BE STILL MY SOUL

1. Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side.
   Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
   Leave to thy God to order and provide;
   In every change, He faithful will remain.
   Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heav’nly Friend
   Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
2. Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
   To guide the future, as He has the past.
   Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
   All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
   Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
   His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.
3. Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart,
   And all is darkened in the vale of tears,
   Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,
   Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.
   Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay
   From His own fullness all He takes away.
4. Be still, my soul: the hour is hast’ning on
   When we shall be forever with the Lord.
   When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
   Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
   Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past
   All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.
5. Be still, my soul: begin the song of praise
   On earth, believing, to Thy Lord on high;
   Acknowledge Him in all thy words and ways,
   So shall He view thee with a well-pleased eye.
   Be still, my soul: the Sun of life divine
   Through passing clouds shall but more brightly shine.

6. by Katharina A. von Schlegel

THE HAMMERS AND ANVILS OF MY LIFE

 4495

Pt. 1

In recent weeks, I have been handing out New Testaments to store clerks, bag boys, and others I meet along the highways and byways of life. (And, interestingly enough, given the 75 or 100 I have distributed thus far, every single one of the recipients have accepted these sacred volumes, and thanked me for them).

As I prepare to hand these volumes out, I always say something like,

"I have a little gift for you."

(or)

"Let me leave this little book with you."

My favorite little preface, however, is a bit more elaborate.

"Let me leave you a copy of a small volume my first grade teacher gave me... 70 years ago."

And, as you might imagine with this their eyes widen a bit.

Now, I pull the New Testament from my pocket, and lay it down; with the untitled back of the book "looking" at him or her; (in the unlikely possibility he or she might refuse it, if they see the title).

Pt. 2

Speaking of 70 years ago, and the decade which transpired thereafter, I have often reflected on my grade school, junior high, and high school teachers; (all of whom by now have, as far as I know, gone on to their reward).

Mrs. Sampson, my first and second grade teacher. (It was common in those days for the teacher to follow the class, to which he or she was assigned, for two years). I don't recall just how it came about, but she suggested that I perform the part of The Wizard; (the first two words in the four word title by which that famous book, play, and movie is known).

I will always remember having portrayed the fiery incarnation of the Wizard in which my cheeks were smeared with rouge. As I walked out onto the stage, the small incarnation of my current self was greeted with laughter. I will always recall my embarrassment, as I realized the audience found something humorous about my otherwise horrific manifestation of the little pretender.

And then, there was dear Mrs. Waters; (who I knew from church before I knew her in the classroom). And though I wasn't the best behaved of all her students, (I melted colorful crayons on the warm radiators which lined the walls, and dipped the pigtails of the girl in front of me into the inkwell on my desk), I seemed to be one of her favorites, nonetheless.

I will always remember Mr. Ball, or at least one experience which occurred in his sixth grade classroom. In January of '61, he pulled a little portable TV to the front center of the room, pulled the rabbit ears up a couple of notches, selected one of the three available channels, and turned a round knob, bottom front.

Our class was afforded the opportunity to view all two hours of the President John F. Kennedy inauguration. I will never forget his, "Ask not what your country can do for you...," (nor have I forgotten the preliminary poem, by Robert Frost). Our national Poet Laureate had written a poem he titled "Dedication" for this prestigious event. However, when the bright sunlight prevented the aging man from reading it, he quoted another poem which he'd relegated to memory, "The Gift Outright."

(Little could we have known at the time that our young president would be assassinated just short of three years later).

Pt. 3

Then, there was my 8th grade English teacher, Mrs. Belflower. She made her students aware that she was Runner Up Miss Georgia, 1949. (Interestingly enough, the majority of her students that year were born in 1949). But, in spite of the old fashioned signature clothing, shoes, and hairstyles of that period, having done the math her pupils correctly deducted Mrs. Mary Duncan Belflower was a comparatively young 34 years of age at the time. (She would be just short of the century mark were she still with us today).

I will always remember that poignant line from the Scottish prayer which she taught us.

"From ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties, and things that go bump in the night, good Lord deliver us!"

I will never forget a couple of lines she wrote in longhand on the back of one of my report cards.

"Royce has a significant amount of potential. If he invests the time and effort, he may find he likes English literature!"

(She must have been something of a minor prophet since in the last couple of decades, I have written several, (thus far yet), unpublished volumes).

And perhaps the most indelible memory of my entire 12 years in the public school system also included her; (though I only learned the details from my wife a few years ago).

For you see, just weeks after the Kennedy Assassination, an errant driver left the street in front of our school, and ran over eight or ten of our students. Several were seriously injured. One died. I would have been among them, but I managed to step aside; while also pulling a friend out of the path of the automobile.

And as I have inferred, in recent years my wife made me aware that she witnessed Mrs. Belflower running down the hallway towards the scene of the accident. 

And stopping next to her, she asked, 

"What happened? (and) "What did you see?" before disappearing out the hallway door.

Pt. 4

And finally, at least in terms of this story, there was the elderly, unmarried matron named Margaret Clark. By the time I arrived at Summerlin Institute in the mid-60's, she had been teaching in the county schools for a quarter of a century. 

She was a choral teacher par excellence. 

Miss Clark's choral classes consistently earned all Superior ratings at state contests. The highlight of the school year was her students' performances of Handel's "Messiah" during the Christmas season at the local Baptist church. Sadly, our beloved teacher developed cancer, and passed away during my senior year of high school; having been replaced by a much younger version of herself.

Post-script

I would not, could not be, who I am today without their presence in my life. 

How inestimably blessed I have been to have been shaped by these all too impactful, but all too human hammers and anvils.

