God's Grace

    GOD'S GRACE

In Life We Have Many Choices. In Eternity We Get But Two.             Truth Is The Truth, Even If Nobody Believes It. Err Is Err, Even If Everybody Believes It.

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          BURDENS

   God cares for you. Matt 11:28
   1. Talk to God. Tell Him what your burden is.
   2. Give it to Him. Psalm 55:22
   3. Believe God can handle it, and you humble yourself. 1 Peter 5:6-7
   4. Trust Him to it.
   5. Focus on God and leave it with Him.
   6. DON'T return to #2 and take it back again!

(I want to give the credit for the above tract to whom it belongs. Howard A. Adams {1921-2005}, who besides being a friend and fellow Christian, was a corpsman on the battleship USS West Virginia, which was sunk on Dec. 7, 1941 after suffering 7 torpedo hits and 2 armor piercing bombs, with the loss of 106 lives.)
Great Lakes Bulletin - December 7, 2001
    The sheer carnage and devastation is what sticks in Howard Adams' memory most of all. Sixty years ago Adams found himself struggling to save the lives of his wounded shipmates as Japanese planes and submarines attacked the U.S. fleet and air bases at Pearl Harbor.
    Yesterday, Adams was one of nine Pearl Harbor survivors from Lake County honored at Great Lakes' Pearl Harbor Observance.
    "I am extremely proud of any young American that goes into the military," Adams said. "they're in capable hands with the leadership in the Navy."
    A 20-year veteran and retired chief hospital corpsman, Adams joined the Navy in September 1940.  After recruit training at Great Lakes he went to Bremerton, Wash. and eventually got orders to the USS West Virginia (BB-48) which was headed for maneuvers at Pearl Harbor.
    On December 7, 1941, some 4,000 miles from his parents' small farm in Columbus Junction, Iowa, Adams had just finished breakfast aboard the West Virginia.
    "I had just gotten up and walked over to look out a porthole," Adams said. "I saw a Japanese plane, the red under the wing, and I said, 'Boys this is the real thing, General Quarters, and I'm not kidding!"
    Adams said he knew instinctively they were being attacked.
    Torpedoes shook the ship as Adams ran to his battle station. He felt the ship listing to the port side. Ship's engineers began flooding the starboard tanks to prevent the ship from capsizing.
    "It made me feel just the way you'd think you'd feel before you die," Adams said.
    After the word came down to abandon ship, Adams said he started tending to casualties before being one of the last ones to leave.
    Half-sunk, the ship was so low in the water said Adams, that "we stepped right off into a whale boat."

     I recently read the words of a German forester whose family has been harvesting trees for 400 years. The trees he harvests were planted 180 years ago by his great-grandfather. The trees he plants won't be ready until his great-grandchildren are born. He harvests seeds sown by men he never knew, and he sees himself as part of a chain. “Every generation must make a choice," he said in an interview. "They can either pillage or plant. They can rape the landscape and get rich, or they can care for the landscape and leave an investment for the future." Dependent upon the past, responsible for the future, that man is part of a family chain.

      We are all like that--children of the past, parents of the future. We are the recipients of the work done by those who lived before us, and we are a major factor in the lives of those who will live on after us. It has always been that way. Each of our stories began before we were born and will extend long after we are gone. – Dr. David Jeremiah (by permission)

AL QAEDA SIGHTING IN SHERMAN

By Bob Wells - © 2004 (All character and place names are fictional.)

        I noticed the first signs of the intrusion into the sovereign Territory of Sherman last summer. A feeding station for friendly wayfarers had been set up and was well stocked for several years. It didn’t take long though before an unwelcome visitor came upon the scene and conducted his first raid. A gentle reminder that the food supply wasn’t set up for him was all it took in the beginning and with a few verbal warnings he was sent on his way. I should have known then that due to the irreparable difference in our belief systems, a simple reprimand would not suffice. Sure enough, he returned at times when I let down my vigilance and finally became so brazen that he ignored all my warnings and the situation became confrontational. My words and gestures weren’t a strong enough response anymore, and soon he would be observed sneaking in on frequent forays. Surprisingly, or maybe not, the friendly wayfarers began to adjust to his intrusions and became contented to warily eat side by side, not realizing the threat he posed.

        I found myself slowly adjusting also and one day went so far as to give him a name. “Chip bin Laden” was now being observed without resistance on my part. I had become like that proverbial frog in the slowly boiling water. You know the one; a frog when dropped into a pot of boiling water immediately jumps out and is on its way. When dropped in a cool pot of water and placed over the fire, it found itself enjoying the swim, contentedly adjusting to the warming water until it became fully cooked. As the changes come about so slowly we just don’t realize the trouble we’re headed for.

