just thinking...

Hey. I was reading three things that really got me thinking. Firstly, what would I want if I could ask for anything?

My immediate response was to know where I belong. I know a lot of people start asking for materealistic stuff and it's normal. But I really want to know where I belong at this moment. It's like I want to tear myself in two and be here and there. Then, the passage continued with a story of King Solomon. When he was given anything he wanted, he asked for wisdom, not for himself, but to lead his people. Then it got me thinking, if King Solomon asked for something for others without hesitation, why is it that no matter what I want, it's always for myself?

I realise that everytime I get this question, I always had answers related to knowing where I belong or something related to staying with family and friends. I have never in my life asked for things that would benefit other people around me.

Secondly, I got this email a really long time ago, but I started to think back on it:

"IF SOMEONE HAD A GUN HELD IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE AND ASKED YOU IF YOU BELIEVED IN GOD, WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

SAY NO AND FEEL ASHAMED THE REST OF YOUR LIFE? OR SAY YES, I DO, AND DIE STANDING UP FOR GOD?

If you would say no, DELETE THIS E-MAIL , NOW.

IF YOU WOULD SAY YES, AND STAND UP FOR JESUS CHRIST, PLEASE READ THIS.

Note: This is a true article that was printed in a southern newspaper less then a year ago

TAKE A DEEP BREATH BEFORE READING THIS:

There was an atheist couple who had a child. The couple never told their daughter anything about the Lord. One night when the little girl was 5 years old, the parents fought with each other and the dad shot the Mom, right in front of the child. Then, the dad shot himself. The little girl watched it all. She then was sent to a foster home. The foster mother was a Christian and took the child to church.

On the first day of Sunday School, the foster mother told the teacher that the girl had never heard of Jesus, and to have patience with her. The teacher held up a picture of Jesus and said, 'Does anyone know who this is?' The little girl said, 'I do, that's the man who was holding me the night my parents died.'

If you believe this little girl is telling the truth that even though she had never heard of Jesus, he still held her the night her parents died, then you will forward this to as many people as you can.

Or you can delete it as if it never touched your heart.

Funny, isn't it?

Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell. & amp; amp; amp; amp; lt; /B>

Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible says.

Funny how everyone wants to go to heaven provided they do not have to believe, think, say, or do anything the Bible says. (Or is it scary?)

Funny how someone can say 'I believe in God' but still follow Satan (who, by the way, also 'believes' in God).

Funny how you can send a thousand 'jokes' through e-mail and they spread like wildfire, but when you start s ending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice about sharing.

Funny how the lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but the public discussion of Jesus is suppressed in the school and workplace.

Funny how when you go to forward this message, you will not send it to many on your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they will think of you for sending it to them.

Funny how we can go to church for Christ on Sunday, but be an invisible Christian the rest of the week. (Are you laughing?)

Funny how I can be more worried about what other people think of me than what God thinks of me. (Are you thinking?)

Funny how we read the Harry Potter books in less than a day but it takes us a life time to read the bible!

Pass this on only if you mean it."

Then I started to wonder, did my life change when I was actually praying before bed, thanking God for the wonderful day He gave me? That was the moment I realised that my life really changed when I did pray. Ever since I stopped, my life just became miserable again. It was never a physical kind of miserable, nor was it really emotional. It was more of the kind where you just feel different but can't really pin point what's making you feel that way. You can't even describe how you feel. It's like you have a smile on your face but your heart's torn into a million pieces and is nearly impossible to mend. Then I realised, I've been leaving God out of my life, I've been ignoring Him, I've been hurting Him.

So I started to pray again just last week, and honestly, it has made me feel better in ways I just can't describe. Somehow, the fact that my grandmothers have cancer doesn't bother me anymore. It's like prayer made me realise how God would always be there for us, even after we leave this world. It was then that I realised that nothing bad's going to happen to them. Everyone dies, but the only thing that changes is when they go. That is the one thing we cannot decide, but we can decide from which point of view we want to look at it as. Do we want to look at death as a way that takes the person out of suffering and into God's loving and caring hands? Or to look at death as if it's the worst thing that could happen to anyone?

I chose to look at it as a way to take us out of suffering. As a sign that our journey back to heaven that started when we were born had ended and we have completed our life's mission.

Lastly, this was also another email I recieved:

"Very thought provoking. Hope you read it to its end!!!!!

A TEENAGER'S VIEW OF HEAVEN

17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like. 'I wowed 'em,' he later told his father, Bruce. 'It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote..' It also was the last.

Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.

The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. 'I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it,' Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. 'I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him.'

Brian's Essay: The Room...

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read 'Girls I have liked.' I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named 'Friends' was next to one marked 'Friends I have betrayed.' The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird 'Books I Have Read,' 'Lies I Have Told,' 'Comfort I have Given,' 'Jokes I Have Laughed at .' Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: 'Things I've yelled at my brothers.' Others I couldn't laugh at: 'Things I Have Done in My Anger', 'Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.' I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.

Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked 'TV Shows I have watched', I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked 'Lustful Thoughts,' I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.

I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!' In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it... The title bore 'People I Have Shared the Gospel With.' The handle was brighter than those around it,seemed newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.

He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. 'No!' I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was 'No, no,' as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.

He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, 'It is finished.' I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

'I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.'-Phil. 4:13 'For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.' If you feel the same way forward it so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also My 'People I shared the gospel with' file just got bigger, how about yours?"

That got me thinking of what Jesus did to ever deserve to be the one who carries the burden of ALL our sins everywhere. Then, I remembered one of the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit: Fear of the Lord. Fear of the Lord, or to put into simpler words, respect for God.

If we respect our parents by listening to them and obeying them, why is it that we don't respect God by listening to His words from the Gospels and obeying them? Why is it that we try not to break rules set by our parents but we keep telling lies and breaking the commandments? Is it because the punishment from our parents are physical? What about the punishment from God? Isn't there a spiritual punishment? Apparently there is, it's just that it's not us who get's the punishment. The punishment is givin to God's only son, Jesus. He died for us on the cross to save us from death, but did that give us any right to just commit sins? No, Jesus never died so that we could keep sinning. He died to cleanse us from our past sins.

We were never given the right to continue sinning, but why is it that we act as if we were given that right? I was just thinking of the many blessings God gave me, and the times I've done bad compared to the times I've done good. Why is it that God never does anything bad to us, but keeps giving us good stuff, while we just keep doing bad, with the very seldom good works?

I've been thinking about these things, and I think every one should do the same. But then again not every one finds any wrong in the way we live. We talk about how so many people leave the Church after confirmation. Why is it so easy to focus on the bad, but we never realise how many people actually do stay on? It's just like how we always think a small white lie won't hurt, but in fact all our bad doings are not hurting us, but Jesus.

I know I didn't send these two emails, but I just kept them. I kept thinking, why is it that I get so many chain mails from people who don't even talk to me, but it's always the same people who send me emails concerning our faith that could actually change us?

I personally feel that if you think chain mails about God are not worth sending, what makes you think that chain mails about supposed curses are worth sending? I'm a proof to people that those 'curses' are just stupid lame jokes. I've never bothered sending them after opening them and reading it to the end, but here I am, unharmed by some supposed clown that kills people in their sleep.

My point of this post is just for people, especially those who believe in Christ, to think about their actions before actually doing it. Just like the saying 'look before you leap'. You could save Christ the burden of carrying our sins around when you think of what you're going to do before you do it. Think of who it will hurt, maybe not physically, but emotionally or spiritually. It's actually helps to think.