What Would Jesus Say About the Way I Give

Jesus saw the rich men casting their gifts into the treasury. And he saw a certain poor widow casting in thither two mites. And he said. Of a truth I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast in more than they all: For all these have of their abundance cast in unto the offerings of God: but she of her penury hath cast in all the living that she had.” Luke 21:1-4.

       Sunday morning, January 28, 1996, I stood in the church of God chapel in Chapultepec, Mexico. The children had settled into their places after Sunday school.

We had sung five songs and two brethren had prayed. Now we were singing again and people were placing coins in the offering basket. The six-inch straw basket designated to hold the offerings sat on a small table in front of the plain, homemade pulpit.

       The first one to put in an offering was a little girl whose father is an alcoholic. Then the bubbly, four-year-old grandson of Francesca came bouncing up the aisle and dropped his grandma’s offering in the basket. I watched Sister Josephine, (a widow who had no roof over her kitchen until the church in the U.S. supplied for it this Christmas). She was dressed as usual in a red hand-me-down dress and white shoes. She gives on offering every time she comes to church. Among the others who pressed forward was 85-year-old Don Romalo. His steps are unsure and he leans heavily on his cane for stability. In this condition, he goes uptown each day and cleans cars to have money to give. Suddenly a little boy dashed passed me and hurriedly dropped in a few coins. It was Fredrico’s son. Fredrico is a father of five—who has been out of work for about a month. (None of these people receives food stamps or welfare checks.)

       What deep, stirring thoughts I had while watching these poor ones giving “all their living.”

       I wondered if I felt somewhat like Jesus did when He watched the widow and said, ”this poor widow hath cast more in than all they which have cast into the treasury.” Mark 12:43.

How much offering did you give to Jesus this week? Did you give “all your living?” or did you give “of your abundance”? Was your offering close to ten percent of your weekly income? Was it nearer to five percent? Perhaps you gave a total of one percent of the wages you earned.

I want Jesus to speak well of me, so I promised God that I would give more of my income to Him.

Have you ever wondered what Jesus might say if He was watching as you dropped in your offering?

Incidents of God’s Mercy

But thou he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies.”

Lamentations 3:32

       Leaning against the dusty cement block wall, I scanned the faces of the listeners as Bro. Adelfo Gonzales repeated the invitation again. “How many would like to have salvation?” A man with white hair and crippled feet raised his hand high above his head. He said, “I have read the Bible through several times, but I still don’t know how to be saved” Three others raised their hands. One was a man perched on a bicycle. His eyes seemed to be pleading for deliverance from the life, which his hard face, heavy black beard and long hair portrayed. It was almost dark when the yard meeting was over, but we had prayed with and instructed seven souls which God in his mercy had touched.

       Earlier on that Sunday, we had taken baked chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy to a family who had not come to church that morning because of a sick grandmother. When I entered the one-room house, Guillermina, the saved granddaughter, said to me, “We are so glad you have come. We need you. Grandma says she will soon die, but she is afraid. Please tell Grandma, how to be saved.”

       Grandma Lucia had lived all her life in Oaxaca, a southern state of Mexico. This last spring her daughter, Francisca, felt an urgency to bring Grandma (98 years old) to Baja California so that she could care for her. Although Francisca did not have money for the bus ticket, she thought she must leave on Sunday, and asked me to take her to the bus station. (She had saved enough money for two return tickets.) She came to church Sunday morning with her bags ready to go. The brethren took up a love offering. When the money was counted, Francisca had enough for the bus ticket, with only $2.00 extra. The bus was an hour late, so we visited, while waiting. After that hour, Francisca was in my heart. It would be three days before Francisca would arrive in Oaxaca. I cried all the way home, as I thought how hungry Francisca would be without food those three days. I had given all my money, and I am sure, that others, who gave to her, had to do without something they needed that week.

That Sunday afternoon Grandma Lucia greeted me in the usual formal way; many flowery words and a kiss on my hand, and then she said, “Teach me how to pray when I die. I’ve already divided my food with the saints (her images), done penances walking on my knees for long distances, given to the poor and been a good neighbor. What else should I do to have peace?” Years before when Grandma Lucia had visited with Francisca she would not come to the Church. However, this time she attended whenever she was able

       We talked with her for about an hour and I could see she was sincere. Very simply I explained to her the plan of salvation through faith in Jesus. Her granddaughter and I prayed, and then I asked her to repeat after me a prayer of repentance. After prayer she said, “I have peace. I am not afraid to die.”

