HeavenlySanctuary.com Latest Stories

China's Plight

Tue, 13 May 2008 18:41:00 -0700

A Hs.com friend who has family in China has recently responded in regards to the recent earthquake disaster:

"There are times when we are faced with certain disasters, even our maturing image of God could be shaken a bit, and whether we will remain to love God, depends on whether we still believe God is good, despite our feeling. An earthquake of Richter 7.8 may only appear to be a number; and the buildings collapsed are certainly a terrible scene to look at; sometimes, even the number of casualties and the number of those killed in the earthquake could become merely a statistic, if our hearts are desensitized enough.

When there are no more tears to shed, and the vocal cords are too tired to let out one more cry, what is left, is only a silent groan, heavy, because it bears all the pain of losing their precious beloved. We know we are in a war zone, and despite all the unspeakable pains caused by the horrendous disasters, God is infinitely good. Yet, will those who have lost their children, parents, spouse have the energy to hear such explanations and to reason it out? Their beloved is gone, that is what they know. Our compassion is a good thing, but it often brings us distress, because we suffer when we see even strangers suffer and we would want to turn away our eyes from those tragedies--it's too much." The author is right, despite natural disasters,God is infinitely good. What we see transpiring be it fires, flood or earthquake -is not by God's punishing hand but rather the distinctive trademarks of a fallen world. "Indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you-the Lord is your shade at you right hand. " Psalm 121:4,5

No Strings Attached

Tue, 06 May 2008 17:02:00 -0700

Lori had planned a birthday party for her brother. She invited her parents and siblings. Her brother was traveling from another state and would arrive later than everyone else. As Lori and her sister Kelli decorated for the party, they began to argue. The issue was silly in retrospect, but at the time it got heated. As they raised their voices, their father entered the fray, taking the side of Lori's sister.

Through the years, Lori's father had often controlled them with physical punishment. Lori had grown up afraid of his anger. Now that she was an adult living on her own, her father still seemed threatening whenever he got angry and raised his voice. This day he also raised his hand as if to strike her. He didn't touch her, but it didn't matter. As thirty years of pent up resentment welled up inside of her, Lori went into survival mode...

She told her father to get out of her house. She made her point clear with some expletives--something she had never done before. Her father immediately went to his car and told her mother to get their stuff. Her mother shook her head when Lori tried to say how she felt. Her mother was sad, her sister was sad, her father was sad. Lori suddenly realized that her brother would be coming to his birthday party and their parents would be absent. Lori swallowed her pride for the sake of her brother. She went out to the driveway and knelt beside her father's car. Apologizing, she begged him to stay for her brother's sake. There was no response. Her father just stared straight ahead out the windshield. He didn't even acknowledge her words. Her mother got into the car and they drove away. Lori was devastated! Later, when her brother arrived it was a sad party without their parents. Lori did not hear from her parents for four months.

One day she decided to call her dad. She said, "I just wanted you to know I love you!" She could hear her father's emotions on the other end of the line. She knew he loved her. He then said something that she really needed to hear. "I am sorry for every time I yelled at you or hit you." Lori and her father forgave each other. Although Lori and her father were speaking again, this incident had reinforced an image in her mind of her heavenly Father. She often imagined God just staring straight ahead when she apologized for her sins. This lead to her begging and bargaining with God. Then one day Lori heard a preacher say that our heavenly Father is just like Jesus. If this was true, she thought,
God's forgiveness must be identical to the way Jesus forgave people.

She searched through her Bible. Story after story with lame men, lepers, demoniacs, Mary, Peter, the thief on the cross--all experienced God's forgiveness! The truest example of God's forgiveness was while Jesus was dying on the cross. Although He was suffering in agony He prayed for the forgiveness of those who were hurting Him. Jesus could have left immediately, He could have called the angels and gone back to heaven, but instead He cried out to His Father, "Forgive them, for they know not what they do!" Did Jesus ask this because His Father was angry? No, the Bible says "God so loved the world that He gave His only Son." God was not dying to appease God!

The word apheimi that Jesus used here means to remove the guilt from the psyche of the offender. Jesus had no ill feelings toward His murderers, He simply asked His Father to remove the guilt from their psyche. In His darkest hour, Jesus had no self-righteous indignation. He didn't even ask for an apology.

He simply forgave us.

www.MyFatherInHeavenIsPerfect.com

Home Run Character

Wed, 30 Apr 2008 15:42:00 -0700

What do God's principles of kindness and graciousness look like? Do we witness them in our home and workplace? How about on the playground or grocery store? One of the last places we might expect to see them is on an athletic field where competition and rivarly reign but that's exactly where they popped up just recently. The following story shows how true character can shine in unlikely places:

Gary Frederick thought he had seen everything in 40 years at Central Washington University. He'd coached baseball and women's basketball for 11 years, been an assistant on the football team for 17 and athletic director for 18.Last weekend, he learned he was wrong.In the top of the second inning as his Wildcats played host to Western Oregon University in Ellensburg, Wash., something happened that spoke to the beauty of athletics. It came in the form of a home run that no one in attendance will forget."Never in my life had I seen anything like it," said Frederick, 70, in his 14th season as softball coach."It was just unbelievable." ...

