window 10 download na

https://www.microsoft.com/en-in/software-download/windows10

Tweet

rescue at sea

Rescue at Sea
- Unknown

Years ago, in a small fishing village in Holland, a young boy taught the world about the rewards of unselfish service. Because the entire village revolved around the fishing industry, a volunteer rescue team was needed in cases of emergency. One night the winds raged, the clouds burst and a gale force storm capsized a fishing boat at sea. Stranded and in trouble, the crew sent out the S.O.S. The captain of the rescue rowboat team sounded the alarm and the villagers assembled in the town square overlooking the bay. While the team launched their rowboat and fought their way through the wild waves, the villagers waited restlessly on the beach, holding lanterns to light the way back.

An hour later, the rescue boat reappeared through the fog and the cheering villagers ran to greet them. Falling exhausted on the sand, the volunteers reported that the rescue boat could not hold any more passengers and they had to leave one man behind. Even one more passenger would have surely capsized the rescue boat and all would have been lost.

Frantically, the captain called for another volunteer team to go after the lone survivor. Sixteen-year-old Hans stepped forward. His mother grabbed his arm, pleading, "Please don’t go. Your father died in a shipwreck 10 years ago and your older brother, Paul, has been lost at sea for three weeks. Hans, you are all I have left."

Hans replied, "Mother, I have to go. What if everyone said, ‘I can’t go, let someone else do it?’ Mother, this time I have to do my duty. When the call for service comes, we all need to take our turn and do our part." Hans kissed his mother, joined the team and disappeared into the night.

Another hour passed, which seemed to Hans’ mother like an eternity. Finally, the rescue boat darted through the fog with Hans standing up in the bow. Cupping his hands, the captain called, "Did you find the lost man?" Barely able to contain himself, Hans excitedly yelled back, "Yes, we found him. Tell my mother it’s my older brother, Paul!"

Submitted by IM4JESUS!

Tweet

sleeping could be a dangerous

One morning 4 weeks ago I woke up with a ruptured disc in my back with severe pain down my left leg (The pain is gone and the back is much better. Thank you for your prayers!). Two weeks ago I woke up with a brown recluse spider bite on my left leg (It is still healing but appears it will only leave a small scar. Thank you for your prayers!). I can only conclude that sleeping can sometimes be dangerous!!

Of course Samson could confirm that sleeping is dangerous (Judg 16:19 NIV) Having put him to sleep on her lap, she called a man to shave off the seven braids of his hair, and so began to subdue him. And his strength left him.

Sisera could also confirm that sleeping is dangerous (Judg 4:21 NIV) But Jael, Heber’s wife, picked up a tent peg and a hammer and went quietly to him while he lay fast asleep, exhausted. She drove the peg through his temple into the ground, and he died. and there are several others that could as well in the Bible. Eutychus could confirm that it is dangerous to sleep in church (Acts 20:9) Seated in a window was a young man named Eutychus, who was sinking into a deep sleep as Paul talked on and on. When he was sound asleep, he fell to the ground from the third story and was picked up dead.. But the most dangerous sleep of all is the spiritual sleep of those who have been blinded by the god of this world (2 Corinthians 4:4) The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.. They appear to be unconcerned about death. They appear to have little concern for anything other than the material world. Spiritually you can only describe them as being asleep to the reality of eternity. There seems to be so many of them. It may be that the reason so many are blinded by satan is that there is another category of sleepers. That category is the sleeping Christian. The apostle Paul says in 1 Thessalonians 5:6-8, “Ye are all the children of light, and the children of the day: we are not of the night, nor of darkness. Therefore let us not sleep, as do others; but let us watch and be sober. For they that sleep, sleep in the night; and they that be drunken are drunken in the night. but let us, who are of the day, be sober, putting on the breastplate of faith and love; and for an helmet, the hope of salvation.”

By Ed Wrather
Submitted by Richard

Read more: http://www.inspirationalarchive.com/889/dangerous-sleep/#ixzz52R84Gn5D

Tweet

laipuakte

laipuakte

04698027
Zamkhenlam2018$

zamlam
Lianlamthang2018@


innvanleina
zamkhenlam2017
Thanggelsang2017@

Tweet

A Town Mouse and A Country Mouse

A Town Mouse and A Country Mouse

A Town Mouse and a Country Mouse were friends. The Country Mouse one day invited his friend to come and see him at his home in the fields. The Town Mouse came and they sat down to a dinner of barleycorns and roots the latter of which had a distinctly earthy flavour.


The flavour was not much to the taste of the guest and presently he broke out with “My poor dear friend, you live here no better than the ants. Now, you should just see how I fare! My larder is a regular horn of plenty. You must come and stay with me and I promise you shall live on the fat of the land." 


So when he returned to town he took the Country Mouse with him and showed him into a larder containing flour and oatmeal and figs and honey and dates. 


The Country Mouse had never seen anything like it and sat down to enjoy the luxuries his friend provided. But before they had well begun, the door of the larder opened and some one came in. The two Mice scampered off and hid themselves in a narrow and exceedingly uncomfortable hole. Presently, when all was quiet, they ventured out again. But some one else came in, and off they scuttled again. This was too much for the visitor. "Good bye," said he, "I'm off. You live in the lap of luxury, I can see, but you are surrounded by dangers whereas at home I can enjoy my simple dinner of roots and corn in peace." 

 Moral : Safety is the first importance.
http://www.english-for-students.com/A-Town-Mouse-and-A-Country-Mouse.html

Tweet

A friend in need is a friend indeed.

A friend in need is a friend indeed.

Once upon a time there lived a lion in a forest. One day after a heavy meal. It was sleeping under a tree. After a while, there came a mouse and it started to play on the lion. Suddenly the lion got up with anger and looked for those who disturbed its nice sleep. Then it saw a small mouse standing trembling with fear. The lion jumped on it and started to kill it. The mouse requested the lion to forgive it. The lion felt pity and left it. The mouse ran away. 



On another day, the lion was caught in a net by a hunter. The mouse came there and cut the net. Thus it escaped. There after, the mouse and the lion became friends. They lived happily in the forest afterwards. 

 Moral : A friend in need is a friend indeed.

http://www.english-for-students.com/A-friend-in-need-is-a-friend-indeed.html

Tweet

When the tempest rages and how soon we forget

In the storm when Jesus was walking on the water, the disciples were rowing the boat and they forgot that Jesus was with them. Jesus is in all our storms of life.Jesus was not in the boat but He watched them with compassion. He saw them struggling and He left them until they couldn’t take it anymore. This time Jesus was right there and if they had called upon Him, they wouldn’t have struggled so much.We are admonished to remember Jesus is with us. Here is an example of the suffering of the people in their storms and Gods intervention.