       Grandma Lucia passed away September 16, with a smile on her face. She had served her religion from childhood, but it did not help her in the end. However, the mercy of Jesus saved her in her last days, just as he did the thief on the cross.

At this same time, two women lost their mother in a traumatic auto accident in our area. The Escobar family shared his home with these strangers until they were able to travel. Both of these sisters professed salvation during the four weeks they stayed in Chapultepec. What a merciful God to allow these strangers to meet God’s children that lead them to Him.

       God was also merciful to give a wonderful meeting at Pacoima, CA. The spirit of the meeting was sweet, the preaching exceptionally good, and many souls sought help at the altar. It was glorious! A young sister who came with us was sanctified and baptized.

       Although no one came prepared to have children’s meeting; the Lord blessed in a wonderful way. One day the children were so under conviction that five came to the altar and prayed for salvation.

I believe there were eight adults and two children baptized. Seven of these were from the Pacoima congregation. Isn’t God merciful?

       A few days after returning from Pacoima, we were visiting an elderly woman who rented housing for migrant field workers. A young woman knocked at the door, and asked, “May I listen? I loved to hear about Jesus.”

       About halfway through the lesson she left, but returned quickly. Later I learned that Maria was checking on her four-year-old son who was sick with the mumps. We followed her home and found her little boy lying on a blanket on the cold cement floor. The only furniture in the two-room dwelling was a broken down chair and a two-burner kerosene cook stove.

       Early the following morning, I took two more blankets and an egg-carton type mattress to her. While I was reading and explaining some scriptures to Maria, her mother came to check on the sick boy. I read, James 5:13 and prayed for the child. The following day when I came to visit, the child was outside playing. I told Maria, that I would like to teach the Bible to the children if she would get them together. “They go to school in the morning and work pulling onions in the afternoon,” she said. “They get home about 6:30, but please do come.”

       The following evening, Rhonda Doolittle, Julie Samons and I arrived at 6:30. Twenty-three children and four adults were waiting for us. After five lessons, the interest was as good as it was that first day. I see the mercy of God in helping us meet Maria, for I realize this door would not have been opened.

       “The Lord is gracious, and full of compassion: slow to anger, and of great mercy. The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works. All thy works shall praise thee, O Lord; and thy saints shall bless thee. They shall speak of the glory of thy kingdom, and talk of thy power. To make known to the sons of men his mighty acts, and the glorious majesty of his kingdom.” Psalm 145: 8-12

Incidents of God's Mercy

But thou he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies.”

Lamentations 3:32

       Leaning against the dusty cement block wall, I scanned the faces of the listeners as Bro. Adelfo Gonzales repeated the invitation again. “How many would like to have salvation?” A man with white hair and crippled feet raised his hand high above his head. He said, “I have read the Bible through several times, but I still don’t know how to be saved” Three others raised their hands. One was a man perched on a bicycle. His eyes seemed to be pleading for deliverance from the life, which his hard face, heavy black beard and long hair portrayed. It was almost dark when the yard meeting was over, but we had prayed with and instructed seven souls which God in his mercy had touched.

       Earlier on that Sunday, we had taken baked chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy to a family who had not come to church that morning because of a sick grandmother. When I entered the one-room house, Guiermina, the saved granddaughter, said to me, “We are so glad you have come. We need you. Grandma says she will soon die, but she is afraid. Please tell Grandma, how to be saved.”

       Grandma Lucia had lived all her life in Oaxaca, a southern state of Mexico. This last spring her daughter, Francisca, felt an urgency to bring Grandma (98 years old) to Baja California so that she could care for her. Although Francisca did not have money for the bus ticket, she thought she must leave on Sunday, and asked me to take her to the bus station. (She had saved enough money for two return tickets.) She came to church Sunday morning with her bags ready to go. The brethren took up a love offering. When the money was counted, Francisca had enough for the bus ticket, with only $2.00 extra. The bus was an hour late, so we visited, while waiting. After that hour, Francisca was in my heart. It would be three days before Francisca would arrive in Oaxaca. I cried all the way home, as I thought how hungry Francisca would be without food those three days. I had given all my money, and I am sure, that others, who gave to her, had to do without something they needed that week.

