Responding To Signs Of The End
Stories
Contents
“Responding To Signs Of The End” by David O. Bales
“Preparation For More Than A Marathon” by David O. Bales
“Waiting with Hope” by Peter Andrew Smith
Responding To Signs Of The End
by David O. Bales
Mark 13:24-37
On Sunday, October 14, 1935, Glenn would r ather have been in worship. But he was still too many states away from Oregon, traveling home by train through Nebraska. He was 42, but a day and a half shuttling from one train to another made him feel decades older. He squirmed in his seat, trying again to become more comfortable. He’d been awakened after ten minutes of sleep by the baby crying across the aisle to his left. The baby’s distress had disturbed all in the coach for five hours. Its mother, thin and distraught, shushed it and rocked in her seat, showing that she was painfully aware of her child’s discomfort as well as the irritation it was causing throughout the coach.
Glenn flexed his right and then his left shoulder, massaging the aches from sedentary hours in the coach seat. The baby fussed again. Glenn told himself not even to glance at it, knowing that if the mother saw him look at her baby, she’d be further embarrassed. He’d noticed that the baby’s family had eaten nothing, just had a jug of water to drink from. The father nodded by the window and a black-haired girl, three to four years old, slept between her parents. The mother’s dress was patched near the floor and the patch was frayed. The baby made another squall and Glenn couldn’t help himself. He turned toward the child’s noise at the moment the mother caught his eye. She was now doubly distressed by the problem her child imposed on her fellow passengers.
Glenn was irked with himself for looking at the child; but his irritation for contributing to another’s discomfort was diverted by the gentleman fidgeting to his right. He was large and, when he moved, he pushed against Glenn. Also, when the large gentleman ate, he flicked crumbs onto Glenn from his giant wicker food basket which he constantly raided.
Glenn scooted farther toward the aisle and once more laid his head back, attempting to sleep, hoping that exhaustion and the coach’s rocking would finally grant him a small relief of unconsciousness. He was halfway near sleep when passengers’ screams and shouts shocked him awake. He opened his eyes and looked around. Everyone was staring out the window to his right. The lady beside his window gasped, then shrieked so loudly it hurt his right ear. A dust storm like a moving brown wall sped across the plains. The large gentleman next to him shouted, “Must be going a hundred miles an hour!” Glenn was intently awake as it smashed into the train, shaking it sideways, its dust leaking around the windows in puffs. Passengers groaned in fear. The storm draped the coach into complete darkness. The lady beside his window began to bellow, “Ooh, Ooh.”
The train seemed to slow but it didn’t stop. Glenn heard people trying to stand. Two or three brushed him as they ran down the aisle. He couldn’t imagine where they’d go in the total darkness. Mumbling and crying, shuffling of feet, rustling of movement everywhere. The baby cried more desperately.
The forward door opened to a thunderous swoosh, blasting dust throughout the coach. A male voice shouted, “It’s okay folks! It’s okay!” The lights were switched on and the conductor stood inside the door brushing brown grit off his uniform. “Happened before,” he said with a voice of authority. He bent to peer out the window at the thick black that swirled around them. He said quieter, “but never quite like this.”
Glenn realized that the large gentleman next to him was weeping. First, he held his face in his hands and tears splattered the sandwich in his lap. Then he muttered, “ The sun will be darkened. The moon will not give its light.” Finally, he jerked his head, stretching to the right to look fearfully out the darkened window and then to the left as though searching for rescue. He whimpered, gasped and looked Glenn in the eye, his face tensely serious. “We should pray,” he said. “We must pray.”
Glenn, having spent half a day beside the fellow and not a dozen words passing between them, said without thinking, “I’ve been praying, most of last night.” The large gentleman gave him a quizzical look. “Yes,” Glenn said. “I’ve been praying. I’ll pray for you too.”
The large gentleman’s face went blank and he nodded thanks. “I’m sorry,” he said, “My mother always scared me that, if I didn’t accept Jesus, I’d be left on earth in the dark when the world ended.”
“Praying’s a good idea,” Glenn said. “But doesn’t look like the world’s ending today.” He turned to the poor family across the aisle then back to the large gentleman who’d now stifled his sobs. “And whether the world’s ending or not, I think another good idea for Jesus’ sake is to offer some of your food to that family over there.”
He pointed to his left and the large gentleman began to dig into his basket.
Preaching point: Signs of the end of the world can make us more faithful in serving others.
