Inspirational Christian Stories and Poems Blog

Our first response in approaching
another people,
another culture,
another religion,
is to take off our shoes
for the place we are approaching is holy.

Else we may find ourselves treading on another’s dream.

More serious still,
we may forget…
that God was here
before our arrival.

(1 votes, average: 5 out of 5)
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Posted on July 29th, 2007 by Chris | Permalink |  Email This Post |  Print This Post

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 A man journeyed to the mountain top in search of enlightenment.He left all his belongings and possessions behind, and went only by himself. At the mountain top, he breathed deep, looking around just in time to catch a most Beautiful Sunrise coming over the horizon. He thought, surely this is where I belong, and he decided to stay. But, first he thought it right that he should return below and properly store and save all of his past possessions, for they represented his past life, which he would need no more.

When he returned to his home he gathered all his possessions, pictures, and momentous from childhood. He thought to himself, I do not need to store these, for I have moved from childhood. I do not need the things of my childhood. I will bury them.

So, he dug a hole, placing all his childhood possessions inside. Thinking about this, he decided that he could also place the things of his youth there, for he would not need them anymore either. He returned home and gathered his school work and other possessions from his youthful endeavors. He brought them back to the hole, and placed these things in it too. Now, he thought of his adulthood achievements, holdings, belongings, and possessions, the tools of his career. Again, he realized that he would not need these things any longer either. So, one more time he returned home, gathered all the things of his adulthood, returned to the hole, and placed them there as well, burying his last remaining possessions.

Once finished, he started back up to the mountain top. After a while, he stopped to look back at the hillside where he had buried his things. He saw only one lonely sunflower swaying in the wind where he had left the freshly covered dirt.

(1 votes, average: 1 out of 5)
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Posted on July 27th, 2007 by Chris | Permalink |  Email This Post |  Print This Post

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One day, a man went to visit a church. He arrived early, parked his car, and got out. Another car pulled up near him, and the driver told him, “I always park there. You took my place!”

The visitor went inside for Sunday School, found an empty seat, and sat down. A young lady from the church approached him and stated, “That’s my seat! You took my place!”

The visitor was somewhat distressed by this rude welcome, but said nothing.

After Sunday School, the visitor went into the church sanctuary and sat down. Another member walked up to him and said, “That’s where I always sit. You took my place!”

The visitor was even more troubled by this treatment, but still said nothing.

Later, as the congregation was praying for Christ to dwell among them, the visitor stood, and his appearance began to change.

Horrible scars became visible on his hands and on his sandaled feet.

Someone from the congregation noticed him and called out, “What happened to you?”

The visitor replied, “I took your place.”

May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let His presence settle into our bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, and to bask in the sun. It is there for each and every one of you.

Author Unknown

Contributed by Anne Brophy

(2 votes, average: 5 out of 5)
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Posted on July 25th, 2007 by Chris | Permalink |  Email This Post |  Print This Post

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My mother, who was a native American, taught me all kinds of wonderful ways to pray when I was a child. A very special one was the Sacrifice Flower prayer, which she adapted from the heritage of her people, the Seneca Iroquois.

She taught me to say this prayer when I was feeling low or had a burden I wanted to lifted. Later, I learned to use it for happy occasions and when I had a special request I wanted to make of God.

Like all mothers, she could always tell when something was bothering me. She’d say to me, “All right, Jo, I think it’s time you went outside and find yourself a Sacrifice Flower. It’s time you get your burden lifted from your heart and give it to God.

So, I’d go looking for a flower. Sometimes Mother would go out with me to help me with my flower or talk about what was bothering me. Sometimes, too, she had something weighing on her heart and she would find a Sacrifice Flower of her own.

The flower was supposed to be special, one that meant a lot to me. As a girl, I picked dandelions, hollyhocks, and daises. So, I usually picked one of them. In addition, Mother said I was to be very careful with the flower because it had been selected for a holy purpose. I lovingly cupped it in my hands so nothing would happen to it.

When I got home, I did as my mother instructed and told the flower what burden I wanted lifted and taken to God. How was the flower to do this? Remember, this was a Sacrifice Flower, one that was going to die. The idea was that as life went out of the flower, it would carry my prayer to God.

