Story # 3.

 

In the April of 1980, I was just 22 years old. I had landed my Dream Job, but it meant relocating out to western NSW. I worked for an American company that was newly established in Bathurst, a magnificent country town and it was there that I learned how the intense ‘Cold' of winter, could dictate certain facets of my life.

Some of our Lab staff were chosen to go off on a short course, so four of us agreed to meet in the heart of town at the ‘Early Opener’, at 7am, where we could be picked up and ferried to the airport.

The grand old Knickerbocker Hotel had an open fireplace and was well known for its 

warmth and comfy lounge area.

Not being a  drinker, I had never been there before, but I found my way through the thick fog, to the only set of traffic lights in Bathurst at the time, which lit this corner pub. I parked close by and I clutched my jacket up tight around my neck, as I dashed toward the awaiting shelter of the inn.

The warmth of the fire, danced over my frozen hands and feet the moment I entered. 

I was amazed to find many people already there, enjoying that warmth and having a ‘Cold’ beer ! I was fascinated that anyone would brave a morning such as this, for…. well….. No good reason.

While we waited for our transit and sipping hot coffee, I surveyed the clientele. 

Two young men in dirty work clothes… just going… or just coming from a laborious occupation. A group of five older men, loudly telling increasingly fantastic stories, each one trying to sound tougher than the rest. And a truck driver, digging into the biggest breakfast I have ever seen, sitting alone, with his back to everyone…. and there, up at the end of the bar, one solitary figure. 

A woman on an high stool. Her arm outstretched across the bar and her head laying on it. A tall beer, right up close to her face, held by a gaunt and scrawny, weathered hand. She only raised her head enough to take a sip, then, would rest it back on her outstretched arm. Her hair was curly and unkept and her shoes were worn almost through. She held my gaze for the longest time and her image was imbedded forever in my mind because of what happened next.

A little boy, about 9 or 10 years old, appeared next to her. He had a rolled up parcel of newspaper and the smell of fish and chips filled the air. He climbed onto his knees onto the stool beside her. His little voice was filled with love as he softly encouraged her …  “ Eat mum, Eat…Please Mum, eat. Look, I got your favourite, please mum,…. eat.” His voice broke with tears, again it gently encouraged.. “ Mum please…. Please” She lifted her head and growled at him “Go Away, Get out of here… and take this junk with you !” and with one sweep of her free hand, sent it all flying to the floor. He dropped to the ground, sobbing, scrambling to retrieve al the scattered chips and gathered them back into the paper.

There he crouched, not two meters from me and carefully rolled everything up into a neat ball. On tip toes, he gently placed it up on the bar about a foot from her reach, wiped his face on the tail of his thin shirt and said “ Ok Mum. I will just leave it here for you.” I watched him slowly walk to the big doors, brace himself against their weight and push through out into the bitter morning... and he was gone.

Now,… Here I sit.

It is April 2018….. 38 years down the track and the events of that morning, that stung like a burn from the fire, hurt me more now than they did then, because now, I am a wife and a mother. I look back across the landscape of the years and know the incredible value of a child and the love we shared.  The memory of this little boys gift, to the mother he loved, was that day, painfully etched into my heart forever.

We have all felt the cold wind of rejection in our lives. We all know how it cuts, right to our core. This is satan’s ploy to keep us from refuging in our Saviours arms. satan whispers to us, “You're no good, Run away, No one wants you”

But, Jesus too, knew the heartbreak of separation and rejection, even from His closest friends, and ultimately, He even cried…

“ My God, My God, .. Why hast Thou forsaken Me.” Matt27:46

Such was His heartache…. Such is His Love.

He loved…. Enough to give His all…… For you … and for me.

This little boy, begged, borrowed and surrendered ALL he had, to the one he loved, but she smashed his gift and sent him away…. and as a first-hand witness, my tears still flow as I now recall this event.

 I have to ask…. Is that what we have done ?

Even worse still…. Is that what we are still ‘Doing’ ?

Are we clinging to the dregs of earthly pleasure, that never ‘Gives’…. only ‘Takes’.?

 Samuel Crossman wrote the words to 'My Song is Love Unknown' in 1664, and that tells me that our struggles are not new. They have been dogging us down through history and we have all felt the sting of rejection because the evil one wants to hurt everyone, be they surrendered to Christ.. or satan himself, satan does not care.

Verse 2  : He came from His blessed throne,

salvation to bestow,

But men made ‘Strange’ and None’,

the longed for, ‘Christ’ would know.

But Oh my Friend, my Friend indeed,

Who at my need, His life did spend.

Our hearts are the ultimate prize to our loving Creator.