(In Nebraska, October 14, 1935, became known as Black Sunday)
* * *
Preparation For More Than A Marathon
by David O. Bales
1 Corinthians 1:3-9
It took another thirty meters for the red to pass him. Then he realized it was two reds. Almost immediately a blue, and the blue not only passing him, but now slipping past both reds. How much farther? No matter how many times Holden had raced this far, always the same fuzzy thinking began, almost no thinking. After he hit the finish line, he’d hardly remember the final sprint of the course. If he were going to consider anything, call to mind anything, it would have to be in the next few seconds; because, after that his mind neither received nor sent conscious thoughts. Within a few more steps his mind would slide into the background, mumbling, “Go ahead, run, don’t expect my help.” So, among all the things he could draw to mind—as a black jersey passed him, slowly, a quarter of an inch a step—he recited the text his church gave him when he graduated from high school, “He will also strengthen you to the end.” Then only his body functioned and very little of his mind. Two hundred meters. Only the screaming pain in his lungs, flailing arms, pounding legs, slobber down his face. A black, an orange, and his teammate Barry glided past to finish well in front of him.
Bent over, wheezing and gagging, his awareness returned after the finish line. Athletes near him made the same gasping sounds, and slowly rose to an erect stance, hands pressing into their waist. He now heard yells of joy. Barry beside him, slapped him on the shoulder with a wide smile. Holden managed, “Great sprint.”
His three other team members, starting to bounce on their toes, also came by Holden. They’d all finished ahead of him. They gave him the usual short encouragement. They were good fellows, but what do you say to someone who costs you points and who, across two thirds of the season, hasn’t cut his time by more than eight seconds?
Brightly colored jerseys milled towards the carnival of college pavilions pitched around the field. Holden’s breathing became more regular. He started jogging after his team as they took their laps to cool down. With his thinking becoming clearer, even over his disappointment and fatigue he recalled again, “He will also strengthen you to the end.”
Late the next afternoon when the track team unloaded from the bus, a crowd of students awaited their favorites—boyfriends and girlfriends reuniting with hugs and kisses and some with clinching and contortions that embarrassed Holden, especially since he spotted Crystal almost at the same moment she saw him. She approached with her bright smile and shouldered through the crowd. She wore the earrings he gave her when they became secretly engaged. Their parents wouldn’t agree to their becoming engaged as sophomores. A hug and kiss with her was worth the dismal ride back to the college as he’d tried to work his physics problems. They walked to the cafeteria together. Crystal said, “So tell me.”
He shook his head in exasperation, “Last on the team.”
She gave him a stronger sideways hug as they walked. “It looked like that,” she said, “when you stepped off the bus.”
“Yeah. I clipped two seconds, but I was in the lowest fifth of all runners. It made ten thousand meters in high school seem easy.”
They walked in silence for another minute. Crystal knew that encouraging him to try harder was less helpful than just listening. He’d say what he needed to say, as he rated and berated himself; but, within a few minutes of telling the truth and not hiding his disappointment, he’d be all right. Without further sadness from his poor showing in the ten-thousand-meter run, they’d have dinner and talk about Jesus and the church and the world. That was the kind of person Holden was. That’s why she loved him.
That night at dinner as they shared the events of the past week, their chats with friends, their projects in class, he said what he’d mentioned twice before, “Freshman year I could understand that I didn’t excel. No excuses, just that not all athletes continue to develop simply because they’re a few months older. But I’ve given it my best and I’m beginning to think—two seasons into college track—it’s not for me.”
Crystal nodded and continued, as she always did, eating her desert before her main course—tonight cherry pie.
“I came to college thinking God would help me run faster, longer, ‘He will also strengthen you to the end.’ The congregation gave me that Bible text when I graduated. Don’t know who selected it, but it felt like a great future as a distance runner placed in my hand.”
“Nice hand,” Crystal said, reaching to his hand and squeezing it.
They kissed. Then Holden leaned back from his meal. “Just thought I’d get some super-charging from God. ‘He will also strengthen you to the end.’” He shook his head, “I guess maybe I should expect a different kind of stamina that aims somewhere else.” He nodded toward her, his way of asking, “What do you think?”
Crystal spoke quietly. “I think you’re right about God and yourself. God will strengthen you. And you’ll need stamina for lots of other things. Think how much more time you’d have for physics if you’re not out sweating all afternoon and off to meets every weekend.”
