The Remedy of Revival

Nothing I can say can equal the power and credibility of David Jeremiah's above named message. I encourage you to listen to or read it. So, about this disturbing election: Do we vote? Of course! Thirty to fifty million (Give or take ten or twenty million.) evangelicals did not vote in the last election.

Do we settle for a woman who insists upon the rights of a woman to take the life of her baby? --for a woman who hugs her husband on camera but scoffs at the exclusivity of male/female marriage? Hillary is a bitter woman. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Are you praying for our other option to humble himself in the sight of the Lord so He can be lifted up?  The Lord has placed some warriors for the Gospel in Donald's corner.  Will he listen? He has been a vulgar man, but he doesn't sugarcoat the reality of our accumulated crises.

Another Malcolm Muggeridge quote: "The orgasm has replaced the Cross as the focus of longing and the image of fulfillment."

Oh, my dear Family-in-Christ, "The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much."                                                                                                                                                                        
From Val, in Houston,  Texas comes this request for "Jesus, I Come". 

Out of my bondage, sorrow and night,  JESUS, I COME. JESUS, I COME.
Into Thy freedom, gladness and Light,  Jesus, I come to Thee.
Out of my sickness, into Thy health,  out of my want, and into Thy wealth.
Out of my sin, and into Thy Self,  Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of my shameful failure of loss, JESUS, I COME. JESUS I COME.
Into the glorious gain of Thy Cross. Jesus, I come to Thee..
Out of earth's sorrows, into Thy balm, JESUS, I COME; JESUS, I COME
Out of distress to jubilant Psalm,  Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of unrest and arrogant pride. JESUS I COME. JESUS I COME
Into Thy blessed will to abide, Jesus, I come to Thee.
Out of myself to dwell in Thy love, into despair and raptures above.
Upward for aye on wings of a dove,  Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of the fear and dread of the tomb,  JESUS I COME;. JESUS I COME.
Into the joy and Light of Thy home,  Jesus, I come to Thee.
Out of the depths of ruin untold,  Into the peace of Thy sheltering fold.
Ever Thy glorious face to behold, Jesus I come to Thee.

What hymn words would you like me to print?

Love,  Jo

The Farmer's Wife

Colonel Blair from Kentucky, city man- turned- Kansas- homesteader sacrificed for his only daughter's education in music at a Wichita college. Zema, my mother, now a  trained singer, won contests across the state. Contests over, she had to go home. To the farm. Not to be defeated,  she got on her horse and set out to be a circuit-riding voice and piano teacher for the folk in the community. My Grandfather Harlan and a bearded old saint named "Brother Henry" started a Methodist church in a little town named "Wilsey", three country miles from the farm. This was Mother's spin about that church:  "I didn't want to, but I went to a revival. A loud evangelist was preaching.  He came down off the platform, took me by the arm and tried to force me to go to the altar and repent.  I ran". Remember this part of her story. It will affect mine forty years later.

Zema met and eloped with Garnett, my Irish father, a railroader in the nearby Santa Fe Trail town of Council Grove. Oh! Good! Now she could turn her horse out to pasture, escape from the farm, dress up and be a lady!  Unexpectedly Grandfather Harlan died!  My parents had no choice but to move to the farm, work to save it from foreclosure and take care of Etta, my grandmother.  My brothers,  Blair and Bob were born a year apart. Ten years later when Mother was forty-one years old she birthed me. There were many of us menopause babies in those days..

Grandma died a long, painful death. Mother and Dad took patient and exhausting care of her, One day Grandma slipped away. She had been the only Light in our home. A quiet Light, but a Light, nonetheless. Dad began to drink. My people-loving mother started clubs for sewing, bridge and quilting.  In an upstairs bedroom is a raggedy quilt with the personally embroidered names of many of those club women. Also in that room,  hanging on a wall is my farm family's first electric light fixture that was on the ceiling of the bedroom in which I was born.

