ithirstnw - Inspirational Stories

INSPIRATIONAL STORIES 1.  A Recipe for Happiness by Laura Swindon-Ross 2.  A Stranger In Heaven by Jim Barringer 3.  God and Grandchildren by Jerry Ousley 4.  Not A Day for Girl's Plumbing by Marijo Phelps 5.  Why We Love Them So! by Laura Swindon-Ross THE ART OF WRITING 1.Read Less, Listen More by Annie Glasel

Colors of Summer

A Stranger In Heaven by Jim Barringer I stood nervously in front of a throne so huge I almost couldn't see the top of it. White light poured out, so bright that I felt like it was shining right through me, my skin pale and ethereal in comparison. I couldn't even look at the throne, and it's probably a good thing I didn't, because I was so anxious that I had to keep my head down or I felt like I'd throw up. "Do you know what it takes to get eternal life, Mr. Barringer?" The voice from the throne didn't boom, the way I'd always thought it would; it just was, it was everywhere at once, like I was feeling it with my whole being and not only my ears. "Well - sure, I mean, I did the best I could with the life you gave me, right? I was a pretty good person. Okay, maybe not the best, but I was better than a lot of people I know." "I'm sorry," the voice throbbed. "You know better than that. You heard your whole life that the wages of sin is death. The only way to get eternal life is to be free from sin. Not just good, Mr. Barringer, but perfect, and the only way to do that is by placing your faith in my Son so that I can forgive your sins. My justice requires that I send you to -" "Wait!" I shouted. "Give me a chance. Just let me into heaven and I'll show you I deserve it. You bargain with people, right? There was that time in the Bible you gambled with what's his face, Abraham, right?" There was a long silence, and then a rhythmic thudding that I belatedly realized was laughter. "You should know one thing. Heaven will be full of perfect people. Not only will it be very uncomfortable for you, I have to warn you: if your errors begin to make heaven imperfect, I'm going to boot you out so fast your hind end will be aching for ten thousand years." "Deal!" I announced, perhaps a little too eagerly. "Let's do this thing." Two angels came and took me by the arms, escorting me past the throne. I was still in disbelief that my gamble had worked. We emerged from some kind of cloud into a city, so vast that my eyes couldn't take it all in, walking down gleaming roads under a sky so blue it made my eyes hurt. I tugged my left arm out of that angel's grasp and shielded my face as we strode down wide avenues, past vast buildings packed full of people laughing and enjoying themselves. "Is one of these mine?" I asked, vaguely remembering something about a mansion in heaven being prepared for believers. "Somewhat," answered one of the angels, as we kept walking to the outskirts of town, to a tiny shack that butted up against the city wall. "This is yours." "Er...it's not what I thought it would be." "Why should you get the same reward as the ones who lived their whole lives for Jesus - or sacrificed their lives?" the angel asked pointedly, staring at me. I looked quickly away from his eyes. The two angels shrugged at each other and began to walk away, and I could hear them muttering: "No one's ever been ungrateful for his mansion before. Such selfishness! What was the Father up to, letting this one in here?" Mansion? I didn't know what they were talking about. This place was barely a doghouse; I doubted there was even enough room to lay down in there. I watched some people walking past, chuckling and plainly enjoying each other's company. I expected them to look at my pathetic house, anticipated some judgmental look. They looked at me - but merely smiled, as if happy to see me. There was no trace of judgment in their eyes, which somehow annoyed me even worse than if they had disapproved. Finally I saw one woman walking alone, toward a house bigger than mine down the avenue a bit. I had a brilliant idea: maybe someone would trade with me. These Christians were supposed to be kind and giving, after all. Perhaps I could milk that generosity and get ahead in the housing game. The woman heard me walking up behind her, and turned, smiling broadly at me. "He is risen, my friend! Worthy is the Lamb!" "Uh, yeah, that. Listen, I'm new here, and I was just wondering if you wanted to trade me houses. I live in that one over there." I pointed toward the doghouse. "I think that's a lovely house, friend. I'd love to trade you, but this is the house that Jesus prepared for me. I can't choose to give it away." "Come on," I pleaded. "Just for one night." There was a flicker of something across her face, something I hadn't seen yet on my walk through the city: maybe it was stress. Before another word left my mouth, those two angels showed up out of nowhere. One grabbed me by the shoulder and began to push me in the other direction; the other put his arm around the woman and began to whisper