LXXXII

MAN’S GOINGS ARE OF THE LORD; HOW CAN A MAN THEN UNDERSTAND HIS OWN WAY?

PROVERBS 20:24

SEVENIA SALLIE (GIRL PROPHETESS)

Captain Kirk sighed heavily as we climbed into my car and prepared to make our way home from Hannibal, Missouri. After stopping for a quick bite to eat, we should still make it home just before sunset. I didn’t like driving after dark in my little Dodge Dart.

“Are you too old for this, Captain Crunchy?” I asked lightheartedly.

He glanced at me with hooded eyes and said softly, “Yes, I am.”

“After all, you are 85,” I said merrily. “I mean counting conception of course.”

“I feel like Methuselah,” he replied.

“Well, you’re just a kid then! You’ll still live another 884 years.”

“Lord have mercy,” he said, and then sighed again.

We had spent a couple hours longer than anticipated talking to Susan Nelson. She had had two discordant conversations with the good Pastor fifty years previous when he was an army chaplain. One of which she actually accused him of killing her sister.

Sherry, Susan’s sister, had ended her young life only hours after Captain Kirk, then a Captain and Chaplain in the U.S. Army, had spent the better part of an afternoon talking and counseling with Sherry. It also had been just three days since Sherry had found out her fiancée, Corporal Timothy Williams, had been killed in Vietnam.

During our recent visit with Susan, she had admitted regret over her accusation that the good Pastor contributed to her sister’s motives for her suicide. She acknowledged that they were said out of hurt and anger, rather than a belief that he was actually was responsible in some way.

Then she told us that after her mother passed away a few months previous, she was going through things in her mother’s house. She came across a group of letters that Corporal Timothy Williams had written to Sherry. In one that was dated not long before he died, Timothy had confessed to the brief fling he had had with Susan.

The realization that her sister likely knew of her betrayal when she killed herself, devastated Susan to the point that an unknown heart condition came to the forefront, giving her a brush with her own mortality. Her guilt also plagued her to the point that she felt a need to come clean to my dear friend, pastor, and sort of grandpa.

We drove in silence for quite a while with Captain Kirk staring blankly out the windshield. I knew he was tired, and he was, as he liked to say, a seasoned citizen. So as much as I wanted to talk about our afternoon with Susan, I kept a zipped lip. But then the spry old fella must have gotten a second wind. He said, “So what do you think, Kiddo?”

“Well, like my dad would have said, life is a strange trip.”

Pastor chuckled, “Tis indeed.”

“What do you think, Grandpa?”

“Normally I’m not in the habit of second guessing. Whether the person I’m counseling with needs encouragement or a swift kick in the hinny, I come with the attitude that I’m only human, too. I pray for guidance, and then walk in the Spirit, and let the chips fall where they may. Let go and let God if you please.”

“But?”

“But,” the Good Pastor said with a sigh. “Susan and I have a history. Not a very pleasant history at that. It was really odd counseling with someone, albeit informally, who had accused you of killing their sister. Then she finds out half a century later that she very likely could have contributed to her sister’s suicide. I can’t stop wondering if my analogy to her of David and Bathsheba was a mistake. Maybe too harsh of an example.”

“Why? How can you go wrong with that? David not only committed adultery with Uriah’s wife, but he also ended up getting Uriah killed so he could have her. Yet David was also known as a man after God’s own heart. When God, through Nathan the Prophet, made known to David his great sin; David humbled himself, repented, and God forgave his enormous sin.”

“Yes,” Pastor agreed. “But he also suffered terribly for the consequences of his sins. That’s the part I’m second guessing. Susan has already been extremely distraught over finding out that her sister likely knew of her tryst with Timmy.”

“Correct, Grandpa,” I said softly. “She has already suffered consequences with heavy remorse. So much so that it aggravated an unknown heart condition, which in turn led her to contact you to make amends.”

“Hmm, good point, Kiddo,” he replied with a little grin. “There’s a reason I make you hang out with me, you’re smart.”

I giggled. “There’s no make about it. I love to hang out with you, Grandpa.”

“Likewise, Dear Child,” he said with a smile and gave my knee a pat. Now he sighed contentedly. “I’m just gonna move on and be glad it’s over. What a shame though. Two sisters that were quite close growing up, ends with betrayal and a self-imposed death. What a shame!

A minute later, Pastor began to softly whistle a hymn and tap his foot. This told me he wasn’t tired. I decided to broach a subject with him about his own sibling. I knew there was some type of discord between them, and that they hadn’t spoken in years. The strange thing is, I know the Pastor is truly a Godly man, so I couldn’t imagine he would hold a grudge. Yet the couple times I tried to get him to talk about his brother, he immediately avoided it. I decided to give it a third try. It would either be three times a charm, so to speak, or three strikes and I was out.

“Sir, can I ask you a question?”

“Sir?” the Good Pastor inquired with an arched, furry white eyebrow. “Question?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe.”

“On the way down, you told me quite a bit about going to college, your time in the military, and your sixty year marriage. But you’ve never talked much about your childhood.”

“Not much to tell,” he said with a shrug. “Typical country boy upbringing.”

“What about siblings? I know you had a brother, any other siblings?”

“Nope, just Sonny and me.”

“Sonny Samson?” I giggled. My eyes also widened in surprise that he offered this tidbit so freely. The first time I had asked about siblings, he said something like I don’t want to go there. The second time he said not now. I felt hopeful this would go somewhere.

“His given name is Clint. I’m two years older, and I was known as Sammy. I guess since our peers made me a nickname out of the first part of my last name, they decided to give Clint a nickname on the second half of our last name.”

“How long were you called Sammy? The only nickname for you I’ve ever known was Captain Kirk.”

“Until I started going with the lovely gal who would become my wife. We were both called Sammy, but people seemed to think she had a more legitimate claim to Sammy, I guess.”

“That’s right, your wife was known as Sammy, wasn’t she?”

“She was. Her first name was Samantha. When we married, she became a double Sam.”

“Sammy Samson, I like that.”

“There was nothing not to like about my dear Sammy,” the Good Pastor said, then his voice cracked. “I miss her every day. God rest her precious soul.”

I swallowed down a lump in my throat and gently guided the Good Captain back to the subject of his brother. “So, Grandpa, how come you and your brother don’t get along?”

“The issue is with him,” he shrugged. “I’ve tried to make peace with him several times, but I was rejected every time.”

“So, what’s his beef with you?”

“It actually started when we were kids. I guess you could say it was sibling rivalry, only I like to think I didn’t participate, other than just going about my life. It was a gradual slide that I honestly believe was his fault. I’ve examined and reexamined our relationship hundreds of times. God forgive me, but I don’t see what I did that should have pulled us apart so severely. I think at the crux of the  problem, I was a mama’s boy, and he was a papa pleaser.”

“So, kind of like Jacob and Esau?” I giggled.

“You know, to be honest, I thought of that myself. Only we weren’t twins, and I was two years older. Plus, the last big riff did have to do with an inheritance.”

“So, did you pretend to be him, and give your father savory meat?” I teased.

“No, Kiddo,” the Good Pastor chuckled. “But it did have to do with food, in an indirect sort of way.”

“It did?” I replied with a puzzled frown.

“The family farm,” he said. “You know, the growing of food.”

“I see,” I chuckled. “So, you two were never close then.”

“Actually we were like best friends as children. Playing in the woods, hunting, fishing, doing chores, helping Dad with planting and harvest. Things didn’t really start to go awry until high school. By then, I became quite academic and turned into a bit of a book worm. Clint struggled to get C’s, but he excelled at sports. I had given up all sports in high school, except for baseball. I was really into church and church activities. Clint was popular, dated a lot, and liked to drink beer with the guys. We just slowly lost common interests.”

“I understand you two were quite different,” I said. “But it still doesn’t seem like stuff that should put you on nonspeaking terms.”

“He’s the one on nonspeaking terms, Kiddo. Like I said, I tried to make peace several times, but to no avail. Plus, this whole riff started slow and then snow balled when we were both in the military.”

“Was he a captain in the Army, too?” I inquired, and knew better to ask if he was a chaplain.

“He was a sergeant in the Marines, twenty-four years.”

“I see. Does he live in another state?”

“No, last I knew, he lives in the Amana Colonies.”

“Pastor! That’s only five miles away!”

“I know, Kiddo,” he chuckled without humor.

“You’re practically neighbors with your brother and you don’t speak.?”

“Like I said, it’s his decision, not mine.”

I made my own decision. I would speak with Captain Kirk’s brother!

(DESTINY”S BIBLE STUDY NOTES AND QUOTES)

(SERMON ON THE MOUNT PART 2)

“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.” Matthew 5:4

The mourning  Jesus speaks of here is true heart sorrow for sin.

Jesus says, “I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.” John 12:32

As one is drawn to behold Jesus lifted up on the cross, they discern the sinfulness of humanity. They see that it is sin which scourged and crucified the Lord. They see that while they have been loved with unspeakable tenderness by Jesus, their life has been a continual scene of ingratitude and rebellion. They have forsaken their best friend and abused heaven’s most precious gift. They are separated from God by a gulf of sin that is broad and black and deep, and they mourn in brokenness of heart.

How many there are who would never have known Jesus had not sorrow led them to seek comfort in Him.

Our heavenly Father is never unmindful of those whom sorrow has touched.

Never was David dearer to the heart of Infinite Love than when, conscience smitten, he fled for his life from his enemies, who had been stirred to rebellion by his own son. “The Lord says, “As many as I love I rebuke and chasten: be zealous therefore and repent.” Revelation 3:19. Christ lifts up the contrite heart and refines the mourning soul until it becomes His abode.

When tribulation comes upon us, how many of us are like Jacob! We think it the hand of an enemy, and in the darkness we wrestle blindly until our strength is spent and we find no comfort or deliverance.

The blessed Savior stands by many whose eyes are so blinded by tears that they do not discern Him.

Keep the heart stayed upon Jesus and meditate upon His loving kindness all the day. He will lift the soul above the daily sorrow and perplexity into a realm of peace.

The Lord has special grace for the mourner, and its power is to melt hearts and win souls. His love opens a channel into the wounded and bruised soul, and becomes a healing balm to those who sorrow. (See 2 Corinthians 1:3,4)

“Blessed are the meek.” Matthew 5:5

Jesus places meekness among the first qualifications for His kingdom. In His own life and character the divine beauty of this precious grace is revealed.

Through all the lowly experiences of life Jesus consented to pass, walking among the children of men, not as a king to demand homage, but as one whose mission it was to serve others.

There was in His manner no taint of bigotry, no cold austerity. The world’s Redeemer had a greater than angelic nature, yet united with His divine majesty were meekness and humility that attracted many to Himself.

Human nature is ever struggling for expression, ready for contest; but he who learns of Christ is emptied of self, of pride, of love of supremacy, and there is silence in the soul. Self is yielded to the disposal of the Holy Spirit. Then we are not anxious to have the highest place. We have no ambition to crowd and elbow ourselves into notice; but we feel that our highest place is at the feet of the Savior. We look to Jesus, waiting for His hand to lead, listening for His voice to guide.

No storm of human or satanic wrath could disturb the calm of Jesus’s perfect communion with God.

Jesus says to us, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you.” (John 14:27) “Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest. (Matthew 11:29)

Happiness drawn from earthly sources is as changeable as varying circumstances can make it; but the peace of Christ is a constant and abiding peace.

The spirit of hatred and revenge originated with Satan, and can bring only evil to him who cherishes it.

Lowliness of heart, that meekness, which is the fruit of abiding in Christ, is the true secret of blessing.

“He will beautify the meek with salvation.” Psalm 149:4

The meek shall inherit the earth. It was through the desire for self-exaltation that sin entered into the world. It is through self-abnegation that Christ redeems what was lost. And He says we are to overcome as He did. (See Revelation 3:21)

LXXXI

EVERY WAY OF A PERSON IS RIGHT IN THEIR OWN EYES: BUT THE LORD PONDERS THE HEART.

PROVERBS 21:2

CAPTAIN KIRK (AKA PASTOR SAMSON)

Sevenia and I were in Susan Nelson’s home in Hannibal, Missouri. She told us that she had moved back into her family home from California about a year ago to take care of her sick mother. Her mother had just died two months previous.

Then Susan had her own health scare. As a result she felt led to contact me, through her son, to mend fences during our brief encounters fifty years ago. During the two conversations I had with Susan half a century ago, she was quite angry. In the last one, over the phone, she even accused me of killing her suicidal sister, apparently with my words. I was a chaplain for her sister’s fiancée during the Vietnam war.

The biggest surprise about Susan contacting me was the fact that Susan and her sister’s fiancée, Timothy Williams, had a child together. I never knew this. Susan was about to tell us how she ended up becoming pregnant by the man engaged to her sister, when the offspring of the affair walked into Susan’s house.

 “It’s an honor to meet you, Sir,” Roger Nelson, Susan’s son, said with a half grin, not unlike Elvis Presley, and very much like his biological father.

“Likewise,” I replied as I smiled and shook his hand. It was as if I was looking at an older version of Corporal Timothy Williams. Only Timmy never got to be old. He died early into his second tour of Vietnam, at the unripe young age of 21 years, 6 months, and 8 days.

“In a way I feel like I kind of know you,” Roger told me. This was an odd feeling since I hadn’t even known he existed until a week ago. He continued. “Mom recently shared with me about twenty letters my dad wrote to my Aunt Sherry. Did she tell you about that? She found them going through Grandma’s things.  It seemed like there were only a couple letters that you weren’t mentioned in.”

I was beginning to feel like I was in a soap opera, or maybe an episode of ‘The Twilight Zone.’ Corporal Williams cheated on his fiancée with her sister. The sister became pregnant. The fiancée committed suicide. The betraying sister shared her personal letters with the illegitimate son. A question that had been in the back of my mind came to the forefront. Did Sherry know? Was that one of the reasons she ended her life?

I was too old for this. I was 85. I looked at Sevenia. She studied me intently, her pretty emerald eyes wide and sympathetic. She gave me a reassuring smile and shook her head. I did a double take and she mouthed, “You’re 84.” How did she do that?

“A month or two after Sherry died, I moved to California with my boyfriend,” Susan said. “By then, I knew I was pregnant, but I was sure it was my boyfriend’s rather than Tim’s. My boyfriend and I were both straight haired blondes with blue eyes. As you know, Tim had black curly hair and eyes as dark as coal.”

She waved a hand at her son. Roger smiled sheepishly as Sevenia and I turned our gaze on him, even though we already knew he had brown eyes and wavy dark brown hair sprinkled with gray.

“Did the boyfriend know he wasn’t the father?” Sevenia asked.

“Oh, he figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t,” Susan said. “When he did, he didn’t waste any time splitting the scene as we would have said back then. For the next three years, I shared an apartment with two other young mothers. We worked as waitresses, cashiers, hotel maids, and babysitters for each other’s kids.

“It was during this time that I met an Air Force pilot named Tony Nelson. We dated for a while, and I ended up pregnant. He did the honorable thing and married me, but it ended up making my life miserable. He clearly didn’t love me. His only love was flying, and his only interest in me was for hormonal release.”

I felt uncomfortable with her insinuation about physical intimacy right in front of her son. I glanced at him, but he simply gazed fondly at his mother. However, his jaw seemed to be tightly clenched.

“The marriage lasted over ten years,” she said with a sigh. “But he was gone more than he was home. At least he never abused the kids. Although I do believe neglect is a form of abuse.”