Late 107:23-31

23 Pawlkhatte, teembaw tawh tuipi-ah pai uh a, tui liante tungah sumbawl na a sem uh hi. 24 Amaute in tuithuk tungah Topa' gamtatna a lamdang a septe a mu uh hi.

25 Bang hang hiam cih leh amah in thu pia a, tuipi hualte a piangsak huihpi a nungsak hi.

26 Amaute, vanah kilawnto-in, a thukna-ah kiasuk uh hi. A lauhuai siatna sungah amau' lungsim han'na a bei hi.

27 Amaute zukham bangin hoisuk hoito uh a, a cihna ding mel uh thei nawnlo uh hi.

28 Tua ciangin amaute in a lungkhamna uhah Topa ko uh a, amau' cihmawhna panin amah in a honkhia hi.

29 Amah in huihpi daisak a, tuipi hualte a bei hi. 30Tua ciangin, tua tuihualte a khawl manin amaute a lungdam uh hi.

Amah in amaute' utna khua-ah a paipih hi.

31 Ama itna kip leh mihing tate tungah a lamdang a sepnate hangin amaute in Topa tungah lungdamna ko ta uh hen. 32 Amaute in mihon kikhopna sungah amah pahtawi-in, upate' kikhopna sungah amah phat ta uh hen.

The object lesson is deep and meaningful. The Lord stills the sea. If you are on a boat and not in a very large ship, it can be frightening. I was on a boat and the back was low and it would go up and down. There is an experience of the depths of the sea. This is the experience of life. We reel to and fro. In the last days we will be meeting such an experience of spiritual and mental struggles. Sr White writes of the experience of Jesus in the boat. Jesus is as much in danger as were the disciples. The disciples had their own struggles between each other and then the Lord permits them to go through a storm.

Many a time we have struggled through the storms of life and we have come through as we have been strong. But many a time a struggle is coming where we can’t handle it anymore. Some may have gone through that already. The disciples had been through many a storm and handled their boats and come through safely but now this is too much.

Absorbed in their efforts to save themselves, they had forgotten that Jesus was on board. Now, seeing their labor vain and only death before them, they remembered at whose command they had set out to cross the sea. In Jesus was their only hope. In their helplessness and despair they cried, “Master, Master!” But the dense darkness hid Him from their sight. Their voices were drowned by the roaring of the tempest, and there was no reply. Doubt and fear assailed them. Had Jesus forsaken them? Was He who had conquered disease and demons, and even death, powerless to help His disciples now? Was He unmindful of them in their distress? {DA 334.4}

Jesus is in all our storms and we forget. How do we get into our storms? Many times they come when the Lord has commanded us to do something. Jesus came to save us and He ended up in the storm.

Have you been through experiences where you see the Lord blessing and you can do anything but there comes a point in time where you think He will fail you? That’s exactly what they felt.

Again they call, but there is no answer except the shrieking of the angry blast. Already their boat is sinking. A moment, and apparently they will be swallowed up by the hungry waters. {DA 334.5}
Suddenly a flash of lightning pierces the darkness, and they see Jesus lying asleep, undisturbed by the tumult. In amazement and despair they exclaim, “Master, carest Thou not that we perish?” How can He rest so peacefully, while they are in danger and battling with death? {DA 334.6}

Jesus is asleep in this fearful storm. These are the issues of life. Certain people are at peace and some are struggling and saying how can you be at peace as some are resting in Jesus and others are struggling.

Their cry arouses Jesus. As the lightning’s glare reveals Him, they see the peace of heaven in His face; they read in His glance self-forgetful, tender love, and, their hearts turning to Him, cry, “Lord, save us: we perish.” {DA 335.1}
Never did a soul utter that cry unheeded. As the disciples grasp their oars to make a last effort, Jesus rises. He stands in the midst of His disciples, while the tempest rages, the waves break over them, and the lightning illuminates His countenance. He lifts His hand, so often employed in deeds of mercy, and says to the angry sea, “Peace, be still.” {DA 335.2}
The storm ceases. The billows sink to rest. The clouds roll away, and the stars shine forth. The boat rests upon a quiet sea. Then turning to His disciples, Jesus asks sorrowfully, “Why are ye fearful? have ye not yet faith?” Mark 4:40, R.V. {DA 335.3}
A hush fell upon the disciples. Even Peter did not attempt to express the awe that filled his heart. The boats that had set out to accompany Jesus had been in the same peril with that of the disciples. Terror and despair had seized their occupants; but the command of Jesus brought quiet to the scene of tumult. The fury of the storm had driven the boats into close proximity, and all on board beheld the miracle. In the calm that followed, fear was forgotten. The people whispered among themselves, “What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey Him?” {DA 335.4}
When Jesus was awakened to meet the storm, He was in perfect peace. There was no trace of fear in word or look, for no fear was in His heart. But He rested not in the possession of almighty power. It was not as the “Master of earth and sea and sky” that He reposed in quiet. That power He had laid down, and He says, “I can of Mine own self do nothing.” John 5:30. He trusted in the Father’s might. It was in faith–faith in God’s love and care–that Jesus rested, and the power of that word which stilled the storm was the power of God. {DA 336.1}
As Jesus rested by faith in the Father’s care, so we are to rest in the care of our Saviour. If the disciples had trusted in Him, they would have been kept in peace. Their fear in the time of danger revealed their unbelief. In their efforts to save themselves, they forgot Jesus; and it was only when, in despair of self-dependence, they turned to Him that He could give them help. {DA 336.2}

Can you see it was Jesus waiting? It was not until they were in despair that they turned to Him to give them help. When we meet those times which we will meet more intensely than ever before, it this we need to remember so the moment the storm comes whatever it is which will create fear in our hearts, we are to remember how Jesus relied on the Father like we have to rely. He was right in the storm with them. We are to take these lessons and remember them when it’s the toughest moments that we are meeting. We should be resting in Jesus all the time.

How often the disciples’ experience is ours! When the tempests of temptation gather, and the fierce lightnings flash, and the waves sweep over us, we battle with the storm alone, forgetting that there is One who can help us. We trust to our own strength till our hope is lost, and we are ready to perish. Then we remember Jesus, and if we call upon Him to save us, we shall not cry in vain. Though He sorrowfully reproves our unbelief and self-confidence, He never fails to give us the help we need. Whether on the land or on the sea, if we have the Saviour in our hearts, there is no need of fear. Living faith in the Redeemer will smooth the sea of life, and will deliver us from danger in the way that He knows to be best. {DA 336.3}

If we fail to remember, if we keep on trying to do it ourselves and we get into dispair, Jesus comes to help. I have had to deal with this frequently. If the fear comes, I have to answer to the fact, am I really trusting the Lord. If it ever came to me as I hear of others, would I be fearful?

