace is enough; it's all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness. Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.”

Like a kid at Christmas opening toys, (Yea!) clothes, (Huh?) socks and underwear. (Ugg!) not all gifts from God are fun but all have purpose.

No longer a frayed knot
Now dancing in the palm of His hand,
Know you are loved
Lyndi

ONLY A QUARTER

Several years ago a preacher moved to Houston, Texas. Some weeks after he arrived, he had occasion to ride the bus from his home to the downtown area. When he sat down, he discovered that the driver had accidentally given him a quarter too much change.

As he considered what to do, he thought to himself, you better give the quarter back. It would be wrong to keep it. Then he thought, "Oh, forget it, it's only a quarter. Who would worry about this little amount? Anyway the bus company already gets too much fare; they will never miss it. Accept it as a gift from God and keep quiet."

When his stop came, he paused momentarily at the door, then he handed the quarter to the driver and said, "Here, you gave me too much change."

The driver with a smile, replied, "Aren't you the new preacher in town? I have been thinking lately about going to worship somewhere. I just wanted to see what you would do if I gave you too much change."

When my friend stepped off the bus, he literally grabbed the nearest light pole, and held on, and said, "O God, I almost sold your Son for a quarter."

Our lives are the only Bible some people will ever read.

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father Who is in heaven." (Matthew 5:14-16 RSV)

A pearl to string: Prayer: "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...let it shine, let it shine, let it shine..." Oh Lord that sweet little tune is running through my mind this morning. And today, I really do want to let the light of Christ shine through me wherever I go. May your love glow in me. May I be a bright encouragement to all I meet and all who see me. May the words out of my mouth glorify you and say whatever it is YOU know the hearer needs to hear. Thank you, Father God, for giving me light and life through Jesus my Savior, in whose name I pray, Amen and amen.

Shine on my friends…..
You are loved,
Lyndi

A Father, Daughter & a Dog

Story by Catherine Moore

"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!"
My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the
elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him.
A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared
for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad . Please don't yell at me when I'm
driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far
calmer than I really felt. Dad glared at me, then turned away
and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television
and went outside to collect my thoughts.... dark, heavy clouds
hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant
thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about
him? Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had
enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength
against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack
competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were
filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift
a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him
outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever
anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do
something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack.
An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic
administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.

At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was
lucky;he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for
life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders.
Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and
insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped
altogether. Dad was left alone..

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our
small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would
help him adjust.

Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It
seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did.
I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger
out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.

Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation.
The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the
close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad 's
troubled mind.

But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be
done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically
called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow
Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices
that answered in vain.

Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly
exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you!
Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The
article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home.
All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression.
Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were
given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon.. After I filled
out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels.
The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the
row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs,
curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying
to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other
for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared
the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to
his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a
pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a
caricature of the breed.

Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hip
bones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that
caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me
unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The
officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a
funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front
of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be
right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've
heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He
gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror..
"You mean you're going to kill him?" "Ma'am," he said gently,
"that's our policy. We don't have room for every
unclaimed dog." I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown
eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said. I drove
home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the
house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car
when Dad shuffled onto the front porch... "Ta-da! Look what I got
for you, Dad !" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted
a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out
a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't
want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the
house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and
pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad .
He's staying!"

Dad ignored me.. "Did you hear me, Dad ?" I screamed. At those
words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes
narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like
duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He
wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him.
Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw..

Dad 's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion
replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad
was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named
the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the
community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They
spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty
trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad
sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at is feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three
years. Dad 's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many
friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold
nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come
into our bedroom at night.. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into
my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit
had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered
Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad 's bed. I wrapped his still form in
the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite
fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me
in restoring Dad 's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad 's funeral dawned overcast and dreary.
This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the
aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the
many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church.
The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and
the dog who had changed his life.

And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2.
"Do not neglect to show hospitality
to strangers, for by this some have
entertained angels without knowing it."

