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Points of Interest
The Dogwood Tree
When Christ was on earth, the dogwood grew To a towering size with a lovely hue. Its branches were strong and interwoven And for Christ's cross its timbers were chosen.
Being distressed at the use of the wood Christ made a promise which still holds good:
"Not ever again shall the dogwood grow To be large enough for a tree, and so Slender and twisted it shall always be With cross-shaped blossoms for all to see.
The petals shall have bloodstains marked brown And in the blossom's center a thorny crown. All who see it will think of me, Nailed to a cross from a dogwood tree. Protected and cherished this tree shall be A reflection to all of my agony."
~~Author Unknown~~
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IT IS NO SECRET ~ by ~ STUART HAMBLEN
It is no secret - Back in the 50's there was a well known
radio host / comedian / song writer in Hollywood named
Stuart Hamblen who was noted for his drinking, womanizing
partying, etc. One of his bigger hits at the time was "I won't
go hunting with you Jake, but I'll go chasing women".
One day, along came a young preacher holding a tent revival.
Hamblen had him on his radio show presumably to poke fun
at him.
In order to gather more material for his show, Hamblin showed
up at one of the revival meetings.
Early in the service the preacher announced, "There is one man
in this audience who is a big fake."
There were probably others who thought the same thing, but
Hamblen was convinced that he was the one the preacher was
talking about (some would call that conviction), but he was
having none of that.
Still the words continued to haunt him until a couple of nights
later he showed up drunk at the preacher's hotel door around
2 a.m. demanding that the preacher pray for him But the
preacher refused, saying, "This is between you and God and
I'm not going to get in the middle of it." But he did invite Stuart
in and they talked until about 5 a.m. at which point Stuart
dropped to his knees and with tears, cried out to God. But that
is not the end of the story.
Stuart quit drinking, quit chasing women, quit everything that was
"fun". Soon he began to lose favor with the Hollywood crowd.
He was ultimately fired by the radio station when he refused to
accept a beer company as a sponsor. Hard times were upon him.
He tried writing a couple of "Christian" songs but the only one that
had much success was "This Old House", written for his friend
Rosemary Clooney.
As he continued to struggle, a long time friend named John took
him aside and told him, "all your troubles started when you
'got religion', was it worth it all?" Stuart answered simply, "Yes".
Then his friend asked, "You liked your booze so much, don't you
ever miss it?" And his answer was, "No". John then said, "I don't
understand how you could give it up so easily." And Stuart's
response was, "It's no big secret.
All things are possible with God."
To this John said "That's a catchy phrase.
You should write a song about it."
And as they say, the rest is history.
The song Stuart wrote was "It Is No Secret"
It is no secret what God can do.
What He's done for others, He'll do for you.
With arms wide open, He'll welcome you.
It is no secret, what God can do....
By the way......... the friend was John Wayne.
And the young preacher who refused to pray for Stuart Hamblen but
invited him in to talk was none other than "Reverend Billy Graham"
This was sent to me in an email.
It is a True Testimonial and Praise To Our Lord Jesus Christ Nobody
Can Take My Faith Away
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THE BIRTH OF THE SONG "PRECIOUS LORD"
Back in 1932, I was 32 years old and a fairly new husband. My wife,
Nettie and I were living in a little apartment on Chicago's Southside.
One hot August afternoon I had to go to St. Louis, where I was to be the
featured soloist at a large revival meeting. I didn't want to go.
Nettie was in the last month of pregnancy with our first child.
But a lot of people were expecting me in St. Louis.
I kissed Nettie good-bye, clattered downstairs to our Model A and,
in a fresh Lake Michigan breeze, chugged out of Chicago on Route 66.
However, outside the city, I discovered that in my anxiety at leaving, I
had forgotten my music case. I wheeled around and headed back.
I found Nettie sleeping peacefully. I hesitated by her bed;
something was strongly telling me to stay. But eager to get on my way,
and not wanting to disturb Nettie, I shrugged off the feeling and
quietly slipped out of the room with my music.
The next night, in the steaming St. Louis heat, the crowd called
on me to sing again and again.
When I finally sat down, a messenger boy ran up with a Western Union telegram.
I ripped open the envelope. Pasted on the yellow sheet were the words:
YOUR WIFE JUST DIED.
People were happily singing and clapping around me,
but I could hardly keep from crying out.
