Job’s Three Friends

Job's three friends live a distance from him, but they come together and decide to visit Job in order to help him mourn. For the first seven days, they merely sit with him, quietly. They do not say a word. They support him, let him have his sadness and be there with him in his time of trial. 

Job’s friends start off I believe feeling sorry for Job. But as they started trying. to figure out why Job had this happen to him. They became terrible comforters after that. 

The Bible says… And He burned with anger against Job’s three friends because they had failed to refute Job, and yet had condemned him. Job 32:3 

I have often wondered how I have come off giving comfort. This is by no means any condemnation to anyone over my present condition with my son. But it makes me reevaluate my sense of comfort to those hurting. Do I start off good and end it like Job’s friends? Do I start with good intentions and end it with my blabbering that sounds more like preaching and less like being a shoulder to lean on? 

When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only light we'll see

No, I won't be afraid

Oh, I won't be afraid

Just as long as you stand

Stand by me

So darlin', darlin', stand by me

Oh, stand by me

Oh, stand

Stand by me, stand by me

If the sky that we look upon

Should tumble and fall

Or the mountain should crumble to the sea

I won't cry, I won't cry

No, I won't shed a tear

Just as long as you stand

Stand by me

And darlin', darlin', stand by me

Oh, stand by me

Oh, stand now

Stand by me, stand by me

And darlin', darlin', stand by me

Oh, stand by me

Oh, stand now 

Stand by me, stand by me

Whenever you're in trouble won't you stand by me

Oh, stand by me

Won't you stand by

Am I someone to stand by someone or am I someone that others would rather avoid? 

As my soul searching unfolds with each chapter of my life I ponder upon these things in my heart.

 

Love that doesn’t make sense.

 This is the agape love of Christ. Love that doesn’t make sense. Love your enemies. That goes against the rules of this world. Showing kindness to unloveable even when you receive nothing in return. Not even a thank you. I’ve already lost one more family member who felt unloved. I’m determined to love even harder. To be a fool for Christ. I will unclench my fist. I will walk the extra mile. Say whatever you want about me. But I’m not gonna let go. Connor didn’t let go. I will work to regain your trust if I have some how wronged you. I will be the first to say I’m sorry. Time is not my own. It belongs to God. Even I am a stumbling block to another or I bring dishonor to His name may He take me on out of here. Like when I was doing ministry, no one should be trying to get to God while climbing over me. It’s not about me. Hate me if you like. Forget me once I’m gone. But please see Christ and not me. Feel His love not mine. Remember His name not me. Less of me and my ego. I only want Him to be seen. And only tapping into his agape love can I love the unloveable like He does. 

Jesus love ❤️ so much through me there’s no more of prideful, hedonistic me left. Allow me to die like Connor, loving his fellow man in service to You. Amen

How long. O Lord?

 How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? Psalm 13:1. The verse I spoke aloud that day over my son. Words I spoke over and over holding and cradling my child. Sitting on a hillside begging for someone to help me. Could they resurrect my son’s lifeless body? All I knew in that moment I needed, I looked for, I longed for my Savior to appear. For now I was the child in need of a Father. Begging for the breath of life to come back into his body. Yet, it remained cold. Cold as it was when the Father watched from afar as His Son was taken down from the Cross. As one father talking to another I felt just a bit of His pain and frustration. He could do nothing that day to stop His Son’s death. It was the only way my son could live again. But I wanted that moment to be now. Not later. So I cried to Him,”How long must us mortals die? How long must we suffer loss? How long before we can see them again? How long will You hide Your face from me? Can You see me? I think I have a right now to ask?” Through sobs and cries of anger I spoke this over and over for two hours until the first responders came. They gave me my space to grieve. Almost like me….waiting to see what happened next. Waiting to see if He appeared. But like so many scenes like this. Nothing but silence. So I wait. Still back there that day until the end of my days. How long? O Lord. How long? How long until I personally see Your face? I will wait. It’s all I can do. For You know the loss of a Son. You know the pains of a father. And you hold every tear I cry in a jar. And someday You will look me in the face and wipe away each tear that streams down my cheeks. With my eyes I will see You crying my tears with me…….

God of Saturday Night

 Once everyone stopped coming around…..my loss for my son didn’t stop. I close my eyes and imagine the sun going down. Panic sets in. I feel like I should be looking for him. Trying to find him. Then I realize I did. And I was too late that day. He was gone. I failed to protect my child. And I try to sleep. Instead I soak my pillow with my tears. No one hears my heart’s cry. I ask God why. I listen to the advice of friends. Their words of sympathy. They quote scripture and condolences. The few who remain and follow. But mostly this is a battle you fight alone. The world around is full of get and gain. Hustle and bustle. But I stand in my mind’s eye and wait on God’s still small voice to answer me. I wait for the sun to rise to end the long night. My pillow is soaked with my tears. The God of Saturday night comforts me not the god of this world. The God of Saturday night is the one who feels the cross, feels my pain, knows my anguish, is real to my needs. The god of this world is neatly packaged and promises a life of no trouble if you just follow him. The God of Saturday night says He will be with me in my troubles not a life free of heartaches. I like the God who is real not the god of this world.

My Grandchildren

My two grandchildren are a boy 4 and a girl 9. To some people it may not mean much, but to me they are the joy of my life. The cute things they say sometime fills my heart with happiness.