That Sunday afternoon Grandma Lucia greeted me in the usual formal way; many flowery words and a kiss on my hand, and then she said, “Teach me how to pray when I die. I’ve already divided my food with the saints (her images), done penances walking on my knees for long distances, given to the poor and been a good neighbor. What else should I do to have peace?” Years before when Grandma Lucia had visited with Francisca she would not come to the Church. However, this time she attended whenever she was able

       We talked with her for about an hour and I could see she was sincere. Very simply I explained to her the plan of salvation through faith in Jesus. Her granddaughter and I prayed, and then I asked her to repeat after me a prayer of repentance. After prayer she said, “I have peace. I am not afraid to die.”

       Grandma Lucia passed away September 16, with a smile on her face. She had served her religion from childhood, but it did not help her in the end. However, the mercy of Jesus saved her in her last days, just as he did the thief on the cross.

At this same time, two women lost their mother in a traumatic auto accident in our area. The Escobar family shared his home with these strangers until they were able to travel. Both of these sisters professed salvation during the four weeks they stayed in Chapultepec. What a merciful God to allow these strangers to meet God’s children that lead them to Him.

       God was also merciful to give a wonderful meeting at Pacoima, CA. The spirit of the meeting was sweet, the preaching exceptionally good, and many souls sought help at the altar. It was glorious! A young sister who came with us was sanctified and baptized.

       Although no one came prepared to have children’s meeting; the Lord blessed in a wonderful way. One day the children were so under conviction that five came to the altar and prayed for salvation.

I believe there were eight adults and two children baptized. Seven of these were from the Pacoima congregation. Isn’t God merciful?

       A few days after returning from Pacoima, we were visiting an elderly woman who rented housing for migrant field workers. A young woman knocked at the door, and asked, “May I listen? I loved to hear about Jesus.”

       About halfway through the lesson she left, but returned quickly. Later I learned that Maria was checking on her four-year-old son who was sick with the mumps. We followed her home and found her little boy lying on a blanket on the cold cement floor. The only furniture in the two-room dwelling was a broken down chair and a two-burner kerosene cook stove.

       Early the following morning, I took two more blankets and an egg-carton type mattress to her. While I was reading and explaining some scriptures to Maria, her mother came to check on the sick boy. I read, James 5:13 and prayed for the child. The following day when I came to visit, the child was outside playing. I told Maria, that I would like to teach the Bible to the children if she would get them together. “They go to school in the morning and work pulling onions in the afternoon,” she said. “They get home about 6:30, but please do come.”

       The following evening, Rhonda Doolittle, Julie Samons and I arrived at 6:30. Twenty-three children and four adults were waiting for us. After five lessons, the interest was as good as it was that first day. I see the mercy of God in helping us meet Maria, for I realize this door would not have been opened.

       “The Lord is gracious, and full of compassion: slow to anger, and of great mercy. The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works. All thy works shall praise thee, O Lord; and thy saints shall bless thee. They shall speak of the glory of thy kingdom, and talk of thy power. To make known to the sons of men his mighty acts, and the glorious majesty of his kingdom.” Psalm 145: 8-12

Mabel

Going to Oklahoma City

The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord:… for the Lord  holds him with his hand. Psalms 37:23-25

"I can do all things through Christ who strengtheneth me," Mabel said to herself as she stepped into the train bound for Oklahoma City. Tucked in her secret pocket were the few cents that remained of her saving after paying for her ticket. In her hand she held the most recent letter from Papa? Heavy fog shut out the raising spring sun, as she waved to Wallace and Estella.

         Mabel was 16 and had never traveled alone. She wanted Estella to come with her. However, Estella had no money, also she was in love with Wallace and didn’t want to leave him. Mabel had the feeling it might be the last time she would see Estella, she wondered if Estella was thinking it might be the last time she saw Mabel. She drove away the dark thought by telling herself, that Estella will be happy with Wallace and she will be happy with Papa. The thought of seeing Papa made her giggle. The lady sitting beside her in the train looked over in surprise. Mabel pretended to not notice. She did not want to talk she wanted to dream of the happiness that lie ahead.

         Mabel looked out the train station window in Hobart. She imaged the surprised look on Papa’s face when he would see her. The excitement tingled through her, down to her littlest toe and yet a gloom hung over her head. What if she never saw Estella again or if she did not find Papa? Where would she stay? What would she eat? Mabel pondered these thoughts as she waited for the next train that would take her toward Oklahoma City from where Papa had mailed his last letter to her. She encouraged herself by repeating her favorite verse. “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.”