Central entered Saturday's doubleheader one game behind Western Oregon in the Great Northwest Athletic Conference race. At stake was a bid to the NCAA's Division II playoffs. Western won the first game 8-1, extending its winning streak to 10 games. Central desperately needed the second game to keep its postseason hopes alive.

Western Oregon's 5-foot-2-inch right fielder came up to bat with two runners on base in the second inning. Sara Tucholsky's game was off to a rough start. A group of about eight guys sitting behind the right field fence had been heckling her. "They were giving me a pretty hard time," said Tucholsky, a Forest Grove High School graduate. "They were just being boys, trying to get in my head."

At the plate, Tucholsky concentrated on ignoring the wise guys. She took strike one. And then the senior did something she had never done before -- even in batting practice. The career .153 hitter smashed the next pitch over the center field fence for an apparent three-run home run. The exuberant former high school point guard sprinted to first. As she reached the bag, she looked up to watch the ball clear the fence and missed first base. Six feet past the bag, she stopped abruptly to return and touch it. But something gave in her right knee; she collapsed on the base path.

"I was in a lot of pain," she told The Oregonian on Tuesday. "Our first-base coach was telling me I had to crawl back to first base. 'I can't touch you,' she said, 'or you'll be out. I can't help you.' Tucholsky, to the horror of teammates and spectators, crawled through the dirt and the pain back to first. Western coach Pam Knox rushed onto the field and talked to the umpires near the pitcher's mound. The umpires said Knox could place a substitute runner at first. Tucholsky would be credited with a single and two RBIs, but her home run would be erased.

"The umpires said a player cannot be assisted by their team around the bases," Knox said. "But it is her only home run in four years. She is going to kill me if we sub and take it away. But at same time I was concerned for her. I didn't know what to do. . . . "That is when Mallory stepped in." Mallory Holtman is the greatest softball player in Central Washington history. Normally when the conference's all-time home run leader steps up to the plate, Pam Knox and other conference coaches grimace. But on senior day, the first baseman volunteered a simple, selfless solution to her opponents' dilemma: What if the Central Washington players carried Tucholsky around the bases?

The umpires said nothing in the rule book precluded help from the opposition. Holtman asked her teammate junior shortstop and honors program student Liz Wallace of Florence, Mont., to lend a hand. The teammates walked over and picked up Tucholsky and resumed the home-run walk, pausing at each base to allow Tucholsky to touch the bag with her uninjured leg. "We started laughing when we touched second base," Holtman said. "I said, 'I wonder what this must look like to other people.' " Holtman got her answer when they arrived at home plate. She looked up and saw the entire Western Oregon team in tears. "My whole team was crying," Tucholsky said. "Everybody in the stands was crying. My coach was crying. It touched a lot of people." Even the hecklers in right field quieted for a half-inning before resuming their tirade at the outfielder who replaced Tucholsky.

Western Oregon won the game 4-2 and extinguished Central Washington's playoff hopes. Afterward, Central coach Frederick said he received a clarification from the umpiring supervisor, who said NCAA rules allow a substitute to run for a player who is injured after a home run. The clarification, however, could not diminish he glory of Holtman's and Wallace's gesture. Holtman downplayed her role, which her coach said is typical of the White Salmon, Wash. native. "In the end, it is not about winning and losing so much," Holtman said. "It was about this girl. She hit it over the fence and was in pain and she deserved a home run. . . ."

"This is a huge experience I will take away. We are not going to remember if we won or lost, we are going to remember this kind of stuff that shows the character of our team. It is the best group of girls I've played with. I came up with the idea, but any girl on the team would have done it."

Tucholsky went to the doctor Tuesday. Her knee was still swollen; her trainer suspects she tore her anterior cruciate ligament. She will be in the dugout this weekend when Western Oregon attempts to cement an NCAA berth with games against Seattle and Western Washington.

Tucholsky will graduate this spring as a business major with a minor in health. She plans to continue her studies at Portland State and pursue a career in the health field. But she will never forget the generosity of her opponents in her final collegiate game. "Those girls did something awesome to help me get my first home run," she said. "It makes you look at athletes in a different way. It is not always all about winning but rather helping someone in a situation like that." Holtman knows something of knee injuries. On May 8, she is scheduled to have arthroscopic surgery on both knees, which have pained her all season. On June 7, she will graduate with a degree in business. She intends to study sports administration in graduate school at Central Washington.

Holtman believes sports has made her a better person.

She wants to give back.

Mallory Holtman plans to do that by becoming a coach.

Posted by Brian Meehan, The Oregonian April 29, 2008

Photo: Blake Wolf Central Washington softball players Liz Wallace (left) and Mallory Holtman carry Western Oregon's Sara Tucholsky around the bases after she blew out her knee after hitting a home run Saturday in Ellensburg, Wash.

The Man Who Planted Trees

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 10:47:00 -0700

About forty years ago I went on a long hike, through hills absolutely unknown to tourists, in that very old region where the Alps penetrate into Provence. This region is bounded to the south-east and south by the middle course of the Durance, between Sisteron and Mirabeau; to the north by the upper course of the Drôme, from its source down to Die; to the west by the plains of Comtat Venaissin and the outskirts of Mont Ventoux. It includes all the northern part of the Département of Basses-Alpes, the south of Drôme and a little enclave of Vaucluse...

