[hee hee hee]
But, seriously, stay safe up there folks.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
For My Friends Up North #PolarVortex
I hear there's more polar blast predicted for the Northeast.
[hee hee hee]
But, seriously, stay safe up there folks.
[hee hee hee]
But, seriously, stay safe up there folks.
Monday, January 20, 2014
The Beginning: Memories Of Fort Pierce
Monday's
I plan to feature a guest writer, my husband. He has
been painstakingly writing down the stories of his childhood to share
them with his
9 year old niece. I wanted her to know what kind of childhood her
beloved Uncle was able to enjoy. While enjoying them myself I thought these are so much fun to
read, why not share them? So here are the short missives of his memories
of growing up in wilds of Florida during the 1950's and 1960's. They're
packed with misadventures, romance, and all the confusing things that can
happen in our youth. Even though his hometown of Jacksonville is a big city with over a
million residents now, during his childhood it was several small
communities surrounded by countryside.
This is his story.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Memories of Fort Pierce
by Steven R. Hudson
The following stories are a collection of memories that I have been
encouraged to put into writing by those who love me despite my many
faults. Even though my life has not been one marked by great deeds or
accomplishments, perhaps it will be a picture of life as it was many
years ago before cell phones and video games. When children ran barefoot
and innocent along forest paths and creek banks.
One of my earliest recollections is staying with my maternal
grandmother. She and my mother's stepfather lived on Angle Road in Ft.
Pierce, Florida, in an area that was at that time, typical
south Florida pine
woods. Grandma "Cootie" as she was known by me and my cousins kept
chickens and turkeys for meat and eggs, had a concrete goldfish pond in
front of the house and a yard full of Chihuahua dogs. I was 2 to 3 years
old at this time and the fish pond was a source of great wonder for me.
Perhaps it was the fluid movements of the goldfish that brought out a
hunter instinct of a sort. I needed to find a sharp stick and spear one
of these golden colored wonders. Stick found, I went after my prey and
actually managed to spear one of grandma's prized goldfish. Grandma,
however, was not amused by what I had done and I was punished with a
good and proper "switching" with my own fish spear. This punishment may
seem harsh by today's standards but the "switch" was a common type of
discipline in those times and was an effective way to discourage
wrongful acts.
Grandma Cootie was a strict but very loving lady. She adored her
grandchildren and would walk through fire to protect her family,
displaying a fearlessness that belied her small 4' 10" stature. One day I
was helping her gather eggs in the poultry yard and was attacked by a
big tom turkey that managed to spur me good before grandma was able to
get the bird away from me. After checking to see that I was not badly
hurt, she retrieved a hatchet and promptly killed the turkey then
dressed it. Later we all had a nice roast turkey dinner, compliments of
the old belligerent bird.
Our family has always been a family of fishermen mostly out of necessity
back then. Fresh fish was often on the evening menu and was the staple
of most people of moderate means. We ate Snapper, Sea Trout, Croaker,
Red Fish, Flounder and our favorite, Snook. Fish were abundant then. The
river and creek banks were covered with Sea Grapes and Mangroves
instead of condos and expensive houses like today. Fishing was as easy
as driving down to the river bank and throwing out a baited hook. A
fishing license was not needed and there were no size or number limits
on the fish you caught. We never caught more fish than we needed, just
enough for supper, served up with homemade hush puppies and cheese
grits. We ate like royalty and did not even realize we were rich beyond
measure. I can still see a picture in my mind of one of the fishing
spots we went to then. I remember a beautiful tidal creek and a muddy
bank at the water's edge covered with the holes of Fiddler Crabs.
Spider-like roots of Mangroves formed a barrier on each side of the
creek bank and you could see schools of Mullet cruising the shallow
water. It was a splendid place.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Two Minutes With The Bible ~ Small Change And A Free Gift
Small Change and a Free Gift 
by Pastor Cornelius R. Stam
All kinds of coin-using machines have created a shortage of coins for other purposes. Isn’t it strange: a penny is hardly worth picking up these days, and President Eisenhower called our dollars “dollarettes,” yet people seem to be spending more money in small amounts.