I noticed that Chip would fill his pouches and quickly disappear. It wasn’t long though before we heard him scurrying around under the walls of our house. It seems that he had dug a tunnel in somehow, but the entrance was nowhere to be found. At times he was spotted heading off to the back country where he would disappear mysteriously. One day as I was checking the outer perimeter with binoculars, I spotted the exact point of his vanishing act. It was over near the border with New Afghanistan. Keeping an eye on the spot, I cautiously advanced and found what I had been looking for. There in the middle of nowhere was the entrance, in the ruins of the old chicken coop, to a tunnel. I figured he had prepared a storage cave at the end of that tunnel. Noting that its location was in an isolated spot, I made another error in tactical judgment. I reasoned that if I were to make that area comfortable for him, perhaps he would be more inclined to remain in that part of the world. Perhaps, just perhaps, he would find that raiding New Afghanistan would be a safer objective and therefore abandon his storage project under the house.

        To assist him, I built a concrete bunker over the tunnel entrance and made its opening face south towards the border, which would protect him from the winter storms. The winter turned out to be another mild one with few sub-zero days, but Chip seemed to have burrowed in for the duration. When spring arrived I awaited for the expected emergence of the varmint. To my unsuspecting surprise, instead of heading over the border into New Afghanistan, he was soon observed sneaking north through the Valley of Violets, jumping through the crack in the western border wall, and heading back into his old raiding habits. Then to my dismay, he resumed his tunnel/storage project under the house wall. That settled it. Now there would be more resolve to rid the countryside of this pest. Chip was clearly in violation of all civilized rules of conduct and he would have to be dealt with severely. New strategy would be developed and necessary armament procured.

His route through the Valley of Violets was well hidden and defoliation would become a necessity. Chemicals had proven to be the wrong medium for this type of project in the past, so the motorized whacker was brought into play and in one afternoon the Valley of Violets concealed no more secrets. His movements would now be open to the light of day.

Traces of his digging under the house are still evident, but the scratching and clawing associated with the project seem all but silenced for the time being. Several possible entrance locations have been identified and sealed, but the final battle is yet to occur. This saga will be added to as events unfold…

(Postscript) There is a valuable lesson to be learned from this story. The problem I encountered dealing with CBL is but a mere microcosm of what this country is faced with today. We have been under attack. I’m not talking only about the current varmints of the world, but from failure within our own nation as well. This condition has been slowly building for more than a hundred years. At first the problems were met with great resolve and repulsed. The attacker of our society has been relentless though, and has been chipping (pun intended) away at the moral laws of God, and those of a once God-fearing country. Utilizing seeming harmless, but totally flawed arguments and outright lies, he has perverted the court system, corrupted the school system, cornered the media, and effectively muzzled all protest of his activities. We have been swimming in the luke-warm pot for many years and now, through the process of this gradual mind numbing, the water temperature is approaching the boiling point. Our problems reach far beyond a simple skirmish with a chipmunk. Yes, we swim on, as a society, unable to regain the controls to turn off the heat. Soon we will all be boiled in total moral collapse and served up to the prince of this world. The judgment to be handed out by his Boss will be the harshest we have ever faced. There is only one way to escape the sure fate of that judgment. If you want to know what that way is, just ask me and I will point you toward the answer that has been here all along throughout all ages. So be it.

(Epilogue) Lethal weapons have been available locally, but I chose the more humane way and my brother obliged by providing a live trap for the good of mankind (and the sanity of his younger brother). The first few attempts to lure Chip only proved what a worthy opponent he was. He seemed able to reduce his body mass to mush and flow though the sides of the trap. I made some modifications to the trap including covering its one inch hardware cloth with half inch to prevent his escape through the mesh. Also the trigger mechanism was improved to allow for the slightest weight to release the door. These modifications proved out and Chip was finally captured and relocated to the lakeshore area of the Park by the Beach. Well, actually Chip #1 was moved after 8 am one morning. Then Chip #2 was on his way by noon. It was 5 pm before Chip #3 joined his name sakes. As the sun was setting Chip #4 had made 3 trips to the site in search of his comrades. He seemed so upset as evidenced by his nervous gorging of the fallen bird seed at the feeder, and had even ventured into the waiting trap once, departing again before tripping the door. #4 finally settled down and was captured in the garage overnight and transported the next morning. A hapless squirrel was trapped and release around noontime. #5 was seen in the garage not 5 minutes after the squirrel’s release. The trap was reset in the garage and he was captured overnight and joined his comrades the next morning. I believed this saga was over and began the systematic destruction of their numerous tunnels, caves, and burrows. #6 showed up but refused to go for the apple core bait. There were no further sightings, so I sealed the route into the house. After a period of three weeks #6 showed up again. Several squirrels were trapped and released, (angry critters.) Then #6 was trapped near his supply cave out back. #7 was observed at the same time but evaded capture until Friday, the Thirteenth. #8 showed up the next day. It took three days, and one hapless squirrel and then #8 was history. #9 was delivered to the beach 5 days later. #10 was enticed with seed and apple core in mid September and after two more squirrels were released on signature bonds, #11 was taken two days later. I'm beginning to wonder if there is a gypsy or hobo symbol painted on the side of the house. The trap is still functioning as it has so well over the past few months. Any more Chips still around will be summarily removed. This household will again return to its relative tranquility and peace.

I received an excellent Book at age 3½. Check out "An American ABC"

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