October, 2000

A Message on Sharing
(Written by an anonymous mom; see postscript at end of the story)
Submitted by Buffy Albertson

It was one of the hottest days of the dry season. We had not seen rain in almost a month. The crops were dying. Cows had stopped giving milk. The creeks and streams were long gone back into the earth. It was a dry season that would bankrupt seven farmers before it was through.

Every day, my husband and his brothers would go about the arduous process of trying to get water to the fields. Lately this process had involved taking a truck to the local water rendering plant and filling it up with water. But severe rationing had cut everyone off. If we didn't see some rain soon . . . we would lose everything.

It was on this day that I learned the true lesson of sharing and witnessed the only miracle I have seen with my own eyes. I was in the kitchen making lunch for my husband and his brothers when I saw my 6-year-old son, Billy, walking toward the woods.

He wasn't walking with the usual carefree abandon of a youth but with a serious purpose. I could only see his back. He was obviously walking with a great effort . . . trying to be as still as possible. Minutes after he disappeared into the woods, he came running out again, toward the house.

I went back to making sandwiches; thinking that whatever task he had been doing was completed. Moments later, however, he was once again walking in that slow purposeful stride toward the woods. This activity went on for an hour: Billy walked carefully to the woods, then he'd run back to the house.

I couldn't take the suspense any longer and I crept out of the house, following Billy on his journey (being very careful not to be seen . . . as he was obviously doing important work and didn't need his Mommy checking up on him).

Billy cupped both hands in front of himself as he walked, being very careful not to spill the water he held in them . . . maybe two or three tablespoons were held in his tiny hands. I snuck close behind him as he went into the woods. Branches and thorns slapped his little face but he did not try to avoid them. He had a much higher purpose.

As I leaned in to spy on him, I saw the most amazing site: several large deer looming in front of him! When Billy walked right up to them, I nearly screamed for him to stay away. Although a huge buck with elaborate antlers was dangerously close, it did not threaten him . . . not even move as Billy knelt down on the ground.

It wasn't until then that I saw a tiny fawn laying on the ground, obviously suffering from dehydration and heat exhaustion. The little fawn lifted its head, with great effort, proceeding to lap up the tiny bit of water cupped in my beautiful boy's hand.

When the water was gone, Billy jumped up to run back to the house . . . as I hid behind a tree. I followed him back to the house, to a spigot we had stopped the water to. Billy opened the spigot all the way . . . and a small trickle of water began to creep out. He knelt there, letting the drip . . . dripping slowly until it filled his makeshift "cup," as the sun beat down on his little back.

Suddenly it was clear: Billy had gotten into trouble the week before . . . for playing with the hose. I had given Billy a lecture on the importance of not wasting water. Billy didn't want to get into trouble for 'playing' with water . . . yet he wanted to help a tiny baby animal in need; so Billy patiently waited nearly 20-minutes just to fill his little hands with water.

When he stood up and began the trek back, I was there in front of him. His little eyes instantly filled with tears. "I'm not wasting!" was all he said. I joined Billy on his trek through the woods . . . bringing a small pot of water from the kitchen. I stood back as he tended to the fawn. This was Billy's job, so I stood at the edge of the woods watching the most beautiful heart I've ever known . . . working hard to save another life.

As the tears rolled down my face began to hit the ground, they were suddenly joined by a couple of raindrops . . . and then more drops . . . it began raining really hard! As I looked up at the sky, it was as if God was also weeping . . . with joy!

You may say this was just a coincidence . . . that it was bound to rain sometime. I won't argue with that. All I know is that the rain God sent that day saved our farm . . . and the loving actions of a young child saved a tiny fawn's life.

POSTSCRIPT:
This story is written in memory of my son, Billy . . . he left much too soon . . . but not before showing me the loving face of God . . . in a little sunburned body.

THE REFINER'S FIRE
Submitted by Henrietta Johnson

Some time ago, a few ladies met to study the scriptures. While reading the third chapter of Malachi, they came upon a remarkable expression in the third verse:

"And He [God] shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver"
(Malachi 3:3).

One lady decided to visit a silversmith to learn about the process of refining silver. After the smith had described it to her, she asked, "But Sir, do you sit while the work of refining is going on?"

"Oh yes, Madam," replied the silversmith; "I must sit with my eye steadily fixed on the furnace, for if the time necessary for refining be exceeded in the slightest degree, the silver will be injured."

The lady at once saw the beauty, and comfort too, of the expression, "He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."

God sees it needful to put His children into a furnace; His eye is steadily intent on the work of purifying, and His wisdom and love are both engaged in the best manner for us. Our trials do not come at random, and He will not let us be tested beyond what we can endure.

Before she left, the lady asked one final question, "When do you know the process is complete?"

"Why that is quite simple," replied the silversmith. "When I can see my own image in the silver, the refining process is finished."

THE PASTORS SON
Submitted by Henrietta Johnson

After a few of the usual Sabbath evening hymns, the church's pastor slowly stood up, walked over to the pulpit and, before he gave his sermon for the evening, briefly introduced a guest minister who was in the service that evening.

In the introduction, the pastor told the congregation that the guest minister was one of his dearest friends and that he wanted him to have a few moments to greet the church and share whatever he felt would be appropriate for the service.

With that, an elderly man stepped up to the pulpit and began to speak, "A father, his son, and a friend of his son were sailing off the Pacific Coast," he began, "when fast approaching storm blocked any attempt to get back to shore. The waves were so high, that even though the father was an experienced sailor, he could not keep the boat upright, and the three were swept into the ocean as the boat capsized."

The old man hesitated for a moment, making eye contact with two teenagers who were, for the first time since the service began, looking somewhat interested in his story. The aged minister continued with his story, "Grabbing a rescue line, the father had to make the most excruciating decision of his life ...to which boy he would throw the other end of the life line. He only had seconds to make the decision. The father knew that his son was a Christian and he also knew that his son's friend was not. The agony of his decision could not be matched by the torrent of waves. "As the father yelled out, 'I love you, son!' he threw out the life line to his son's friend.

By the time the father had pulled the friend back to the capsized boat, his son had disappeared beneath the raging swells into the black of night. His body was never recovered."

By this time, the two teenagers were sitting up straight in the pew, anxiously waiting for the next words to come out of the old minister's mouth. "The father," he continued, "knew his son would step into eternity with Jesus, and he could not bear the thought of his son's friend stepping into an eternity without Jesus. Therefore, he sacrificed his son to save the son's friend. How great is the love of God that He should do the same for us. Our heavenly Father sacrificed His only begotten Son that we could be saved. I urge you to accept His offer to rescue you and take hold of the life line He is throwing out to you in this service."

With that, the old man turned and sat back down in his chair as silence filled the room. The pastor again walked slowly to the pulpit and delivered a brief sermon with an invitation at the end. However, no one responded to the appeal.

Within minutes after the service ended, the two teenagers were a the old man's side. "That was a nice story," politely started one of the boys, "but I don't think it was very realistic for a father to give up his only son's life in hopes that the other boy would become a Christian."

"Well, you've got a point there," the old man replied, glancing down at his worn Bible. A big smile broadened his narrow face, and he once again looked up at the boys and said, "It sure isn't very realistic, is it? But I'm standing here today to tell you that the story gives me a glimpse of what it must have been like for God to give up His Son for me.

You see...I was that father and your pastor is my son's friend."

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