That meant, of course, the flower was not to be placed in water. I had a shelf in my room that I liked to use for my Sacrifice Flower because it was sort of private and yet I could see it as I went in and out.

Everytime I saw the flower, I could see it giving its life for me and I could imagine my prayer being carried to the Lord. That was true even when I was elsewhere and was just thinking about the flower. Either way, I had a strong sense my prayer was being heard. My flower and I were in union.

Sometimes it took a few days, sometimes a couple of weeks. When the flower finally died, I would take it outside, say goodbye to it, and thank it for giving its life for me and for delivering my prayer. Then I would bury it so it would have a chance at a new life, and I always hoped it would come back as an even nicer flower.

In this simple, graphic way my mother taught me how uplifting prayer can be. And, in the process, she taught me about life, too–how basic both dying and rising are to living and how important it is that we become Sacrifice Flowers for each other.

–By Jose Hobday

(3 votes, average: 5 out of 5)
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Posted on July 23rd, 2007 by Chris | Permalink |  Email This Post |  Print This Post

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by Tiffany Fate
Used with Permission

As Cassie entered the ninth grade, her mom Misty just “had that gut feeling that something was wrong. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but I just knew something was wrong. I didn’t feel like either I nor my husband had any connection with her.”

Desperate for answers, Misty began to search Cassie’s room regularly, and on one occasion was shocked to discover evidence that her daughter had developed an interest in witchcraft, drugs and alcohol. Facing the trauma of how to deal with their troubled teen, Cassie’s parents decided that the only way to stop their daughter from making more bad decisions was to make a few good choices for her.

So, they began making changes. For starters, they transferred Cassie to a new school–Columbine High School, in suburban Littleton, Colorado. They also kept closer tabs on her friends, her attitudes, and her study habits. In general, they put their foot down, and said, “Cassie, it stops here. You must now choose to take responsibility for your life.”

Cassie began to respond - positively…new friends, new attitudes. One of the new friends was Dave McPherson, youth pastor at West Bowles Community Church. McPherson admitted to the Denver Post that, when he first saw Cassie, he thought to himself, “There’s no hope for that girl. Not our kind of hope.” The joyless look on her face, the monosyllabic speech which came from her lips — all of it suggested that perhaps Cassie was just “too far gone.”

One weekend, though, McPherson encouraged Cassie to accompany the church youth on retreat, and, with her parents’ enthusiastic permission, she agreed. That weekend which changed Cassie’s life. Said Brad, her father, “When she left, she was this gloomy, head-down, say-nothing youth. When she came back, her eyes were open and bright and she was bouncy and just excited about what had happened to her and was just so excited to tell us. It was like she was in a dark room, and somebody turned the light on, and she saw the beauty that was surrounding her.” Said Misty, “She looked at me in the eye and she said, “Mom, I’ve changed. I’ve totally changed. I know you’re not going to believe it, but I’ll prove it to you.’”

The “light” that had been turned on in 17-year-old Cassie’s life was the light of the Lord Jesus Christ, whom she had trusted as her personal Lord and Savior at that church retreat. Jesus changed Cassie-from the inside out. A deep-down, 100-percent kind of transformation, like Paul spoke of in Romans 12:2 when he exhorted us, “be transformed by the renewing of your minds!” Gone was the preoccupation with the occult; instead, Cassie began to spend her spare time, along with her new Christian friends, ministering at Denver’s inner-city Victoria Outreach Church, serving dinner to prostitutes and drug addicts as part of that church’s mission ministry. Cassie even planned to cut off her cornsilk-colored hair that hung halfway down her back, so that it could be given to “someone who makes wigs for kids who are going through chemotherepy,” according to her aunt, Kayleen.

One night, Cassie spoke of her newfound hope for the future with her mom. She said, “Mom, it would be OK if I died. I’d be in a better place, and you know where I’d be.” The same girl who, just a couple years before, had been spinning on the edge, in danger of falling into hopelessness. Jesus change her-she was living life sacrificially in Jesus’ name, and she was ready to die as a child of the Lord Jesus.

