Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.
..James 4:14
18 Jul 09 Life is so fragile
I like to read the obituary section of the newspaper. It is a reminder that our life on earth is but a short sojourn. I like to read what people say about their loved ones who have gone before them.
Several years ago, while I was reading the newspaper and munching my breakfast I suddenly saw a very familiar face in the obituary section.
It’s the face of Mdm Lee. I remember this loving mother who had four beautiful children.
What had happened to her?
I found out about the tragedy which took away the life of this lady the next day. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I read the newspaper account of what happened to this lady.
The family was travelling to Malaysia in their family car. They decided to stop the car at the road shoulder of the highway to check if they have brought all their passports. Mdm. Lee went out of the car to look for their passports in the booth.
A van suddenly lost its control and crashed right into the back of the family car. Mdm. Lee was sandwiched between the two vehicles. She was still alive when her husband came out to help her. Her husband held on to her hand while she uttered her last word, telling him to take care of their children.
I was moved to attend the funeral wake. Nothing I said could comfort the husband and these four children whose mother was taken away so suddenly.
I could almost hear the laughter even as I imagine the children talking excitedly about their holiday trip to Malaysia. Then I felt the cold chill running down my spine as I imagined the painful sight of the husband holding helplessly to his wife. Their children were still too shock to realize that their mother would soon be taken away by the tragic accident which came like a bolt in the sky.
What a tragedy? Life is just so unpredictable and so fragile.
Indeed the bible is right. We really do not know what will happen tomorrow. Our life is really like a vapor that appeared for little while and then vanishes away. Whether we live to do this or that all depends entirely upon the mercy of our almighty God, our Creator.
Go to now, ye that say, To day or to morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell, and get gain:
Whereas ye know not what [shall be] on the morrow. For what [is] your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.
For that ye [ought] to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that.
James 4: 13-15
Tags: Accident, James 4:14, Life is Fragile, Life is like a vapor
03 Jul 09 A Strong Christian Testimony
New convert John Hall gets baptized.
Tags: A Strong Christian Testimony, Baptized, Lazarus, Testimony
12 Jun 09 William Neal Moore
William Neal Moore is an ordained minister at the church, which is sandwiched between two housing projects in the racially mixed community. He is a doting father, a devoted husband, a faithful provider, a hard working employee, a man of compassion and prayer who spends his spare time helping hurting people who everyone else seems to have forgotten. In short, a model citizen.
But turn back the calendar to May 1984. At the time, Moore was locked in the death watch cell at the Georgia State Penitentiary, down the hallway from the electric chair where his life was scheduled to be snuffed out in less than 72 hours.
This was not the case of an innocent man being rail roaded by the justice system. Unquestionably, Moore was a murderer. He had admitted as much. After a childhood of poverty and occasional petty crimes, he had joined the Army and later became depressed by marital and financial woes. One night he got drunk and broke into the house of a 77 year old Fredger Stapleton, who was known to keep large amounts of cash in his bedroom.
From behind a door, Stapleton let loose a with a shot gun blast, and Moore fired back with a pistol. Stapleton was killed instantly, and within minutes Moore was fleeing with $5,600. An informant tipped police and the next morning he was arrested at his trailer outside of town. Caught with the proceeds from the crime, Moore admitted his guilt and was sentenced to death, he had squandered his life and turned to violence, and now he himself would face a violent end.
But the William Neal Moore who was counting down the hours to his scheduled execution was not the same person who had murdered Fredger Stpleton. Shortly after being imprisoned, two church leaders visited Moore at the behest of his mother. They told him about the mercy and hope that was available through Jesus Christ.
“Nobody had ever told me that Jesus loves me and died for me”. Moore explained during my visit to Georgia. “It was a love I could feel. It was a love I wanted. It was a love I needed’
One that day, Moore said yes to Christ’s free gift of forgiveness and eternal life, and he as promptly baptised in a small tub that was used by prison trusties. And he would never be the same.
