Beyond the Bridge

Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda

2009-03-15T23:25:00.000-07:00

Life rolls by at lightning speed and opportunities fly by like objects blown in a hurricane. That good deed I meant to do, the expression of thanks all end up as good intentions rather than acts completed. I often feel that twinge of regret that reminds me that I allowed an opportune moment to slip by me. This time it was more than a twinge, it was an onslaught of full-fledged grief.

We moved into our new house 18 months ago. We met some of the neighbors but some kept to themselves. I met the pets of the little girl from the house down the street before I met her. Her two Siamese mix cats resembled our own felines. Her cats loved to hang out by our bird feeder and take a drink from our little pond and waterfall.

I never met her dad.. We spoke twice. Once when his dog got into my back yard and once, when my husband was ill and I was trying to shovel myself out of over a foot of new Christmas snow. He saw me struggling and arrived at my driveway with his snow blower. It had been a rough holiday, my husbands health was only one of the traumas we suffered this past December. I was at the end of my rope and this man with his snow blower was the best Christmas present I received. I thanked him tearfully and told him how much his act of kindness meant to me. I vowed to myself that I would take some cookies or other Christmas goodies to the house as a thank you. I meant well, I thought about doing something to show my thanks but life intervened, my husband still struggled with his health and my good intentions remained only intentions.

Fast forward to February and I learn that this man and his daughter are going to lose their home. One week I wave to the little girl as she waits for the school bus and rescue her cat from our tree and the next day their house is closed up and there is a foreclosure notice on the door.

My heart was pierced and I was desolate. I can't imagine what that man must have been going through in December. He must have already been behind with his mortgage and worrying about his home. In the middle of his problems, he took a moment to help a neighbor, to show a kindness. I thanked him for his kindness but went no further than that. I spent several days a week in ministry but I did not follow through on an opportunity to show the love of Christ to my neighbor.

Every day the house down the street stands in silent rebuke. The notice on the door reminds me that lives once lived there; dreams once dreamed there are gone. It stands empty of life and hope and it is a daily reminder that those moments the Lord gives us are too precious to waste. It is the silent witness to my lack of obedience and love. It stands on my street and reminds me that "woulda, shoulda, coulda are never words that should be used in God's economy.

The True Tie That Binds

2007-08-30T09:23:00.000-07:00

By Anita Aurit

There are those who believe that the only true family tie is blood. Their requirement for full acceptance into the tribe is to be born into the family circle. Marriage gives you a limited pass, not full membership. To receive all the familial rights and privileges, you must have emerged from the same gene pool.

I’ve never understood this way of thinking. Perhaps this is due to my family dynamics. As a result of the physical and emotional abuse we suffered from my alcoholic father, my mother, sister, brother and I, like Scarlett O’Hara, were often forced to “rely on the kindness of strangers”. Over the years these strangers became as close and as loved as any family member.

My mother was a German immigrant, an only child and without any stateside relatives. My father had a wonderful brother and sister but they lived many states away. Visits to them were too few and far between.

Rather than playing the hand dealt us, over the years we stacked the deck with people who became pseudo family members. Our little single wide trailer would burst at the seams every holiday with those we loved and many we barely knew who had no family of their own. Although money was scarce and my mother worked two jobs, she always managed to provide a beautiful buffet and even place little gifts for everyone under the Christmas tree. My longing for a “normal” family was partially fulfilled during these holiday events as we enjoyed a family gathering without the traditional family. We all were grafted together in a crazy quilt of a pseudo family tree. It wasn’t DNA that made us family, it was love, respect, commitment to each other and the honest joy in being together.

Today, as a Christ follower, I have an even better perspective of the concept of blood being thicker than water. The phrase is true but only in the context of faith. The blood that truly binds us together is the blood of Christ. There is nothing that can create family and community better than a shared faith in Jesus Christ. We are grafted onto the family tree of Abraham through the blood, we are joined together in the eternal family of God through the blood, and we are redeemed and saved by the blood.

Yes, the blood of Christ is thicker than water and it is an indicator of family ties. The icing on the cake in this familial relationship is when those family ties are forever intertwined with your earthly family. What joy I find in sharing my faith with my brother and sister. This was a blessing I enjoyed with my mother when she was alive as well.

