Ok, so, I am driving down the road to bring my daughter to dinner for her birthday and see this billboard sign and it catches my attention. Understand that most signs don’t because they are terrible, but this one is a white sign and on one side says LUST and the other side says LOVE in red letters with the words “I am second” in white on a black patch in the center with the website www.iamsecond.com in the corner. I struck me because I really didn’t know what it was about and yet it was drawing me. I did not know then, but I know now that it was my spirit was that was drawing me to this sign.

It is a day later and I am at my computer and I remember this sign and go to the website. It is also plain, but it has a person on the right and a statement “I am second,” that you can click which takes you to a video of them speaking. Well, I was not prepared to hear the amazing testimonies of how God has changed these peoples lives and then to have them declare that they are second or say at the end “I am second” to God. I sat there and listened to several of them. The one I liked the most is the one from Stephen Baldwin where his cleaning lady told his wife she was not there to just clean the house but because they would become Christians and have a ministry. This is an amazing website. You have to check it out.

And it got me to thinking about how I am second. God is in control of my life and Jesus is Lord of my life and I am happily second to them. I can remember a time before them when I was living for me and how lust and pornography got me into trouble with the law on multiple occasions and was leading me down a very bad path. But God got a hold of me and shook me up because he has a plan and a ministry for me down the road. He has had many people like that maid tell me that God has things in store and for a while like Stephen I ran. But I am not running away from God anymore. On July 12, 1992, in a little church in upstate New York I made Jesus lord of my life. And then several years later, while having Jesus as lord, but still trying to be the one in control, I gave everything over to him and told him that I made a mess of things and that if he could do anything with this life it was his. Since then, he has moved me to Texas and given me a great job. He continues to inspire me in writing and also is developing some interesting contacts. I know that God has great things in store and I am excited. But the coolest thing is that I don’t have to worry about one thing. I just get to enjoy the ride because God is in control and “I am second.”

WOW! This story is amazing.

Our Hero is Coming Home

After nearly 14 years of equine rescue, I thought that I had seen it all, sadly . . .

I WAS WRONG.

After nearly 14 years of equine rescue, I thought that I had seen it all, sadly . . . I WAS WRONG.

On October 18th, Troy and I were contacted by those in charge of recovering a small horse that was found by hunters wandering in the high wilderness of the Cascade Mountain range. Evident by his halter and dragging lead rope, the bay Arab gelding was clearly not wild. Instead, while he was being transported to Bend Equine Medical Center for emergency treatment, he was kind and gentle, quietly submitting to those who were trying to care for him. Based on what little information that could be gathered, it was estimated that he had been wandering for several weeks. Even for a small horse, he looked to be about 200 lbs. underweight and was INCREDIBLY dehydrated. Once at the hospital, it was confirmed . . . his wounds were severe.

A leg wound on the back of his left front cannon was so festered with rampant infection that its rotten stench filled the room. A ‘makeshift’ bandage of green vet wrap had grown into the leg and effectively become a tourniquet, further adding to the suffering of this abandoned horse. Once the layers of caked blood, puss and bio-matter were removed, the tendons of his leg were clearly visible.

Even more troubling was the fact that his left eye was completely destroyed and hanging out of its socket. There was also a very suspicious looking depressed wound near his left eye. His head, neck, shoulder and front leg gave further evidence of the severity of his injuries, as they were heavily crusted with his own blood. As bad as his eye injury was, his head injury was much worse.

X-rays revealed the UNTHINKABLE. This gentle, little horse with the kind spirit . . . had been shot in the head. His x-rays clearly showed where someone had shot him three inches behind his left eye. The trajectory of the bullet traveled through the top of his lower jaw, shattering it, and continued to penetrate his skull as it exploded into nearly three dozen-inoperable-fragments of jagged shrapnel. Compounding his plight even further, his blood tests showed that he had lost fully HALF of his blood volume.

It was hard to believe, looking at him for the first time, that he had survived for an undetermined amount of time with a horrifically infected leg wound, a broken jaw, a destroyed eye and lethal blood loss, all with an exploded bullet scattered throughout his head. If this weren’t bad enough, he was also left to wander in a high altitude forest while dragging a lead rope. Any one of these things should have destroyed him. Yet, here he was, standing before me, blinking inquisitively at my presence with his one remaining eye. I was overcome with the thought that . . . it was a complete miracle he was standing at all!