I was once called to the army. I would say I wouldn’t go. People would say what if you are married and someone came to you with a gun, wouldn’t you fight? If you were in the war, would you have stood firm to taking up arms?

The danger in which we find ourselves is the test for us to release ourselves to release the fear and trust in the Father as Jesus did. Perfect love casteth out fear.

There is another spiritual lesson in this miracle of the stilling of the tempest. Every man’s experience testifies to the truth of the words of Scripture, “The wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest. . . . There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked.” Isaiah 57:20, 21. Sin has destroyed our peace. While self is unsubdued, we can find no rest. The masterful passions of the heart no human power can control. We are as helpless here as were the disciples to quiet the raging storm. But He who spoke peace to the billows of Galilee has spoken the word of peace for every soul. However fierce the tempest, those who turn to Jesus with the cry, “Lord, save us,” will find deliverance. His grace, that reconciles the soul to God, quiets the strife of human passion, and in His love the heart is at rest. “He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto their desired haven.” Psalm 107:29, 30. “Being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” “The work of righteousness shall be peace; and the effect of righteousness quietness and assurance forever.” Romans 5:1; Isaiah 32:17. {DA 336.4}

Do I find restlessness in me? Then something is not subdued. That is self. If self is subdued, we would find rest. Every time we get into a restless state, we can measure up how much of self is there.

Can you control the things that come up inside of you? It overwhelms us like a big wave to engulf us. When the passions of the heart arise, we can’t control them. We need to rely as did Jesus on the power of God.

Psalm 37:23 The steps of a [good] man are ordered by the LORD: and he delighteth in his way. 24 Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the LORD upholdeth [him with] his hand.

Psalm 107:31 Oh that [men] would praise the LORD [for] his goodness, and [for] his wonderful works to the children of men! 32 Let them exalt him also in the congregation of the people, and praise him in the assembly of the elders.

Amen.

How soon we forget. Deut 8:18

Thesis: To stress the danger of forgetting important spiritual matters.

1. I was at vocational school and standing in line waiting to get some breakfast from the

 cafeteria when I saw it. There was a skyscraper billowing smoke and rumors of a

 drunk pilot flying a 747 into it. Little did I know what would happen as the day went

 on. It was Tuesday September 11, 2001.

2. As we recently marked yet another anniversary of this tragic event, I am reminded of

 how easy it is to forget. Recount the patriotism and emotions of the nation.

 Soon it began to taper off.

3. Important dates are often fogged over by time. We forget about important news

 stories and events. It is easy to forget things.

4. Sometimes it is dangerous to forget. There are something’s we should never forget.

 With this sermon, let’s look at two things, Times when God’s people forgot and Things

 God’s people should never forget.

I. Times When God’s People Forgot. A. The Israelites forgot how they left Egypt.

1. God through Moses led Israel from Egypt by a mighty hand. He knew

 Pharaoh would not let them go if He did not (Ex 3:19).

a. Through ten consecutive plagues God proved His power and

 might to Pharaoh and the Israelites (Ex 13:3).

b. When they were finally released God parted the Red Sea

 allowing them to pass through on dry ground and later drowned

the Egyptian army (Ex 14:29-31).

2. Three days later, the people begin to complain (Ex 15:22-27).

a. The complaining continued and they longed for Egypt

 (Ex 16:1-3; 17:1-6).

3. The power of God was fresh in their minds. However, their hunger and

 thirst blurred their memory of slavery and they forgot about their

 deliverance from Egypt by the mighty hand of God.

a. God never wanted them to forget their rebellious spirit

 (Dt 9:6-7).

b. The reason (Dt 9:4-5).

B. The Israelites forgot crossing the Jordan.

1. Before Israel was able to enter into Canaan, one thing stood in their

 way, crossing the Jordan River.

2. The priest went before the people carrying the Ark of the Covenant.

 a. As they entered the Jordan, the waters were withheld and they

 crossed over on dry ground (Jos 3:14-17).

3. God commanded 12 stones be taken from the river bed and placed on

 the opposite side of the river as a memorial (Jos 4:1-6).

a. This would serve as a reminder of the miraculous way they

 crossed the Jordan. Proof God was with them.

4. Many years later after they conquered the land and Joshua died, the

 nation forgot about this important time (Jud 2:11-15).

C. Solomon forgot the word of the Lord.

1. Solomon was the wisest man on earth (1 Ki 4:29-34).

a. God’s people prospered greatly during his reign.

2. Being king had responsibilities (Dt 17:18-20).

 3. Solomon was encouraged to faithfully follow God.

a. His father David warned him (1 Ki 2:3-4).

b. Warned by God (1 Ki 9:4-5).

4. Unfortunately when Solomon was old he departed from the Lord

 (1 Ki 11:4-8).

a. The consequences were devastating (1 Ki 11:9). The door to

 idolatry was opened wide.

b. The effects of his sin were still visible nearly 300 years later

 (2 Ki 23:13).

II. Thing’s God’s People Should Never Forget.

A. We should never forget what Christ did for us.

1. The death of Christ is the most important moment in the history of the

 world. No other event has ever had even close to the same effect.

2. Christ’s death is important for those who have accepted it.

a. It brought forgiveness and redemption (Col 1:13-14).

b. It brought reconciliation with God (Col 1:19-20).

c. It removed the condemnation of sin (Rom 8:1).

d. It freed us from our sins (Rev 1:5).

3. We must also remember His life (1 Pt 2:21-25).

a. His example in love (Jn 13:34-35).

b. His example in service (Jn 13:15).

c. His example in forgiveness (Lk 23:34).

4. Every week there is an opportunity to remember it in a special way

 (1 Cor 11:23-32).

B. We should never forget where we were.

1. Our past is important. Where you were (Eph 2:1-2; Dt 5:15).

2. When you forget the past.

a. You will lose sight of the importance of evangelism. Souls are

 lost are you convinced they need to be saved like you?

b. The importance of the church (Mt 16:18; Acts 20:28).

c. The Lord’s sacrifice (Col 1:13-14).

3. We must ever be thankful (Col 3:15).

C. We should never forget God’s word.

1. God has always intended His word to be taught and understood by His

 people.

a. The Law was read publically every seven years (Dt 31:10-13).

b. Col 1:6, 4:16; 1 Th 5:27; Rom 10:17.