Blest be the true tie that binds us together!

The Coming Day

2007-04-22T21:21:00.000-07:00

The sun rises in the eastern sky, sometimes dramatically. It's a symbol that speaks to the soul of all humanity. No one hates the sunrise, no one but the darkest of hearts. It's a universally ingrained portension of hope.

Our marveling over a glorious sunrise is more than anticipation of the day. God has inset this divine hope in our souls as a reminder of what to expect. When He will come again, no one knows.

"He's coming," we whisper, sometimes in half-belief. We want to believe it more than ever but the world throws darkness at us as if to insist that He cannot and never will. Still we see the sunrise and it thrills us.

No matter what beastly things happen, the killings, the wars, the many natural disasters...Our Lord returns. You can see it some mornings on the horizon. Your souls and mine recognize those precious scenes as truth.

A glorious sunrise is a forecast, a prophecy of the Son's Rise.

We who believe simply believe and we rest in it, like children waiting eagerly for the coming of day.

### Dwayne K. Parsons

Malapropism Mama

2007-03-26T08:46:00.000-07:00

By Anita Aurit

The malapropisms of my German mother were a constant source of delight and amusement in my family. There was rarely a time when she was writing out a check that she didn't ask,"How do you spell five; with an F or a V?"

She often referred to notable people as being very extinguished and she never got mad, she got fur-ious. If she was extremely upset, she might even get her gander up.

Mom was always a bit put off when someone would ask, "Where are you from, I can't place your accent?"

"Akzent?", she would bark, giving them her best cold stare, "I don't shpeak vith an Akzent!"

One Sunday breakfast in particular comes to mind. As we sat at the large, round table and shared lively conversation with our friends, the waitress took our orders. When the food arrived, my mother was irate. Sitting in front of her was a plate of eggs, a bowl of chili and one piece of toast. Everyone else at the table with a toast order had two pieces. Why did she receive only one? To make matters worse, she had not requested any chili. Who in their right mind would eat greasy chili early in the morning?

Before Mom whipped herself into a lather, my sister, always the calm, thoughtful one in the family, suggested we review the order process and see if we could ascertain where the waitress went so woefully wrong.

"Okay Mom," my sister said in her soothing fashion, "Just tell us exactly what you said to the waitress."

Irritated but willing to play along in the hopes of solving this culinary mystery and calling the errant waitress to task, my mother replied in her heavy German accent. "All I said vas "I'll half an order of toast with chelli." It was several minutes before we could wipe the tears of laughter from our eyes and calm down enough to explain the solution of the wacky breakfast mystery to my mother.

Ah, Mom, the English language has never been the same for me since you've been gone.

First Snow

2006-11-07T15:26:00.000-08:00

by Anita Aurit

It snowed last week, every ugly pile of soggy fall leaves covered in a blanket of white glitter. The trees looked like sugar-dusted confections. As I stood on my back porch and admired God's handiwork, I felt like a child again. The anticipation and excitement that the first snow brings always makes my heart smile. The first snow means skis, snowshoes, and warm fuzzy sweaters. It means good things to come like roasted turkey and beautiful packages under a fragrant tree. It means the celebrations of our thankfulness to God and our joy at His birth. First snow, I love it.

First snow reminds me of my walk of faith. I sometimes go through a fall season when my leaves feel brittle and fragile. I walk with Christ but somehow I seem to have fallen far behind Him on the path. Regrets and doubts fall down onto the ground in orange and yellow disarray. As I walk, they crunch under my feet, reminding me that my God is larger than any doubt or regret and yet, I still lag behind, following God much too slowly.

As I trudge along, feeling the full force of this autumn of my faith, a cool wetness touches my cheek. I look up and the sky is full of snowflakes. Sparkling crystals fall around me, covering the dry foliage on the path ahead. I look down the way and find that God is standing much closer than I had thought. I see his footprints in the freshly fallen snow and I know that I am not nearly as far from Him as I imagined. The snow falls and I smile with anticipation, knowing that as I come closer to Him, wonderful fellowship and blessings await me.

As surely as I know God is always on the path with me I know that there will be another autumn of my faith. I don't fear it, I wait to learn from it and look forward with joy to its end, to the first snow.

