As of tomorrow morning I am off to Mount Hermon California for their annual Christian Writer’s conference. Blogs might be sporatic over the next few days.

I just ask for pray and the inspration of God through this challenging and excieting experience. In no time you might see my name on the bookstore shelves

Blessings

Sandra felt as low as the heels of her shoes as she pushed against a November gust and the florist shop door. Her life had been easy, like a spring breeze. Then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a minor automobile accident stole her ease. During this Thanksgiving week she would have delivered a son. She grieved over her loss.

As if that weren’t enough, her husband’s company threatened a transfer. Then her sister, whose annual holiday visit she coveted, called saying she could not come.

What’s worse, Sandra’s friend infuriated her by suggesting her grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer. “She has no idea what I’m feeling,” thought Sandra with a shudder. “Thanksgiving? Thankful for what?” she wondered aloud. For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear-ended her? For an airbag that saved her life but took that of her child?

“Good afternoon, can I help you?” The shop clerk’s approach startled her.

“I…I need an arrangement, “stammered Sandra.

“For Thanksgiving?” “Do you want beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call the Thanksgiving Special?” asked the shop clerk. “I’m convinced that flowers tell stories,” she continued. “Are you looking for something that conveys ‘gratitude’ this Thanksgiving?”

“Not exactly!” Sandra blurted out. “In the last five months, every-thing that could go wrong has gone wrong.” Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the shop clerk said, “I have the perfect arrangement for you.”

Then the door’s small bell rang, and the shop clerk said, “Hi Barbara…let me get your order.” She politely excused herself and walked toward a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows and long-stemmed thorny roses. Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped–there were no flowers. “Want this in a box?” asked the clerk.

Sandra watched for the customer’s response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no flowers?! She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed.

“Yes, please,” Barbara replied with an appreciative smile. “You’d think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn’t be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again,” she said as she gently tapped her chest.

“Uhh,” stammered Sandra, “that lady just left with, uhh… she just left with no flowers!”

“Right. I cut off the flowers. That’s the Special… I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t tell me someone is willing to pay for that?” exclaimed Sandra.

“Barbara came into the shop three years ago feeling very much like you feel today,” explained the clerk. “She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, her son was into drugs, and she was facing major surgery.”

“That same year I had lost my husband, “continued the clerk,” and for the first time in my life, I had to spend the holidays alone. I had no children no husband, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow any travel.”

“So what did you do?” asked Sandra. “I learned to be thankful for thorns,” answered the clerk quietly. “I’ve always thanked God for good things in life and never thought to ask Him why those good things happened to me, but when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important. I always enjoyed the ‘flowers’ of life, but it took thorns to show me the beauty of God’s comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we’re afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others.”

Sandra sucked in her breath as she thought about the very thing her friend had tried to tell her. “I guess the truth is I don’t want comfort. I’ve lost a baby and I’m angry with God.”

Just then someone else walked in the shop. “Hey, Phil!” shouted the clerk to the balding, rotund man. “My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving arrangement… twelve thorny, long-stemmed stems!” laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue-wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator.

“Those are for your wife?” asked Sandra incredulously. “Do you mind me asking why she wants something that looks like that?”

“No…I’m glad you asked,” Phil replied. “Four years ago my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord’s grace and guidance, we slogged through problem after problem. He rescued our marriage. Jenny here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she learned from “thorny” times, and that was good enough for me. I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific “problem” and give thanks to Him for what that problem taught us.”

As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, “I highly recommend the Special!”

“I don’t know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life.” Sandra said to the clerk. “It’s all too… fresh.”

“Well,” the clerk replied carefully, “my experience has shown me that thorns make roses more precious. We treasure God’s providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love. Don’t resent the thorns.”

Tears rolled down Sandra’s cheeks. For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on resentment. “I’ll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please,” she managed to choke out.

“I hoped you would,” said the clerk gently. “I’ll have them ready in a minute.”

“Thank you. What do I owe you?” asked Sandra. “Nothing.” said the clerk. “Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year’s arrangement is always on me.” The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra. “I’ll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you’d like to read it first.”

It read: “Dear God, I have never thanked you for my thorns. I have thanked you a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to you along the path of pain. Show me that, through my tears, the colors of your rainbow look much more brilliant.”

– Author Unknown

Praise Him for your roses; thank him for your thorns!

The pastor entered his donkey in a race and it won. The pastor was so pleased with the donkey that he entered it in the race again, and it won again.

The local paper read: PASTOR’S ASS OUT FRONT

The Bishop was so up set with this kind of publicity that he ordered the pastor not to enter the donkey in another race.

The next day, the local paper headline read: BISHOP SCRATCHES PASTOR’S ASS.