For sixteen years on Death Row, Moore was like a missionary among the other inmates. He led Bible studies and conducted prayer sessions. He counselled prisoners and introduced many of them to faith in Jesus Christ. Some churches actually sent people to Death Row to be counselled by him. He took dozens of Bible courses by correspondence. He won the forgiveness of his victim’s family. He became known as ‘The Peacemaker’ because his cell block, largely populated by inmates who had become Christians through his influence, was always the safest, the quietest, and the most orderly.
Meanwhile, Moore inched closer and closer to execution. Legally speaking his case was a hopeless cause. Since he had pleaded guilty there were virtually no legal issues that might win his release on appeal. Time after time, the courts reaffirmed his death sentence.
So profound was the depth of Moore’s transformation, however, that people began to take notice. Many people started campaigning to save his life. “Billy’s not what he was then” said a former inmate who had met Moore in prison. “If you kill him today, you’re killing a body, but a body with a different mind. It would be like executing the wrong man”
Praising him for not only being rehabilitated but also being an “agent of the rehabilitation of others” an editorial in the Atlanta Journal and Constitution declared: “In the eyes of many, he is a saintly figure”.
Just hours prior to Moore’s being strapped into the electric chair, shortly before Moore’s head and right calf would be shaved so that the lethal electrodes could be attached, the courts surprised nearly everyone by issuing a temporary halt to his execution.
Even more amazingly, Georgia Board of Pardons and Parole later voted unanimously to spare his life by commuting his sentence to life in prison. But what was really astounding‐ in fact, unprecedented in modern Georgia history was when the Parole and Pardon Board decided that Moore, an admitted and once‐condemned armed robber and murderer, should go free.
On November 8, 1991, he was released.
When asked about the source of his amazing metamorphosis he shook his head when he was told was the prison rehabilitation system and a self help program which did it.
‘Who was responsible for his transformation?’ some one asked him. “Plain and simple, it was Jesus Christ’ he declared adamantly. ‘He changed me in ways I could never have changed on my own. He gave me a reason to live.
He helped me do the right thing. He gave me a heart for others. He saves my soul.”
That’s the power of faith to change a human life. “Therefore,” wrote the apostle Paul, “if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold all things are become new.”
Billy Moore the Christian is not the same as Billy Moore the killer. God had intervened with his forgiveness, with his mercy, with his power, with the abiding presence of his Spirit. That same kind of transforming grace is available to everyone who acts on the ample evidence for Jesus Christ by making the decision to turn away from their sin and embrace him as their forgiver, Lord and Saviour.
It’s waiting all those who say yes to God and his ways.
Tags: Murderer, New Creature, Pardon, William Neal Moore
04 Jun 09 The Amazing Story of David and Svea Flood
The Amazing Story of David and Svea Flood
This is an exert from the book ‘Fresh Power’ by Jim Cymbala
Back in 1921 a missionary couple named David and Svea Flood went with their 2 year old son to what was then called the Belgian Congo. They met up with another young Scandinavian couple. In those days of much tenderness and devotion and sacrifice, they felt led of the Lord to set out from the main mission station and take the gospel to a remote area. This was a huge step of faith.
At the village of N’dolera they were rebuffed by the chief, who would not let them enter his town for fear of alienating the local gods. The 2 couples opted to go half a mile up the slope and build their own mud huts. They prayed for a spiritual breakthrough, but there was none.
The only contact with the villagers was a young boy, who was allowed to sell them chickens and eggs twice a week. Svea Flood- a tiny woman only four feet, eight inches tall – decided that if this was the only African she could talk to, she would try to lead the boy to the Lord. In fact she succeeded. But there were no other encouragements. Meanwhile, malaria continued to strike one member of the little band after another. In time the Ericksons decided they had enough suffering and returned to the central mission station. David and Svea Flood remained near N’dolera to go on alone.
Then, of all things, Svea found herself pregnant in the middle of the primitive wilderness. When the time came for her to give birth, the village chief softened enough to allow a midwife to help her. A little girl was born, whom they name Ain. The delivery, however, was exhausting, and Svea Flood was already weak from bouts of malaria.