Holden puckered his face into his deepest thinking mode. It made Crystal smile. She’d learned it was his way of confirming that he’d asked her opinion, she’d given it, and he accepted it.
“You suppose that’s what the congregation thought when they tacked that scripture onto my future?”
“I’m positive they knew you’d figure out a lot of things you’d need God’s strength for and that’s why you went to college.” Then she said with a sly smile, “Maybe they thought God would strengthen you for the ultimate marathon of marriage?”
Holden nodded and, to show how seriously he valued her perspective and opinion, he smiled as he also reached over his entrée and spooned into his lemon pudding.
Preaching point: Different dimensions and trajectories, but always God’s strength to Christ’s followers.
* * *
Waiting with Hope
by Peter Andrew Smith
Isaiah 64:1-9
Sherry sighed as she looked in the storage room at the boxes of decorations.
“What’s wrong?” Amanda asked from behind her.
“I don’t know whether I want to bother decorating this year.” Sherry turned to her teenage daughter. “Maybe we’ll do something different this Christmas.”
“What are you talking about?” Amanda waved at the boxes. “You love this time of year with the lights and the colors and everything else.”
Sherry pulled a string of decorative lights from the nearest box. “This really doesn’t seem to have any place this year.”
“Why? Is it because of everything that’s happening in the world?”
Sherry sat down on the floor. “Everything is different. There’s a pall over the year and even the prospect of Christmas doesn’t seem all that exciting.”
Amanda sighed. “Why didn’t you decide this before you got me out of bed to help with the decorating?”
“Sorry about that.” Sherry put the Christmas lights back into the box. “You can go back to bed. I’m just not in the mood.”
Amanda sat down beside her. “Are things really that bad?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” Sherry put her arm around her daughter. “I just don’t think that a house all decorated and lights blazing at night fits with everything that is going on in the world.”
“Oh.” Amanda tapped her chin. “Did Nan ever tell you about the Christmas when the war was on and Uncle Stan was overseas?”
“She didn’t need to tell me about that Christmas. I lived it.” Sherry took a deep breath. “That was a hard December with everyone worrying about your uncle. Sometimes I would catch your grandmother just staring out the window and crying.”
“Did Nan decorate for Christmas that year?”
“The house was filled with decorations and I think we had more lights up then we ever had before.” Sherry laughed. “I asked her why the house looked so festive when Stan was away, and she told me that it was that way because Stan was away.”
“Huh. Does Uncle Stan not like Christmas decorations?”
“No, he likes them just fine. He isn’t as extravagant with them as Nan or us, but he loves his tree and lights and the manger scene he bought in Bethlehem.”
“So why did Nan decorate so much that year?”
“I couldn’t get a straight answer out of her, so I asked your grandfather. He sat me down and explained that the reason for all the decorations was to remind us that God has done mighty things in the world and when life gets the most difficult then we needed to surround ourselves with reminders that God does not forget or forsake us.” Sherry smiled. “I think that afternoon we went out and got that angel for the tree that you like so much.”
“The one that lights up and is pointing?”
“Yes, that one. Your grandmother started crying when we brought it home and I thought we had done something wrong, but she just hugged me and said it was perfect. She put that angel on the tree each and every year until she died.”
“Where is it now?”
Sherry shrugged. “In one of these boxes, I think. Your Uncle Stan took some of the decorations when we cleared out the house, but I got most of them.”
They sat in silence for a few moments before Amanda cleared her throat. “So, are we going to decorate more than usual this year?”
“More than usual? I’m not sure I want to put up any decorations at all.”
“Why?”
“Weren’t you listening to me?” Sherry looked at her daughter. “I just think that with everything happening in the world that it doesn’t seem right.”
“I was listening carefully and figured that since things were unsettled and chaotic in the world that you would want to decorate even more than before.”
Sherry frowned. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because I think more than any other year, we need to remember that God has done great things and that God hasn’t forsaken or forgotten about us. We need to remember what God does in Jesus and witness to the truth that no matter what is happening around us that God is faithful and good.”
Sherry stared at her daughter for a moment. “How did you get so smart?”
Amanda smiled. “I spent lots of time with Nan.”
Sherry laughed and reached for a box. “Okay, let’s see what we can do to remind ourselves and the world about promise God makes to us in Jesus.”
*****************************************
StoryShare, November 29, 2020 issue.
