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.
Proverbs 25:11

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.

- Angela

Posts Tagged ‘Exhortation’

Taters

Taters are a colloquial pronunciation of potatoes and thus these are the local varieties of taters.

Some people never seem motivated to participate, but are just content to watch while others do the work.
~They are called "Spec Taters".

Some people never do anything to help, but are gifted at finding fault with the way others do the work.
~They are called "Comment Taters".

Some people are very bossy and like to tell others what to do, but don’t want to soil their own hands.
~They are called "Dick Taters".

Some people are always looking to cause problems by asking others to agree with them. It is too hot or too cold, too sour
or too sweet.
~They are called "Agie Taters".

There are those who say they will help, but somehow just never get around to actually doing the promised help.
~They are called "Hezzie Taters".

Some people can put up a front and pretend to be someone they are not.
~They are called "Emma Taters".

Then there are those who love others and do what they say they will. They are always prepared to stop whatever they are doing and lend a helping hand. They bring real sunshine into the lives of others.
~They are called "Sweet Taters".

The Quiet Sermon

The Quiet Sermon

A member of a certain church, who previously had been attending Services regularly, stopped going.

After a few weeks, the pastor decided to visit him. It was a chilly evening. The pastor found the man at home alone, sitting before a blazing fire. Guessing the reason for his Pastors visit, the man welcomed him, led him to a comfortable chair near the fireplace and waited. The pastor made himself at home but said nothing.

In the grave silence, he contemplated the dance of the flames around the burning logs. After some minutes, the pastor took the fire tongs, carefully picked up a brightly burning ember and placed it to one side of the hearth all alone.

Then he sat back in his chair, still silent. The host watched all this in quiet contemplation. As the one lone ember’s flame flickered and diminished, there was a momentary glow and then its fire was no more. Soon it was cold and dead. Not a word had been spoken since the initial greeting. The Pastor glanced at his watch and realized it was time to leave.

He slowly stood up, picked up the cold, dead ember and placed it back in the middle of the fire.
Immediately it began to glow, once more with the light and warmth of the burning coals around it. As the pastor reached the door to leave, his host said with a tear running down his cheek, "Thank you so much for your visit and especially for the fiery sermon. I shall be back in Church next Sunday."

Open Book

 
Parents, remember you bear Christ’s dear name.
Your lives are for children to view;
You are living examples- they’ll praise you or blame,
And measure the Savior by you.
 
-Anon.


The Room

THE ROOM

17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like. “I wowed ‘em,” he later told his father, Bruce. “It’s a killer. It’s the best thing I ever
wrote.” It also was the last.

Brian’s parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the teenager’s locker at Teary Valley High School . Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near them-notes from classmates and teachers, his homework.

Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen’s life. But it was only after Brian’s death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their son had described his view of heaven. “It makes such an impact that people want to share it. You feel like you are there.”  Mr. Moore said.

Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend’s house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.

The Moores framed a copy of Brian’s essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room.. “I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it,” Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son’s vision of life after death. “I’m happy for Brian. I know he’s in heaven. I know I’ll see him.”

Brian’s Essay: The Room…

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read “Girls I have liked.” I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. Then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalogue system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named “Friends” was next to one marked “Friends I have betrayed.” The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird “Books I Have Read,” “Lies I Have Told,” “Comfort I have Given,” “Jokes I Have Laughed at.” Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: “Things I’ve yelled at my brothers.” Others I couldn’t laugh at: “Things I Have Done in My Anger”, “Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.” I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.

Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than  I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked “TV Shows I have watched”, I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast wasted time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked “Lustful Thoughts,” I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!” In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card.  I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it.. The title was “People I Have Shared the Gospel With.” The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused.. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.

He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me..

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. “No!” I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was “No, no,” as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so   quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last  file and walk back to my side.

He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished.” I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”-Phil. 4: 13 “For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.”
My “People I shared the gospel with” file just got bigger, how about yours? If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as you can so they can understand the salvation that only Jesus can bring. Please also send them to God’s Simple Plan of Salvation.

So Little Time

So Little Time

By John R. Rice

So little time! The harvest will be over.
Our reaping done, we reapers taken Home.
Report our work to Jesus, Lord of harvest,
And hope He’ll smile and that He’ll say, “Well done!”

Chorus

Today we reap, or miss our golden harvest!
Today is given us lost souls to win.
Oh then to save some dear ones from the burning.
Today we’ll go to bring some sinner in.

How many times I should have strongly pleaded;
How often did I feel to strictly warn.
The Spirit moved, oh had I pled for Jesus!
The grain is fallen, lost ones not reborn.

