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Skriven 2006-01-31 05:01:20 av Bob Hoffman (8:8/2)
Ärende: God Always Hears
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Faith's Checkbook

January 31

God Always Hears

"My God will hear me" (Micah 7:7).

Friends may be unfaithful, but the LORD will not turn away from the gracious
soul; on the contrary, He will hear all its desires. The prophet says, "Keep
the doors of thy mouth from her that lieth in thy bosom. A man's enemies are
the men of his own house." This is a wretched state of affairs; but even in
such a case the Best Friend remains true, and we may tell Him all our grief.

Our wisdom is to look unto the LORD and not to quarrel with men or women. If
our loving appeals are disregarded by our relatives, let us wait upon the God
of our salvation, for He will hear us- He will hear us all the more because of
the unkindness and oppression of others, and we shall soon have reason to cry,
"Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy!"

Because God is the living God, He can hear; because He is a loving God, He will
hear; because He is our covenant God, He has bound Himself to hear us. If we
can each one speak of Him as "My God," we may with absolute certainty say, "My
God will hear me." Come, then, O bleeding heart, and let thy sorrows tell
themselves out to the LORD thy God! I will bow the knee in secret and inwardly
whisper, "My God will hear me."

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Moving to the Head
of the Line

by James McAlister

My dad had two fears: the nursing home and a long-winded speaker at his
funeral. He avoided the first; the jury still debates the second.

The call from his apartment building came unexpectedly on Thursday morning.
"Your dad has passed out and has no blood pressure." But when I got there
minutes later, he had revived. Flat on his back in the floor, he joked with the
paramedics hovering over him.


For a 93-year-old, he did well in the hospital, and we had expected to take him
home after a brief stay. But all his systems shut down suddenly on Friday
evening, "old and worn out" as he often told us.

Looking back, I realize that he had frequently exhibited a peculiar sense of
timing at critical points of life, this one being no exception. Four years ago,
for example, he decided that he needed to give up a house for a retirement
apartment. Afterwards, his health improved enough to extricate himself from all
his medications.

Then just a month later he concluded that he needed to quit driving. In picking
up the truck keys as he had asked, I was also removing his last grip on
independence. But it was time.

He called me the Sunday before his death, worrying that the arrangements for
his funeral wouldn't be handled properly. I assured him otherwise but promised
that my sister, Sara, and I would get all loose ends tied up that week. That
satisfied him.

Then came the hospital trip on Thursday.

Perfectly alert but seemingly a bit tired, he began asking "Where's Sara?"
around noon on Friday. Each time—there were probably a dozen—I explained that
she was on her way. When he acknowledged her arrival, I went home to rest.
Within a couple of hours, though, he was gone.

We sat with him in the hospital room for two hours awaiting the arrival of the
funeral director. We reminisced and laid plans: I would be the dreaded
long-winded speaker.

Beyond that, I wrestled with a peculiar revelation. From my birth 60 years
before until that moment, there had always been someone older in my line of
ancestry. But the years had gradually, relentlessly taken all except my dad.
And in the instant of his death, I moved to the head of the line.

While he was at the head of the line, Daddy frequently apologized for living so
long and for being so much trouble. At such times I assured him, "It's no
trouble. You're doing the very best that you can." "Thanks for saying that,"
he'd invariably reply.

Don't those at the head of the line want to be loved and accepted, valued and
honored by those lined up behind them? Don't they want their contributions and
sacrifices acknowledged and appreciated? Indeed. I see that more clearly today
from my new vantage point.

Though he never spoke to us about World War II for a full 55 years, "The War"
was on his mind constantly for the last five. As he lay on his bed, the people,
places, difficulties, and distresses of that great struggle marched through his
mind with greater intensity than today's news. He recently confessed, "The War
just won't turn me loose."

The War finally released him on December 9, 2005. But I wonder this: what will
have hold of me until I eventually relinquish my unenviable place at the head
of the line? A worthy cause, I pray.

Not that I have already obtained, or am already made perfect: but I press on,
if so be that I may lay hold on that for which also I was laid hold on by
Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:12)

THE HEAD OF THE LINE
The line I'm in that's been so slow Moved up one step today;
My turn's not far away.
On to the front I surely go.
Once far — but now so near —
I see the head from here,
Brought closer with each death, I know.





Copyright 2005 James McAlister www.james-mc.com Permission granted for
not-for-sale reproduction in exact form including copyright. Other uses require
written permission. For more information, see our website at:

www.CCWonline.org

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