Copyright 2020 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
“Responding To Signs Of The End” by David O. Bales
“Preparation For More Than A Marathon” by David O. Bales
“Waiting with Hope” by Peter Andrew Smith
Responding To Signs Of The End
by David O. Bales
Mark 13:24-37
On Sunday, October 14, 1935, Glenn would r ather have been in worship. But he was still too many states away from Oregon, traveling home by train through Nebraska. He was 42, but a day and a half shuttling from one train to another made him feel decades older. He squirmed in his seat, trying again to become more comfortable. He’d been awakened after ten minutes of sleep by the baby crying across the aisle to his left. The baby’s distress had disturbed all in the coach for five hours. Its mother, thin and distraught, shushed it and rocked in her seat, showing that she was painfully aware of her child’s discomfort as well as the irritation it was causing throughout the coach.
Glenn flexed his right and then his left shoulder, massaging the aches from sedentary hours in the coach seat. The baby fussed again. Glenn told himself not even to glance at it, knowing that if the mother saw him look at her baby, she’d be further embarrassed. He’d noticed that the baby’s family had eaten nothing, just had a jug of water to drink from. The father nodded by the window and a black-haired girl, three to four years old, slept between her parents. The mother’s dress was patched near the floor and the patch was frayed. The baby made another squall and Glenn couldn’t help himself. He turned toward the child’s noise at the moment the mother caught his eye. She was now doubly distressed by the problem her child imposed on her fellow passengers.
Glenn was irked with himself for looking at the child; but his irritation for contributing to another’s discomfort was diverted by the gentleman fidgeting to his right. He was large and, when he moved, he pushed against Glenn. Also, when the large gentleman ate, he flicked crumbs onto Glenn from his giant wicker food basket which he constantly raided.
Glenn scooted farther toward the aisle and once more laid his head back, attempting to sleep, hoping that exhaustion and the coach’s rocking would finally grant him a small relief of unconsciousness. He was halfway near sleep when passengers’ screams and shouts shocked him awake. He opened his eyes and looked around. Everyone was staring out the window to his right. The lady beside his window gasped, then shrieked so loudly it hurt his right ear. A dust storm like a moving brown wall sped across the plains. The large gentleman next to him shouted, “Must be going a hundred miles an hour!” Glenn was intently awake as it smashed into the train, shaking it sideways, its dust leaking around the windows in puffs. Passengers groaned in fear. The storm draped the coach into complete darkness. The lady beside his window began to bellow, “Ooh, Ooh.”
The train seemed to slow but it didn’t stop. Glenn heard people trying to stand. Two or three brushed him as they ran down the aisle. He couldn’t imagine where they’d go in the total darkness. Mumbling and crying, shuffling of feet, rustling of movement everywhere. The baby cried more desperately.
The forward door opened to a thunderous swoosh, blasting dust throughout the coach. A male voice shouted, “It’s okay folks! It’s okay!” The lights were switched on and the conductor stood inside the door brushing brown grit off his uniform. “Happened before,” he said with a voice of authority. He bent to peer out the window at the thick black that swirled around them. He said quieter, “but never quite like this.”
Glenn realized that the large gentleman next to him was weeping. First, he held his face in his hands and tears splattered the sandwich in his lap. Then he muttered, “ The sun will be darkened. The moon will not give its light.” Finally, he jerked his head, stretching to the right to look fearfully out the darkened window and then to the left as though searching for rescue. He whimpered, gasped and looked Glenn in the eye, his face tensely serious. “We should pray,” he said. “We must pray.”
Glenn, having spent half a day beside the fellow and not a dozen words passing between them, said without thinking, “I’ve been praying, most of last night.” The large gentleman gave him a quizzical look. “Yes,” Glenn said. “I’ve been praying. I’ll pray for you too.”
The large gentleman’s face went blank and he nodded thanks. “I’m sorry,” he said, “My mother always scared me that, if I didn’t accept Jesus, I’d be left on earth in the dark when the world ended.”
“Praying’s a good idea,” Glenn said. “But doesn’t look like the world’s ending today.” He turned to the poor family across the aisle then back to the large gentleman who’d now stifled his sobs. “And whether the world’s ending or not, I think another good idea for Jesus’ sake is to offer some of your food to that family over there.”
He pointed to his left and the large gentleman began to dig into his basket.
Preaching point: Signs of the end of the world can make us more faithful in serving others.