"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that
I had not seen before:
. . the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...
. . Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter....
. . his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father.....
. . and the proximity of their deaths.

And suddenly I understood.
I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Heroes & Sheroes

The everyday folks loving their way through this life are my heroes & sheroes. The most gorgeous, attractive men on earth (which has nothing to do with their physical appearance) are the men I catch locked in that “love- eye” glance with their wife and children. Sweet talking, fast talker, oodles of words, big titles and great accomplishments are unimpressive to me. However, a man who treats his wife with tenderness, respect, is lovingly attentive to her and is daily involved with his children’s lives, oh that’s a very impressive guy. Now you top that off with his close walk and love of the Lord? HERO! Oh yes!

And who are my sheroes you wonder? Well it is hard to see them because they are in so many places throughout their day taking care of the needs of their family and extending their friendship to the community around them. They are loving, embracing, feeding, managing health, finances, cleaning, shopping, driving, serving, attending, giving in all directions and the only Prada they own is a picture in a magazine lying on the coffee table. They may or may not be organized, serve elaborate meals, make their own exquisite clothing line or have every hair in place but they are the heart of the family. My shero is a help-mate to her husband and a life teacher to her children and she serves the Lord by being His love to the hurting world around her. There are also about a gabillion Sheroes who are for whatever reason doing all this without a mate. Beautiful SHERO!

My heroes and sheroes don’t wear capes or fly or do anything in a single bound. Not one of them can stop a speeding bullet. So what does a present day hero or shero wear? Upon rising each morning they clothe themselves with compassion. They pull on kindness and humility. Their unhesitant response to others is to place the person’s interests before their own eliminating the possibility of resentment. They slip into shoes of gentleness, never leaving scuff marks of hurt or rejection on another person’s soul. They actively wear patience for it is not something a person has but rather something a person does. And the finishing touch is to wrap up in forgiveness and generosity buttoned down by love.

A pearl to string: “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity”. Colossians 3:12-14

Thank you Lord for the Heroes and Sheroes in my life,
Lyndi

The will of God

Remember. The Will of God will never take you...
Where the grace of God cannot keep you,
Where the arms of God cannot support you,
Where the hands of God cannot mold you.
Where the power of God cannot endow you.

The will of God will never take you...
Where the spirit of God cannot work through you,
Where the riches of God cannot supply you,
Where the wisdom of God cannot teach you,
Where the army of God cannot protect you,

The will of God will never take you...
Where the love of God cannot enfold you,
Where the mercy of God cannot sustain you,
Where the Word of God cannot feed you,
Where the authority of God cannot overrule for you.

The will of God will never take you...
Where the comfort of God cannot dry your tears,
Where the peace of God cannot calm your fears,
Where the miracles of God cannot be done for you,
Where the omnipresence of God cannot find you.

Growing Weary?

A Mother's Whispered Prayer

This is a note a friend sent to me today. I asked her if I could share it knowing it might bless and encourage a praying mama somewhere. I hope it blesses you.

I would like to share with all of you my answer to a whisper prayer that came about in the most unusual way...

On Wed nite we were skyping with Jessica, she is at a huge cross roads in her study program and I as a mom could see the heaviness on her heart. As we listened to her explain her heart I in turned inward and whispered a prayer to GOD:
"Oh how I wish I could just hug her and pray with her"! I could see she needed her mom's touch or should I say I needed as a mom to touch and hold her. Well as we said our goodbyes on skype and did our family hug as her image faded from the computer screen my heart cried out for her to have peace.

The next day Ed and I would get up at 3:15am to head to Virginia for a Promise Keepers Conference. As the alarm went off, Ed hopped in the shower, I got on my knees and prayed for our Jessica (some things call for us to fall on our knees!) We headed to LAX and arrived in plenty of time to make our 6:00am flight. As we arrived to our gate we noticed something was stirring but we didn't know what until they announced someone has breached security so all flights are on hold and no one is getting through.

