Thursday, March 2, 2017

My Life // It's Okay Because He's Everywhere.

So many things are changing around me.
Where am I going?
I don't have to know—God is ever constant—never changing.

I hear so many calls, yet don't know which is my call.
Where am I going?
I don't have to know—God calls me—and that's all I really need.

I have so many things I like...it's hard.
But it's okay, because God will use my talents and gifts to honor Him, if I let Him.

I feel like I am everywhere.
But it's okay, because God is everywhere.

But this might just be my mountain. The one that I need to go around, or go through.
Or move.
I want direction. But maybe I just need to follow my Guide—God.

I feel in the dark on some things, and in the light on others. But no matter what--I know God is with me, and that is all I need.

I don't know where I am going. But I am closer than close with the one who does know.
And I need to just let go.
Let HIM take control, not me.
Surrender and trust.
That's what I need.
That's what we need.
That's what you need.

I STILL HAVE HOPE.
Why?
Because I have Jesus.
Because I have the Word of God.
Because I have my relationship with God.

You need these things, too.

This is how you get them:

Romans 10:9-10
"If you declare with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord' and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.
For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved."

And open up the Bible. God will give you revelation if you ask Him and seek Him.


Isaiah 1:18
"'Come now, let us settle the matter,' says the Lord.
'Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow;
though they are red like crimson, they shall be like wool.'"

Love in Christ,
Amy

All of these pictures were wonderfully used from the free picture website, Unsplash. Of course, I edited the last one, though.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

WWII Short Story // If Anybody

I hope you enjoy this story--the first story shared on this blog! Yeah! And hopefully not the last. If you want, please tell me what you think in the comments!
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Wife of a departing soldier lifts her son for farewell embrace. Oklahoma, 1945:
Not my picture, I got it from Pinterest. Click for source.
If Anybody

December 25, 1944.

I remember that day when he left.
It was the spring of 1942, and the sun was rebelliously shining in the bright morning sky like nothing was being torn apart— like a war wasn't raging. I wonder how many times the sun has shone over a scene like that one—a scene of longing and fear, of love and selfish wishes.

As my husband, Jackson, my son, Lawrence, and I drove to the train station, Lawrence wouldn't stop asking why Daddy had to leave. He had been told many times before that Daddy had to go defend America, but he didn't understand. When we arrived, Jackson parked the car and grabbed his things, "Well, Martha, this is it."

I just looked at him, with tears of sadness forming in my eyes, "I wish...Oh, Jackson, I wish..." My tears sufficed for words as I rushed into his arms, and cried. He gently held me, stroking my brown hair in love.

"Okay, I'll be late." I pulled away, composing myself and wiping my tear stained face, "Right, I'm sorry. I know you can't stay, but I am going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," Jackson said, his blue eyes shining.

As he boarded the train, I gave him one last kiss and hug, and Lawrence did also. I watched as Jackson disappeared into the train and then through the window as he found his seat on the passenger car. Jackson, smiling face, put half his body out the window, and said, "I love you, and I always will...no matter what happens, Martha Wright, remember that."

"I will," I said, trying not to choke up, for his sake.

"And I love you, too, buddy," He said to Lawrence.

"Momma, can I hug daddy again?"

"He's already on the train, Lawrence," I told him, then, looking at my husband, said, "Alright, I'll lift you up." I picked up Lawrence, and lifted him as high as my arms would carry him, halfway up to the train window. Jackson took over, and grabbed his son up till all I had was Lawrence's legs, and hugged him, saying something in his ear that I couldn't understand except for parts like "I love you", "Daddy has to", and "I'll come back".

But just as I had started to tear up again, the station master called out, saying the train was leaving. I took Lawrence back, and held him in my arms. "Daddy is leaving," Lawrence said. The train jerked to a start, and I reached for Jackson's hand, holding on to Lawrence with the other.

"Don't forget to write! And, stay safe. And remember to follow God, and don't forget us!" I called to him over the loud train noise. I walked quickly, and didn't let go of his hand until I absolutely had to for the speed of the train. "I love you! God be with you!"

"I love you," He called. And then, as he rode away in his green uniform, I held on to his memory.

"Wave at Daddy," I said to our son. We waved until he was out of eyesight, and then I put Lawrence down, and we walked back to the truck. On the way home, we said nothing, and I cried both in my heart and out.

"Don't worry, Momma, Daddy said he'll be back," Lawrence comforted, "He told me not to worry. He said that no matter what happens, God will take care of us."

"What else did he say, Lawrence," I said, ashamed that I had let myself cry so much in front of my son, who sat beside me in the middle seat.

"Daddy said that he was proud of me, and that he loved me. He said that he had to leave to help the army, but he will always remember me and you."

"He did?"

"Yup. So don't worry, Momma, God's got things under control," He reassured, bouncing in his seat with a confident expression upon his face.

"You're right, Lawrence, He does."

Yes, I remember that day. It was sad, but I had hope—hope that the war would end, and my Jackson would come home and be the husband I needed, and the father I needed him to be for Lawerence. The days following were tough, but we managed. As promised, Jackson and I wrote to each other. Lawrence even wrote to him. Sometimes it was difficult because I would not hear from him for weeks, or months. But then, I would rejoice when I received a letter saying that he was somewhere in Europe, and that he was safe.

One day, he sent me a letter containing words I will never forget: "Even if we lose our someday, we will always have our today. We will always have the good times, Martha."
And now, I understand that.

For a year later, I received a telegram that Jackson was reported missing in action, along with his last letter to me.
Then, just two weeks after that, instead of good news, I received a notice that my beloved husband had been killed. I was devastated, and I didn't know what to do.  But I knew I could find comfort in God's arms, so that's where I ran.

What I didn't know that bright day when my husband left for the army, was that I would only see him a few times more, before his life was ended on this earth. If someone told me that, I would have never let go. But we can't know these things, nor what will happen to us. So we have to place our lives in God's hands, not our own. And if tragedy happens, we have to trust Him that things will turn out fine in the end. And that is what I am still doing today. The war has not ended, and people are still being killed, and families torn apart, but I trust God will bring us through.

September 2, 1945
And He has—God has brought us through! The war has ended, and there is hope on the horizon. Though things will never be the same, all things will work out in the end. All for the glory of God.


Written on: September 17, 2016.
COPYRIGHTED BY AMY E. LANE. Please do not copy without permission from the author—me! If you would like to use it in any way, please contact me via the contact form at the bottom of this blog.

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Civil War Soldier (A Poem)

I wrote this poem on August 17, 2016. Please do not copy or use without my permission. Thank you. If you would like to share this poem, or use it in or for anything, please contact me by way of the contact form at the bottom of my blog.

With a heavy heart, a tired look on his face,
A rifle hanging on his shoulder, he walked a slow pace.

Wounded, he needed attention,
But compared to others, he needed little mention.

The battle over, the war only begun,
His fighting halted, but not close to done.

His jacket tattered, splotched with mud,
And not just with his own, was it stained with blood.

The soldier had both seen and done the horrific,
But what he had to do was hardly his choice pick.

There was only one rule as he fought:
Kill or be killed,
shoot or be shot.
       No matter who you were, nor what you willed.

A country--at war with its own--
South became 'Feds, North became Yanks.
Wrongs of both sides became known,
From the lowest soldier to the highest in ranks.

You could've been that soldier, sweat covered brow, and blood stained hands,
Wounded and tired--but for victory he stands.

And whether he lost,
Or whether he won,
Whether he died or didn't pay that cost--
He stood and fought, never trying to run.

We were not part of their generation,
But we can surely remember them in the history of our nation.

Remembering once more, the ones who fought in our Civil War.