Welcome

Welcome to my blog http://www.skegley.blogspot.com/ . CAVEAT LECTOR- Let the reader beware. This is a Christian Conservative blog. It is not meant to offend anyone. Please feel free to ignore this blog, but also feel free to browse and comment on my posts! You may also scroll down to respond to any post.

For Christian American readers of this blog:


I wish to incite all Christians to rise up and take back the United States of America with all of God's manifold blessings. We want the free allowance of the Bible and prayers allowed again in schools, halls of justice, and all governing bodies. We don't seek a theocracy until Jesus returns to earth because all men are weak and power corrupts the very best of them.
We want to be a kinder and gentler people without slavery or condescension to any.

The world seems to be in a time of discontent among the populace. Christians should not fear. God is Love, shown best through Jesus Christ. God is still in control. All Glory to our Creator and to our God!


A favorite quote from my good friend, Jack Plymale, which I appreciate:

"Wars are planned by old men,in council rooms apart. They plan for greater armament, they map the battle chart, but: where sightless eyes stare out, beyond life's vanished joys, I've noticed,somehow, all the dead and mamed are hardly more than boys(Grantland Rice per our mutual friend, Sarah Rapp)."

Thanks Jack!

I must admit that I do not check authenticity of my posts. If anyone can tell me of a non-biased arbitrator, I will attempt to do so more regularly. I know of no such arbitrator for the internet.











Saturday, October 24, 2009

The Vices of Portsmouth Clay- Maybe not perfect, but definitely exceptional!

Thanks good friends Carol and Clay Vice. If any doesn't know or remember these two were remarkable athletes/coaches for Portsmouth Clay High School and the area. Clay played freshman basketball at Portsmouth before moving to Portsmouth Clay. He was an exceptionally good basketball player for Don Monk. Carol was an exceptional cheerleader, teacher-coach for swimming teams of youngsters including her own. Together, they coached winning girl's softball to unmatched success in Ohio. Ninety-three percent wins over 11 years exceeds even Kentucky basketball successes.



This is a Christian witness story I may have read once before, but I thank my good friends for sharing now. We need Christians who are willing to stand up for our country God has so richly blessed.

Sam





----- Original Message -----

From: Clay Vice


Sent: Saturday, October 24, 2009 8:44 AM

Subject: Fw: Beth Moore's Hairbrush Experience at an Airport




From: June

To: Clay Vice

Sent: Saturday, October 24, 2009 7:01 AM

Hairbrush Experience at an Airport

This is worth the time it takes to read! Please take a moment.

HAIRBRUSH EXPERIENCE OF BETH MOORE



AT THE AIRPORT











For those of you who do not know Beth Moore, she is an outstanding



Bible teacher, writer of Bible studies, and is a married mother of two



daughters.


This is one of her experiences:


April 20, 2005, at the Airport in Knoxville , waiting to board the

plane, I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was


doing. I'd had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because I

want to tell you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really


working in you.


You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise.



Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons, not the


least of which is your ego.


I tried to keep

from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped

over in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that


obviously fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees


protruded from his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat

hanger was still in his shirt.. His hands looked like tangled masses of

veins and bones.











The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy, gray hair



hung well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails



were long, clean but strangely out of place on an old man.







I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my



face. As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found



myself wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I



remembered that he was dead. So this man in the airport... an



impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us somewhere? There I sat; trying



to concentrate on the Word to keep from being concerned about a thin



slice of humanity served up on a wheelchair only a few seats from me.



All the while, my heart was growing more and more overwhelmed with a



feeling for him.


Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern,



and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking



old man..




I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall.



I've learned that when I begin to feel what God20feels, something so



contrary to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen.



And it may be embarrassing.



I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my



spirit and I started arguing with God in my mind. 'Oh, no, God, please,



no.' I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it



into heaven and said, 'Don't make me witness to this man. Not right



here and now. Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same plane, but



don't make me get up here and witness to this man in front of this



gawking audience. Please, Lord!'




There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, 'Please don't



make me witness to this man. Not now. I'll do it on the plane.' Then I



heard it...'I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to brush his



hair.'











The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts



spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair? No-brainer.



I looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, 'God, as I live and



breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I'm on



this Lord. I'm your girl! ;You've never seen a woman witness to a man



faster in your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess



if he is not redeemed? I am going to witness to this man.'


Again, as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word, God seemed to
write this statement across the wall of my mind. 'That is not what I

said, Beth. I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush

his hair.'


I looked up at God and quipped, 'I don't have a hairbrush. It's in my

suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair without a

hairbrush?'


God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk toward


him as these thoughts came to me from God's word: 'I will thoroughly


furnish you unto all good works.' (2 Timothy 3:17)


I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself. Even



as I retell this story, my pulse quickens and I feel those same



butterflies. I knelt down in front of the man and asked as demurely as



possible, 'Sir, may I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?'


He looked back at me and said, 'What did you say?'


'May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?'


To which he responded in volume ten, 'Little lady, if you expect me to



hear you, you're going to have to talk louder than that.'

At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, 'SIR, MAY I HAVE



THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?' At which point every eye in the



place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room looking more



peculiar than old Mr. Long Locks. Face crimson and forehead breaking



out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on his

face, and say, 'If you really want to.'



Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God didn't seem



interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my



heart until I could utter the words, 'Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But



I have one little problem. I don't have a hairbrush.'


'I have one in my bag,' he responded.

I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and

knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly believing what I


was doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man's hair. It was

perfectly clean, but it was tangled and matted. I don't do many things


well, but must admit I've had notable experience untangling knotted


hair mothering two little girls. Like I'd done with either Amanda or


Melissa in such a condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of the


strands, remembering to take my time not to pull. A miraculous thing


happened to me as I started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody


else in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments


except that old man and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until


every tangle was out of that hair. I know this sounds so strange, but

I've never felt that kind of love for another soul in my entire life. I

believe with all my heart, I - for that few minutes - felt a portion of

the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart

for a little while

like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for a short

while.


The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be

God's. His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant's.



I slipped the brush back in the bag and went around the chair to face

him. I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knee and said,



'Sir, do you know my Jesus?'

He said, 'Yes, I do'

Well, that figures, I thought.


He explained, 'I've known Him since I married my bride. She wouldn't

marry me until I got to know the Savior.' He said, 'You see, the

problem is, I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had open-heart

surgery, and she's been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here

thinking to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride.'





Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment



when we're completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other



hand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened



in details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll



never forget it.




Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was deeply



ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so proud to have



accompanied him on that aircraft.







I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the



airline hostess ret



urned from the corridor, tears streaming down her



cheeks. She said, 'That old man's sitting on the plane, sobbing. Why



did you do that? What made you do that?'


I said, 'Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!'

And we got to share.







I learned something about God that day. He knows if you're exhausted,



you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to move



on but you feel too responsible to budge. He knows if you're hurting or



feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning under a wave of



temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you



as an individual. Tell Him your need!



I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how many



opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way... all



because I didn't want people to think I was strange.







God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.



Please share this wonderful story.







'Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the

rain!

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