Post by Benjamin on Feb 21, 2014 1:54:08 GMT
Written by AnneMc - one of our forum members, and placed here by Benjamin (mod):
It wasn’t even a path.
Just a track such as sheep would follow and in places almost covered with bushes. I soldiered on intent on where I was headed, but I hadn’t gone far when a black snake slithered across the track in front of me, frightening me, but not enough to cause me to turn back. It was quite dark in the forest and trees arched over my way.
But still I heard that quiet voice saying:
“This is the way. The only way. Keep following on.”
And always ahead of me that narrow, perilous track, lit up by a strange enticing light.
Suddenly the peace was shattered by laughing, raucous voices. Peering through the gloom I realised that another path that I’d noticed at the start of my journey, was running almost parallel to my path.
It was a very wide path, ashphalted and a much easier walk than my narrow path.
A group of people walking 6 or 7 abreast laughed and joked as they went, eating and drinking and quite oblivious of the struggles I was having with tree roots, brambles, ditches and pot-holes. It would be good to join them and share their food and drink and wear such lovely clothes. These people seemed to have the best of everything!
But again that quiet still voice: “This is the path!”
Determine to follow my course I pushed on, following the path, which veered away and began to ascend a steep hill. I was almost to the top when a vast panorama opened out before my eyes. Mile after mile of beauty. Rolling green hills and sparkling, tranquil lakes. And, to my surprise, not far below me was the wide path. But what stunned me was that the wide path had taken its travellers nowhere, but in a huge circle. Surely the signpost had deceived them.
Poor people!
I shouted and yelled to them, but they were seemingly oblivious to my cries.
How could I help them? They seemed so happy on their wide path that I was sceptical of my ability to convince them that my path was the right one.
Then, with horror, I realised that the beautiful, wide path ended abruptly at a cliff face over a very deep chasm, toward which the group were walking, still laughing and talking.
Without exception they fell.
***********************************
I’d only been walking the path a few weeks when I came suddenly upon a clearing and there He stood. Beside Him, lying on the grass, were two large, heavy looking pieces of wood, fixed together to form a cross. He spoke:
“It’s yours. I want you to carry it every day.”
“But Lord”, I cried, “People only carry a cross if they’re going to be crucified! Am I going to die?”
“Yes”, He replied, “You must die to self in order for Me to fill your life and control you. It will no longer be you who lives, but I within you. Are you willing?”
“Yes Lord, of course I am, but how will I carry it? I’m not strong! I replied, as I bent to take up my cross.
“No, you’re not strong, but I am, and you’ll be able to do it in My strength” he said, smiling.
It wasn’t heavy and as I straightened up I realised He was gone.
Several days passed and late one afternoon the narrow path came parallel, once again, with the wide path, still crowded with happy, laughing people. The sun seemed to shine more brightly on the wide path, making my path feel all the more lonely.
An old friend saw me and called out:
“Why don’t you put down that heavy old cross and come join us for a while. You’ll have such fun!”
“Not today, thanks”, I replied. I had lost interest in the old pursuits.
The path was often lonely, but one day I caught up with a friend, valiantly carrying her cross over a rocky pass. We greeted one another joyfully and spent several days enjoying fellowship. Until the day that the path twisted around and down a cliff face, where spread out before us, the sun sparkling and shining, stretched an azure sea.
Once again we caught up with the wide path and its many travellers. As the splashed and swam and played games, my friend watched with shining eyes. Then, without a word, she lay down her cross, and ran to join the revellers. Losing sight of her in the crowd, I waited for her to return. I waited all night.
She didn’t come.
The tears were rolling down my cheeks as I took up my cross and headed back up the path, trying to ignore her lonely cross lying in the grass.
“Are you OK?”
I hadn’t noticed the old man coming up behind me, but he’d obviously noticed my tears.
As I explained about my friend he said:
“There’s a clearing up ahead. Why don’t we stop and you can tell me all about it.”