Like one day I pick my grandddaughter up from school. We started to leave. She said,"Oh, Mamaw, wait I left something. I need to go get it."



"What did you leave?"



With big, blue eyes she looked up at me and said,"Flowers I pick up in the yard. They are in my desk."



"They will be alright till tomorrow."



She reached over and hugged me saying,"Mamaw, I pick them for you. It's your favorite color, purple."



So I let her go get them. Coming back to the car, she put them in my hands while saying,"I love you."It made me cry with happiness.



On another occasion, my grandson was at my house. I was setting in the living room just resting. He came in and set down by me. I reached over and pat him on the head.

"You so cute,"he exclaimed.

"You my sweet grandson."

Looking at me and he said,"You my pretty and sweet Mamaw. I love you," as he put his little arms around my neck.

I lost their grandfather almost three years ago. And when I am a sad they are there so help me go on. I start thinking all I have to be thankful for. Two wonderful sons who are here for me, a sweet daughte-in-law, and grandchildren. I have a good family.

By

Louise Gargus

Weeping Willow Tree of God

Rain rivulets run down my windshield as I turn into the drive.The storm from earlier has soaked the long driveway.I'm carrying my mother home after a night with the family.She has a far off distant look in her eyes of a time I can't see."I can remember when..."she goes
on to say.Speaking of days long past of family closeness and love."It's not the same anymore.""What do you mean?""People just don't have time for each other.
Family ties don't mean much.They come unraveled with the passing of years,"she seemed to tear up as she said it.Falling silent after that,I walked her to the door and kissed her good night.Driving back up the driveway and down the road I have traveled down a hundred times I wonder.I notice the weeping willow as it's long branches stretch out into the wind. Normally they droop as if saddened.Now it's as if reaching to something that just isn't there.Mom is alot like that.Reaching to the past and finding noone there to reach back to her.So much of her family has passed on. As I observe that tree, I see roots stretching up out of the very ground to reach the water that comes from the spring rains. My hands feel like the roots of that tree trying to find water to sustain life.Oh,so desperately trying to sustain life to our family ties.

The family tree has become like a weeping willow, mourning for the loss of family.And as each root searches for that connection to a family tie, that family member cuts that root off as soon as it starts to appear either by death or neglect.Pretty soon enough family members do that the tree dies.I ,in my way, have become the gardener of that tree.Grasping at the ties that bind,only to discover the unraveling. I reach out only to have my hand slapped away, and the roots cut.So I struggle in vain to keep memories of simpler times alive.For memories is what the family tree lives on.That is the living water it so longingly searches for.When the tree finds the water,it only discovers another tree has been planted in it's place.So the old tree's roots are cut by one more person and left to die.But the new tree never grows very big.In the process of trying to forget their past, they create a future with little eyes watching and learning.These little eyes grow up believing that old things are to be discarded,even family ties.So they cut the new tree down when it grows old.And so I struggle to remember stories,of times I recall,so my children know who they are and that family comes first.You always stand up for family.They may not be perfect,but they are after all part of the same tree.Whether connected through grandparents,cousins,aunts or uncles,there is something to be said about pulling together in the tough times.No branch is better or more important than the other in the family tree, and the roots run deep underneath the rich,southern soil.
So my search carried me, in a dream,to the shade of a weeping willow tree long neglected and forgotten by others.Underneath I find the Father.I hear a sobbing sound."What is that sound?"I ask."That is the sound that you just now begin to hear,"he explains,"For you see, I made the tree to weep.""But why I ask?"I inquire."Because you cannot at times.For too long you have refused to shed a tear for your fellow brothers and sisters.So I have made something to cry for you.Each time a hurt comes, a drop of water falls from the leaves of that tree. It cries with those who are alone and no comfort can find."

I awaken to discover my soul searching has carried me to a place where I find another piece of my soul. A piece that lain beneath the Weeping Willow Tree of God.

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.
We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.

Psalm 137:1-2

By

Lance Gargus

The Blood

One night in a church service a young woman felt the tug of God at her heart. She responded to God's call and accepted Jesus as her Lord and Savior. The young woman had a very rough past, involving alcohol, drugs, and prostitution. But, the change in her was evident. As time went on she became a faithful member of the church. She eventually became involved in the ministry, teaching young children. It was not very long until this faithful young woman had caught the eye and heart of the pastor's son... The relationship grew and they began to make wedding plans. This is when the problems began. You see, about one half of the church did not think that a woman with a past such as hers was suitable for a pastor's son. The church began to argue and fight about the matter. So they decided to have a meeting. As the people made their arguments and tensions increased, the meeting was getting completely out of hand. The young woman became very upset about all the things being brought up about her past. As she began to cry the pastor's son stood to speak. He could not bear the pain it was causing his wife to be. He began to speak and his statement was this: "My fiancée’s past is not what is on trial here.. What you are questioning is the ability of the blood of Jesus to wash away sin. Today you have put the blood of Jesus on trial. So, does it wash away sin or not?" The whole church began to weep as they realized that they had been slandering the blood of the Lord Jesus Christ. Too often, even as Christians, we bring up the past and use it as a weapon against our brothers and sisters. Forgiveness is a very foundational part of the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. If the blood of Jesus does not cleanse the other person completely then it cannot cleanse us completely. If that is the case, then we are all in a lot of trouble. What can wash away my sins? Nothing but the blood of Jesus! End of case!!!!

"Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved."