Remember September 11th – About the Muslims – Part 2

By Dianne E. Butts –

Continuing from last month, as we mark the tenth anniversary of the attack on America on September 11, 2001, here are two more Questions and Answers excerpted from Dear America: A Letter of Comfort and Hope to a Grieving Nation (still available on Amazon.com):

Q: Muslims say they worship the same God as Christians and Jews. Does the Allah of Islam differ from the God of the Old and New Testaments of the Bible? 

A: Yes. Here are three big differences:

1. Muslims believe Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses and Jesus were prophets, but Mohammed was the final and greatest prophet. Islam lowers Jesus to just another prophet and just another man equal with Abraham, Moses, and the others. But Jesus was not just a prophet—Jesus was and is the Son of God!

2. Muslims believe each person is attended by two angels, one to record their sins and one to record their good deeds. The good deeds are weighed against the bad to determine a person’s eternity. But the Bible clearly teaches that even one sin brings about the consequence of death. No amount of good deeds can “undo” our sin. The only way to eternal life after sin is to accept the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on our behalf. The Bible says, “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 6:23).

3. In the days following the Attack on America, I heard a Muslim gentleman call in to a radio talk show and explain that his religion is “The Third Great Religion.” He said the Jewish faith was the first great religion, Christianity was the second, and Islam is the third, implying that religion “evolves” and older religions become outdated and are replaced. Muslims believe their Koran is the holiest book and supersedes all previous revelations of God (meaning the Koran supersedes the Bible).

However, when Jesus hung dying on the cross…, his final words were “It is finished” (John 19:30). There is nothing left to be done or said or written.

Judaism sets the stage for Christianity. Christianity fulfills Judaism. There is no “Third Great Religion.” There isn’t even a “Second Great Religions.” There is only one true religion, and that is Judaism fulfilled in Christianity.

End of story. It is finished.

Q: Was the Attack on America part of the “End Times” Christians talk about? And why do Christians get so excited about those dreaded “End Times”? 

A: I don’t know if September 11 was specifically a part of the “End Times.” But in a sense, everything that occurs is leading us to and moving us toward that time.

The “End Times” refer to the final seven years of human history described in the Bible in books such as Daniel and Revelation. This will be the most dreadful time, “For then there will be great distress, unequaled form the beginning of the world until now—and never to be equaled again” (Matthew 24:21). But Christians, as crazy as it sounds, get excited about the End Times for several reasons:

–  The End Times culminate with the return of Jesus Christ.

–  The End Times is the final battle between God and evil, and God wins!

–  Following the End Times, God “will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:4). That’s a lot to look forward to! But the only people who will enjoy this eternal peace in heaven with God are those who choose to trust him, love him, and follow him here in this life. Are you among us?

Refuge in the Storm

By Pam Kumpe    –

When a tornado warning comes over my television, I gather up personal items and disappear to my bathroom. Some of my friends tend to make fun of me when they hear that I run for cover, and they laugh at the way I gather up belongings and pack them into the tub, but after the tornadoes I’ve heard about this year in Alabama and Missouri, I’m convinced more than ever to run and hide during storms.

I’ll continue to grab blankets and pillows to protect my head, my laptop, my back up drive, my schnauzer Macy, my Bible, two or three candles (lighting them prior to the electricity going out), my purse, eye glasses, and a flashlight.

Once I’m in the tub, I keep myself posted on the weather with updates on my cell phone, but it since it takes only a few minutes until I get bored, I’m ready to snap pictures of my dog as she sleeps on the quilt at the other end of the tub. She’s spent too many nights with me during storms and considers this a place to nap.

On my most recent visit to the tub a hail storm pounded the roof on my house and the winds ripped off branches from the trees in the back yard. And although my husband teased me, he joined me in the hall bathroom after sirens sounded off.

Our night ended with hail damage to both our vehicles and to the roof, but when I listened to the survivor stories in Alabama and those is Joplin, Missouri I found myself grateful and saddened—all at the same time.

A young lady described her night of terror, as she stepped back into her bathtub, the only remaining spot in her house. She folded up, got down on her knees, tucked her head in and said she had held onto the side of the tub.

Many people only had piles of debris in the places where homes once sat and block after block of houses lay splintered in massive heaps of rubble.

A man told his story, of how he too had crawled into the tub, taking his two dogs with him. At one point the suction pulled his pets into the air. They were flying above the man’s head and moving away from him.

The only thing that saved his dogs—he had them on leashes.

One man told of a donut truck flying through his living room. Another man got hit in the head by a Jeep.

A father cried as he looked for his six year old son, and yes, they found the boy alive some time later.