On Sunday night, April 18, Cassie stood up and gave her testimony to her youth group at church. She told them, “You really can’t live without Christ. It’s, like, impossible to really have a really true life without Him.” Cassie was ready. With her life–and with death, if necessary.

Two days after that, Cassie was sitting in the library of Columbine High School when Eric Harris and Dylan Kelbold burst in with homemade pipe-bombs and guns. They knew who she was; she’d made no secret of her newfound faith.

The Bible stacked on top of her textbooks, along with the WWJD (”What Would Jesus Do?”) bracelet around her wrist, clearly marked Cassie as one of the “Christians” of Columbine High.

“Do you believe in God?” was the question which was posed to her by that young member of the self-proclaimed “Trenchcoat Mofia.” Her friend, Keven Koeniger, later said that Cassie paused for a long moment. He said, “I think she knew she was going to die.”

Finally, the response came: “Yes, I believe in God.” The trigger was pulled.

You think the question, “Are you ready to die for Jesus?” isn’t an urgent one? Just ask Cassie Bernall. Ask her parents. Misty and Brad said, “We looked at each other and we said, ‘Would I have done that? I would have begged for my life!’ She didn’t.

Cassie Bernall’s brother Chris found this poem on her desk. It was the last poem she wrote before she died.

“Now I have given up on everything else.
I have found it to be the only way
To really know Christ
And to experience the Mighty power
That brought Him back to life again
And to find out what it means
to suffer and die with Him.
So, whatever it takes
I will be one who lives
In the fresh newness of life
Of those who are alive from the dead”

Is your Jesus worth dying for?

(Editor’s note: The “poem” above is actually a quotation from the Living Bible Phil. 3:10-11. The author of this article was mistaken in thinking that Cassie had been the author. However, it is fairly certain that Cassie looked to these verses soon before her death.)

(2 votes, average: 5 out of 5)
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Posted on July 21st, 2007 by Chris | Permalink |  Email This Post |  Print This Post

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This is an eye opener… Some probably

never thought nor looked at this Psalm in this way…

even though they say it over and over again.

The Lord is my Shepherd

            - That’s Relationship!

I shall not want

            - That’s Supply!

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

            - That’s Rest!

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

            - That’s Refreshment!

He restoreth my soul

            - That’s Healing!

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness.

            - That’s Guidance!

For His name sake

            - That’s Purpose!

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

            - That’s Testing!

I will fear no evil.

            - That’s Protection!

For Thou art with me

            - That’s Faithfulness!

Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me,

            - That’s Discipline!

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

            - That’s Hope!

Thou anointest my head with oil,

            - That’s Consecration!

My cup runneth over.

            - That’s Abundance!

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

            - That’s Blessing!

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord.

            - That’s Security!

Forever!

            - That’s Eternity!

- sent to me in an email without author information

(7 votes, average: 4.43 out of 5)
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Posted on July 19th, 2007 by Chris | Permalink |  Email This Post |  Print This Post

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A while back I was reading about an expert on subject of time management.

One day this expert was speaking to a group of business students and, to drive home a point, used an illustration I’m sure those students will never forget. After I share it with you, you’ll never forget it either.

As this man stood in front of the group of high-powered overachievers he said, “Okay, time for a quiz.” Then he pulled out a one-gallon, wide-mouthed mason jar and set it on a table in front of him. Then he produced about a dozen fist-sized rocks and carefully placed them, one at a time, into the jar.

When the jar was filled to the top and no more rocks would fit inside, he asked, “Is this jar full?”

Everyone in the class said, “Yes.”

Then he said, “Really?” He reached under the table and pulled out a bucket of gravel. Then he dumped some gravel in and shook the jar causing pieces of gravel to work themselves down into the spaces between the big rocks.

Then he smiled and asked the group once more, “Is the jar full?” By this time the class was onto him.

“Probably not,” one of them answered.

“Good!” he replied. And he reached under the table and brought out a bucket of sand. He started dumping the sand in and it went into all the spaces left between the rocks and the gravel. Once more he asked the question, “Is this jar full?”

“No!” the class shouted.