The birth process was a heavy blow to her stamina. She only lasted another 17 days before she died. Inside David Flood, something snapped in the moment. He dug a grave, buried his 27 year old wife, and then took his children back down the mountain to the mission station. Giving his newborn daughter to the Ericksons, he snarled, “I am going back to Sweden”. I’ve lost my wife, and I obviously can’t take care of this baby. God has ruined my life”. With that, he headed for the port, rejecting not only his calling, but God himself. Within 8 month both the Ericksons were stricken with a mysterious malady and died with days of each other.
The baby was then turned over to some American missionaries, who adjusted her Swedish name to “Aggie” and eventually brought her back to the United States at the age of three. This family loved the little girl and were afraid that if they tried to return to Africa, some legal obstacle might separate her from them. So they decided to stay in their home country and switch from missionary work to pastoral ministry. And that is how Aggie grew up in South Dakota. As a young woman, she attended North Central Bible College in Minneapolis. There she met and married a young man name Dewey Hurst. Years passed. The Hursts enjoyed a fruitful ministry.
Aggie gave birth first to a daughter, then a son. In time her husband became president of a Christian college in the Seattle area and Aggie was intrigued to find so much Scandinavian heritage there. One day a Swedish religious magazine appeared in her mailbox. She had no idea who had send it and of course she couldn’t read the words. But as she turned the pages, all of a sudden a photo stopped her cold. There in a primitive setting was a grave with a white cross – and on the cross were the words SVEA FLOOD. Aggie jumped in her car and went straight for the college faculty member who, she knew, could translate the article. “What does this say?” she demanded. The instructor summarized the story: It was about missionaries who had come to N’dolera long ago … the birth of a white baby…the death of the young mother… the one little African boy who had been led to Christ…. and how, after the whites had all left, the boy had grown up and finally persuaded the chief to let him build a school in the village.
The article said that gradually he won all he students to Christ…. even the chief had become a Christian. Today there were 600 Christian believers in that one village… All because of the sacrifice of David and Svea Flood. For the Hursts’ twenty fifth wedding anniversary, the collage presented them with a gift of a vacation to Sweden. There Aggie sought to find her real father. And old man now, David Flood had remarried, fathered 4 more children, and generally dissipated his life with alcohol. He had recently suffered a stroke. Still bitter, he had one rule in his family: “Never mention the name of God- because God took everything from me.” After an emotional reunion with her half brothers and half sister, Aggie brought up the subject of seeing her father. The others hesitated. “You can talk to him,” they replied, “even though he’s very ill now.
But you need to know that whenever he hears the name of God he flies into a rage”. Aggie was not deterred. She walked into the dirty apartment, with liqueur bottles everywhere, and approached the 77 year old man lying on a rumpled bed. “Papa?” she said tentatively. He turned and began to cry. “Aina”, he said. “I never meant to give you away. “It’s all right, Papa,” she replied, taking him gently in her arms. “God took care of me”. The men instantly stiffened. The tears stopped. “God forgot all of us. Our lives have been like this because of him.” He turned his face back to the wall.
Aggie stroked his face and then continued, undaunted. “Papa, I’ve got a little story to tell you, and it is a true one. You did not go to Africa in vain. Mama did not die in vain. The little boy you won to the Lord grew up to win that whole village to Jesus Christ. The one seed you planted just kept growing and growing. Today there are 600 African people serving the Lord because you were faithful to the call of God in your life…. Papa, Jesus loves you. He has never hated you.”
The old man turned back to look into his daughter’s eyes. His body relaxed. He began to talk. And by the end of the afternoon, he had come back to the God he had resented for so many decades. Over the next few days, father and daughter enjoyed warm moments together. Aggie and her husband soon had to return to America – and within a few weeks, David Flood had gone into eternity. A few years later, the Hursts were attending a high-level evangelism conference in London, England, when a report was given from the nation of Zaire (the former Belgian Congo). The superintendent of the national church, representing some 110,000 baptised believers, spoke eloquently on the gospel’s spread in his nation.