I saw a photo of a man holding a paper sack with these words: The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Psalm 9:9.

Another photo showed a cross in a yard and choir robes in a destroyed church were unharmed in a closet.

Another photo showed a man as he flipped through a damaged photo album and diesel trucks were tossed into piles along the road, they looked like Tinker toys.

People hugged, many with their hands covering their mouths, and groups stood in the street shaking their heads. A man cuddled his cat. A dog looked for his owner.

Then I saw a photo of a Bible, a black leather one and it was sitting on debris.

A teenager walked around with an American flag draped over his shoulders.

Storms are scary, no matter if you hide from them in the tub or ride them out in the closet, and talk about fear—when deadly storms rush in, there’s not much a person can do—but hold on and pray.

And the next time I’m headed to the tub, I’m putting a leash on my dog so she won’t get away from me if the suction pulls on her. Maybe I’ll put a leash on my hubby too.

Speaking of leashes, this reminds me of how God’s leash of love is extended to us. He is ready to hold onto the broken hearted; those who are trying to recover and move on after devastating storms.

So let’s pray for the hurting—lift them up, lend a hand if you can because these folks need God’s hope. And to make it through to the next day, I pray God is their refuge in these hard times, and they find refuge in His love.

Broken Inn

By Lori Freeland –

Through the tiny glass oval, I watched ant-size cars enlarge as my plane descended into Milwaukee. My morning coffee puddled in my stomach. Shoulders tight, I pulled my purse from under the seat and waited to deplane.

I questioned my decision to fly to Wisconsin to drive my mom to our family reunion in Ohio. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go—but locking two polar opposites in a Toyota Corolla for a day couldn’t end well. Could Laissez-faire Lori and Calendar Kay make it a day, let alone ten, without killing each other?

My mom picked me up and we switched seats. As we entered the ramp for 90/94, my phone rang.

She reached for it. “Talking and driving kills people.”

Miles later, she glanced at the speedometer. “Are you going eighty-five?”

I peeked at the gauge and lifted my foot. “No, I’m only going seventy-six.”

Halfway to Indiana, a theater sign jutted from the road. I changed lanes. “Want to take a break and see a movie?”

She frowned. “That’s not on our schedule.”

With a sigh, I shot past the exit. “How about a spontaneous latte?”

“Great.” She smiled. “I’ll buy.”

By the time we pulled into the motel parking lot to pick up the room key, my neck ached.

A stack of stained mattresses sat piled next to our room. I grimaced, having already paid online at a site where the hotel remains a mystery until you enter your credit card. Hoping the inside proved better than the outside, we swiped the key and went in.

I yanked off the blue floral comforters. My mom rested on the edge of her bed and held up the corner of the blanket.

Think camel hair. With burn holes.

She chuckled. “Did I tell you the news story about the bed bugs?”

I ripped off my blanket and scoured the white sheet for movement. “Can you see them?”

“Of course not. Otherwise people wouldn’t sleep on them.”

While I continued my sheet inspection, she went to the sink to wash her face. The faucet handle fell off.

I dialed the front desk. A monotone voice informed me we could switch rooms to one double bed or stay here with a broken sink. I thanked her for being so helpful and hung up.

I groaned. “What else is wrong with this room?”

Turned out a lot. The TV outlet protruded from a duct-taped hole in the wall. The towel rack had ripped out of the shower. And the corners of the bathroom floor contained various unknown debris. Each time we found a new disaster, my mom laughed louder.

I stared at the carpet with a frown, pulled on socks and sent my friend Tracy pictures of our motel debacle. She texted me back this song.

My faucet broke and my towel bars missin’
The A/C’s on and the grates are hissin’
Lord, bring me back to Texas! 

My mom grabbed the coffee pot off the counter. “I’m making some decaf. Want some?”

“There’s no water.”

“Sure there is.”

Watching her make coffee using faucet water from the tub sent me over the edge and I giggled so hard I fell off the bed. “I’m so not drinking that.”

As laughter escalated to tears rolling down our faces, the tension and stress of the day disappeared. This Broken Inn bonded us, tempered our differences, and pasted a memory into the scrapbook of our lives.

Sometimes laughter truly is the best medicine. “He will fill your mouth with laughter, and your lips with shouts of joy” (NIV Job 8:21).

DIY Guy Learns a Valuable Lesson

By Alan Mowbray –

A few days ago, I was in a panic.

I had been working on my MINI Cooper–installing control arm bushings and other parts that, when I had the car at the shop a couple months ago, the dealer had recommended replacing. With a $2500+ price tag on the parts and labor, I figured it was time for DIYGuy!

Dun Dun Duuuuuuuuuuuuuun!

