Creature to Creature
Regina Russell
There was nothing extraordinary about the moment we were in—my husband and I—
We were only talking of inconsequential things
yet the very everydayness of the moment…
me looking into his eyes
while listening to him speak about something
was transformed
And instantly the epiphany of seeing him
not as my husband
or friend
or even male
Came to me
The way a stick of butter when heated disintegrates from its original shape into something else completely different
And the instant acknowledgement of who he was
in person, in character—in spirit came over me and
I saw him as a being
unattached
to my perceptions or judgments—
Looking back at me through eyes
that
were seeing through his own vast forests and journeys
and histories.
And for that millisecond
My husband was to me—a creature of God
Created by God—loved by God
Made for a purpose
And I was viewing before me
Someone I would see again in heaven
Creature to creature—being to being—redeemed to redeemed
And I loved him as one of Christ’s own as I loved the others there.
And I saw the treasure of who he was.
I am a Christian, wife, mother of five, grandmother, author and musician. As far as my likes go, I like playing with my dog, Dolly. I enjoy playing Frisbee, reading books, TV, movies, riding my motorcycle, going to church, studying the Word, playing the piano, practicing the violin, sitting on my front porch and watching hummingbirds and playing my mountain harp, swimming and writing poetry. Pet Peeve: People who believe you have to use cursing or sex scenes to have a good book.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Woe to Him Through Whom Offenses Come
Woe to Him Through Whom Offenses Come
Regina Russell
Brad Summers was an austere man who knew his mind and played his hand,
Close to the chest and gave no man,
No more than was his due.
His wife berated and forlorn, left him during such a storm,
Of words and threats and tried to warn.
Instead, his anger grew.
Now Brad continued in this vein throughout his years although his gain,
Was only heartache—it was plain,
To others, not to him.
Then he started to protest, the world around him—what a mess!
He claimed offense, he claimed duress,
And stirred up strife again.
For others had offended him, not on a chance, not by a whim,
"Deliberate!" he charged with vim,
And made his anger known.
And then the courthouse right in town,
Had to take commandments down
That their forefathers once had found
To be life’s stepping stone.
But poor Brad Summers wasn’t done, he saw the Christ-child, God’s own Son,
Depicted by nativity on public grounds for all to see!
"I am offended!" Summers cried,
I have my rights! And none denied.
For toleration was the way,
The tide had turned. How dark the day.
Seasons passed. Brad’s eyes grew dim but still none dared to offend him,
And then one night, with one last breath, he looked upon the face of Death.
Death smiled and coddled his cold soul, and told him lies that millions know,
Of angel wings and heaven’s doors but when he woke, he died once more.
For Brad now stood--naked, alone, before One seated on a throne,
He shook with fear he’d never known,
And dropped down to his knees.
"Forgive me!" he cried earnestly. I did not know—did not believe!
But now I understand my fate. Lord, tell me that it’s not too late!"
And then the words he’d not forget,
Throughout eternity’s regret, surrounded him as heaven wept,
------------------"You have offended ME!"-------------------
Close to the chest and gave no man,
No more than was his due.
His wife berated and forlorn, left him during such a storm,
Of words and threats and tried to warn.
Instead, his anger grew.
Now Brad continued in this vein throughout his years although his gain,
Was only heartache—it was plain,
To others, not to him.
Then he started to protest, the world around him—what a mess!
He claimed offense, he claimed duress,
And stirred up strife again.
For others had offended him, not on a chance, not by a whim,
"Deliberate!" he charged with vim,
And made his anger known.
And then the courthouse right in town,
Had to take commandments down
That their forefathers once had found
To be life’s stepping stone.
But poor Brad Summers wasn’t done, he saw the Christ-child, God’s own Son,
Depicted by nativity on public grounds for all to see!
"I am offended!" Summers cried,
I have my rights! And none denied.
For toleration was the way,
The tide had turned. How dark the day.
Seasons passed. Brad’s eyes grew dim but still none dared to offend him,
And then one night, with one last breath, he looked upon the face of Death.
Death smiled and coddled his cold soul, and told him lies that millions know,
Of angel wings and heaven’s doors but when he woke, he died once more.