As I find myself nearing the end of a third of a century of purposely, and desperately following their lead, and run with the proverbial baton which they have passed off to me, may those who I leave behind do the same.

by Bill McDonald, PhD 

 

FOLLOW ME

 4494

Pt. 1

The year was 1968 and I was a new Christian; having accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as my Savior the previous year, (and the summer after my high school graduation). Not one to waste a great deal of time, I had enrolled at a nearby Bible college; (which in the intervening decades metamorphosed into a Christian liberal arts university in which I was subsequently privileged to teach).

As the student body sat in chapel one morning, whomever happened to be charge of the service stepped forward and instructed the sound person to play a pre-recorded song. Suddenly, the strains of an unfamiliar hymn filled the auditorium, and a baritone voice began to sing the most poignant words,

“I traveled down a lonely road and no one seemed to care

The burden on my weary back had bowed me to despair,

I oft complained to Jesus how folks were treating me

And then these words He spoke so tenderly…”

There was just something so compelling about the words of the old song; which went beyond the rhyme, content and meter. The expressiveness and experiential tenor of the words lent such an eloquence to the theme which he attempted to express to his audience.

It seems to me the student body sat spellbound, as the three verses to the hymn played themselves out. As I reflect on it now, an almost ‘holy hush’ permeated the building that morning.

As the closing notes of our unseen guest and accompanying piano echoed across the chapel, and silence permeated the room, our college president walked to the podium, and provided the students a bit of information to which they had not been privy, ‘til now.

“The voice you just heard was owned by a missionary named J.W. Tucker. He is no longer with us, but died at the hands of Simba rebels in Africa just four years ago.”

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. There was just something so personally poignant having just been exposed to the song, and having just connected with the man who sang it; and to be informed that he had lain down his life for the Gospel of the Lord whom he had so dearly loved.

Almost half a century has come and gone since that day, and I have often reflected on the words of that old hymn by Ira Stanphill, and its relevance to every Christian who ever lived and moved and breathed upon this planet. And over the course of the past few decades I have often sung it as a solo, and never fail to relate the story behind my personal association with it.

William McDonald, PhD

Pt. 2

A HERO OF THE FAITH
Originally Posted on March 11, 2014

It was November, 1964. J.W. and Angeline Tucker had returned to Paulis, Belgian Congo for their fifth term as Assemblies of God missionaries. Not long after their arrival, Simba rebels overran the area, slaughtering hundreds of people.

J. W., along with about sixty other Europeans and Americans, was taken hostage to the Catholic mission in Paulis (later named Isiro). (Angeline and the three children were rescued by Belgian paratroopers and flown to safety). While being held at the mission, J. W. and several others, with hands tied behind their backs, were mercilessly beaten to death. Their bodies were loaded on a truck and taken about forty miles to the Bomokande River. There they were fed to the hungry crocodiles. Truly a Prince and a great missionary had perished, and it all seemed such a waste. But there is more to the story.

For many years J. W. had tried, with little success, to reach the Mangbeto tribe with the gospel. But the tribal king refused to allow him to preach to the people, saying, “We have our own gods.”

During the Simba rebel uprising, fighting spilled into Mangbeto territory. In desperation, the king requested help from the central government in Kinshasa. The government responded by sending them a man of powerful influence from the Isiro area. They called him “the Brigadier.” Just two months before J. W. was killed he won this man to the Lord.

When the Brigadier arrived in Mangbeto country he quickly realized they were pagans. So he determined to win them to the Lord. Being a new Christian, he shared the gospel with them as best he could, but with very little success. Being somewhat discouraged, he began to pray, and the Lord gave him an idea. So he sent word to the king to bring his tribal elders and meet with him.

When the tribal delegation arrived, the Brigadier said, “From time immemorial you have had a saying: ‘If the blood of any man flows in our river, the Bomokande River, we must listen to his message.’ A man’s blood has flowed in your river. He tried to give you a message about his God Who sent His Son to die for your sins, so that all who believe on Him will have eternal life. And I am bringing his message to you. This man’s blood has flowed in your river, so you must hear his message.” As the Brigadier spoke, the Spirit of the Lord began to move in their hearts, and many received the Savior that day.

Today there are thousands of Christians in the Mangbeto tribe, and between forty and fifty Assemblies of God churches. How true the saying: “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.”

My wife and I stood on the bridge over the Bomokande River, only a few feet from where the rebels threw Brother Tucker’s body. We were both gripped by a great sense of awe as we stood on that sacred ground. Our hearts were challenged by the memory of a great, but humble, man of God who believed that being in God’s will is more precious than life itself. And though dead, his message is still bearing fruit.

Harold Walls

(Manna for the Journey Devotions)

Pt. 3                       

                                             FOLLOW ME

                                                                               Ira Stanphill

“I traveled down a lonely road and no one seemed to care,
The burden on my weary back had bowed me to despair,
I oft complained to Jesus how folks were treating me,”
And then I heard Him say so tenderly,

"My feet were also weary upon the Calv'ry road,
The cross became so heavy I fell beneath the load,
Be faithful weary pilgrim, the morning I can see,
Just lift your cross and follow close to me."

"I work so hard for Jesus" I often boast and say,
"I've sacrificed a lot of things to walk the narrow way,
I gave up fame and fortune; I'm worth a lot to thee,"
And then I heard Him gently say to me,

"I left the throne of glory and counted it but loss,
My hands were nailed in anger upon a cruel cross,
But now we'll make the journey with your hand safe in mine,
So lift your cross and follow close to me."

“Oh Jesus if I die upon a foreign field someday
'Twould be no more than love demands, no less could I repay,”

"No greater love hath mortal man than for a friend to die,"
These are the words he gently spoke to me,

"If just a cup of water I place within your hand
Then just a cup of water is all that I demand,"
“But if by death to living they can thy glory see,
I'll take my cross and follow close to thee.”