The inspiration for this website came from a Scripture song I heard over 10 years ago at a ladies retreat:
Like Apples of Gold in pictures of silver
A word fitly spoken shall be,
Like Apples of Gold in pictures of silver
Let my life bring glory to thee.
¶ A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.
Although some of the "stories" listed are made up, the Scriptural truths they illustrate are very real and can be of great benefit in a Christian's walk with the Lord and as illustrations for the lost.
It is my heart's desire that amongst the pages of this website, the Christian find words of encouragement and be spurred on to service for our Lord, and that seekers of the truth find Salvation in the timeless truths of God's Word for these troubled times.
I used to pray with puzzled heart,
And oft the tears would flow.
My prayer was very earnest then,
"Help me Thy will to KNOW!"
I later prayed with fearful heart,
Because God’s will I knew.
My prayer was much more earnest then,
"Help me Thy will to DO!"
Today I pray with yielded heart,
To my Father up above.
My prayer is very simple now,
"Help me Thy will to LOVE!"
The Eye of Faith
It was a Wednesday afternoon. Shrouded in a dense fog, a large steamer edged slowly forward off the coast of Newfoundland, its foghorn crying out somber notes of warning. The captain–near exhaustion from lack of sleep–was startled by a gentle tap on his shoulder. He fumed and found himself face-to-face with an old man in his late seventies.
The old man said, “Captain, I have come to tell you that I must be in Quebec on Saturday afternoon.”
The captain pondered for a moment, and then snorted, “Impossible.”
“Very well,” the old man responded, “if your ship can’t take me, God will find some other means to take me. I have never broken an engagement in 57 years.”
Lifting his weary hands in a gesture of despair, the captain replied, “I would help if I could–but I am helpless.”
Undaunted, the old man suggested, “Let’s go down to the chart room and pray.” The captain raised his eyebrows in utter disbelief, looking at the old man as if he had just escaped from a lunatic asylum.
“Do you know how dense the fog is?” the captain demanded.
The old man responded, “No. My eye is not on the thickness of the fog but on the living God who controls every circumstance of my life.”
Against his better judgment, the captain accompanied the old man to the chart room and kneeled with him in prayer. With simple words a child might use, the old man prayed, “O Lord, if it is consistent with Thy will, please remove this fog in five minutes. Thou knowest the engagement Thou didst make for me in Quebec on Saturday. I believe it is Thy will.”
The captain, a nominal Christian at best, thought it wise to humor the old man and recite a short prayer. But before he was able to utter a single word, he felt a tap on his shoulder. The old man requested, “Don’t pray, because you do not believe; and as I believe God has already answered, there is no need for you to pray.” The captain’s mouth dropped open.
Then the old man explained, “Captain, I have known my Lord for 57 years and there has never been a single day that I have failed to gain an audience with the King. Get up, captain, and open the door, and you will find the fog is gone.” The captain did as he was requested, and was astonished to find that the fog had indeed disappeared.
The captain later testified that this encounter with the aged George Muller completely revolutionized his Christian life. He had seen with his own eyes that Muller’s God was the true and living God of the Bible. He had seen incredible power flow from a frail old man–a power rooted in simple childlike faith in God.
The late pastor Ray Stedman once delivered a sermon in which he said, “Faith has an apparent ridiculousness about it. You are not acting by faith if you are doing what everyone around you is doing. Faith always appears to defy the circumstances. It constitutes a risk and a venture.”
That is the kind of faith George Muller demonstrated decade after decade in his long and fruitful life. During the final year of his earthly sojourn, he wrote that his faith had been increasing over the years little by little, but he emphatically insisted that there was nothing unique about him or his faith. He believed that a life of trust was open to virtually all of God’s children if only they would endure when trials came instead of giving up.
A Speeding Ticket
Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone. Fourth time in as many months. How could a guy get caught so often?
When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour, Jack pulled over, but only partially. Let the cop worry about the potential traffic hazard. Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror. The cop was stepping out of his car, the big pad in hand.
Bob? Bob from Church? Jack sunk farther into his trench coat. This was worse than the coming ticket. A cop catching a guy from his own church. A guy who happened to be a little eager to get home after a long day at the office. A guy he was about to play golf with tomorrow.
Jumping out of the car, he approached a man he saw every Sunday, a man he’d never seen in uniform.
“Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this.”
“Hello, Jack.” No smile.
“Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife and kids.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Bob seemed uncertain. Good.
“I’ve seen some long days at the office lately. I’m afraid I bent the rules a bit – just this once.” Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement. “Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes tonight. Know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean. I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct.” Ouch. This was not going in the right direction. Time to change tactics.
“What’d you clock me at?”
“Seventy. Would you sit back in your car please?”
“Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as I saw you. I was barely nudging 65.” The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket.
“Please, Jack, in the car.”
Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard. He was in no rush to open the window. The minutes ticked by. Bob scribbled away on the pad.
Why hadn’t he asked for a driver’s license?
Whatever the reason, it would be a month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near this cop again. A tap on the door jerked his head to the left. There was Bob, a folded paper in hand. Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches, just enough room for Bob to pass him the slip.
