A Message from Logan's Mom
I am Logan’s Mom………I don’t know how many come back to read these after they have blogged but I thought it was time to thank so many of you for the love and acceptance of my son’s heart. It truly was a work of God and it has increased Logan’s faith and brought healing to his heart in more ways than one!! We appreciate your prayers so much. We praise God that this message from Him has brought hope and healing to many of you. Our God is truly an awesome God. May His works continue to go forth through KSBJ, in Jesus name.
Yes, we look forward to what God has in store for Logan. We have known for some time that God has given him a gift of communicating to people’s hearts. We saw signs of it even as a little boy. We homeschool our children and truly enjoy our time with Logan and his sister Erica who is 9.
So, thank you to all of you for your loving responses to a young man’s growing heart. Your prayers have reaped more than you know and will continue to reap heavenly power in this lost and dying world. Praise be to our everlasting Father God in all this!!
With all my love and thanks,
Tee Jay Henderson
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(Special thanks to Frank Lazano the Media Director at Velencia Hills Community Church in California for masterfully adding video to the phone call.)
YouTube - Logan, the Sky Angel Cowboy!
RHYMES AND REASONS
It's Time to Light the Candles of December
Exposing the holiday bandits of envy and greed
by Greg Asimakoupoulos
November 30, 2007
Alas, it's December when darkness prevails.
But also the wonder of Biblical tales.
A miracle oil. A miracle birth.
A miracle visit of One sent to earth.
A season that's marked by tall tapers of wax
that light up our world with the truth they unmask.
This season of Christmas and Hanukah too
means candles for Christians and candles for Jews.
Some grace a menorah and some grace a wreath.
The glow from these candles expose cunning thieves
that lurk in the shadows and hide in the weeds.
One thief's name is Envy. The other is Greed.
These holiday bandits are hungry as sin.
They steal and devour contentment within.
Like vandals they lure us. They're really quite smart.
They pillage and plunder the peace in our hearts.
They kidnap our reason insisting on new
while what we are using is fine and will do.
They hold our minds hostage to where we want more.
More money. More status. More stuff. So much more.
More big screens. More cell phones. More video games.
So much more technology. It is so lame.
These holiday villains just must be exposed.
Their criminal conduct's the cause of our woes.
We're weary. We're listless. We're often depressed.
We're angry. We're in debt. We're way over-stressed.
And all the while famines and earthquakes and war
rob helpless young children of life like before.
No shelter. No supper. No sweet dreams at night.
No hope that injustices will be made right.
No parents. No siblings. No laughter. No time.
No chance for survival beyond eight or nine.
No lie. It's the truth. We are victims you see
of devious Greed and his partner Envy.
They're ruining Christmas and Hanukah too.
But there's a solution. Three things we can do.
The first is to thank God for all that we own.
The second's to care for the needy we've known.
The third is to sponsor poor children abroad.
By sharing with orphans, we're honoring God.
Compassion, World Vision and, yes, World Concern
allow us to reach out to kids who've been burned
by random disasters that leveled their lives
reducing their childhood to hunger and sighs.
It's really amazing. By showing we care,
we'll lock up those bandits that cause our despair.
We'll find renewed freedom from unneeded stuff
and even the courage to shout out "Enough!"
Enough of the shopping. Enough of the crowds.
Enough of more diddlies, for crying out loud.
Enough of just buying for family and friends.
Enough of this nonsense. It's time it all ends.
So as we light candles and ready our homes,
let's welcome the Presence that comes with shalom.
Let's listen for what in our hearts we might hear.
In candlelit silence, we find God. He's here.
______________________________
I hope this month each of you will find
the truth of GOD that lights your path and gives joy to your heart
as you obediently serve Him as the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
Merry Christmas from
The Village Smithy and his wonderful family
In the Spirit of Christmas, we wish you the blessing of knowing how blessed we are and where the blessing originates. This story has been around for over one hundred and thirty years reminding us that God gave Jesus to teach us how we can pass the blessings of giving forward to those around us.
Our two newest additions, one almost five months old and the other barely a month old, Jackson Emery and Abigail Camden, haven't done a whole lot yet other than warm our hearts and make us marvel at the creative abilities GOD has given us in such tiny but complete packages.
As the Thanksgiving holiday passes for another year, we now can look forward to spending even more quality time with our families on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day...after all, can you find another place with more to offer you all year long than your family? 
May the beauty of salvation embrace you, may your need for Christ capture you,
and may the power of the Cross overwhelm you.
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the mysterious array of black filing cabinets. 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 endlessly 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 20 years to write 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 “Songs I Have Listened To,” 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 music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked “Lust,” 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 an 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, 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 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.
By Joshua Harris. Orginally published in New Attitude Magazine © Copyright New Attitude 1995. You have permission to reprint this in any form. We only ask that you include the appropriate copyright byline. To download PDF version, click here.
Want to read more about the source of this painting?
Go to: http://www.heavenlysanctuary.com/
Happy Thanksgiving!
Products available to the community from the earth found locally. Here in California, we have codes and companies and rules and status that all get in the way of a group of creative talented friends installing thatch on a roof...I know I sound idealistic but tell me this kind of cooperative effort on such a low-key basis doesn't have some appeal!