It appeared that someone felt his leg wound was just too much for them to deal with; or perhaps they believed that it was a fatal wound. Somehow, they felt that loading up their friend and driving him to a remote location to be destroyed . . . was their best option. A ‘best guess’ is that they shot him in the head and fell unconscious from the impact. Bleeding profusely from his wound, it was believed that during this time, he bled out half of his blood volume. Thinking he was dead, the perpetrators left the scene. Miraculously, he woke up. Somehow summoning the strength to stand, he lurched to his feet and staggered away.

Even though his wounds are grave, he is not. He is continuing to make meaningful progress in his efforts to heal. And in less than one week, this amazing horse will be coming to Crystal Peaks! Because of the severity of his injuries, his recovery will be long and intensive. But the staff, volunteers and kids who come to the ranch are not only up for the challenge of caring for a critically ill horse . . . they can’t wait until he comes home. Instead of ‘waiting’, they are going to him! Since the moment it was determined that this special horse was going to become a part of our family, more days than not, I have driven my truck to the equine hospital filled with young ‘well wishers’ who are determined to help this wounded soul KNOW that he is greatly loved.

In these past days of spending time with our new boy, I have become very aware of something remarkable about him. He is courageous, he is a survivor, he has fought HARD to live, to keep going. Most horses would have perished when faced with just one of his symptoms. Yet, he survived what many would believe to be unthinkable odds. The more I ponder our gelding, the more I realize just how symbolic he is of a vast majority of people.

At some point in nearly each of our lives, we go through “horrible, unthinkable” times. We feel as if we have been lead out into the wilderness, perhaps by those we loved and trusted, badly beaten and left for dead. We stumble away, wandering within the desolation of loneliness, unable to help ourselves, unable to stop the ‘hemorrhaging’, unable to find our way home. The horizon begins to fade into gray. Death looms.

It is then, within our darkest night, our deepest wilderness, our greatest despair, when our hope is bleeding out . . . if we call on His name . . . He comes. Jesus comes into the wreckage of our heart, our blackest place, our wasteland of hopelessness . . . and He leads us home.

Like a soldier returning from battle, or a little horse from the wilderness, we too can fall into the welcome arms of the One who loves us. We, like the soldier or horse, might not look the same on the outside. When we come home from our ‘battle in the wilderness’, we might be scarred or disfigured, we might carry the marks of our wounding. Yet, as one of the little ones here at the ranch has so honestly and eloquently stated about his wounded four legged friend, “It’s not the outside (of a horse) that makes him lovable . . . it’s the inside that I love. It’s not what the outside looks like that makes him a ‘hero’, it’s the inside, it’s the heart . . . that’s what makes a REAL hero.”

Learning from my own experiences, I now know that it’s true, we can never be too wounded for the Lord to heal. We can never be too lost for Him to find. We can never be too broken for Him to love back to life. We can never fall so deep into despair, that His immeasurable love for us-each of us-is not deeper still. There is no such place of sorrow, no such wilderness of pain . . . that He cannot find us, help us stand up and lead us home. Because this little horse is so symbolic of this beautiful truth, we hope that you will be please to know that we have decided to name him in honor of those who have chosen to reach for the hand of the Lord and walk through their wilderness. His new name shall be . . . ‘Hero.’

Written by Kim Meeder

Abortion is a hot topic and there are many people with many esoteric reasons to support their opinion. However, none of them hold a candle to the story of T. Suzanne Eller. Below is her story from her website that you can see by following this link.

Dear friend. . .

Posted October 27, 2008

You ask me why I dare touch such a hot topic in today?s political scene. After all, it?s a women?s right to choose. It?s private. It?s not right to push your opinions on others, you say. Thank you for your questions, for allowing me to be the one to listen.

I don?t often talk about abortion, but friend you asked the question so is it okay that I share my story?

My mom was 15 when she found out she was pregnant with her first. A young naval guy on her base told her he loved her. She believed him. Nine months later she gave birth to a sick child. Cystic fibrosis. She was far from home now. ?You made your own bed; lie in it,? her mother said.

Her husband wasn?t faithful. He was abusive. She was fragile. She got pregnant again, giving birth to another little girl just in time to say goodbye to her first. When her little one died, her husband beat her, accusing her of not taking care of Pamela. What he didn?t understand is that at time they didn?t have the medical knowledge to extend the life of a CF baby.