At the time I undertook my long walk through this deserted region, it consisted of barren and monotonous lands, at about 1200 to 1300 meters above sea level. Nothing grew there except wild lavender. I was crossing this country at its widest part, and after walking for three days, I found myself in the most complete desolation. I was camped next to the skeleton of an abandoned village. I had used the last of my water the day before and I needed to find more. Even though they were in ruins, these houses all huddled together and looking like an old wasps' nest made me think that there must at one time have been a spring or a well there. There was indeed a spring, but it was dry. The five or six roofless houses, ravaged by sun and wind, and the small chapel with its tumble-down belfry, were arrayed like the houses and chapels of living villages, but all life had disappeared.

It was a beautiful June day with plenty of sun, but on these shelterless lands, high up in the sky, the wind whistled with an unendurable brutality. Its growling in the carcasses of the houses was like that of a wild beast disturbed during its meal. I had to move my camp. After five hours of walking, I still hadn't found water, and nothing gave me hope of finding any. Everywhere there was the same dryness, the same stiff, woody plants. I thought I saw in the distance a small black silhouette. On a chance I headed towards it. It was a shepherd. Thirty lambs or so were resting near him on the scorching ground. He gave me a drink from his gourd and a little later he led me to his shepherd's cottage, tucked down in an undulation of the plateau. He drew his water - excellent - from a natural hole, very deep, above which he had installed a rudimentary windlass.

This man spoke little. This is common among those who live alone, but he seemed sure of himself, and confident in this assurance, which seemed remarkable in this land shorn of everything. He lived not in a cabin but in a real house of stone, from the looks of which it was clear that his own labor had restored the ruins he had found on his arrival. His roof was solid and water-tight. The wind struck against the roof tiles with the sound of the sea crashing on the beach. His household was in order, his dishes washed, his floor swept, his rifle greased; his soup boiled over the fire; I noticed then that he was also freshly shaven, that all his buttons were solidly sewn, and that his clothes were mended with such care as to make the patches invisible. He shared his soup with me, and when afterwards I offered him my tobacco pouch, he told me that he didn't smoke. His dog, as silent as he, was friendly without being fawning.

It had been agreed immediately that I would pass the night there, the closest village being still more than a day and a half farther on. Furthermore, I understood perfectly well the character of the rare villages of that region. There are four or five of them dispersed far from one another on the flanks of the hills, in groves of white oaks at the very ends of roads passable by carriage. They are inhabited by woodcutters who make charcoal. They are places where the living is poor. The families, pressed together in close quarters by a climate that is exceedingly harsh, in summer as well as in winter, struggle ever more selfishly against each other. Irrational contention grows beyond all bounds, fueled by a continuous struggle to escape from that place. The men carry their charcoal to the cities in their trucks, and then return. The most solid qualities crack under this perpetual Scottish shower. The women stir up bitterness. There is competition over everything, from the sale of charcoal to the benches at church. The virtues fight amongst themselves, the vices fight amongst themselves, and there is a ceaseless general combat between the vices and the virtues. On top of all that, the equally ceaseless wind irritates the nerves. There are epidemics of suicides and numerous cases of insanity, almost always murderous.

The shepherd, who did not smoke, took out a bag and poured a pile of acorns out onto the table. He began to examine them one after another with a great deal of attention, separating the good ones from the bad. I smoked my pipe. I offered to help him, but he told me it was his own business. Indeed, seeing the care that he devoted to this job, I did not insist. This was our whole conversation. When he had in the good pile a fair number of acorns, he counted them out into packets of ten. In doing this he eliminated some more of the acorns, discarding the smaller ones and those that that showed even the slightest crack, for he examined them very closely. When he had before him one hundred perfect acorns he stopped, and we went to bed.
The company of this man brought me a feeling of peace. I asked him the next morning if I might stay and rest the whole day with him. He found that perfectly natural. Or more exactly, he gave me the impression that nothing could disturb him. This rest was not absolutely necessary to me, but I was intrigued and I wanted to find out more about this man. He let out his flock and took them to the pasture. Before leaving, he soaked in a bucket of water the little sack containing the acorns that he had so carefully chosen and counted.

I noted that he carried as a sort of walking stick an iron rod as thick as his thumb and about one and a half meters long. I set off like someone out for a stroll, following a route parallel to his. His sheep pasture lay at the bottom of a small valley. He left his flock in the charge of his dog and climbed up towards the spot where I was standing. I was afraid that he was coming to reproach me for my indiscretion, but not at all : It was his own route and he invited me to come along with him if I had nothing better to do. He continued on another two hundred meters up the hill. Having arrived at the place he had been heading for, he begin to pound his iron rod into the ground. This made a hole in which he placed an acorn, whereupon he covered over the hole again. He was planting oak trees. I asked him if the land belonged to him. He answered no. Did he know whose land it was? He did not know. He supposed that it was communal land, or perhaps it belonged to someone who did not care about it. He himself did not care to know who the owners were. In this way he planted his one hundred acorns with great care.