Back to the earth and indigenous as mankind has done for milleniums...but it just doesn't provide much for the profit-generating, free-enterprise, possessions-oriented culture. Subsistance is hard work! I wonder if the stress-levels and the cancer rates and the divorce rates are the same in these cultures as they are in the 'developed' western world. Hmmm.
And the real question for me is what will heaven be like? Will our lifestyles look like the Western world or like the rest of the world? God knows...and soon enough we will too.
God speaks to me in strange ways. I know of many people who have experienced prophetic visions and dreams—not me. The majority of the times when I have had a personal revelation or a spiritual epiphany they have been revealed through strange means, and sometimes curious messengers. Such was the case in the late summer of 1989.
While moving from Northern California to Colorado to pursue an open door the Lord provided in ministry, I had an encounter—a visitation that continues to influence me. This visitation that I speak of was not with a prophetic man or a righteous woman of God who inspired me with wisdom, discernment, or counsel. I did not slip into a trance and visit some celestial place. Neither did I envision an illuminated angelic being that spoke of unknown mysteries. No—as strange as it sounds, the messenger that day was a simple seagull.
Sitting in my rented Ryder truck through desolate portions of Nevada on Interstate 70, the activity around me slowed down to a crawl. As if it was happening in slow motion, I saw a white bird coming into my view several yards away in front of my vehicle. Because time had decelerated, I noticed everything in the landscape and every detail on that bird. Now, you might think I am making this up, but as the bird began to cross my path, I saw him cock his head to look straight at me…then he smiled. He was deliberate with his expression because he knew what was about to happen.
With that sly smile on his little beak, he unleashed the largest load of bird doo-doo every recorded in the history of bird-dom. It hit my windshield like a sheet of a dozen paintballs splattering against their target. The barrage was not limited to my window. A large portion of my yellow truck was now white. Because it happened in slow motion and I saw the bird smile (I stand by my story), I began to laugh out loud. The attack hit me humorous.
Wanting to clear my windshield of all that had landed there, I quickly reached for my wiper controls only to discover that this particular truck had exhausted the healthy life of its blades. Instead of clearing the milky substance from the glass, the wipers simply pushed it back and forth. Smearing it with each stroke. Again…laughter.
After a few minutes spent gazing through the diluted (but now dried) film on my window, something caught my attention. Positioned directly in front of me was a colorful speck—a chunk, if you will, that obviously had come from the seagull.
Because I am a strange (sometimes deranged) person who has a unique perspective on life and is unafraid to ask curious questions, a thought popped into my brain that I could not ignore (please don’t judge me). Looking at this green mass, I asked myself, “I wonder what he had for lunch?”
Now I know that is sick, but hang with me. My curiosity led me to an interesting revelation—not about the diet or dining habits of Nevada’s seafowl, but about myself. Concentrating my focused attention on that chunk, I lost sight of all other things in my picture. The windshield became hazy, the road blurred, and the terrain disappeared from my view. All I could see was the object that I was converging on. And that almost got me into trouble.
I began to drift in the road—actually, off the road. My yellow Ryder truck was heading for the ditch until I recognized the rumble marks on the road beneath me (driving by brail is sometimes effective). I sat back in my seat and again, found the center of the road.
Being slow to learn from my mistakes, after a few minutes, my curiosity returned, and I leaned toward the dropping again. Same habit, same result. The rumbling woke me to my position in the road.
As I sat back up in my seat (with slight laughter still in my heart) God spoke to me. In that gentle whisper I have come to know and love (aren’t you glad he doesn’t shout and scream?), he said, “See how easy to distract you are?”
In that moment, I understood something about myself. I have a focus problem. I realized that in my truck, my perception was affected by what I chose to look at. When I sat back in my chair and looked past the mess on my windshield, I barely noticed it was there. Although it wanted to hinder my view and distract my focus, it did not affect me in any way.
However, when I focused on the mass in front of me, all other things faded. The road seemed to disappear. The sunshine became insignificant. And, the signs that were intended to offer direction had no impact. I realized my lesson that day was not about driving, but about me.
God wants me to focus on him. When I do, my faith is stronger, my problems less visible, and life is easier to navigate.
I think he wants the same for you as well.
“Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.” Hebrews 12:2a
Adapted from Sean’s Book, The Warrior Way.
Here is the source....I want to give full credit to the author and the site!A Man and His Son
A man and his son were walking in the forest.
Suddenly the boy trips and feeling a sharp pain
he screams, "Ahhhhh."
Surprised, he hears a voice coming from the
mountain, "Ahhhhh."
Filled with curiosity, he screams "Who are you?"
but the only answer he receives is: "Who are you?"
This makes him angry so he screams:
"You are a coward!" and the voice answers,
"You are a coward!"
He looks at his father asking, "Dad, what is going on?"
Son, the man replies, "pay attention!".
Then he screams, "I admire you!"
The voice answers, ""I admire you!"
The father shouts, "You are wonderful!" and the voice
answers, "You are wonderful!"
The boy is surprised, but still can't understand what
is going on.
The father explains, "People call this 'Echo', but it is
truly 'Life!' Life always gives you back what you give out!
Life is a mirror of your actions.
If you want more Love, give more Love!
If you want more kindness, give more kindness!
If you want more understanding and respect,
give more understanding and respect.
If you want people to be patient and respectful to you,
give patience and respect!
This rule of nature applies to every aspect of our lives"
Life always gives you back what you give out.
Your life is not a coincidence,
but a mirror of your own doings.
~ Author unknown
