I got chided a little this morning for good reason. Some desperately hurting people had written comments to this post, sharing the depths of their pain, fear, frustration and even torment, and I had failed to respond to any of them.
And though it’s a little foolish to lump the hurts of people all together in one reply, I did. You can find this response also in the comments section there (#10 added later), but I thought I would share it with a larger readership with the hope that maybe it would be an encouragement to you or someone you care about. God knows it isn’t the last word on pain. It’s just what I’ve learned through some of my own.
Below is my reply. [click to continue…]
It was the revival that almost never was. It took place in New York City, back in the late 1800s. By then the Salvation Army, under the leadership of William Booth in England, was becoming a global force. Two young officers had been dispatched to the U.S. to establish a work in New York, and nothing was working. Frustrated and tired, facing nothing but hostility and opposition, they sent a telegram to “the General,” requesting that he close the mission.
They received a two-word reply: “TRY TEARS.”
They did. [click to continue…]
You wouldn’t believe it. Not unless you saw it with your own two eyes.
You wouldn’t recognize him. Not unless you were with that band of misfits that united under his leadership.
But here you are and there he is and My God, what has happened? This is the guy whose exploits they sang about. This is the Giant Killer. In one afternoon you saw him rally his own people and send an army of Philistines running in fear.
And now he and you are living like pathetic dogs in a cave. Dirty. Haggard. Weak. Exhausted. And there before your eyes the man you knew would be king is at the end of his life.
Why?
Because he’s at the end of his courage. [click to continue…]