Aggie could not help going to ask him afterwards if he had heard of David and Svea Flood. “Yes madam,” the man replied in French, his words then being translated into English. “It was Svea Flood who led me to Jesus Christ. I was the boy who brought food to your parents before you were born. In fact, to this day your mother’s grace and her memory are honoured by all of us.” He embraced her in a long, sobbing hug. Then he continued, “You must come to Africa to see, because your mother is the most famous person in our history”.
In time that is exactly what Aggie Hurst and her husband did. They were welcomed by cheering throngs of villagers. She even met the man who had been hired by her father many years ago to carry her back down the mountain in a hammock-cradle. The most dramatic moment, of course, was when the pastor escorted Aggie to see her mother’s white cross for herself. She knelt in the soil to pray and give thanks.
Later that day, in the church, the pastor read from :
John 14:24: “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”
He then followed with:
Psalm 126:5:”Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy”.
Tags: David and Svea Flood, Dewey Hurst, John 14:24, N'dolera, Psalm 126:5, Swedish Missionary
03 Jun 09 Charlie Coulson – The Christian Drummer Boy
The following story is an true account, taken from an old, out of print book called
“Touching Incidents and Remarkable Answers to Prayers.”
WE BELIEVE IT WILL TOUCH YOUR HEARTS AS MUCH IT HAS TOUCHED OURS. WE SERVE A TRULY FAITHFUL GOD!
I was a surgeon in the United States Army during the Civil War. After the battle of Gettysburg, there were hundreds of wounded soldiers in my hospital. Many were wounded so severely that a leg or an arm, or sometimes both, needed to be amputated.
One of these was a boy who had only been in the service for only 3 months. Since he was too young to be a soldier, he had enlisted as a drummer. When my assistants came to give him Chloroform before the amputation, he turned his head and refused it. When they told him that it was the doctor’s orders, he said: “ Send the doctor to me.”
I came to his bedside and said: “Young man, why do you refuse the chloroform? When I picked you up on the battlefield, you were so far gone that I almost didn’t bother to pick you up. But you opened those large blue eyes, it occurred to me that you had a mother somewhere who might be thinking of you that very moment. I didn’t want you to die on the field, so I had you brought here. But you’ve lost so much blood that you’re just too weak to live through an operation without chloroform. You’d better let me give you some.”
He laid his hand on mine, looked at me in the face and said: “Doctor, one Sunday afternoon, when I was nine and a half years old, I gave my life to Christ. I learned to trust Him then, I know I can trust Him now. He is my strength. He will support me while you amputate my arm and leg.”
I asked him if he would at least let me give him a little brandy. Again he looked at me and said: “Doctor, when I was about 5 years old, my mother knelt by my side with her arms around me and said: ‘Charlie, I am praying to Jesus that you will never take even one drink of alcohol. Your father died a drunkard, and I’ve asked God to use you to warn people against the dangers of drinking, and to encourage them to love and serve the Lord.’ I am now 17 years old, and I have never had anything stronger than tea or coffee. There is a very good chance that I am about to die and go into the presence of my God. Would you send me there with brandy on my breath?”
I will never forget that look that boy gave me. At that time I hated Jesus, but I respected that boy’s loyalty to His Saviour. And when I saw how he loved and trusted Him to the very end, something deeply touched my heart. I did for that boy what I had never done for any other soldier- I asked him if he wanted to see his chaplain. Chaplain R. knew the boy well from having seen him often at the tent prayer meetings. Taking his hand he said: “ Charlie, I am sorry to see you like this.” “Oh, I am all right, sir,” answered Charlie. “The doctor offered me chloroform, but I told him I didn’t want any. Then he wanted to give me brandy, which I didn’t want either. So now, if my Saviour recalls me I can go to Him in my right mind.” “You must not die, Charlie,” said the chaplain,” but if the Lord does call you home, is there anything I can do for you after you’re gone?” “Chaplain, please reach under my pillow and take my little Bible. My mother’s address is inside. Please send it to her and write a letter for me. Tell her that since I left home, I have never let a single day pass – no matter if we were on the march, on the battlefield, or in the hospital – without reading a portion of the God’s word, and daily praying that He would bless her.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you, my lad?” asked the chaplain. “Yes. Please write a letter to the Sunday School teacher of the Sands Street Church in Brooklyn, New York. Tell him that I’ve never forgotten his encouragement, good advice, and many prayers for me. They have helped me and comforted me through all the dangers of battle. And now, in my dying hour, I thank the Lord for my dear old teacher, and ask Him to bless and strengthen him. That is all.” Then turning to me, he said: “I’m ready, doctor. I promise I won’t even groan while you take off me arm and leg, if you don’t offer me chloroform.” I promised, but I didn’t have the courage to take knife in my hand without first going into the next room and taking a little brandy myself.