I love first snow.

Construction

2006-08-29T08:44:00.000-07:00

by Anita Aurit

My husband and I are having a house built .We have floor plans, we have walked the lot and seen the house staked out but we are still a bit tentative about the whole thing-particularly since the second level of the house will be built into the side of a hill. We've been told there will be a yard, a nice yard but we stare at the sloping landscape and sigh, confident that we can trust the professionals but unable to translate this dream into a visual. Our joy in this new home is mixed with trepidation. The delight of what we believe to be true is counter balanced by the apprehension of what we cannot see or totally understand.

Hmmm, it seems as though I have just described some of my hurdles of faith. When I chose Jesus Christ, I stepped into the plans that God had for my life. Just as I stand here on this empty lot with string and posts giving only a hint of what the builder will do; I stood in a spiritual empty lot on that day as well. I had only a vague idea of what God would be building in my life; I could not visualize the new structure He had conceived for me.

His plan for my life was also bigger than just that one decision to follow Him. Just as this lot on which I stand will be excavated, foundation poured and walls erected, God was beginning the foundation work in me as well. As time has passed, I can now see the wonderful structure of my faith. The walls of are strong and protect me from so many winds that blow against my life. Where my soul was dark I now have light pouring in and the view that I see is one that is God-centered. So much work has been done but this spiritual house of mine is not perfect. I can still turn a corner and see an unfinished area, a place that is an opportunity to build something new, a place ready for a bit of renovation.

Is my spiritual house finished? Never! Any homeowner will tell you that a house is never done. There is always a tweak here, a change there as well as the regular upkeep. So it goes with my spiritual house as well. Just when I finish one room and am completely satisfied, I walk into another and am shocked at the work that is still to be done.

My spiritual house is a never-ending work in process yet I don't worry about the details. The Master Builder, the Architect of my heart and soul never fails me. I may not understand the blueprints. I may stand on the empty lot, with strings and stakes and stare in confusion but I know one thing with absolute certainty. This house of my soul will be beautiful and just what the Builder had in mind-all I have to do is believe in Him and trust what I cannot see.

The Same Permission

2006-07-26T16:51:00.000-07:00

By Dwayne K. Parsons

The other day while working, I heard a young man singing short phrases in various tunes. I paid little attention because the work was demanding. He was a carpenter putting up interior trim in another room. I was a painter sanding new boards smooth to accept the stain I would later spray on them.

On the second day, I happened to walk by the doorway to the room where the young man was and heard him sing, “…because you’ll never let me go.” I stopped outside the room and listened for a moment longer. He was singing to God, singing of God’s love for him, short phrases not necessarily connected one to the other. It wasn’t so much a song, just heart thoughts that I heard.

I smiled. Then I thought about where I was in my own life, how I had been working hard, long days and taking little time for myself or my family and I realized I had gotten away from prayer time, quiet time and praising God myself. I could see all the hurry in my life and the urgency to get things done because I had filled my life up with work

All the while I was thinking these things I could hear this young carpenter singing his simple songs of praise. I realized I had put God out of my mind and replaced him with focus on the work of too many jobs. I had forgotten that praise and worship are powerful harmonizing tools for the soul, that peace comes from them and diligence, wise thinking and productivity. I knew if I went back to praising and giving thanks by habit that the striving would disappear.

I can’t say that I went into the next room and started singing to God. I didn’t. I went on about my work that day much the same as before. But the young man’s voice filled the house with song. Everyone could hear him.

Later I told him that I liked what he was singing and that I thought God did as well.

“I’m not singing for people to listen,” he said.

That was it. That’s all he said. Perhaps he thought I was trying to flatter him. But I wasn’t. Really, I was just telling myself aloud that I should give myself the same permission.

REFLECTION

2006-06-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

I was deeply immersed somewhere in the land of thought, unaware of anything going on around me. Music was playing sweetly in the backdrop of my evening. I’m not sure I could even tell you what was I was thinking at the time.

There she was. She was beautiful. I shook my head as if to rattle it from its reverie, but she was still there. Her face was radiant with light. I saw her running, skipping, dancing, through fields of wild flowers that were nearly as tall as she was. A little girl, with long flaxen hair, filled with childlike wonder, which only the heart of a youth could imagine. She ran and she ran and she ran. Her laughter made the atmosphere buzz with life, and there were butterflies with gossamer wings, everywhere.

