Marilyn Friesen

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Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts

Monday, November 17, 2014

Just a Little Honey, Why Not?

Part of the Glass Castle Series.
Jonathan was enthused about the battle, but he was getting tired, really tired. He noticed that his fellow comrades were also wearying, although they were valiantly pursuing the enemy. He had been rooting out ‘demons of darkness’ in a thick woods and paused for a moment to catch his breath.
            “Ah, honey!”

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Does God Answer Prayer?

Y’know it doesn’t really help for a Mom to worry about her adult children ‘cuz she ain’t gonna know the half of what goes on in their life anyway.
Okay, okay, switch from that grubby English. You don’t talk like that! Nevertheless this is a true story!!
Lashelle was motoring along; possibly not at merrily as usual, because after all it was raining. Like seriously. Work was quite a long ways away and a daily trek, but she was on the way there when it happened. Car trouble! Help! She probably thought, I’m a female stranded in this kind of weather! Oh, well, I’m not all alone. I’ll ask my Heavenly father for help. So she did. Lord, you know I need help. Could you send someone I can trust; a policeman, maybe, or someone from our church? Well, she didn’t tell me if she had time to say Amen, or not, but help sure arrived in a hurry.
“Hello, may I help you?” Lashelle was chatting with the off duty policeman while someone else came to a stop, and strolled over.
The two men probably introduced each other, while Lashelle grinned not so secretively.
God sure must have a sense of humor to send, not just a cop, but one of the ministers from our church!
You get the point? God is looking out for us, and He sure does answer prayer!
Oh hey, I missed a really juicy morsel. That gentlemanly policeman was a friend of Lashelle’s boss and he told her “If she gives you trouble for being late, you tell her to talk to me!”

Friday, April 18, 2014

Prayer is the Stitches

Where authors and readers come together!>

 Jessica emptied the bag of quilting scraps on the table and  slouched down in front of it. Rain was drizzling down the window and she felt like she had to do something to get out of the blue mood she was in. 
She shuffled the pieces recklessly and some fell on the floor. "What's the point of praying," she whined, "I've prayed and prayed that Michael would stop drinking and be a decent husband but nothing ever changes." 
Her mother, who was visiting for the day, pulled up a chair beside her. She picked up some coordinating pieces and laid them aside. 
“What quilt are you planning to make this time?”
Jessica noted that she hadn't responded to her comment, but wasn't really surprized. She knew that her mother took her own good time about answering off-the-cuff remarks, and that certainly didn't mean that she wasn't thinking about them.

“ Oh i don't know, yet. I have various ideas. One is of a picture quilt. I saw one on display in Chicago that really got me inspired. It was of a curved white bridge in the park.”

Jessica got up and brought her mother a scrapbook. It was gradually filling with photographs. Some were of projects she had done, and others of quilts and other creations she had admired. The book was similar to a Pinterest Board but much more hands-on and each page was attractively decorated.
“It will take you a long, long time to get it done,” Diane observed as she took note of all the tiny pieces that made up the Bridge Quilt.

Jessica nodded. “I know. And I might chose something different. But it's not that I have anything better to do. For some weird reason Michael doesn't want me to work outside of the home. (Controlling, that's what he is.) We've been married for seven years already, and there still isn't a baby on the way.”
Jessica looked out of the corner of her eye to see if the older woman was going to preach to her about thankfulness or some other sermon she didn't want to hear, but she didn't.
“Knowing your carefulness for detail, I'm sure it will be lovely.” 
“Will you like a cup of tea?”
“ That would be refreshing. I don't know why we Henderson ladies are so determined to take on projects that take months if not years to finish,” she said with a little laugh.
Jessica nodded. She went to the kitchen to fill the kettle with fresh water and plugged it in, but when she returned, she remained standing in the doorway. Why wasn't her mother addressing her remark about Michael?
“I've quilted for years, also, as you well know.” her mother continued.
Jessica nodded. “That's how I learned to love it. I still remember the first little doll blanket you patiently taught me to make. I probably still have it around here somewhere.”
Diane smiled. “Fraid not, cuz I do.My sewing projects have taught me a lot about God, “ she continued. “You don't see a pile of meaningless cloth scraps on the table. You have this vision in your mind's eye and you will pick and choose until you find exactly the colors you want. Chances are you will sort through your other bags of scraps and buy new, until you have exactly the right colors. Or maybe that exact one comes only with precut fabric.”
“It does, come to think of it. But what does this conversation  have to do with Michael?” 
“God has a plan for his life also. We can't see how He's working with Michael but every prayer is like a stitch helping to put it together.”
“I can't see anything changing.”
Diane looked sad. “Michael's 'quilt' may never get finished the way we want it to be, but God is working on it, and our prayers are the stitches.” Her hands dropped idly to her lap as she looked directly at the younger woman. “It says somewhere in the Bible that we should make straight paths for our feet. Not for someone else's feet. God can make a beautiful quilt out of our lives if we let Him. And we can help Him with other peoples quilts also, but mostly by praying and trusting.”
Jessica went into the kitchen to make the tea, then pushed the pile of material fragments aside to serve it.
While she was doing that, her mother picked up the scrapbook and leafed through it once again. “I like this quilt. What is it called?”
“I'm not sure.”
“I'd call it Travelling to Glory. See how this black strip winds round and round and the pieces are brighter in the middle?”