While cutting through the flesh, Charlie Coulson never groaned. But when I took the saw to separate the bone, the lad took the corner of his pillow in his mouth and all I could hear him whisper was: “O Jesus, blessed Jesus! Stand by me now.” He kept his promise. He never groaned.
I couldn’t sleep that night. Whichever way I tossed and turned, I saw those soft blue eyes, the words, “Blessed Jesus! Stand by me now.” kept ringing in my ears. A little after midnight, I finally left my bed and visited the hospital – something I had never done before unless there was an emergency. I had such a strange and strong desire to see that boy. When I got there, an elderly told me that 16 of the badly wounded soldiers had died.” Was Charlie Coulson, one of them?” I asked.
“No, sir,” he answered, “he’s sleeping as sweet as a babe.” When I came to his bed, one of the nurses said that at about 9 o’clock two members of the YMCA came through the hospital to sing a hymn. Chaplain R. was with them, he knelt by Charlie’s bed and offered a fervent and soul-stirring prayer. Then, while still on their knees, they sang one of the sweetest of all hymns, “ Jesus, Lover Of My Soul.” Charlie sang along with them, too. I couldn’t understand how that boy, who was in such horrible pain, could sing.
Five days after I performed the operation, Charlie sent for me, and it was from him that I heard my first Gospel sermon. “Doctor,” he said, “my time has come. I don’t expect to see another sunrise. I want to thank you with all my heart for your kindness to me. I know you are Jewish, and that you do not believe in Jesus, but I want you to stay and see me die trusting my Saviour to the last moment of me life.” I tried to stay, but I just couldn’t. I didn’t have the courage to stand by and see a Christian boy die rejoicing in the love of that Jesus who I hated. So I hurriedly left the room. About 20 minutes later, an elderly came and found me sitting in my office with my hands covering my face. He told me that Charlie wanted to see me. “I’ve just seen him,” I answered, “and I can’t see him again.” “But, doctor, he says he must see you once more before he dies.” So I made up my mind to go and see Charlie, say an endearing word and let him die. However, I was determined that nothing he could say would influence me in the least bit, so far as his Jesus was concerned.
When I entered the hospital I saw he was sinking fast, so I sat down by his bed. Asking me to take his hand, he said: “Doctor, I love you because you are a Jew. The best friend I’ve found in the world was a Jew.” I asked him who that was, and he answered, “Jesus Christ, and I want to introduce you to Him before I die. Will you promise me, doctor that what I am about to say to you, you will never forget?” I promised, and he said,” 5 days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ and asked Him to make His love known to you.”
Those words went deep in my heart, I couldn’t understand how, when I was causing him the most intense pain, he could forget about himself and think of nothing but the Saviour and my unconverted soul. All I could say to him was: “Well, my dear boy, you soon be all right.” With these words I left him, and 12 minutes later, he fell asleep, “safe in the arms of Jesus.”