Mother launched yet another gathering that included husbands. She called it the "N.I.P." club,  which stood for "Nothing in Particular". One of the couples in that club also birthed a "menopause baby" Her name was "Janet". Nineteen years later, at a Christian gathering at Kansas State University she introduced me to a man named T.W. Wilson. His best friend was a young North Carolina evangelist named Billy Graham. They led me to Christ and invited me to Northwestern Bible College where for three years, Billy was Interim President. My mother was not happy that I had become a Christian and was following an evangelist to faraway Minneapolis, Minnesota. She did not, nor could she understand. I left her on the farm in Kansas, my heart torn in two..

Pick up the thread of  last week's blog: "My Dad, the Farmer". Would you share the thrill I feel all these years later?  In Palo Alto, California my mother finally understood that salvation is a grace gift from God. Not of works, lest any person should boast. Mother, a hard working farm wife probably hoped that she could work her way into Heaven. If anyone could have,  it would have been my mother.  At seventy years of age she left behind the heavy burdens of raising chickens, fighting a losing battle with farm dust, carrying armloads of logs from the woodpile that fed the hungry cooking and heating stove and lugging countless buckets of cold water from the hundred- foot- deep well to wash endless loads of clothes. She hung them to whip dry in the hot or cold prairie winds. As I write, that one hundred thirty- year- old pump, now motorized, pours a merry little stream of water into my garden pool at my front entryway. Our two sons, Doug and Jeff brought it to me from the abandoned farm. Wasn't that dear of them?

If the Lord beckons me Home before I get to continue this beautiful story of redemption,, my dear parents will have met me at The Gate. Grandfather Harlan will be there too. I have never met him. WHAT A DAY OF REJOICING THAT WILL BE!

But this is today.  Brilliant Malcolm Muggeridge left us with many quotables.  Here is one: "Never forget that only dead fish swim with the stream." After listening to yet another political debate,  this hymn of Truth thrums through my mind.

                                        THE SOLID ROCK

My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but only trust in Jesus' Name. 

When darkness veils His lovely face, I rest in His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil. 

His oath, His covenant, His blood support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound I know in Him I shall be found.
Dressed in His righteousness alone , faultless I stand before His throne. 

ON CHRIST, THE SOLID ROCK I STAND; 
ALL OTHER GROUND IS SINKING SAND.
ALL OTHER GROUND IS SINKING SAND. 

Love, Jo

My Dad, the Farmer

My dad was Irish. He had a temper. He drank. So did his father.  Dad dropped out of school after fourth grade to support his parents. In his late twenties.he charmed the farm girl, my mother and married her.  Her dad died; her mother was left alone.  My dad took over the farm. He didn't know how to farm but he figured it out. He taught himself math, and clerked cattle auctions on Saturdays.  His name was Garnett. My mother's was Zema.

From sunrise to sunset my dad drove his four-horse team between the furrows of his corn and wheat fields. Every spring he planted seeds in hard gumbo and hoped too much rain wouldn't wash them out or too little rain wouldn't cook them. He sold some steers and bought a tractor. One day a man came walking toward him down the corn row. "Mr. Flynn, I understand you're the only farmer in this community who refuses to take a government subsidy for not planting wheat."  Dad slowly climbed down off his tractor, walked toward the fellow and yelled in his face:   "You college educated jackass! Get off my land and don't you ever set foot on it again!"  That night at suppertime, and until I left home at seventeen I was taught how to recognize the lies about the benefits of socialism. Dad had never read the Bible, but he knew that if a governmen paid people for doing nothing, it would be just a matter of time before the country was finished. My dad had common sense. .

At seventy, my parents were crippled and dying from brutal farm work.  Ted and I brought them to Palo Alto, California. where we were in ministry with Ray Stedman. Fabulous man, that Ray Stedman. Fabulous church. Fabulous people. Some were rich. Some were not. It didn't matter. They loved the Lord, each other and my parents. Wil Johnson, retired farmer from Illinois was one of those people. Wil and Dad went into business together.  Wil had the money; Dad had the know-how to handle it.  Dad had a keen sense of character.  He didn't trust many people, but he trusted Wil Johnson. He called him a "straight shooter".