comforting words to her. "Stop it," the first angel told me. "Don't bring that selfish desire here. You will be content with what the Lord has given you. Do you understand me?" Feeling as if I was back in first grade, I nodded mutely. "You'd know that already if you'd gotten here the right way," the angel chided. "Everyone who comes here is conformed to the image of Christ. They know what it means to be joyful and peaceful. Your self-absorption is not welcome here." He took my chin and lifted it so that I was forced to look into his eyes. "This is your only warning." Whoa. These guys took this whole heaven thing seriously. Before I knew it, the angels were gone, and the woman waved brightly to me as if nothing had happened between us. I waved back, faking a smile, and trudged back toward my shack. Okay, maybe I had badly misjudged. I was trying to milk the system, and that was a bad move. Perhaps I should just lay low at first, get a feel for the place. No sense getting myself known for all the wrong reasons this early in the game. Just as I arrived at my door, my next-door neighbor showed up holding a shovel in his hand. "Hey there, friend! I see you haven't started working your land yet. Want me to give you a hand?" I frowned at the patch of dirt next to my building. "I don't get it." "Oh, you must be very new here. God gave us each a small patch of land to work as an act of worship. But it won't be like farming on earth; we won't have to fight against the land anymore. God will make things grow huge and fast. It's just part of the way we glorify him." "I still don't follow," I said, pretending that I was wiping some wax out of my ear. "Did you say we work? In heaven?" "Sure, friend! We're here to glorify God and enjoy him forever. And I told you, working the land that God gives us is one way we do that. What, did you think that we were going to lounge around forever, all of our needs attended to, with no real purpose to existence?" I mumbled something and turned away. This was too much. I hadn't banked on manual labor when I talked my way in here. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I thought I saw a certain angel glowering at me, and nonchalantly grabbed the shovel that my neighbor had left leaning against my shack. With a grunt, I jammed it into the dirt, which dutifully parted beneath the blade. This sucked. I started shoveling lines, mind numb with boredom, till I felt something walk up behind me. "You don't enjoy it, do you," chided that pesky angel. I stared him down, not sure whether to argue or lie. Lying in this place was probably a bad idea. "No," I told him, jamming the shovel in the ground. "It's tedious." "That's only because you don't understand worship," the angel answered, gently running his finger along the shovel. "If you knew what it meant to worship God, you'd be able to take unimaginable joy in even this mundane act of work. You'd see it as a beautiful sacrifice to a God who delights in it. Since you're missing that particular piece of the puzzle, you're doomed. You can only ever see it as drudgery." "So basically, I'm stuck doing this thing forever, and unable to find pleasure in it. Sounds an awful lot like..." I left the thought unfinished. The angel smirked. "For you, it might well be. Come on, though. It's time for the gathering." He wrapped strong hands around my shoulders and suddenly we were airborne, tearing through the sky so fast that I couldn't even let loose a terrified scream. Through the alleys and between the buildings we blasted, finally emerging into a giant lawn, with a river running through the middle, lit by unimaginably bright light coming from that throne I'd seen earlier. Around me were thousands - no, millions - no, maybe even billions - of people, all leaping and dancing and singing toward the throne, lost in bliss. People were surging onto the lawn from every direction, a giant mass of humanity, and the songs that caught my ear contained words and languages I recognized and others I'd never heard before. It should have all blurred together into a meaningless cacophony, but there was an otherworldly beauty in it, a harmony in diversity the likes of which I'd never heard. "This is kind of cool," I told the angel. "I like music." "Every seventh day here we come to worship the King," he replied, bobbing his head to the music. "The whole day is dedicated to worship in song and prayer." "The...whole day?" "All of it." He looked down at me and I swear he winked. "Enjoy it. I'll be back." Enjoy it I did, for the first hour, but then boredom started to set in. I didn't recognize the songs and I didn't know how anyone could just sing about God for any length of time. Some people around me were on their knees, speaking to the throne directly, as if that distant King could hear us. Others were excitedly telling the others around them all about who they'd been on earth and what terrible things God had saved them from. A few people approached me to hear my