After the noon meal, he began once more to pick over his acorns. I must have put enough insistence into my questions, because he answered them. For three years now he had been planting trees in this solitary way. He had planted one hundred thousand. Of these one hundred thousand, twenty thousand had come up. He counted on losing another half of them to rodents and to everything else that is unpredictable in the designs of Providence. That left ten thousand oaks that would grow in this place where before there was nothing. It was at this moment that I began to wonder about his age. He was clearly more than fifty. Fifty-five, he told me. His name was Elzéard Bouffier. He had owned a farm in the plains, where he lived most of his life. He had lost his only son, and then his wife. He had retired into this solitude, where he took pleasure in living slowly, with his flock of sheep and his dog. He had concluded that this country was dying for lack of trees. He added that, having nothing more important to do, he had resolved to remedy the situation. Leading as I did at the time a solitary life, despite my youth, I knew how to treat the souls of solitary people with delicacy. Still, I made a mistake. It was precisely my youth that forced me to imagine the future in my own terms, including a certain search for happiness. I told him that in thirty years these ten thousand trees would be magnificent. He replied very simply that, if God gave him life, in thirty years he would have planted so many other trees that these ten thousand would be like a drop of water in the ocean.

He had also begun to study the propagation of beeches. and he had near his house a nursery filled with seedlings grown from beechnuts. His little wards, which he had protected from his sheep by a screen fence, were growing beautifully. He was also considering birches for the valley bottoms where, he told me, moisture lay slumbering just a few meters beneath the surface of the soil. We parted the next day. The next year the war of 14 came, in which I was engaged for five years. An infantryman could hardly think about trees. To tell the truth, the whole business hadn't made a very deep impression on me; I took it to be a hobby, like a stamp collection, and forgot about it. With the war behind me, I found myself with a small demobilization bonus and a great desire to breathe a little pure air. Without any preconceived notion beyond that, I struck out again along the trail through that deserted country.

The land had not changed. Nonetheless, beyond that dead village I perceived in the distance a sort of gray fog that covered the hills like a carpet. Ever since the day before I had been thinking about the shepherd who planted trees. « Ten thousand oaks, I had said to myself, must really take up a lot of space. »
I had seen too many people die during those five years not to be able to imagine easily the death of Elzéard Bouffier, especially since when a man is twenty he thinks of a man of fifty as an old codger for whom nothing remains but to die. He was not dead. In fact, he was very spry. He had changed his job. He only had four sheep now, but to make up for this he had about a hundred beehives. He had gotten rid of the sheep because they threatened his crop of trees. He told me (as indeed I could see for myself) that the war had not disturbed him at all. He had continued imperturbably with his planting.

The oaks of 1910 were now ten years old and were taller than me and than him. The spectacle was impressive. I was literally speechless and, as he didn't speak himself, we passed the whole day in silence, walking through his forest. It was in three sections, eleven kilometers long overall and, at its widest point, three kilometers wide. When I considered that this had all sprung from the hands and from the soul of this one man - without technical aids - , it struck me that men could be as effective as God in domains other than destruction. He had followed his idea, and the beeches that reached up to my shoulders and extending as far as the eye could see bore witness to it. The oaks were now good and thick, and had passed the age where they were at the mercy of rodents; as for the designs of Providence, to destroy the work that had been created would henceforth require a cyclone. He showed me admirable stands of birches that dated from five years ago, that is to say from 1915, when I had been fighting at Verdun. He had planted them in the valley bottoms where he had suspected, correctly, that there was water close to the surface. They were as tender as young girls, and very determined.

This creation had the air, moreover, of working by a chain reaction. He had not troubled about it; he went on obstinately with his simple task. But, in going back down to the village, I saw water running in streams that, within living memory, had always been dry. It was the most striking revival that he had shown me. These streams had borne water before, in ancient days. Certain of the sad villages that I spoke of at the beginning of my account had been built on the sites of ancient Gallo-Roman villages, of which there still remained traces; archeologists digging there had found fishhooks in places where in more recent times cisterns were required in order to have a little water. The wind had also been at work, dispersing certain seeds. As the water reappeared, so too did willows, osiers, meadows, gardens, flowers, and a certain reason to live. But the transformation had taken place so slowly that it had been taken for granted, without provoking surprise. The hunters who climbed the hills in search of hares or wild boars had noticed the spreading of the little trees, but they set it down to the natural spitefulness of the earth. That is why no one had touched the work of this man. If they had suspected him, they would have tried to thwart him. But he never came under suspicion : Who among the villagers or the administrators would ever have suspected that anyone could show such obstinacy in carrying out this magnificent act of generosity?

Beginning in 1920 I never let more than a year go by without paying a visit to Elzéard Bouffier. I never saw him waver or doubt, though God alone can tell when God's own hand is in a thing! I have said nothing of his disappointments, but you can easily imagine that, for such an accomplishment, it was necessary to conquer adversity; that, to assure the victory of such a passion, it was necessary to fight against despair. One year he had planted ten thousand maples. They all died. The next year,he gave up on maples and went back to beeches, which did even better than the oaks. To get a true idea of this exceptional character, one must not forget that he worked in total solitude; so total that, toward the end of his life, he lost the habit of talking. Or maybe he just didn't see the need for it. In 1933 he received the visit of an astonished forest ranger. This functionary ordered him to cease building fires outdoors, for fear of endangering this natural forest. It was the first time, this naive man told him, that a forest had been observed to grow up entirely on its own. At the time of this incident, he was thinking of planting beeches at a spot twelve kilometers from his house. To avoid the coming and going - because at the time he was seventy-five years old - he planned to build a cabin of stone out where he was doing his planting. This he did the next year.