Chorus

Today we reap, or miss our golden harvest!
Today is given us lost souls to win.
Oh then to save some dear ones from the burning.
Today we’ll go to bring some sinner in.

Despite the heat, the ceaseless toil, the hardship,
The broken heart over those we cannot win;
Misunderstood, because we’re oft peculiar,
Still no regrets we’ll have but for our sin.

Chorus

Today we reap, or miss our golden harvest!
Today is given us lost souls to win.
Oh then to save some dear ones from the burning.
Today we’ll go to bring some sinner in.

A day of pleasure, or a feast of friendship,
A house or car or garments fair or fame,
Will all be trash, when souls are brought to Heaven,
And then how sad to face the slackers blame!

Chorus

Today we reap, or miss our golden harvest!
Today is given us lost souls to win.
Oh then to save some dear ones from the burning.
Today we’ll go to bring some sinner in.

The harvest white, with reapers few is wasting
And many souls will die and never know.
The love of Christ, the joy of sins forgiven.
Oh let us weep and love and pray and go!

Chorus

Today we reap, or miss our golden harvest!
Today is given us lost souls to win.
Oh then to save some dear ones from the burning.
Oh will you go and bring some sinner in?

*********

But if the watchman see the sword come,
and blow not the trumpet, and the people be not warned;
if the sword come, and take any person from among them,
he is taken away in his iniquity;
but his blood will I require at the watchman’s hand.

Ezekiel 33:6

Tangled Hair

Tangled Hair

Beth was sitting at an airport terminal, waiting to board a plane. She was sitting there with several other people who were also waiting, whom she did not know. As she waited, she pulled out her Bible and started reading.

All of a sudden she felt as if the people sitting there around her were looking at her. She looked up, but realized that they were looking just over her head, in the direction right behind her.

She turned around to see what everyone was looking at, and when she did, she saw a stewardess pushing a wheelchair, with the ugliest old man sitting in it, that she had ever seen before.

He had this long white hair that was all tangled and such a mess.

His face was really, really wrinkled and he didn’t look friendly at all.

She said she didn’t know why, but she felt drawn to the man, and thought at first that God wanted her to witness to him.

In her mind she said she was thinking, “Oh, God, please, not now, not here.” No matter what she did, she couldn’t get the man off of her mind, and all of a sudden she knew what God wanted her to do. She was supposed to brush this old man’s hair.

She went and knelt down in front of the old man, and said “Sir may I have the honor of brushing your hair for you?”  He said “What?”

She thought, “Oh great, he’s hard of hearing.” Again, a little louder, she said, “Sir may I have the honor of brushing you hair for you?”

He answered “If you are talking to me, you are going to have to speak up, I am practically deaf.”

So this time, she was almost yelling, “Sir may I please have the honor of brushing your hair for you?”

Everyone was watching to see what his response would be. The old man just looked at her confused and said, “I guess if you really want to.” She thought, “I don’t even have a brush, but I thought I would ask anyway.”

He said “Look in the bag hanging on the back of my chair, there is a brush in there.”

So she got the brush out and started brushing his hair. (She has a little girl with long hair, so she has had lots of practice getting tangles out, and knew how to be gentle with him.)

She worked for a long time, until every last tangle was out. Just as she was finishing up, she heard the old man crying, and she went and put her hands on his knees, kneeling in front of him again looking directly into his eyes, and said  “Sir, do you know Jesus?”

He answered, “Yes, of course I know Jesus. You see, my bride told me she couldn’t marry me unless I knew Jesus, so I learned all about Jesus and asked Him to come into my heart many years ago, before I married my bride.”

He continued, “You know, I am on my way home to go and see my wife. I have been in the hospital for a long time and had to have a special surgery in this town far from my home. My wife couldn’t come with me because she is so frail herself.”

He said, “I was so worried about how terrible my hair looked and I didn’t want her to see me looking so awful, but I couldn’t brush my hair, all by myself.” Tears were rolling down his cheeks, as he thanked Beth for brushing his hair. He thanked her over and over again.

She was crying, people all around witnessing this were crying, and as they were all boarding the plane, the stewardess, who was also crying stopped her and asked,  “Why did you do that?”

And right there was the opportunity, the door that had been opened to share with someone else, the love of God.

We don’t always understand God’s ways, but be ready. He may use us to meet the need of someone else, like He met the need of this old man, and in that moment, also calling out to a lost soul who needed to know about His love.

Beth Moore Apr 20, 2005 Knoxville Airport.

In God we trust,
Through Christ we Live,
in the World we Serve,
may the Blessings of the Lord be with you.

Author Unknown

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