(In Nebraska, October 14, 1935, became known as Black Sunday)
* * *
Preparation For More Than A Marathon
by David O. Bales
1 Corinthians 1:3-9
It took another thirty meters for the red to pass him. Then he realized it was two reds. Almost immediately a blue, and the blue not only passing him, but now slipping past both reds. How much farther? No matter how many times Holden had raced this far, always the same fuzzy thinking began, almost no thinking. After he hit the finish line, he’d hardly remember the final sprint of the course. If he were going to consider anything, call to mind anything, it would have to be in the next few seconds; because, after that his mind neither received nor sent conscious thoughts. Within a few more steps his mind would slide into the background, mumbling, “Go ahead, run, don’t expect my help.” So, among all the things he could draw to mind—as a black jersey passed him, slowly, a quarter of an inch a step—he recited the text his church gave him when he graduated from high school, “He will also strengthen you to the end.” Then only his body functioned and very little of his mind. Two hundred meters. Only the screaming pain in his lungs, flailing arms, pounding legs, slobber down his face. A black, an orange, and his teammate Barry glided past to finish well in front of him.
Bent over, wheezing and gagging, his awareness returned after the finish line. Athletes near him made the same gasping sounds, and slowly rose to an erect stance, hands pressing into their waist. He now heard yells of joy. Barry beside him, slapped him on the shoulder with a wide smile. Holden managed, “Great sprint.”
His three other team members, starting to bounce on their toes, also came by Holden. They’d all finished ahead of him. They gave him the usual short encouragement. They were good fellows, but what do you say to someone who costs you points and who, across two thirds of the season, hasn’t cut his time by more than eight seconds?
Brightly colored jerseys milled towards the carnival of college pavilions pitched around the field. Holden’s breathing became more regular. He started jogging after his team as they took their laps to cool down. With his thinking becoming clearer, even over his disappointment and fatigue he recalled again, “He will also strengthen you to the end.”
Late the next afternoon when the track team unloaded from the bus, a crowd of students awaited their favorites—boyfriends and girlfriends reuniting with hugs and kisses and some with clinching and contortions that embarrassed Holden, especially since he spotted Crystal almost at the same moment she saw him. She approached with her bright smile and shouldered through the crowd. She wore the earrings he gave her when they became secretly engaged. Their parents wouldn’t agree to their becoming engaged as sophomores. A hug and kiss with her was worth the dismal ride back to the college as he’d tried to work his physics problems. They walked to the cafeteria together. Crystal said, “So tell me.”
He shook his head in exasperation, “Last on the team.”
She gave him a stronger sideways hug as they walked. “It looked like that,” she said, “when you stepped off the bus.”
“Yeah. I clipped two seconds, but I was in the lowest fifth of all runners. It made ten thousand meters in high school seem easy.”
They walked in silence for another minute. Crystal knew that encouraging him to try harder was less helpful than just listening. He’d say what he needed to say, as he rated and berated himself; but, within a few minutes of telling the truth and not hiding his disappointment, he’d be all right. Without further sadness from his poor showing in the ten-thousand-meter run, they’d have dinner and talk about Jesus and the church and the world. That was the kind of person Holden was. That’s why she loved him.
That night at dinner as they shared the events of the past week, their chats with friends, their projects in class, he said what he’d mentioned twice before, “Freshman year I could understand that I didn’t excel. No excuses, just that not all athletes continue to develop simply because they’re a few months older. But I’ve given it my best and I’m beginning to think—two seasons into college track—it’s not for me.”
Crystal nodded and continued, as she always did, eating her desert before her main course—tonight cherry pie.
“I came to college thinking God would help me run faster, longer, ‘He will also strengthen you to the end.’ The congregation gave me that Bible text when I graduated. Don’t know who selected it, but it felt like a great future as a distance runner placed in my hand.”
“Nice hand,” Crystal said, reaching to his hand and squeezing it.
They kissed. Then Holden leaned back from his meal. “Just thought I’d get some super-charging from God. ‘He will also strengthen you to the end.’” He shook his head, “I guess maybe I should expect a different kind of stamina that aims somewhere else.” He nodded toward her, his way of asking, “What do you think?”
Crystal spoke quietly. “I think you’re right about God and yourself. God will strengthen you. And you’ll need stamina for lots of other things. Think how much more time you’d have for physics if you’re not out sweating all afternoon and off to meets every weekend.”