         As the train entered Oklahoma City, Mabel began reading the street names. She was hunting for 12^th Street. She had never seen so many streets or such large buildings. These must be real skyscrapers, she thought. To Mabel the four-story hospital in Mangum reached almost to the sky but it seemed small now. A large sign on top of a very tall building read, Colcord. It surely must be a hotel, she thought. Maybe I could get a job there. Such a fine hotel would pay good wages and I could rent a little house for Papa and me.

         In the big station, Mabel watched people scurrying this way and that. “I think half the world must be here today. I wondered where each one is going and if any one might be going to see their papa they hadn't seen in four years?”  She mumbled to herself. She wanted to ask someone where to find 12th St but each one seemed so busy. Even the ticket agents were busy selling tickets and answering questions.

         Before she had summoned courage to ask questions, she noticed an advertisement on the wall. It read Lee Huskins Hotel, Oklahoma City, 450 rooms, fire proof. Mabel caught her breath. Four hundred and fifty rooms? They must need many girls to clean all those rooms. After looking around a few minutes longer, she found a large city map on the south wall of the station and studied it. "There is the street where my papa lives!" she said to herself, her heart beat wildly. She stepped out of the station and looked around. There was the Lee Huskins Hotel towering over other building. It was just one block from the train station. She wanted to remember so she could come back and get a job.

         The street was full of cars, more cars than she had seen in her whole life. In the middle of the street going north and south were train tracts. People were getting off a little one car train while, others were scurrying on to the little train. Overhead was a long wire that connected to what looked like an electric wire. “Was electric pulling the train carrying all those people up the hill?” she wondered.

         Mabel stuck her head in the door of the little train, “Does this train go to 12^th Street,” she asked the driver.

         “Yes, Madam” he answered. Mabel jumped on and pulled her box up the steps and sat down behind the driver. ”This isn’t a train. It’s an electric trolley,” the driver told her. Most people call them streetcars. Oklahoma City has 68 miles of these tracts. We can carry people to almost any part of the city. You new in town?

         “Yes, why do you ask?”

         “New folks are arriving every day, a big hunk of ‘um looking for work in the new Model A factory or the meat packing houses. There’res been three companies open up meat packing houses here in the city. Together they represent 3.5 million dollars, and they have given our city 2,400 new jobs. Why the whole part of the city over there is called Packing Town because of those packing houses.” He threw his hand over his head and pointed southwest.

         Mabel made a mental note, Packing Town, another place to find a job. “This must be a very large city,” Mabel remarked.

         “Sure thing, it’s the fastest growun city in Oklahoma, maybe in the whole world. We’re only about 25 years old and boasting a population of 90,000 and like I said new folks are coming in everyday.”

         Mabel gasped, ninety thousand people, where would Papa be among so many?

         Mable had never ridden an electric trolley. It went so fast that her head was in a whirl trying to see the buildings as they passed.

         Before leaving the streetcar, she showed the driver her Papa’s address and asked which way to go. She was soon on the right street. Walking slowly along, she read the numbers on the few house that had numbers. She was going the right direction, soon she would find a number like the one on her papa's letter which she held tightly in her hand.

         “There it is, right in front of me!” me she gasped. Trembling with excitement, she knocked at the door. A woman opened it. "Does Simon Kelly live here?" Mabel asked.     

         "No, he doesn't," the woman answered. "He was living here, but he moved last week. He said something about getting a place so he could do his, own cooking. I only rent out sleeping rooms."

          Mable trembled. She felt dizzy. “You all right?” the woman ask.

         Yes,” she mumbled as she fought back tears.

         “You look like you just seen a ghost.”

         When Mable could finally speak, she said slowly, "Do you know where he moved? I've come a long way to see him. He-he's my-my papa."

         The woman saw Mabel needed help. “Say, Alfonzo,” she yelled, “Do you know where Mr. Kelley might be living?” Then she gave Mabel directions as to where she might find her papa.

         As Mabel walked along following the woman's directions, she quoted the Bible verse. “'I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.'” On and on she went carrying her box that contained all her belongings. She was thankful for the handle, which Wallace had made when he tied it securely with new rope. 