In 1935, a veritable administrative delegation went to examine this « natural forest ». There was an important personage from Waters and Forests, a deputy, and some technicians. Many useless words were spoken. It was decided to do something, but luckily nothing was done, except for one truly useful thing : placing the forest under the protection of the State and forbidding anyone from coming there to make charcoal. For it was impossible not to be taken with the beauty of these young trees in full health. And the forest exercised its seductive powers even on the deputy himself. I had a friend among the chief foresters who were with the delegation. I explained the mystery to him. One day the next week, we went off together to look for Elzéard Bouffier, We found him hard at work, twenty kilometers away from the place where the inspection had taken place.

This chief forester was not my friend for nothing. He understood the value of things. He knew how to remain silent. I offered up some eggs I had brought with me as a gift. We split our snack three ways, and then passed several hours in mute contemplation of the landscape. The hillside whence we had come was covered with trees six or seven meters high. I remembered the look of the place in 1913 : a desert... The peaceful and steady labor, the vibrant highland air, his frugality, and above all, the serenity of his soul had given the old man a kind of solemn good health. He was an athlete of God. I asked myself how many hectares he had yet to cover with trees. Before leaving, my friend made a simple suggestion concerning certain species of trees to which the terrain seemed to be particularly well suited. He was not insistent. « For the very good reason, » he told me afterwards, « that this fellow knows a lot more about this sort of thing than I do. After another hour of walking, this thought having travelled along with him, he added : « He knows a lot more about this sort of thing than anybody - and he has found a jolly good way of being happy ! It was thanks to the efforts of this chief forester that the forest was protected, and with it, the happiness of this man. He designated three forest rangers for their protection, and terrorized them to such an extent that they remained indifferent to any jugs of wine that the woodcutters might offer as bribes.

The forest did not run any grave risks except during the war of 1939. Then automobiles were being run on wood alcohol, and there was never enough wood. They began to cut some of the stands of the oaks of 1910, but the trees stood so far from any useful road that the enterprise turned out to be bad from a financial point of view, and was soon abandoned. The shepherd never knew anything about it. He was thirty kilometers away, peacefully continuing his task, as untroubled by the war of 39 as he had been of the war of 14.

I saw Elzéard Bouffier for the last time in June of 1945. He was then eighty-seven years old. I had once more set off along my trail through the wilderness, only to find that now, in spite of the shambles in which the war had left the whole country, there was a motor coach running between the valley of the Durance and the mountain. I set down to this relatively rapid means of transportation the fact that I no longer recognized the landmarks I knew from my earlier visits. It also seemed that the route was taking me through entirely new places. I had to ask the name of a village to be sure that I was indeed passing through that same region, once so ruined and desolate. The coach set me down at Vergons. In 1913, this hamlet of ten or twelve houses had had three inhabitants. They were savages, hating each other, and earning their living by trapping : Physically and morally, they resembled prehistoric men . The nettles devoured the abandoned houses that surrounded them. Their lives were without hope, it was only a matter of waiting for death to come : a situation that hardly predisposes one to virtue.

All that had changed, even to the air itself. In place of the dry, brutal gusts that had greeted me long ago, a gentle breeze whispered to me, bearing sweet odors. A sound like that of running water came from the heights above : It was the sound of the wind in the trees. And most astonishing of all, I heard the sound of real water running into a pool. I saw that they had built a fountain, that it was full of water, and what touched me most, that next to it they had planted a lime-tree that must be at least four years old, already grown thick, an incontestable symbol of resurrection.

Furthermore, Vergons showed the signs of labors for which hope is a requirement : Hope must therefore have returned. They had cleared out the ruins, knocked down the broken walls, and rebuilt five houses. The hamlet now counted twenty-eight inhabitants, including four young families. The new houses, freshly plastered, were surrounded by gardens that bore, mixed in with each other but still carefully laid out, vegetables and flowers, cabbages and rosebushes, leeks and gueules-de-loup, celery and anemones. It was now a place where anyone would be glad to live. From there I continued on foot. The war from which we had just barely emerged had not permitted life to vanish completely, and now Lazarus was out of his tomb. On the lower flanks of the mountain, I saw small fields of barley and rye; in the bottoms of the narrow valleys, meadowlands were just turning green.

It has taken only the eight years that now separate us from that time for the whole country around there to blossom with splendor and ease. On the site of the ruins I had seen in 1913 there are now well-kept farms, the sign of a happy and comfortable life. The old springs, fed by rain and snow now that are now retained by the forests, have once again begun to flow. The brooks have been channelled. Beside each farm, amid groves of maples, the pools of fountains are bordered by carpets of fresh mint. Little by little, the villages have been rebuilt. Yuppies have come from the plains, where land is expensive, bringing with them youth, movement, and a spirit of adventure. Walking along the roads you will meet men and women in full health, and boys and girls who know how to laugh, and who have regained the taste for the traditional rustic festivals. Counting both the previous inhabitants of the area, now unrecognizable from living in plenty, and the new arrivals, more than ten thousand persons owe their happiness to Elzéard Bouffier.

