FAIR SUNSHINE

I rode all the way from where I was keeping watch with the people who were helping me build my wall. A good 25 minutes from here. So as they asked leave to have their lunch, I went out instead, planning to spend the quick break to give away the tracts I brought with me. As usual, without knowing where to go. I tried the nearby local market which by this time only had a few people (I assumed everyone is having their meal.) Then I rode on to Northville, another populated part of the area but just the same, even after searching the side streets, only a few people were on the road minding their business. So I went back and headed farther out. As always, wherever the Lord leads. I remembered the same park where I recently gave tracts away had a few people sitting around passing time and thought that might be a good place today. It was there that I met this man. The man asked for alms as I walked past him from where I parked towards a food joint to use the restroom. I did not qu

 A journal entry, one early morning of October in silent communion. 2AM God loves you. It takes faith to believe this. It is a phrase proud people have no problem affirming. But for the truly repentant, it is often one of the hardest, if not, almost impossible truths to believe. The more he sees God's mercy in the pool of blood collecting underneath the cross of Christ, the more he sees his daily failures and repeated offenses. The more he lifts up his voice to God, the fewer answers seem to come. The darker he sees his true self, the harder he finds to believe God can indeed forgive him. The more he strives to be perfect, the more easily he falls. Weakness is such a blessed place where God often takes His children for a time of silent communion. Here he realizes how God saved him, but to the question 'why', he finds no answer in himself, only in God. The reason it is impossible for the true child of heaven to believe he is loved by God is that it takes faith t

An old workmate from almost 30 years ago sent me a message about an instance where he saw me render our Japanese Trainor respect by bowing to him in gratitude. It seemed stupid to him then, but he said the scene stuck with him to this day. This fellow claims to be a mason. I mentioned to him that it is openly known that Albert Pike claims that Lucifer (Baphomet) is the god of masonry. Although this fellow admits that there are many initiates of the Scottish rites especially those of the 33* upwards hold to the Luciferian doctrine, they open their lodge with an invocation to "God" first before acknowledging Lucifer. (Which basically sounds as foolish as praying first before molesting a child.) He claims that there are several branches of masonry and that he plans to be in the "Christ" side of it unlike the others. How he leans much on his charity (filthy rags) , and that he is into something deeper than having Christ live in him. For the remainder of the day, I

Six days worth of work with my son and we have been granted some great bonding time as we toiled under the scorching heat and occasional afternoon downpour. Our limited budget has constrained us to work on this ourselves instead of hiring professional help. So far, the floor framing will be completed this week with a few corrections along the way, should the Lord allow us. I had not taken into consideration the type of wood which we, having no table saw, have to deal with the different warpings and inconsistencies. But the Lord gives us the wisdom to work around the issues. Simple solutions to seemingly complicated adjustments come to mind even during breakfast. I somehow feel Tubal-Cain's pains. But I am humbled to note that funds for the left and right wall miraculously came out of nowhere and we are thus all the more encouraged. Help also came from Qatar from a dear sister whom I recently just met, (last week) to fund our tract supplies, just when we are about to run

What the Church needs today is not more machinery or better, not new organizations or more and novel methods, but men whom the Holy Ghost can use — men of prayer, men mighty in prayer. The Holy Ghost does not flow through methods, but through men. He does not come on machinery, but on men. He does not anoint plans, but men — men of prayer. The man makes the preacher. God must make the man. The messenger is, if possible, more than the message. The preacher is more than the sermon. The preacher makes the sermon. As the life-giving milk from the mother’s bosom is but the mother’s life, so all the preacher says is tinctured, impregnated by what the preacher is. The treasure is in earthen vessels, and the taste of the vessel impregnates and may discolor. The man, the whole man, lies behind the sermon. Preaching is not the performance of an hour. It is the outflow of a life. It takes twenty years to make a sermon, because it takes twenty years to make the man. The true sermon is a thing

I struggled for a long while. Wasting forty five minutes, before finally heeding the bid to proclaim the gospel inside the bus. The young man beside me had a long slash wound on his wrist. The thought of what he might be going through, and here I am withholding from him the good news of Christ, how else can I hate him more than to stay silent? He was visibly agitated by what he was hearing but he was listening intently. He was the first to receive a free bible, one of only three I brought along. A mother seated at the back with her young son also asked for one. In finishing the message we missed our stop. Had to take another ride back in the rain. I was so disappointed with myself for hesitating. I could not help but keep my head low on the way home. I wanted to say more, but I trust that the people heard what they needed to hear. Speaking is my greatest weakness. I was never good at it. Doing it in the midst of public attention, unthinkable. But then you realize God's