story, but I didn't have one. I pretended I was praying and they left me alone. Before long I glanced around and stealthily began to make my way back toward the perimeter of the lawn. That angel was waiting for me, leaning his shoulder on a building. "Taking a bathroom break?" He didn't wait for me to answer. "It's a joke, you see. The glorified body doesn't produce waste." I didn't know what to say; he'd caught me sneaking out. He shrugged. "You just plain don't get it. This place will never be heaven to you." "It's heaven, period, right? It beats the alternative, right?" "Does it?" he asked. "Working the land bores you. The gathering bores you. You're jealous of your neighbors because you still have the old selfishness. Heaven is perfect - you're not. You simply can't be here. And honestly, if you aren't a hundred percent sold out for God, if worshiping him isn't the most important thing in the universe to you, you're going to be excruciatingly bored here for eternity. This place, this heaven, will be your hell." "I'll take my chances! It beats the alternative!" "I'm afraid I don't have a choice," he said gently, and somehow I detected that there was real compassion, real pity, in his voice. "You can't stay here. It's not for you." Suddenly I found myself whipping, spinning, out beyond the light and into the outer darkness, as a different kind of light began to glow on the horizon. Jim Barringer is a 26-year-old writer, musician, and teacher serving at The Church of Life (.com) in Orlando, FL. More of his work can be found at facebook.com/jmbarringer and ExtantMagazine.com.  This work may be reprinted for any purpose so long as this bio and statement of copyright is included. Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com God and Grandchildren by Jerry Ousley   Two years ago we joined the ranks of Grandparentdom.  We were excited and filled with anticipation.  Deb was in the room with our daughter, Megan as she prepared to give birth.  I had been privileged to witness the birth of both our children but now it was my turn to play the role of the guy pacing in the waiting room.  I fulfilled that role well.  Knowing fully that our daughter was in God's hands and that He would take care of her, I still worried.  Would she pull through okay?  Would our new granddaughter be healthy or would there be complications?  The only way I'd know was if someone would come out and tell me. Everything went smoothly and folks I don't normally consider myself a biased individual but I want to tell you that she is the prettiest little thing I ever laid my eyes on.  She's perfect in every way.  My little granddaughter and I have formed a relationship.  I don't know yet if she really likes me or thinks I simply live to act silly, make funny noises and entertain her.  But if she does I'll be happy to fulfill that role.  Grandchildren are a great blessing from God.  I hope our granddaughter comes to feel like grandmas and grandpas are a great blessing from God too.  I can tell you from experience with my own grandparents that they are.  They were fun to be with, were the most spiritual people I had ever known and I just loved visiting them.  They knew how to make a young boy feel special and I loved them dearly.  I remember the only fight I ever witnessed them having.  We had returned from an orchard where they had bought several gallons of cherries.  At that time the church where my grandpa pastored made and sold homemade cherry pies to help raise money.  I also loved cherries.  Grandma had fixed me a big bowl and I was eating away.  That's when the argument began.  I have no idea what it was over; I just knew that I had never heard them talk to each other that loudly.  Folks to be honest with you I was scared.  They fussed on and on and the more they fussed the more nervous my stomach began to feel.  The short of it was that I got rid of that big bowl of cherries about the time they walked back into the kitchen.  Immediately the fight was over as they began to clean me up.  I don't know if I just ate too many cherries or if it was because of their fight but whichever it was that was the end of that.     I believe that God loves grandchildren dearly.  But I also have to tell you that He has none of His own.  All God has is children.  We need to understand that.  There are many today who feel that they are okay with God because their parents were good Christian people.  For some reason, because they may have been raised up in a Christian home they have the feeling that they are somehow okay with God.  But God has no grandchildren.  Each of us must be born into the Kingdom of God individually, one by one, and for ourselves.  In Ezekiel 18:19-20 we see God reversing an age old tradition.  Because the people of the Mid-East were so dedicated to family and friends, if the father sinned or committed a crime the entire family was punished.  At times this punishment was carried all the way to the third or fourth generation.  