When I consider that a single man, relying only on his own simple physical and moral resources, was able to transform a desert into this land of Canaan, I am convinced that despite everything, the human condition is truly admirable. But when I take into account the constancy, the greatness of soul, and the selfless dedication that was needed to bring about this transformation, I am filled with an immense respect for this old, uncultured peasant who knew how to bring about a work worthy of God.

Elzéard Bouffier died peacefully in 1947 at the hospice in Banon.

-Jean Giono /Translation from French by Peter Doyle

Windsock Time

Tue, 22 Apr 2008 16:42:00 -0700

For a few years, I was able to pray regularly with a group of nuns who lived in North Minneapolis, and who served the needs of this inner city neighborhood. One of their rituals was called "Windsock Time." When the nuns mounted a colorful windsock on their porch, it told the children in the neighborhood that it was Windsock Time. This time included games, arts and crafts, story reading and a snack. One time, while we were playing a game in the front yard of the monastery, six police cars, with sirens blasting, came speeding into the neighborhood. We all stopped our play briefly to observe, but went right back to playing – it was just another drug bust in the inner city...

Both of these groups, the nuns and the police – were fighting a war. The police used guns, force and the law for their weapons. The nuns used the Word of God and love. The police were taught to recognize a situation and react accordingly. The nuns were taught that each person is a unique child of God – made in His image.

As Christians, we are all fighting a war that takes place between our spirit man and our flesh man. As a child, we were no different than these inner city children – we needed someone in our lives who was older, wiser and loving to bring God's Word and His salvation into our lives. Like the nuns, these people in our lives took their precious time to invest in us – to get to know us, love us and teach us. When they saw a void in us, they would direct us to the right source to fill it with truth. When they saw something warped, they help straighten it. When they saw brokenness, they would help nurse us back to health – whether it be physically, emotionally or spiritually.

Reflecting on the character traits that these individuals had – first and foremost, their influence was birthed out of a love and concern for me. They never showed a dominating spirit. Their wisdom and genuine love for life raised me to a new level of interest and excitement. They elevated me to see the whole picture, rather than just a piece and they did it without making me feel inadequate. Their gentle wisdom invited a generous response from me – a response that originated deep in my spirit resulting in a lasting change. The life they modeled gave me a Godly example that helped me re-prioritize the issues of life into what was truly important and what was not. In my mind, I put them on a pedestal, which stimulated me into being a better person like they were. They were the true heroes in my life.

Rarely, did I acknowledge or even thank these people for the affect they had on me. Some of these people are no longer in my life and I may never be able to thank them, at least on this side of heaven. However, the best gift of appreciation that I can give them is to do for someone else, what they did for me. After all, it was because of their love and dedication that I am able to see the void in someone else's life and help fill it. It was because of them, I can see something warped and help straighten it. It was because of them, that I can see something broken and help nurse them back to life – a more beautiful and full life.

Like the sun
In the early morning hour,
May my life warm others
Gently opening their flower.

May I stand on the shoulders
Of those who helped me;
Who weeded my garden
And quench a thirst they did see.

May the drops of sunshine
In my life, they shared;
Bring light to others
Through this vessel, You prepared.
May my love for You
Which they helped birth;
And the new life You gave me
Give me a heart to serve.

Dean Robinson 2008
Contact the author at Dean.Robinson@hdrinc.com

The Search Is On

Tue, 15 Apr 2008 10:39:00 -0700

Courtney was only four when a neighbor found her feeding her two year old sister from a bottle of sour milk. With dirty faces streaked from tears, in an apartment reeking from dirty diapers, Courtney and her sister had survived alone--for three whole days and nights! Courtney's mother had decided to slip out the door while her children were sleeping because taking care of them was just "too much work." Although she's grown up today, Courtney has never forgotten the horror of waking up alone. No matter how many loving people have come into her life, she is still afraid that they too, will abandon her. Each morning, millions of people wake up in pain, from secret bruises to world headline disasters. Whoever is in control of this planet is obviously not doing a very good job...

There are people who claim God is in control, but when the innocent have been violated and the unseen hand of God seems to do nothing to stop it, others cry out with the question, "God, where are you?" When Jesus was teaching His disciples to pray, He seemed to indicate that God's will is not being done on this earth yet. Do you think Jesus would have prayed for "God's will to be done on earth, as it is in heaven,"if God is completely in control? So how did God lose control of our world? Before creation there was a war in heaven. This war was over God's character. Satan, the leader of the rebellion, argued that God's way was unfair. The result of this war was that Satan and the angels who followed him were sent down to this earth. But even though God allowed Satan inside His beautiful new world, He gave him no power over Adam and Eve. The only way Satan could hurt them would be if they chose to believe Satan over God.

When God put Adam and Eve in charge of the earth, He had only one request for them;that they stay way from one tree--the only place where Satan could have access to them. But Eve, despite God's warning, decided to check out the tree. Up in the tree she saw a beautiful, talking snake. Satan, speaking through the snake, convinced Eve to eat the fruit which she then offered to Adam. By their choice to listen to Satan's advice instead of obeying God, Adam and Eve automatically forfeited the management of this world over to Satan. As the temporary master of this world, Satan claims that his government of selfishness is better than God's government of love. But Jesus came and lived among us dying at Satan's hands, Proving that God's character of love will ultimately win the war. The war over God's character is still being fought in people's minds to this day. Sin causes pain and suffering but Satan convinces people to blame God.

So where is God when we really need help? The result of God granting us freedom of choice is that there are some prayers that even God cannot answer the way He wants. God will not use His will to violate human freedom of choice. As long as Satan continues to wield his oppressive principles against mankind, this world will be filled with pain. But we can help God win this war by choosing to trust God. Some day, everyone will have made their final choice. Those who choose to follow God will be safe to live with each other for eternity with no more of Satan's evil experiments.

But let's think back for a moment to the minutes just after Adam and Eve sinned. In the cool of the evening, God searches for His missing children. Usually eager to meet face to face with God, this day their faces burn with shame. Has God changed in His love toward them? No, God is the same, but they have changed! In their new found nakedness, they are afraid. So they hide from God. Can't you hear the sadness in God's voice? Adam, Eve, where are you?

Like Adam and Eve, we too, have listened to Satan's lies. Every time we choose to believe his lies, we give Satan even more power in this world. but God isn't angry with us. Just as He called out in love for Adam and Eve, He gently searches for His children today. Can you hear the voice of your heavenly Father? He's calling out your name,"Where are you?"

©2008 Cherilyn Christen Clough
www.myfatherinheavenisperfect.com

Dared to Love

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 22:04:00 -0700

I recently attended Times Square Church in New York City and went on a one day mission trip to a local shelter. At the shelter, we handed out leaflets and conducted a church service. At the end of the service, we asked if anyone wanted to come up for prayer. A slender, attractive lady with long straight black hair, standing about six feet tall, was toward the end of my line. Earlier during the service, a friend pointed her out to me and told me she was a transvestite. She was standing alone in the back of the room in the doorway during the service. I struggled accepting her/him inside my small moral box...

But as she got closer to me in my line, I heard God tell me, "My Kingdom is for all. All belong to me. I died for all. I dare you to love her as I do." When it was her turn for prayer, I looked into her eyes. Tears had caused her mascara to run down her cheeks. In that moment, I knew that she needed someone to accept her, embrace her, and love her. As I held her hands in prayer, they trembled and I could feel the world's cruelty that was placed on her. She sobbed in shame and humiliation. Her words were few.

Outcasts are real people with feelings just like us. They try to hide a lifetime of hurt, cruelty, and violence underneath their mask. Only a compassionate heart can see through their mask. They lead vulnerable lives in an angry world resulting in a lifetime of self hatred. God longs to hold and comfort them. True tragedy is when people, like this transvestite, never experience a love that God has for them. The main type of love they experience is when someone uses them and then spits them out. All of us are no different. We are all in the process of becoming. When God's grace and compassion strikes us, we become more like God--who wants to hold and comfort our hurt, rejected and lonely selves. With His embrace, we are all allowed to become.

Once a man and now a woman
No where can you fit in.
You're swept into the world's gutter
Because the world just sees your sin.

You live outside my moral box
You've strayed so far away.
You don't fit in my living room
In Suburbia, U.S.A.

When I can't see beyond the mask
The world put over you;
I've stopped the process to become like God
Whose love you never knew.

I cannot know my fullest self
Unless I see beyond your sin
And bring to you the love of God,
The lifter of your chin.

I pray today for courage
For myself and fellow outcasts;
That we shine through our blindness
With a love that forever lasts.

- Dean Robinson 2008

Arbitrary Apples

Sat, 05 Apr 2008 22:20:00 -0700

Micah was fascinated by fire. Every morning, as he watched his father light the stove he was confident that he too, could start the fire responsibly. Micah's father told him that he was not yet old enough, but on Micah's next birthday, he promised that Micah would finally have the experience of building the fire. One day, while his parents were busy Micah decided to practice. His hand shook as he stared at the flickering match. He felt pain as the flame suddenly burned his finger.Startled, Micah dropped the match at his feet. First a little piece of newspaper flared up, then a piece of kindling next to it caught fire.

In his inexperience, Micah was unprepared to deal with the consequences. In shock, he stared at the flames around his feet. Lucky for Micah, his father was near by and stomped out the flames with his work boots. Large disasters often happen because of small choices. Paradise collapsed when Adam and Eve ate a piece of fruit. At first this seems a little arbitrary. Hadn't God given them all the plants for food? Oh! Just not that one tree! Well, if God is so kind, why would He make an arbitrary apple law?

According to Webster's, the word arbitrary means: random, illogical and uninformed. But God was not acting in a random, illogical and uninformed manner:

1. God is definitely not uninformed.
He knew He had an enemy. Satan plotted to use Adam and Eve and the entire human race in His political rebellion against God.

2. God never acts in a random manner.
The Bible tells us that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever and that God is love. But there can be no love without freedom,
so Adam and Eve's ability to disobey was proof of God's loving and non-controlling nature.

3. There is nothing illogical about God's plan.
He wanted to prevent the human race from suffering the consequences of sin. He tried to warn Adam and Eve to stay away from the temptation area. Despite His warnings, God knew they might disobey, thus the Father and His Son Jesus sat down together made a plan to rescue earth's residents from Satan's cruelty.