2. Just as Solomon forgot God’s word, it is possible for you to forget also.

3. Our forgetting and departing from God’s word can be caused by simply

 neglecting it. How much did you actually read your Bible last week?

4. We forget God’s word by not teaching our children (Dt 6:4-9;

 Eph 6:4).

a. When children depart and leave the church, how much time did

 you as a parent spend teaching them at home? Emphasizing

 Bible class and worship?

b. We are always only one generation away from apostasy

 (Jud 2:11). One generation away from closing the doors of this

 church.

5. We depart from God’s word by forgetting salvation is conditional.

a. Your salvation is dependent upon continued obedience to God

 (1 Jn 1:5-10; Rev 2:10; Dt 8:11).

6. As soon as we begin to lose sight of what God has said, we fall

 (1 Cor 10:12).

Conclusion:

1. There is always real danger in forgetting. When we forget, our faith grows weak.

 When we forget, sin lies at the door.

2. Although it is easy to forget a lot of things in life, let us never forget. . . .

A. What Christ did for us. B. Where you were before Christ. C. What God’s

 word says. Psa 119:11.

Tweet

my father's head (English)

My Father’s Head
by Okwiri Oduor

I had meant to summon my father only long enough to see what his head looked like, but now he was here and I did not know how to send him back.

It all started the Thursday that Father Ignatius came from Immaculate Conception in Kitgum. The old women wore their Sunday frocks, and the old men plucked garlands of bougainvillea from the fence and stuck them in their breast pockets. One old man would not leave the dormitory because he could not find his shikwarusi, and when I coaxed and badgered, he patted his hair and said, “My God, do you want the priest from Uganda to think that I look like this every day?”

I arranged chairs beneath the avocado tree in the front yard, and the old people sat down and practiced their smiles. A few people who did not live at the home came too, like the woman who hawked candy in the Stagecoach bus to Mathari North, and the man whose one-roomed house was a kindergarten in the daytime and a brothel in the evening, and the woman whose illicit brew had blinded five people in January.

Father Ignatius came riding on the back of a bodaboda, and after everyone had dropped a coin in his hat, he gave the bodaboda man fifty shillings and the bodaboda man said, “Praise God,” and then rode back the way he had come.

Father Ignatius took off his coat and sat down in the chair that was marked, “Father Ignatius Okello, New Chaplain,” and the old people gave him the smiles they had been practicing, smiles that melted like ghee, that oozed through the corners of their lips and dribbled onto their laps long after the thing that was being smiled about went rancid in the air.

Father Ignatius said, “The Lord be with you,” and the people said, “And also with you,” and then they prayed and they sang and they had a feast; dipping bread slices in tea, and when the drops fell on the cuffs of their woollen sweaters, sucking at them with their steamy, cinnamon tongues.

Father Ignatius’ maiden sermon was about love: love your neighbour as you love yourself, that kind of self-deprecating thing. The old people had little use for love, and although they gave Father Ignatius an ingratiating smile, what they really wanted to know was what type of place Kitgum was, and if it was true that the Bagisu people were savage cannibals.

What I wanted to know was what type of person Father Ignatius thought he was, instructing others to distribute their love like this or like that, as though one could measure love on weights, pack it inside glass jars and place it on shelves for the neighbours to pick as they pleased. As though one could look at it and say, “Now see: I have ten loves in total. Let me save three for my country and give all the rest to my neighbours.”

It must have been the way that Father Ignatius filled his mug – until the tea ran over the clay rim and down the stool leg and soaked into his canvas shoe – that got me thinking about my own father. One moment I was listening to tales of Acholi valour, and the next, I was stringing together images of my father, making his limbs move and his lips spew words, so that in the end, he was a marionette and my memories of him were only scenes in a theatrical display.

Even as I showed Father Ignatius to his chambers, cleared the table, put the chairs back inside, took my purse, and dragged myself to Odeon to get a matatu to Uthiru, I thought about the millet-coloured freckle in my father’s eye, and the fifty cent coins he always forgot in his coat pockets, and the way each Saturday morning, men knocked on our front door and said things like, “Johnson, you have to come now; the water pipe has burst and we are filling our glasses with shit,” and, “Johnson, there is no time to put on clothes even; just come the way you are. The maid gave birth in the night and flushed the baby down the toilet.”

Every day after work, I bought an ear of street-roasted maize and chewed it one kernel at a time, and when I reached the house, I wiggled out of the muslin dress and wore dungarees and drank a cup of masala chai. Then I carried my father’s toolbox to the bathroom. I chiselled out old broken tiles from the wall, and they fell onto my boots, and the dust rose from them and exploded in the flaring tongues of fire lapping through chinks in the stained glass.

This time, as I did all those things, I thought of the day I sat at my father’s feet and he scooped a handful of groundnuts and rubbed them between his palms, chewed them, and then fed the mush to me. I was of a curious age then; old enough to chew with my own teeth, yet young enough to desire that hot, masticated love, love that did not need to be doctrinated or measured in cough syrup caps.

The Thursday Father Ignatius came from Kitgum, I spent the entire night on my stomach on the sitting room floor, drawing my father. In my mind I could see his face, see the lines around his mouth, the tiny blobs of light in his irises, the crease at the part where his ear joined his temple. I could even see the thick line of sweat and oil on his shirt collar, the little brown veins that broke off from the main stream of dirt and ran down on their own.

I could see all these things, yet no matter what I did, his head refused to appear within the borders of the paper. I started off with his feet and worked my way up and in the end my father’s head popped out of the edges of the paper and onto scuffed linoleum and plastic magnolias and the wet soles of bathroom slippers.

I showed Bwibo some of the drawings. Bwibo was the cook at the old people’s home, with whom I had formed an easy camaraderie.

“My God!” Bwibo muttered, flipping through them. “Simbi, this is abnormal.”

The word ‘abnormal’ came out crumbly, and it broke over the sharp edge of the table and became clods of loam on the plastic floor covering. Bwibo rested her head on her palm, and the bell sleeves of her cream-coloured caftan swelled as though there were pumpkins stacked inside them.

I told her what I had started to believe, that perhaps my father had had a face but no head at all. And even if my father had had a head, I would not have seen it: people’s heads were not a thing that one often saw. One looked at a person, and what one saw was their face: a regular face-shaped face, that shrouded a regular head-shaped head. If the face was remarkable, one looked twice. But what was there to draw one’s eyes to the banalities of another’s head? Most times when one looked at a person, one did not even see their head there at all.

Bwibo stood over the waist-high jiko, poured cassava flour into a pot of bubbling water and stirred it with a cooking oar. “Child,” she said, “how do you know that the man in those drawings is your father? He has no head at all, no face.”