Dad got sick with pneumonia and nearly died. My Ted and Ray Stedman went to see him in the hospital. When  Dad wasn't blowing his Irish top he was a man who reasoned. He had concluded that Somebody had organized the cycles of plant and animal life. He just didn't know His Name. Ray and Ted dropped in the final Piece of the Puzzle: Jesus, Maker of Heaven and Earth. Dad asked Him in. Mother wasn't far behind. Both were seventy-five years old. Dad quit drinking, smoking and cussing. Nobody told him to. He just figured it was the right thing to do. They both lived many more years. Maybe next week I will continue the Saga of Garnett and Zema Flynn. Maybe.

In the year, 1787 as Ben Franklin left the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia on the last day of the sequestered meetings  a woman named Mrs. Powel approached him. "Well, Doctor, what do we have?   A monarchy or a Republic?. "He answered: "A Republic, if you can keep it.!"

Requested Song of Judy S. in Burton, Texas: "In His Time".

In His Time, In His Time
He makes all things beautiful in His Time
Lord, please show me every day
As You're teaching me Your way
That You do just what You say
In Your time.

In Your time; In Your time
You make all things beautiful
In Your time
Lord, my life to You I bring
May each song I have to sing
Be to You a lovely thing
In Your time.

What song do you want me to print?

Love, Jo

WETSUIT SAGA

Genesis 1:27-28: Then God said, "Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness...and God created man in His own image,  in the image of God He created him, male and female He created.  

 I will not vote for a candidate who does not value human life; life created in the Image of God, whether murdered in the womb or murdered by a terrorist whose satanic god rewards him for killing innocent people created in the Image of God. Down through human history the scriptures reveal that satan always overplays his hand. The horrors of terrorism have awakened many Muslims to the truth that they are sacrificing themselves and the lives of countless people to satan himself.  Many Muslims do not read the Koran. Sadly, many professing Christians do not read the Word of God. He leads us very clearly from scripture regarding the decisions we are yet privileged to make in America.

And now for a story: There has been a man in my life for several weeks. His name is "Henry"  He lives in the city of  Cebu in the Philippines. Here is how this affair began: I am determined to continue with water aerobics into the late fall. I will need a wetsuit to keep from catching pneumonia. STEPS OF ACTION:  Measure every part of my body.  Go into funk. Go online to order wetsuit. Discover overwhelming choices. Download pictures of wetsuits from all companies. Brain scrambles.  Call daughter. Dee helps whittle down options. Orders a top and bottom from two different companies.  The March of the Daily Emails begins. "Bottom on the way". Next Email: "Top on the way".  One week later: no Bottom; no Top.  Call Mother Company:  Amazon. Henry in Cebu, Philippines answers. Understand every third word. Henry's advise: "I'm on it!  Wait two days. I will track down both Bottom and Top". I wait. Meanwhile: March of the Emails continues from unidentified sources. "Product has been delivered". I  search the flat parts of the nine acres on which I live. No Bottom.  No Top. Tired. Go to bed in midday. More Emails: "Top has been delivered". Check with local post office. No Bottom. No Top. Get in truck. Begin Search of the Mailboxes, one eye watching for the Mailbox Police.  Eureka! The Bottom!  No Top! A picture forms of me in a topless wetsuit. Not pretty. Squash thought. Then, the March of the Phone Calls begins. A guy named Jim: "Top has been delivered".  Back to the post office. Stops along the way back home to examine the mailboxes. No Top. Phone ringing as I enter home. "Top has been delivered". No Top. Grocery run into town, twelve miles away. Pass "Big 5".  In a prior call had been told  "We have no wetsuits." I enter "Big 5". Rack of Men's Wetsuits. Grab one. Try on. Fits. Pay and run. Time spent:  Ten minutes. Home. Send online for shipping label to return Bottom.  Printer stalls. Call daughter. Computer prints. Label affixed. Speed down mountain to post office. Postmistress and I do a high five.  Home. Phone ringing. It's Henry.  From the Philippines. "Henry, our relationship is over."  Two Emails  from Bottom People: " Price of Wetsuit Bottom will be credited to your card".  Two Emails from Top People. : "Price of Wetsuit Top will be credited to your card.".

