Whatever is Pure, Inspiring Christian Poetry, Devotionals and Testimonies May 2008

I am very pleased to introduce my M-O-M,
There are so many accolades where would I begin?
Dad thinks she reminds him of his Grandma Kate,
Since I never met my great grand Nana, I said wait.

This has to be something that sparked things in my life,
Then he said, mom's a very lovely and wonderful wife,
Dad, on my 3rd grade homework papers you made 8 mistakes?
To get rid of his opinion this is all that it takes.

Back to the reason all are gathered here today,
Celebrating with my mother on this Women's Day,
For spiritual growth and an introduction to the Lord Jesus Christ,
Saved while understanding He's first & foremost in my life,

At home, mom had my little desk placed next to hers,
History, music, geography and the spelling of words,
Making sure I knew proper grammar, adjectives, verbs,
A quiet time for mother & daughter tea she lovingly served.

Dance lessons, girl scouts, explaining common sense,
Lest I forget twice a week for a class in self defense,
Being efficient in English and Spanish as well,
So thoughts on my mind in two languages I could tell.

While striving to reach the mark and answer God's call,
By faith the Lord will raise me up should I stumble & fall,
Yes, there are many more but I’ve made my choice,
I'm very proud to introduce my mother, AKA Joyce.

© 2006 by Shari-Danielle Easter & Luke Easter
www.LyricsByLucas.com

A helper to those who are maim--
A comforter to those who are lonely,
And to those who are sick and in pain.
A nurse so dedicated--treating her patients tenderly.

An Angel of Mercy God chose her especially.
God she praises for a gift so wonderful.
God's love she radiates profoundly.
Love's healing benefits are so powerful.

Her loving persona is reflected in her countenance.
Healing and encouragement her presence does facilitate--
Her patients long for her appearance.
Their Angel of Mercy they truly appreciate.

God she only wants to glorify.
She thanks God for His gift of salvation,
Trusting only in Christ Jesus will qualify--
Resulting in a future glorified body of perfection.

He slithered through the front door, skulked across the living room and plopped onto the couch, a ten year-old heap of dejection. Usually a blur of effervescent energy, my son's standard speed of 90 mph with his hair on fire slowed to a snail's gimp following Little League practice.

"How'd it go?" I inquired tentatively, bracing myself for his response. Nathan's jade green eyes swam as tears dripped off his chin.

"Terrible!" he wailed, face crumpling like a deflated balloon. "I can't hit the ball. I can't catch anything. Everything I try to field goes right through my glove," he punched the air for emphasis. "Everyone is better than me," Nathan sputtered. "I can't do anything right!"

I didn't know what to say. How could I argue with the truth? When it comes to athletic endeavors, Nathan isn't Ken Griffey, Jr. And he knows it.

I offered Nathan a hug which he grudgingly accepted, torn between the need for maternal reassurance and the "Not now, Mom!" horror of a pre-teen struggling for independence.

Recently relocated to the Northwest from California, my four boys had a tough time leaving friends and family and the only neighborhood they'd ever known. Our move was especially rough on Nathan, my second son.

High-strung, easily agitated and insecure, Nathan missed his California friends and home school pals. Feeling clumsy, awkward, and lonely in a new state, my gawky pre-teen's lack of confidence was exacerbated by the easy athleticism of his brothers. On a new team in a new city, Nathan was as lost as a stranded runner after a line drive double-play. I don't know who ached more: Nathan or me.

"Lord," I mumbled later, "You've got to do something about Nathan and his baseball team. PLEASE match him with someone You can use on that team." I sighed. "You know Nathan needs a boost. Please find someone to be his buoy."

"Mom! Mom!" Nathan exclaimed as he burst through the front door a week later. "Look at this! You won't believe it!" he crowed, proudly displaying his feet. His "Size 8s" were shod with a pair of brand new PONY baseball cleats. Cleats we couldn't afford.

Nathan hid one hand behind his back. "And look at this!" he beamed, revealing a brand new MacGregor baseball glove. A glove we couldn't afford. Sure enough, stitched into the webbing of the still-stiff leather was the signature of Ken Griffey, Jr.