Once again he said, “Good!” Then he grabbed a pitcher of water and began to pour it in until the jar was filled to the brim. Then he looked up at the class and asked, “What is the point of this illustration?”

One eager beaver raised his hand and said, “The point is, no matter how full your schedule is, if you try really hard, you can always fit some more things into it!”

“No,” the speaker replied, “that’s not the point. The truth this illustration teaches us is: If you don’t put the big rocks in first, you’ll never get them in at all.”

The title of this letter is The “Big Rocks” of Life. What are the big rocks in your life? A project that YOU want to accomplish? Time with your loved ones? Your faith, your education, your finances? A cause? Teaching or mentoring others? Remember to put these BIG ROCKS in first or you’ll never get them in at all.

- Unknown

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Posted on July 19th, 2007 by Chris | Permalink |  Email This Post |  Print This Post

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As I awoke half startled, face still screwed up in a frown.
I lay there quietly, wondering what in the world had just gone down.
I raised myself up slowly, cautious of what I might find.
Could that have been the sound of Gabriels trumpet, the end of all mankind.
It was so dark, there was no light to be found, and the air was so thick I was fighting to draw my breath.
Maybe this was what it was like, was I experiencing death?
Why that couldn’t be, gosh I felt fine when I went to bed.
So what in the worlds going on, and why am I having such a pain in the back of my head.
Well now I’m getting scared, and I’m here all alone.
Lord what’s happened to my wife and family, if I could only find the phone.
Lord I thought when you died that you were drawn to a light.
Why is it so dark, then stark reality hit me, what if I wasn’t living right?
So what can you do when it’s all said and done and there is no more chances?
If you didn’t live for Jesus, then the devil gets his dues, he gets the rest of your dances.
Well just how scary is that, scary enough at least I hope it was, for that’s the way it is.
As long as you’re alive and breathing, Jesus gives us every chance, He wants to make you His!
Then something else started happening, something is shaking me, shaking me hard.
I’m seeing lights all around me, and I sit up and holler, oh thank You Father, Thank You Lord.
My wife is the one doing the shaking, and she stood there asking honey what’s wrong with you?
She said are you okay, you must have been dreaming, is there anything I can do?
I said yes there is, you can pray for me and help me to lead a better life.
And Lord as I say my prayers, may I ask a special blessing for my wife.
She pulled me out of that dream you see that felt so very real.
And now I’ve got this one more chance to show You how I feel.
R.R.Bingham 75\2007

(2 votes, average: 5 out of 5)
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Posted on July 17th, 2007 by Chris | Permalink |  Email This Post |  Print This Post

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by P. E. Adotey Addo
Used with Permission It was the night before Christmas and I was very sad because my family life had been severely disrupted and I was sure that Christmas would never come. There was none of the usual joy and anticipation that I always felt during the Christmas season. I was eight years old but in the past few months I had grown a great deal. Before this year, I thought Christmas in my village came with many things. Christmas had always been for me one of the joyous religious festivals. It was the time for beautiful Christmas music on the streets, on radio, television, and every where. Christmas had always been a religious celebration and the church started preparing way back in November. We really felt that we were preparing for the birth of the baby Jesus. Christmas was the time when relatives and friends visited each other so there were always people traveling and visiting with great joy from all the different tribes. I always thought that was all Christmas was.

Oh, how I wished I had some of the traditional food consumed at the Christmas Eve dinner and the Christmas Day dinner, I knew I could not taste the rice, chicken, goat, lamb, and fruits of various kinds. The houses were always decorated with beautiful paper ornaments. The children and all the young people loved to make and decorate their homes and schools with colorful crepe paper. All of us looked forward to the Christmas Eve Service at our church. After the service there would be a joyous possession through the streets. Everyone would be in a gala mood with local musicians in a Mardi Gras mood. Then on Christmas Day we all went back to church to read the scriptures and sing carols to remind us of the meaning of the blessed birth of the baby Jesus. We always thought that these were the things that meant Christmas. After the Christmas service young people received gifts of special chocolate, special cookies, and special crackers. Young people were told that the gifts come from Father Christmas, and this always meant Christmas for us. They also received new clothes and perhaps new pairs of shoes. Meanwhile throughout the celebration, everyone was greeted with the special greeting word, “Afishapa” meaning Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Oh how I wish that those memories were real tonight in order to bring us Christmas. However, this Christmas Eve things were different and I knew Christmas would never come. Every one was sad and desperate because of what happened last April when the so-called Army of Liberation attacked our village and took all the young boys and girls away.

