Copyright © 2009 by "Joyce Wyatt" • All Rights reserved
www.BestKnow.info is pleased to present a few articles from
Renown Chrstian Author
Joyce Wyatt.
Her writings are full of inspiration and help. They are printed by permission, and all rights to these articles are reserved. They are provided to you for your inspiration, edification and entertainmesnt.
God bless you!
Renown Chrstian Author
Joyce Wyatt.
Her writings are full of inspiration and help. They are printed by permission, and all rights to these articles are reserved. They are provided to you for your inspiration, edification and entertainmesnt.
God bless you!
Words of Grace
from
Joyce Wyatt
from
Joyce Wyatt
“Mama says when it rains God is crying for lost souls,” Dorothy, freckle-faced and smiling, blurted out. “God sees us when we cry too,” she continued. “He keeps all our tears in a big bottle!”
Dorothy came into our lives “out of the blue.” I never knew where she came from. In her early teens, she and her mother, barely getting by financially, moved to our small town nestled between the West Virginia mountains. She had no father -- no one seemed to know why. Her clothes were plain, hardly what one would call fashionable, shoes very worn; but there was something strangely different about Dorothy, for in spite of her pitiful circumstances, she knew the secret to happiness. At any given time she could smile. She spoke in positive tones. It was evident that she had a strong faith in God and a genuine love for life itself.
“Jesus loves the whole world,” she would tell us. “People will let you down, but Jesus will lift you up.”
In that moment I wished in my heart the young boy could know Dorothy. She would have understood. I was sure of it.
The letter came to a close. “No matter what Mom, I’ll still love you. Nobody can take that away from me. Your son.”
In the following days, I struggled with the letter. Somehow, I reasoned, there must be an answer for kids whose lives are sealed with tears. I vowed to give it to God.
A few weeks went by. One day the sound of faint footsteps again fell on my ears. Quickly I turned to see who was entering. It was the one whose deep, inward hurt had been portrayed on the outside of an envelope. “How are you doing?” I had to ask.
Smiling warmly, he answered, “I’m fine. I like it here.”
My heart sang with joy. And for a brief moment it seemed I could see reflected in the young boy’s eyes Dorothy, freckled-faced and smiling. Of course, there were no tears! They were sealed up in God’s big bottle.
Sealed With A Tear
Written by Joyce Noel Wyatt
At work one day at a children’s home, the sound of faint footsteps fell upon my ears and I turned to see who had entered my office. Already gone from sight, someone had quickly laid a stack of letters on my desk. One in particular caught my eye, for on the back of the unsealed envelope, scrawled in a 12-year-old boy’s handwriting were the words “Sealed with a tear.” Just beneath was the author’s attempt to portray teardrops.
What has caused him to hurt so deeply? I wondered. Convinced that the contents of the letter would reveal the answer, I hurriedly opened it and began to read:
“Dear Mom, why didn’t you come to see me? Mom, why do you love him more than me?”
Long before I ever reached the end of the letter, my heart began to ache. I could feel the pain of this young boy, suffering so badly from rejection. Having worked at a children’s home for many years, I had discovered there’s no immunity to the pain of hurting children. Every word seemed to be punctuated with a tear and the envelope sealed likewise. “Oh God,” I prayed silently, “somehow ease the hurt. Help this young boy to find comfort here.”
If only he could have known Dorothy . . . my thoughts trailed off to a school bus stop, children standing in a huddle. Far above our heads the dark clouds gave a promise of soon-coming rain. Suddenly it began pouring down, drenching the trees arrayed in their autumn colors.
Written by Joyce Noel Wyatt
At work one day at a children’s home, the sound of faint footsteps fell upon my ears and I turned to see who had entered my office. Already gone from sight, someone had quickly laid a stack of letters on my desk. One in particular caught my eye, for on the back of the unsealed envelope, scrawled in a 12-year-old boy’s handwriting were the words “Sealed with a tear.” Just beneath was the author’s attempt to portray teardrops.
What has caused him to hurt so deeply? I wondered. Convinced that the contents of the letter would reveal the answer, I hurriedly opened it and began to read:
“Dear Mom, why didn’t you come to see me? Mom, why do you love him more than me?”
Long before I ever reached the end of the letter, my heart began to ache. I could feel the pain of this young boy, suffering so badly from rejection. Having worked at a children’s home for many years, I had discovered there’s no immunity to the pain of hurting children. Every word seemed to be punctuated with a tear and the envelope sealed likewise. “Oh God,” I prayed silently, “somehow ease the hurt. Help this young boy to find comfort here.”
If only he could have known Dorothy . . . my thoughts trailed off to a school bus stop, children standing in a huddle. Far above our heads the dark clouds gave a promise of soon-coming rain. Suddenly it began pouring down, drenching the trees arrayed in their autumn colors.
