♥ “Thou hast shewed thy people hard things” (Psalms 60:3). ♥
I have always been glad that the Psalmist said to God that some things were hard.
There is no mistake about it; there are hard things in life.
Some beautiful pink flowers were given me this summer,
and as I took them I said, “What are they?”
And the answer came, “They are rock flowers; they grow and bloom
only on rocks where you can see no soil.”
Then I thought of God’s flowers growing in hard places;
and I feel, somehow, that He may have a peculiar tenderness for
His “rock flowers” that He may not have for His lilies and roses.
♣ Margaret Bottome ♣
The tests of life are to make, not break us.
Trouble may demolish a man’s business but build up his character.
The blow at the outward man may be the greatest blessing to the inner man.
If God, then, puts or permits anything hard in our lives,
be sure that the real peril, the real trouble, is what we shall lose if we flinch or rebel.
♠ Maltbie D. Babcock ♠
“Heroes are forged on anvils hot with pain,
And splendid courage comes but with the test.
Some natures ripen and some natures bloom
Only on blood-wet soil, some souls prove great
Only in moments dark with death or doom.”
by Mrs. Charles Cowman – Streams in the Desert
“God gets his best soldiers out of the highlands of affliction.”
Sometimes you see a boy or a girl who has a very bad temper which
he does not try very hard to control. At such times, when things do
not go just as he wants them to and he goes into a rage, a rush of
words pours from his mouth, words that he would ordinarily be
ashamed of and ones that he will wish with all his heart he might
I know a girl who got terribly angry one time and she began to say
very naughty words about her little friend. Her father heard the loud
talk that was going on outside and went to the door and called his
young daughter to him. He saw a dandelion in full seed—its big tall
stem rose high above the grass around it and on top of that stem
was that ball of pure whiteness almost ready to blow away with its
hundreds of tiny seeds. The girl’s father told her to pick off all that
white fluffy top. Then as she brought it to him he told her to go out
and throw the whole handful up in the air as far as she could.
Of course the wind caught each little seed with its white wing, and
how they scattered in every direction. After the last one had settled
to the ground and most of them gone from sight and ready now to
take root and grow,—her father told his little girl to try to pick them
all up and put them back on the stem again.
Words are just like that. How fast they scatter the moment you let
them out of your mouth—and somewhere they take root too so that
others think they can do it if you can.
But, oh, how much you would give to be able to collect some of those
words back again.
Ω Ω Ω
A great man injured by anger was Moses. When the people murmured
and asked for water, Moses was commanded to strike the rock at Horeb.
Out of all patience with the people and their waywardness, Moses struck
the rock twice, as if the rock had been the head of the people, crying out
as he did so, “Hear, ye rebels!” This burst of rage cost Moses the Promised
Land, because it was for this transgression that Moses —in spite of his
grand service and his pathetic pleading at the end of Israel’s long wandering
—was not permitted to go into the land of Canaan. That was not the first nor
the last time that a land of promise and of happiness was lost through anger.
Moses was not as patient as God.
Jonah is an example of how the character of a good and a great man can
be marred by anger, and his usefulness impaired. His story suggests the
folly, the danger, and the injury of anger. Unfortunately, when a man feels
anger and gives unrestrained expression to it, as Jonah did, his fellowman
is not as patient and long suffering as God was and does not always return
the soft answer which God returned to the angry and petulant Jonah.
Anger is one of the most common sins, yet one of the most dangerous and
injurious to the peace and well-being of man. More than any other sin,
it blasts the flower of friendship, turns men out of Eden, destroys peace
and concord in the home, incites to crime and violence, and turns love and
affection into hatred.
Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω
An answer, when mild, turns away rage,
but a word causing pain makes anger to come up.
Proverbs : 15 : 1
Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω
So, Control Thy Temper!
♣ ♥ ♣
WHY IS “HUMILITY” AN INGREDIENT IN WISDOM?
Humility generates truth and objectivity.
Humility is freedom. Your personality expresses
itself in an organic, internally generated, and
more real way.
Humility is pleasure. Arrogance is pain.
Humility enables you to embrace others.
Humility deepens your relationship with God.
Until you know what you are willing to die for,
you have not yet begun to live.
♠ ♣ ♥ ♦
♠ ♣ ♥ ♦
There was a man who had four sons. He wanted his sons to learn
not to judge things too quickly. So he sent them each on a quest,
in turn, to go and look at a pear tree that was a great distance
♠ ♣ ♥ ♦
The first son went in the winter, the second in the spring, the
third in summer, and the youngest son in the fall. When they
had all gone and come back, he called them together to describe
what they had seen.
The first son said that the tree was ugly, bent, and twisted.
The second son said no-it was covered with green buds and full
The third son disagreed, he said it was laden with blossoms that
smelled so sweet and looked so beautiful, it was the most graceful
thing he had ever seen.
The last son disagreed with all of them; he said it was ripe and
drooping with fruit, full of life and fulfillment.
The man then explained to his sons that they were all right, because
they had each seen but ONLY one season in the tree’s life. He told
them that you cannot judge a tree, or a person, by only one season,
and that the essence of who they are – and the pleasure, joy, and
love that come from that life – can only be measured at the end,
when all the seasons are up.
If you give up when it’ s winter, you will miss the promise
of your spring, the beauty of your summer, fulfillment of
Don’t let the pain of one season destroy the joy of all the rest.
Don’t judge life by one difficult season.
Persevere through the difficult patches and better times are
sure to come some time or later.
It all depends on how we look at things, and not on how things are in themselves.
The least of things with a meaning is worth more in life than the greatest of things without it.
~ Carl Jung ~
Flowers often grow more beautifully on dung-hills than in gardens that look beautifully kept.
~ Saint Francis de Sales ~
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow; if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic; to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
♦ ♦ ******** ♦ ♦
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and
if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
by OriahMountainDreamer copyright © 1999 by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
And upon a day, while walking among the flowers of
his teacher’s garden, did the child speak unto the Mystic:
“Some men claim that this life
is the darkness of a curse,
and a punishment to be endured
for all our wicked ways.
Oh Mystic, what say you of life?”
And the Mystic answered:
“I say that life is neither a curse nor a punishment,
But a rose filled with the beauty of desire.
The stem of the rose is your life upon this earth,
The thorns, painful lessons you bring unto
yourself, that you might learn.
The leaves are those joys that enter
your life with the tenderness of an unseen Love.
Curse not the sorrow of your thorns,
for the deeper they cut unto the heart of
your being, the greener the leaves of joy shall be.
The tiny bud is your soul, waiting to
bloom with the truth of God among its petals.
Slowly will your flower unfold,
that you might not become lost
within the fragrance of its secret.
And when the rose is at the height of its beauty,
Shall you not see the pureness of God
smiling from the very center of your Being ?”
There once was an oyster
whose story I tell,
Who found that some sand
had got into his shell.
It was only a grain,
but it gave him great pain.
For oysters have feelings
although they’re so plain.
Now, did he berate
the harsh workings of fate
That had brought him
to such a deplorable state?
Did he curse at the government,
cry for election,
And claim that the sea should
have given him protection?
‘No,’ he said to himself
as he lay on a shell,
Since I cannot remove it,
I shall try to improve it.
Now the years have rolled around,
as the years always do,
And he came to his ultimate
And the small grain of sand
that had bothered him so
was a beautiful pearl
all richly aglow.
Now the tale has a moral,
for isn’t it grand
What an oyster can do
with a morsel of sand?
What couldn’t we do
if we’d only begin
With some of the things
that get under our skin.