         Finally, she found the house. "Does Simon Kelly live here?" she asked.    

         "Who did you say?'' asked the lady at the door.

         "Simon Pleasant Andrew Kelly?

         "No, he doesn't live here. Never did. He might be the man who came asking about an apartment last week. But he never came back. There are more apartments at the end of this street. Maybe you'll find him there."

         Mabel walked on the direction the lady had pointed. She was tired and her box seemed to be growing heavier every step. She’d left Mangum early but had a wait over in Hobart and changed trains again in Chickasha. She walked passed a restaurant and the aroma of food in the air smelled delicious, but the lonely ach in her stomach was worst than hunger, besides she might need her money later. "Oh, Papa," she cried to herself, “Where are you? I've come such a long way."

         The manager of the apartment at the end of the street knew nothing about a big man named Simon Kelly.

         "God, help me," Mabel prayed as she walked slowly away. “In an hour it will be dark, and I have no money for a hotel. I don't know anyone in this big city. Please, Lord, help me find a place to get in out of the darkness?"

         The train station! I'll sit unnoticed on a bench through the night, she thought. Mable was completely lost after going to all the different apartment houses. Now where was the train station? The electric train did not run on the street she was on, so asking first this stranger and that she finally found her way back to the station. Dropping her heavy box beside her aching feet, she slumped onto a bench.

         Mabel needed courage so she untied her box and took out her Bible. Opening to Psalms. she read, “As a father pitieth his children so the Lord pitieth them that fear him….The mercy of the Lord is from everlasting upon them that fear him, and his righteousness unto children’s children.”

         The next thing Mabel knew was that she was waking up and the train station was empty and quiet. Looking around she noticed the ticket agent glancing at her and then at the clock. Finally, he called to her, "There are no more arrivals or departures tonight. The station will be closing in five minutes."     

         Mabel jumped to her feet and ran to his window, "I-I-I wasn't waiting for a train —" she hesitated.     

         "You'll have to find a room for the night, Madam," he said. "It's time to lock the station doors.

         "I have no place to go, and no money," she protested.

         "I'm sorry," he said, as if it meant nothing.

         Mabel picked up her box and walked slowly out into the night. 

Taken from "Mable" a book about my mother. Lord willing, it will be published in it in 2014. The picture was taken on Mable's sixteenth birthday.

Tires

In 1971 we were living in La Mission, Baja California. The summer before our oldest son Bob had stayed a few weeks with the Watkins family in Oregon. He had worked in the fields and earned enough money to buy new school clothes. So the following summer, we all went to Oregon to earn money. We crawled around on our knees picking strawberries about a week but earned only a few dollars. Since God was n’t blessing our efforts, we began thinking maybe God had something else in mind for us to be doing during that summer.

Then a phone call came from the church in San Diego asking James t
o come and administer a funeral service. While he was away I felt God was saying, “Go to Monark Spring Camp Meeting." I said nothing to James about it.

The night after he returned, we were discussing God’s will and he said, “I believe we should take the children to Monark, however our tires will never make the trip."

“Maybe God will send money for new tires,” one of the children suggested. “We really want to go.”

“Well let’s pray,” James answered.

Because God had told us both, and we were 1,000 miles apart, our assurance of it being God’s will was strong. We had enough money for gasoline, so we loaded the car and started. I don’t remember how far we went before the first blow out. Seems it was somewhere in Idaho, anyway we were stranded beside the road. The children jump out to freedom and started running down the moderately sloping embanking. In a few minutes one called, “Come look. Here is a tire.' James raced down, and I followed holding Leah’s hand.

Needless to say, the tire was the right size. God always send what is useful.

We went on a few hundred mile and had another blow-out. This time a man in a pick-up stopped to help us. He was from the tire shop in the nearest town and had been called to change a tractor tire.Guess what? He had the company truck. The pick-up bed was half full of tires. He gave us two; just the size we needed and helped James put one on.

On we went; I can’t remember how God supplied the other tire. What I remember is we drove into the Monark Camp ground with four new (different) tires than when we started in Oregon.

The saints were singing. It sounded like heaven to us weary travelers. I got up in the pulpit and testified how God brought us there. Maybe some of you “old timers” can remember that testimony.

During that meeting, God told us to not return to our home in Mexico. He impressed us to keep our children ages, 6 though 16 near the saints for a few years. We did and they all found wonderful spouses among the people of God.