We watched as the TSA and police personal hunted the gate we were at looking for this person. Checking and questioning random people. Time kept slipping by...hour after hour. Frustrated and complaining things seemed chaotic...then all of the sudden they found the person on the plane next to our gate. We watched as they marched this young man off. Now we were set to go.....what I hadn't noticed is our connecting flight would be in Chicago. So as we arrived in Chicago we were told we missed our connecting flight and we would not leave until 9:00pm.

We had 4 1/2 hours!!! I called Jessica and told her she happened to be in the library, she hurried home hopped on the Ltrain and was on our way to see us!!!! Oh can I tell you as we saw her walk through the hall ways at the airport I ran and hugged her!!! Yes at that time I whispered to God as I held my daughter in my arms "Thank You Almighty GOD only YOU can turn a Frustrating bad situation into a answer of a whispered prayer!!!!"

Yes my GOD answered my whisper prayer in such a miracle fashion! We got to spend 2 hours with Jessica talking and then we got to pray for Jessica! She said "I kept my eyes open we are still in Chicago" we laughed and hugged and said our goodbyes! I cried tears of such joy to hold her and see GOD is truly a Miracle working GOD!!

So I am here to tell YOU today what is your Whisper Prayer?
GOD hears YOU and will answer in a way YOU least expect it!!
I am giving GOD all the Praise and Glory!! HE is AWESOME!!!

love,
Lucia

Empty Well Syndrome

“When we continue to seek water (love, affirmation, etc.) from someone who can’t or won’t give it we are like the one seeking water from a “bad” well. What is the name for such an unhealthy pattern? I call it the Empty Well Syndrome. Why do we go back to an empty well when we know it’s empty or toxic, repeating our own history of defeat? Jesus we need you to help us see what we do not see!”

The paragraph above is an excerpt from facebook. I was drawn to the statement. It stirred up so many thoughts but I was feeling a check in my spirit too. Actually I would have agreed with that statement in my youth while roaming about in my own valley. I saw things from my need, from my perception or expectation of how life should be and how I should be treated by other people. Conveniently if one lived according to my expectation I would first benefit and then the other person would surely benefit if I did. Hum? Where do you suppose I can find that in God’s Word? It was not a sinister plot I just wanted to be happy all the time and have everything go my way. Hollywood style? Cinderella dream? Mix a little romance, a little world way, a little Bible love and life could be so good. What a recipe for disaster I had going in my life! I know … you could see that coming a mile off….SPLAT! Some people learn from other people’s mistakes and some people have to be the “other” people…. But we “other” people do learn.

This may not be the direction or meaning the original author intended but it seems to be where God is leading me this morning.

As I’ve grown in my relationship with the Lord I’ve discovered (as have you) it’s not about me or my thinking or my perception in my time frame. God does not operated on human time tables He operates out of eternity. You see, unless we are cast into times in which we are completely at God's mercy for breakthroughs in our lives, we will never experience God's faithfulness in those areas.

When you come to the end of all the light you know, and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things will happen: Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly. -- Edward Teller

A pearl to string: Life isn’t always at it appears. (Objects in the side or rear view mirror may be distorted) With the Empty Well Syndrome is the well really empty? Or is the well empty of what I think should be in it? Could it be that I am drawn to the well repeatedly so I might discover the treasure God has yet to teach me. "I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name." (Isaiah 45:3)

God has not given up on any of us,
He patiently waits for you to come to Him,
You are loved,
Lyndi

I WAS SHOCKED

sent by Mike McCartney

I was shocked, confused, bewildered
As I entered Heaven's door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
Nor the lights or its decor.

But it was the folks in Heaven
Who made me sputter and gasp—
The thieves, the liars, the sinners,
The alcoholics and the trash.

There stood the kid from seventh grade
Who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
Who never said anything nice.

Herb, who I always thought
Was rotting away in hell,
Was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
Looking incredibly well.

