Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts

Sunday, 25 September 2016

With Daddy's Help

Did you ever hear of Justin William Chase? That’s okay; I hadn’t either until just the other day, but as soon as I get a chance I sure want to check him out. I’m talking about Justin Senior, now. He must have been quite some Daddy. Justin Chase was a painter, and I don’t mean just another water-colourist, but a real hum-dinger of an artist. Well, one would assume such an important gentleman, wouldn’t have much time for his little boy when he was so totally focused on his creatively. I could imagine when Junior was climbing all over everything and pestering him his father would have wanted to lean over to the door and holler.
“Wife! Could you come and get that boy of yours? He’s being a real nuisance!” Maybe he would want to drum impatiently with his fingers on the easel’s edge ‘til the boy’s mother scooped him up and carried him away. Anyway, that’s how it could have been, but no, it wasn’t like that at all. Mr. Chase really loved that boy. Sometimes he would find small tasks for Justin to do, but what delighted the little fella most was when Daddy put him on his lap; and after handing him a paintbrush, he would put his large hand over Justin’s wee one and together they would swirl and splash paint on that canvas until a wonderful picture would appear.
Can’t you just hear the little boy’s piping voice? “I want to be just like you, Daddy. I want to be a famous painter just like you.”
Well, it sure looked like that was exactly what was going to happen. When Justin became a man he said his tender farewells to his father whom he loved and admired so dearly. Then he went to a fine artist school way across the ocean in Paris. Didn’t take long ‘til folks over there were thoroughly impressed with the paintings of such a young artist. ‘How did you ever learn that you needed to hold the paint brush in just that position, sir?’ Was one of the questions he was asked. He thought about it, for a moment, and could see in his mind’s eye his father’s hand guiding his. “My father taught me.”
It wasn’t long before Justin became rich and famous with all that stress that so often comes with it. People were lining up at his door, impatient if “their” picture wasn’t done as soon as they wanted it.
Daddy was soon noticing that the letters didn’t come as frequently as they once had, and when his son did write they were shorter and well, it wasn’t hard for the Father to read between the lines. Justin wasn’t enjoying his work like he used to.
Sounds like the letter Daddy sent off was short and to the point: “Come home son, before it’s too late.”
Well, that sure got Justin Jr. attention. He knew Dad was getting older, but was he unwell, also? Justin looked around at the half finished paintings that cluttered his studio, and the lack of customers, and felt like a total failure. I guess I just don’t have the gift like my Dad does. It didn’t take long for him to pack up and set sail for his homeland.
Dad met him and they embraced, but the son was sadly conscious of how much smaller his father seemed, and definitely frailer. On the other hand, his Dad noticed Justin’s despondency and wanted to cheer him up. “Let’s go and paint, son, just like we did in the old days when you were young.”
Justin hung his head. “I can’t, Dad. I’ve lost the gift. I’ll never be as good a painter as you.”
Dad gently guided him over to the easel and with his hand over Justin’s they splashed and swirled paints just like they had in years gone by. Not only did Justin have more fun than he had had in years, but it was the most beautiful painting he had ever seen.
When they were done, Justin stood back in amazement.  “That’s the best painting you ever did, Dad. “
“I didn’t do it, son. You did. I am nearly blind. I just held your hand, and you did the painting.”
Lord, hold my hand. My talent is so useless if Your hand isn’t guiding mine.