This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the pastor to get rid of the donkey. The pastor decided to give it to a nun in a nearby convent.

The local paper, hearing of the news, posted the following headline the next day: NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN.

The bishop fainted. He informed the nun that she would have to get rid of the donkey, so she sold it to a farmer for $10.

The next day the paper read: NUN SELLS ASS FOR $10

This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the nun to buy back the donkey and lead it to the plains where it could run wild.

The next day the headlines read: NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE

The bishop was buried the next day.

The moral of the story is….being concerned about public opinion can bring you much grief and misery…and even shorten your life. So be yourself and enjoy life… Stop worrying about everyone else’s ass and you’ll be a lot happier and live longer

Notes on a sermon by Greg Matte 8-13-06

If creation is removed accountability is removed. (Romans 1:20-30)
-as long as God is creator and we are the created we are accountable to God, so if creation is removed Man is in control and accountable to no one because of our “human” standards.
- Creator removed, Deceiver Received
Ex) Advocated for the environment and saving the earth are often the greatest advocates for abortion.

The greatness of God has no equal in the universe OR our lives (Proverbs 21:1)
-N.A.S.A. estimates 10 to the 12th number of stars in the sky and God places each and knows their names.

We respond to the greatness of God is creation with awe and comfort

God is not too great to care; He is too great to fail (Isaiah 40:27-31)
-reputation is built in a moment steaming from character which is built in a lifetime of action and words
-true greatness is not being aloof, but being connected. (Check out the awesome definition for greatness in Webster’s dictionary) WOW!

God never grows tired and He understand the depths
-Kinds of Tired:
*Physical
*Fed up with (anger)
* Tired in the journey (discouragement)

Lack of deep understanding is the root of our weariness
-God never tires because he always understands
-We need to surrender the end of the story

God is Generous and reviving
-The past is safe cause we know we made it threw

God is Trustworthy
-due to the hope that comes to renew us to soar with God, run beside him and be strong in our walk.

AN EMAIL FORWARD I RECIEVED

The other day, someone at a store in our town read that a methamphetamine lab had been found in an old farmhouse in the adjoining county and he asked me a rhetorical question, ”Why didn’t we have a drug problem when you and I were growing up?”

I replied: I had a drug problem when I was young:
I was drug to church on Sunday morning. I was drug to church for weddingsand funerals.

I was drug to family reunions and community socials no matter the weather.I was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful to adults.

I was also drug to the woodshed when I disobeyed my parents, told a lie, brought home a bad report card, did not speak with respect, spoke ill ofthe teacher or the preacher, or if I didn’t put forth my best effort ineverything that was asked of me.

I was drug to the kitchen sink to have my mouth washed out with soap if I uttered a profane four-letter word.

I was drug out to pull weeds in mom’s garden and flower beds and cocklebursout of dad’s fields. I was drug to the homes of family, friends, and neighbors to help outsome poor soul who had no one to mow the yard, repair the clothesline, orchop some firewood; and, if my mother had ever known that I took a single dime as a tip for this kindness, she would have drug me back to the woodshed.

Those drugs are still in my veins; and they affect my behavior ineverything I do, say, and think. They are stronger than cocaine, crack, orheroin; and, if today’s children had this kind of drug problem, North America would be a better place.

The sweet taste of Minerva’s lips still lingered. Constantine pressed his horse faster. He shook away the tears rising in his chest and looked ahead; the long road to Bononia and his father. Constantine had not seen his father since his parent’s divorce, when he was sent to Nicomedia. The very place he was running from.

When the blue shades of dusk turned to the blackness of night Constantine slowed his mount. He held his right arm close to his chest with the linen bandages showed his crimson wounds. The pain blurred his thoughts and exhaustion crept over his eyes. He needed to change horses at the first post before resting. He tapped the ribs of his mount to move faster. Come morning Galerius’ would seek to capture him again. Urgency filled his mind. He couldn’t return to the courts of Nicomedia. His skills had caused jealousy and rumors to flood the courts, which landed him in the sandy pits of Galerius’ courtyard. He fought day and night for his life even though he was the son of an Augustus.

His head dipped as exhaustion once again attempted to slow his progress. The firelight of the first post wasn’t even in view. Why does sleep wish to claim me? Please Jupiter give me safety. Constantine prayed as his body fell to the ground in sleep.

“Hosius please slow our pace,” a woman’s voice pleaded in the torch light of a caravan.

“We must press on Minerva.”

“My son and I can not handle much more of this wagon,” Minerva said holding tight to her nine year old’s aching body.

“Let him ride with me,” a raspy voice whispered in the dark.

“No, Ralius.”