Holden puckered his face into his deepest thinking mode. It made Crystal smile. She’d learned it was his way of confirming that he’d asked her opinion, she’d given it, and he accepted it.
“You suppose that’s what the congregation thought when they tacked that scripture onto my future?”
“I’m positive they knew you’d figure out a lot of things you’d need God’s strength for and that’s why you went to college.” Then she said with a sly smile, “Maybe they thought God would strengthen you for the ultimate marathon of marriage?”
Holden nodded and, to show how seriously he valued her perspective and opinion, he smiled as he also reached over his entrée and spooned into his lemon pudding.
Preaching point: Different dimensions and trajectories, but always God’s strength to Christ’s followers.
* * *
Waiting with Hope
by Peter Andrew Smith
Isaiah 64:1-9
Sherry sighed as she looked in the storage room at the boxes of decorations.
“What’s wrong?” Amanda asked from behind her.
“I don’t know whether I want to bother decorating this year.” Sherry turned to her teenage daughter. “Maybe we’ll do something different this Christmas.”
“What are you talking about?” Amanda waved at the boxes. “You love this time of year with the lights and the colors and everything else.”
Sherry pulled a string of decorative lights from the nearest box. “This really doesn’t seem to have any place this year.”
“Why? Is it because of everything that’s happening in the world?”
Sherry sat down on the floor. “Everything is different. There’s a pall over the year and even the prospect of Christmas doesn’t seem all that exciting.”
Amanda sighed. “Why didn’t you decide this before you got me out of bed to help with the decorating?”
“Sorry about that.” Sherry put the Christmas lights back into the box. “You can go back to bed. I’m just not in the mood.”
Amanda sat down beside her. “Are things really that bad?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” Sherry put her arm around her daughter. “I just don’t think that a house all decorated and lights blazing at night fits with everything that is going on in the world.”
“Oh.” Amanda tapped her chin. “Did Nan ever tell you about the Christmas when the war was on and Uncle Stan was overseas?”
“She didn’t need to tell me about that Christmas. I lived it.” Sherry took a deep breath. “That was a hard December with everyone worrying about your uncle. Sometimes I would catch your grandmother just staring out the window and crying.”
“Did Nan decorate for Christmas that year?”
“The house was filled with decorations and I think we had more lights up then we ever had before.” Sherry laughed. “I asked her why the house looked so festive when Stan was away, and she told me that it was that way because Stan was away.”
“Huh. Does Uncle Stan not like Christmas decorations?”
“No, he likes them just fine. He isn’t as extravagant with them as Nan or us, but he loves his tree and lights and the manger scene he bought in Bethlehem.”
“So why did Nan decorate so much that year?”
“I couldn’t get a straight answer out of her, so I asked your grandfather. He sat me down and explained that the reason for all the decorations was to remind us that God has done mighty things in the world and when life gets the most difficult then we needed to surround ourselves with reminders that God does not forget or forsake us.” Sherry smiled. “I think that afternoon we went out and got that angel for the tree that you like so much.”
“The one that lights up and is pointing?”
“Yes, that one. Your grandmother started crying when we brought it home and I thought we had done something wrong, but she just hugged me and said it was perfect. She put that angel on the tree each and every year until she died.”
“Where is it now?”
Sherry shrugged. “In one of these boxes, I think. Your Uncle Stan took some of the decorations when we cleared out the house, but I got most of them.”
They sat in silence for a few moments before Amanda cleared her throat. “So, are we going to decorate more than usual this year?”
“More than usual? I’m not sure I want to put up any decorations at all.”
“Why?”
“Weren’t you listening to me?” Sherry looked at her daughter. “I just think that with everything happening in the world that it doesn’t seem right.”
“I was listening carefully and figured that since things were unsettled and chaotic in the world that you would want to decorate even more than before.”
Sherry frowned. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because I think more than any other year, we need to remember that God has done great things and that God hasn’t forsaken or forgotten about us. We need to remember what God does in Jesus and witness to the truth that no matter what is happening around us that God is faithful and good.”
Sherry stared at her daughter for a moment. “How did you get so smart?”
Amanda smiled. “I spent lots of time with Nan.”
Sherry laughed and reached for a box. “Okay, let’s see what we can do to remind ourselves and the world about promise God makes to us in Jesus.”
*****************************************
StoryShare, November 29, 2020 issue.
Copyright 2020 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