“I recognize his clothes. The red corduroys that he always paired with yellow shirts.”

Bwibo shook her head. “It is only with a light basket that someone can escape the rain.”

It was that time of day when the old people fondled their wooden beads and snorted off to sleep in between incantations. I allowed them a brief, bashful siesta, long enough for them to believe that they had recited the entire rosary. Then I tugged at the ropes and the lunch bells chimed. The old people sat eight to a table, and with their mouths filled with ugali, sour lentils and okra soup, said things like, “Do not buy chapati from Kadima’s Kiosk— Kadima’s wife sits on the dough and charms it with her buttocks,” or, “Did I tell you about Wambua, the one whose cow chewed a child because the child would not stop wailing?”

In the afternoon, I emptied the bedpans and soaked the old people’s feet in warm water and baking soda, and when they trooped off to mass I took my purse and went home.

The Christmas before the cane tractor killed my father, he drank his tea from plates and fried his eggs on the lids of coffee jars, and he retrieved his Yamaha drum-set from a shadowy, lizardy place in the back of the house and sat on the veranda and smoked and beat the drums until his knuckles bled.

One day he took his stool and hand-held radio and went to the veranda, and I sat at his feet, undid his laces and peeled off his gummy socks. He wiggled his toes about. They smelt slightly fetid, like sour cream.

My father smoked and listened to narrations of famine undulating deeper into the Horn of Africa, and when the clock chimed eight o’clock, he turned the knob and listened to the death news. It was not long before his ears caught the name of someone he knew. He choked on the smoke trapped in his throat.

My father said, “Did you hear that? Sospeter has gone! Sospeter, the son of Milkah, who taught Agriculture in Mirere Secondary. My God, I am telling you, everyone is going. Even me, you shall hear me on the death news very soon.”

I brought him his evening cup of tea. He smashed his cigarette against the veranda, then he slowly brought the cup to his lips. The cup was filled just the way he liked it, filled until the slightest trembling would have his fingers and thighs scalded.

My father took a sip of his tea and said, “Sospeter was like a brother to me. Why did I have to learn of his death like this, over the radio?”

Later, my father lay on the fold-away sofa, and I sat on the stool watching him, afraid that if I looked away, he would go too. It was the first time I imagined his death, the first time I mourned.
And yet it was not my father I was mourning. I was mourning the image of myself inside the impossible aura of my father’s death. I was imagining what it all would be like: the death news would say that my father had drowned in a cess pit, and people would stare at me as though I were a monitor lizard trapped inside a manhole in the street. I imagined that I would be wearing my green dress when I got the news – the one with red gardenias embroidered in its bodice –and people would come and pat my shoulder and give me warm Coca Cola in plastic cups and say, “I put my sorrow in a basket and brought it here as soon as I heard. How else would your father’s spirit know that me I am innocent of his death?”

Bwibo had an explanation as to why I could not remember the shape of my father’s head.

She said, “Although everyone has a head behind their face, some show theirs easily; they turn their back on you and their head is all you can see. Your father was a good man and good men never show you their heads; they show you their faces.”

Perhaps she was right. Even the day my father’s people telephoned to say that a cane tractor had flattened him on the road to Shibale, no one said a thing about having seen his head. They described the rest of his body with a measured delicacy: how his legs were strewn across the road, sticky and shiny with fresh tar, and how one foot remained inside his tyre sandal, pounding the pedal of his bicycle, and how cane juice filled his mouth and soaked the collar of his polyester shirt, and how his face had a patient serenity, even as his eyes burst and rolled in the rain puddles.

And instead of weeping right away when they said all those things to me, I had wondered if my father really had come from a long line of obawami, and if his people would bury him seated in his grave, with a string of royal cowries round his neck.

“In any case,” Bwibo went on, “what more is there to think about your father, eh? That milk spilled a long time ago, and it has curdled on the ground.”

I spent the day in the dormitories, stripping beds, sunning mattresses, scrubbing PVC mattress pads. One of the old men kept me company. He told me how he came to spend his sunset years at the home – in August of 1998 he was at the station waiting to board the evening train back home to Mombasa. When the bomb went off at the American Embassy, the police trawled the city and arrested every man of Arab extraction. Because he was seventy-two and already rapidly unravelling into senility, they dumped him at the old people’s home, and he had been there ever since.

“Did your people not come to claim you?” I asked, bewildered.

The old man snorted. “My people?”

“Everyone has people that belong to them.”

The old man laughed. “Only the food you have already eaten belongs to you.”

Later, the old people sat in drooping clumps in the yard. Bwibo and I watched from the back steps of the kitchen. In the grass, ants devoured a squirming caterpillar. The dog’s nose, a translucent pink doodled with green veins, twitched. Birds raced each other over the frangipani. One tripped over the power line and smashed its head on the moss–covered electricity pole.
Wasps flew low over the grass. A lizard crawled over the lichen that choked a pile of timber. The dog licked the inside of its arm. A troupe of royal butterfly dancers flitted over the row of lilies, their colourful gauze dancing skirts trembling to the rumble of an inaudible drum beat. The dog lay on its side in the grass, smothering the squirming caterpillar and the chewing ants. The dog’s nipples were little pellets of goat shit stuck with spit onto its furry underside.

Bwibo said, “I can help you remember the shape of your father’s head.”

I said, “Now what type of mud is this you have started speaking?”

Bwibo licked her index finger and held it solemnly in the air. “I swear, Bible red! I can help you and I can help you.”

Let me tell you: one day you will renounce your exile, and you will go back home, and your mother will take out the finest china, and your father will slaughter a sprightly cockerel for you, and the neighbours will bring some potluck, and your sister will wear her navy blue P.E wrapper, and your brother will eat with a spoon instead of squelching rice and soup through the spaces between his fingers.

And you, you will have to tell them stories about places not-here, about people that soaked their table napkins in Jik Bleach and talked about London as though London was a place one could reach by hopping onto an Akamba bus and driving by Nakuru and Kisumu and Kakamega and finding themselves there.

You will tell your people about men that did not slit melons up into slices but split them into halves and ate each of the halves out with a spoon, about women that held each other’s hands around street lamps in town and skipped about, showing snippets of grey Mother’s Union bloomers as they sang:

Kijembe ni kikali, param-param
Kilikata mwalimu, param-param

You think that your people belong to you, that they will always have a place for you in their minds and their hearts. You think that your people will always look forward to your return.
Maybe the day you go back home to your people you will have to sit in a wicker chair on the veranda and smoke alone because, although they may have wanted to have you back, no one really meant for you to stay.