For Brad now stood--naked, alone, before One seated on a throne,
He shook with fear he’d never known,
And dropped down to his knees.
"Forgive me!" he cried earnestly. I did not know—did not believe!
But now I understand my fate. Lord, tell me that it’s not too late!"
And then the words he’d not forget,
Throughout eternity’s regret, surrounded him as heaven wept,
------------------"You have offended ME!"-------------------
Take Me With You
Take Me with You
We all know that sometimes God calls us to take a stand in extraordinary ways—times when He may ask us to risk something important to us. But have you ever wondered if the leading you felt to do something just a little bit out of the ordinary was from God? Listen carefully. It may be God wanting to use you for His kingdom and He may only require a small effort on your part. Here is a story of such a time.
When I arrived at work that day, my eyes were drawn to the Bible lying next to me in the front seat of the car. Something about it seemed to speak to me: “Take me with you.” I paused for only a moment. If this was God speaking to my heart I wanted to obey. The urge was so strong I decided that it was more than some thought I had on my own. I felt as though I was being compelled by the Spirit of God.
This Bible was not a small Bible either—something I could tuck into my purse even had I wanted to. Nor would I be carrying in any other books or packages that would make it inconspicuous. However, that didn’t bother me. My Bible was precious to me and the people in my workplace knew that I claimed to be a Christian. Carrying my Bible into work with me was not a hard thing for me to do—just something I was not used to doing.
My desk was in an open area near several others and I placed my Bible on the left where it wouldn’t be in the way of my papers or hamper my ability to work. My day began as usual and soon the strange urge I had was relegated to the back of my mind as I submerged myself in my work.
When lunchtime came I stood up ready to head toward the break area when my eyes fell on the Bible lying there on my desk. Once again, it almost seemed to speak to me: “Take me with you.” Carrying my Bible into the workplace and putting it on my desk was one thing but carrying it with me when I went to eat lunch was something else. It would be more than noticeable there—something to be explained—too obvious to ignore lying on the table next to me. Yet, once again, I felt as though the idea was not of my mind’s own making so I obeyed, picked up the Bible and headed towards the break area.
I regularly sat with two other women friends during the dinner break and soon two of us were eating our lunches. The third young lady, who I will call, Jill, never ate at work, preferring to eat a big meal when she got home. She noticed my Bible lying there, opened it and began to read. For the rest of the mealtime, my studious friend was silent as my other friend and I conversed. I was secretly pleased to see my fellow worker who I knew wasn’t saved and did not attend church, interested in the Word of God.
After lunch was over, Jill handed me my Bible and I thanked her. “You know,” she informed me to my amazement, “That’s the first time I’ve ever actually opened the Bible and read anything out of it.”
I tried to disguise my surprise at her words not wanting to make an issue out of it that might embarrass her. “Really?” I asked pleasantly. “What did you read?”
“I read the account of the creation in Genesis,” she replied.
By this time we had almost arrived back to our work stations. I returned my Bible to the place on my desk, pleased with the outcome—believing I had been used.
I don’t know what may come of Jill’s reading but I am so glad that I obeyed that “still, small voice.” So little was required of me but I have no doubt that the results could be enormous. That’s what I’ve come to believe whenever my Father is involved.
We all know that sometimes God calls us to take a stand in extraordinary ways—times when He may ask us to risk something important to us. But have you ever wondered if the leading you felt to do something just a little bit out of the ordinary was from God? Listen carefully. It may be God wanting to use you for His kingdom and He may only require a small effort on your part. Here is a story of such a time.
When I arrived at work that day, my eyes were drawn to the Bible lying next to me in the front seat of the car. Something about it seemed to speak to me: “Take me with you.” I paused for only a moment. If this was God speaking to my heart I wanted to obey. The urge was so strong I decided that it was more than some thought I had on my own. I felt as though I was being compelled by the Spirit of God.
This Bible was not a small Bible either—something I could tuck into my purse even had I wanted to. Nor would I be carrying in any other books or packages that would make it inconspicuous. However, that didn’t bother me. My Bible was precious to me and the people in my workplace knew that I claimed to be a Christian. Carrying my Bible into work with me was not a hard thing for me to do—just something I was not used to doing.