The post 0ffice is not responsible. FedEx is not responsible. UPS is not responsible. NObody seems to be responsible, Not unlike our current government. Conservatively speaking the wetsuit that I will never wear has cost the companies in the vicinity of a thousand dollars.. The cost of the one I bought at Big 5? One hundred and nineteen. I am wearing it as I write.  My fellow exercisers will cheer as I lower my body into our pool. These people who know something about everything advised me to put on panty hose first so the suit will slide on. . "Don't use talcum powder. It causes cancer." But then, what doesn't? Thus ends, I hope, "The Saga of the Wetsuit".

Requested Hymn:  AND CAN IT BE?   Beautiful!!!

And can it that I should gain an interest in the Savior's blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain?
For me, who Him to death pursued?

He left His Father's throne above; so free, so infinite His grace!
Emptied Himself of all but love, and bled for Adam's helpless race.

No condemnation now I dread; I am my Lord's and He is mine.
Alive in Him, my living Head; and clothed in righteousness divine.

AMAZING LOVE! HOW CAN IT BE 
THAT THOU, MY GOD, SHOULDST DIE FOR ME?
AMAZING LOVE! HOW CAN IT BE
THAT THOU, MY GOD, SHOULDST DIE FOR ME?

What hymn would you like me to print?

Love,  Jo

MORNING

I wish early mornings lasted all day. Heaven will be one grand early morning for all of eternity! Here on Earth I wake up with new strength and feel like soaring like an eagle. "Hooty" the Owl softly tells me "Goodnight" as First Light creeps over the eastern mountain. Bats swoop over in one last fly-by. Pussn' Cat stirs at my feet.  Swarms of sparrows dart about in wide arcs,  then two loud fussing crows break into the day's peaceful beginnings. Hillary and Donald are awake!

"It was the best and worst of times".  Our efforts to control the world with our money and power did not, after all buy friendships. As our nation passes off the prophetic scene as a world leader a hunger for God's Word is emerging. Just in time, technology is broadcasting the Gospel around the world.

How are you doing with bringing hope to your friends who have no hope? Are you holed up in your Holy Huddle, enjoying the fellowship?  That "ship" may very well be forced underground. If you have no church or pastor to take them to are you prepared to show them The Way? 

My  Ted made many Christians uncomfortable when he asked them: "How many non-Christians friends do you have?'" Well, how many do you have? What is your "connector"? Everyone has one. Paul asked the Colossians to "pray for a door for the Gospel" for him.  Paul asked that small gathering of new believes in Colossae to pray that he would "know how to answer the questions asked of him".  The presupposition:  He had earned the right to be heard by listening and not talking until the Holy Spirit prompted him to do so.

How is your plan for evangelism working for you? One of God's "plans":  Be a friend to the publican and sinner. All that is different about us is that we received as payment for our sin the Blood of Jesus Christ Who died and rose again to take away the penalty and power of our sin. Soon, when Morning comes, even the presence of sin will be forever gone!  The people in the world are searching for exoneration from the sin that will not go away.  My spin is this: They will be frantically searching for it soon.

My dear friend, Char in Bakersfield has patiently waited for me to print "Day by Day".  Here it is:

Day by day and through each passing moment; strength I find to meet my trials here.
Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment; I've no cause for worry or for fear.
He whose heart is kind beyond all measure gives unto each day what He deems best
Lovingly its part of pain and pleasure, mingling toil with peace and rest. 

Every day the Lord Himself is near me with a special mercy for each hour.
All my cares He fain would bear and cheer me; He whose Name is "Counsellor"  and "Power".
The protection of His child and treasure is a charge that He Himself has laid.
"As thy days thy strength shall be in measure";  this the pledge to me He made.

Help me, Lord in every tribulation, so to trust thy promises, O Lord.
I lose not faith's sweet consolation offered me within Thy Holy Word.
Help me, Lord when toil and trouble meeting, e'er to take as from a father's hand
One by one, the days, the moments fleeting 'til I reach the promised land.

Love, Jo