It was a pretty little clearing and in the centre was an old ,stone well, with a wooden bucket for drawing up the water. Filling a flask the old man handed it to me telling me to keep it.
“It’s the water of Life. It will never run dry”.
“You’ve made a choice, haven’t you!” he continued: “ Your friend has chosen to pursue happiness, but you have chosen to pursue holiness. And that is pleasing to God.
He reached out and patted my hand.
“Stay on this path. Please Him.”
And with that he curled up on the grass, beside his cross, and was instantly asleep.
The next morning I awoke with the sun to see him heading up the path, singing loudly, his bent back supported by his walking stick and his cross firmly held across his shoulders.
*******************************
Uh-oh!
Looking narrower than ever, the path literally fell down the side of a deep ravine heading into a dark valley. Stumbling, falling and sliding on loose stones, I reached the bottom bruised and sore.
My hands were cut and bleeding and my heart raced at such unaccustomed exercise. To make matters worse the path seemed to end at a fast-moving stream which looked deep and cold. I could see where the path took up again on the other side of the stream and my heart sank at the sure and certain knowledge that I would have to traverse that stream.
The waters were deep and cold, and by the time I clambered out on the other side I was shaking and exhausted. Sitting under a weeping tree I succumbed to self-pity and head in hands I wept.
It was then I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up into the beloved face of Him who loves me.
“Lord! Where were you?” I demanded.
“With you every step of the way” He replied. “You were too self-engrossed to see me.”
“Lord?”
“Yes?”
“I seem to have lost my peace and joy!” I cried.
“Do you still trust me?” He replied
I leapt to my feet.
“Lord, of course I trust you! I always have and I always will!” I cried.
“Then don’t worry about peace and joy. They are never a measure of your love for me. They come from the heart, and are fickle, but the trust you have in Me comes from your will. Keep walking the narrow path and remember I am always with you.”
And just as suddenly he was gone.
I found myself, in an instant, at the top of a hill, looking down upon a large town. Noticing a church spire reaching up through a cluster of fir trees, I ran along the path, which was now smooth and encumbrance-free. I had remembered it was Sunday and longed for worship and fellowship. It was a picturesque, wooden building sitting alongside a small, lonely cemetery,
sleeping in the warm sun. It wasn’t till I got closer that I saw the tall weeds growing right up against its walls. Autumn leaves clustered together in the tiny porch and a little mouse had gone to his eternal rest on the worn doorstep. A large noticeboard announcing Sunday Worship and Wednesday night Prayer Meeting was covered in graffiti and the silence from the little church was sadly deafening.
Pushing on further into the town I heard music coming from, what looked like, a large warehouse. Closer inspection revealed a church, a smart, new noticeboard announcing: “Family, friends, fun and fellowship - 10.00am Sunday All welcome.”
Not quite my scene, I decided, but nevertheless I stepped inside as inconspicuously as possible, slipping into a seat beside the back door. The service had long been going. People wandered freely, coffee cups in hand, while others swayed, eyes closed, in time to the soporific music.
I was just thinking how much the people of the wide path would feel at home here and perhaps it was time to leave when there was a gentle touch on my shoulder. I looked at the hand and was amazed to see the nail prints of my Saviour. He warned me by a touch of a finger on His lips, and then left me, walking slowly to the front of the church. I held my breath, waiting for the reaction.
Nothing happened.
The people kept drinking coffee and the singers on the stage swayed with eyes closed singing moving lyrics about the beauty of the Son of God who stood in their very midst!
Without a thought I leapt to my feet and rushed to the front of the building, shouting:
“Look! He’s here! Can’t you see Him! It’s Jesus! He’s here!”
Instantly a couple of young men rushed to my side, leading me firmly towards the back door.
A plump, middle-aged woman called out: “You’re out of your mind! We don’t want you here! Call the police!”
And with that the men thrust me outside and shut the door with a bang
I wasn’t alone.
“They don’t want me here either.”
