Luke 11:1-9
Now Jesus was praying in a certain place, and when he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” And he said to them, “When you pray, say: “Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread, and forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone who is indebted to us. And lead us not into temptation.” And he said to them,
“Which of you who has a friend will go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves, for a friend of mine has arrived on a journey, and I have nothing to set before him’; and he will answer from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed. I cannot get up and give you anything’? I tell you, though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, yet because of his impudence he will rise and give him whatever he needs. And I tell you, ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.
Lovely, Kim. Dad was a Saul of Tarsus. He attacked me every chance he got for being a "reborner" which was a way to poke at what had happened to me. Studying for the ministry, he would send me newspaper clippings of ministers caught in scandals and all kinds of discouraging news. He made fun of prayer, church attendance, the absurdity of devils running around, of David's indiscretion with Bathsheba, "an eye for an eye" contrasted with "turn the other cheek". He let me have it night and day, day after day, months and years and decades on continuously, with no let up. Much of it very nasty and personal, darts of fire attacking my failures to achieve a place of standing in society, especially as he consumed alcohol, which was a daily occurence. I prayed for him constantly, boldly, every day, many, many times a day, fasting and asked many, many others to pray, too. Nothing changed except he became more unpleasant, until, until, one day his wife died and at the same time he could no longer maintain the mansion where he lived or its grounds that were as beautiful as anything I've ever seen. He'd gotten old and less robust. During "The Hiding Place" he insulted me. He'd reluctantly agreed to do me a favor, something I rarely asked for, and he watched for a few minutes. With his rejection of me and the show, I cried. After 30 years of his non-stop rejections, I wept and said, "Dad, I haven't asked a lot of you". "You want me to ask Christ to come in, don't you? Alright, I need something, 'come on in if your there'" Shortly before his life ended, He prayed to receive Christ as His GOD. Persistence.
ReplyDeleteI Google re:Brit Hume the other evening and came across a lovely Christian woman, his wife, Kim. Thanks for sharing, Kim. I would love to read more. May God Bless All. Jeanne in Ohio
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