What Really Matters

I made myself a new friend. Ah me, what a dream, I haven’t even met her! Let’s start again; I wish I could have her for a dear friend. Everyone applauds her for her sewing ability and no doubt, it was wonderful, but I don’t think that is the reason people cried when she died suddenly. Would you weep just because someone who made you a garment passed away? I think not. Would you if you were desperately poor, and it was the only decent thing you had to wear? I doubt it, after all, a brand new, possibly heavy, homespun garment would last quite a while, and even if it didn’t, that isn’t what you would remember her by.

               Really? So what was? Dorcas was one special woman. Her heart was overflowing with love. These were poverty-stricken widows and others to whom she ministered. Widows, get that? Wives’ and mothers whose husbands’, the father to their children, had died, possibly drowned at sea because Joppa was a seacoast town. They were heartbroken, lonesome and she cared.

Sure, they showed anyone interested the tangible evidence of how kind she was to them, but that wasn’t the most important part.

Here was someone that loved them, shared their suffering and when she died they couldn’t bear to let her go.

               I guess Peter couldn’t either, because when he was summoned from a nearby town, he dropped everything he was doing, and came.

               It was a tremendous miracle when Dorcas rose from the dead and many became Christians because of it, but let’s not remember her for doing acts of mercy, but for showing compassion.

               Hey, Dorcas, may I get to know you in Heaven and be your friend, there?

Which Time was Easier Theirs or Ours

This story is in the second part of my little book called The Glass Castle. In this section, I have related true incidents of people who have suffered for their faith.

Which Time Was Easier,

Theirs or Ours

I have adapted the following story to relate to our time. To my knowledge no one had a vision similar to this.

Mariken hovered in the back of the crowd.  For many weeks she had been smuggling food to her father while he was in the dungeon and now was compelled to watch him be burned at the stake with many others. Her spirit was weary, discouraged. Every day they suffered from the threat of persecution.

She didn’t know how she could bear it much longer; this fleeing, this worrying, this fellowshipping in secret in the dead of night, in the storm and the cold, lest someone would reveal their whereabouts and tell the authorities.  

One by one the fires were kindled in the rushes at the bottom of each stake. When the smoke began to curl up around her father Mariken fainted.

Mariken felt a gentle hand stroking the hair off her forehead and cheeks. She opened her eyes and instantly recognized the strong, compassionate face of her precious Saviour and Friend, Jesus.

“Mariken, you have become, weary and discouraged because of all the suffering around you. I am going to transport you to a time far into the future, so you can see what other Christians in another time, are going through.”

Mariken’s eyes widened when she saw the immense church building. Why it was as big, as or bigger than the state church that was filled with many of their sworn enemies.  

Everyone was dressed in such fine, rich garments. Surely they weren’t followers of the same humble Jesus, they followed?  

Dozens of people were strolling into

the building from various directions and she followed them, her heart thudding nervously. Many were clustered in small groups, talking softly and frequently smiling. No one was looking towards the doors as if afraid the authorities would come in to disrupt the meeting and seize the leaders.

After they were seated, someone at   the front announced a song number and to her surprise, there seemed to be plenty of songbooks to go around.

 Because it was all so strange and new, Mariken had chosen a seat near the back and off to the side. She was frequently distracted by latecomers coming in and people whispering long after the service began.

Mariken was grateful that she could understand every word and was touched when someone gave out a song that started something like this:’ faith of our father’s living still in spite of dungeon, fire, and sword. Maybe they are of the same faith although living in a different time.

She again bit her lip nervously when the assembly separated into smaller groups but found herself following several girls who appeared to be about her own age.

Her face paled.  Why were they going behind a closed door? Were they going to be interrogated now?  

Mariken was glad that they didn’t pay extra attention to her. They seemed so relaxed and comfortable in their soft, pretty dresses: she wondered how they could focus on Jesus when they had such nice clothes to wear.

Mariken missed the fervency of spirit that was so much a part of their tiny services ‘back home.’

Sure, several of the sisters seemed concerned, but it was almost as if they were talking in their sleep, and didn’t truly realize the dangers around them.

“Oh, Jesus,” Mariken cried inwardly, “Take me back home! I would fall asleep spiritually if I had to live in this time! I would fall in love with the luxury and lack of persecution and it would be so difficult to really put you first in my life. Take me back, please take me back!

  As Mariken awoke she saw that her father’s pain creased face was radiant with joy. Just then someone near her burst into song, and throughout the crowd others joined in, too happy to care who might hear and nab them next.

As the suffering ones expired one by one, she knew their songs were mingling with the songs of the redeemed and that the Father in Heaven was welcoming them home.

Her earthly father gave her a weak smile just before his head fell forward, his eyes shut. 

“I’ll meet you there!” she called and joined in the singing.

Let Him Hold You

Someone is trudging through a valley. Someone is carrying burdens heavier than you or I have ever carried, or maybe that someone is you. I prayed and prayed that I could write an article that would touch and comfort your heart but feel so inadequate.

The cry of my heart is: ‘Let my heart be broken by the things that break your heart, oh, God. Let’s me make a difference, let me bear the pain, give me Lord a caring heart.’ Those are words of my favorite song, but I have no idea who wrote them.  Maybe Bob Pierce?

You are suffering: maybe you have been imprisoned wrongfully and are beaten or subjected to solitary confinement or other cruelties. Maybe you are dying—I hate to write this word—of cancer and feel far too young to die. Maybe all your life you have endured shame and abuse and it feels like there is no way out.

What can I offer you? Reach out to the hand of Jesus if you haven’t already.  I have found him to be my greatest Comforter in the deepest of valleys.