“How many kids did you have, Ms. Nelson?” Sevenia asked.

“Please, call me Susan,” she replied with a warm smile. “I had two children. Roger, here, and a daughter, Nicole. She just retired from the Army with the rank of Colonel. Roger was a pilot in the Air Force for eight years. Like you, Chaplain, Roger was a Captain.”

“Oh, very good,” I said, and extended my fist and grinned. “Put it there fellow, Captain.”

“Look at you, Grandpa,” Sevenia giggled. “Fist bumping.”

“I am only 84,” I replied, and winked.

“My ex-husband might not have given him the love of a father,” Susan said and then sighed. “But he gave Roger a love of flying. After the Air Force, he was an airline pilot for fifteen years. Now he owns his own charter service.”

Roger’s phone made a noise signaling a text. He looked at it and snorted a laugh. “It looks like your comment conjured up my business, Mom. A regular client of mine wants to know if I can fly him to Dallas as soon as possible.”

We exchanged departure pleasantries with Roger, he kissed his mother’s cheek and disappeared out the front door.

“He’s a nice boy, Susan. I’m sorry he had to go,” I told her.

I felt Sevenia turn her gaze on me. She wore a smirk and a raised eyebrow. I knew what she was thinking. A fifty year-old man is not a boy. I raised my own furry eyebrow as if to say, ‘he is to me, Kiddo.’ After all, I was 35 when he was born. Sevenia squinted at me. It’s interesting when you get to know somebody so well that you know what they’re thinking. I winked, conceding that I was 34 when he was born.

“Actually, I was glad he had to leave,” Susan said with an uneasy smile. “I mean, he knows the truth and all. But I wasn’t looking forward to explaining to you how I ended up pregnant by my sister’s fiancée in front of him.”

“You don’t have to explain, Susan,” I told her, even though I did want to know what happened. I understood the temptations young men are prone to since I was a young man myself long ago. Yet Timmy was the rare type of young man that made it hard to believe he would cheat on his lady, let alone with the woman’s own sister.

“Yes, I do need to explain,” she declared. “After all, my motive for getting together with you was to come clean. To confess. My only fear is that you will think less of Timothy.”

“I don’t mean this to sound crass, Susan,” I said. “But I’ve been around the block a few times so I have a pretty good understanding of human nature. So, unless you tell me something like Timmy raped you, my feelings about him won’t change.”

“Oh no!” She responded. “Nothing like that at all! If anything, it was my behavior that led us down the path to making a baby. Yet I didn’t put a gun to his head either.”

“I should clarify,” I interjected. “I’m not saying I wasn’t surprised when you told me you and he had a child together. What I am saying is I’m fully aware of what Job 14:1 says, ‘man’s days are short and full of trouble.’”

“Yes,” she agreed. “All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23)

“Precisely,” I concurred.

“Okay, then, here’s what happened,” Susan said, and then sighed. “Sherry and Timmy started seeing each other when they were juniors in high school. Timmy looked like a young Burt Reynolds, and Sherry looked sort of like Barbara Eden. I was the nerdy younger sister that had a crush on her older sister’s boyfriend.

“After they graduated, Timmy was drafted and before he left for boot camp, he and my sister became engaged. With him gone, my sister’s subtle mental issues became, um, intensified. Her bouts of depression often left her bedridden, sometimes for days.

“When Timmy came home from his first tour, he was on leave for a couple weeks. Then he was stationed somewhere in Texas for a few months. Then he came home on another leave, but only for three days. It just so happened, Sherry was having one of her bouts. She managed to get out of bed to spend a little time with Tim, but then she had a breakdown and went to bed for the remainder of his stay… That’s when it happened.

“Timmy was disappointed about Sherry. He and Sherry were clean cut, church going, good kids. They didn’t drink or smoke, he had been a boy scout while she was a girl scout. On the other hand, I happened to know that they were not saving themselves for marriage. I also perceived he had been looking forward to a little intimacy on his leave, and Sherry’s condition left him rather disappointed.

“Even though I was fully aware of this, God as my witness, I had no intention of, um, seducing or being intimate with Timmy myself. I admit, I still found him incredibly attractive, and I still had sort of a crush on him. But he was my sister’s guy, and I had my own boyfriend at the time.

“Just for the record. I may have been a bit of a hippie, but I wasn’t a ‘free love’ floozy. I may have disagreed with the war, and even attended a few protests, but I wasn’t one of the creeps that spit on soldiers.

“Anyhow, so the last night before Timmy had to go back, Sherry was shut up in her room, locked away by the demons in her head. My own boyfriend had something going on with his friends. So Timmy and I hung out. To my surprise, he had started drinking in the army. So we split a six pack of beer. After we drained those, he asked me if I had any weed. By weed I mean marijuana.”

Sevenia and I both nodded.

“So, Timmy and I smoked a joint. We were both pretty new to marijuana, and we got the giggles in a major way. When they subsided, Timmy tells me I’ve grown to be a pretty young lady. By the way, I was eighteen when this happened.

“Anyway, I noticed his eyes go to my lips. He leaned toward me ever so slightly, but then he shook his head and looked away from me. I put a finger on his chin and turned his head toward me. I remember telling him that both our significant others abandoned us, and I think we deserve one kiss. I remembered the way he laughed. It was more like a release valve on tension rather than humor. He said we better not and looked away again. I put my whole hand on his cheek, turned his head, and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“When I began to pull away, his hand caught me by the back of the head. He said, I told you we better not, and then he kissed me. I mean he really kissed me! And, well, it went on from there until, well, Roger was conceived.”

Susan pressed her hands together in between her knees and bowed her head. It became deathly still. Then Sevenia cleared her throat before she quietly asked. “So, did Timothy ever know? I mean, about you being pregnant.”

Susan looked up as if surprised to see us there, and then she shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no! I mean, when Timmy died, I suspected I was pregnant. But forgive me if this is too much information, but that month I had had relations with my boyfriend about a dozen times, compared to the one very buzzed time with Timmy.

“Maybe this makes me sound like a fool, but I never even considered the possibility until Roger was born, with his dark hair and eyes. I don’t know, maybe the guilt I felt over our tryst made me block out the possibility. But I truly believed it was my boyfriend’s child I carried.”

There was another silence that weighed heavy and ominous. It should have warned me to keep silent until Susan felt like speaking again. But the pastor in me groped for a word of encouragement. Instead I stuck my great big, gnarled foot in my mouth. “At least Sherry never found out about your indiscretion.”

“Not so,” Susan said as she shook her head. “In the last letter Timothy wrote to her, he confessed that he cheated on her and with whom. I didn’t share that one with my son.”

“Oh my,” Sevenia said quietly.

I was utterly silent. I suppose due to the foot crammed in my mouth.

“That’s what I get for accusing you of killing my sister,” Susan said with tears running down her face. “I blamed you for somehow pushing her over the edge. When in reality, the last thing she was thinking before she lost consciousness forever was that she was betrayed by two people she loved the most. How cruel. She was so fragile. How could I? How could Tim? Poor Sherry. My beautiful sister. Poor sweet Sherry. I’m so sorry, Sis!”

Susan slid off her chair onto her knees, put her hands over her face, and wept bitterly.

(DESTINY’S BIBLE STUDY NOTES)

(THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT PART 1)

The Beatitudes are Christ’s greeting, not only to those who believe, but to the whole human family.

Jesus seems to have forgotten for a moment that He is in the world, not in heaven. Blessings flow from His lips, gushing forth in a current of rich life.

To the poor in spirit, the meek, the lowly, the sorrowful, the despised, the persecuted, He opens His arms of refuge, saying “Come unto me, … and I will give you rest.”

He knows that, even though human beings have abused their mercies and destroyed their God given dignity, yet the Creator is to be glorified in their redemption.

Throughout all time the words that Christ spoke from the mount of Beatitudes will retain their power.

Living the life of the life giver, through faith in Him, everyone can reach the standard held up in His words.

More than fourteen centuries before Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the children of Israel gathered in the fair vale of Shechem, and from the mountains on either side the voices of the priests were heard proclaiming the blessings and curses—“A blessing if ye obey the commandments of the Lord your God… and a curse if ye will not obey.” Deuteronomy 11:27, 28. And thus the mountains from which the words of benediction were spoken came to be known as the mount of blessing.

The spirit of true devotion had been lost in tradition and ceremonialism, and the prophecies were interpreted at the dictate of proud, world loving hearts.

People had been mislead by the teachings of the rabbis. The popular expectation was of an earthly kingdom. They could not comprehend the movements of Jesus. Already they had been perplexed and troubled that He made no effort to strengthen His cause by securing the support of the priests and rabbis. That He did nothing to establish His authority as an earthly king.

“He opened His mouth, and taught them, saying, Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:2, 3)

As something strange and new, these words fall upon the ears of the wondering multitude. Such teaching is contrary to all they have ever heard from priest or rabbi.

The sweetness of divine love flows from His very presence as the fragrance from flowers.

There were souls who, in the presence of His purity, felt that they were “wretched and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked. (Revelation 3:17); and they longed for the “grace that brings salvation” (Titus 2:11). In these souls, Christ’s words of greeting awakened hope. They saw that their lives were under the benediction of God alone.

Those who know that they cannot possibly save themselves, or of themselves do any righteous action, are the ones who appreciate the help that Christ can bestow. They are the poor in spirit, who He declares to be blessed.

This kingdom is not, as Christ’s hearers had hoped, a temporal and earthly dominion. Christ was opening to people the spiritual kingdom of His love, His grace, His righteousness.

All who have a deep sense of their deep soul poverty, who feel that they have nothing good in themselves, may find righteousness and strength by looking unto Jesus.

Does Satan plead loudly against our souls, accusing of sin , and claiming us as his prey? The blood of Christ pleads with greater power!

LXXX

FOR ALL HAVE SINNED, AND COME SHORT OF THE GLORY OF GOD

ROMANS 3:23

SEVENIA SALLIE (GIRL PROPHETESS)

“I’m too old for this,” Captain Kirk mumbled as he sat at his kitchen table with a shoe box under his arm. He pointed at a chair, silently instructing me to join him. I was a little surprised. Knowing the beloved Pastor as I did, I thought he would be waiting for me on his front step. Instead, as soon as I pulled into his driveway, he waved me into his house.

I had offered to drive the good Captain to Hannibal, Missouri. A woman who lived there had a connection to a soldier, Corporal Timothy Williams, who the Pastor knew during the Vietnam war when he was an army chaplain. Said woman, Susan Nelson, was the younger sister of the soldier’s fiancée, Sherry Drummond.

Unfortunately, Corporal Williams lost his life in battle. Several days later, and only hours after Captain Kirk spent an afternoon talking with her, Sherry had ended her life with a combination of sleeping pills and carbon monoxide poisoning.

Susan, Sherry’s sister, had only one personal encounter with the good Captain. Susan was an adamant protestor of the war, and she was rather unfriendly to the Pastor when he first came to see her sister Sherry. After Sherry’s death, he spoke with Susan on the phone only once, in which she angrily blamed him for Sherry’s death. That was fifty years ago, a half century, and they hadn’t communicated since. Then a few days ago, Captain Kirk received a letter from Susan’s son, Roger Nelson.

The letter informed the good Pastor that Susan had a child fathered by Corporal Timothy Williams. This baffled Pastor at first, since Sherry was the Corporal’s fiancée, not Susan. The letter also said that Susan had some type of illness. She wished to speak with the former army chaplain as soon as possible, preferably in person. She offered to have her son drive her up to see him. Due to her undisclosed illness, the good Pastor called Roger and he offered to come to Susan instead. He accepted the offer gratefully.

Captain Kirk handed me an old photo of two soldiers. “Is one of these men Williams?”

“Yes, the other one is me,” he replied.

My jaw dropped and my eyes returned to the photo like a magnet. “Pastor, you had a full head of dark hair and are clean shaven!”

He chuckled. “Do you think I was born an old man?”

I laughed as my eyes aimed at his thin white hair and then lowered to his long white beard. “Actually, I think I did. I at least figured you were born with a beard.”

I was overjoyed as we spent the next twenty minutes looking at old photos. For him being such a loving, social person, he was actually a very private man when it came to talking about  himself. I felt privileged to have him share a bit of his history with me.

“Thanks, Grandpa!” I said when he put the lid back on the shoe box.

He gazed at me under his thick white brows. “How come you started calling me grandpa?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed.

“No, no, kiddo,” he said with a warm smile, and giving my hand a squeeze. “I like it. Actually I love it. But why? Did it have anything to do with me telling Marcy she could call me grandpa if she wanted to?”

“I guess so,” I shrugged.

“Don’t tell me you were jealous,” the Good Captain said mildly.

“Not in a bad way,” I replied. “I mean, I was genuinely happy about your encounter with Marcy, and you inviting her to call you Grandpa. It’s just, well, it made me realize you’re sort of like a grandpa to me as well. It also sort of makes Marcy and me cousins.”

The Pastor smiled sentimentally, and his eyes appeared to well up. “I’m gonna tell you something I don’t tell special people in my life nearly enough. I say to my shame, I just tend to leave it for special people in my life to assume the sentiment is there.”

He paused, so I asked. “What is it, Sir?”

“I love you, Kiddo.”

“I love you too… Grandpa.”

In the couple hours it took to drive to Hannibal, Missouri, my new Grandpa told me more about his early life than he had in all of the two years I’ve known him combined.

“You should write an autobiography,” I told the Good Captain after GPS directed us to take a right onto the street Susan lived on.

“It’s not that interesting, Kiddo,” he replied with a sigh. “I’m just an ordinary man.”

“Who has live an extraordinary life,” I declared.

He shrugged, and then his face fell, yet looked surprised. “Susan must live in her childhood home.”

“Wow,” I said and pointed to a tandem seat tree swing. “Is that where you showed Sherry Corporal William’s letter?”

“Well, it’s the tree, and the limb the swing hung from. But it seems the swing itself has been updated.”

We sat for a minute as the Good Captain stared at the swing. “I’m to old for this,” he mumbled. “What am I doing here? I’m 85 years old. I should have been put out to pasture years ago.”

“Grandpa,” I giggled. “You’re 84. Quit aging yourself.”

“I’m much closer to my 85^th birthday than I am my 84^th,” he replied and then grinned. “Granddaughter.”

The door of the house opened, and a tall slender lady with shoulder length gray hair stepped onto the porch. She gazed at us warily, forced a smile, and waved.

“Well, at least it’s starting off better than it did fifty years ago,” Captain Kirk said.

“Is that Susan?” I inquired.

“I believe so.”

“I thought she was on her deathbed, or something,” I commented. “I wonder what her illness is? She looks pretty fit and healthy to me.”

“I don’t know, Kiddo,” Pastor replied, as he smiled and waved at her. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

We climbed out of my car, and Susan came to us and greeted, “Thanks for coming, Chaplain.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Captain Kirk replied.

“I wish my son wouldn’t have had you come all this way,” she told him. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

“It’s no inconvenience. I had a chauffeur,” he joked.

“Is this your granddaughter?” Susan asked, smiling at me.

“Biologically, no,” Pastor said as he gazed fondly at me. “But spiritually, yes, she is very much my granddaughter.”

Captain Kirk introduced me to Susan, we exchanged pleasantries, and then small talk between the three of us ensued. I suppose it was the breaking of some ice, given the only other two conversations between Susan and the Good Captain were of an unpleasant nature. Then Susan invited us inside.

“I understand you have a health problem?” Pastor probed as we took a seat in her living room and accepted cups of herbal tea.