You can make more and more purchases with coins these days. Some people say that you can buy anything with money, but they’re wrong — very wrong.
The things we need most cannot be bought with any amount of money. The air we breathe, the water we drink (we pay only for the service), love of family and friends. These things can’t be bought. And the most precious treasure of all: salvation, eternal life, can’t be bought at any price.
God doesn’t want our money. He calls it “filthy lucre.” He’s not going into business, selling houses and lots in heaven, much less will He pervert justice and pronounce us innocent for a consideration. But He does pity and love us and He can and will give us eternal life if we trust in the merits of the One who died to pay the penalty for our sins.
“The gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord” (Rom. 6:23).Our Lord said to the Samaritan woman:
“For by grace are ye saved, through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God” (Eph. 2:8).
“If thou knewest the gift of God … thou wouldest have asked …” (John 4:10).Have you asked?
To the Reader:
Some of our Two Minutes articles were written many years ago by Pastor C. R. Stam for publication in newspapers. When many of these articles were later compiled in book form, Pastor Stam wrote this word of explanation in the Preface:
Some of our Two Minutes articles were written many years ago by Pastor C. R. Stam for publication in newspapers. When many of these articles were later compiled in book form, Pastor Stam wrote this word of explanation in the Preface:
"It should be borne in mind that the
newspaper column, Two Minutes With the Bible, has now been published for
many years, so that local, national and international events are
discussed as if they occurred only recently. Rather than rewrite or date
such articles, we have left them just as they were when first
published. This, we felt, would add to the interest, especially
since our readers understand that they first appeared as newspaper
articles."
To this we would add that the same is
true for the articles written by others that we continue to add, on a
regular basis, to the Two Minutes library. We hope that you'll
agree that while some of the references in these articles are dated, the
spiritual truths taught therein are timeless.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Cousins By The Dozens
This is just, I think, an interesting little tidbit. I promised to tie in the
journey to find my roots, and how it also involves, albeit in a small
way, the quest for a life in the country and how I ended up in Georgia.
Dad was always in a hurry "to make good time" [whatever that is] when we traveled. Being a kid, I desired to linger in the beautiful woods that went whizzing past the car windows. On one trip home from western Pennsylvania (early 1960's and pre-Interstate), I have a vague memory of begging Dad to stop in Georgia. I wanted to touch some of that lovely red clay that lined the roadsides in my hands. Red clay was fascinating to a Central Florida girl who grew up with thickets of flat scrub pines, palmettos and sugar sand. Most of the time, he would just shout he was in a hurry. But this time he stopped at a clay embankment, scooped up the clay putting it into a bag, then slung it at me in the car. "Here!" he mumbled, as he mashed the pedal of the Chevy and it heaved itself down the road. I was so pleased to have that silly clay! I kept it for a long, long time. From the very start, something drew me to the Georgia countryside. Was it the natural beauty or was it something deeper?
Back to the Big Land Hunt: we just couldn’t find anything suitable in Florida in our price range. I suggested to my ever patient, understanding husband about venturing further North into southeast Georgia. The siren call of the red clay was still there, little did I know why.
After finding the maternal side of my birth family, we settled into the time consuming part of getting to know each other. That went over fairly well for
people who are basically strangers. We had so little in
common, though. Even with satisfying my curiosity about my birth-mother,
I still felt empty, disconnected, and left with a hunger to learn
more about my family. I still wanted something that would help me feel like I too
belonged on this planet and had a purpose. So, I resolved that I would go further back in the family tree.