“Thanks.” Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice.
Bob returned to his police car without a word. Jack watched his retreat in the mirror. Jack unfolded the sheet of paper. How much was this one going to cost?
Wait a minute. What was this? Some kind of joke? Certainly not a ticket. Jack began to read:
Once upon a time I had a daughter. She was six when killed by a car. You guessed it — a speeding driver. A fine and three months in jail, and the man was free. Free to hug his daughters. All three of them. I only had one, and I’m going to have to wait until Heaven before I can ever hug her again. A thousand times I’ve tried to forgive that man. A thousand times I thought I had. Maybe I did, but I need to do it again. Even now. Pray for me. And be careful, Jack, my son is all I have left.
Jack turned around in time to see Bob’s car pull away and head down the road. Jack watched until it disappeared. A full 15 minutes later, he too, pulled away and drove slowly home, praying for forgiveness and hugging a surprised wife and kids when he arrived.
Life is fragile, Handle With Prayer.
This morning my thoughts traveled along
To a place in my life where days have since gone
Beholding an image of what I used to be
As visions were stirred and God spoke to me.
He showed me a Warrior, a soldier in place
Positioned by Heaven, yet I saw no face
I watched as the Warrior fought enemies
That came from the darkness with destruction for me.
I saw as the Warrior would dry away tears
As all of Heaven’s angels hovered so near
I saw many wounds on the Warrior’s face
Yet weapons of warfare were firmly in place.
I felt my heart weeping, my eyes held so much
As God let me feel the Warrior’s prayer touch
I thought, “how familiar”, the words that were prayed
The prayers were like lightning that never would fade.
I said to God, “Please, tell me the Warrior’s name.”
He gave no reply, He chose to refrain
I asked, “Lord, who is broken that they need such prayer?”
He showed me an image of myself standing there.
Bound by confusion, lost and alone
I felt the prayers of the Warrior carry me home
I asked, “Please show me, Lord, this Warrior so true.”
I watched and I wept,
FOR MOTHER…..THE WARRIOR WAS YOU!
By Larry S. Clark, Copyright.
A Mother’s Prayer
They grow up so fast Lord
These children You put in my care
It seems like only yesterday
I was getting gum out of their hair.
From a babe to a toddler
To a child going out to play
Now they are adolescents
Each striving to go their own way.
No longer are their trucks and dolls
Scattered all across the floor
They are busy with their own lives
Always heading out the door.
It’s so hard to let them go Lord
But I know it was meant to be
I’ve taught them of Your ways
Now I pray they’ll always turn to Thee.
Watch over them dear God
On their way to adulthood
Stand beside them on life’s rocky road
As You promised that You would.
Dedicated to my children:
Billy, Amy, and Sabrina.
It’s In The Valleys I Grow
Sometimes life seems hard to bear,
Full of sorrow, trouble and woe
It’s then I have to remember
That it’s in the valleys I grow.
If I always stayed on the mountain top
And never experienced pain,
I would never appreciate God’s love
And would be living in vain.
I have so much to learn
And my growth is very slow,
Sometimes I need the mountain tops,
But it’s in the valleys I grow.
I do not always understand
Why things happen as they do,
But I am very sure of one thing.
My Lord will see me through.
My little valleys are nothing
When I picture Christ on the cross
He went through the valley of death;
His victory was Satan’s loss.
Forgive me Lord, for complaining
When I’m feeling so very low.
Just give me a gentle reminder
That it’s in the valleys I grow.
Continue to strengthen me, Lord
And use my life each day
To share your love with others
And help them find their way.
Thank you for valleys, Lord
For this one thing I know
The mountain tops are glorious
But it’s in the valleys I grow!
(This poem was written by Jane Eggleston who currently lives in Virginia. Her son Jeff states, “She is a wonderful person, loves Jesus and has been the best mother anyone could ever ask for.” What a fitting tribute to any mother.)
- Through the Eyes of a Bus Worker
- The Contest
- Patriotism Without Religion?
- Disappointment – His Appointment
- Notes About Mothers
- Taking Hold of Your Legacy
- The Law of Sowing and Reaping
- “…We will serve the LORD.”
- Spiritual Vitamins
- My Attorney
- What I learned from Noah’s Ark
- The Quiet Sermon
- Phil. 4:13
- Beatitudes for the Home
- Fasting and Feasting
- Open Book
- The Brick
- Differences Between the Doctor and the Pastor
- God’s Will
- Reminder of Our Existance
- The EN-CROWD
- Queen Victoria
- The Room
- Just As I Am
- C.H. Spurgeon
- George Mueller
- My Times Are In Thy Hands
- So Little Time
- It Is Well With My Soul
- How Firm a Foundation
- Jesus Loves Me
- He Paid My Debt!
- H.G. Spafford
- John Newton
- Philip Paul Bliss
- Amazing Grace
- Ira Sankey
- Billy Sunday
- C.T. Studd
- Lester Roloff
- Gipsy Smith
- John R. Rice
- D.L. Moody
- Abraham Lincoln
- Curtis Hutson
- Fanny Crosby
- Quilt of Holes
- Tools For Sale
- Thank Him for Your Thorns