God Moves in a Mysterious Way!

God's Boys will be good boys!

...Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

I told you the wrong words for the blind unbelief verse of the hymn. We have lost much in not studying this one. We are groping for the purposes in the providences sent to us. Why am I...? whatever the question it is the blindness of the not knowing why a providence that has come upon us has come that troubles us. We cannot search out God, no matter how we try. Living before God with a clear and cleansed conscience is all we can hope to do. Growing in grace to do our duty before God and to imitate Him.
Let us try to practice being open eyed to the good purposes of God in our lives. The easy things and the hard things. God has purposes of making us like Him. He has purposes of making us get along with others. He disciplines us to grow us up. Love is always His purpose in what He allows and purposes.
The more we learn of Him, the more we should be able to see that.

Remember

God's Boys will be good boys!

Your creator in the days of your youth. There is nothing else that I say that can give you any better direction than that. The more I live, the more those words seem to loom over my head. It seems like, as with a race, life has stops and starts and is that marathon. There seem to be imps whose job is to wreck your life. They stand at strategic points in life and cast weights upon your neck. I have found it to be so at the decade intervals of my life. The best that I can say to avoid them is to run as hard as you can in the earliest parts of your life and work as hard as you can for Jesus at the early days and remember that God will hold you in account for what you have done. It is difficult to find the comforts of life as you age. 30 was the first time that I really felt the weights of remaining sin keep me from running for Jesus, in liberty. At earlier times a thought or a mistake, you confess and forsake and you go to the next thing, it seemed. In older times, the lingering and the hanging out of a thought or the quickness to catch the least little spiritual infirmity was all the more rampant. It seemed that there were more boggs and more messy confessions at the later time. Like Samson, you are surprised at yourself and shake yourself as at the earlier times and there is a greater sense of loss at the loss of fellowship with God. Wear your spiritual galloshes. I would highly recommend William Gurnall and Henry Scudder at the latter teen days for the preparation for the long haul. Do not wait until you go through the hard trials to read it, like I did. It is hard and difficult medicine for the ailing soul and could seem to stamp out the smoking flax, if read in the low wick times. Read it in your youth, please.The Christian's Daily Walk

Another Charrette, My Boy?

God's Boys will be good boys!

God's mercy bails you out, time and time again. But, a little forethought, may help you to budget your time and not have to spend the entire night to get the job done. I am pleased that you are independent enough to carry on in the light of your grades and your own interests. Language Arts is not yet your forte'. Keep trying. Keep studying and keep at it. You have the heart of the matter in you and God is a merciful God to give you facility, even where there is a struggle.

I missed you!

God's Boys will be good boys!





We walked into the pool area together. You with your knapsack and I with my father's swagger. My dad used to walk with me into an event. The event was usually a competition and he always had that sic'em look on his face. He meant it! He truly meant for me to beat the pants off of these people. You haven't seen my daughter play, he would boast in his humble way. No, no, she hasn't played in months. I don't think she will make it through the first round of this one. He would unboast to Brother, Mr. Rooney or whoever. Taking the pressure off of me. Still, his eyes said sic'em.
This time, I was the mother and my boy at my side and no reason to say sic'em. My eyes cannot help but reflect the purposeful glare that my father placed into them. Sic'em, he said at every event. Why would you enter if you don't intend to beat the socks off of these people. You know you could. Maybe. Maybe.
I was shrunk by his glares often. I was directed by his glares often. I was motivated by his glares and now I can't get rid of them. Even though I run from the conflicts, like the plague.
The smell of chlorine and adrenaline is addictive. I wanted to whip somebody. Dad is gone and I can't prove that I heard his every directive, though I followed none of them. Sic'em.