In the interim, we had moved to our current location in southeast Georgia, in the Spring of 1993. By that time the Internet for public use was coming into it’s own. For us country mice, it was dial-up and very slow, but it almost always worked. Communications where opened up between history researchers. FamilyTreeMaker software for home use premiered. Many Courthouses and Genealogists now had their public info on-line. All this made researching for the Financially Impaired so much easier. I took up the reins of research with the greatest of ease. To aid in the search I ordered the customary Marriage Licenses, Birth and Death Certificates, visited courthouses for documents with my family‘s name on it. Photographed cemetery tombstones hoping for connections. From one of the documents I had ordered I learn my grandmother, Bessie Moore, first wife of George Baxter McMahan and mother to my birth-mother, Marian Estelle "Mary" McMahan, was born in Axson (Atkinson County), Georgia before her parents moved to Florida during the first Great Depression. “Oh, my goodness”, I thought, “I’ll never find her parents, let alone her grandparents. She might as well have been a Smith!” Oh ye of little faith! I was worried over nothing. Thanks to Folks Huxford and his Pioneers of Wiregrass Georgia books, to whom many of us owe much, and his cursory research of the Moore Family in Clinch and surrounding countries, I made all kinds of connections. It was so exciting to find more of my blood kin. At that point I at least had a basic outline of Who's Who in part of my Family Tree. And the further I dug into the research, I was shocked because I had moved into an area where I must be related to a good three quarters of the population. I belonged here! I had truly moved HOME.
So not only had God “adopted“ me spiritually when I first believed in Him, but in His wisdom He gave me more
family than I can shake a stick at. He knew I needed this physical connection. It
satisfied the deep seated yearning for an association to something or someone
deep in my soul. It has brought me comfort and peace that I never had
growing up. My Lord is indeed forevermore loving and kind to even the least of His
servants. Thank you Lord!
But even there, the story does not end. All the information I had gleaned up to that point was relatively easy compared to how I later found my birth-father from a woman whom was deceased, that I never met, that didn't tell her sisters nor was his name on any of my adoption documents. (I know because I had the records opened by court order.) That story is a novelette from which I will spare my readers. [smile]
The Lesson? Life can take a lot of twists and turns but when we trust Jesus, He will indeed take care of us "exceedingly and abundantly above all we can ask or think" [Ephesians 3:20-21]. He truly will carry us Home whatever that "home" is that we all need. Just be sure you enjoy curvy roads.
Dad was always in a hurry "to make good time" [whatever that is] when we traveled. Being a kid, I desired to linger in the beautiful woods that went whizzing past the car windows. On one trip home from western Pennsylvania (early 1960's and pre-Interstate), I have a vague memory of begging Dad to stop in Georgia. I wanted to touch some of that lovely red clay that lined the roadsides in my hands. Red clay was fascinating to a Central Florida girl who grew up with thickets of flat scrub pines, palmettos and sugar sand. Most of the time, he would just shout he was in a hurry. But this time he stopped at a clay embankment, scooped up the clay putting it into a bag, then slung it at me in the car. "Here!" he mumbled, as he mashed the pedal of the Chevy and it heaved itself down the road. I was so pleased to have that silly clay! I kept it for a long, long time. From the very start, something drew me to the Georgia countryside. Was it the natural beauty or was it something deeper?
Back to the Big Land Hunt: we just couldn’t find anything suitable in Florida in our price range. I suggested to my ever patient, understanding husband about venturing further North into southeast Georgia. The siren call of the red clay was still there, little did I know why.