Then I heard it, the music fading in and out; floating somewhere in my subconscious. A male vocal, sweet harmonies flowing in awe-inspired worship… I Can Only Imagine.

The song grabbed at my heart like a clutched grip. Each note resonated into a secreted-away place, deep in my innermost being. Each word so beautifully sung, struck a meaningful chord within. I was caught and help captive, tears streaming unbidden down my cheeks, as this Mercy Me song seemed to play over and over inside my heart…

“I can only imagine, what it will be like, when I walk by your side. I can only imagine, what my eyes will see, when your face is before me. I can only imagine.

Surrounded by your glory; what will my heart feel? Will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still? Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I fall? Will I sing hallelujah; will I be able to speak at all? I can only imagine, I can only imagine.”

I heard a voice, kind and deep, call her by name. She stopped, and turned, her lucent green eyes flashing with love, and light, and joy. She slipped her wee hand snugly into his, and then she turned and looked right at me, almost through me. Cheryl? It was true.

There she was, in the reflection of my heart, beckoning me with her eyes. She was so alive. The Cheryl we laid rest, in March of this year. The Cheryl whose lungs were over seventy percent scar tissue, who needed an oxygen tank to take two steps, and was winded by the simple task of answering the phone. The Cheryl who broke free from the cocoon of this life we know, and morphed into Heaven’s little girl.

There she was. I remembered the tears that filled the sanctuary, as the band played I Can Only Imagine, her favorite song, for her, just one more time, as we all said goodbye to our friend and sister.

There she was. She was alive, happy, healthy, full of youth, and doing what she loved best… hanging with her Lord Jesus.

I can only imagine.

Posted by: Patti Wilmot

Is The Door Locked?

2006-06-26T08:50:00.000-07:00

"Is the door locked?" The question was rhetorical. My brother, sister, and I knew that regardless of our response, Mom would be heading back up the sidewalk to grasp the door handle firmly in her hand, twist, rattle it, and then give a satisfied nod. The door was never officially locked until Mom checked it.

What was an annoying little ritual then strikes me as a great life lesson now. Sometimes you just need to believe and trust in something. Striving to question and verify all your life can make you mistrustful and controlling. It can often backfire-precisely like the "shower incident" last week.

Cleaning showers and toilets are on the very top of my Things I Hate to Do The Most list. When I discovered that there was a new product that would handle shower cleaning with the same efficiency I employed, I was thrilled. The gizmo hangs in the shower with a bottle of cleaner. After you step out, you press a little button; there are fifteen beeps and then the wonder cleaner sprays in a circle, ensuring that all the nooks and crannies in your shower are spotless. I have purchased and installed these wonder cleaners in my showers at home. Yet, being my mother's daughter I found myself wondering," How do I know this thing sprays three hundred and sixty-degrees ? I hear the beep, I hear the spray, but I don't see the thing turning."

Resolving to put my mind at rest, I decided to slide the glass shower door just a teensy bit so that I could peer at my miracle cleaner and see if it really worked the way they say it does. There was one flaw in my plan. I did not know which way the spray head would be turning first. This became painfully clear to me quite soon. After slipping the glass door over just a bit and peering toward the cleaner, I received a full spray of suds in my face.

While wiping the shower cleaner off my skin, I had a moment of clarity. This was my "is the door locked?" moment and it went much deeper than soap in my eyes. What I do in my daily life I will tend to do in my spiritual life and this was a graphic example.

When I seek forgiveness from God, I often have an "Is the door locked?" experience. I am repentant; I go to God crying out with shame and sorrow because I know He forgives. I read about His forgiveness daily. I know He has forgiven others. He has proven Himself to be worthy of trust. Yet, when I get up off my knees I look at Him and say, "Is the door locked? Have you really forgiven me for these things? Can I go on now and move forward and leave this behind that locked door, never to be revealed again?"