As I reflect on the past, I wonder what great differences would be in our family today had we not followed God's directions and started out that day from Oregon without good tires on our cars?

When James returned to Mexico to bring some of our belongings he discovered that our neighborhood had turned up-side down. Two girls (that Rosi walked to school with) had been raped. Also drinking and drugs were freely accessible. It was a bad place for children. God sent us away just in time.

Fish for Supper

‘’Fish for Supper



It was June 1962; we were living in a tiny house just outside of Rosarito Beach, Baja California, Mexico. We lived so close to the Pacific that fog usually hid the sun until around 10:00 or 11:00 each morning. Today was different, I had been up for a while and the sun was bright and warm so I called to the sleeping children, “Get up and we’ll go to the beach.”

Bobby yawned and opened one eye. “We going to the beach?” he asked.

Mary stretched her long arms over her head and swung her big feet out on to the rough wood floor. “Great idea!” she said.

“Yea, let’s go,” Mary’s brother, Rudy answered. “Maybe we can catch a fish. I’d like fish for supper.”

“Okay, as soon as we eat breakfast and get our work done,” I answered.

Besides our four small children, three other teenagers were staying with us. Shirley Stice had been helping missionaries, Edith Cole and Ruby Marken on the Pai Pai Indian Reservation. They had gone out for the summer so Shirley had come to stay with us. Since school was out in California, Mary Ellen and her brother Rudy had also come to stay a month with us. This made nine in our family.

Mary had lived with us and helped care for our children when we lived in Orland, California. She felt right at home getting the children ready. She filled two baby bottles of milk, for Rosi, one for mid morning and one to carry to the beach. Then she served cereal of oats to Rosi, Tim and herself. Tim loved oats, with milk or without, but the instant he had satisfied his hunger, the bowl with the remaining oats, went on his head for a hat. Any oats left in the bowl stuck on his hair or dripped down his face onto his clothes. Mary knew Tim’s tricks, so she kept an eye on him while she fed Rosi.

Rudy and Bobby rolled up the sleeping rolls, and went outside to fill the two laundry tubs with water from the water barrel. We washed clothes every day. Washing was a back-breaking job and if we didn’t wash everyday it was almost impossible to get them all clean again. Besides that, we had only one clothesline on which to dry the wet clothes.

Shirley helped Tricia pick up toys and clothes and then she swept.

James had already gone to help Tomas Mendoza build himself a shack at the tomato ranch where Tomas worked. Tomas had committed his life to Christ at the Baptist church in town a few weeks before we moved to Rosarito. However, since meeting James the two were knit together like the Bible characters David and Jonathan. They saw each other almost every day.

When the tubs were filled, the girls went out to wash and Ruby and Bobby sat down to eat. “I don’t want oats,” Bobby whined. “We have oats every day.

“How about some fried potatoes,”

“No, we have then every day too.”

“Sorry that is all we have.”

“I’m so tired of oats, potatoes and split beans. Can’t we have something else?”

‘We‘ll have fish for supper,” Ruby said cheerfully.

“Then let’s go and catch the biggest fish in the world. Can Rudy and I go ahead?

“We better stay together. Come help the girls with the washing.”

When we finished washing, rinsing and hanging the clothes on the line, we started for the beach. Bobby and Rudy, with Tim on his shoulders lead the way. Mary carried Rosi, I held Tricia by the hand because she was afraid there were bugs or snakes in the grass. However, whenever she saw a pretty flower, she forgot about snakes and bugs and ran to pick the flower.

Blue water stretched out before us as far as we could see. I closed my eyes and listened to the sea-gulls calling, while I inhaled the fresh ocean breeze. “Oh, God,” I said in my heart, “You created this. You can do anything. Increase my faith.” I kicked off my shoes, and wiggled my toes down in the warm sand. It felt so-o-o good. The children and teenagers had already shed their shoes and were racing to the water. “Watch Tim,” I called, when I saw him toddling behind them toward the water’s edge, “The waves will knock him down.”

Mary raced for Tim. Holding Rosi in one arm, she grabbed him by the other just as a wave toppled him. He screamed. She carried him back to me. I cuddled his cold trembling body. “I no like.” he said. “It mean. It mean.” (It was several years before Tim would again wade in the ocean.)