It was partially because the relatives of the father would wait for the best time to get vengeance.  It might be tomorrow, a year from now or ten years from now but they held grudges and did not forget. Through the Prophet Ezekiel, God told the people that the father and the son would each be accountable for their own righteousness, and their own sin.  They were not to be punished because of what the other did. It is the same today.  The faith of our fathers, as strong as it was, cannot save us.  We are responsible for our relationship with God for ourselves.  There is only one generation under God:  His children.  It has been a very long standing generation but we are still part of the original one.  I am only saved because I went to God through Jesus Christ for myself. So what are you basing your relationship with God on?  Are you relying on the faith of your parents?  Or have you had your own personal encounter with God?  Remember, God loves the grandchildren of others, but He has none Himself. Jerry D. Ousley is the Author of five books, "Soul Challenge", "Soul Journey" "Ordeal" "The Spirit Bread Daily Devotional" and his first novel "The Shoe Tree."  Listen to the daily broadcast Spirit Bread.  Find out more by visiting www.spiritbread.com or email us at jousley@verizon.net Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com

Not A Day for Girl's Plumbing by Marijo Phelps It was Saturday, the day we almost always go for a hike no matter what season of the year it is. We drove to a spot we had hiked before over the dirt roads out to the middle of NO WHERE, parked the truck, got on layers and layers of green sweatshirts, balaclavas, gloves, walking sticks, packs. We slammed the doors to the very muddy truck and took off. Much of the snow had melted, the winds were busy evaporating off the rest. Yes, it was windy. From my sailing says I would call these gale force winds. Not winds where you'd reef the jib, winds where you'd stay in the club house and have your picnic there if you were smart. But we were now in Colorado and my husband's life motto was "there is no bad weather, only bad clothes". We looked ahead, there was a herd of about 60 "girls". The cow elk were very pregnant and soon it would be baby birthing season. They looked pretty dramatic on the top of the hill standing tall against the backdrop of brilliant blue skies, their darker chocolate neck and chest contrasting with their lighter bodies. I made a couple of "cow calls" which made them stop to look before going back the way they had come. Those frigid winds were blowing our scent directly to the ladies, and they were smart and left, after I snapped their photo. Boy the winds were fierce but they were blowing us along and actually helping our hike. We figured by the time we came back they would have slowed down and we weren't too concerned. Somewhere in there I noticed Mick was relieving himself and I was thinking, I can wait, it is way too cold to drop and squat. I really am not that desperate. We were headed to a wonderful rock outcropping that had several caves in it. Last time we were here there was way more snow than we expected and out feet were wet as we sloshed through the snowy fields towards the rocks. There was no wind that day either. Man, that wind was so cold that I put my hand up to shield my eyes from the freeze on the windward eye. I had visions of my eyeball freezing and was thinking about the marbles we'd played with as kids. By now Mick had relieved himself about 5 times and I was still mentally crossing my legs. "Honey, this rock is big enough so you might have shelter if you need to go." "Nah, just the thought of squatting and turning my cheeks into ice blocks is enough to convince me I can wait a little longer." I was between those rocks and they were acting like a funnel for that wind. This was a first for me but I really could and would wait a bit longer. "Hey, you brought your book didn't you? I think I am going to explore those caves." "Watch out for mama bear, 'tis the season and she probably wouldn't be very happy to see you with the cubs she has." "Yah, I will look for footprints before I stick my nose in any cave." I was wondering what good that would do if she hadn't "un-hybernated" yet, but didn't say anything. I sat on the rocks trying to turn a way that the wind wasn't hitting me. The best it got was freezing my knees, yep, my crossed knees. The rest of me was fairly out of the wind in this position. I could read my book but it might end up in Kansas really fast so I shut my eyes and rested. Not sure how long it had been but I decided to get up and see if I could spot my hubby. I walked a bit away from the "sheltering" rocks. Yes, they had helped because out in the open it was totally bitterly cold. The wind had actually picked up rather than settling down. I saw Mick blowing towards me. "Hey, maybe I will not go to the plateau today but we could go over that way and head back to the truck" His arm sweeping in the direction he was indicating. We hike every week and some of the sweetest words I ever hear coming out of Mick's mouth are "back to the truck".  