Let go and rest in Him: let Him fill your being as you give yourself in full unconditional surrender to whatever you are facing. Don’t resist the cross you have to carry; it truly is a blessing in disguise.

Before I was healed I seemed to have sweeter communion with my Maker and now I have to struggle along like ‘normal’ people do. J

But, maybe on top of everything else you are facing persecution or some other form of abuse. I discovered a verse this morning that hopefully will be a blessing to you. ‘Show me a token for good; that they which hate me may see it, and be ashamed: because thou Lord, has helped and comforted me.’ Psalms 86:17 Perhaps,  your sweet, Christ-like spirit will touch someone’s heart. Who knows?

Possibly you are closer to Heaven than the rest of us, or perhaps not. Don’t fear or resist the thought of ‘going through the veil’. If or when you do you are actually luckier than the others because you can meet Jesus, our Beloved Comforter, face to face, and your troubles, heartache and suffering will fall away like a garment.

Let Him Hold You!

Cry From Across the Waters

I woke up abruptly at 4:28 recently. Someone said “Mom, hey, Mom “clear enough to get me out of bed and look out our bedroom door. We have a daughter who has moved back home so I thought it might be her, but no, no one was there. I even checked where she sleeps, but all was quiet and dark in her bedroom, and she later told me it wasn’t her.

Was it you? Did you call out last night? Did you need something, or someone? Was/ is your heart aching, or sadder yet, breaking, perhaps because of some terrible turn of events in your life?

Something nudged me awake. Someone called out in anguish, perhaps unknowingly, but God let me hear the message. I just want to let you know you have been in my heart and prayers ever since.
Message me on hangouts if you need someone to talk to. 

P.S. There is a remarkable, but sad ending to to this story. After I posted the above, someone from half a world away read it and messaged me on hangouts. Yes, she had called out to me. She was in the throes of childbirth, and I walked her through the process. When she said "I see God's light and you are in it" I figured she was going...After a bit she said she had a boy, the next two texts were gibberish, then silence.  I was informed later she had died. 

Some People Deserve to Die

 Back in 1908, or so, (yes, that was before my time,) something happened that touched my heart. Someone did something awful, really, really awful and he killed another human being. He deserves to be condemned to death, right? But his attorney saw things differently. I think he must have visited with this prisoner many times, and became convinced the man deeply regretted what he had done. Most likely the guilty man didn’t give a whole list of excuses why he committed that horrendous act. He knew he was a sinner, and his advocate knew that he knew so he pled his cause.

In those days the man probably didn’t have a hope or not being hung from a tree or whatever means of punishment they used in his area, so it came to him as a surprise when the verdict was changed to a life sentence.  There were tears of gratitude in his eyes when he was led away.

I wish I could fill in the names of the key characters, my written source had not included them, but let’s put our own names into the blank.

We have been condemned to die, we are guilty. Our sin separates as from God. We can offer a multitude of excuses why we are like we are, but they won’t get us anywhere, certainly not to Heaven. An advocate came, and plead our cause. Perhaps it was because of His deep sacrificial love-I’m talking about Jesus now- we began to feel remorse then repentant. Yes, we admit, we deserve to die, but we are sorry, very sorry. The death sentence is lifted.

Do we run away scot free? Do we want to? Not if we truly realize what Jesus saved us from. In gratitude we will offer to be bond slaves to Jesus. It’s a whole lot easier than to be imprisoned by guilt and sin. It’s a whole lot easier in another way also. There is warmth and joy in such close fellowship.

What do you choose?

http://www.authorsden.com/marilynffriesen

Grieving Mary

Excerpt from my book: Mary's Diary, the Life of Jesus through His Mother's Eyes

Dear Diary;

I am so distressed! There is something in the air! I can feel it! The

animosity towards Yeshua is as thick as an ominous cloud. I know the

religious rulers are planning evil against Him. I know He is not safe

here. Oh, Yeshua, Yeshua, I wish You hadn’t come. I wish You would

flee like a bird to the mountains! I wish that HaShem, God would somehow

hide You like He did when they wanted to cast you off the embankment

in Nazareth! I fear for You! I’m so afraid the Great I AM will not save

you, this time.

Oh, El’Elohim, have mercy, please, please have mercy on my Son.

231

Eventide

Of the same day

Dear Diary;

Yeshua and His talmidim, disciples went to a friend’s place to celebrate the

Passover. I would have given all that I have to have been there with Him.

I spend much time on the rooftop gazing at the darkening sky, my

hands clasped in prayer. I think I saw Him leave John Mark’s house

and head for the Olive Orchard. Oh I wish He would stay where it is

safe . . . a little safer, at least.

Later, much later; I saw soldiers with torches heading that way.

It can mean no good. Oh, that my eyes could see in the dark and

penetrate through trees, so I could know what was going on. Someone

tell me, please, what is that hubbub in the streets all about? At this

hour. Oh, what is going on? Tell me, please, tell me what is going on?

Oh, Yeshua, Yeshua! Are you safe? Is it well with You?

Dear Diary;

A man is running down the street! Would He be coming to this

house? He runs like Yochanam (John)

! He sees me! He is calling my name! He

wants me to come! It must be because of Yeshua!

I must go!

20th Nissan

April 12th

Dear Diary;

They crucified my Son, today. I can hardly bear to sit down and

write, yet if I do, perchance there will be healing for my spirit. Nay

there cannot be healing. Nothing can heal my torn, bleeding, broken

spirit. There is no grief as insufferable as losing a tinoki in such a cruel,