My father was slung over the wicker chair in the veranda, just like in the old days, smoking and watching the handheld radio. The death news rose from the radio, and it became a mist, hovering low, clinging to the cold glass of the sitting room window.

My father’s shirt flapped in the wind, and tendrils of smoke snapped before his face. He whistled to himself. At first the tune was a faceless, pitiful thing, like an old bottle that someone found on the path and kicked all the way home. Then the tune caught fragments of other tunes inside it, and it lost its free-spirited falling and rising.

My father had a head. I could see it now that I had the mind to look for it. His head was shaped like a butternut squash. Perhaps that was the reason I had forgotten all about it; it was a horrible, disconcerting thing to look at.

My father had been a plumber. His fingernails were still rimmed with dregs from the drainage pipes he tinkered about in, and his boots still squished with ugali from nondescript kitchen sinks. Watching him, I remembered the day he found a gold chain tangled in the fibres of someone’s excrement, and he wiped the excrement off against his corduroys and sold the chain at Nagin Pattni, and that evening, hoisted high upon his shoulders, he brought home the red Greatwall television. He set it in the corner of the sitting room and said, “Just look how it shines, as though it is not filled with shit inside.”

And every day I plucked a bunch of carnations and snipped their stems diagonally and stood them in a glass bowl and placed the glass bowl on top of the television so that my father would not think of shit while he watched the evening news.

I said to Bwibo, “We have to send him back.”

Bwibo said, “The liver you have asked for is the one you eat.”

“But I did not really want him back, I just wanted to see his head.”

Bwibo said, “In the end, he came back to you and that should account for something, should it not?”

Perhaps my father’s return accounted for nothing but the fact that the house already smelt like him – of burnt lentils and melting fingernails and the bark of bitter quinine and the sourness of wet rags dabbing at broken cigarette tips.

I threw things at my father; garlic, incense, salt, pork, and when none of that repelled him, I asked Father Ignatius to bless the house. He brought a vial of holy water, and he sprinkled it in every room, sprinkled it over my father. Father Ignatius said that I would need further protection, but that I would have to write him a cheque first.

One day I was buying roast maize in the street corner when the vendor said to me, “Is it true what the vegetable-sellers are saying, that you finally found a man to love you but will not let him through your door?”

That evening, I invited my father inside. We sat side by side on the fold-away sofa, and watched as a fly crawled up the dusty screen between the grill and the window glass. It buzzed a little as it climbed. The ceiling fan creaked, and it threw shadows across the corridor floor. The shadows leapt high and mounted doors and peered through the air vents in the walls.

The wind upset a cup. For a few seconds, the cup lay lopsided on the windowsill. Then it rolled on its side and scurried across the floor. I pulled at the latch, fastened the window shut. The wind grazed the glass with its wet lips. It left a trail of dust and saliva, and the saliva dribbled down slowly to the edge of the glass. The wind had a slobbery mouth. Soon its saliva had covered the entire window, covered it until the rosemary brushwood outside the window became blurry. The jacaranda outside stooped low, scratched the roof. In the next room, doors and windows banged.
I looked at my father. He was something at once strange and familiar, at once enthralling and frightening – he was the brittle, chipped handle of a ceramic tea mug, and he was the cold yellow stare of an owl.

My father touched my hand ever so lightly, so gently, as though afraid that I would flinch and pull my hand away. I did not dare lift my eyes, but he touched my chin and tipped it upwards so that I had no choice but to look at him.

I remembered a time when I was a little child, when I stared into my father’s eyes in much the same way. In them I saw shapes; a drunken, talentless conglomerate of circles and triangles and squares. I had wondered how those shapes had got inside my father’s eyes. I had imagined that he sat down at the table, cut out glossy figures from colouring books, slathered them with glue, and stuck them inside his eyes so that they made rummy, haphazard collages in his irises.

My father said, “Would you happen to have some tea, Simbi?”

I brought some, and he asked if his old friend Pius Obote still came by the house on Saturdays, still brought groundnut soup and pumpkin leaves and a heap of letters that he had picked up from the post office.

I said, “Pius Obote has been dead for four years.”

My father pushed his cup away. He said, “If you do not want me here drinking your tea, just say so, instead of killing-killing people with your mouth.”

My father was silent for a while, grieving this man Pius Obote whose name had always made me think of knees banging against each other. Pius Obote used to blink a lot. Once, he fished inside his pocket for a biro and instead withdrew a chicken bone, still red and moist.

My father said to me, “I have seen you. You have offered me tea. I will go now.”

“Where will you go?”

“I will find a job in a town far from here. Maybe Eldoret. I used to have people there.”

I said, “Maybe you could stay here for a couple of days, Baba.”

1.        http://bookslive.co.za/blog/2013/09/06/fiction-friday-okwiri-oduors-short-story-day-africa-winning-story-my-fathers-head/

2.        https://africa39blog.wordpress.com/tag/my-fathers-head/


       http://ashvamegh.net/okwiri-oduor-my-fathers-head-research-article/

Tweet

GOD IS CALLING YOU

GOD IS CALLING YOU

TEXT: Isaiah 6:1-8; Mt. 4:18-22

1. If you have ever ignored a ringing phone because you knew who it was, sit down.

2. If you have ever picked up the phone and said something stupid because you thought you knew who it was, sit down.

3. If you've ever tried to imitate a bird call, sit down.

4. If you've ever lost your religion over the call of an umpire or referee, sit down.

5. If you've ever fallen or dropped something trying to get to a ringing phone, sit down.

6. If you've ever stayed home from someplace you really wanted to go because you were expecting an important call, sit down.

7. If you've ever sat by the phone waiting for someone to call, sit down.

I took you through that just as a reminder of the different kinds of calls that we hear, and just how important a call can be. We've all experienced one sort of call or another, and the call of God to Isaiah in chapter 6 is one of the more famous ones in Scripture.

Isaiah’s call comes in the form of a vision, where he sees God way up high on a throne and God’s kingly robe is so huge that the hem of it completely fills the temple.  There are all these strange beasts with lots of wings who were attending to God and proclaiming God’s holiness with such power that the temple shook and filled with smoke.  Now, most of us can’t claim to have had such an experience, but for those of us who choose to pay attention to our spiritual lives, we can often point to several "aha" moments on the spiritual journey.

The initial one of those, the one that usually propels us to begin the spiritual walk in the first place, is usually the realization that the existence of God is a very real possibility.  Maybe we hadn't really considered that before, but something happens that makes us say there might actually be a God, in which case I had better pay attention. We might not be sure at that point. We might not know anything about the nature of that God. But God suddenly becomes real enough that we feel compelled to investigate further.