After finding the maternal side of my birth family, we settled into the time consuming part of getting to know each other. That went over fairly well for
In the interim, we had moved to our current location in southeast Georgia, in the Spring of 1993. By that time the Internet for public use was coming into it’s own. For us country mice, it was dial-up and very slow, but it almost always worked. Communications where opened up between history researchers. FamilyTreeMaker software for home use premiered. Many Courthouses and Genealogists now had their public info on-line. All this made researching for the Financially Impaired so much easier. I took up the reins of research with the greatest of ease. To aid in the search I ordered the customary Marriage Licenses, Birth and Death Certificates, visited courthouses for documents with my family‘s name on it. Photographed cemetery tombstones hoping for connections. From one of the documents I had ordered I learn my grandmother, Bessie Moore, first wife of George Baxter McMahan and mother to my birth-mother, Marian Estelle "Mary" McMahan, was born in Axson (Atkinson County), Georgia before her parents moved to Florida during the first Great Depression. “Oh, my goodness”, I thought, “I’ll never find her parents, let alone her grandparents. She might as well have been a Smith!” Oh ye of little faith! I was worried over nothing. Thanks to Folks Huxford and his Pioneers of Wiregrass Georgia books, to whom many of us owe much, and his cursory research of the Moore Family in Clinch and surrounding countries, I made all kinds of connections. It was so exciting to find more of my blood kin. At that point I at least had a basic outline of Who's Who in part of my Family Tree. And the further I dug into the research, I was shocked because I had moved into an area where I must be related to a good three quarters of the population. I belonged here! I had truly moved HOME.
But even there, the story does not end. All the information I had gleaned up to that point was relatively easy compared to how I later found my birth-father from a woman whom was deceased, that I never met, that didn't tell her sisters nor was his name on any of my adoption documents. (I know because I had the records opened by court order.) That story is a novelette from which I will spare my readers. [smile]
The Lesson? Life can take a lot of twists and turns but when we trust Jesus, He will indeed take care of us "exceedingly and abundantly above all we can ask or think" [Ephesians 3:20-21]. He truly will carry us Home whatever that "home" is that we all need. Just be sure you enjoy curvy roads.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Georgia On My Mind
In the past when people would ask me where I am from, I would temporarily go blank. A fragmented, unhappy
childhood had left me like a blank slate. Like an orphan tossed on the
seas of life, it seems that I had always yearrned for a place I could
call Home. My official Home Town never felt like home, so, where did I
come
from? Where did I belong? I longed, deeply, to find a place to call my own.
Descendants of German immigrants, my adopted parents where born and raised on farms in western Pennsylvania during The Great Depression. They
married and moved to a small town in Central Florida as
a young couple in the early
1950's. Apparently, Mom could not bare children but I've
never learned why. After six years of being on the adoption list, they
found an underaged young lady "in trouble" and adopted yours truly. When
I was a wee tot, on the rare occasions
we traveled to their native Pennsylvania, they would take the time to
visit old
friends or family still living on farms. I fell in love with the
countryside right then and there. I felt a kinship with
the trees, the wildlife, the smells, the gentle sounds, the clean air
and most of all, the solitude. Even the small
town was already beginning to be too much for me. I wanted to enjoy the
night stars
without the
light pollution. I yearned to hear the crickets singing and chase
fireflies from a back porch.
Psalms 27:10 "When my father and my mother forsake me, Then the Lord will take me up."
What I share next is not to illicit sympathy but to lay the ground work for this story explaining the reason for my feeling so disconnected. Very rarely do I dwell on this small part of my life. These are only shadows and ghosts of the past. I've given it to God and He has lovingly hidden the hurt away.
I think I was fairly happy as a small child before my mother died in 1966, I don't remember. All I do remember is losing the only mother I'd ever known
that sweltering August day. After the funeral Dad made it abundantly
clear he didn’t want me around anymore. It turned my already
fragile world upside down. My earliest memory is her funeral with Dad
telling me to “Shut up, what do you care?! You’re only adopted anyway.”