Well, everything was going great for DIYGuy until he realized that when he popped the ball joints loose on the lower front control arms, he had damaged the threads beyond repair. Even worse, in trying to extract the ball joints, DIYGUY discovered that the dastardly RustMonster had attacked and welded them into place with his deterioration ray.

Things were not looking good for our plucky superhero…

What would happen if he had to admit that he had bitten off more than he could chew, requiring him to call the dreaded AAA, tow the MINI to the dealer, and kowtow to the eeeevil masterminds of S.E.R.V.I.C.E. D.E.P.A.R.T.M.E.N.T., the sworn enemy of his credit card and his secret organization, B.U.D.G.E.T.???

Sensing defeat, DIYGuy decided to go in the house, get a drink of ice cold H₂O and collect his thoughts while leaving his sidekick for the day, FriendGuy, in the garage alone–still banging away at the stuck joints.

As DIYGuy sat on a stool in the kitchen pouting, his wife, a superhero herself (on-call basis only) noted his demeanor and asked him how things were going.

Dejected, he poured out his heart.

“I think I took on more than I can handle. Whatever we do, we can’t get the ball joints out of the steering knuckles. RustMonster has frozen them in place and without some sort of miracle, I’m gonna have to call a tow truck and haul this car off to the dealer to finish the job! I don’t know if I can handle the humiliation!”

His wife–Proverbs31Girl, as she is known in circles that know such things–put her arm around her man softly.

“Why don’t we pray about it?”

Inwardly, kicking himself for not thinking of going to his Lord and Master to begin with, DIYGuy agreed.

And pray she did! Without warning, she attacked Discouragement in the name of the King of all Kings! Spinning around, she ground Doubt under her feet, claiming the authority given to her by her Lord and Master Jesus Christ. Screaming in fear, Frustration and the rest of his cowering minions ran away in defeat, stunned at the brutal assault sustained just by the mere mention of the protection given to Proverbs31Girl and DIYGuy by God Almighty–all because of their sworn acceptance of his Son and the sacrifice He had made for them on the cross.

When the battle was over, DIYGuy raised his head and kissed her softly.

“Thank you, my love, for reminding me to whom I should call on in times of trouble.”

She smiled at him.

CRASH! THUNK! The noise came from the garage.

“Got ‘em!” FriendGuy hollered. Even the evil RustMonster couldn’t stand in the face of the promises of God.

Later that night, after test-driving the repaired, upgraded, and smooth-as-silk MINI around the neighborhood, I crawled into bed with a thankful, humbled heart. Once again I had been reminded why God had matched me up with a woman such as my wife. She was a complement to my weaknesses and vice versa.

“Goodnight, Proverbs31Girl.”

“Goodnight, DIYGuy.”

As I drifted off to sleep, I thanked God one more time for blessing me with this woman.

“My pleasure, son. Sleep well.”

Are You Ready to Fly?

By Jennifer Slattery –

When my daughter was young she and I spent hours at the park, running through the grass in search of “blow flowers.” At first, she was drawn to the dandelions, but after picking a few, she tired of their stately petals. Seeded dandelions, on the other hand, offered hours of entertainment.  Smiling at me, she’d bring the soft tufts to her lips, laughing as they tickled her nose, before letting loose with a chest-caving blow. Then, she’d hurl the stem behind her and chase after the seeds with squeals and giggles.

Often as I sit in God’s presence, I’m reminded of those days and those carefree seeds drifting on the wind. How I long to be like those weightless tufts, so in-tune to my Heavenly Father that I drift effortlessly on His will. Many times I’ve repeated the words Jesus spoke in the Garden of Gethsemane, “Not my will, but Thine be done.”

But all too often I resemble the bright, cheery dandelion that stands tall on its stalk, roots clinging to the soil. “Look at me!” it calls, as it sways in the breeze. It’s proud of its beauty and strength, but the dandelion must die in order for its seeds to take flight. The petals, which once clung securely to the stalk need to let go, allowing the steady flow of the wind to carry them where so ever it will.

The same is true of us. In order to fly, we must first die. To our dreams, our ambitions, our will. But like that carefree seedling drifting on the wind; that is where we find abundant life.

We know this intellectually, so why do we cling so tightly to the stalk, begging God to do things our way and in our timing?

Perhaps because we don’t truly understand the love of God. He who emptied Himself for us, He who allowed men to stretch His arms upon the cross, He who created our inmost being and numbers the hairs on our head says, “Let go. Let me carry you like that weightless seed drifting on the wind.”

But He won’t rip us from the soil. To be carried, we must first let go.

“The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit” (John 3:8 NIV).

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