This particular hike was a 5 miler and with those winds we shouldn't have been out at all. I am a pretty good sport but there are limits. I couldn't believe it, there he was peeing again, my Mick, who is usually like a cactus. DRY. About then I was "wishing and hoping and thinking and praying" trying to figure out how I could keep my legs crossed the 2.5 miles back to the truck. He pointed me in the shorter direction and he went a bit different route to "explore". I got to a place where there was some snow cover. Not much, just enough so that when you broke through it threw you off. Then I broke through up to my knees. Yes, I know the tricks about looking for the areas with weeds sticking up because it wasn't so deep and I was doing that. Never mind that it wasn't always possible. I was staggering, blowing and trying to hold my hand up on the windward side which means holding the hiking stick in the left hand. Next thing I know I am on my knees. It was seeming like a good place to stay for a time until I realized they'd get wet and then be even colder. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Mick "Are you OK? You were staggering and stumbling all over the place back there? Maybe you could pee down in the valley of this hill? Boy, my legs hurt and I'm tired, how about you?" We have been married close to 25 years and maybe I have heard him say he was tired once before this. Now I don't feel so bad about feeling so bad. Maybe that was his intent. "We're getting closer to the truck, Jo." I hope so, would die if we were getting farther away. He is the one with the built in direction finder. I never got one, was probably in the bathroom when they were being passed out..oh, no, he was relieving himself AGAIN. "I have never seen you pee so much on a hike, what's up?" "Must have been all that coffee." I will let you fill in the blanks as to what I was thinking but about that time I caught sight of the truck. It was tiny but at least I could see it. We were coming back a different way but there was hope! Food was there and I could finally take care of business knowing we could turn the heater on and get thawed out. It was after 2PM and we hadn't taken any cheese sticks in our packs and breakfast had been a long ways back. Growl. I was thankful my tummy was the only growling I heard, could have been mama bear. In climbing that very last fence a terrible thought occurred to me, what if it wasn't our truck? Tomorrow is Easter and I will be safely in church while Mick is out hiking again.  (C) Marijo Phelps all rights reserved Marijo was saved by His grace in 1974, from 9 years of professing atheism into His loving arms. RN for 23 years, missionary with YWAM then statistical analyst for Every Home for Christ over 9 years. Living with my husband in the middle of a mountain meadow. GRIN! Wanting to spread the good news Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com

Read Less, Listen More by Annie Glasel I love to read.  Since becoming a wife and a mother (in that order), reading has become a luxury and not a habit.  And I confess, reading for me, unlike Bible study, is more a pass time, something to do when I want to relax or just let my mind process frivolous information for a bit.  Recently, I find that the more I read, the dumber I feel.  (Of course, the reading material does have a lot to do with it.) However, I also find that of late, my best writing ideas are downloaded from God when I sit in church and LISTEN to what's being preached.  I find also that whenever the radio is broadcasting good preaching or inspiration songs, my mind is typing out little articles. It occurs to me just today that the first 5 books of the Bible cover so much more material with so much less words than all the other 61 books combined. If my recollection serves me correctly, until Moses (the author assigned to having written those five books), these stories have been passed down through oral traditions. I wonder if Moses got to write down these stories because he was a good listener?  Surely thousands of other children of God have heard the same stories.  I wonder also if Moses got to receive the 10 commandments because he was a better listener? Writing is a discipline.  But when we write for God, it is an act of obedience.  It is a walk of faith.  I believe that if we do more listening and less reading of what other people thinks, imagines or have heard from God, we will hear more clearly the messages that God has appointed for us to transmit though our gifts as writers. I've written to ease my pain; I've written to hear my voice; I've written for vanity; I've written for sanity; I've written for fun; I've written for laughs; I've written for me; I've written for money. But until I write for God, this talent is for naught. Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com