Yeah, he said that to a grieving 10 year old child. I felt like someone
had reached into my chest and stopped my heart from beating. Dad was
keen on yelling curse words, snapping belittling
remarks (his favorite were I was a bastard, and how stupid I was), open
hand slap any body
part too close to him, or glare at me for seemingly no reason. I
started running away. My grades where failing. I became a bit of a day
dreamer. The school psychiatrist was as much help as breasts on a boar
hog. Two step-mothers later, things where a little improved. At least
the
last one
was a Christian and wasn't abusive. We had our differences, but still
she had a good heart. When I was 14 I gave my heart to Christ in a
little non-denominational church. Kneeling at the cross
(emotionally) I knew I was a sinner, unworthy of His forgiveness but
told Him I believed in Him and to do with me as He will. At least I knew
He would never leave me! He gave me the strength to go on. His guidance
gave me the fortitude to buckle down, get a good education and get the
heck out
of Dodge as soon as it was legal. When I turned 18 it was made clear I
was no longer welcome in that house. No home there! Frightened and with
no confidence
in my abilities, I married the first man that asked and in
the infamous words of Jimmy Buffett “it cost me much more than a ring“.
My first husband wasn’t a bad guy but we where definitely mismatched. He
wasn't my 'home' either. Thankfully, we
parted on amicable terms without too much damage done.
After all that, my current hubby and I met, then tied the knot. Thankfully, he shared my vision of living in the country. It was going to be a difficult task
since we where
living in the Big City, in a State where property was expensive and we
are not people of means. Thankfully, by now it was the '80s and times
where good. With
good jobs and lots of prospects for improvement we worked hard for 18 years. It was
exciting to dream and plan. However, even though there can be lots of
money to be
made in a metropolis, a city setting is emotionally crushing to me. I
felt stifled, fought a lot of airborn illnesses, and the stress of
living so close to others kept my nerves on edge. I fought the crushing
sadness that seemed to follow me like a black cloud.
In 1981, I was working for a gentleman who was also adopted. He urged me to begin searching for my birth parents. Through his assistance, I managed to learn who my birth-mother was. After many phones calls, letters and false starts I had located her within a few weeks. (Again, God's mercy!) Regrettably, though, I was about 18 months too late to speak to my birth-mother as she had died in a traffic accident not far from where I was then living. But I did manage to make contact with a half sister, two half brothers, several aunts, an uncle and my grandfather. It was a rich and rewarding experience. Trust me, like all things great and small in our lives, this ties in.
For years we continued the search for land. We wanted that perfect location
where it would be our forever home. On weekends when we weren’t
repairing our 1952 Florida home, or out in the woods, we where looking
at land. Dreaming about land. Praying for
land! I think I exhausted every place in Florida I could think of. Then,
I got
the notion to start looking in southeast Georgia. One Saturday, after a,
what I thought, wasted trip to Reidsville, Georgia, to look at more
land for sale, we
passed a sign on Highway 121 for a local realtor in Blackshear. It was
late so I wrote the number down (this was pre-cell phones, after all)
and after driving home, made an appointment for the next weekend to look
at property. Short story long [smile], the nice young lady took us city
folks all around this postage stamp sized county. It seemed every place
I looked at it was
“still too close to town”. I guess she couldn't believe that we would
want to live so far out. Several available properties later, she finally
believed
me, and took us out to this place.
Leviticus 25:23 "The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine. For you are strangers and sojourners with me."
It’s no kidding, as soon as I stepped out of her car, and my foot hit the property, with the towering oaks and pines, the inviting quiet, the simple country road, I knew this was it! My heart sang with joy! Hubby and I prayed for success. God mercifully opened the doors for the loan to go through without a hitch. Then we started down the long, curvy road of making this our permanent residence. It would take almost 8 more years of scrimping and saving but we where finally on the way Home.
Descendants of German immigrants, my adopted parents where born and raised on farms in western Pennsylvania during The Great Depression. They
Psalms 27:10 "When my father and my mother forsake me, Then the Lord will take me up."
What I share next is not to illicit sympathy but to lay the ground work for this story explaining the reason for my feeling so disconnected. Very rarely do I dwell on this small part of my life. These are only shadows and ghosts of the past. I've given it to God and He has lovingly hidden the hurt away.