“Well,” she smiled sheepishly. “It was more of a health scare. I have a bit of a heart condition. But Lord willing, it seems to have stabilized with the medication they put me on. However, it was enough of a wakeup call that I began to reevaluate my life. Something that had been in the back of my mind for years came to the forefront. I needed to apologize to you for my behavior fifty years ago. But forgive me, I wasn’t even sure you were still alive.”

“No forgiveness needed,” the Good Pastor replied with a chuckle. “I am 85 after all.”

“You’re 84, Grandpa,” I corrected with a giggle. “Stop aging yourself.”

“Yes, yes, Dear One,” Pastor replied. “My birth certificate indicates that I’m still 84. But I prefer to count conception, thereby making me roughly 85 years and 8 months.”

“Point taken,” I chuckled. “Susan, he’s 85.”

Susan laughed heartily, laugh lines crinkling next to her close set eyes. It was hard to believe this pleasant woman was the young lady that treated the Good Pastor so harshly fifty years ago.

There was a lull in conversation as the merriment faded, then Susan clapped her hands and spoke. “So, Chaplain Samson, I have a twofold apology.”

“There’s no need to apologize to me, Susan,” Pastor humbly interjected. “It was a turbulent time with a polarizing war. It was a time of personal, heavy grief with the weight of Timmy’s death hanging on everyone’s heart.”

“Yes, I know,” Susan said as she looked at her lap and twisted her fingers nervously. “But that was no excuse for making a horrible time even more difficult for those around me, especially you, Chaplain.”

“Well, I accept your apology, and offer one up of my own,” Captain Kirk said. “I shouldn’t have shown your sister that letter from Timmy when I did.”

“You were just honoring his request, Chaplain,” Susan said. “I realize that now. It was absolutely awful for me to accuse you of killing Sherry with it. You didn’t even need to share that with me. Nobody would have known about the letter accept you and Sherry. And she was de… Well, you know. Anyway the fact that you told me on the phone that day, shows me what an honorable, standup guy you are.”

Now the Good Pastor looked at his lap, only he interlaced his fingers so tight his knuckles turned white.

After a long, somber moment of silence, Susan spoke. “Well, now I suppose it’s confession time,” she said with a non-humorous laugh.

Pastor looked up and raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Chaplain,” Susan said with a non-humorous chuckle. “Surely you’re dying to know how Saint Timothy ended up getting his fiancée’s sister pregnant?”

Now this was more in line with the Susan I was expecting.

As if on cue, Susan’s son walked into the house. Pastor stood, his eyes wide and startled. Then he spoke so softly, I believe it was to himself. “It’s like looking at a fifty year-old Timmy.”

(DESTINY’S BIBLE STUDY NOTES and QUOTES)

As Jesus revealed to us the true character of the Father, so we are to reveal Christ to a world that does not know His tender, pitying love.

Satan is exultant when he can lead the children of God into unbelief and despondency. He delights to see us mistrusting God, doubting His willingness and power to save us. He loves to have us feel that the Lord will do us harm by His providences.

When we seem to doubt God’s love and distrust His promises, we dishonor Him and grieve His Holy Spirit.

Yet how many, by their actions, if not their word, are saying, “The Lord does not mean this for me. Perhaps He loves others, but He does not love me.” All this is harming your own soul.

How important that we speak only those things that will give spiritual strength and life.

There is many a brave soul sorely pressed by temptation, almost ready to give up in the conflict with self and sin. Do not discourage such a one in their hard struggle. Cheer them with brave, hopeful words that will urge them on their way. Thus the light of Christ may shine from you. “None lives unto themselves.” (Romans 14:7). By our unconscious influence others may be encouraged and strengthened, or they may be discouraged, and repelled from Christ and the truth.

Though Jesus’ life was self-denying and shadowed with pain and care, His spirit was not crushed. His countenance did not wear an expression of grief and repining, but ever one of peaceful serenity. His heart was a wellspring of life, and wherever He went Jesus carried rest and peace, joy, and gladness.

Christ came not to be ministered unto but to minister; and when His love reigns in the heart, we shall follow His example.

If we keep uppermost in our minds the unkind and unjust acts of others we will find it impossible to love them as Christ loved us. But if our thoughts dwell upon the wonderous love and pity of Christ for us, the same spirit will flow out to others.

Each day we have burdens, and perplexities. Often this causes us to complain and doubt. Do we well to be unbelieving? Why should we be ungrateful and distrustful? Jesus is our friend!

It is not the will of God that His people should be weighed down with care. But our Lord does not deceive us. He knows there are trials and dangers, and He deals with us plainly. He does not propose to take His people out of the world of sin and evil, but He points them to a never failing refuge. “In the world you shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world. (John 16:33).

In His Sermon on the Mount, Christ taught His disciples precious lessons in regard to the necessity of trusting God.

The birds of the air are not beneath His notice. He does not drop the food into their bills, but He makes provision for their needs. Are you, as intelligent, spiritual worshipers of more value than the birds of the air?

The most gorgeous attire produced by the skill of art cannot bear comparison with the natural grace and radiant beauty of the flowers of God’s creation.

Happiness that is sought from selfish motives, outside of the path of duty, is ill-balanced, fitful, and transitory; it passes away, and the soul is filled with loneliness and sorrow; but there is joy and satisfaction in the service of God. The Christian is not left to walk in uncertain paths; they are not left to vain regrets and disappointments. If we do not have the pleasures of this life we may still be joyful in looking to the life beyond!

Every step in life may bring us closer to Jesus, may give us a deeper experience of His love, and may bring us one step nearer to the blessed home of peace.

“What shall a man give in exchange for his soul?” Matthew 16:26

Though a person may be poor, yet they possesses in themselves a wealth and dignity that the world could never bestow. The soul redeemed and cleansed from sin, with all its noble powers dedicated to the service of God, is of infinite worth. There is joy in heaven in the presence of God and the holy angels over one soul redeemed! (Luke 15:10)

LXXIX

IN ALL THESE THINGS WE ARE MORE THAN CONQUERORS THROUGH HIM THAT LOVED US

ROMANS 8:37

PASTOR KIRK SAMSON (AKA CAPTAIN KIRK)

I hated to think about my Vietnam war experiences, let alone talk about them. Yet I had offered to do just that.  Now two teenage girls sat across from me, my desk separating us, as they looked hopefully at me. Why had I suggested this? Was it some subconscious need to unburden my soul? Was it wise to have invited Marcy? Would my story help or hinder her troubled soul? Yet I felt like I needed to tell both young ladies for some reason. As the apostle Paul might say, ‘God Knoweth.’

I looked back and forth between the two girls. Sevenia was known by many as the girl prophetess, and with good reason. Although only seventeen, she was like an assistant pastor at Cotton Creek Cove. For the last two years she had become my number one go to person to discuss both church and spiritual matters.

Sixteen year old Marcy had had a difficult life. She was raised by various foster parents and, until recently, had been a victim of human trafficking for the previous two years. Thank the Lord, Brock and Destiny Knight-Storm were now her foster parents and working toward adoption, along with a cute eight year old little pistol named Oralee.

“If you don’t feel comfortable,” Sevenia said. “You don’t have to talk about it, Grandpa.”

I felt my brows go up, and my eyes widen. Sevenia had never called me Grandpa before. Minutes ago, before we settled in my office, Marcy had shared a dream she had with us. In it she had called me Grandpa. In the exchange that followed, I encouraged Marcy to call me Grandpa if she felt so inclined. I told her I would be honored.

“No, I’d be glad…” I began, but stopped and began again. “No, glad’s not the right word. For some reason I felt a need to tell you about this situation, Sevenia. Now you as well, Marcy. So, even though I don’t understand why, let’s get this over with.”

“You’re making me feel like we’re eavesdropping,” Sevenia said with both a frown and a smile.

“No, no, I don’t mean to,” I said, waving my hands about. This gesture usually, and unintentionally, makes Sevenia giggle with her calling me a nutty professor. So be it. “Where do I begin?”

“How about the beginning?” Sevenia said lightheartedly.

“The question is, where is the beginning?”

“Only you know that, Captain Crunch,” Sevenia said.

Did Sevenia decide to stop calling me Grandpa already? Oh well, it is what it is, as they say nowadays. I glanced at Marcy. Although her eyes no longer looked as haunted, her earnest gaze still reminded me of Sherry Drummond. I filled her in on Corporal Timothy Williams and his fiancée Sherry Drummond. I showed her the letter Timmy sent me, where he feared he wouldn’t make it home alive and asked me to go see Sherry. I told her he didn’t and that I did.

Unlike Sevenia shedding a few tears, Marcy’s face looked hard and impassive as she handed me the letter back. Now I really questioned the wisdom of inviting her here for story time. I told her as much, and thankfully, she set my mind at ease.

“No, Grandpa,” she said, taking my hand, her lip trembling slightly. “I feel privileged that you are willing to, um, share something so painful with me. Maybe this is selfish, but it helps in a bizarre way to, you know… like… realize I’m not the only one that’s been through some really ugly stuff in life.”

“Alrighty then,” I said and then sighed. “The day I went to see Sherry was a beautiful spring day. It was picture perfect, sunny with a high of seventy-five. Big puffy white clouds floating slow and easy across a bright blue sky. I couldn’t tell if the nice weather mocked our pain, or whether the weather was a balm for our wounded emotions.

“Where did she live?” Marcy asked quietly.

“Sherry and Tim were from Hannibal, Missouri,” I replied. “I was temporarily stationed in Washington D.C.”

“Where are you from originally?” Marcy asked, and then gave a little smile. “I guess I should know stuff like that if you’re gonna be my Grandpa.”

I chuckled. “You’re sitting where I’m from.”

“Huh?” Marcy frowned.

Sevenia giggled, and then explained it to her. “This was part of the Pastor’s family farm. This church building used to be a barn. Pastor renovated it into a house of worship and fellowship.”

“Wow, I thought it looked kinda barnish,” Marcy replied happily.

The girl’s mood seemed so cheery of a sudden that I hated to darken it with my tale about Sherry Drummond. However, I opened my yap to get it over with, but Sevenia interrupted. “You know, Grandpa, you should right your bio before you… Um…”

“Kick the bucket,” I laughed. Her calling me Grandpa a second time helped ease the tension I was feeling.

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to put it,” Sevenia said with a shrug and a grin, then she took hold of my hand. “Sorry to interrupt, please continue.”

“Thank you, my dear,” I replied, giving her hand a squeeze. “Okay, so meeting Sherry and her family was the most awkward self-introduction I had ever made, especially when her sister answered the door and exhibited open hostility toward me. I didn’t take it personally, though. Judging by her hippie like appearance, I intuited that she was a protester of the war.

“I was thankful I didn’t wear my uniform, even though on this type of visit, it was expected by my superiors. It also would have been frowned on if I shared my own feelings that were somewhat in harmony with Sherry’s sister. That the war was a political catastrophe, which I completely agreed on with her.

“But the young noble men who died for it did not deserve to be mistreated, spit upon and such when those that survived returned home, after they had already been through hell. Like that band Me 2 sang in their song ‘Sunday Bloody Sunday.’ I believe they were singing about political or military leaders when they said, ‘We eat and drink while tomorrow they die.’ Regardless of what they were singing about, that song makes me think of Vietnam.”

“U2, Sir,” Sevenia said.

“Huh? Me too what?”

“The band I believe you were referring to is called U2, not Me 2,” Sevenia informed me as she giggled.

“Oh, well, okay, you get the point though?”

“Yes,” the two girls said in unison.

“Okay, where was I?”

“Sherry Drummond’s sister opened the door with a hostile attitude,” Sevenia said.

“Yes, right, so I thought, well this is going to be one ugly visit. But Sherry, just like Timmy had told me, was a sweet and sensitive soul. She was a lovely, modest young lady who looked like she could have been in the cast of ‘Little House On the Prairie.’ Do you know ‘Little House On the Prairie’?”

“Yes, the old TV show,” Sevenia replied, as Marcy shook her head. Sevenia gave her a quick synopsis of the program.

“Are you sure I got the name right?” I asked with a grin.

“Pretty sure,” Sevenia smiled teasingly. “Even though the show was before my time.”

“And Me 2 isn’t?”

“I never heard of Me 2,” Sevenia replied with a giggle.

 “Anyway, Sherry and I went for a walk to a nearby park and obviously discussed Timmy. She talked about what a wonderful boyfriend he was. Thoughtful, well liked, smart, good athlete. She recalled going to homecoming and prom. She told me of their plans to marry, and his intention to take over his father’s auto shop when he returned from the war.

“I told Sherry of Timmy’s bravery. I told her of the comradery he shared with his fellow soldiers. I told her he often mentioned her in our conversations. When we got back to her house, it was a big, old yellow Victorian, by the way. Very appropriate for the town that was home to the author of ‘Tom Sawyer.’

“We sat on a swing that hung from a big, wide tree with thick low branches. It was a rather quaint setting. She told me Timmy proposed to her in that very spot. During our conversation, although her eyes were incredibly sad and red rimmed, she smiled often and even lightly laughed a few times. It was sitting there on that swing, right after she told me Timmy proposed marriage to her, that I made a huge mistake. I gave her the letter Timmy wrote me. The one… The one…”

I pinched my nose and bowed my head, composing myself.

“The one where he said he didn’t think he would make it home. The one where he told Sherry to love again,” Sevenia said softly.

I nodded. “She lost it! She began sobbing loudly and uncontrollably for a long time. I’m ashamed to admit, I kept looking at the house, expecting her sister to come charging out. It seemed she cried for hours.”

“Wow, she cried for hours?” Sevenia said.

“No, no, I was exaggerating,” I clarified. “It was probably only five or ten minutes, it just seemed like hours. But the funny thing is, when she finished, she seemed so peaceful, even happy. However, her eyes were still haunted. I figured maybe she achieved a first step toward closure. In hindsight, I think it was acceptance of what she intended to do after I left. I think I killed her by giving her a letter.”

“No, Pastor!” Sevenia declared like an order. “You did not kill that young woman by giving her that letter. What else could you have done? You were honoring a soldier’s request. What else could you have done?”

“Waited,” I replied. “Hindsight is 20/20. I should have given her plenty of time to grieve. After all, Timmy’s letter didn’t have a timeline. But I guess in my own grief, I wanted to let her know as soon as possible.”

“Did you see any of Timothy’s family?” Sevenia asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, when I was done with Sherry, I paid his parents a visit.”

“How did that go?”

“It was awful,” I said, and sighed. “But they were polite, and glad to hear what an honorable soldier he was.”

We were silent for a moment, then Sevenia asked. “Did you go to their funerals? Sherry and Timothy’s?”

“I came back for Timmy’s,” I replied. “But I didn’t think it was a good idea to attend Sherry’s. I figured I would have just added to the pain. Especially her sister’s.”

I glanced at Marcy. Her gaze seemed sympathetic, God bless her, but she looked at her lap after we made eye contact. I was thankful her eyes didn’t look nearly as haunted anymore. I prayed she would continue to progress. That living with Destiny, Brock, and Oralee, her new family, her loving family, would prove to be a blessing.

I felt a lump in my throat when I remembered just recently when I met Marcy for the first time. That haunted look in her eyes, so eerily similar to Sherry’s. I believe it triggered the dream I had the other night. But that nightmare also had some help. I reached into my desk drawer, pulled out a letter and handed it to Sevenia.

“What’s this?” She asked as she began to read it. “Who’s Roger Nelson?”

