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Post by Deleted on Jun 20, 2011 23:15:49 GMT -6
“ For I determined not to know any thing among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified” (I Corinthians 2:2). THE TONGUE
Once there was a nice-faced woman, but she had a sharpened tongue, And it had two ends, both pointed. In the middle it was hung. And she used the points for stabbing, and it wagged and wagged and wagged Until everyone who knew her wished she might be tightly gagged.
She declared she never gossiped, — she was only “being frank”; Thus the habit grew upon her. She was like a man who drank. And she told the Smiths and Joneses what she heard the Browns had said, Till the stories went in circles like her foolish wagging head.
And she criticized the preacher and she ridiculed the choir, And she ripped up reputations till the folks began to tire. So they said, “We'll have a boycott, and we'll teach her that the tongue Should be harnessed, curbed and sweetened for the friends she lives among.”
So they all began to treat her just as though she wasn't there, And they let their eyes slide past her with a blank and stony stare; And nobody telephoned her, and nobody came to call. Till at last she grew so lonely that she thought she'd end it all.
And she stood before her mirror, and the draw a long deep breath, And she thought, This being ostracized is surely worse than death. Then she seemed to see beside her the Saviour's lovely face, His eyes were pools of tenderness, His lips were sweet with grace.
Though He only looked upon her and He uttered not a word, Yet His loving, grieving message even deaf ears could have heard. And as she gazed upon His face, her shame and wonder grew, Till it seemed her tongue was melted and her heart was born anew.
And she cried, “If Thou wilt help me, Lord, henceforward I will give My tongue into Thy service for as long as I shall live!”. . . And her life grew daily richer, and the friends she lived among Loved her tenderly and dearly for her consecrated tongue.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 21, 2011 22:38:11 GMT -6
ETERNAL SECURITY
My feelings may vary: My place is the same, Forever secure In His grace and His name!
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Post by Deleted on Jun 22, 2011 20:39:56 GMT -6
AT EVENING
What have you done for the Lord today? Can you think of the vanished moments and say “I spent them every one for my Lord, I started the day with His precious Word,
Then I lifted my heart in prayer to Him Till Heaven was real and earth was dim, And my Saviour was personal and dear, And all day long I could feel Him near.
He guarded my tongue, my feet, my ears, Dispelled my worries and stilled my fears; He showed me that only those things would last Which I did for Him, and that time sped fast.
He taught me that nothing was ever too hard If it was done in the strength of the Lord. And all through the hours, as the moments sped, I the body, and He the Head,
I lived so that all whom I met could see His Holy Spirit shining through me.” O friend, is this what our hearts can say As we sit and think at the close of day?
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Post by Deleted on Jun 24, 2011 6:20:00 GMT -6
“THEY WALKED NO MORE WITH HIM”
“They walked no more with Him.” O grimmest tragedy That ever came to man — That they should daily see
The Saviour's lovely face, And that their ears should hear His voice, and they could touch His robe, He was so near;
And yet, when came the test, “They walked no more with Him.” And then my heart turned sick With grief, my eyes grew dim
Thinking of some I love And of their judgment day, And of their black despair When they shall hear Him say,
“Through all the long eternity Ye shall never walk with Me!”
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Post by Deleted on Jun 26, 2011 21:39:42 GMT -6
“ Golden vials . . . which are the prayers of saints” (Revelation 5:8). GOLDEN VIALS
The prayers of His saints are in golden vials. I picture the long, long rows Which gleam in the light from the splendor of God, Midst the fragrance of lily and rose.
And I think of the prayers which I sent up to Him, Petty and selfish and weak, And seeing them thus, I ask my shamed heart, How had my lips dared to speak?
Yet the prayers of His saints are so cherished by God That He tenderly holds in His hands The smallest of vials, the feeblest of prayers. Then my humbled heart understands
That the Spirit of God has taken my prayers, Has molded, reshaped, and remade Until they accord with the sweet will of God; And my soul is no longer afraid.
And I wonder if down through the eons of time, Like a precious tale that is told, He will treasure forever these prayers of His saints In their fragrant vials of gold.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 28, 2011 5:01:27 GMT -6
JOINT HEIR WITH CHRIST
Thrice-pressed down and running over, This is the mercy He has shown Unto me, so often wayward . . . But He gives not grace alone:
Unto grace He addeth glory, Unto wonder addeth peace, And a rapture, deep, abiding, That bids all my sorrow cease.