“Lord, why couldn’t they see you?” I cried
He replied: “When my Father puts His spirit into someone, that person desires to worship God in spirit and in truth. These people are “worshipping” from the soul, and the soul is self-centred and self-pleasing. The music ‘moves’ them emotionally, the sermons boost their self-esteem and the atmosphere makes them feel comfortable and in all of that they are deceived into believing that they are offering worship that is acceptable to me. Enough for now! Come!”
And He took me by the hand and led me to a small copse of trees on the edge of the town.
It was there that we came across them.
A small group of people sitting on the grass with their heads bowed in prayer. I sat beside them as He stood silently in the middle, accepting their praise and worship. As they opened their eyes, they were astonished, but slowly the smiles came and their faces filled with joy.
Then He sat with us and taught us and like the disciples on the road to Emmaus our ‘hearts burned within us’ as He spoke.
A hand on each shoulder in blessing as He left, a gentle pressure on mine telling me to stay.
As He passed, His hand was caught by an elderly woman. With longing in her eyes she asked:
“Lord? Will you come back for us soon?”
He smiled: “Not long now!” And He left.
***************************
As I stood looking up, I tried to persuade myself it was just a large hill and not a mountain that stood looming ahead of me . Suffice it to say that I followed that narrow path for hours before I reached the top. But those last few steps were eager as I glimpsed what lay on the plain below. The light from the city of gold almost blinded me and I sat for some time before I could accustomise my eyes to the glorious sight .
It was amidst all this splendour that I heard a familiar voice singing and looking down I saw my friend, the old man, heading for that final trek, across the plain toward the city of gold. As I stumbled down the hillside to follow him I saw the Lord, dressed in robes of dazzling white, waited for the old man, arms outstretched.
And it was then the amazing thing happened. The old man began to run, with the spring in his step of a young man. His clothes fell away to reveal a robe of white, his walking stick fell, unnoticed into the sand, and he carried his cross as though it were made of feathers. All in the twinkling of an eye.
The Lord greeted him and the old man entered the gates, still singing.
And then the Lord turned toward me with His face aglow and beckoned.
I ran.
*******The End **********
It wasn’t even a path.
Just a track such as sheep would follow and in places almost covered with bushes. I soldiered on intent on where I was headed, but I hadn’t gone far when a black snake slithered across the track in front of me, frightening me, but not enough to cause me to turn back. It was quite dark in the forest and trees arched over my way.
But still I heard that quiet voice saying:
“This is the way. The only way. Keep following on.”
And always ahead of me that narrow, perilous track, lit up by a strange enticing light.
Suddenly the peace was shattered by laughing, raucous voices. Peering through the gloom I realised that another path that I’d noticed at the start of my journey, was running almost parallel to my path.
It was a very wide path, ashphalted and a much easier walk than my narrow path.
A group of people walking 6 or 7 abreast laughed and joked as they went, eating and drinking and quite oblivious of the struggles I was having with tree roots, brambles, ditches and pot-holes. It would be good to join them and share their food and drink and wear such lovely clothes. These people seemed to have the best of everything!
But again that quiet still voice: “This is the path!”
Determine to follow my course I pushed on, following the path, which veered away and began to ascend a steep hill. I was almost to the top when a vast panorama opened out before my eyes. Mile after mile of beauty. Rolling green hills and sparkling, tranquil lakes. And, to my surprise, not far below me was the wide path. But what stunned me was that the wide path had taken its travellers nowhere, but in a huge circle. Surely the signpost had deceived them.
Poor people!
I shouted and yelled to them, but they were seemingly oblivious to my cries.
How could I help them? They seemed so happy on their wide path that I was sceptical of my ability to convince them that my path was the right one.
Then, with horror, I realised that the beautiful, wide path ended abruptly at a cliff face over a very deep chasm, toward which the group were walking, still laughing and talking.
Without exception they fell.
***********************************
I’d only been walking the path a few weeks when I came suddenly upon a clearing and there He stood. Beside Him, lying on the grass, were two large, heavy looking pieces of wood, fixed together to form a cross. He spoke:
“It’s yours. I want you to carry it every day.”