Hundreds of soldiers died in my hospital during the war, but I only followed one to the grave, and that was Charlie Coulson. I rode 3 miles to see him buried. I had him dressed in a new uniform, and placed in an officer’s coffin, with a United States flag over it. That boy’s dying words made a deep impression on me. I was rich at that time so as far as money was concerned, but I would have given every penny I possessed if I could have felt towards Christ as Charlie did. But that feeling cannot be bought with money. Alas, I soon forgot all about my Christian soldier’s little sermon, but I could not forget the boy himself. Looking back, I now know I was under deep conviction of sin at that time. But for nearly 10 years I had, until finally the dear boy’s prayer was answered, and I surrendered my life to the love of Jesus.
About a year and a half after my conversion, I went to a prayer meeting one evening in Brooklyn. It was one of those meetings where Christians testify about the loving kindness of God. After several had spoken, an elderly lady stood up and said: “Dear friends, this may be the last time I have a chance to publicly shared how good the Lord has been to me. My doctor told me yesterday that my right lung is nearly gone, and my left lung is failing fast, so at the best only have a short time to be with you. But what is left of me belongs to Jesus. It’s a great joy to know that I shall soon meet my son with Jesus in heaven.”
“Charlie was not only a soldier for his country, but also a soldier for Christ. He was wounded at the battle of Gettysburg, and was cared for by a Jewish doctor, who amputated his arm and leg. He died 5 days after the operation. The chaplain of the regiment wrote me a letter and sent me my boy’s Bible. I was told that in his dying hour, my Charlie sent for that Jewish doctor and said to him: “5 days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ for you.”
As I heard this lady speak, I just couldn’t sit still! I left my seat, ran across the room and taking her hand and said: “God bless you, my dear sister. Your boy’s prayer has been heard and answered! I am the Jewish doctor that Charlie prayed for, and his Saviour is now my Saviour! The love of Jesus has won my soul!”
Tags: Amputation, battle of Gettysburg, Charlie Coulson, Christian Drummer Boy, Jew, Remarkable answers to prayers, True Story, US Army
02 Jun 09 The Reason Why
Read the full texts on the reason why here
Tags: Robert A Laidlaw, The Reason Why
31 May 09 CT Studd
C.T. Studd was an outstanding County and All-England Cricketer. He was a freshman at Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1879-1880, and took a degree in law.
He gave up his cricketing fame and the family fortune and followed Hudson Taylor to China when challenged to become a full time missionary.
He returned 21 years later, broken in health, after serving in China and India.
Unexpectedly he received a new and very distinct call to the heart of Africa.
At 53, leaving his invalid wife in England, he set out in utter reliance on God’s promises.
His answer to all who questioned the wisdom of his action was found on a postcard on his desk:
If Jesus Christ be God, and died for me, then no sacrifice can be too great for me to make for Him.
Tags: CT Studd, Missionary
27 May 09 Road Traffic Accidents
I had my second car accident in 25 years today (27 May 2009)
I drove to Wisma Atria to get my Sony laptop repaired. My Sony laptop shows a blue screen on and off. However when I was trying to show the technician at the Sony Service centre, I could not demonstrate the blue screen again. What a wasted trip? I decided to bring back the Sony.
The turning to get out of the Wisma Atria was extremely narrow and it has a sharp angle to go down the slope at the exit. I tried my best to avoid scratching my car but I still got my car jammed between the left wall and the front right column. I tried to reverse to get out of the sandwiched situation but a white Toyota came behind me suddenly. I heard a ‘Tud” and I knew I have hit into someone’s bumper.
The driver, a man in his thirties immediately came out of his car to check the damage on his bumper. But I wound down my window and told him to reverse his car to clear the way for other vehicles. We drove to a corner to avoid traffic obstruction.
I said a little prayer before approaching him. I shook his hand and immediately told him it was all my fault and I would pay for the damages. He appeared surprise. I examined his right bumper which was slightly dislocated and asked him if he would like to take a photograph first.
I gave him my name card and showed him my driving license to assure him that the name card belongs to the correct person. He went to check my car and was surprised that I did not even bother to have a look at my own car. He remarked that it is a new Teana. I said yes. He asked why I am not bothered about the damages to my own car. I smiled and said I felt bad that I have to inconvenient him over this incident. He has to waste time to get his car fixed. Well, I told him, “Is only a car. The damage if any has already been done.”