We often move from there to a conviction that there is a God, and unfortunately a lot of people stop their spiritual journey right there. They figure that they've reached the destination of believing in God, they sit down on a bench by the side of the road, and never take another step.  Sometimes they don’t go further because they think that’s all there is and, frankly, it seems a bit dull.  If the first experience of God is more powerful, some might not continue for the same reason Isaiah stops in his tracks.  God seems too overwhelming or scary or holy and it seems like a safer idea to keep God at arm’s length.

After all the shaking and smoking in Isaiah’s vision, he cries out “Woe is me!  I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”  When confronted with the glory of God, the first thing that Isaiah becomes aware of is his own sinfulness…both individually and in the nation to which he belongs.  And he’s scared.  He doesn’t think there’s even a chance for repentance.  When he beholds the full glory of God, his first thought is, “That’s it.  I’m toast.”

Of course he isn’t, and neither are we.  Whether we’re bored or scared, if you have reached the point of a basic belief in God, you that you haven't even left the spiritual driveway yet.  If you'll pull out onto the road for just a minute, I'll tell you about the second "aha" moment in the spiritual journey.

That moment is that the God that you just discovered is calling you, by name-- your phone number, your address, specifically you.  That's the place where I want to focus for this first sermon this morning.  Next week we'll look at the ways that God heals us and equips us when we answer that call, but none of that will matter unless we first realize that God is calling us in the first place.

So for today, the one realization that I want you to take home is, "God is calling me."  It's not that God has put out a general call and I can respond if I please.  It's not that God is calling a pay phone and whoever happens to walk by can answer it.  God is calling you, personally, at home, on your cell.  Isaiah’s vision is not being played in theaters across Israel.  It is only Isaiah who sees, and one of the seraphs with all those wings is touching his lips and no one else’s.

Often when we in the church talk about calling we tend to focus on the work that God calls us to do. In the ordained ministry especially, we are always talking about "my call," which is synonymous with talking about the particular work that I do, my vocation. Even the word "vocation" comes from the Latin word for "call." But calling is only secondarily about work and about vocation.

Calling is not so much about what you do as about who you do it for.  Calling makes no sense without there first being a Caller.  We are first and foremost called to be in relationship with God.  If you want a business and work metaphor, you can say that calling is not about your job title. It's about your employer.  God is the employer who wants to have you on the company team.

God will provide all the training that you need. God will even start you out with a year or two of paid leave if you're having a personal or family crisis that prevents you from starting work right away. You can discuss your actual job duties later. God just wants to make you a lifetime partner in the firm. Guaranteed employment -- if it gets so that you can no longer do the first assignment, there'll be another one that better suits your circumstances. You will never be laid off, fired, or forced to retire. You're being called simply because God thinks you're great, and wants to have you around.

If we make the mistake of equating calling with a specific line of work, we run the risk of a huge loss of purpose and meaning if our circumstances change and we can no longer do that task.  I often say I'm called to preach the Word of God. And it's true that being in the pulpit trying to make God's Word accessible to people is my current job assignment from God.  I have no doubt of that whatsoever.  But it's misleading to say that that is my calling.  My calling is simply to say yes to God for relationship and then, across the course of my life, to do whatever specific tasks God asks me to do at whatever time.

One of the most common questions that I get as a pastor is some form of, "How do I know that God is speaking?"  Unfortunately, the only way to really know God is speaking is by getting to know God personally.  There isn't an automatic caller ID on every message from God.  We know it's God's voice because we have enough experience with God to recognize it.  If I hear a voice in the hall, the only way I know who that voice is, is to go out and look.  If the same voice is in that hall day after day, after several times of going to look, I’ll soon know without looking.  I know when God is speaking to me because I recognize the voice from my experience.

When we are young, either physically or in our faith, and don't have those kinds of experiences with God to draw from, we need to ask others.  Wherever we are on the road, there's always somebody behind us on the road and somebody ahead of us.  No matter what stage we're at, whether we've just pulled out of the driveway or we're cruising down the interstate, we all need help and advice from those further along, and we all need to be available to help those who are not quite as far as we are.

If you haven't heard God's call on your life, it’s not because God isn’t calling.  You just need to learn what the voice sounds like.  Maybe you’re waiting for the phone to ring while God has been sending e-mails.  Maybe the call was sitting in the Bible reading for today, but you didn’t pick it up and read it.  Maybe you’re waiting for something that sounds great and powerful while your two-year old is bringing God’s message to you.

At this point in my Spiritual life I know God’s voice pretty well.  My problems now don’t come because I don’t recognize the voice; they come because I know what the voice is likely to say and I don’t want to hear it.  Isaiah was sure that if God spoke it would be his doom.  But it wasn’t.  God responded to Isaiah’s overweening guilt with a ritual cleansing and the words God spoke were not words of condemnation, but words of forgiveness.  “Your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out,” says the seraph.

And then, it comes.  Once Isaiah is ready to listen, the call is given.  It is not a command, but an offer.  “Whom shall I send,” asks God, “and who will go for us?”  Isaiah steps up to the plate, and God gives him a message for the people…a message that will go on to include predictions of a suffering servant who will blot out the transgressions of Israel, just like the seraph blotted out Isaiah’s sins with a burning coal.

God is calling you by name. Can you hear it? Will you hear it? It's the call that will change your life and perhaps the lives of others.  It won't go away.  If the line is busy, God will call back.  If the phone is busy God will try the door or email.  God is calling you.  Have you ever really answered?  Have you ever finally stopped and said, "Here am I, send me?"  The purpose of your life is waiting to be fulfilled, and God can accomplish it whether you’re 10, 50, or 100 years old.  God wants you on the team.  What will your answer be?  Amen.

Sermon © 2006, Anne Robertson

http://www.annerobertson.com/CBC/GodIsCallingYou.htm

Tweet

NATURAL DISASTERS–AN ACT OF GOD?

NATURAL DISASTERS–AN ACT OF GOD?

by James Rafferty  |  March 7, 2012

Someone sent me a recent article by John Piper, Reformed Baptist preacher and best selling author, titled, Fierce Tornados and the Fingers of God. The opening sentence was as terrible to me as the tornados themselves: “Why would God reach down His hand and drag His fierce fingers across rural America killing at least 38 people with 90 tornadoes in 12 states, and leaving some small towns with scarcely a building standing, including churches?”

Do most people just assume that God is behind all natural disasters? Do you? No believer can deny God’s judgments without tossing the Bible. But do all natural disasters lead to God, like “all roads lead to Rome”? Insurance companies seem to think so—based on their famous (or infamous) insurance clause indicating they don’t cover, “acts of God.”