“But Lord”, I cried, “People only carry a cross if they’re going to be crucified! Am I going to die?”
“Yes”, He replied, “You must die to self in order for Me to fill your life and control you. It will no longer be you who lives, but I within you. Are you willing?”
“Yes Lord, of course I am, but how will I carry it? I’m not strong! I replied, as I bent to take up my cross.
“No, you’re not strong, but I am, and you’ll be able to do it in My strength” he said, smiling.
It wasn’t heavy and as I straightened up I realised He was gone.
Several days passed and late one afternoon the narrow path came parallel, once again, with the wide path, still crowded with happy, laughing people. The sun seemed to shine more brightly on the wide path, making my path feel all the more lonely.
An old friend saw me and called out:
“Why don’t you put down that heavy old cross and come join us for a while. You’ll have such fun!”
“Not today, thanks”, I replied. I had lost interest in the old pursuits.
The path was often lonely, but one day I caught up with a friend, valiantly carrying her cross over a rocky pass. We greeted one another joyfully and spent several days enjoying fellowship. Until the day that the path twisted around and down a cliff face, where spread out before us, the sun sparkling and shining, stretched an azure sea.
Once again we caught up with the wide path and its many travellers. As the splashed and swam and played games, my friend watched with shining eyes. Then, without a word, she lay down her cross, and ran to join the revellers. Losing sight of her in the crowd, I waited for her to return. I waited all night.
She didn’t come.
The tears were rolling down my cheeks as I took up my cross and headed back up the path, trying to ignore her lonely cross lying in the grass.
“Are you OK?”
I hadn’t noticed the old man coming up behind me, but he’d obviously noticed my tears.
As I explained about my friend he said:
“There’s a clearing up ahead. Why don’t we stop and you can tell me all about it.”
It was a pretty little clearing and in the centre was an old ,stone well, with a wooden bucket for drawing up the water. Filling a flask the old man handed it to me telling me to keep it.
“It’s the water of Life. It will never run dry”.
“You’ve made a choice, haven’t you!” he continued: “ Your friend has chosen to pursue happiness, but you have chosen to pursue holiness. And that is pleasing to God.
He reached out and patted my hand.
“Stay on this path. Please Him.”
And with that he curled up on the grass, beside his cross, and was instantly asleep.
The next morning I awoke with the sun to see him heading up the path, singing loudly, his bent back supported by his walking stick and his cross firmly held across his shoulders.
*******************************
Uh-oh!
Looking narrower than ever, the path literally fell down the side of a deep ravine heading into a dark valley. Stumbling, falling and sliding on loose stones, I reached the bottom bruised and sore.
My hands were cut and bleeding and my heart raced at such unaccustomed exercise. To make matters worse the path seemed to end at a fast-moving stream which looked deep and cold. I could see where the path took up again on the other side of the stream and my heart sank at the sure and certain knowledge that I would have to traverse that stream.
The waters were deep and cold, and by the time I clambered out on the other side I was shaking and exhausted. Sitting under a weeping tree I succumbed to self-pity and head in hands I wept.
It was then I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up into the beloved face of Him who loves me.
“Lord! Where were you?” I demanded.
“With you every step of the way” He replied. “You were too self-engrossed to see me.”
“Lord?”
“Yes?”
“I seem to have lost my peace and joy!” I cried.
“Do you still trust me?” He replied
I leapt to my feet.
“Lord, of course I trust you! I always have and I always will!” I cried.
“Then don’t worry about peace and joy. They are never a measure of your love for me. They come from the heart, and are fickle, but the trust you have in Me comes from your will. Keep walking the narrow path and remember I am always with you.”
And just as suddenly he was gone.