Mine not these possessions only — Sky and land and sea and air, — Heavenly riches in Christ Jesus Still undreamed of, wait me there.
Child of God, joint heir with Jesus! Should I weep o'er my small thorn? It will blossom into beauty In His presence, some bright morn!
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Post by Deleted on Jun 29, 2011 7:04:32 GMT -6
FORETASTE By Howard Wren Nicholson When I was a young man the Lord lighted a beacon within my soul. That beacon will be my guiding star as long as I live. One night, in my sleep, I heard the most heavenly music. I have no words to describe its beauty and sublimity. I thought it was a chorus of angels. Gradually I awakened, and as I did so the celestial quality of the music faded. It was merely some young people, singing on their way home from a party; but my subjective mind, predominant while I slept, had so intensified the loveliness of the music as to produce the related affect. I learned from that experience that I had within me, and heretofore unknown, something of which few people are conscious. That something had been very real to me ever since. If heaven were nothing more than intensification of the experiences of the soul, how wonderful it would be! But, praise the Lord, heaven will be more than a glorification of the soul; it will be a triumph of the spirit. I think that both will play their part in our experiences in heaven. In this instance the soul's experience was used of the Lord to bridge over to the spirit, to fire my mentality to grasp something which is very hard for a young boy to comprehend, for as you know, “ neither hath it entered into the mind of man . . .” No matter how dark the night I have my beacon light, this tiniest foretaste of heaven, and all is well. (Excerpt from letter to Mrs. Arthur I. Brown after the death of her husband) By Howard Wren Nicholson
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Post by Deleted on Jun 29, 2011 13:24:57 GMT -6
I am excited to report that I secured a copy of "His Banner Over Me", the autobiography of Martha. I hope to have it posted on my main site by the end of July!
Her life will be an encouragement to all Christians who are suffering with an incurable malady, and that are looking to a life of pain and lonliness. Many of her poems have already been posted with many yet to come ("Wings and Sky" will follow this book, "The Glory Forever").
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Post by Deleted on Jun 29, 2011 21:13:57 GMT -6
Martie and I have been living in close contact with death for years. We have looked him in the face and defied him, until he has no further terrors for us. We know that our Lord Jesus has abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel (the precious gospel for which your beloved husband and our cherished friend gave his life). So we talk a lot about our own going (hoping it may be by the skyways rather than the valley) and the life beyond is very real and precious to us.
For me the change from a life of extreme activity to that of a coronary patient took some adjusting. I sought it in prayer, Scripture consolation and the depths of Christian faith. And the Father was pleased to give me a picture—just a picture that I should paint if I were an artist. I'll give it to you, hoping it will furnish to you some of the soothing comfort it gave to me. I called it “The Hills of Home, The Saints on the Way to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.”
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Post by Deleted on Jun 30, 2011 19:52:46 GMT -6
THE HILLS OF HOME (The Saints on the Way to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb A broad tranquil valley—the Valley of the River of Life. The River flowing through it in the shade of the Tree of Life. Valley sloping up to high crags of the mountains, the source of heavenly light, a diffusion of light over the whole scene. On either side the valley, smooth sloping hills. On nearly every available foot of space, white-clad figures converging upon the valley toward the banquet hall, Saints in groups and singly, some of them plainly the prophets and the faithful of all ages. Even the elders had youthful-appearing bodies, vibrantly alive. No haste (time will not run by the sun), just a steady progress toward the Eternal Hills of Home. And now to the faithful who have borne the cross to a lost world, I must add another figure—the eternally youthful figure of our friend and your beloved.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 11, 2011 6:52:27 GMT -6
January, 1947
Dear Friends:
More than a year since my last mimeograph, and such a year! What a tender wisdom the Lord shows in not allowing us to lift the curtain from the future. I fear I would have quailed from what I would have seen. And yet, as I lived it day by day, He has sustained me. I know He will continue to do so.
I trust you will consider this a personal letter. It is impossible for me to write to the hundreds who send me such wonderful letters, but I want you to know that every letter you write is deeply prized, and helps me to keep going. I only wish I had words to express my appreciation.
Our house it literally full of slithering piles of letters, and when my husband is not dodging them he is tripping over my crutches or Paddy's ball or the black rubber head of a cat which emits a hideous “meouw” if touched.
But to go back over my year. As some of you know, I was taken very sick early in June and am still in bed. Hence my bed is my desk. It is fortunate that my eighty pounds is not very wide, or there would not be room for me and the letters.