“The son of Sherry’s hostile sister,” I replied. “Sherry’s sister’s name is Susan Nelson, by the way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m trying to understand myself,” I replied and then sighed. “It seems Corporal Timothy Williams impregnated Susan when he was home on leave.”

“But… Sherry… I thought he and Sherry were the couple,” Sevenia said with a deep frown, as Marcy gazed at me with her mouth hanging open.

“Susan, aka Sherry’s hostile sister, wants to explain,” I explained. “I understand she has a pretty serious illness and wants to talk with me. She wants to set some record straight. A record I never even knew existed.”

“Like, a, ah, death bed confession or something?” Sevenia asked.

“Or something,” I said, sighed and bowed my head.

(DESTINY’S BIBLE STUDY NOTES AND QUOTES)

Many, especially those who are young in the Christian life, are at times troubled with the suggestions of skepticism. There are in the Bible many things which they cannot explain, or even understand, and Satan employs these to shake their faith in the Scriptures as a revelation from God.

Yet God has never removed the possibility of doubt. Our faith must rest upon evidence, not demonstration.

It is impossible for finite minds to fully comprehend the character or the works of the Infinite One.

The word of God, like the character of its Divine Author, presents mysteries that can never fully be comprehended by finite beings. The entrance of sin into the world, the incarnation of Christ, regeneration, the resurrection, and many other subjects presented in the Bible, are mysteries too deep for the human mind to explain, or even fully comprehend.

The very humblest forms of life present a problem that the smartest of people are powerless to explain, the wisest of philosophers to decipher. Everywhere are wonders beyond our ken. Should we then be surprised that in the spiritual world also there are mysteries that we cannot fathom?

The difficulties of Scripture have been urged by skeptics as an argument against the Bible. But the very grandeur and mystery of themes presented should inspire faith in it as the word of God.

In the Bible, the plan of redemption is laid open to us, so that every soul may see the steps they are to take in repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ.

The more we research the Bible, the deeper will be our conviction that it is the word of the living God, and human reason bows before the majesty of divine revelation.

Because they cannot fathom all its mysteries, the skeptic and the infidel reject God’s word, and not all who profess to believe the Bible are free from danger on this point.

The apostle says, “Take heed, brethren, lest there be in any of you an evil heart of unbelief, in departing from the living God.” Hebrews 3:12

A sense of the power and wisdom of God, and our inability to comprehend His greatness, should inspire us with humility, and we should open His word, as we would enter His presence, with holy awe.

People may disguise it, but in most cases, the real cause of doubt and skepticism is simply a love of sin.

Give heed to the light that already shines upon you, and you will receive greater light.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.” Psalm 34:8. Instead of depending on the word of another, we are to taste for ourselves. He declares “Ask and you shall receive.” John 16:24. His promises will be fulfilled. They have never failed, they never can fail. And as we draw near to Jesus, and rejoice in the fulness of His love, our doubt and darkness will disappear in the light of His presence.

By faith we may look to the hereafter and grasp the pledge of God for growth and intellect, the human faculties uniting with the divine, and every power of the soul being brought into direct contact with the Source of light. We may rejoice that all which has perplexed us in the providences of God will then be made plain, things hard to be understood will then find an explanation; and where our finite minds discovered only confusion and broken purposes, we shall see the most perfect and beautiful harmony.

“Now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” 1 Corinthians 13:12

Do you ask me why I believe in Jesus? Because He is to me a divine Savior. Why do I believe the Bible? Because I have found it to be the voice of God to my soul.

LXXVIII

THEY SHOULD SEEK THE LORD, IF HAPLY THEY MIGHT FEEL AFTER HIM, AND FIND HIM, THOUGH HE BE NOT FAR FROM EVERY ONE OF US

ACTS 17:27

SEVENIA SALLIE (GIRL PROPHETESS)

“In many ways the war was harder when I returned from it than when I was actually in a combat zone,” Captain Kirk declared. “I failed so many times, Kiddo, so many times.”

“You are most definitely not a failure,” I told him. “You are the most Godly person I have ever known.”

“Sixteen,” he muttered and stroked his long white beard as he shook his head.

I thought he was referring to my age, my youth and mt inexperience. “I’m seventeen, almost eighteen, Captain Crunch.”

I hadn’t called him Captain Crunch instead of Kirk in quite a while, and I hoped to lighten a rare dark mood for him. Thankfully, he snickered. In return, he referred to me by the pet name my dad and Brock often called me.

“I wasn’t talking about your age, Sweet Pea,” he said. “After I returned to the states, sixteen people I had counseled with died by their own hand. Half of them were by suicide, while the other half were drug related.”

“Sir, that’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” he replied in such away that I couldn’t tell if he was being humble and meek, or sarcastic. But sarcasm wasn’t becoming of the good Pastor.

“How many times have you told me most people don’t want to hear truth?” I asked. “In the recent prophecy lectures I gave, you told me at the start to look at the effort as planting seeds and not to expect anyone to accept the truth right away. In a similar fashion, your Chaplinian influence probably benefited hundreds.”

“Chaplinian?” Captain Kirk said and then chuckled.

“You know what I mean,” I giggled.

I wanted to keep the pastor talking. Like a lot of war veterans, Captain Kirk rarely talked about it. I wanted to understand more of what he went through. I wanted to know why the most Godly person I have ever known, a man who led countless souls to the Lord, felt like he failed.

“Let’s pray, Kiddo,” the Pastor petitioned.

For the first time ever, I felt something like disappointed to pray with him. The reason being, when he and I prayed, a back and forth exchange always ensued. He would think of someone to pray for, then I would, then he would, then I would. Plus we would also pray for situations, strength, stamina, and wisdom. I felt we would get sidetracked, yet I knew in my heart that praying was far more important than satisfying my curiosity.

When we finished praying, the good Captain glanced at his watch, and I felt myself tense. Marcy had rode with me to church, and I told her I would be chatting with Captain Kirk for only a few minutes. It had been almost an hour. With Pastor being so troubled, I lost track of time. I dashed to the window. Only the pastor’s car and mine remained.

“What’s the matter, Sevenia?”

“Oh no!” I groaned, putting my face in my hands for a couple seconds before I walked briskly to the door. “I forgot about Marcy!”

As I stepped from his office and into the corridor, I saw Marcy at the end of the hall. Her finger was on a painting. I stopped in my tracks, and Captain Kirk bumped into my backside. The painting she was looking at was a beach scene. In the middle of the picture was the famous poem called ‘Footprints.’ At the heart of the poem is the fact that Jesus takes our burdens, and often even carries us.

Judging by where her finger pointed, it was at a single set of footprints in the sand, representing Jesus carrying us. She knelt, bowed her head, and silently prayed. I turned to look at Pastor. He smiled and nodded. When she finished, the good Captain and I walked toward her.

“Oh, hi,” she said, smiling sweetly.

She looked so much like a younger version of Destiny that it always gave me pause. To see her smiling sweetly, her long blonde hair in a French braid, and wearing a gingham dress, she was such a vision of wholesome innocence that you never would have guessed that she had recently escaped from a life of forced prostitution. A victim of human trafficking.

“Marcy, I’m so sorry,” I told her, aiming a warm smile at her. “The Pastor and I have a way of losing track of time when we get together for a talk.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” she said with a chuckle. “I actually fell asleep on that comfy sofa over there. I just woke up a few minutes ago.”

“We couldn’t help noticing you looking at that painting of a beach with the ‘Footprints’ poem,” Captain Kirk mentioned. “Do you like it?”

“I love it!” Marcy cooed. “As a matter of fact, I was looking at it before my nap, and it triggered the most wonderful dream. That, along with recently reading the e-book ‘Knight Storm.’”

“Really? Do tell,” I said with a grin. She suddenly looked embarrassed, so I said something and instantly regretted it, thinking Captain Kirk wanted it kept between him and me. Not only that, but Marcy also played a role in our dreams. “The Pastor and I were just sharing dreams we had with each other.”

“Do you want to tell us about your dream?” the Pastor interjected so quickly, I was certain he didn’t want me mentioning our own dreams.

“I guess so,” she said shyly, as she twisted her fingers nervously. “Well, you know the role that old railroad bridge played for Oralee and me.”

“We do,” I replied, answering for Captain Kirk and myself.

“So, Dee let me read ‘Spoiled produce’ and ‘Knight Storm’ on her phone. I’m sure you both are acquainted with those stories, and the role the bridge played?”

“We sure are,” Pastor said cheerily. “Jack and Mary Gold Weston have been part of Cotton Creek Cove fellowship for 35 years.”

“So tell us about your dream, Marcy,” I said.

“Well, it was strange and wonderful at the same time,” Marcy began timidly. “Destiny, Brock and me were at the bridge. It was like, three times higher than reality, and I was super freaked. But Destiny was insisting we needed to cross to the other side where it was safe. Safe from what I don’t know. I was super scared, so Brock had me climb on his back. When we reached the other side, there was beach and ocean on both sides, but it was really cool. I looked back and saw just Brock’s footprints, and no sign of Destiny. I panicked and called out her name.”

Marcy snickered and hung her head bashfully.

“Did you find her?”

Marcy nodded. “When I didn’t see her, Brock told me to call her Mom. So I did, and I saw her. She was smiling at me as she stood at the gate of a garden. It looked like the garden right behind this building. She told me to come join her. I know there are just a bunch of weeds in it now, but in my dream there were all kinds of pretty flowers mixed in. You and the pastor were there, Sevenia. You asked me to come and help separate the flowers from the weeds.”

“Wow, like the wheat and tares of the Bible,” I interjected.

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “But I was hesitant to help. I was worried I would pull up flowers by mistake. But then Pastor Samson insisted, in a nice way, that I come in and help. So I did, and the funny thing… I was…”

Marcy blushed and hung her head. I petitioned her to finish, but then regretted it, fearing it might have been something perverse, stemming from her time in sex slavery.

“I was calling Pastor Samson Grandpa,” Marcy concluded quickly, and meekly.

“Oh, dear child, that’s beautiful,” Captain Kirk declared. “I’d love it if you called me Grandpa.”

“You would?” Marcy asked hopefully.

“Indeed I would! That is, as long as you feel comfortable doing so.”

“I guess so,” Marcy said with a sweet smile and a shrug. “I mean, I’ve never had parents, let alone any grandparents. But I would like you to be my, um, grandpa. If you would have me, that is.”

“Of course I would be honored to have you as a granddaughter! Splendid! From here on out call me Grandpa.”

For a few seconds, I was tempted to be jealous, childishly thinking, Captain Crunchy Bunch is mine! But by the grace of God, I was beyond happy for Marcy. She was such a sweet, troubled soul who had been through more hardships than was fair for many lifetimes. Besides, I had four real grandparents. That’s why I never thought to call Captain Kirk Grandpa, even though I had become closer to him than any of my biological GP’s.

Then the green eyed monster briefly reared its ugly head one more time with what the pastor said next.

“I was about to explain one of my most difficult war experiences to Sevenia. It was a devastating period in my life, but you’re welcome to join us if you would like.”

“I’d like that,” she replied quietly.

I knew that the Pastor had a twofold intention with his invitation. He wanted Marcy to feel she belonged to something, like a real granddaughter. Plus he wanted her to have an example that she wasn’t alone in experiencing horrific circumstances in life.

I smiled warmly at her, took hold of her hand, and gave a little tug. She smiled back and followed.

(FOOTPRINTS)

One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the Lord. Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand; one belonged to him, and the other to the Lord.

When the last scene of his life passed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life.

This really bothered him and he questioned the Lord about it. “Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you’d walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints. I don’t understand why when I needed you most you would leave me.”

The Lord replied, “My precious, precious child, I love you and would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.

(DESTINY’S BIBLE STUDY NOTES and QUOTES)

Prayer does not bring God down to us, but brings us up to Him.

Jesus endured struggles and torture of soul. His humanity made prayer a necessity and a privilege. He found comfort and joy in communion with His Father. And if the Savior of men, the Son of God, felt the need of prayer, how much more should feeble, sinful mortals feel the necessity of fervent, constant prayer.

What can angels of heaven think of poor helpless human beings, who are subject to temptations, when God’s heart of infinite love yearns toward them, ready to give them more than they can ask or think, and yet they pray so little and have so little faith?

Prayer is the key in the hand of faith to unlock heaven’s storehouse. Without unceasing prayer and diligent watching, we are in danger of growing careless and of deviating from the right path.

The heart must be open to the Spirit’s influence, or God’s blessing cannot be received.

Another element of prevailing prayer is faith. “He that comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him.” (Hebrews 11:6)

If we come to God, feeling helpless and dependent, as we really are, and in humble, trusting faith make known our wants to Him whose knowledge is infinite, who sees everything in creation, and who governs everything by His will and word. He can and will attend to our cry, and will let light shine into our heart. Through sincere prayer, we are brought into the mind of the infinite.

Perseverance in prayer has been made a condition of receiving. We must pray always if we would grow in faith and experience.

Unceasing prayer is the unbroken union of the soul with God, so that life from God flows into our life.

There is necessity for diligence in prayer, let nothing hinder you. Make every effort to keep open the communion between Jesus and your own soul.

It is impossible for the soul to flourish while prayer is neglected.

We should have the door of the heart open continually and our invitation going up that Jesus may come and abide as a heavenly guest in the soul.

We need to have more distinct views of Jesus and a fuller comprehension of the value of eternal realities.

We may keep so near to God that in every unexpected trial our thoughts will turn to Him as naturally as the flower turns to the sun.

You cannot burden Him, you cannot weary Him. He who numbers the hairs of your head is not indifferent to the wants of His children. “The Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy.” James 5:11.

Take to Him everything that perplexes your mind. Nothing is to great for Him to bear, for He upholds worlds.

There is no chapter in our experience to dark for Him to read; there is no perplexity to difficult for Him to unravel.

“He heals the broken in heart, and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3

The relations between God and each soul are as distinct and full as though there were not another soul upon the earth to share His watch care. Not another soul for whom He gave His beloved Son.

LXXVII

YOUR SONS AND YOUR DAUGHTERS SHALL PROPHECY, AND YOUR YOUNG MEN SHALL SEE VISIONS, AND YOUR OLD MEN SHALL DREAM DREAMS

ACTS 2:17

SEVENIA SALLIE (GIRL PROPHETESS)

“I have recently had a couple of dreams about an angel named Melanchthon,” Captain Kirk, aka Pastor Samson, had told me. “But how did you know?”

“Just a hunch,” I shrugged.

The Pastor and I were in his office chatting an hour after his Sabbath day sermon and a half hour after the fellowship meal.

“A hunch?” Captain Kirk asked with a slow, low voice, his clear blue eyes peered at me above his bifocals.

“You’ve told me about Melanchthon before,” I replied with another shrug. “You know, how he warned you about my dad.”

“Yes, that,” the pastor replied with a neutral tone. “The thing with Seven could be a coincidence.”

“A coincidence? You know my dad’s soul was being destroyed by his own broadcast and everything that went with it. Yet it is what he lived for. The Seven Sallie Showdown had millions of listeners. But after my dad’s miraculous conversion, he changed the content of the show and now it has a fraction of the audience he once had. Yet he’s never been happier.”

“Yes, a clear conscience can do that. And he’s still making a decent living, isn’t he?”

“But now you’re doubting your encounter with Melanchthon in that regard?”

