Call Back

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The Call Back series.   

If you have gone a little way ahead of me, call back—
’Twill cheer my heart and help my feet along the stony track;
And if, perchance, Faith’s light is dim, because the oil is low,
Your call will guide my lagging course as wearily I go.

Call back, and tell me that He went with you into the storm;
Call back, and say He kept you when the forest’s roots were torn;
That when the heavens thundered and the earthquake shook the hill,
He bore you up and held you where the very air was still.

O friend, call back and tell me, for I cannot see your face;
They say it glows with triumph, and your feet bound in the race;
But there are mists between us, and my spirit eyes are dim,
And I cannot see the glory, though I long for word of Him.

But if you’ll say He heard you when your prayer was but a cry,
And if you’ll say He saw you through the night’s sin-darkened sky— 
If you have gone a little way ahead, O friend, call back—
’Twill cheer my heart and help my feet along the stony track.
—Lettie B. Cowman.


Reading of saints who had to face uncertainty, trials and fears is so helpful in our present situation.  Today there are many conspiracy theories and end of time prophecies.  They have always arisen in times of trouble because our norms are are being eroded.  Keep yourself looking to Jesus and not distracted by other voices.  And most of all never lose your heart of compassion.  Yes, the suffering in Ukraine is real.  May we not turn a blind eye.  We are commanded to "Love one another," and also to, "be addicted to hospitality."  Never let the enemy steal your warmth of compassion for the suffering of others!  We can love righteousness and hate evil, we can praise and weep.  We need to do both!  Faith just as much as life, is practical and real so read about others who went through times like these and came out victorious.

UNLABELED

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Prologue
It happened in Africa
Rahela Morgan tiptoed along the tiled hallway, holding her breath. A hyena howled in the distance. Her dog, Titan, barked in reply. But in the house, no one stirred, not even her old nurse, Deborah, who had ears like a hawk and a nose for sniffing out trouble.
“So far, so good,” thought Rahela, as she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door softly behind her. She fumbled in the pocket of her pajamas for the precious packet she had bought that day at the pharmacy in Mombasa, fifty miles away. Morning sickness for several weeks had made her determined to know the worst.

Broken Bread

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Broken Bread

Thirty years ago I read, Broken Bread, by John Wright Follette. The following poem has stayed with me all these years and I consider his book was worth reading for this poem alone. But there are other gems too.––R. Barry Tait

Identification

I am a flame born of celestial fire,
I bear a name, Insatiable Desire.
   I wear in heart an image all divine,
   Past human art, not traced by mortal line.
I hear God call to taste His heavenly power:
I give my all to burn life’s single hour.
   So let me burn through fetters that would bind;
   Thus will I learn and freedom will I find.
I shall return to Love’s eternal fire,
There shall I burn─a satisfied desire.
                                      ─John Wright Follette