>Don’t know how this fell under by radar, but I picked up a copy of “The Stirring” by Robert Moeller a couple weeks ago. It was published in 1994 and depicts a revival coming into a Chicago suburb in contemporary times.
It deals with pastoral priorities (or lack thereof), satanic deception, human stupidity, church follies, faithful saints, teen pregnancy, and many more subjects in an entertaining, edifying, and hopeful way.
I recommend it! As always, if you order it (or anything else) from Amazon by clicking the link below a (small) percentage will go to me. As we continue to subsist solely on missionary support your efforts will be helpful, and are needed.
>Several have asked me how a water balloon could cause such damage (see earlier posts if this is a mystery)…thinking, I suppose, that no human could throw a water balloon hard enough to cause such damage.
Well, in my never ending drive to educate, I searched diligently for an accurate picture, but could not find one, but this one is very close.
We aren’t too bright…a couple years ago a balloon broke an oar that was held up in defense. Ah, youth workers may not be candidates for MENSA after all…
>So I’m wondering (whining?) about the eye injury, when I get the following from Ray Ortland’s blog:
“Let us not dictate to God. Many a blessing has been lost by Christians not believing it to be a blessing, because it did not come in the particular shape which they had conceived to be proper and right. To some the divine work is nothing, unless it assumes the form which their prejudice has selected.”
Jeremiah Lanphier, Alone With Jesus, page 88.
“Imagine that your prayer is a poorly dressed beggar reeking of alcohol and body odor, stumbling toward the palace of the great king. You have become your prayer. As you shuffle toward the barred gate, the guards stiffen. Your smell has preceded you. You stammer out a message for the great king: ‘I want to see the king.’
Your words are barely intelligible, but you whisper one final word, ‘Jesus, I come in the name of Jesus.’ At the name of Jesus, as if by magic, the palace comes alive. The guards snap to attention, bowing low in front of you. Lights come on, and the door flies open. You are ushered into the palace and down a long hallway into the throne room of the great king, who comes running to you and wraps you in his arms.
The name of Jesus gives my prayers royal access. They get through. Jesus isn’t just the Savior of my soul. He’s also the Savior of my prayers. My prayers come before the throne of God as the prayers of Jesus. ‘Asking in Jesus’ name’ isn’t another thing I have to get right so my prayers are perfect. Is it one more gift of God because my prayers are so imperfect.”
—Paul Miller, A Praying Life (Colorado Springs, CO: NavPress 2009), 135