He frowned, grunted, and waved his hands above his head, making him look like a nutty professor. I couldn’t help giggling, even though I was somewhat dismayed at his skepticism. It was so unlike Captain Kirk. “I’ve never known you to doubt.”

“I don’t doubt scripture, Deary. But the Bible instructs us to try the spirits to see if they’re from God (1 John 4:1). So what I do doubt is my senses, especially now that I’m of a ripe age. Getting close to the bone yard is me.”

I laughed, and then he did too. However I hated the thought of him dying and said told him so. Then I urged him to talk about Melanchthon.

“The dreaming about angels is not the dream I wanted to talk to you about,” he told me.

“It’s not?” I frowned.

“Why such a disappointed look?”

“Because I had a dream about angels myself last night,” I replied. “I was hoping our two dreams might have been in synch.”

“What was your dream? Was the angel in it called Melanchthon?”

“Not that I know of,” I said. “The angel in my dream was nondescript. The whole dream was pretty vague, and I guess chaotic, except for one small part where I was with a band of believers. But I didn’t know most of them. An angel was leading us up a mountain trail. There was a sharp drop off on the right side. As we climbed higher and higher, the path became narrower and narrower. Then the trail dropped off on both sides. People complained, but the angel encouraged us on. Even so, most of them turned back. The trail became so narrow, it was as if we were on a steel girder high up in the sky. The angel pressed us on, but we could only scoot on our hands and knees.”

“Who exactly is we?” Captain Kirk asked, with wide curious eyes.

“The only two I recognized in the dream were Marcy and Oralee. They were just ahead of me. Oralee started to cry and wailed that she was gonna fall. Marcy put her on her back and continued on, but very slowly. I asked her if she was okay. She turned to look at me and tears were coming out of her eyes. Only the tears were blood.”

The pastor gazed at me as if in awe, as he handed me a tissue. It was then I realized a couple of tears had popped out of my own eyes. Fortunately, mine were clear liquid.

“What happened next?” the Pastor asked.

“The angel picked the three of us up, and we soared toward a bright light. I was relieved that all of the blood seemed to be off of Marcy’s cheeks and she had a smile that lit up her face.”

Captain Kirk and I looked at each other for a long moment.

“What next?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I shrugged. “I jolted awake. I guess the sensation of flying woke me up.”

“At least it seemed to end well,” he said and then stroked his beard a few times before continuing. “Marcy was also in my dream. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Wow, really?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Okay, well, you know I met Marcy for the first time a week ago, give or take.”

“Yes.”

“Now I haven’t had a dream or flash back about the Vietnam war in quite some time. Thank God! But I think seeing Marcy’s eyes triggered them.”

“What about her eyes?”

“They’re haunted. I mean, they looked better today, thank the Lord. But they’re still haunted in the same way as soldiers with PTSD. The same way as… Sherry Drummond.”

“Who’s Sherry Drummond?”

The Pastor didn’t answer. He pinched the bridge of his nose and bowed his head. He sat stone still for twenty or thirty seconds. Then his shoulders began to shake as he sobbed. I felt myself go ridged. I had seen the Pastor shed tears before, but not like this. I sat quietly and gave him time.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Captain Kirk said meekly as he composed himself.

“It’s just me,” I said softly, as I took his hand and squeezed.

“Thanks, kiddo.”

“Do you feel like telling me who Sherry Drummond is?”

“She was the fiancée of one of the men I was Chaplain for during the war. Tim Williams was his name. Wonderful man, brave, loyal, conscientious. He confided in me more than the average soldier did. We talked of his fears and anxieties, as well as his hopes and dreams. One of the dreams he talked about was marrying his girlfriend as soon as his hitch was up. His main fear about dying was Sherry. He had told me on more than one occasion that she was a very sensitive soul.

“A couple months after I returned to the states after my second and final tour in Vietnam, Timmy was killed in battle. Oddly, the same day I found out about his death, I received a letter from him. It was short, but to the point.”

Pastor opened a drawer of his desk, pulled out an old, yellowed letter, and handed it to me. I opened it and looked at the handwritten page.

“Dear Chappy,” I read. “The fighting here the last couple days has been intense. I’ve got a feeling I probably won’t survive the war. Sir, you are the only person I feel I can tell this to. If I don’t make it, please, please, please, go to Sherry! Tell her to love again. Tell her to go on with her life. Tell her that dreaming of her got me through many lonely nights, and fearsome battles, and I love her more than words can describe. Explain to her that in heaven, people neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels of God. So it doesn’t matter if she loves again, and she has a lotta love to give. She’ll be an amazing mother some day! But she is so loyal, I’m afraid she’ll never move on. Tell her regardless of loving again, she and I will still be in eternity together. I’m sorry to ask this huge favor of you, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. As I’ve told you before, Sherry is very fragile. But you have such a gift, Sir, of putting people at ease. So I thank you! I also miss you, Sir! Your friend, Corporal Timothy Williams.”

(The Bible reference in the letter was from Matthew 22:23-30)

I looked at Captain Kirk. He was leaned back in his desk chair, his hands interlaced and resting on his midsection, his head turned as he stared blankly out of the office window.

“So what happened with Sherry?” I asked, with a croaked voice. I also realized tears were streaming down my face. Pastor sighed and then slowly turned his gaze toward me.

“Well,” he said, sighing again as he handed me another tissue. “I went to see her. We spent a whole afternoon talking. Although she was consumed with grief, by the time I left, she had seemed composed. When we parted, she even smiled and thanked me. But her eyes were still haunted. Maybe even more than when I had first arrived. That’s how Marcy reminded me of Sherry. When I met Marcy, she gave me a genuine smile, and a soft, pleasant hello, so eerily similar to Sherry’s smile and soft goodbye. Yet they both wore that same contradiction in their  countenance. Friendly smile and haunted eyes.”

“So, did Sherry eventually end up getting married?” I asked quietly.

“No, kiddo, she didn’t,” Pastor said, and then sighed yet again. “When I arrived back where I was stationed on the east coast, my assistant informed me that Sherry had ended her life just an hour or two after I left her.”

(DESTINY KNIGHT-STORM’S BIBLE STUDY NOTES AND QUOTES)

Our Savior’s joy was in the uplifting and redemption of fallen humanity. For this He counted not His life dear unto Himself, but endured the cross, despising the shame.

The spirit of Christ’s self-sacrificing love is the spirit that pervades heaven and is the very essence of its bliss.

The Savior’s life on earth was not a life of ease and devotion to Himself, but He toiled with persistent, earnest, untiring effort for the salvation of lost mankind.

If the love of God is in the heart, it will be manifested in the life. The sweet savor of Christ will surround us, and our influence will elevate and bless.

No tears are shed that God does not notice. There is no smile that He does not mark. If we would fully believe this, all undue anxieties would be dismissed. Our lives would not be so filled with disappointment as now.

“Subject to like passions as we are.” (James 5:17) With the history of patriarchs and prophets, we see how they struggled through discouragements similar to our own. How they fell under temptation as we have done, and yet took heart again and conquered through the grace of God.

“Except you eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink His blood, you have no life in you.” Jesus explains Himself by saying, “The words that I speak to you, they are spirit, and they are life.” (John 6:53, 63)

Fill the whole heart with the words of God. They are the living water, quenching your burning thirst. They are the living bread from heaven.

The theme of redemption is one that angels desire to look into. It will be the science and song of the redeemed throughout the ceaseless ages of eternity. Is it not worthy of careful thought and study now!

The infinite mercy and love of Jesus, the sacrifice made in our behalf, call for the most serious and solemn reflection. We should dwell upon the character of our dear Redeemer and Intercessor. We should meditate upon the mission of Him who came to save His people from their sins.

If we allow others to do our thinking, we shall have crippled energies and contracted abilities.

If God’s word were studied as it should be, people would have a breadth of mind, a nobility of character, and a stability of purpose rarely seen in these times.

But there is little benefit derived from a hasty reading of the scriptures. One may read the whole Bible through and yet fail to see its beauty or comprehend its deep and hidden meaning.

We can’t obtain wisdom without earnest attention and prayerful study. Prayer is the better half of study.

Angels will be with those who in humility of heart seek for divine guidance.

The Spirit of truth is the only effectual teacher of divine truth. How must God esteem the human race, since He gave His Son to die for them and appoints His Spirit to be man’s teacher and continual guide!

LXXVI

ON MY SERVANTS AND ON MY HANDMAIDENS I WILL POUR OUT IN THOSE DAYS OF MY SPIRIT; AND THEY SHALL PROPHESY

ACTS 2:18

SEVENIA SALLIE (GIRL PROPHETESS)

“Good news,” Brock declared as he lowered his phone from his ear. “Marcy and Oralee are officially our foster kids.”

“Yaaaaay!” Eight year old Oralee cheered as she leapt into Brock’s massive arms. He laughed as he caught her and hugged her. “Next step is adoption,” he added.

Sixteen year old Marcy put her hands to her face and gently wept grateful tears. Destiny rubbed a hand on her back. Marcy turned, allowing mother and daughter to hug tightly. I smiled from ear to ear as I swallowed a lump in my throat. I prayed Marcy would relax now and feel at peace in her permanent home.

It had been a few weeks since we had discovered the two girls seeking shelter under an old, abandoned railroad bridge. They had been on the run from human traffickers. Marcy had been forced into prostitution for the previous two years, and Oralee had been a new arrival,  whom Marcy felt compelled to rescue.

Destiny and Brock had opened their home to the two orphans. Not only that, with the help of FBI Special Agent Nora Medora’s “friends,” they were seeking a fast track to adopt. In the meantime, they had been granted legal guardianship through foster parentage.

Life had hardened Marcy, but not in a way you might think. Even though she is very pretty, you would only have to spend a few minutes with her to realize that the only way she could have ever been a prostitute was through force against her will. If ever a human being had their innocence stolen, it was Marcy. If ever their was attempted murder on a person’s soul, Marcy experienced it. If ever a child grew up without love, Marcy had.

It amazed me that Marcy was as well-adjusted as she was, given her circumstances. That said, you could tell she was both hungry for, yet frightened, of affection. When I had previously hugged her, she felt stiff, still, and awkward. Yet the way her hands clutched my back, it was as if she was communicating to please not let go. She needed to feel loved, wanted, and clean.

Destiny and Brock insisted she make herself at home. Yet when she moved about the house, opening the cupboards and the refrigerator, her demeanor was as if she had no right, like she was snooping or something.

When she had been invited to go to church with us, she seemed scared that her polite refusal might get her kicked out of the Knight-Storm home. When we prepared to leave for fellowship, and Marcy offered to leave and come back later, her aloneness broke my heart. Destiny reassured her that she did not need to leave, that they trusted her.

A couple days after Destiny and Brock officially became the girl’s foster parents, Marcy wanted to talk to me in private.

“I feel like I should go to church with you all,” Marcy told me with a pained expression. “But the last time I was involved with a church, I ended up kidnapped and forced into prostitution.”

“No one expects you to go to church if you don’t want to,” I assured her.

“I mean, I really appreciate what Brock and Dee are doing for me and Ora. I really do! But I don’t want to be fake either. Sevenia, the truth is, I think I’m an atheist.”

“I am, too,” I replied.

“What!” Marcy declared with wide eyes. “But you not only go to church and participate in Bible studies, Dee told me you’ve given sermons and stuff. I’ve heard that people even refer to you as the girl prophetess. No offence, but if you’re an atheist, you’re also a major phony.”

“Well, if you don’t believe me, why don’t you tell me why you don’t believe in God, and then I’ll explain why I don’t believe either.”

Marcy proceeded to give me some of the reasons she didn’t believe. The main reason being the false concept of eternal torment, which a large percentage of Christianity embraced.

“See, I told you I’m an atheist,” I smiled at her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Huh?” she replied with a frown.

“I don’t believe in that God either,” I said, as I grabbed my Bible. I proceeded to give her a quick study. I explained that, although the earth will be destroyed by fire, everything will be burned up, and God will make a new heaven and a new earth. (Revelation 21:1-4)

I also clarified that the Bible clearly teaches that the souls of unrepentant sinners die. They are not languishing in a place called hell with the devil as the gatekeeper. Only the righteous have eternal life, and the wicked experience what’s called the second death. I showed her Romans 6:23 and Revelation 20:14, 21:8.

“Wow,” she replied quietly, as she gazed intently at the scriptures. “But what about where the Bible calls hell everlasting or eternal fire? The church I went to with former foster parents loved scaring people with those verses.”

I showed her Jude 1:7, how the verse says Sodom and Gomorrah suffers eternal fire.

“Is Sodom and Gomorrah burning today?” I asked.

“No,” she said slowly, and then frowned.

“Eternal and everlasting simply means the punishment is permanent,” I explained. “Not the means or element by which the punishment is inflicted. Do you follow?”

“Yeah,” she said in awe. “How come so many people believe God is a cruel tyrant?”

I shrugged. “To be honest, a few years ago before I joined Cotton Creek Cove, I belonged to a church that held to the doctrine of eternal hell as a place. I guess I didn’t think about it too much back then. It did bothered me, though. But I just shrugged it off as one of life’s mysteries we couldn’t understand. It was Captain Kirk who set me strait. And having my perspective radically change, made me fall even deeper in love with Jesus than I already was.”

“Captain Kirk?” Marcy giggled. “You mean like Star Trek?”

“Sorry, no,” I laughed. “Pastor Kirk Samson. He was a captain in the army, so he got the nickname Captain Kirk. The funny thing is, he’s never even watched Star Trek.”

“Is he the guy with the long white beard?”

“He does have a long white beard,” I replied. “Did you meet him?”

“Yes, I met a man they called Pastor Samson. He stopped by Brock and Destiny’s one night. He reminds me of an old Bible prophet, like Moses or someone.”

“That’d be him,” I said, and then we both laughed.

“Something Captain Kirk taught me not long after we became friends,” I told Marcy. “He showed me how in the first two chapters of the Bible, in Genesis, God created a paradise. Then he showed me the last two chapters of the Bible, in Revelation, how God recreates a paradise, at the end of time. Then he explained that everything in between was God’s dealing with fallen humanity. Especially the Gospels, when God came to earth as a man and not only redeemed fallen humanity, but gave us an example of how to live.

“There’re many things I love about appreciate about Jesus, especially how he died so that you and me might have eternal life. But there’s one aspect that particularly fascinates me. It’s that when God walked the earth, the religious leaders and rulers hated Him so much that they murdered Him. The amazing thing is, He could have easily stopped it. Jesus even said to a disciple that tried to stop them from killing Him. Don’t you know that I could call twelve legions angels? (Matthew 26:53)      

“Also as He walked the earth, sinners and the downtrodden sought Him for healing and deliverance. Children were drawn to Him out and sat on His lap.  One of His most devout followers was a former prostitute, Mary Magdalene. It was she that washed His feet with tears at a social gathering. Those at the gathering frowned upon this, even His disciples. Yet Jesus rebuked them, and praised Mary for her love and devotion.”

Marcy hung her head and twisted her fingers nervously. I assured her that God loved her personally, as much as He has ever loved anyone. To my delight, she asked me to pray with her. When we finished praying, Marcy declared that she wanted to go to church.

Marcy and I sat at fellowship together with two other teenage girls, who were good friends of mine. I wanted Marcy to know she had companionship besides her new family of Brock, Destiny, and little sister Oralee. I noticed Destiny stealing glances at us periodically from across the sanctuary, checking on her daughter. What an instinctually, caring mother! I love her so much!