Both God and I know that it's a rhetorical question. He whispers "Yes!" to my heart but I don't hear Him because I am heading back up the walkway to rattle the doorknob, testing Him once again. Of course the door is always locked and even double bolted. This consistency is lost on me because as surely as my new shower cleaner sprays three hundred and sixty degrees, I will find myself at some other place in my life, rattling that doorknob again.

What fills my heart with hope is that in God's kingdom, it is never too late to make a change and I resolve to do just that. I will trust, I will stop striving and seeking and I will refrain from rattling another doorknob. How much more peace there will be in just trusting that the door is locked.

Posted by Anita Aurit

I Throw Dirt on You, You Throw Dirt on Me

2006-06-25T19:32:00.000-07:00

The wedding had been beautiful. The bride and groom were done receiving their guests and everyone was seated enjoying the beautiful food and great conversation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spied two little girls playing together. They were having a great time when all of a sudden one of the girls picked up a handful of dirt and tossed it onto the clothes of the other. Immediately, she attempted to brush off the evidence of her dastardly deed. The recipient of the unwanted gift, who was by now coughing in the cloud of dust that was rising around her head, also worked to brush herself off. She would have most likely returned the favor if her daddy hadn’t seen the whole thing and brought it to a sudden halt. There was no malice in the activity. I am sure the dirt thrower just thought it was a good idea at the time.

It caused me to wonder how often I throw dirt on others without even thinking about what I am doing. I did it this afternoon. I was in a feed store buying some seed for my husband. I had to phone him because I needed more information. As I finished questioning him I said “Well, I don’t think there is anyone here who knows anything about it anyway.” To which the clerk, who heard my words, replied “Oh yes there is.”

I hadn’t intended to be rude, but I had been. I apologized to the clerk, acknowledging my rudeness and thanked her for her attempt to help me. She accepted my apology good naturedly and the transaction was finished. I had unintentionally, but thoughtlessly, thrown dirt on her.

I was convicted about my behavior because I had experienced a couple of dirt throwing episodes aimed at me just the day before. It occurred to me that they probably hadn’t intended to get me dirty and leave me coughing over their remarks, any more than I had intended to do it today. So, my conclusion is that instead of getting upset when some dust comes my way, I will attempt to brush it off and do what those two little girls did… hug each other and forget it ever happened.

Posted by Teresa Wood

The Upside Down Smile

2006-06-24T22:36:00.000-07:00

Lexie was a pretty girl who wore her smile upside down;
It wasn’t that she could not smile; she just preferred to frown.

Billy Joe, he lived next door, and Lexie was his friend.
How he wished that she would smile, if even just pretend.

Everything that Billy Joe did to make her smile;
Ended up frustrating him; it was hardly worth his while.

A dancing, jumping, silly clown, standing on his head,
Couldn’t make Lexie smile; no matter what he did or said.

He tried his hand at telling jokes, just to make her giggle.
But Lexie never cracked a grin; she didn’t even wiggle.

Walking home from school one day, Billy tripped and fell.
He thought he broke his ankle, but he really couldn’t tell.

“Lexie, go for help,” he cried, “My ankle hurts so bad.”
Seeing tears run down his face, made her feel so sad

Lexie prayed to Jesus, as she ran for help that day.
She remembered when in trouble, He would help her find a way.

A lady with a cell phone just happened to pass by.
She wore the biggest smile, and had a glimmer in her eye.

She spoke some words of comfort, and dialed a number on her phone.
An ambulance came for Billy Joe. A policeman took Lexie home.

Lexie made a get well card for Billy Joe, her friend.
She told him Jesus loved him, and His love would never end.

She took her card and a special gift and went to Billy’s house.
“Billy is sleeping,” his mother said. “Be quiet as a mouse.”

She tip-toed into Billy’s room, and sat there for awhile.
And when he opened his blue eyes, she flashed at him a smile.

Billy Joe sat up in bed thinking he was dreaming.
Standing there in front of him was a smile that was beaming.

That was Lexie’s special gift she gave to Billy Joe.
She signed his cast and then hung out ‘til it was time to go.

Now Lexie never wears a frown; it’s really not her style.
An angel from the Lord above taught her how to smile.