I had a high fever for a month and during that time I completed the manuscript for my last book, Ivory Palaces. Most of the prose in it was written during those days. Even after the fever went down I grew worse instead of better and finally the doctor told my husband I had but a short time to live. Such a real peace came to me, just drifting quietly along, held safely in my Father's hands. Many precious friends came in to minister to me and to my husband and I was loaded with messages from them to their dear ones in the Homeland. I am sure I shall not lose my memory when I go, so these messages will eventually be delivered.
Some of you may even have heard my death announced over the radio. Farewells were said, and it seemed as though I was at the very gates of heaven. Then, so strangely, they were closed in my face. Slowly, painfully, I came back. I do not know why. I longed to go Home, except for leaving my dear ones. Yet here I am and if the Lord tarries, I am facing more pain and weakness than I have ever had in a lifetime of suffering. Of course, my spine has long been completely ankylosed, and now, because of the months in bed, my hips are rapidly stiffening. Only my hands and feet are left unaffected. How I thank God for that and I pray that I may use my hands for Him.
The doctors are practically sure that besides arthritis and other ailments, I now have intestinal cancer. There is nothing to be done, of course, since I am not strong enough to survive another operation. I am too tired to write another book, so why the Lord wants me here I do not know. But the blessed fact remains that He knows, though He may not tell me till I reach the other side. When we have love and faith we do not ask for reasons, and no matter what the pain or sorrow, the Christian heart is basically a happy heart because it is the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit. We have only to realize our riches in Christ here and hereafter. “Beloved, NOW are we the sons of God. And it doth not yet appear what we shall be, but we know that when He shall appear we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.” Isn't that enough?
Howard and Martha Nicholson
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Post by Deleted on Jul 12, 2011 7:00:34 GMT -6
November, 1947
Dear Friends:
Again we greet you from 1406 Lagoon. Almost a year since we wrote to some of you. Perhaps you have heard what has come to us. At least I know now why the doors of heaven were closed last year when I came so close to entering them.
Last February my precious husband had the first of six heart attacks — coronary occlusions. Some of those weeks and months were so black that I try to erase them from my mind. He is still in bed, though the past month he has been able to walk about his room a little. But there are more months in bed ahead of him. He, the outdoor, vigorous type of man, must learn to make a life for himself within the small walls of a sickroom. And he has learned, too. I, his wife, have seen him growing in grace, in patience and faith, and the knowledge of the blessed Lord Jesus.
Tenderness and care for me all the years of our married life have been the habit of his dear heart, and now it is desperately hard for him to be unable to help me. And only God knows how bitter it is for me to be helpless to aid him or ease his suffering. Though, thank God, in between attacks he has little actual pain.
We both understand better that dear old hymn I used to hear my mother sing, “He leadeth me, O blessed thought . . . By His own hand He leadeth me.” He led her safely to heaven, and we are clinging to that same hand, secure in the knowledge that though the time of green pastures is past, and the way now leads over the burning desert sands, yet our destination too is that bright Land where there will be no more separation. There neither of us need ever again worry over the welfare or safety of the other, never again need to feel that familiar thick terror which comes to one of us, when the other is in danger. We shall be forever with the Lord and with each other.
For the duration of our short sojourn here there are many problems which seem impossible of solution, yet we know that nothing is too hard for God, and He has met our needs in a marvelous manner. Without Him our way would indeed be dark. I am growing worse quite rapidly. In addition to being too badly twisted and bent with arthritis I, presumably, have intestinal cancer. My spine is completely ankylosed and I am very thin and pale. For the remainder of my days here there must be increased suffering, and though we hope that my dear husband may improve, we know that this is a very serious trouble, permitting only limited activity for him.
The Blessed Hope of our Lord's soon coming has grown unimaginably dear to us. Never a night that we do not speak of it to each other: never a morning that it is not our first thought. For years I have kept on my desk a note explaining where we have gone and what is to transpire. How short this brief time of suffering compared with the ages we shall spend in His shining presence! And any moment may bring us face to face with Him whom we love, who in His infinite wisdom has allowed these hard things to come to us, in order that we may better know His grace, His love and His power.