Families were separated and some were murdered. We were forced to march and work for many miles without food. We were often hungry and we were given very little food. There was very little food. The soldiers burned everything in our village and during our forced march we lost all sense of time and place. Miraculously we were able to get away from the soldiers during one rainy night. After several weeks in the tropical forest we made our way back to our burned out village. Most of us were sick, exhausted, and depressed. Most of the members of our families were no where to be found. We had no idea what day or time it was. This was the situation until my sick grandmother noticed the reddish and yellow flower we call, “Fire on the Mountain,” blooming in the middle of the marketplace where the tree had stood for generations and had bloomed for generations at Christmas time. For some reason it had survived the fire that had engulfed the marketplace. I remembered how the nectar from this beautiful flower had always attracted insects making them drowsy enough to fall to the ground to become food for crows and lizards. We were surprised that the fire the soldiers started to burn the marketplace and the village did not destroy the “Fire on the Mountain” tree. What a miracle it was. Grandmother told us that it was almost Christmas because the flower was blooming. As far as she could remember this only occurred at Christmas time. My spirits were lifted perhaps for a few minutes as I saw the flower. Soon I became sad again. How could Christmas come without my parents and my village? How could this be Christmas time when we celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace, because since April we have not known any peace, only war and suffering. How could we celebrate as grandmother instructed us to do before she died. Those were the last words she spoke before she died last night. As I continued to think about past joyous Christmases and the present suffering, we heard the horn of a car and not just one horn but several cars approaching our village. At first we thought they were cars full of men with machine guns so we hid in the forest. To our surprise they were not and they did not have guns. They were just ordinary travelers. It seemed the bridge over the river near our village had been destroyed last April as the soldiers left our village. Since it was almost dusk and there were rumors that there were land mines on the roads, they did not want to take any chances. Their detour had led them straight to our village. When they saw us they were shocked and horrified at the suffering and the devastation all around us. Many of these travelers began to cry. They confirmed that tonight was really Christmas Eve. All of them were on their way to their villages to celebrate Christmas with family and friends. Now circumstances had brought them to our village at this time on this night before Christmas. They shared the little food they had with us. They even helped us to build a fire in the center of the marketplace to keep us warm. In the middle of all this, my sister became ill and could not stand up. A short time after we returned to our village my grandmother told me that my oldest sister was expecting a baby. My sister had been in a state of shock and speechless since we all escaped from the soldiers. I was so afraid for my sister because we did not have any medical supplies and we were not near a hospital. Some of the travelers and the villagers removed their shirts and clothes to make a bed for my sister to lie near the fire we had made. On that fateful night my sister gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. This called for a celebration, war or no war, Africans have to dance and we celebrated until the rooster crowed at 6 a.m. We sang Christmas songs. Every one sang in his or her own language. For the first time all the pain and agony of the past few months escaped. When morning finally came my sister was asked, “What are you going to name the baby”? Would you believe for the first time since our village was burned and all the young girls and boys were taken away, she spoke. She said, “His name is Gye Nyame, which means except God I fear none.”

And so we celebrated Christmas that night. Christmas really did come to our village that night, but it did not come in the cars or with the travelers. It came in the birth of my nephew in the midst of our suffering. We saw hope in what this little child could do. This birth turned out to be the universal story of how bad things turned into universal hope, the hope we found in the Baby Jesus. A miracle occurred that night before Christmas and all of a sudden I knew we were not alone any more. Now I knew there was hope and I had learned that Christmas comes in spite of all circumstances. Christmas is always within us all. Christmas came even to our village that night.

(2 votes, average: 5 out of 5)
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Posted on July 15th, 2007 by Chris | Permalink |  Email This Post |  Print This Post

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