I think I was fairly happy as a small child before my mother died in 1966, I don't remember. All I do remember is losing the only mother I'd ever known
After all that, my current hubby and I met, then tied the knot. Thankfully, he shared my vision of living in the country. It was going to be a difficult task
In 1981, I was working for a gentleman who was also adopted. He urged me to begin searching for my birth parents. Through his assistance, I managed to learn who my birth-mother was. After many phones calls, letters and false starts I had located her within a few weeks. (Again, God's mercy!) Regrettably, though, I was about 18 months too late to speak to my birth-mother as she had died in a traffic accident not far from where I was then living. But I did manage to make contact with a half sister, two half brothers, several aunts, an uncle and my grandfather. It was a rich and rewarding experience. Trust me, like all things great and small in our lives, this ties in.
For years we continued the search for land. We wanted that perfect location
Leviticus 25:23 "The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine. For you are strangers and sojourners with me."
It’s no kidding, as soon as I stepped out of her car, and my foot hit the property, with the towering oaks and pines, the inviting quiet, the simple country road, I knew this was it! My heart sang with joy! Hubby and I prayed for success. God mercifully opened the doors for the loan to go through without a hitch. Then we started down the long, curvy road of making this our permanent residence. It would take almost 8 more years of scrimping and saving but we where finally on the way Home.
Monday, January 13, 2014
The Pink Cast Away
I didn’t want to get out of bed today. The ongoing cold, damp weather and
concern over our little niece, had me emotionally hamstrung. I didn’t want to move. What happened? Well, Amberlee fell off her Razor Scooter this weekend and, we think, broke her elbow and/or wrist. She was rushed to the Hospital (had a 2 hour wait!!) and all they could do was give her painkillers. Poor dear has been in mind numbing pain all weekend. This afternoon her parents managed to get into to see a Pediatric Orthopedic and he gave her this “cool pink cast”. (Her words) *lol*
This morning, Hubby said, “Let’s get up lazy bones and have a warm breakfast. Then drive on into Blackshear to get a few items.” I didn’t want to go but I did anyway. Now I’m glad I did. At the grocery store I got the notion to take the steel steeds out for a spin. The weather is very pretty today (temp of about 65 degrees), sun is shining, with a light wind. It’s a little hazy but that’s kinda nice on a bike. Less glare that way. But I see where there's more rain approaching.
*sigh*
We did a Turn and Burn to Baxley, stopping for lunch at our favorite Chinese restaurant.
Now I’m in a happy mood!
Here’s a little joke for you I found at Carol B.’s blog (carolsdailylifeandstuff.blogspot.com):
Now that I'm old(er), I've discovered a few things:
ONE- I started out with nothing, and I still have most of it.
TWO- My wild oats have turned into prunes and All Bran.
THREE- I finally got my head together; now my body is falling apart.
FOUR- Funny, I don't remember being absent minded.
FIVE- All reports are in; life is now officially unfair.
SIX- If all is not lost, where is it?
SEVEN- It is easier to get older than it is to get wiser.
EIGHT- Some days you're the dog; some days you're the hydrant.
NINE- I wish the buck stopped here; I sure could use a few...
TEN- Kids in the back seat cause accidents.
ELEVEN- Accidents in the back seat cause ... kids.
TWELVE- It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere.
THIRTEEN- Only time the world beats a path to your door is when you're in the bathroom.
FOURTEEN- If God wanted me to touch my toes, he would have put them on my knees.
FIFTEEN- When I'm finally holding all the cards, why does everyone decide to play chess?
SIXTEEN- It's not hard to meet expenses ... they're everywhere.
SEVENTEEN- The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth.
EIGHTEEN- These days, I spend a lot of time thinking about the hereafter ... I go somewhere to get something and then wonder what I'm here after.
Y'all stay safe and warm out there.
This morning, Hubby said, “Let’s get up lazy bones and have a warm breakfast. Then drive on into Blackshear to get a few items.” I didn’t want to go but I did anyway. Now I’m glad I did. At the grocery store I got the notion to take the steel steeds out for a spin. The weather is very pretty today (temp of about 65 degrees), sun is shining, with a light wind. It’s a little hazy but that’s kinda nice on a bike. Less glare that way. But I see where there's more rain approaching.