Howard and Martha Nicholson
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Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2011 8:19:27 GMT -6
May 5, 1948
Dear Friends:
I cannot possibly write to you all, so I am doing it this way. And you know, my darling was in bed 14 months—coronary heart trouble. He went Home on April 22nd. The last month was hard, difficulty in breathing and almost no sleep. We had precious hours together, and I shall always be richer for them. During that time I wrote these lines and though so simple, they meant a great deal to us both. We are too tired to remember much. We said them over and over.
Do not fret, God lives yet, Do not try to understand. Only rest, That is best, In the shadow of His hand.
Howard's going was sudden, and the doctor says he was unconscious. I had prayed for this. For one instant the little dark room where he lay was the anteroom to heaven, and the glory of God shone all about. It comforts and strengthens and lifts me up, just to stand there.
Perhaps there have been some few who thought it was easy for me to have faith, to bear pain, when I had such a wonderful husband, who carried me always on the palms of his hands. Our happy marriage made me blessed among women and yet now that he has gone, and one would think I might have to learn to stand alone, helpless as I am, I want this testimony to go out. My dear Lord slips His everlasting arms about me, and sustains. His grace is sufficient.
Of COURSE it is desperately, bitterly hard,—it is desolate beyond words. Until we are together again I shall be only half a person. But when it becomes well nigh unbearable I think of his happiness, of his freedom from pain, of his rapture in being in the very presence of the Lord.
I find myself utterly unable to think of him as dead. If I ever did, I should die too. And he is NOT dead; he is only living in another place, a place which has been dear and familiar to me for years. So always in spite of the loneliness and longing, there is a singing joy in my heart over his safety. I never need to worry about him any more. And I am glad it was he who went and I who stayed, so that he does not have to go through this. I know the tender welcome he will give to me when I too reach home. I know, oh I know the ageless eternities we shall spend together and so shall we EVER be with the Lord.
In all the years of our marriage he never thought of himself or his own wishes, always of mine, and of my welfare. Only a strong man can know such love as his. I am wondering how God will use his fine keen mind, his capacity for enthusiasm, his un-swerving desire that God's will should be his will.
For a strong man to be suddenly cut down - down like a tree, for one who could breathe only in his beloved outdoors, to be shut away within four walls, was sheer torture, much harder for him than it has been for me throughout the years. But he often said that that year in bed was the richest year of his life, as God showed him His deep things, as He taught him about prayer and trust, as he learned of God's sufficiency. He will be richer through all eternity for that year, so was not God good to give it to him, to us? It is very sweet to see a loved one grow in grace.
About my own plans, I don't know. All I can think of is that soon I shall be with him and with the Lord we love; and real living will begin for us at last. Surely, surely the Lord is coming soon. Until He comes I shall carry on, as best I can. Service, I learned long ago, is one of the surest paths to peace. So I want the tract work to continue, for God has clearly shown that His blessing is upon it.
You cannot know how grateful we are for the prayers which have gone up constantly for us through the country. We want to thank you. And oh, continue to pray for me, that I may be strong and not make either my Lord or my dear husband disappointed in me.
Martha Snell Nicholson
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Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2011 6:16:18 GMT -6
November, 1948
My dear Friends,
In my room, on a chair, is a double pile of letters, nearly three feet tall. I am ashamed every time I look at them. They seem to stare me in the face. And you to whom this is addressed are no doubt the writer of one of the letters.
After my dear husband went Home in April, it seemed as though my mind and heart were too palsied to write, though I greatly appreciated all the loving letters which came in.
Then too, the preceding fourteen months had been wearing, — I was really not able to be out of bed myself but I spent much time and strength vainly trying to ease the pain and weariness of my beloved.
Now he has been seven months in heaven. I never weary of trying to imagine the happy hours as he lives them, so fully, so gloriously, so utterly free from pain or weakness or anything else which would mar his perfect joy in the presence of the Lord he loves so well.
So, because of my love, I can rejoice daily for him.
But it seemed as though I had to have some relief of action, so, just how I don't know, I wrote another book, The Glory Forever. You see, even though not able to sit up and type letters, I can jot down on paper the verses which mill around in my head.
Will you pray that God will use the book entirely for His glory and for the encouragement of His children?
With the world in the condition it is, and with such need and suffering all over the earth, and with His coming so near, surely this is no time to indulge our own sorrows. The time is short, and the fields are white, even the roads are open and people are begging as never before in the history of missions, for His Word.
I can't tell you the feeling of grief and regret which floods my heart over the time I have wasted when I might have been using it for Him. The opportunity will never come again, not through all eternity, and it is indeed a bitter thought.