Posted by Patti Wilmot

One Thousand Words

2006-06-24T08:11:00.000-07:00

Writers are told that if they want to hone their craft, if they are truly committed to being writers, if they really want to be taken seriously in this calling God has placed upon their lives, they should write at least one thousand words a day. I have no issue with this philosophy, in fact I agree wholeheartedly. Sometimes I think one thousand words are not enough.

If we consider ourselves followers of Christ, how many words of Scripture should we read a day? Should we apply the writer's rule? 'Sounds a bit silly doesn't it? The Lord does not require that we read a certain amount of Scripture to be considered a true Christian. We should, however, read some words of Scripture every day. Scripture, not devotionals, not a commentary with someone else's interpretation of Scripture, and not a book about how to apply the Scripture you really haven't read yet!

There is great value in devotionals, commentaries, and life style books. The danger for our us is when we restrict our reading to only those things and never read the inspired Word of God. Reading Scripture should be our first step. We must read the words that contain the life-breath of God, the words that are His way of communicating with us. If we do not read these pages, we are living a half-life of faith.

We live in a world that inundates us with information. We carry information with us in cell phones, PDAs, Blackberries and iPods. There is no way for us to escape what others think and how others view the world and what others say we should do with our lives. As followers of Christ, we need to focus first on the advice of the Great I AM, Abba Father. We must know what His instruction is for our lives.

How can we follow Christ and not seek His Word or His advice? It's a bit like children trying to raise themselves and refusing the counsel of their mother and father. They seek direction from everyone except the people who know them most intimately and who have their best interests at heart. Those children will never know the fullness of the love and caring, the wisdom of the guidance of their parents. We will never know the fullness of a life in Christ if we insist on ignoring Scripture and continue seeking what everyone else thinks about His Word.

True relationship with our Lord is born of Scripture and prayer. Everything else is just a wonderful extra. Consider the writer who writes one thousand words daily in order to grow and learn their craft. Will you commit to read one thousand words of Scripture daily in order to grow and flourish in your faith?

Posted by Anita Aurit

The Lord is My Shepherd

2006-06-23T08:51:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a verse or phrase in the Bible becomes too familiar. We read it without even thinking about what it is saying. How many times have you read or heard the words The Lord is my Shepherd? As I break it down word by word, it helps me to think more deeply about what I am reading.

THE Lord is my Shepherd. Jesus Christ is THE Lord. He alone died for the sins of the world, was raised from the dead, ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of God the Father. He alone changes the hearts, minds and lives of countless human beings everyday. There is no one like Him. No one else made the claims He made and then backed them up with resurrection.

The LORD is my Shepherd. There is only one person worthy of the title Lord. Has there ever been a person other than Christ who caused blind eyes to see, who made the deaf hear and the lame to walk? Perhaps by medical means but not with just a word.

The Lord IS my Shepherd. In John 8:58 Jesus Christ identifies himself this way:
Jesus said to them, "Most assuredly I say to you, before Abraham was, I AM."
Because He is God come in the flesh, He could identify himself the way God identified himself in the Old Testament. Jesus Christ is the great I AM.

The Lord is MY Shepherd. Mine, my Lord, my Savior. Not owned by me... rather I am owned by Him.

The Lord is my SHEPHERD. We raised sheep for a number of years and knowing Christ as the Good Shepherd has meaning for me. The clearest picture of the relationship between sheep and their shepherd comes as I recall watching my husband go out in the morning to call the sheep to come to the barn to eat. When he was away I would feed them, but they wouldn't come when I called. Because he was the one they trusted, when he called them they would come running. Not because they were so smart - they weren't - but because they recognized the good will of the one who cared for them.

THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD... is He yours?

Posted by Teresa Wood

Just Do It!

2006-06-22T09:18:00.000-07:00

Begin to weave and God will give you the thread.

Old German proverb

Obedience and Submission: Two little words that the world hates to hear. Two little words that the Christian must heed. Loosely translated they mean -just step out and do it!

Has God placed a calling on your life? Are you experiencing the sweaty palmed, heart racing effect of being chosen for something? Are you terrified to step out on that path?

Here's some great news. Actually, it's better than news, it is a truth, a truth that has manifested itself in my life. If God has ordained the work, He will give you everything that is needed. He provides it all. Remember though, God is not a puppet master; He won't force a calling on you. He will stand before you, waiting for you to respond as He holds a big gift basket full of all the tools you need to accomplish His purpose. All he asks us to do is to move forward. One little step is all it takes.