Noting my astonishment Nathan explained, "Coach Ken bought them for me! New cleats and a new glove!" What a change from last week--and from last year.

The previous season in California saw Nathan riding the bench in favor of more gifted athletes. That coach gave the lion's share of game time to his "good" players. Those team members with less than spectacular skills--Nathan among them--made a career out of collecting splinters. It was an excruciating season for Nathan. And me. I was surprised when he indicated an interest in playing Little League the next year in our new city.

We reinforced Nathan at home, but it was Coach Ken who gave him extra time and attention on the field. Shored up his batting stance. Straightened his swing. Strengthened his throwing arm. Calmed his nerves after strike-outs. Put Nathan on the mound and coaxed him into pitching. Applauded every throw, every play, and every swing--hit or miss. Sought and cheered the most microscopic improvements.

"It's not about winning," Ken declared, "It's about having fun and learning to play the game."

And Nathan learned. Sometimes the hard way. "I'm never gonna play baseball again!" he wailed following the fourth loss in a five-game losing streak. The Mustangs were losing steam.

Nathan hadn't hit in 15 at-bats. He either fanned, got hit by the ball, or walked. "What does Coach Ken say?" I asked while Nathan complained about everything from "bad umpires" who "keep calling balls strikes" to taunting team mates.

"We need more practice," Nathan said. "Coach Ken says, `You can do it!' but I caaaaan't!"

At the next practice I expected Coach Ken to run more drills, try new techniques and review basic skills. He didn't. He spent most of that afternoon listening, affirming the kids and praising their efforts, no matter how feeble or listless. He emphasized having fun over winning. "That's O.K." Ken said after Nathan's third straight strike-out. "The more you practice, the better you get. You can do it! Here, let me show you..."

To my relief, the coach also landed on the taunting of less gifted athletes by stronger players like ugly on an ape, bringing the teasing to a screeching halt.

That settled, Coach Ken reviewed fundamentals. And he laughed. Not just Lilliputian little snickers, but big, bellowing belly-whoppers. Stirring in large doses of applause and "atta boys," Coach Ken served up a team atmosphere that was as bright and blue as Northwest skies are soggy. He made baseball a game.

"Now, if you're on second base and I bunt, what're you gonna do?" Ken asked Nathan on Saturday.

"Run like crazy for third!" Nathan rejoined. Coach Ken smiled. Nathan smiled back. Suddenly the season was no longer an exercise in "Chinese water torture." Under Coach Ken's patient tutelage and upbeat style, Nathan lit up like a Christmas tree. He learned to hustle, using his long, lean limbs to gobble big chunks of the diamond in great galloping strides. He learned to return to the plate and try again after striking out. How to encourage another kid who fanned or dropped a pop fly. To keep track of his equipment. Nathan also learned that anyone can win graciously, but the mark of a true champion is someone who can lose graciously, too.

The Mustangs didn't win the league crown that year. That's O.K. Nathan may never be the next Ken Griffey, Jr. That's O.K., too. God answered my prayer through a Little League coach, a virtual stranger who gave Nathan something more valuable than any trophy: a boost in confidence, a positive attitude, and a love for the Game--win or lose. Better yet, Coach Ken helped Nathan progress in the most important "league" of all: accepting himself. And I learned yet again that the Great Coach delights in guiding and giving in the smallest details, right down to baseball cleats and a glove.

© Kristine Lowder
You must email the author to gain permission to use this article before using or copying it in any media format including email, blog, print or electronic form.

AKELDAMA ~ Field of Blood
By Kristine Lowder

Step into the pages of this historical novel of Faith. Meet beautiful Yo-hannah, whose tortured past has imprisoned her body and heart. Walk in the stooped steps of Veronica, whose mysterious malady has made her ceremonially unclean. Thirst for living water with a half-breed whose checkered past is about to catch up with her. Thrown together from dead-ends, each woman seeks answers to her own desperation. Will Yo-hannah find the peace she craves? Can an unclean woman receive a touch of mercy? Where can a despised half-breed go to be made whole? And what about old Hadessa, whose enigmatic past is as mysterious as the young man who crosses each woman's path? Each woman's life and future hinges on the Nazarene's answer to one question: Who are you?

