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The young owl was venturing out on his own, enjoying the sunshine and soft breeze.   He sat stock still in the marked off spot for an endangered species. 
 

I couldn’t quite get the photo I was after.  Slowly I tip toed closer, full lens camera magnify-cation on.   His small head swiveled around to check out possible approaching danger.

Just as I zoomed in he disappeared from view.   I was too close for comfort, and that bird was scared and stressed.
 

Leaning in, I cautiously put my face near the 6 inch poly pipe only to see - not the baby ground owl, but his, not-at-all happy, mother.   Her head was all fluffed up nearly filling the space, totally protecting her young one somewhere behind her.   She looked intimidating enough that I dared not step any closer.
 

I snapped a picture of the Mom ‘guard’; and thought how this scenario was a reminder that when I’m feeling overly stretched and stressed, it’s good to remember where to go.   I can run to our strong tower, our father God.   He is waiting, arms stretched out wide, to shield and protect us.   That’s good news!

For you have been my refuge, a strong tower. I long to ..take refuge in the shelter of your wings.
Psalm 61:2-4.

The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe.

Proverbs 18:10
 
[Sally Ireland Kennedy © 2009 Irish Thursdays Weekly Devotionals]

AMEN!          [Dankie Adriaan]

The story is told that a man who often felt insulted by people once went to a very wise man and told him about his problem. 
 

He said: “I am easily insulted by people and it really hurts me when people say bad things to me”. 
 

The wise man asked, “if someone gives you a gift and you don’t accept the gift, who does the gift belong to?” 
 

“Well”, the wise man said, “if you don’t accept the gift from the other person, who does it belong to?” 
 

The man replied, “Obviously to the person who is giving it to me”. 
 

“There you go,” said the wise man, “that’s the answer. So if someone insults you and you do not accept the insult, who does it belong to?’ 
 

For us to be insulted, be belittled, angered, wronged, we must accept it from the giver.   The minute we accept it, it becomes ours, we own it and it becomes our stuff. 
 

I know this is much easier said than done, but often people project their stuff on to us.   If we accept it, it becomes our stuff.   We are then offended, angered, wronged and so forth. 
 

This is about choice and how we choose to allow the world and others to affect us.   To live positive lives we need to think about the following: 

The good opinion of other people:    People’s opinion is actually just that, their opinion, we can take from it what we want and extract from it the good and let the rest go.   Often they mean well, which is beside the point.   What you choose to accept, will influence your life.
You are what you consume:

You have to ask yourself :   Do you consume a lot of negativity and insults?   If you do, you will obviously be affected by this.   It’s the same in what we eat and drink, what we listen to and what we watch.   If the stimuli are negative.   If you drink too much alcohol, soon you’ll be drunk.   IF you listen to too many negative things, soon you’ll be miserable and negative. 
 

Let the change start with you:

By now you know that in order to receive less negativity in your life, you need to be less negative.   If you want to see better and more lovable people in the world, you have to be more lovable and a better person. 
 

Someone once asked me:   How do we create a world of less crime?   I told them it starts with them.   The person then replied, ”I don’t do any crime”.   I noticed a pack of copied music CD’s and asked, “are these your music CD’s?”  He replied,  “Yes”.   I said,” I know where you can start to help prevent crime”. 
 

So give the gift of love, respect, positivity and a better life and refuse to accept the “gifts” of insults and negativity.
 

[Thanx to Cathy Bhagwand1n]

Corrie Ten Boom in her excellent book “Tramp for the Lord” tells of a time when some close Christian friends hurt her.   Forgiveness was hard;   it took time. Finally, it happened and she was able to move on.

Many years later, she was now past eighty years old, a friend paid Corrie a visit.   As the two of them sat in her tiny apartment in Holland, he asked about those people who years earlier had taken advantage of her.

“It is nothing,” Corrie said, “It is all forgiven.”

Then she continued, “They say there is nothing to forgive!  They deny it every happened.   No matter what they say, though, I can prove they were wrong.”

I want to continue the story now using Corrie’s own words:   I went eagerly to my desk.   “See, I have it in black and white!   I saved all their letters and I can show you where….”

My friend slipped his arm through mine and gently closed the drawer.  “Corrie!   Aren’t you the one whose sins are at the bottom of the sea?   Yet are the sins of your friends etched in black and white?”

For an astonishing moment I could not find my voice. “Lord,” I whispered at last, “who takes all my sins away, forgive me for preserving all these years the evidence against others!   Give me grace to burn all the blacks and whites as a sweet-smelling sacrifice to your glory.”

I did not go to sleep that night until I had gone through my desk and pulled out those letters–curling now with age–and fed them all into (the fire.)

“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” In the ashes of those letters I was seeing yet another facet of His mercy….”

She went on to write, “Forgiveness is the key which unlocks the door of resentment and the handcuffs of hatred.   It breaks the chains of bitterness and the shackles of selfishness.”
1 Corinthians 13:5 simply notes that love “keeps no record of wrongs suffered.”

If you want to truly and completely forgive, drop the matter.   Let it go !

[Pastor Michael Jackson]   -   Keith Overturf

They say there are no mistakes, for everything there is a purpose.   Makes you think.   Enjoy!   We’ll never know where our paths will take us!   This is really beautiful…God is not sleeping.

Consumed by my loss, I didn’t notice the hardness of the pew where I sat.   I was at the funeral of my dearest friend-my mother.   She finally had lost her long battle with cancer.   The hurt was so intense; I found it hard to breathe at times.   Always supportive, Mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak, comforted me at my father’s death, encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire life.

When mother’s illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without entanglements, to take care of her.   I counted it an honor.   ‘What now, Lord?’  I asked sitting in church.

My life stretched out before me as an empty abyss.  My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife’s hand.    My sister sat slumped against her husband’s shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their child.   All so deeply   grieving, no one noticed I sat alone.

My place had been with our mother, preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible together. Now she was with the Lord.    My work was finished, and I was alone.   I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church.   Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor.

An exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to me.   He folded his hands and placed the map on his lap.   His eyes were brimming with tears.    He began to sniffle.   ‘I’m late,’  he explained, though no explanation was necessary.

After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented,  ‘Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of’ Margaret?”

“Because that was her name, Margaret.   Never Mary, no-one ever one called her ‘Mary,”  I whispered.    I wondered why this person couldn’t have sat on the other side of the church.    He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting.   Who was this stranger anyway?

‘No, that isn’t correct,’ he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering,  ‘Her name is Mary, Mary Peters.’

‘That isn’t who this is.’

‘Isn’t this the Lutheran church?’

‘No, the Lutheran church is across the street.’  

‘Oh.’  

‘I believe you’re at the wrong funeral, Sir.’

The solemness of the occasion mixed with the realization of the man’s mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter.    I cupped my hands over my face, hoping it would be interpreted as sobs.

The creaking pew gave me away.   Sharp looks from other mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious.

I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me.   He was laughing, too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit.   I imagined Mother laughing.

At the final ‘Amen,’ we darted out a door and into the parking lot.   ‘I do believe we’ll be the talk of the town,’ he smiled.   He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt’s funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee.  

That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the right place.   A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he was the assistant pastor.   This time we both arrived at the  same church, right on time.

In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter.   In place of loneliness, God gave me love.   This past June, we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary.   Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them, ‘Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it’s truly a match made in heaven.’

Yes, I do Love God.   He is my source of existence and Savior.   He keeps me functioning each and everyday.

[With thanks to Cristina Subke] … Keith Overturf]