Can you think of parental rules that might seem arbitrary to children? "Don't play in the street", "Don't run with scissors" and "Leave the matches alone." These are just a few examples. Little children are often unaware of the danger around them. Loving parents often must use external force to maintain boundaries to keep their children safe. Adam and Eve hadn't realized it yet, but sin has its own intrinsic results. God is the life-giver, while sin is the life-taker. God didn't create war, decay, or cancer. These are all the results of a world separated from God. God had provided a way for Adam and Eve to avoid all the misery that comes with sin. If only they would have trusted Him;we would all be sitting in paradise right now. It's a good thing God had a plan B!

People often misunderstand the boundaries that God has outlined for our safety. The people of Israel wandered in circles for forty years. Then they died before even reaching the promised land. Their misunderstandings about God had caused them to fear and disobey Him. The message that God is arbitrary is one of Satan's biggest lies. Today, we need God's guidance more than ever to protect us from the dangers of sin. God never desires forced obedience from fear or coercion. He didn't stop Satan from talking about Him in heaven or Eve from disobeying Him at creation and He won't stop us today. The only thing God wants from us is our own love, born out of freedom. God is still waiting patiently today. As each person chooses to trust their heavenly Father, all heaven rejoices, because someday, we will all finally be safe from sin and ready to enjoy paradise with God once again.

©2008 Cherilyn Christen Clough

Simply Greedy

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 13:42:00 -0700

The other day I was thinking how I'd love to replace my carpet but as you know, flooring is not cheap. After fantasizing about warm honey bamboo I snapped out of it, got real and bought a new steam cleaner vacumn. It got me to thinking about how much Americans accumulate - there is no end! It is often that as I brush by my livingroom en route to the kitchen, I cannot help but notice all the piles of stuff in neat little corners as if those piles actually belonged there. Tools, books, chapstick and barbie clothes galore. This weekend I had to admit - we have too much! I cannot tell you the amount of time I've spent in devising ways to organize, not to mention all the organizational containers I've purchased. Retail America depends on our greed to stay in business...

I thought of how God longs to simplify our lives and help us to switch from the accumulating to the satisfied gear. Imagine though how many businesses would go under if we applied this principle! Bye-bye, Container Store. So, my next big realization was how easy it would be to end my organizing by simply - simplifying. That means throwing out even more stuff than I already have thrown out or given away to charity. Too much work I say, but then I keep thinking of what former foreign correspondent for the NY Times and author, Chris Hedges once said, "Jesus taught us there are two ways to be rich; we can amass wealth or have few needs. Defy the consumer culture. Live simply. When Jesus died, all he owned was a robe."

By the way, when was the last time you counted your shoes?

S.N. Belmonte 2008

Reach

Mon, 31 Mar 2008 12:02:00 -0700

When we’ve been hurt by either words or actions it’s not always easy to forgive our offender – in fact, sometimes it takes a season to process the event, tentatively begin the reconciliation process and then actually reconcile. Sometimes we refer to the bible for comfort but scripture is not a lucky rabbit’s foot that magically wipes away our pain. In fact, I suspect there are many Christians who have not found solace in a bible text – and that does not mean they are distrusting friends of God. It simply means real damage and pain demands real work to be done. It takes time reading God's promises, honest inward reflection, discussion with God, and fellowship with family and friends who revive and nurture us.

Everett L. Worthington, Jr. came up with REACH, a pyramid model of forgiveness in his book, To Forgive Is Human: How to Put Your Past in the Past (InterVarsity Press, 1997) If you’ve been hurt, you may find the REACH pyramid helpful...

Recall the Hurt When we are hurt, we often try to protect ourselves by denying our hurt. We think, often correctly, that if we don't think about it, it won't bother us. But if unforgiveness keeps intruding into your happiness or gnawing ulcers in your gut, consider forgiving. Recall the hurt as objectively as possible. Don't rail against the person who hurt you, waste time wishing for an apology that will never be offered, or dwell on your victimization. Instead, admit that a wrong was done to you and set your sights on its repair.

Empathize Empathy involves seeing things from another person's point of view, feeling that person's feelings, and identifying with the pressures that made the person hurt you. To empathize with your offender's experience, write a brief letter to yourself as if you were the other person. How would he or she explain the harmful acts?

Altruistic gift of forgiveness Empathy can prepare you for forgiving, but to give that gift of forgiveness, consider yourself. Have you ever harmed or offended a friend, a parent, or a partner who later forgave you? Think about your guilt. Then consider the way you felt when you were forgiven. Most people say, "I felt free. The chains were broken." Forgiveness can unshackle people from their interpersonal guilt. By recalling your own guilt and the gratitude over being forgiven, you can develop the desire to give that gift of freedom to the person who hurt you.

Commit to forgive When you forgive, you can eventually doubt that you have forgiven. When people remember aprevious injury or offense, they often interpret it as evidence that they must not have forgiven. If you make your forgiveness tangible, you are less likely to doubt it later. Tell a friend, partner, or counselor that you have forgiven theperson who hurt you. Write a "certificate of forgiveness," stating that you have, as of today, forgiven.

Holding onto forgiveness When you have doubts about whether you have forgiven, remind yourself of this pyramid. Refer to your certificate of forgiveness, and tell yourself that a painful memory does not disqualify the hard work of forgiveness that you have done. Instead of trying to stop thoughts of unforgiveness, think positively about the forgiveness you have experienced. If you continue to doubt your forgiveness, work back through the REACH pyramid.

S.N. Belmonte 2008