THE DEAD DON’T REPENT

One answer for these questions is found in Christ’s words to believers in the face of a tragedy that killed 18 persons:

“Or those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them, do you think that they were worse sinners than all other men who dwelt in Jerusalem? I tell you, no; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish” (Luke 13:4-5, NKJV).

Christ did not spend time arguing about who was to be blamed for the tragedy. Instead, He reminded His listeners that tragedies are a wakeup call. So should we assume that God sends natural disasters to make us repent of our sin? If that’s the case, we could conclude that everything on planet earth would be just fine without God and His continual efforts to force us to repent.

The apostle Paul was clear when he said,

“Or do you despise the riches of His goodness, forbearance, and longsuffering, not knowing that the goodness of God leads you to repentance?” (Romans 2:4).

Biblically speaking God’s goodness precedes life-destroying judgments. Dead people don’t repent. Besides, as with this latest tragedy, we often see churches and people who attend them, even innocent babies, struck down along with everyone else. Are these really God’s “fierce fingers?”

THE FINGERS OF SATAN

The reason why innocent babies and even steadfast believers suffer and die is clearly answered in the Bible. The particulars are recorded for our present benefit in the book of Job. This story involved a good man so it could not be said that God was punishing him for some secret sin (though this didn’t stop his religious friends from saying it).

In the story of Job, the devil comes strolling into the assembly room of God claiming that this earth belongs to him (makes sense to me considering all the pain on the planet). So God allows an experiment for our benefit. In this “case study” we get to see what happens to evil-hating, God-loving human beings when God is taken out of the picture. Roll Job chapter one:

“So the Lord said to Satan, ‘Behold, all that he has is in your power. . . Then Satan went out from the presence of the Lord,” and the next thing you know, Job’s one thousand oxen, five hundred donkeys, and three hundred camels have been stolen, seven thousand sheep have been burned up by the “fire of God,” all but three of Job’s servants have been killed, and all ten of his children are crushed to death by a tornado like natural disaster (Job 1:12, 15, 19).

Not a pretty picture, is it? Did you notice that God was quickly blamed—i.e. “the fire of God” (there’s our insurance clause mentality). Additionally, this “act of God” mentality led believers to blame the victim. Enter Job’s three friends. Religious and theologians in their own right, these three are sure that these calamities proceeded from God on account of some secret sin. But they were wrong, not only about Job, but about God (Job 42:7-8). 
Satan, the author of sin and all its results, had led these men to look upon disease and death as proceeding from God—as punishment arbitrarily inflicted on account of sin. Consequently, in his great affliction, Job had the additional burden of being regarded as a great sinner. The story of Job is a lesson designed to prevent this kind of thinking. The history of Job shows that suffering is inflicted by Satan, and is overruled by God for purposes of mercy.

SAVE THE PLANET-PEOPLE

Okay, so Job’s story shows us what happens when God is taken out of the picture. Now let’s see what happens when the devil is taken out and God runs the world. Roll Revelation 21:1-4:

“And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea. And I John saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”

“Passed away”—that’s a modern term for dead. In God’s world the devil and death will be dead. How sweet is that! Can you imagine a planet with no evil—not a single drop? God can. His plan is written for us in the Bible in hopes that we would catch the vision. This is the final destination of planet earth and God wants you to have a part of it, an eternal part. Presently the earth is breaking down under the curse of sin and Satan (Isaiah 51:6; Revelation 12:12). Our save-the-planet good intentions may be misdirected—if our goal is to make planet earth our savior. There is already a plan in place to save the planet. The greater need is to save the people on the planet—the planet people—us.

GOD WILL DO NOTHING…

In the story of Job, Satan went to heaven to claim his right to destroy people, but in the story of Jesus, God came to earth to claim His right to save people. In the end, no theological answer can compare to the personal presence of “God with us” in all our suffering (Matthew 1:23; 1 Peter 4:1).

“In all their affliction He was afflicted, and the angel of His presence saved them: in His love and in His pity He redeemed them; and He bare them, and carried them all the days of old” (Isaiah 63:9).

All the pain, evil and terror on planet earth break God’s heart. Yet, there are times when God brings judgments to those who are chillingly wicked. These divine judgments are consistently preempted by a warning message. “Surely the Lord God does nothing, unless He reveals His secret to His servants the prophets” (Amos 3:7; you may want to read that a couple of times noting that it is an emphatic statement). The proof:

Noah first warned, then God sent a flood.

Angels warned of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Jonah warned Ninevah.

Prophets warned Jerusalem.

And, even now, God is warning the world of the seven last plagues (Revelation 14:6-12).

Apart from these obvious direct judgments, the “prince
of this world,” “the prince of the power of the air,” is ravaging the earth, bringing calamity, destruction and death, as he did to Job, without warning (John 12:31; Ephesians 2:2). The prince of this present world has one goal for us—extermination (1 Peter 5:8).

SOMETIMES DISASTERS ARE SIMPLY NATURAL

In addition, sin has resulted in some major geographical alterations to the planet—meaning that natural disasters are often just that, natural. Coal and oil frequently ignite and burn beneath the surface of the earth. Rocks are heated, limestone is burned, and iron ore melted. The action of the water upon the lime adds fury to the intense heat and causes earthquakes, volcanoes, and fiery issues. As the fire and water come in contact with ledges of rock and ore, there are heavy explosions underground, like muffled thunder. The air is hot and suffocating. Volcanic eruptions follow; and these, often failing to give sufficient vent to the heated elements, the earth itself is convulsed, the ground heaves and swells like the waves of the sea, great fissures appear, and sometimes cities, villages, and burning mountains are swallowed up. Christ warned that these powerful natural disasters would be more frequent and intense leading up to His second coming and the end of the world (Matthew 24:3, 7-8).

SELFISHNESS CREATES SUFFERING

And let’s not forget the human element and our own tampering with “mother nature.” In fact, most of the suffering on planet earth can be traced to our selfishness. Wars are ignited for monetary gain, animals are fed to satisfy our lust for flesh while millions starve, diseases flourish because cures are unprofitable and technology languishes unless it produces profits. The temple of this world is filled with thieves and robbers and will soon be cleansed by the righteous judgment of a loving Father. No, Christ did not spend time arguing about who was to blame for natural tragedies. In the science of the Bible it’s obvious. The book of Job exposes the devil by hiding the Father. The life of Christ exposes the devil by revealing the Father. In the end, there is one clear and simple statement that sums up the whole business:

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10, NASB).

Amen.

http://www.lightbearers.org/natural-disasters-an-act-of-god/

Tweet