When we were standing in line to greet Pastor Samson after the service, I felt my inwards cringe. There was a cold, uppity couple that had been attending Cotton Creek Cove off and on for a year or two right in front of us. Forgive me if this sounds judgmental, but the last thing I wanted them to do was start talking to us and ask Marcy a bunch of questions. But I needn’t worry, they whispered heatedly back and forth to each other.

“I didn’t care for this morning’s worship service,” the man told Captain Kirk in a bizarre greeting.

“That’s okay, son,” Captain Kirk replied happily, as if he had just paid the pastor a compliment. “We weren’t worshiping you.”

The woman gave a little gasp, and the man’s expression looked incredulous.  

“Well, I guess you don’t care if you see any checks in the collection box with our names on them anymore,” he told the Pastor sternly.

I’m sure they were sizable checks since she drove a new Lexus and he drove a BMW.

“I do not,” Pastor Samson replied calmly, yet bold as a lion. “God supports this fellowship. Frankly, you insult me if you think I am even a little bit interested in your money. I’m only interested in souls, yours included. God is my support right down to every breath I take. If you want to discuss any grievances with me further, please make an appointment during office hours.”

Without a reply, the couple walked briskly away with a disgruntled air.

“Hey, kiddo,” Captain Kirk greeted me, as if what had transpired seconds ago had never happened. “And hello there, Marcy, I’m so glad you could make it. Thanks for coming!”

“Thank you sir,” Marcy said shyly, but then smiled mischievously. “I thought it was a wonderful service and a fantastic sermon!”

“Well, thank you, my dear,” Captain Kirk chuckled, and then gave his long white beard a stroke.

The Pastor tugged at his ear lobe, which was a signal to me that he wanted to talk. I tugged my ear lobe to let him know I saw. I was a little like an assistant pastor of his, and he sought to council with me quite often. This was humbling for me when you consider his ministry extended a whole decade beyond a full century. I wasn’t even eighteen years old yet. It was almost an hour later, after a potluck lunch, that Pastor Samson and I snuck into his office.

“I had this really profound dream last night,” he told me. He inflated his lungs and prepared to continue speaking when I interrupted.

“Did it have to do with the angel Melanchthon?” I asked.

Captain Kirk gasped and his bright blue eyes bulged in surprise.

(DESTINY’S BIBLE STUDY NOTES and QUOTES)

The change of heart by which we become children of God is spoken of in the Bible as a birth.

The plants and flowers grow not by their own care or anxiety or effort, but by receiving that which God has furnished to minister to their life. The child cannot, by any anxiety or power of its own, add to its stature. No more can you, by anxiety or effort of yourself, secure spiritual growth.

Jesus teaches the same thing when He says, “Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can you, except you abide in Me…Without me you and do nothing.” (John 15:4, 5)

You are just as dependent on Christ, in order to live a holy life, as is the branch upon the parent stock for growth and fruitfulness. Apart from Him you have no spiritual life. You have no power to resist temptation or to grow in grace and holiness.

It is by communion with Him, daily, hourly, that we abide in Him and grow in grace.

Each morning consecrate yourself to God for that day. Thus day by day you may be giving your life into the hands of God, and thus your life will be molded more and more after the life of Christ.

Let the mind dwell upon His love, upon the beauty, the perfection, of His character. Christ in his self-denial, Christ in His humiliation, Christ in His purity and holiness, Christ in His matchless love—this should be the subject for the soul’s contemplation. It is by loving Him, copying Him, depending wholly upon Him, that you are to be transformed into His likeness.

Jesus says, “Abide in Me.” These words convey the idea of rest, stability, confidence.

When the mind dwells upon self, it is turned away from Christ, the source of strength and life.

Let us keep our eyes fixed upon Christ and He will preserve us. Looking unto Jesus, we are safe. Nothing can pluck us out of His hand. In constantly beholding Him, we “are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 3:18.

Jesus prayed for us, and He asked that we might be one with Him, even as He is one with the Father. What a union is this!

LXXV

THERE IS NO FEAR IN LOVE; BUT PERFECT LOVE CASTS OUT FEAR

1 JOHN 4:18

BROCK STORM and then MARCY SMITH

“Hey, Marcy,” I said quietly as I switched on a light. “What cha doin?”

She jumped about a foot, and Sevenia’s phone clattered to the floor.

“Nothing!” she blurted, and then realized the absurdity of her declaration. “I mean… I wasn’t trying to steal nothing.”

It was ten minutes before three in the morning. Sevenia, on spring break from high school, had been staying at our place all week and sleeping in the same room with eight year old Oralee. It had been almost a week since we had found Oralee and sixteen year old Marcy seeking shelter under an old railroad bridge. Both girls had been enslaved in a house of prostitution, but had escaped.

“Are you gonna hurt me?” Marcy asked with a terrified look in her eyes.

“No, of course not, Marcy,” I replied trying to sound as much like Mr. Rogers as possible.

Sevenia had left her phone in our kitchen to charge overnight. I had been lying in bed awake when I heard a notoriously squeaky stair creak ever so gently. It sounded like someone being sneaky. I snuck downstairs myself to investigate. That’s when I discovered Marcy messing with Sevenia’s phone. I didn’t believe she was doing anything malicious. But what I did suspect was nonetheless heartbreaking.

“Please sit down, Marcy,” I said soothingly as I sat at the kitchen table.

She eyed me cautiously as she sat. It was as if she expected me to suddenly start to pummel her any second. The sad thing is it had likely been her reality with the vile wretches that had been her captors. So I couldn’t blame her at all. What I needed to try to do was put her at ease. To let her know we loved her.

“Listen, Marcy, we certainly don’t want to force you to stay here,” I said gently. “I’ll even help you get to wherever you might prefer to be, simply to ensure that you are as safe as possible. That said, we would love for you to stay here with us and make it your home. Personally, I would like to see you live with us until you are into adulthood and ready to transition to life on your own, whenever that may be.”

Marcy was chewing on her lower lip and avoiding looking me in the eye. She snorted and shook her head.

“Would you mind telling me what’s on your mind?” I gently asked.

“You don’t know me,” she replied so quietly, I barely heard her.

“I want to,” I said. “I mean in a fatherly sort of way.”

“No real father would want me for a daughter.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You do know what I am, right?” she said with the same hostility as the other night when she hurled a barrage of punches into my midsection.

“I know what you were,” I replied softly. “But even if that’s what you still want to be, it doesn’t change how much I care about you.”

“Why? Tell me why you would possibly care about me?” she asked, wiping tears from her eyes. “Is it because I’m outwardly pretty and look like your wife?”

“To be honest, that is a small part,” I said, patiently lacing my fingers together and resting my hands on the table. “I mean, you do remind me of a young version of Dee. But there’s other more important reasons. Namely, we just plain like you for you.”

“After what happened the other day with me wigging out and punching you repeatedly? Now you just caught me messing with Sevenia’s phone. You really expect me to believe you like me?”

“Would I be sitting here trying to talk you into being our foster daughter, and hopefully adopted daughter, if I didn’t?”

She chewed nervously on her lower lip and stared intently at me for about ten seconds before she averted her eyes. She shook her head, wiped more tears, and quietly said. “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.”

“Your name, Marcella, means strength and warrior,” I told her. “You proved that just by what you did for Oralee.”

“My name, how did you know that?” she asked quietly.

“Dee told me,” I said, and then we looked at each other for a long moment. I sensed she wanted to look away again, but she didn’t. “We value your soul, just like you valued Oralee’s.”

We gazed at each other, and her eyes appeared, I don’t know, hopeful. “You know, it would absolutely break Dee’s heart if you left. Ora’s too.”

“What about you?” she inquired uneasily.

I took a chance and reached across the table for her hand, and she let me hold it. What  I said to her, I could tell she didn’t expect.

“Marcy, do you know how to check the oil in a car, or how to change a flat tire?”

She frowned and shook her head.

“I want to be able to teach you those things,” I said. “I want to be one of the people in your life that you can’t wait to share your achievements with, or simply your hopes and dreams.”

“You mean like a dad?” she asked with a small voice.

“Not just a dad, your dad,” I replied, and then felt myself tense as I prayed I was saying the right things. “The way I see it, a father should be of use to a child, and not the other way around. That’s what I want to be for you and Oralee.”

Marcy put her hands in her face and began to cry. I worried that maybe I shouldn’t be trying to talk and reason with her. She was psychologically wounded, and I was no psychologist. Yet, Dee and I had love. I believed love trumped being articulate. Destiny and I were unable to have kids of our own, yet we were still on the young side of adulthood. God put Marcy and Oralee into our lives for a reason. When she stopped crying and removed her face from her hands, I decided to go out on a limb.

“How about it, Marcy, would you do me the honor of becoming my daughter?”

“Our daughter?” Destiny asked as she stepped from the staircase wiping tears from her eyes.

Marcy and I turned in surprise to look at Destiny. Then Marcy began nodding her head emphatically, and then blurted, “yes!”

MARCY SMITH

Have you ever experienced something that seemed too good to be true? A fellow sex prisoner told me one time, ‘if it sounds too good to be true, then it probably is.’ What I’m trying to say, is if we can’t hope, what do we have?

All I know is that it seemed that one minute I was in the pit of hell, preparing to end my life. Then I was homeless, and desperate to live and find a better life for a little girl, if not for myself. I was beyond skeptical about our situation. I can’t say that I had any hope because as we shivered and our stomachs growled, I found myself longing for my room at the brothel.

Yet the little girl’s faith eventually overruled my doubts, and then we found ourselves experiencing a little taste of heaven. This bit of paradise was a cozy old farmhouse known as the Knight-Storm residence. And the saints that lived there welcomed us in. I wondered if the little angel’s bright light hid my darkness. Sooner or later they would discover that I was unsavory.

Then I lost control of my emotions and wigged out on Brock. This shined a light on my darkness. The cock roaches infesting my soul were exposed. They ran and hid when I broke down and cried. But they had been there for everyone to see. It was time for me to flee.

As nice as everyone was to me, I couldn’t handle the shame. Every time they, especially Brock, looked at me, I felt like phantoms of the countless men who had violated me were swirling all around me, keeping my whole being in a state of filthy disgrace. My soul was beyond dirty. Even though Destiny and Sevenia had tried to scrub it with industrial strength spiritual detergent, it still wouldn’t come clean. It was tattooed with demons.

But then Brock found me and brought a laser. He had caught me with Sevenia’s phone, but I wasn’t trying to do anything dishonest. I was simply trying to contact someone I knew in Boston. He knew what I was up to, and that I was only trying to bolt, nothing more.

It was then that his words began to erase the devils from my being. I saw Brock in a new light. Not that I saw him in a bad light before; he was just a hard guy for me to read. All guys were! I think that’s because he’s not like the men I was used to. Especially for a guy built like Hercules.

His laser was love. I couldn’t believe such a cool, awesome couple like Destiny and Brock would want me for a daughter. After sixteen years of never having real parents, was it even possible to have REAL parents?

But a father is exactly what he felt like when he told me he wanted to teach me things, and share my hopes, dreams, and sorrows, even as an adult. Most of all I sensed the love of a father in his countenance, and not an ounce of male lust. I recalled watching him with Amy, who he and Dee refer to as their spiritual daughter. The way he taught her karate, the fun, lighthearted rapport between them, and mostly the deep affection I could tell they both have for each other. I wanted some of that!

My biological mother abandoned me when I was between three and four years old. She literally left me on the doorstep of a church parsonage. I have no pictures of her, only a vague memory that I don’t even know for sure is real. From the few pictures of me as a child, I know I didn’t look happy. Maybe that’s why nobody ever adopted me. Maybe that’s why the foster parents I had were always so cold. I never had a taste of a mother’s love until I was sixteen and Destiny became my destiny, so to speak.

It was the way Dee held me after I had that mental breakdown. The gentle words she spoke into my ear. I relished it as if I were five years old. It gave me a glimmer of hope. Ironically, having hope also frightened me and compelled me to flee. If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.

Supposedly, that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. That’s only partially true. Life, loneliness, anxiety, depression, frustration, and desperation can wear you down until it kills you. Often by one’s own hand, even if it’s something like an accidental overdose, or simply being reckless.

I was incredibly hardened by the world. Oralee, Sevenia, and Destiny didn’t quite soften me up enough to trust and stay. Then Brock threw it over the top. It was his demonstration of love that completed softening me, opening my heart to not only accept love, but give love.

I not only gained amazing parents, but I also met many incredible people along the way and made what I hoped were lifelong friends. There were two bonds I made with individuals that almost equaled the bond I had with Destiny, Brock, and Oralee. They were the psychologist Destiny set me up with, Jamie Northrup, and Pastor Kirk Samson. In a short time I would be calling Captain Kirk, Grandpa.

Although he became one of my many blessings, I feared I had become his curse. Unfortunately, my past conjured up dark memories from his own past. Long buried memories from his days as an Army Chaplain in Vietnam.

DESTNY’S BIBLE STUDY NOTES AND QUOTES

A person may not be able to tell the exact time or place, or trace all the chain of circumstances in the process of conversion. But this does not prove them unconverted.

Like the wind, which is invisible, yet the effects of which are plainly seen and felt, is the Spirit of God in its work upon the human heart.

While we must not at all trust to ourselves or our good works, our lives will reveal whether the grace of God is dwelling in us. A change will be seen in the character, the habits, the pursuits.

A selfish heart may perform generous actions. By what means, then, shall we determine whose side we are on? Who has the heart? With whom are our thoughts? Of whom do we love to converse? Who has our warmest thoughts and best energies? If we are Christ’s, our thoughts are with Him, and our sweetest thoughts are of Him. All we have and is consecrated to Him.

There is no evidence of repentance unless it works reformation.

The loveliness of the character of Christ should be seen in His followers. It was His delight to do the will of God. Love to God, zeal for His glory, was the controlling power in our Savior’s life. Love beautified and ennobled all His actions. Love is of God.

If our hearts are renewed in the likeness of God, if the divine love is implanted in the soul, will not the law of God be carried out in the life? And if the law is written in the heart, will it not shape the life? Obedience—the service and allegiance of love—is the true sign of discipleship.

“This is the love of God that we keep His commandments.” (1 John 5:3)

“He that says I know Him, and keeps not His commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him.” (1 John 2:4)

We do not earn salvation by our obedience; for salvation is the free gift of God, to be received by faith. However, obedience will be the fruit of true faith.

If we abide in Christ, if the love of God dwells in us, our feeling, our thoughts, our purposes, our actions, will be in harmony with the will of God as expressed in the precepts of His holy law.

The so called faith in Christ which professes to release men from the obligation of obedience to God, is not faith, but presumption. “By grace are you saved through faith.” (Ephesians 2:8) But “Faith, if it has not works, is dead.” (James 2:17)

We have no righteousness of our own with which to meet the claims of the law of God. But Christ has made a way of escape for us. He lived on earth amid trials and temptations such as we have to meet. He lived a sinless life. He died for us, and now He offers to take our sins and give us His righteousness. If you give yourself to Him, and accept Him as your Savior, then sinful as your life might have been, for His sake, you are accounted righteous. Christ’s character stands in the place of your character, and you are accepted before God just as if you had not sinned.

More than this, Christ changes the heart. He abides in your heart by faith. You are to maintain this connection with Christ by faith and continual surrender of your will to Him; and so long as you do this, He will work in you to will and to do according to His good pleasure.

We have nothing in ourselves of which to boast. We have no ground for self-exaltation. Our only ground of hope is in the righteousness of Christ imputed to us.