I shook his hand again and took his name card. He runs a? construction/renovation company. I assured him that I will pay for the damages and he does not need to worry and said sorry one last time before driving off.
I surveyed my car when I reached my office. The back bumper was not even dented or scratched but the left door was scratched by the wall at the exit of the carpark from level 4.
My First Accident was a near death encounter
My first accident happened some 16years ago at Bukit Batok when my daughter was still a toddler. I was driving a Mazda 323 and was at a junction trying to turn right to get home. It was in the evening and the traffic was heavy. The traffic light was red. Suddenly I saw a car heading across the Red traffic light on the other side of the road. Something was wrong. In those split seconds I realized the car was coming towards my stationary car. I quickly looked around to see if I could drive forward or reverse backward to avoid this car that appeared out of control. But my car was sandwiched among other vehicles. I tried to release the safety belt in case I needed to evacuate from the car later.
Everything happened so fast yet, I was able to do all these things including turning to tell my wife to get ready because our time is up. In the final second, I quickly leaned towards the left since the impending impact would be on my right door.
The out of control car climbed over the road divider veered a little and hit the back of our car before coming to a halt some 50 meters away.
Thank God that the road divider caused it to slow down and changed its direction. The back of my car was badly damaged but we were all unharmed. My daughter was strapped in her car seat and was also unharmed.
I took a deep breath and thanked God for protecting us. Then I walked slowly towards the other car. The driver was an old man. I think he must have fallen asleep. He thought I was going to punch him or scold him for almost killing us.
But I did not. I asked if he was alright and patted him on his shoulder. I told him I was just glad we were not hurt and told him to drive his car to a place where we would not obstruct the traffic. In fact he later told me that he was surprised that I was more concerned about whether he was hurt by the accident.
We did the usual things by exchanging our particulars and the matter was settled weeks later after we got our car repaired.
Life can be really unpredictable isn’t it?
Who knows when we will just disappear like the morning mist?
Tags: Road Traffic Accident, Road Traffic Accidents
09 May 09 Father and son marathon.My Redeemer Lives – My Redeemer Lives – Dick & Rick Hoyt
Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
One day a son asks his father: “Dad, would you like to run a marathon with me? His father says ” yes”. And together they run their first marathon.
Another time his son asks again ” Dad would you like to run another marathon with me? His father replies “yes my son”.
One day his son asks ” Dad would you like to run the Ironman with me?”
The Ironman is the most difficult triathalon that exists which consists of a 4 km swim, 180 km bicycling, and 42 km of running.
His father says “yes”.
Rick told his father that when he competes his disability goes away. And that is what motivates his father to keep going.
Tags: can, Father and Son Marathon, My Redeemer Lives - Dick & Rick Hoyt, Philippinans 4:13
08 May 09 The Son
A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.
When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.
He said, ‘Sir, you don’t know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.’ The young man held out this package. ‘I know this isn’t much. I’m not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.’
The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. ‘Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It’s a gift.’
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.
The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.
On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. ‘We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?’
There was silence.
Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, ‘We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.’
But the auctioneer persisted. ‘Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?’
Another voice angrily. ‘We didn’t come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Gogh’s, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!’
But still the auctioneer continued. ‘The son! The son! Who’ll take the son?’
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the long time gardener of the man and his son. ‘I’ll give $10 for the painting..’ Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.
‘We have $10, who will bid $20?’
‘Give it to him for $10. Let’s see the masters.’
The crowd was becoming angry.. They didn’t want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel. ‘Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!’
A man sitting on the second row shouted, ‘Now let’s get on with the collection!’
The auctioneer laid down his gavel. ‘I’m sorry, the auction is over.’
‘What about the paintings?’
‘I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.
The man who took the son gets everything!’
God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: ‘The son, the son, who’ll take the son?’
Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.
FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON, WHO SO EVER BELIEVETH, SHALL HAVE ETERNAL LIFE…THAT’S LOVE
Do You Love Him?
Tags: Auction, Christmas, Great Painting, Painting, Son