*sigh*
We did a Turn and Burn to Baxley, stopping for lunch at our favorite Chinese restaurant.
Now I’m in a happy mood!
Here’s a little joke for you I found at Carol B.’s blog (carolsdailylifeandstuff.blogspot.com):
Now that I'm old(er), I've discovered a few things:
ONE- I started out with nothing, and I still have most of it.
TWO- My wild oats have turned into prunes and All Bran.
THREE- I finally got my head together; now my body is falling apart.
FOUR- Funny, I don't remember being absent minded.
FIVE- All reports are in; life is now officially unfair.
SIX- If all is not lost, where is it?
SEVEN- It is easier to get older than it is to get wiser.
EIGHT- Some days you're the dog; some days you're the hydrant.
NINE- I wish the buck stopped here; I sure could use a few...
TEN- Kids in the back seat cause accidents.
ELEVEN- Accidents in the back seat cause ... kids.
TWELVE- It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere.
THIRTEEN- Only time the world beats a path to your door is when you're in the bathroom.
FOURTEEN- If God wanted me to touch my toes, he would have put them on my knees.
FIFTEEN- When I'm finally holding all the cards, why does everyone decide to play chess?
SIXTEEN- It's not hard to meet expenses ... they're everywhere.
SEVENTEEN- The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth.
EIGHTEEN- These days, I spend a lot of time thinking about the hereafter ... I go somewhere to get something and then wonder what I'm here after.
Y'all stay safe and warm out there.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Two Minutes With The Bible ~ The Dispensation of Grace
The Dispensation of Grace
by Pastor Cornelius R. Stam
There are medical dispensaries, for example, where medicines are dispensed to the poor. Sometimes these dispensations are conducted on a particular day of each week. Such a dispensation of medicine may take a full twelve hours each week, but it does not follow from this that a dispensation is a period of twelve hours! It is rather the act of dispensing or that which is dispensed.
The word “dispensation” is used many times in the Bible, although it is not always translated the same way. In Ephesians 3:2, Paul writes of “the dispensation of the grace of God, which is given me to you-ward”. God had committed to him wonderful message of grace to dispense to others. Thus we read in Acts 20:24 his stirring words, spoken in the face of persecution and death:
“But none of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, AND THE MINISTRY WHICH I HAVE RECEIVED OF THE LORD JESUS, TO TESTIFY THE GOSPEL OF THE GRACE OF GOD.”The “gospel” or “good news” of the grace of God: This was the dispensation committed to Paul for us by the risen, ascended Lord. This is always Paul’s message.
“Where sin abounded GRACE did much more abound…the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His GRACE… justified freely by His GRACE, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus…by GRACE are ye saved, through faith” (Rom.5:20; Eph.1:7; Rom.3:24; Eph. 2:8,9).
To the Reader:
Some of our Two Minutes articles were written many years ago by Pastor C. R. Stam for publication in newspapers. When many of these articles were later compiled in book form, Pastor Stam wrote this word of explanation in the Preface:
Some of our Two Minutes articles were written many years ago by Pastor C. R. Stam for publication in newspapers. When many of these articles were later compiled in book form, Pastor Stam wrote this word of explanation in the Preface:
"It should be borne in mind that the
newspaper column, Two Minutes With the Bible, has now been published for
many years, so that local, national and international events are
discussed as if they occurred only recently. Rather than rewrite or date
such articles, we have left them just as they were when first
published. This, we felt, would add to the interest, especially
since our readers understand that they first appeared as newspaper
articles."
To this we would add that the same is
true for the articles written by others that we continue to add, on a
regular basis, to the Two Minutes library. We hope that you'll
agree that while some of the references in these articles are dated, the
spiritual truths taught therein are timeless.
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