He was gone for longer periods of time, some times months due to service. Other times, days, due to other women. She was not quite 20 years old, a mother twice over, without money, a phone, and at the mercy of an angry young man.

She fled one day, finding a place with a girlfriend, taking in jobs cleaning homes. She was as poor as ever, but safe and rebuilding her life.

He found her. He wanted to make their marriage work. He wanted her to come home. He wanted sex.

She said no to all of those. He made her give him at least one of them. It was violent. He left, this time for forever.

She found out she was pregnant. It was the worst of times; it was the worst of times. There was not ?best? in this situation. Her remaining daughter was 3. She was 20. At nine months pregnant she walked out of the house, her water broken, a dime clutched in her hand as she looked for a pay phone to call for help.

She gave birth alone later that night in the hallway of a naval hospital. No pink balloons. No birth announcements. No loving family surrounding her. It was a difficult birth: a 9 lb. 13 oz. baby girl. Daughter #3 arrived.

I was that baby.

When I look at her circumstances she had every reason to terminate the pregnancy. But if she had ended that pregnancy, she would have ended me. And generations after me: Leslie, Ryan, Melissa.

That?s why I quietly oppose abortion. It?s why I am grateful that my mother allowed me to choose whether my life was of value, instead of her circumstances or my conception or the hard life we had after that.

Because I love life. I love being Suzie. I love being a mom. I love traveling around the world to share my faith. I love hiking. I love being in the arms of Richard. I love everything that life brings, even if that meant that I had to go through the hard parts growing up, and there were many, to be here today.

Maybe you disagree and I hear you, but this is my story and I can?t change the facts to embrace the issue.

Thanks for asking the question. I love having this conversation w/you.

INTRODUCTION

Inspiritional stories whether fictional or true can so touch us and help us realize just how much God loves us and the world. Today, I am presenting an inspirational story that my wife was sent this in an email (author unknown and modified by me) and I thought it was a great depiction of our God and his son Jesus. So, I am posting it here for all.

THE MYSTERY VIRUS

The day is over, you are driving home listening to your radio when the news comes on. You hear a little blurb about tribal a village in India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a virus that has never been seen before. It’s not influenza, but three or four people are dead, and it’s kind of interesting, and they’re sending some doctors over there to investigate it.

You don’t think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home from church, you hear another radio spot. Only this time, they are saying it is not three villagers, its 30,000 villagers somewhere is the back hills of India. The story hits the television news that night. CNN runs a short story on it; people are heading there from the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.

By Monday morning when you get up, it’s the lead story. For it’s not just in India, but also in Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Iran. You’re hearing this story everywhere you go and they have coined it now as “the mystery virus”. The President has made some comment that he and everyone is praying and hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone is wondering and talking about it. The most dominant topic is how are we going to contain it?

That night the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has been seen. And that’s why that night you are watching CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when they are interviewing a weeping French woman who describes a man lying in a hospital in Paris that has contracted the virus. It has come to Europe, and panic strikes.

As best as they can tell, once you get the virus, you have it for about a week before you know discover it. After that you have four days of unbelievable symptoms, and then you die.

Tuesday morning brings the news that Britain has closed its borders, but it’s too late. Cases have already been reported in Southampton and Liverpool. The President of the United States makes an announcement, “In light of the rapid spread of the Mystery Virus, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If you have loved ones that are overseas, our thoughts and prayers are with them. However, until a cure for this virus is found, they cannot return home.”

Within four days the United States is plunged into an unbelievable fear. People are selling surgical masks by the truckload. Talk heard at work, the grocery store, the schools and everywhere is else, is “What if it comes to this country.” Some televangelists are calling the virus, “The Scourge of God” that is supposedly cleansing the heathen world. And everyone is walking around on pins and needles.

Monday night, you are at a special church prayer meeting that is interrupted with someone running in from the parking lot and shouting, “Turn on a radio, turn on a radio.” While the church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it, the announcement is made that two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from the mystery virus.

Within hours it seems, this thing sweeps across the country. People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote, but nothing is working. From New York to California through Oregon and Arizona from Florida and Massachusetts, reports are flooding in of people infected. It is as if nothing can stop or halts the virus’s relentless progress.

Suddenly there is hope on the evening news. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made and all it will take is the blood of someone who has not been infected. The Emergency Broadcast system is enacted and everyone is asked to go to their local hospital and have a blood sample taken. That is when you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, emergency vehicles in conjunction with the National Guard and military are going up and down the streets escorting everyone quickly, quietly, and safely to the hospitals.