Kristine has been a regular and welcome contributor to the "Whatever is Pure" Ezine. We at "I Lift My Eyes Ministries" rejoice with her upon the release of her latest work!

Please use your back key to return to this site. This book is not yet available at Christianbook. com but it is for sale at Amazon.com

More Christian Fiction at Christianbook.com Find books and Audiobooks for all ages and genders.

A Different Reality

According to the media, it is a challenging world out there if you are in search of a lasting relationship, solid friendships and a stable job. Surf through any television listing and you are bombarded by the volume of reality shows that focus on individuals competing for a variety of goals. A coveted relationship with a handsome, fabulously rich bachelor, an internship under a top financial mogul, a million dollar prize for surviving in harsh conditions, the title of top chef, top designer, top dog or perhaps a place in the clique of A-list celebrity jet-setters.

Using scientific studies, the media carefully selects participants. Hopeful contestants who are deemed uninteresting, unattractive and weak are carefully weeded out with the exception of a few token odd characters that never last long in the game. Contestants are chosen for their beauty, charisma and appeal to the mass market. After all, advertisers will not pay for programming that doesn't reach the masses. To the conqueror goes the spoils and anything goes as long as you win. The message is sent, whether by a single judge or a jury of peers that rewards will be forthcoming for those that manipulate, betray and are involved in shady dealings. Learning to read your opponent and judges then moulding yourself to be more attractive to them is applauded as shrewd strategy. Never show your weakness; never allow others to see your true heart. Appearing vulnerable is acceptable as long is it a ploy to gain a sympathy vote. Cunningly choosing allies that you can easily control and manipulate is a key along with aligning yourself with the most popular of the group through flattery. If you use your charm, physical strength, appearance and status in society to advance your standings in the race, all the better. If in the process, you lose all sense of who you are as an individual and severely compromise your moral integrity in the process, the praise, adoration and admiration of those who you were seeking to please is all worth it. All will be forgiven as you are touted as a media darling until a new barracuda wins the next contest.

Had Jesus consulted with an image consultant firm when choosing the twelve disciples, he would have received the recommendation to choose upstanding members of the elite of his day. Doctors, lawyers, learned men, respected clergy as well as handsome, athletic and popular young adults. His inner circle would have included well-spoken and attractive individuals able to reach the broadest of audiences with their wit and charm. The riff-raff and the disadvantaged would have been kept far away from him, except for brief moments when it was advantageous to further his popularity; and then only for perfectly choreographed media opportunities.

God's reality is vastly different. We do not need to prove our worthiness in order to be acceptable in his sight. We do not need to defeat others that clamber to reach for the prize; he gives freely to all who will ask and all who come to him with a humble heart and outstretched hand. He penalizes those who use others for their own gain. In his kingdom, the first shall be last and the last shall be first. Throughout the ages, he uses those with stammering lips, chronic shyness, unattractive appearances and little if no personal charisma to be his spokespersons on the earth. Why? So there is no doubt that it is not their own power and strength that causes the Red Sea to part, the walls of Jericho to tumble, the blind to see and the lame to walk. Their stumbling words, energized by His spirit draw hearts to Himself and not to the speaker.

He rewards those who are transparent, vulnerable and willing to learn from others. His heart rejoices when he finds a man or woman who will not bend or compromise to please others above himself even when it costs them dearly. He knows outward beauty is fleeting and delights in the fragrance that only come from a heart that has been crushed allowing its sweet perfume to waft upward.

Drowning, swirling
Where am I going? The pool is taking me under
I raise my arms to pray
but all that happens is a wave of discomfort
What is happening to me?
I want to live Help me I'm thinking
Thank God you come along
and save me I have a friend in you
Jesus