I nudged Jesus, 'What's the deal?
I would love to hear Your take.
How'd all these sinners get up here?
God must've made a mistake.

'And why's everyone so quiet,
So somber - give me a clue.'
'Hush, child,' He said, 'they're all in shock.
At the thought of seeing you.'

Discover the Meaning of Easter

Discover the Meaning of Easter

You Have Always Been Drawn to Wood

by Phil Ware



Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother ... (John 19:25).

I have often wondered what Mary, the mother of Jesus, thought as she
watched her boy -- who also happened to be God's Son -- die on the
cross. Would she remember the manger of wood? Would she remember the
wood shavings in her boy's hair as Joseph, a true man of honor, stood
by her and helped her raise God's Son? Would she realize in looking
back that her boy had always been drawn to wood?

The following is a meditation I wrote years ago as I tried to imagine
what it was like for Mary at the foot of the Cross. I hope these
thoughts are a blessing and a challenge to you as we wait for the light
of hope to dawn on Sunday and remind us that death does not have the
final word in Jesus' life, and because of Jesus, it does not have the
final word in our own lives!

----------------------------------------------------------------------

As Mary stood watching, she remembered all of it, but especially that
last conversation with her boy. He was not a boy, of course. He was
tall and strong and more than thirty birthdays old. But, he still was
her boy. "I must go now," he had said, "I have always been drawn to
wood."

She had looked into his dark eyes, her smile full of hurt and a
mother's love. "Such a fine young man," she thought as she brushed the
sawdust and wood shavings from his curly brown hair for the thousandth
time. But this time was different. Something about the set of his jaw
and the flash of fire in his eyes told her this was the last time.

"I must go, now, mother!"

Even in his twenties, Yeshua was respectful and supportive. This was
especially so after Joseph died. Yeshua took over the carpenter's shop
and did what the eldest son was expected to do.

"You have sawdust and shavings in your hair, Yeshua. Just like when you
were a little boy with your father." She hoped her words might hold him
close a moment or two longer. But as she spoke them, it was Mary who
paused. She thought of the man who had stood by her when the only
explanations were divinely insane. She missed him so. Yeshua's presence
in the shop had always reminded her of Joseph. While they looked
nothing alike, he was very much his father's son. With Joseph's death
had come the resurrection of suspicion and the cruel taunts, "Mary's
boy! Mary's boy!" Yeshua would shrug and smile his wry grin, as if he
heard some faraway song awakening some primal instinct deep within his
heart.

Mary's smile and motherliness brought no response this time. "You have
always been drawn to wood!" she said nervously. She had kept her
feelings hidden, but since the wedding in Cana, she knew the promises
from long ago were beginning to unfold. He was no longer her little boy
-- she knew it as well as she knew the dark eyes, the curls of brown
hair, and the tenderness in his voice when he spoke to her. This was
his goodbye. More than leaving home, he was leaving her and all she
knew as family behind.

"You have always been drawn to wood!" she softly repeated. She touched
his brown curls and brushed the shavings from his hair one last time.

It was true -- he had always been drawn to wood. She had said it often,
hoping against hope that it would keep him near her, or at least near
the carpenter's shop. Despite the angel's promise that he would be King
and Savior, when he was born, she had placed him in a wooden manger.
Now, in the shadow of his cross, the thought now pierced her like a
dagger, "You have always been drawn to wood."

"I must go, now, mother!" he had firmly said. "It's time. James, Joses,
and Jude can run the shop. They will take care of you. It is time for
me to do what you know I must do. My carpentry is needed elsewhere. As
you have so often said, 'I have always been drawn to wood.'"

As she stood shivering from the cold in her soul, she now remembered
everything -- the manger, the wood shavings, and especially that day he
left. And now, just three years later, the rattling sounds of her son's
labored breathing shook her to her marrow. Tears stained her cheeks as
she stood looking at the little boy she once swaddled and placed in the
manger. Mary softly cried and said for the final time, "My precious
son, you have always been drawn to wood."