“He can ride with me for a while then,” Hosius offered slowing his mount along side the luscious wagon. Minerva gave her lover’s good friend a calculating gaze. There was something about Hosius that she didn’t trust any more. Mainly it was the presence of Ralius, a stranger to her, but one that had a firm hand on Hosius’ mind.

“When is the first rest post?” Minerva held her son closer at the offer of Hosius’ hand.

“Not for many miles.”

“Why didn’t we travel with Constantine?” She asked trying to shake the worry that surrounded her heart.

“He needed to escape quickly to his father. Galerius will be seeking him by morning light.”

“You are sure of this?”

“Minerva, you know how Galerius sought Constantine’s death. This is his chance to be free of the Augustus’ dangerous fancies.”

“But we’ve not been apart since his son’s birth.” Tears rose in her eyes as she looked at Crispus. Thick brown hair surrounded his head, and the traits of his father’s dimpled chin and chiseled face made her ache for Constantine even more.

“Drepanum will be a good place for the both of you. Constantine’s mother has asked Lactantius to tutor Crispus until you can join him in Gaul. He is a great mind.” Minerva sighed and stroked Crispus’ hair. She could feel both Hosius and Ralius watching her, but the only man’s eyes she wanted to see were Constantine’s.

“Lactantius will be a good man for you too, Hosius,” Ralius said once he and Hosius had pulled their horses away from Minerva’s wagon.

“How do you mean?”

“You will rise to bishop with his support. My master has great things for you in such a position.”

“My faith abounds with you near.”

“Every servant of my master will know a prosperous life.” A grin slithered across Ralius’ face as Hosius held claim to his words.

It was not long after midnight when the fires of the rest post came into view. Minerva held tight to Crispus resting in one cot, as the servants of Constantine’s house ate heartedly before succumbing to sleep.

“I will take first watch, Hosius.” Ralius stood away from the light watching everyone find their place.

“You must sleep, my friend.”

“My master does not require us to sleep.”

“I suppose the agents of God do not need rest.”

“I suppose not,” Ralius whispered.

Hosius sighed once inside the tents. They had done it. Years of planning finally allowed dear Constantine to be free of the whims of Galerius. A smile stretched across Hosius’ face at his success. He was responsible for Minerva being halfway to Drepanum, and tomorrow Constantine’s mother would be thanking him for her family’s safe travel. But as he sat on his cot his heart felt hollow. There not ten feet away was a beautiful woman, and a regal son. Why Constantine had never married Minerva confused him greatly. Tinges of jealousy rose in his chest. He wanted a family like Constantine’s; a loving woman, a gracious son, a powerful father and a religious mother. All things he had lacked. But God had called him to His service. Hardly a substitute, he mumbled with his head sinking into a lush pillow.

An unseasonable chill hung in the night, and come morning a fog seemed to hinder each breath.

“Momma, where are we going?” Minerva sighed trying to be rid of her anxious heart.

“We are going to stay with your grandmother,” Minerva said joining Crispus in the wagon.

“Why?”

“Because our old home is not safe for us any more.”

“Where is father to protect us?”

“He needed to run far away, but he did write a letter for you.” Minerva turned to her bundle and pulled out a scroll. Minerva’s fingers traced over her lover’s seal knowing the devotion placed in each word to her son. Crispus pulled the scroll from her hand longing to be near his father. She watched him read over each word several times before turning to her with a smile.

“He will send for us when it is safe,” Crispus said with a childish smile.

“Till then you will need to study hard to help him and your grandfather rule the northern countries.”

“Yes, that is true.” Crispus was encouraged by his father’s words. Minerva wished to see what Constantine had written, but she knew the pride of men was not for her eyes.

“Morning,” Ralius said riding next to the wagon just inches from Crispus. Minerva’s skin cringed at the ominous look she received from Ralius.

“Good morning,” Crispus greeted unaware of the racing of his mother’s heart.

“Would you care to ride a war horse, son?” Minerva’s voice caught in her throat at the question.

“Yes, please.” In one swoop Ralius pulled Crispus from the wagon into the saddle of his massive horse.

“Please…” Minerva started to dispute but Ralius had spurred his horse away from her.

“You shouldn’t worry about Ralius as you do,” Hosius said riding along side the wagon.

“Why do you give him so much trust?” Minerva’s eyes tried to keep track of her son in the early morning mist.

“He is an agent of my faith, Minerva. There is nothing to fear from him.”

“There is something about him that has me holding firm to my fear, Hosius.”

“He is with us as a manifestation of God’s protection.”

“If that is so I don’t know that I want your God’s help.” A chill ran down Minerva’s spine at the thought of Ralius as an agent of Hosius’ god.