If we should be overcome by the enemy, we are not cast off. We are not rejected and forsaken of God! No, Christ is at the right hand of God, who makes intersession for us.

The closer you come to Jesus, the more faulty you will appear in your own eyes.

He that has begun a good work in you will carry it forward to the day of Jesus Christ. Pray more fervently; believe more fully.

LXXIV

THE SPIRIT OF A PERSON IS THE CANDLE OF THE LORD, SEARCHING ALL THE INWARD PARTS OF THE BELLY

PROVERBS 20:27

DESTINY KNIGHT-STORM and then MARCELLA (MARCY) SMITH

My whole body tensed and my toes curled when Marcy asked if she could hit Brock in the stomach, as Amy had just done to Brock playing their little game of teasing. Only I sensed with Marcy that it wasn’t a game.

It had been only a few days since Sevenia’s prophetic dream of two girls on the run, hiding out under an abandoned railroad bridge. Marcy was sixteen and had been forced into prostitution for the past two years. Oralee, aka Ora, was only eight and had been on the verge of being forced into child pornography as well as prostitution. Marcy had rescued Ora. Then Sevenia, Brock and I rescued the two sex slave escapees.

The two girls had been staying with Brock and me since we found them. Oralee took an immediate shine to my husband. She was fascinated with his big muscles and multiple scars. She somehow perceived that Brock is the kind, loving, Godly man that truly he is.  

Marcy, on the other hand, seemed to dislike Brock. Maybe it’s because at a casual glance, Brock can appear to be rough, macho, and even mean. But I’m sure the big picture had to do with her history with the male population. She had pretty much known nothing from men her entire life except use and abuse.

Marcy had been watching an impromptu self defense class that my husband was leading. His pupils were Oralee, Sevenia, our spiritual daughter Amy, and me. After we finished, Amy and Brock were teasing each other as they typically did. As usual, Brock got the feisty young woman’s proverbial goat. As their custom was, Amy wanted to hit Brock in the solar plexus. He placed his hands on his hips, braced himself, and she struck her blow. Marcy, witnessing this exchange, asked if she could try.

“Sure,” Brock had told Marcy. But I could see concern in his eyes.

Marcy took Amy’s place in front of Brock. With a look of determination in her eyes and pursed lips, she hurled her fist at Brock’s mid-section with everything she had. She said, “ouch,” and then shook her fist. Her countenance turned to pure anger, and her fist flew to Brock’s mid-section again.

Brock, having relaxed some, grunted. Then, as though she were in front of a punching bag, she began to hurl a barrage of punches. Left, right, left, right.

“Stop it!” Amy shrieked.

“No!” Brock ordered. “Let her be!”

The effort of talking when he was being bombarded with punches caused him to go to one knee. She connected solidly with his nose, and blood spurted onto his lips, chin, and shirt.

“Oh, no!” Marcy said in surprise, as a hand went to her mouth. She dropped to her knees, shrieking. “No, no, no! I’m so sorry!”

Marcy not only began to sob, but she also wailed in absolute misery. I soon discovered that Matthew 10:19 not only applied when you were talking to rulers. Although I was paralyzed with shock and concern over what happened, I found myself moving toward Marcy. I knelt behind her and wrapped my arms around her, spooning her into myself. I had no conscious thoughts of the words that came out of my mouth. It must have been the Holy Spirit speaking through me.

“It’s okay,” I said gently, yet firmly. “You’re gonna be okay. You have a home here as long as you need. Actually, we’d like to do whatever it takes to make you our daughter. If you will have us.”

Even as I spoke those words, I worried I was rushing things with the teenager. Was I insane asking a severely broken girl that we barely knew to be a part of our marriage, making us a unique family? Maybe from a worldly perspective. But just as God knows our hearts, down to every thought, He also knows every circumstance. He knew Marcy had never in her life experienced human love. Her life had been a continual string of anxieties and loneliness. She had never had a real home, a safe place.

She broke from my embrace, turned, and looked at me astonished. Her eyes were haunted but hopeful. “After what I did, you would still have me?”

“Of course,” I replied with what I hoped was a warm smile.

“I want to be your daughter, too!” Ora declared, as she ran to me and hugged me from the side.

I laughed through tears and put an arm around the little girl. “Of course, you too, Sweetie!”

I looked at my husband. We had only briefly discussed the possibility of adopting, or at least foster parenting the two girls. So I already knew he would be okay with the idea. Sevenia had given him a paper towel for his nose, which along with his hand, covered the lower half of his face. But I could tell by his light brown eyes crinkling in the corners that he was smiling.

“Wow, you want to be my daddy?” Oralee asked Brock right after she broke away from me. Brock was sitting on the floor with his legs splayed out in front of him. Ora bounded into his lap, and he hugged her as he laughed.

“There’s nothing I’d like better,” he said, and then kissed the top of her head. “Except if Marcy was also your sister.”

I was already cringing inwardly as I still wondered if we were taking things too fast. But I loved how Brock phrased it. Saying he’d love Marcy to be Ora’s sister rather than his daughter or father to her. Marcy stared at Brock trancelike and completely dumbfounded. Then she spoke with a small voice. “I’m sorry about what I just did, Br… I mean, Mr. Storm, Sir.”

“I understand, Marcy,” Brock said mildly, and gave her a reassuring smile. “And I’ll give you all the space you need, for as long as you need it. Also, please just call me Brock.”

“Okay,” Marcy replied, snorted a laugh, sniffed, and said, “Thanks.”

MARCY SMITH

I had an encounter with an angel and she saved my life. This cute, sweet human being was a little Hispanic girl, and her name is Oralee. “My Light,” that’s what Oralee’s name means. If she hadn’t come into my life in that pit of hell, I would most likely be dead. I had a suicide plan that I was on the brink implementing when “My Light” entered my darkness.

Ironically, her saving me was in the form of her needing me. When she showed up that fateful day, she had become the youngest girl I had ever seen Sinbad bring in. I guess you would call Sinbad my pimp. Anyhow, he was the guy that controlled me after I was initially kidnapped, or you could say sold to a guy I only knew of as Mr. P. In my mind, the P stood for pervert.

I suppose the best way to describe the brothel where I lived is a minimum security prison. We, the inmates, spent most of the time locked in our rooms. Even when we were “working.” But there were opportunities to escape. Nobody ever did because we were heavily brainwashed. Plus, material wise, our accommodations were pretty decent. I had a big comfy bed, a big screen TV, and the food was okay. We had no phones or computers because we weren’t allowed access to the outside.

It seemed pretty foolish to run off with Oralee Yet I just couldn’t stand the thought of that sweet innocent little girl being violated. I didn’t want her to experience the life I had for the previous two years, especially when she was so incredibly young. I suppose I was operating by faith, rather than by sight, even though I didn’t realize it then.

I don’t even know how we ended up under that bridge. Once out of the mansion of filth, we just went. We stumbled upon an area that was used for bonfires during warmer times. It was there we found old tarps that we used for a makeshift structure. Not far from that spot, we saw the old bridge. The underneath was already set up as most of a shelter. The tarps we hung were sort of like doors.

But I’m not gonna lie. Only minutes after we fled, I thought, what have I done? This thought only escalated as minutes turned to hours, and hours to days. Why didn’t I go to the authorities? It might have been the brainwashing, or the simple fact that I didn’t trust “authority.”

But Oralee never lost faith. She made us pray for strength and help at least once an hour. I went along, but not necessarily out of belief. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Plus I didn’t want her to lose hope.

When Sevenia, Destiny, and Brock showed up, I was beyond amazed! I consciously realized that Ora’s prayers were likely answered. Yet the bitter cynic and pessimist in me would not believe. Something in my subconscious told me they were likely predators. But then moments after seeing and talking to Sevenia, I knew she was akin to Ora. By that I mean a true child of God, filled with, well, light. Unlike the dark demon girl I felt like.

But then I looked at the man she was with in the fading twilight and my defenses went right back up to high alert caution. In the partial light, he looked beyond menacing. Yet something in Sevenia’s eyes, her whole demeanor, tipped my scales to the side of trusting them. What choice did I have? Our little hut barely kept us warm, and all we had to eat for three days were corn nuts and fruit rollups. All we had to drink was snow melted over our campfire.

It was like a taste of heaven entering Destiny and Brock’s home. Not that I was confident such a place really existed. But this was a step in the right direction. As was Brock. By that, I mean, he began to show me that not all men are creeps. Not all men are violent, controlling, sex freaks. I’m not gonna lie. I’m a man hater. I’d never met a good man. So how could I trust Brock who was, well, all man?

If you’ve never seen Brock, which I’m sure you haven’t, he’s built like a pro wrestler or NFL football player, or something. And he sort of looks like a movie actor, kind of like George Clooney. But he’s got a few scars on his otherwise pretty face. They’re not gross, but this one curls from his left lip like a hideous half grin. It’s kind of cool and freaky at the same time.

But for such a rugged, scary dude, he’s got really nice eyes. The nicest I’ve ever seen on a guy. They are light brown, warm and friendly. They also seemed to look at me with, I don’t know, compassion or something, rather than lust or anger. I think that’s why they were the key in making me start to trust him. Especially after I wigged out on him and went kind of nuts throwing punches.

I couldn’t believe I did that! But when I saw how relaxed the other girls were around him, I knew he was different from any guy I had ever been around. I was blown away when Amy asked to hit him, and he let her! I had hit a guy once. He was a Jon who tried to do something extra vile to me. Sinbad, my slave master, took something like an electric cattle prod to me afterward. I never misbehaved again. That is, until I split with Oralee. My Light.

Poor Brock! I stepped up to him, seething with anger over every guy who ever wronged me. Amy was definitely only teasing him with her comment on his six pack abs getting soft. That first punch hurt my wrist. This only fueled my anger, and in a fit of madness, I unleashed a volley of punches, welcoming the pain. Somebody freaked out. Brock told them to let me be. Then he went to one knee, and I accidently hit him solid in the nose, causing blood to spurt.

This was like a switch, turning off my anger. Remorse quickly took its place, but for selfish reasons. These people had been so incredibly nice to me and Oralee, and I repay them by spazing out. As I had been enjoying their hospitality, it not only was in the back of my mind, but solidly in the front, that this wouldn’t last. Then I realized my actions were only gonna speed up the process.

I’m not gonna lie. When I lost it and went to my knees balling, it was purely selfish. What was going through my head was that I had blown it. They would kick me out. Would Sinbad find me and kill me? I guess I would have to find a new pimp, one that could protect me from Sinbad. Maybe being a whore would be better if I did it willingly. What choice did I have?

I felt somebody behind me. Part of my brain warned predator! But I didn’t care. Destiny’s arms wrapped around me and she pulled me snuggly into herself. It felt wonderful! I felt loved and valuable! I had grown up not knowing parental affection. Couple that with the vast majority of my human contact being perverse, you might think I would shy away from a display of love. Not so, I relished it!

Destiny uttered reassuring words into my ear. They were nice and all, but then she said something that flabbergasted me. She said she wanted me to be their daughter if I would have them. If I would have them? I said as much, mentioning what just happened. Destiny just simply replied ‘of course.’ Then My Light spoke up. “I want to be your daughter, too!”

Destiny laughed and put her arm around Ora and said. “Of course, you too, Sweetie.”

Then the little angel ran to Brock and asked him if he would be her daddy. The way he laughed and hugged her broke down another big chunk of the defensive wall that I felt toward him. As a matter of fact, I felt jealous, but I think in a good way. But then he said something that broke down even more of the wall. He told Oralee, the only thing that would be better is if Marcy was her sister. That’s me!

I couldn’t believe it! After the way I just behaved toward him. Treating him like a punching bag and then bloodying his nose. He could have knocked me into oblivion. In the world I knew, all men would have. It occurred to me that it took a great deal of trust for me to assault him like that, even if it was twisted thinking.

Yet he didn’t retaliate at all. He didn’t even try to block my punches. He treated my hostility with patience. My ingratitude with kindness. My hatred with love. Did these people really love me? How? I didn’t believe it. They didn’t know me. If they did, they wouldn’t love me. And they eventually would find out I’m unlovable. I’m just a pretty shell hiding an ugly soul.

How does one understand one’s own feelings? Especially when one’s psyche has been severely damaged. They were beginning to make me have hope, and that just wasn’t a good idea. The higher my hopes, the further the fall.

Now that precious little Ora was safe, I needed to find my way back to Boston. I’m gonna miss her, Oralee, My Light.

(DESTINY’S BIBLE STUDY NOTES and QUOTES)

“You shall seek Me, and find Me, when you shall search for Me with all your heart.” Jeremiah 29:13)

By nature we are alienated from God. The whole heart must be yielded to God, or the change cannot be wrought in us by which we are restored to His likeness.

God desires to heal us, to set us free. But since this requires an entire transformation, a renewing of our whole nature, we must yield ourselves wholly to Him.

The warfare against self is the greatest battle that is ever fought. The yielding of self, surrendering all to the will of God, requires a struggle. But the soul must submit to God before it can be renewed in holiness. Holiness is wholeness for God.

God does not force the will of His creatures. He cannot accept an homage that is not willingly and intelligently given.

Man is doing the greatest injury to his own soul when he thinks and acts contrary to the will of God. (See Proverbs 8:36)

Many wonder, How am I to make the surrender of myself to God? You desire to give yourself to Him, but you are weak in moral power, in slavery to doubt, and controlled by the habits of your life of sin. Your promises and resolutions are like ropes of sand. You cannot control your thoughts, your impulses, and your affections. The knowledge of your broken promises weakens your confidence in your own sincerity, and causes you to feel that God cannot accept you. But you need not despair.

What we need to understand is the true force of the will. This is the governing power in the nature of humanity, the power of decision and choice. Everything depends on the right action of the will. The giving of our affections to God.

Through the right action of the will, an entire change may be made in our lives. By yielding up our will to Christ, we ally ourselves with the power that is above all principalities and powers. We will have strength from above to hold us steadfast, and thus through constant surrender to God we will be enabled to live the new life, even the life of faith.

Jesus loves to have us come to him just as we are, sinful, helpless, dependent. We may come with all our sins and weakness and fall at His feet in penitence. It is His glory to encircle us in the arms of His love and to bind up our wounds, to cleanse us from all impurity. Here is where thousands fail; they do not believe that Jesus pardons them personally, individually. They do not take God at His word.

God does not deal with us as finite men deal with one another. His thoughts are thoughts of mercy, love, and tenderest compassion.

Do not give ear to the tempter, say to yourself, “Jesus has died that I might live. He loves me, and wills not that I should perish. I have a compassionate heavenly Father; and although I have abused His love, and squandered His blessings. I will arise, go to my Father, and say, ‘I have sinned before heaven and before You and am no more worthy to be called Your child: Make me as one of your hired servants.’ The parable tells how you will be received. “When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck, and kissed him.” Luke 15:18-20.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love: therefore with loving kindness have I drawn you.” (Jeremiah 31:3).

With the rich promises of the Bible before you, can you give place to doubt? Our heavenly Father hates the sin, but loves the sinner. He gave Himself in the person of Christ, that all who would, might be saved.

Whenever you are doubting and fearful, look up. Jesus lives to make intersession for us.

As you read Bible promises, remember they are the expression of unutterable love and pity. The great heart of Infinite Love is drawn toward the sinner with boundless compassion.

As you draw near to Him with confession and repentance, He will draw near to you with mercy and forgiveness.