My desk was in an open area near several others and I placed my Bible on the left where it wouldn’t be in the way of my papers or hamper my ability to work. My day began as usual and soon the strange urge I had was relegated to the back of my mind as I submerged myself in my work.
When lunchtime came I stood up ready to head toward the break area when my eyes fell on the Bible lying there on my desk. Once again, it almost seemed to speak to me: “Take me with you.” Carrying my Bible into the workplace and putting it on my desk was one thing but carrying it with me when I went to eat lunch was something else. It would be more than noticeable there—something to be explained—too obvious to ignore lying on the table next to me. Yet, once again, I felt as though the idea was not of my mind’s own making so I obeyed, picked up the Bible and headed towards the break area.
I regularly sat with two other women friends during the dinner break and soon two of us were eating our lunches. The third young lady, who I will call, Jill, never ate at work, preferring to eat a big meal when she got home. She noticed my Bible lying there, opened it and began to read. For the rest of the mealtime, my studious friend was silent as my other friend and I conversed. I was secretly pleased to see my fellow worker who I knew wasn’t saved and did not attend church, interested in the Word of God.
After lunch was over, Jill handed me my Bible and I thanked her. “You know,” she informed me to my amazement, “That’s the first time I’ve ever actually opened the Bible and read anything out of it.”
I tried to disguise my surprise at her words not wanting to make an issue out of it that might embarrass her. “Really?” I asked pleasantly. “What did you read?”
“I read the account of the creation in Genesis,” she replied.
By this time we had almost arrived back to our work stations. I returned my Bible to the place on my desk, pleased with the outcome—believing I had been used.
I don’t know what may come of Jill’s reading but I am so glad that I obeyed that “still, small voice.” So little was required of me but I have no doubt that the results could be enormous. That’s what I’ve come to believe whenever my Father is involved.
The Room by Joshua Harris
The ROOM
by Joshua Harris
THE ROOM was actually written by speaker and author Joshua Harris
and is in his book "I Kissed Dating Goodbye." He says it was something
that he put on paper as the result of a dream he had while in Puerto Rico
for the 1995 Billy Graham Crusade and published in his magazine the same year.
Brian Moore was real. He lost his life as the result of a traffic accident shortly
after having presented THE ROOM for the meeting of Christian athletes.
His friends and family believed that he had written it and the story about Brian
was passed along to others sincerely. Joshua Harris told TruthOrFiction.com
that he appreciates people getting the facts straight about the origins of The Room.
The following is a partly true, partly false story. I tried to edit out the false parts.
17-year-old Brian Moore went to Teary Valley High School. Brian Moore died
May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's
house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck
a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed
power line and was electrocuted.
I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make
something out of it, Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want
to share their son's vision of life after death. I'm happy for Brian.
I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him.
THE ROOM was actually written by speaker and author Joshua Harris
and is in his book "I Kissed Dating Goodbye." He says it was something
that he put on paper as the result of a dream he had while in Puerto Rico
for the 1995 Billy Graham Crusade and published in his magazine the same year.
Brian Moore was real. He lost his life as the result of a traffic accident shortly
after having presented THE ROOM for the meeting of Christian athletes.
His friends and family believed that he had written it and the story about Brian
was passed along to others sincerely. Joshua Harris told TruthOrFiction.com
that he appreciates people getting the facts straight about the origins of The Room.
The following is a partly true, partly false story. I tried to edit out the false parts.
17-year-old Brian Moore went to Teary Valley High School. Brian Moore died
May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's
house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck
a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed
power line and was electrocuted.
I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make
something out of it, Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want
to share their son's vision of life after death. I'm happy for Brian.
I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him.
"The Room" Essay
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.
There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with
small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list
titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which
stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction,
had very different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was
one that read "Girls I have liked".
I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked
to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for
my life, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and
curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly
opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet
memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would
look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
FILE NAMES
A file named Friends was next to one marked
"Friends I have betrayed".
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird.