I have been called by God to write. I consider myself a conduit for His will and His words. Many people have told me they have "always wanted to write." They tell me of the books that swirl around in their heads, waiting to be written. What is the difference between those people and me? Is it talent? No. Is it time? No. Is it inspiration? No. What it is, pure and simply is obedience and submission. I am obedient to practice the craft God has called me to. I am submitted to follow His direction in my writing and to write, write, write as long as He tells me to do so. I am not more talented, smarter, or more inspired than anyone else. I am simply obedient. Whether you are a writer, a teacher, a leader-whatever the Lord has called you to be, take on Nike's slogan as your own and "just do it!"

Remember though, as you begin to walk down that path, the enemy will be slinging darts from all directions, causing you to doubt and fear. Don't let the world tell you what your limitations are. There are no limitations in God's kingdom, only the limits you place on your faith. Seek His direction, set your feet on His path and watch the amazing things God will do in your life and the lives of others through you! Scripture tells us, "God has given gifts to each of you from His great variety of Spiritual gifts. Manage them well and use them so that God's great generosity can flow from you to others." *

Posted by Anita Aurit
*1 Peter 4:10 (NLT)

One Day In Autumn by Teresa Wood

2006-06-20T15:29:00.000-07:00

Though not quite 10 years old, that autumn in 1962, in his straw hat, western shirt, jeans and boots, Dan was all cowboy. This was no surprise since his family lived on a ranch in northern Idaho where cows and horses were part of everyday life. For months he had been training his first colt – a sorrel colored bundle of energy appropriately named Lightning.

Lightning was Dan’s constant companion. Whenever he wasn’t helping on the ranch, the warm days of summer would find him in the small pasture below their house working with the young colt. By the time the Aspen leaves were turning from green to gold, little Lightning was following Dan around like a puppy. His father Jim, an experienced horseman, had taught his son well. Together they looked forward to the day when Dan would be able to ride Lightning.

One Sunday afternoon as the family sat down to dinner, they heard the terrible screech of wires being stretched through staples on wooden posts. Immediately they knew what was happening. Lightning, who loved to race around the pasture, had accidentally run through the fence. Jim was the first one to reach him. There, on the ground, lay Dan’s pride and joy and he wasn’t breathing.

As Dan looked on in tears, his father worked heroically to save Lightning. With strength and gentleness, he blew air into the colt’s mouth and nostrils in a vain attempt to encourage him to breathe. When he could stand to watch no more, Dan ran back to the house. Finally, Jim came into his room, scooped his young son into his arms and held him as they cried together.

This event occurred almost 44 years ago, but it still brings tears to Dan’s eyes. He knows the love of his heavenly Father was modeled for him that day through an imperfect, earthly father. Lightning died, but a lasting picture of selfless, drastic and extraordinary love was painted for a little boy, the perfect love of God that would move to do whatever was needed to save.

The "Ah" Factor

2006-06-18T11:04:00.000-07:00

The Long Bridge is one of the many beautiful things to be found in this lovely community in which we live.

It has been said that there is an "ah" factor associated with the structure. Newcomers crossing the bridge are overcome by the beauty of the mountains and the lake and find it impossible not to say, "Ah, how lovely."

Locals who cross the bridge sigh and say, "Ah, I can't believe I live in such a glorious place." Our group of writers understand the "ah" factor very well. It is what we hope for when people read our work. It is our dream when our words touch them. It is our delight when they say, "Ah, what a wonderful way to put that."

As Christians, we feel called to write, it is our ministry and our passion. The styles and genre interests of the ACW Sandpoint group are different but there is one thread that weaves itself strongly through this diverse collection of writers-the thread of commitment. We are committed to putting words to the page that will bring hope and joy, laughter and tears, conviction and comfort to all our readers. It is our deepest desire to bring the reader closer to the nature of God in our writing, even if the word "God" isn't anywhere to be found on the page.

We invite you to peruse our posts. It is our prayer that our writing will move beyond the bridge and into the hearts of all who read our work.

Anita Aurit, Writer and Founder, ACW Sandpoint