LXXIII

IT WERE BETTER FOR HIM IF A MILLSTONE WERE HANGED ABOUT HIS NECK AND HE WAS CAST INTO THE SEA, THAN THAT HE SHOULD OFFEND ONE OF THESE LITTLE ONES

LUKE 17:2

BROCK STORM (DESTINY KNIGHT STORM’S HUSBAND)

“My mind is spinning so much,” Destiny declared, as she walked into our bedroom clutching her head with both hands. “I feel like my head is going to come flying off.”

“Is that why you’re holding on to it?” I replied, trying a little levity.

“Oh stop,” she said, giving me a playful slap and grinning briefly. “I just can’t believe it Brock. Those poor girls.”

A few hours ago, we had rescued a couple girls that were temporarily living a mile into some woods and under an old railroad bridge. How did we know they were there? Sevenia had dreamt that a couple girls were taking refuge under the abandoned railroad bridge that had a unique significance at Cotton Creek Cove Fellowship. (This bridge is the setting for two significant romantic events in two of Johnathan Embers e-books, ‘Spoiled Produce’ and ‘Knight Storm.’)

Many of us refer to Sevenia as the girl prophetess, due to her uncanny knowledge of scripture as well as church history. Yet as far as I know, this dream of the two girls under the bridge was the first actual prophetic episode Sevenia has ever had. I have to admit that I was skeptical. Sevenia even doubted herself, yet she couldn’t shake the overwhelming urge to go out there and make sure.

Low and behold, there were in fact a couple of scared and cold girls out there. Marcy, who appeared to be in her upper teens, and Oralee, who clearly looked to be under ten years old, abiding below a bridge in the winter! Sevenia and Destiny talked them into coming to our place for food and shelter. Until Destiny entered our bedroom clutching her head, that’s all I knew about the two girls.

“Are you gonna tell me what you found out?” I asked.

“So Marcella, aka Marcy, was forced into prostitution when she was fourteen. She was originally from the Boston area. She has no idea who her biological parents are, other than a vague memory of her mother. She spent her childhood going back and forth from foster homes to orphanages. She suspects that her last foster parents sold her to the man who would force her into prostitution. He was supposed to be taking her to a summer camp held by the church her foster parents attended. But she ended up forced into prostitution instead.

“How old is she now?”

“Sixteen. She has been in eastern Iowa for about three or four months. You probably noticed, despite her hard life that she’s quite striking.”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” I admitted. “I also noticed she bears a striking resemblance to you.”

Destiny stared at me with a troubled gaze. Tears began to stream from her eyes, and I wondered if I said something wrong.

“I thought that, too,” she said quietly. “At times, talking to her was like looking at myself in a mirror when I was a teenager. But there was a huge difference.”

“What’s that?”

“When I was her age, I was fresh and cocky. Marcy’s haunted face looks as though she’s been to war. And she has! Only she’s not gonna get a metal for valor.”

“In God’s eyes, she already has,” I said.

Destiny stepped toward me, looped her arms around my neck and kissed me ever so gently. Then she said, “There’s one more thing. Marcy would be about the age my aborted child would have been.”

Destiny began to gently weep as she pressed her cheek against my chest. I stroked her hair and gave her a couple minutes before I spoke.

“What about that little angel, Oralee?” I asked softly. “They don’t appear to be sisters. What with Marcy’s blonde hair, blue eyes and fair complexion, and Ora’s black hair and big dark brown eyes.”

“She’s a little beauty, isn’t she?”

“She is.”

“She’s such a little sweetheart, too,” Destiny said and then grinned, her eyes glistening. “Do you know what she said about you?”

“Oh no, is it good or bad?”

“Mostly good. She said that you have big muscles, and I agreed that you did. Then, this was sad, she asked me if you were my pimp.”

“Oh Lord, please don’t tell me that little girl was forced into prostitution.”

“She was intended to be. That’s why they are on the run,” Destiny replied. “That’s not all. They were gonna use her in child porn. Can you believe it? Right after I found out what happened to my dad when he was a boy, I’m introduced to another example not even a week later.”

“During all your years in adult entertainment, you never came across somebody that was abused that way?”

“I didn’t. I mean, I knew of underage girls, you know sixteen, even fifteen. But in the circles I worked, I never knew of anyone being outright forced. I don’t know, maybe it’s because I was always stoned. But I did know of countless cases of abuse as children. Most in the biz were. So indirectly, you could say those girls did it against their will. I mean when their will and psyche had already been severely damaged when they were children.

“Anyway, Marcy said when she saw them taking Oralee to do a ‘photo shoot’, her little skirt was all bunched in the back. She thought of her favorite movie, ‘The Hunger Games.’ When she saw what was going to happen to Ora and the bunched up dress, it reminded her of what happened with Catness and her sister in the movie. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“I think so,” I replied. “When Catness’ sister was selected to be in the hunger games, Catness saw her little sister’s shirt similar to what you described and realized her sister’s helplessness. So then she volunteered to go in her place because she knew that her sister wouldn’t last very long before she was killed.”

“Right,” Destiny nodded. “So, the human traffickers had taken nude photos of Oralee. When Marcy saw how upset Oralee was afterward, she couldn’t stand the thought of her being made to participate in actual sexual contact. She decided she needed to get Ora out of there posthaste. But the only way they could escape was with the clothes on their backs, and the few dollars Marcy had stashed away.”

“How did Oralee even end up in a house of ill repute?”

“I’m not sure,” Destiny replied. “I talked privately with Marcy, and Sevenia was talking privately with Ora. So I haven’t found out yet myself. By the way, Sevenia is spending the night. She’s gonna share a room with Oralee.”

“Okay, good,” I replied as Destiny picked up her phone and vigorously typed a text to Sevenia. In less than a minute, she knocked on our bedroom door.

“Ora is suuuuch a little sweetheart,” Sevenia gushed. “When we were done talking, she was so tired, but she thanked me and hugged me. When she wasn’t letting  go of me, I eventually pulled her away from me.” Sevenia paused to giggle. “She was sound asleep. Part of me just wanted to hold her all night.”

“How old is she?” I asked.

“Eight,” Sevenia answered.

Destiny groaned. “Does she know what her captors intended to do with her?”

“She told me they made her take off her clothes, and they took pictures.”

“That was only the start of their intentions,” Destiny told her.

Sevenia gave a slight nod and then looked at Destiny as if to say, I don’t need to hear anymore. I get the ugly picture.

“How did she end up in that house of horrors?” I asked.

“It sounds like her biological parents were illegal immigrants from Mexico. They were killed when Ora was only three in some type of accident while employed as migrant workers. She was passed between relatives and friends for a year or two, and then ended up with a retired schoolteacher in Omaha.

“She said the woman, her name was Grace, was wonderful to her, and they went to church every week. When she died about a month ago, a couple from their church took her in briefly. She said they weren’t very nice, and she was only with them a couple weeks before a man they knew, ‘took her for a ride.’”

“And that’s how she ended up with Marcy,” Destiny said disgustedly. “And unknowingly was intended to be a human toy for perverts.”

“Yes, so, she and Marcy have actually only known each other for about a week.”

Sevenia asked about Marcy. After Destiny filled them in, we discussed what the future might hold for the two girls, and what we could do to help. I suggested we contact my former girlfriend, and current FBI special agent Nora Medora, and hopefully have Marcy tell her and her colleagues where this horror house of sex slavery was located.

The next day it became clear that the two girls viewed me in completely different ways. Oralee seemed to find me utterly fascinating. Who wouldn’t? Apparently Marcy. She, on the other hand, continued to look at me with cold skepticism. But it was understandable. All she’d probably ever known from men is being used and abused.

After Destiny and Sevenia had a lengthy conversation with Marcy, she agreed to let me talk to Nora Medora. Nora was based in Chicago, and I figured that she would set me up with some local agents. To my surprise, she showed up herself six hours later. It turned out, she had gotten a promotion and has quite a bit of clout. She’s also passionate about human trafficking. When we met a decade ago, she was a vice detective for the Miami police department.

(Nora Medora is one of the side characters in Destiny and Brock’s story, ‘Knight Storm’, an e-book by Johnathan Embers).

Nora is of Hispanic decent, and she really took a shine to Oralee. But Oralee is simply a sweetheart, so I don’t think that ethnicity even played a role. However, Nora was a bit cool toward Marcy. I don’t know whether it had to do with Marcy’s hard, cynical attitude, or because she bears a striking resemblance to Destiny. Although my ex-girlfriend and wife now get along on the surface, their personalities clashed. Nora’s brash, aggressive demeanor and Destiny’s timid nature mixed like oil and water. Not to mention whatever jealousy issues lingered on their psyches.

The day after Nora’s arrival, we got some good news and bad news. Apparently, Marcy and Oralee running away caused the bad guys to go on the run themselves. The house of ill repute was empty. This news terrified Marcy. She was afraid some guy called Sinbad, apparently the leader and or pimp, would eventually find her. Marcy seemed on the verge of tears and, in anger, she glared at me with even more intensity than before.

“Relax, you are safe here with Brock,” Nora told her. Then Ms. Medora looked at me as if she spoke out of turn. “I mean…”

“They can stay here as long as they need to,” I interjected.

“Yaaaaay!” Oralee exclaimed. She ran to me, threw her little arms around my neck, and hugged me. “Thanks, Uncle Brock!”

“Uncle Brock?” I inquired with a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s what Sevenia calls you.”

I laughed some more as I felt a strange, liquid pressure behind my eyes that I kept in check.

“You promised me you would arrest Sinbad and the other creeps if I told you where they were,” Marcy barked. “And lock him up for a long, long time.”

“That was our intention,” Nora replied diplomatically. “And we would have if they were there, that was the promise. Since they weren’t, they likely fled town, even the state.”

“Likely, but you don’t know that!” Marcy scolded.

“You’re safe here, though,” Nora said, as gently as I have ever heard her speak. “I’ve known Brock for years. Not only was he a professional bodyguard, but he was also among the very best of professional bodyguards.”

“Yippee,” Marcy scoffed. “I suppose he’s faster than a speeding bullet, too. Cause that’s what he’s gonna have to be if Sinbad and company find us.”

“No, I admit he’s not,” Nora said and then sighed as she put her hands on her hips. “But I guarantee you, that he’s the type of man that will put himself in front of a speeding bullet if it means protecting you.”

Marcy bit her lower lip and glanced at me, her eyes softening ever so briefly. It was a start. Sevenia started something later that day that would ignite passion in both girls. Some of it positive, and unfortunately, some negative.

“Can you start teaching me self defense again?” Sevenia asked me.

“Of course, when?”

“Now.”

She was a wise little lady. Oralee immediately wanted to participate. Even though Marcy feigned indifference, Destiny reported to me that she actually watched pretty closely. The next day Amy joined us and Destiny even participated. Although Marcy declined our invitation, we had ourselves a little martial arts class.

After we finished, Amy and I began teasing each other. As her custom was after a back and forth with me, she wanted to hit me in the solar plexus. I braced for it, and she gave me a wallop to the midsection. She often shook her hand afterward and complained that it hurt. This time she flipped her long red-gold hair over her shoulder, smirked and said, “Your gut isn’t as hard as it used to be.”

“I just wasn’t bracing hard,” I replied with a shrug. “I don’t need to with your weak little punch.”

“Alright, fella,” Amy grinned, her one blue eye and one green eye twinkling. “Brace yourself again.” She threw another one at me, smiled and shook her head. “Still didn’t hurt.”

“Can I try that?” Marcy asked, surprising everyone.

“Sure,” I replied hesitantly.

I felt uneasy as she stepped in front of me, taking Amy’s place. I wasn’t worried about being hurt. What concerned me was the hard, mean look in her eyes and what her motive was.

(DESTINY”S BIBLE STUDY NOTES AND QUOTES)

Only the love that flows from the heart of Christ can truly heal. Only He in whom that love flows, even as the sap in the tree, or as the blood in the body, can restore the wounded soul.

If our lives are to be healthy, and our spirits are to grow, we need dedication to the truth. Superficially, this should be obvious. For truth is reality. That which is false is unreal. The more clearly we see the reality of the world, the better equipped we are to deal with the world.

How shall a person be just with God? How shall the sinner be made righteous? It is only through Christ that we can be brought into harmony with God. But how are we to come to Christ?

On the Day of Pentecost when the multitude cried out, “What shall we do?” Peter’s response was “Repent.” Acts 2:37, 38. At another time shortly after, he said. “Repent… and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out.” (Acts 3:19).

Repentance includes sorrow for sin and a turning away from it. We shall not fully renounce sin, until we see its sinfulness; until we turn away from it in heart, there will be no real change in the life.

There are many who fail to understand the nature of repentance. They sorrow that they have sinned, and even make an outward appearance of reformation. But they lament the suffering sin has caused, but not sin itself. One of the most extreme examples is Judas Iscariot, when he exclaimed. “I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood.” (Matthew 27:4). He was in fact sorrowful, but instead of repenting, he hung himself.

Christ must be revealed in the heart to the sinner as the Savior dying for the sins of the world. As we behold the Lamb of God upon the cross of Calvary. The mystery of redemption begins to unfold to our minds and the goodness of God leads us to repentance.

Through influences seen and unseen, our Savior is constantly at work to attract the minds of people from the unsatisfying pleasures of sin, to the infinite blessings that may be theirs in Him. To all these souls, who are vainly drinking from the broken cisterns of this world, the divine message is addressed. “Let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.” (Revelation 22:17). “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; If anyone hears My voice, and opens the door, I will come into them, and will sup with them, and they with Me. (Revelation 3:20).

How many there are who think they are not good enough to come to Christ. Do you expect to become better through your own efforts? We can do nothing of ourselves, we must come to Christ just as we are.

The drunkard is despised and is told that his sin will exclude him from heaven. While pride, selfishness, and covetousness to often go unrebuked. But these are sins especially offensive to God; for they are contrary to the benevolence of His character, to that unselfish love which is the very atmosphere of the unfallen universe.

The love and suffering and death of the Son of God all testify to the terrible enormity of sin and declare that there is no escape from its power, no hope of the higher life, except through the submission of the soul to Christ.

What we do not overcome, will overcome us, and work out our soul’s destruction.

Christ is ready to set us free from sin, but He does not force the will. He stands at the door and knocks. (Revelation 3:20). It’s up to us to let Him in.

“Create in me a clean heart, oh God, and renew a right spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:10)

As you see the enormity of your sins, as you see yourself as you really are, do not give up to despair. It was sinners that Christ came to save.

No earthly parent could be as patient with the faults and mistakes of his children, as is God with those He seeks to save.

When we see the length of the chain that was let down for us, when we understand something of the infinite sacrifice that Christ has made in our behalf, the heart is melted with tenderness and contrition.

He that covers his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesses and forsakes them shall have mercy. (Proverbs 28:13)

Confession of sin, whether private or public, should be heartfelt and freely expressed. The confession that is the outpouring of the inmost soul finds its way to the God of infinite pity. The psalmist says, “The Lord is close to them that are of a broken heart; and saves such that be of a contrite spirit.” (Psalm 34:18).

However, confession will not be acceptable to God without sincere repentance and reformation. True repentance will lead a man to bear his guilt himself and acknowledge it without deception or hypocrisy. Those who do acknowledge their guilt will be justified, for Jesus will plead His blood on behalf of the repentant soul.

The humble and broken heart, subdued by genuine repentance, will appreciate something of the love of God and the cost of Calvary. And as a son confesses to a loving father, so will the truly penitent bring all his sins before God. And it is written, “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9).