Jessica nodded.
“Our lives may look like a meaningless pile of scraps but the Master Quilter knows what He is is doing. We need to let Him pick and chose the colors. So that we also can make our way to Glory.”
“But what about Michael?”
“If he sees your life developing beautifully, it will be a drawing to Him. Work on your own quilt, daughter.”

Jessica nodded. “Here's your tea.”  

Saturday, February 22, 2014

The Glass Castle Series (Part One)

The Glass Castle Series
In this series the church is represented as a castle somewhat reminiscent of Medieval times. For more of the story check the accompanying pages.

In the lookout tower on the Castle of Love, one of the watchmen held the high powered binoculars to his eyes and slowly scanned the desert waste that spread out before him right to the distant horizon.

Do you see any activity?” The young soldier at his side asked.

The watchman handed the binoculars over to him and pointed. “See that little group at just slightly less than one-oh-five? They seem to be wearying of the way.”
                “Shall I send a dart? One of Agape's darts?”

The watchman shook his head. “No, not yet; hook up the sound waves and we will see if we can catch what they are saying.”


                The watchman was intently scanning the desert once again. He looked over the glasses. “Yes?”

                “I recorded the conversation. It is rather faint and staticy in places, but see what you think of it.”

                The watchman adjusted the earphones and turned up the volume, and this is what he made out.

                “Look, everyone, I think there is a castle over yonder.”

                “Sorry, Fiona. That’s just a mirage. There are no castles in these parts.”

                “But what if it was. Just what if! Then we could find rest and shelter.”

                The watchman whipped off the earphones, eyes shining; “Shoot a dart, shoot one of Cupid’s darts,” He cried, “But aim true!”

                Daniel’s hand trembled as he shot not once, not twice but three times! Others crowded around and watched in breathless suspense as the darts glistened and soared in the dry summer’s heat.

                One dart had hit its mark; Fiona’s breast. They exuberantly clapped each other on the back while Daniel snatched up the earphones and someone else the binoculars.

                Fiona’s hand pressed against her chest. “I felt such a warmth come over me when I spoke of that castle, just now. Kelsey, let’s try to find it. Maybe it is a true haven. It looks so beautiful as if the light diffuses from within.”

                Kelsey picked up another dart; it still had a slight glow and was warm to the touch.

                “You maybe are right. I also am weary of this desert land.” But he hesitated, and then threw the dart down. The others had already started to walk on ahead.


                Daniel whirled to face his Captain. “May I go? May I rush over there and lead them to safety?”

   The Captain was pleased with the youthful enthusiasm. “Go, lad, but remember to use much tact and discretion. They are used to their old ways and may not be eager to change. ”

                The other young recruits leaned over the balustrade surrounding the tower and watched him march swiftly through the gathering darkness, his trusty lamp held high as he traveled.

                 “It’s dangerous out there,” Simon observed.

                “Yes, but he is following instructions, and not going out on his own,” James reminded him.

                Simon nodded as they watched the tiny prick of light grow smaller then leap high when Daniel reached the small group who were sitting on boulders and eating their lunch.

                “May the King bless his efforts,” The watchman murmured with moist eyes, while the others nodded in agreement.