When you and your family get down to the hospital on late Monday night, there is a long line. They’ve got nurses and doctors coming out, pricking fingers, taking blood and putting labels on it. Your wife and your kids are with you as they take a sample of each of yours blood and say, “Wait here in the parking lot and if we don’t call your name in an hour, you can go home.” You stand around scared and anxious at the same time. You see your neighbors, and have a small chat about whether or not this is the end of the world.

Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He’s yelling a name and waving a clipboard. You can’t hear him over the sounds of the crowd stirred from his abrupt arrival. He yells it again, and your son tugs on your jacket and says, “Daddy, that’s me.”

Before you know it, they grab your boy. “Wait a minute. Hold on!”

The man and the small group the accompanied him say, “It’s okay, your son’s blood is clean or at least we are pretty sure. We want to take him inside and run another test to be sure he doesn’t have the disease. But we think he is the one we have been looking for.”

Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses, crying and hugging one another – some are even laughing. It’s the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor who you notice is not smiling, laughing or hugging anyone walks up to you and says, “Thank you, sir. Your son’s blood is perfect. It’s clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine.”

Word begins to spread rapidly across the parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing and crying.

The gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, “May we see you for a moment? We didn’t realize that the donor would be a minor and we need…” He pauses as he is regaining his composure and fear strikes you like it has never struck you before. “We need you to sign a consent form.”

You take the clipboard and are just about to sign when you notice that this would give permission for them to take all of your son’s blood. “You can’t be serious!”

The old doctor looks down and adds, “We had no idea it would be a little child.”

“Yes, my son.”

“We were expecting an adult and we,” the doctor continued, “We just weren’t prepared. I am truly sorry, but we need all of you sons blood.”

“But-but … You don’t understand.”

The doctor raised his head to look you in the eye. “We are talking about the world here. Please sign. You son is our only hope!”

“But can’t you give him a transfusion?”

“If we had clean blood we would. Now, please sign the form so we can get started? “

In a small corner of a crowded parking lot with a great sea of noise, a silence falls upon your soul and for a long moment you just stand there. What choice do you have? If you don’t sign, then everyone in the world dies. On the other hand, how could you sign your only son’s life away. A numbness overtakes your heart as you finally and reluctantly sign the form.

The doctor asks, “Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?”

You walk back to the room where your son sits on the stretcher. You walk in and sit down next to him.

“Daddy? Mommy? What’s going on?”

You take your son’s hand and choking back the tears as best as you can say, “Son, you know that your mommy and I love you, and we would never ever let anything, happen to you that didn’t just have to be. Do you understand that?”

The doctor comes into the room and says, “I’m sorry, we’ve got to get started. People all over the world are dying.”

You stay as long as you can bear to take. However, as you leave the room, you here the frail thin voice of you son cries out, “Dad? Mom? Dad? Why – why have you forsaken me?”

You rush back into the room, but it is too late. Your son has past away giving his blood to save the world.

The following week, they have a ceremony to honor your son. Some of the folks sleep through it because they don’t see it as important. Some folks don’t come because they would prefer to go to the lake, and some folks come wearing a pretentious smile and just pretend to care.

In the middle of the ceremony, your heart is pounding. Your son gave everything for the world and so many didn’t seem to care. You want to jump up and yell, “MY SON DIED FOR YOU! DON’T YOU CARE?”

SCRIPTURE

Isn’t that what GOD wants to say? “MY SON DIED FOR YOU. DON’T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?”

How much love did it take for God to watch his son be beaten suffer and die for us. How much love does it take for him to continually be putting his hands out and calling for us to receive Jesus’s gift at the cross. God loves us to much there really is no earthly way to measure it.

CONCLUSION

If you have never taken a moment to call on the SON who gave his life for you, please do so now (you can go to http://www.fireknights.net/ICB/index.php?arena=jesusfreaks&page=jesus and read about how to become saved by Jesus the Son).

I want to thank the great guys over at My Life Ministries (http://mylifeministries.org/) for encouraging me and hosting this blog. If you haven’t done so yet, hop over to http://mylifeministries.org/ and take a look around. Join the forums and become part of the family.

Also, if you have a testimony, email it to me at testify {at} fireknights {dot} net. I would love to hear it and I may just post it here on the blog.