I rushed to a phone and called home. All I could hear on the other end was
"Nettie is dead. Nettie is dead."
When I got back, I learned that Nettie had given birth to a boy.
I swung between grief and joy. Yet that night, the baby died.
I buried Nettie and our little boy together, in the same casket.
Then I fell apart.
For days I closeted myself. I felt that God had done me an injustice.
I didn't want to serve Him any more or write gospel songs.
I just wanted to go back to that jazz world I once knew so well.
But then, as I hunched alone in that dark apartment those first sad days,
I thought back to the afternoon I went to St. Louis.
Something kept telling me to stay with Nettie. Was that something God?
Oh, if I had paid more attention to Him that day, I would have stayed and
been with Nettie when she died.
From that moment on I vowed to listen more closely to Him.
But still I was lost in grief.
Everyone was kind to me, especially a friend, Professor Fry,
who seemed to know what I needed.
On the following Saturday evening he took me up to Malone's Poro College,
a neighborhood music school.
It was quiet; the late evening sun crept through the curtained windows.
I sat down at the piano, and my hands began to browse over the keys.
Something happened to me then. I felt at peace. I felt as though I
could reach out and touch God.
I found myself playing a melody, once into my head
they just seemed to fall into place:
"Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand!
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn,
Through the storm, through the night lead me on to the light,
Take my hand, precious Lord, Lead me home."
The Lord gave me these words and melody, He also healed my spirit.
I learned that when we are in our deepest grief, when we feel farthest
from God, this is when He is closest, and when we are most open to
His restoring power.
And so I go on living for God willingly and joyfully, until that day comes
when He will take me and gently lead me home.
-Thomas A. Dorsey
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Cold Within
Six humans trapped by happenstance
In black and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood,
Or so the story's told.
Their dying fire in need of logs,
The first woman held hers back
For on the faces around the fire,
She noticed one was black.
The next man looking cross the way
Saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.
The third man sat in tattered clothes;
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back! and thought
Of the wealth he had in store.
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy poor.
The black man's face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.
And the last man of this forlorn group
Did naught except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.
The logs held tight in death's still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without,
They died from the cold within.
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THE OLD PATHS
I liked the old paths, when
Moms were at home.
Dads were at work.
Brothers went into the army.
And sisters got married BEFORE having children!
Crime did not pay;
Hard work did;
And people knew the difference.
Moms could cook;
Dads would work;
Children would behave..
Husbands were loving;
Wives were supportive;
And children were polite.
Women wore the jewelry;
And Men wore the pants.
Women looked like ladies;
Men looked like gentlemen;
And children looked decent.
People loved the truth,
And hated a lie;
They came to church to get IN,
Not to get OUT!
Hymns sounded Godly;
Sermons sounded helpful;
Rejoicing sounded normal;
And crying sounded sincere.
Cursing was wicked;
Drinking was evil;
and divorce was unthinkable.
The flag was honored;
America was beautiful;
And God was welcome! ;
We read the Bible in public;
Prayed in school;
And preached from house to house
To be called an American was worth dying for;
To be called a Christian was worth living for;
To be called a traitor was a shame!
Sex was a personal word.
Homosexual was an unheard of word,
And abortion was an illegal word.
Preachers preached because they had a message;
And Christians rejoiced because they had the VICTORY!
Preachers preached from the Bible;
Singers sang from the heart;
And sinners turned to the Lord to be SAVED!
A new birth meant a new life;
Salvation meant a changed life;
Following Christ led to eternal life.
Being a preacher meant you proclaimed the word of God;
Being a deacon meant you would serve the Lord;
Being a Christian meant you would live for Jesus;
And being a sinner meant someone was praying for you!
Laws were based on the Bible;
Homes read the Bible;
And churches taught the Bible.
Preachers were more interested in new converts,
Than new clothes and new cars.
God was worshiped;
Christ was exalted;
and the Holy Spirit was respected.
Church was where you found Christians
on the Lord's day, rather than in the garden,
on the creek bank, on the golf course,
or being entertained somewhere else.
I still like the old paths the best !
"The Old Paths" was written by a retired minister who lives in Tennes
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GENNY WILSON ~ "Gloryland Express"
Genny Wilson ~ "Gloryland Express"
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Copyright 2003-2010 @ "Gloryland Express" Gospel Music Ministries
All Rights Reserved!
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