O' that we would freely choose Him and His righteousness over the evil one, who fights dirty with deception and coerces us with his lies to win our allegiance and to steal our hearts from our Creator. satan's plan is to snatch us from God's hand and to destroy us.... Eternally.

Although we let God down, over and over again, He alone is The One… 

not to run FROM… But, to run TO…..

For Shelter, ….Comfort,…. Strength,…. Forgiveness,…. Acceptance…and ….

Eternal Life. Apart from God, there is only pain, death and destruction. 

No matter Where we have been …..or what we have done. True repentance is never overlooked and our refuge is sure and safe… in our Saviours care.

Titus 3: 3-7

For we ourselves also, were sometimes foolish, disobedient, deceived, serving diverse lusts and pleasures, living in malice and envy, hateful and hating one another. But, after the love and kindness of God, our Saviour toward man appeared, Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but, according to His mercy, He saved us, by the washing and regeneration and renewing of the Holy Ghost, Which He shed on us abundantly, through Jesus Christ our Saviour; That, being justified by His grace, we should be made heirs according to the Hope of Eternal Life.

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Story # 48

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I have never before heard the name William True Sleeper,
but he has greatly enriched my Christian walk. ..... many times.

As a ten-year-old child, I sat ringside at a little country church baptism. The banks of the Colo River served as nature’s ‘Auditorium’ as, in hushed tones, a group of dedicated teenagers, from a mission group called the ‘Gospel Crusaders’ welcomed another soul into the family of God.
I rolled pine needles under my toes and played with the funny little pine cones that littered the sandy bank. The sunlight danced on the crystal clear water and a lone guitarist strummed a chord softly as we sang in just a whisper, the melody of

‘Jesus I Come to Thee’.
The sweet harmonies rippled and warbled along with the current and blended with the sounds of the bush, embracing our tiny band of warriors.
At the time, I didn’t really understand the enormity of what was happening, but I sensed the deep devotion and purity of the moment and a feeling of elation at the events unfolding before me welled up and filled me with awe.
Since then, these words have dotted my Christian life, and
each time I recall them, it catapults me back in time to those joyous days, where I first felt the real and tangible presence of God and His great Love for His people.

W.T. Sleeper was born in 1819. That’s 200 years ago!

He was a prolific writer of beautiful hymns.
In 1887, at 68 years of age, he sat alone in the cool of the morning,

realising his need to ACT! He surrendered everything to Jesus.

My imagination rushes to the scene.
A darkened room in Massachusetts, bay windows to his study, curtains wide open to embrace the morning light; his pen hovering over the page.
The outpouring of his heart, poised to capture the emotion he felt.

This one man... alone with his God.
The epiphany unfolding in his heart and pouring out onto the parchment...

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Out of my bondage, sorrow and night... Into Thy freedom, gladness and light,

 Out of my shameful failure and loss... Into Thy glorious gain of the cross.

Out of unrest and arrogant pride... Into Thy blessed will to provide.

Out of the fear and dread of the tomb...... Into the joy and light of Thy home.

Out of my sickness into Thy health.... Out of my want and into Thy wealth...

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After each line of thought comes the submission:

‘Jesus I come, to Thee’!!

This is just a portion of this beautiful hymn.
Every line reflecting true and genuine surrender and the realisation of what God freely offers us in return for our trials. Turn to this Hymn in your Hymnal.
Trace its words. Reflect on their ‘worth’ in your own walk of surrender.

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We too, like W.T. Sleeper, may go down into the grave before our words of devotion ring-true, in a hearer’s soul.
So let our words be constantly filled with hope and love.
Let them lift and encourage others as we hold up the standard of Faith, Hope and Love.... for God, through Jesus Christ.
Will we willingly serve The Lord with every word and every breath, not just for self... but for others?
I have begun to write letters to our unborn grandchildren.
If this tired old world of sin continues throughout another generation, they will need to hear our words of encouragement, pointing them to the scriptures so they can face the trials that lay ahead.

Although we may have passed away, our Christ-centred mentorship can still reach across the years, to help them make wise decisions. Sadly, we know that our world deteriorates year by year, sinking further into sin.

They will need our wisdom, faith and prayers to help them make it through.

Revelation 22 :17....

And let him that heareth say ‘Come’.. and let him that athirst, come.

Please join me: write to your ’future family’ regularly,
Record sure words of hope they can cling to.
May our legacy be felt down through the ages and the Hope that is in

us be felt in the hearts of others.
Let us echo William’s closing verse to this beautiful and thought-provoking hymn....

Out of the depths of ruin untold, into the peace of Thy sheltering fold,

Ever Thy glorious face to behold,

Jesus I come to Thee!

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