I found myself, in an instant, at the top of a hill, looking down upon a large town. Noticing a church spire reaching up through a cluster of fir trees, I ran along the path, which was now smooth and encumbrance-free. I had remembered it was Sunday and longed for worship and fellowship. It was a picturesque, wooden building sitting alongside a small, lonely cemetery,
sleeping in the warm sun. It wasn’t till I got closer that I saw the tall weeds growing right up against its walls. Autumn leaves clustered together in the tiny porch and a little mouse had gone to his eternal rest on the worn doorstep. A large noticeboard announcing Sunday Worship and Wednesday night Prayer Meeting was covered in graffiti and the silence from the little church was sadly deafening.
Pushing on further into the town I heard music coming from, what looked like, a large warehouse. Closer inspection revealed a church, a smart, new noticeboard announcing: “Family, friends, fun and fellowship - 10.00am Sunday All welcome.”
Not quite my scene, I decided, but nevertheless I stepped inside as inconspicuously as possible, slipping into a seat beside the back door. The service had long been going. People wandered freely, coffee cups in hand, while others swayed, eyes closed, in time to the soporific music.
I was just thinking how much the people of the wide path would feel at home here and perhaps it was time to leave when there was a gentle touch on my shoulder. I looked at the hand and was amazed to see the nail prints of my Saviour. He warned me by a touch of a finger on His lips, and then left me, walking slowly to the front of the church. I held my breath, waiting for the reaction.
Nothing happened.
The people kept drinking coffee and the singers on the stage swayed with eyes closed singing moving lyrics about the beauty of the Son of God who stood in their very midst!
Without a thought I leapt to my feet and rushed to the front of the building, shouting:
“Look! He’s here! Can’t you see Him! It’s Jesus! He’s here!”
Instantly a couple of young men rushed to my side, leading me firmly towards the back door.
A plump, middle-aged woman called out: “You’re out of your mind! We don’t want you here! Call the police!”
And with that the men thrust me outside and shut the door with a bang
I wasn’t alone.
“They don’t want me here either.”
“Lord, why couldn’t they see you?” I cried
He replied: “When my Father puts His spirit into someone, that person desires to worship God in spirit and in truth. These people are “worshipping” from the soul, and the soul is self-centred and self-pleasing. The music ‘moves’ them emotionally, the sermons boost their self-esteem and the atmosphere makes them feel comfortable and in all of that they are deceived into believing that they are offering worship that is acceptable to me. Enough for now! Come!”
And He took me by the hand and led me to a small copse of trees on the edge of the town.
It was there that we came across them.
A small group of people sitting on the grass with their heads bowed in prayer. I sat beside them as He stood silently in the middle, accepting their praise and worship. As they opened their eyes, they were astonished, but slowly the smiles came and their faces filled with joy.
Then He sat with us and taught us and like the disciples on the road to Emmaus our ‘hearts burned within us’ as He spoke.
A hand on each shoulder in blessing as He left, a gentle pressure on mine telling me to stay.
As He passed, His hand was caught by an elderly woman. With longing in her eyes she asked:
“Lord? Will you come back for us soon?”
He smiled: “Not long now!” And He left.
***************************
As I stood looking up, I tried to persuade myself it was just a large hill and not a mountain that stood looming ahead of me . Suffice it to say that I followed that narrow path for hours before I reached the top. But those last few steps were eager as I glimpsed what lay on the plain below. The light from the city of gold almost blinded me and I sat for some time before I could accustomise my eyes to the glorious sight .
It was amidst all this splendour that I heard a familiar voice singing and looking down I saw my friend, the old man, heading for that final trek, across the plain toward the city of gold. As I stumbled down the hillside to follow him I saw the Lord, dressed in robes of dazzling white, waited for the old man, arms outstretched.
And it was then the amazing thing happened. The old man began to run, with the spring in his step of a young man. His clothes fell away to reveal a robe of white, his walking stick fell, unnoticed into the sand, and he carried his cross as though it were made of feathers. All in the twinkling of an eye.
The Lord greeted him and the old man entered the gates, still singing.
And then the Lord turned toward me with His face aglow and beckoned.
I ran.
*******The End **********