Monday, 18 July 2016

Hope for the Hopeless

Tired, always tired, and gaunt, you wouldn’t look in the mirror if it was thrust in your face because you knew what you’d see and it isn’t a pretty sight.
Faded, unwashed hair straggling around your face is the least of your concerns, but the eyes…Oh those eyes, the dark look of hopelessness looming there is what makes others look away, it is so, so…what it is? Only you can say for sure: lonely? Despairing? Filled with a lifetime of pain, heartache, and grief?
You are plodding down a crowded street, shoved or avoided by the hurrying throng that you hardly notice, but you need a fix: that is your consuming desire, a fix, a fix, but that is exactly what you wanted to avoid at all costs.
 For ten, fifteen, maybe even twenty years or more your life has been a mess of addiction, prostitution and other details known only know to you but where oh where can you get your next very fleeting thrill from a pill, a bottle or a needle?
Natalie, yes, that’s a real person, was facing the same desperate situation once.  After serving time in jail, you can imagine what for, she had nowhere to turn, no place to live but, maybe with her sister.
She had been wandering, drifting for so many years that she absolutely loathed it. After reaching the empty apartment Natalie wandered out to the balcony and thought of ending her life by jumping down, but it wasn’t far enough. Across the normally teeming street was a new building going up with scaffolding high in the air. That’s where she was headed: that would be a good place to leap from.
 For some reason there was no one around which was very unusual, as she crossed the street, however, a small black man came out of the shadows and handed her a handwritten letter while saying: ‘Jesus loves you’. She paused to read it and one thing lead to another until she found out about Heart Seasons.
If you live in New York City maybe you have heard about them.
Natalie found a group of people with as bad a history as hers. She found other ‘sisters’ who had tried to recover countless times from addictions, but here at Heart Seasons there was hope. Yes, there really was.
This center was different than many; it focused on Jesus as the only answer. The program was strict, really strict for they were expected to take part in several hours of Bible study every single day, and were not allowed to ever leave without an escort.
After a year and a half or way longer if they wanted, if a person stuck with the program they could graduate, if they were ready. Being ready meant being able to rent an apartment and have a job for at least three months. Most were terrified of leaving, but of course,
they weren’t abandoned, they had their support group, and best of all they had Jesus.
Are you like Natalie, desperate, despairing and certain you have tried every ‘solution’ out there?
There is hope. There truly is. Jesus can be your anchor from drifting back into sin. There are friends of Jesus who would love to reach out to you, also.
 Contact me, if you want and I’ll see what I can do to help. Look up HeartEase in the telephone book, or elsewhere. I’m trying to find an address for you.
P.S. I tried to find the website for you but the link appeared to be broken: try this:

The Bowery Mission Women’s Center at Heartsease Home

Whatever you do, never, never, never give up; there is hope. 

Friday, 19 February 2016

Alone and Suffering

This poem is my gift to you  if you feel all alone and as if no one cares.  If you can, print it out and tuck it in a safe place where you can always find it.

You are the one
That needs a home
A mother's love
A Daddy's care

You are the one
Who haunts my dreams
Disturbs my sleep
With your sad stare.

You are the one 
Who will be sighing
In some dark place
Alone tonight.

You are the one
I'd love to find
Take to my heart
And hold you tight.

Oh Precious Child
Just pray to God
And trust in Him
I know He cares

Oh Troubled Child
I pray someone 
Will Find you soon
And call you theirs.

Monday, 15 February 2016


The fog was thick like walls around
Impen'tratable and deep
And there was I so sick and sore
And too inclined to weep.

But move I must so slowly walked
With weary feet and mind,
The trail was slanting lower still
But I was feeling blind.

How long I plod this downward trek
I cannot think or say,
I longed to feel a hand in mine ,
A Guide to lead the way.

I dimly knew that God was kind
And won't forsake His own
But demons taunted in that mist
Which made me sigh and groan.

Yet when I felt all hope was gone
And I had lost the road
I weakly said "I'll not give up"
I'll trust in Christ my Lord. 

I'm standing now on Blessings' Peak

(An angel brought me there.)
Rainbows of hope swirl all around
The Lord God answers prayer.

Marilyn Friesen

Wednesday, 6 January 2016

One Wrong Decision

Dear Diary, Cara stared at the words with growing frustration, then anger. Why do I have to resort to pouring out my feelings out on a mere scrap of paper? Isn’t there anyone, anyone at all who cares and understands? She clutched at her hair. I sure blew it way back when I was a kid, but I didn’t know any better, did I? Or did I? She leaped up and paced back and forth in front of the darkened window of the cheap apartment building.
Dear Diary, She sat down and stared at the words once again, then picked up her pen. Memories came flooding back. From her viewpoint the most precious recollection of them all seemed to be enshrined in gold. I was so happy that summer when I was nine. Les and Bonny cared for me like a daughter. I know they cared even though I stressed them out many a time with my wild ways. But I blew it. I blew it! I chose not to stay, and every home since then has been worse in one way or another. I never knew it would be such a rocky road if I took my own way, but how can I ever get back to that peace and serenity I knew as a kid on the farm?
She pressed her fingers against her lips to keep them from trembling, but the tears pooling in her eyes couldn’t be so easily stooped. I even stooped to asking Les’ if they would take me in; let me find a job in their community, but no, of course not. It was too late. They had their own children to think about. They didn’t say so, but I knew they thought I might be a bad influence on them. And it’s true. I might.
She viciously tore the tear stained paper out of the notebook, ripped it in half, crumbled it, and tossed it on the floor. I’m not the same girl I was then. In some ways I am even worse. And, yeah, their children would be curious to know what I have gone through, and in a weak moment, I would tell them…and relish it.
Oh God what do I do about this longing in my breast, so dull and yet so real? I want a different life. I want to find that light at the end of the tunnel but there are so many boulders in the way. How will I ever find it? She lay her head down on the desk and wept.

Come unto me all ye that labor, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matthew11:28
If this sounds like you, remember there is HOPE. Reach out to God and He will reach out to you.