May God forgive us. He will, in His mercy, but that does not save the souls who are forever lost through our slothfulness, our lack of love for them and for our Lord.
I want to thank all of you who have faithfully held me up in prayer. I have FELT those prayers; I seemed at times to be wrapped round with a warm blanket of your love. Who knows, perhaps I would have gone when my Howard went, but for your prayers. Of course I wanted to go; I still do, but I want still more to do His will, and if He has work here for me to do, I need your prayers more and more, to enable me to accomplish that work, as my physical strength grows less and my pain increases.
We who are ill learn to “endure as seeing Him who is invisible,” knowing that He will “supply all our needs according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus,” strength for our weakness, grace for the trials, steadiness of nerves.
Surely His coming draweth nigh. Let us occupy till He comes. Yours in His service,
Martha Snell Nicholson
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Post by Deleted on Jul 15, 2011 6:30:12 GMT -6
COMMENTS Perhaps none but the lonely heart who has been through the experience of searing sorrow and bereavement can understand what I am writing in these last pages. The following verses were all written after my dear husband went to be with the Lord. I thought I could never write again. Others may have the relief of action — of taking a long walk, of doing a washing, or house-cleaning; but for me there can be no physical exercise, so in desperation and after much prayer, I turned to mental exertion . . . and I found that I gained a measure of peace by putting into words these little verses. They are about him whom I love. There was no thought then of their possible publication. I wrote them for him, reaching out to find him, and for myself, because I had to feel in the depths of my heart that he was living a real existence, in a real place, and that it was just a matter of time until we would be together in our new home. Then, letters from all over the United States began coming to me from women who had lost loved ones, nearly all of whom had the same heart-longing: to have heaven made real to them, and that they might have a glimpse by faith of their dear ones living a real life, in a real place, that they might be sustained by a living hope of eternal reunion. And so, though it is not easy for me to spread my heart out on paper, I decided to share with you these personal verses. It is my earnest prayer that they may comfort others with the same comfort wherewith I have been comforted. May God grant to you and to me His peace, and give us “ beauty for ashes and the oil of joy for mourning.”
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Post by Deleted on Jul 18, 2011 7:35:59 GMT -6
TEACH ME TO WALK ALONE
I live now in a strange new land Where I must walk alone, Where I must smile without a tear, And grief must make no moan.
My comfort and my guiding star, My tower of strength, has gone. No peace descends to me with dusk, No light breaks with my dawn.
The habit of his loving heart Was thoughtfulness for me. And yet that heart has ceased to beat . . . Lord, how can such things be?
My arms have found if they reach out They clasp but empty air; And though I search the silent rooms I never find him there.
I had to learn to walk, dear Lord, When I was young and small. Teach me again, for of myself I can do naught at all!
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Post by Deleted on Jul 19, 2011 9:30:31 GMT -6
NOT ALONE
Beneath, My everlasting arms, Above, My watchful care; Your name engraved upon My hands, Numbered your every hair.
Would I forsake the small chill lamb, Upon the mountains lost? Could I forget that one I bought At such a fearful cost?
When weary, worn, come unto Me, And I will give you rest; When darkness falls, pillow your head Upon My tender breast.
He loves you well who lately came And passed through heaven's door; But hold this to your aching heart— My child, I love you more!
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Post by Deleted on Jul 20, 2011 10:11:00 GMT -6
LONGING
I do not ask to touch you, dear I do not even plead to hear Your voice; but some day on the wall Could I but see your shadow fall!
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Post by Deleted on Jul 21, 2011 8:44:19 GMT -6
PRAYER
There is a terror in my heart Lest I forget some day The sound of that dear voice of his, His laughter, and the way
He had of looking in my eyes With tenderness and pride, Till I forgot the years and felt That I was still his bride.
Dear Lord, you took him home to you. But O, I humbly pray, (My heart is worn and tired), take not My memories away.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 22, 2011 8:32:22 GMT -6
SWIFT JOURNEY
You never saw the face of death, Not even for one startled breath, But looked from my face to His own, From your dark walls to His bright throne
A day of weakness and of pain, The weary fight for breath again; And then, “I'm dizzy, dear,” you said, And quick as light, your soul had fled.
Death had no sting for you that day; You simply, gently, slipped away. Your pain and weariness and care Dropped like a garment, — you were there!
What must have been your rapt surprise To find yourself beyond the skies! Swift journey! Father, thanks alway For this Thy gift to him that day!
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