Books I Have Read
Lies I Have Told
Comfort I have Given
Jokes I Have Laughed at
Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:
Things I've yelled at my brothers
Others I couldn't laugh at:
Things I Have Done in My Anger
Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents
I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more
cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the
sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time
in my years to each of these thousands or even millions of cards?
But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting.
Each signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked
"TV Shows I have watched" I realized the files grew to contain their contents.
The cards were packed tightly, and yet after 2 or 3 yards, I hadn't found
the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of
shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts"
I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out
only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a
card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to
think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind:
No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to
destroy them! In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't
matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one
end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card.
I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel
when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file
to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long,
self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore
"People I Have Shared the Gospel With"
The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused.
I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than 3 inches long fell
into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. Then the
tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in
my stomach and shook through me.
I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the
overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves
swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know
of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
JESUS Co-Signs
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him! Not here!
Oh, anyone but Jesus! I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read
the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could
bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed
to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with
pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head,
covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His
arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word.
He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files.
Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and,
one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
NO! I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was
NO! NO! as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't
be on these cards! But there it was, written in red so rich,
so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was
written with His blood. He gently took the card back.
He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards.
I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly,
but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last
file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my
shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He
led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door.
There were still cards to be written.
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
Philippians 4:13
God so loved the world that He gave His only son,
that whoever believes in Him shall not perish
but have eternal life.
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.
There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with
small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list
titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which
stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction,
had very different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was
one that read "Girls I have liked".
I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked
to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for
my life, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and
curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly
opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet
memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would
look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
FILE NAMES
A file named Friends was next to one marked
"Friends I have betrayed".
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird.
Books I Have Read
Lies I Have Told
Comfort I have Given
Jokes I Have Laughed at
Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:
Things I've yelled at my brothers
Others I couldn't laugh at:
Things I Have Done in My Anger
Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents
I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more
cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the
sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time
in my years to each of these thousands or even millions of cards?
But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting.
Each signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked
"TV Shows I have watched" I realized the files grew to contain their contents.
The cards were packed tightly, and yet after 2 or 3 yards, I hadn't found
the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of
shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts"
I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out
only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a
card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to
think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind:
No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to
destroy them! In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't
matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one
end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card.
I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel
when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file
to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long,
self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore
"People I Have Shared the Gospel With"
The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused.
I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than 3 inches long fell
into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. Then the
tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in
my stomach and shook through me.
I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the
overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves
swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know
of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
JESUS Co-Signs
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him! Not here!
Oh, anyone but Jesus! I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read
the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could
bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed
to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with
pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head,
covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His
arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word.
He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files.
Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and,
one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
NO! I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was
NO! NO! as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't
be on these cards! But there it was, written in red so rich,
so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was
written with His blood. He gently took the card back.
He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards.
I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly,
but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last
file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my
shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He
led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door.
There were still cards to be written.
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
Philippians 4:13
God so loved the world that He gave His only son,
that whoever believes in Him shall not perish
but have eternal life.
Inconvenient Truth to the Abortionistas
Inconvenient Truth
to the Abortionistas
to the Abortionistas
Regina Russell
How ironic that what you fight for
Would have one less for the cause
If your mother had aborted you instead
Yet you talk of women’s rights
When the reason you can fight
For your cause is just because
You are not dead.
When you’re killing babies you’re killing future women too
I know the truth is not convenient but neither were you.
Don’t dismiss the future woman
Just because she’s in the womb
She should have the right to live
And have a voice.
Don’t disguise the ugly truth
Aborted babies have no graves.
Abortion is abortion not a choice.
When you’re killing babies you’re killing future women too
I know the truth is not convenient but neither were you.
How ironic that what you fight for
Would have one less for the cause
If your mother had aborted you instead
Yet you talk of women’s rights
When the reason you can fight
For your cause is just because
You are not dead.
When you’re killing babies you’re killing future women too
I know the truth is not convenient but neither were you.
Don’t dismiss the future woman
Just because she’s in the womb
She should have the right to live
And have a voice.
Don’t disguise the ugly truth
Aborted babies have no graves.
Abortion is abortion not a choice.
When you’re killing babies you’re killing future women too
I know the truth is not convenient but neither were you.
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