TheWritePath

        I like to collect teacups, so when I get the chance I browse through china shops or antique stores to look for them, there is one shop, in particular, I really enjoy browsing through. One afternoon while I was there I saw a Tea-for One set that I just couldn't go home without. It had a pink rose that joined the teapot perfectly to the cup and the handles looked like a fish and it had gold edging.       I asked the sales clerk if I could see it, stating how beautiful I thought it was, and then the most amazing thing happened . . . the teacup spoke!  I haven't always been a teacup, there was a time all I was was a lump of red clay. My Master took me and rolled me and rolled me, then patted me all over and over again. I didn't like it, and I yelled out at him to leave me alone, but he only smiled and said, "Not Yet."      Then I was placed on a spinning wheel, and suddenly I was spinning around and around and around. "Stop!" I cried, "I'm g

     I tried to turn away from what I was seeing in my mind's eye, but it held me captive; then suddenly, the image changed, and I could not refrain from crying out. Some time ago, I don't remember just when I had seen a picture of Christ crying as He held an unborn child in His hand. There are no memorials to these victims. No Hall of Names containing the Pages of Testimony symbolic of their gravestones. As a nation , we do not unite in reverence to their memory; instead, we stand divided, torn between the freedom of choice and the right to life. Oh, how it must grieve the heart of God.     When I look down on the cluster of six yellow tulips, I am reminded of that day. I came out of my prayer closet with a renewed sense of value towards life and a hope that as a nation we would repent and stand together, as the Jewish people have, to remember those lives we have taken by abortion. The Word of God says He is looking for those who will make up a hedge and stand in the gap befor

         Several months later, after I had returned home, the reality of what I experienced that day came like a flood  into my mind. Sometimes when praying, I like to have a reference point, something I can see or touch to help me stay focused on what I am praying for. The images of the children of the children filled my thoughts, but they had no faces. There were no candles lit. These were the babies lost to a present-day Holocaust on the abortion tables across our country. Children marked for extinction because we claim our freedom of choice. Mankind has not learned from the past; they have only found another way to eliminate what stands in their way. The choices we make have caused an endless number of babies to be thrown aside, not even to be recognized as human life. Never given a name. Most never to be remembered. The words of the Jewish poet filled my heart, "Unto every person, there is a name bestowed on him by God." These little ones were known  by God when they wer

    The cold reality of what I was about to witness was first seen in a sculpture called Adolescence Broken Off, which stood on the cavern cradling the Children's Memorial and the Hall of Remembrance. This memorial is for the 1.5 million children who perished during the Holocaust. The money to fund the sculpture was donated by the surviving parents of a two-and-a-half-year-old boy who was put to death in Auschwitz. The memorial consist of several square pillars standing in rows like children lined up for a portrait. The ashen color of the stone, standing so still, was hard enough to bear until I noticed that the top of the pillars was left uncut and unfinished, just as the lives of these children were cut off before they were given the chance to live them. When I first entered the Hall of Remembrance, my eyes met with portraits, suspended from the ceiling, of the innocent children; the silence was deafening, broken only by the reading of their names, ages, and place of birth. Next,

                                                                             IT HAD BEEN A LONG cold winter, and I was glad to see spring arrive with all the newness of life that it symbolizes.   I remember seeing my first robin of the year, knowing the spring flowers were soon to follow. There is something peaceful about a garden; perhaps it is in the beauty of the flowers of spring or their sweet fragrance that fills the air. To me, it is the flowers of spring that bring a feeling of renewed hope and restoration. Yet as I stand here looking down at a cluster of six yellow tulips that grace my flower garden, there is no beauty to be seen, no sweet fragrance that fills the air, only a feeling of renewed hope that fills my heart. You see, they were planted as a memorial and a call to prayer.     As early as the ninth century, yellow was used as an identifying color to mark the Jewish people for discrimination. This marking system was revived when Adolf Hilter required all Greman Jews to

                               Finding Christ in Christmas                   It’s time to gather around as I share Finding the Christ in Christmas with all my family and friends. It began deep within the woods many years ago when grandpa took me to help find the perfect Christmas tree. After looking everywhere, grandpa, with a big smile on his face, pointed to the tree saying, “There he is, we found our tree!” I was so excited that I let go of his hand and ran to the biggest tree I had ever seen, and turned to him, “Oh grandpa, its beautiful!” But to my surprise, he told me, “No child, it’s not that tree,” as he stood beside a very small one, “Come and help me dig our tree.” After we got the tree dug grandpa wrapped the dirt around the roots in a cloth and we started for home.             Every year we visited the trees along the back of the yard and he told me their story; the trees were for each one of his grandchildren and when we got to mine he told me; “This tree was little