I spread out the blanket I had brought and Mary sat Rosi on it, and ran to hunt for shells with Shirley and Tricia. Tim was soon building roads in the sand and driving shell cars over them. It was about time for Rosi’s nap so she was soon a sleep. I pulled her on her blanket under a bush to shade her from the sun.

Everyone was busy so I took the time to talk to God. “God, you know I am embarrassed to serve split beans, potatoes and oats to my guests every day. It has been a long time since we’ve had a salad, that would be such a treat. You created everything in this world, how about creating some better food for us. I don’t want these young folks to believe this is the way you always treat your workers. Aren’t we worth more than this? My children want a gallon of cold milk delivered to their home each day as it was when we lived in Orland. And I would like some fruit for them.” When I had finish complaining, I waited for an answer. God never spoke.. However, I soon felt a sting of reprove and repented of my complaints. Afterwards a warm pleasant feeling come over me and I began singing.




“Could we with ink the ocean fill?
And were the skies of parchment made;
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade

To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky.

Oh, love of God how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong
It shall forever more endure
The saints and angels song.”

I sang it over again, and again, and again. I wrote in big letters in the sand, “God is Love.” I felt God’s big arms around me. “I’m sorry God for doubting your love. I know you have a plan that I don’t see,” I said as I wrote.

I watched the children build homes, ranches and castles in the sand. “These will be destroyed by the rising tide,” I thought, “So it is with the homes, enterprises, bank accounts and any other thing we have upon this earth, it will all be destroyed before long by fire, as God told us in His Word. “The earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up.” (II Peter 3:10)

After a while, Mary, Shirley and Tricia came bringing their arm full of shells. We talked about the different animal that God had made to live inside the shells. We talked about the vastness of the ocean, about the expansion of blue sky overhead. It was all so awesome, and then Mary began singing “When I look down from lofty mountains grander, and see the brook and feel the gentle breeze. Then sing my soul, ‘How great Thou art, how great thou art.” I joined her. Then Ruby and Bobby, tired of playing in the water came too, and we all sang what we could remember.

“I wish I had a fishing pole, I could catch a fish for supper,” Rudy said.

“Me, too,” said Bob. “We all want a fish.”

“Let’s dig clams,” I suggested. We did but we had only our hands to dig with and clams are deep, so all we dug up were sand diggers.

I supposed that the children were getting hungry by now, so suggested we go home to eat. The children quickly vetoed my suggestion and continued playing for several more hours until the sun was getting close to the horizon.

“We had better start for home” I called.”You are wet and will get very cold as soon as the sun is down.” As I was gathering up the few things we had brought, a car drove up. I had often wondered what I would do in self-defense with all my little children. I would not run and leave them unprotected, but today there were plenty of us we could protect each other. Besides the car was quite a distance from us. I wasn’t wearied until I saw two men walking toward me. As they came nearer, I saw they were carrying a fish. The boys saw it too and came running to tell me.

“There is our fish,” they said.

“Sell fish to you,” the man said when he neared us. “No sell today. Day very late must sell. For you just two dollars.”

“I would love to have the fish but I don’t have two dollars to pay for it,” I answered. The man acted as if he thought I was lying to him. He became angry; said words in Spanish that I didn’t understand and started walking away. My heart beat fast. Thoughts flashed through my mind. “Lord, please don’t disappoint us, here is a good time for you to show your love that’s more than the water in this ocean. We sure want that fish.” As suddenly as he had turned away, he turned around walked back and said, “I’ll give fish for money you have in pocket.”

We were all standing together by this time and were looking wishfully at the big fish. I held out my hand and said, “The man says he’ll trade the fish for the money we have. Let’s see how much we can raise. We all dug in our pockets. All together, they had seventeen cents.

The man became angrier. This time my heart skipped a beat. I thought for sure he was going away with his fish. Then God softened his heart and he said, “I take money. You take big fish.” He placed the fish carefully in my two out stretched hands and gave a little bow as if giving me a gift. Truly, it was a gift, for seventeen cents would not have paid for it fins, if he were selling them.

We held the fish beside six-year old, Bobby. It was the length that he was tall. We took turns carrying it home..

We cut it in pieces, gave portions to our neighbors. After we had eaten all we wanted, we rubbed salt into the remaining fish to preserve it and therefore ate fish the following day.

That night many families thanked God that they had, “Fish for Supper”!

--Charlotte Huskey