Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Wearing skirts: my story.

Hello Ladies, 
Today we have a question from a reader below.

"Does anyone on here have any advise for those of us who do not have one other friend (in the community) (we have cousins and church friends 30 miles away) who dress in skirts/culottes. It is quite easy to stand on a conviction when everyone around you is doing the same thing but how do you help lead your daughters to not hate skirts and culottes because she is the ONLY one wherever we go. Is anyone out there having this problem?"

Here is my personal story of when I started wearing skirts.
I started when I was about 14. It was very rough at first. I only wore jeans they were quite baggy to be honest. My mother wanted me to read a article on wearing pants Click Here. I was about 14 at the time, right before church on a sunday night as I remember, I read it and went up and changed for church and after that I never put a pair of pants on again. I am almost 20 now.

It was very rough at first as I only had a closet full of dressy dresses for church and then pants. for a few weeks that's all I wore. Those dressy dresses everyday, but that was okay for me because I wanted to make God happy. I'd get looks of all sorts going to the store which is now where I work. Whenever I'd feel down I'd simply pray and ask God for strength. I didn't know why there would be laughing or staring and pointing but in todays views it is thought to be "weird" to wear dresses or skirts that were long.

It was fine and I thank the Lord I didn't have to go to public schools as I was homeschooled how much worse the teasing might have been. I started my first job in 2011 at a grocery store wearing a tan skirt that was ankle length. Over the years I've learned to do almost anything in a skirt without revealing myself. It's all about the fullness and length. I personally prefer long and very full. Sometimes I prefer a less full skirt depending on what I'm doing. I do not wear knee length skirts or dresses as they are a hassle and less modest to me. When you sit down with a knee length skirt or dress you will have to pull down just to make sure you don't reveal yourself or show anything. Why go to the extra hassle. God said we are to be set apart from the world. So ladies wearing knee length skirts because They cannot find long skirts or they do not want to be looked at by people weird you're doing it for the wrong reasons.

We are to be set apart

"But the LORD said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart." 1 Samuel 16:7

We are to dress to be set apart from the world because man does not see how the world see's believe me there is a big difference between a lady wearing a knee length skirt and a ankle length skirt. Off my rabbit trail though.

My first day an associate came up to me and said "um you have to go change you're not allowed to wear skirts dear" I then went to the manager and fixed the problem because I was told I was able to wear skirts. I continued wearing skirts. I got weird looks from many faces, and some folks stopped me to thank me for covering up and being modest. Some told me it was a blessing to see modesty in work uniforms. I struggled only with criticisms from people I knew. I have now been working there about 2 years and everyone knows I wear skirts. I've been asked so many times if I was apart of a religious cult or is a was apostolic or pentecostal or amish or even a mormon. That comes with having waist length hair and wearing skirts all the time.

Many people have asked me if my parents made me wear skirts or if it was my choice. At the time I did it to please God because I knew it was right. It's wasn't easy changing over like I did. I've seen many a person go and it was too much. But I'm here to tell you it's not about you or me it's about pleasing God. My parents have said it's always been my choice and my conviction. I chose to please God and now today I please God and I feel like a lady I feel more feminine and men treat you differently when wearing a skirt or dress. They have more respect young or old there is a respect there. If you are struggling with being made fun of or changing over my advice to you is one thing. they don't matter God does. Don't be a people pleaser, please God.It's YOUR conviction not anyone else's

I would like to invite you to share your stories with me, of you or a loved one. please email me at with the subject titled "skirts"

Thank you for allowing me to share my story with you.

In His Name,

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Neglecting Friends: The Greatest Friend.

Hello Ladies,

I realize it has been a very long time since I have wrote to you. For sometime now I have been busy with struggles and decided it was best to take a break from writing on this blog.

My title is "Neglecting Friends: The Greatest Friend" Life is very quickly passing by, in the blink of an eye your day is done and it's already time for bed. What I really want to talk to you about is two major parts

Neglecting friends. But who? I'm talking about our greatest friend God. Let me ask you something.
If you had a friend of whom you shared great acquaintance with, you talked on a daily bases but suddenly you were swept up by life's cares and struggles. Just as it happens with friends you talk less and less, but when you need something you go to that friend for comfort and advice, guidance and so on.
Have you ever stopped to think how you would feel if YOU were that friend, how you would feel if your friend hardly talked to you except when they needed something. You'd feel downright used and upset. No friend deserves that treatment, especially your greatest friend God.

How do you think God feels when you talk to him sometimes but more and more when you need something. Do you ever stop to say "Thank you Lord for your blessings on me" Take a moment to say thank you Lord for the blessings in my life. Though everything is not alright in life right now. It's easy to see the hopeless despair and sorrow in rough times. How about looking at the good in your life. "Count your blessings name them one by one"

Take a moment would you please. Sit there and whether your having a wonderful time in life or things are not so peachy. Please take a moment and think about all the things God has blessed you with whether it be little or big, and say "Thank you Lord"

This should go into your daily prayers, Not just when things are good, but we need to thank him when things are bad too! Yes, we need to take a moment aside in hard times and thank him for the blessings that he has given you. Don't neglect any of your friends especially God. He doesn't deserve that, no one does.

This is just a thought for the day. I notice so many people having troubles and then they become very into God when things get good for them or when they need something. Don't let God be that friend you talk to just because you need something, make him a greater friend than that.

Dig into his word daily and then add in prayer mix it up and have a conversation just as you would with a friend. You wouldn't believe the change in your life it makes. What better of a friend to tell all your sorrows hopes and dreams then to the greatest friend of all, the one who listens always.

In His Name,

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Judging Before You Read The Book. Part 1

Many people judge people so fact in a blink of an eye on just what the person in front of them, or even afar off is wearing.

It could just be the way we have always done things. But I see differently. I too was one of those people that would narrow down what type of person someone might be, by what they wore............

That was until I started working. Now some of you may find this to be not biblical, some of you might not care. And even some of you might not ever read this blog again. But there's something important I must share with you all.

I come in contact with SO many people a day when I work..its pitiful. I work at a grocery store.
I of course cannot go and when someone comes to check out, look at them in shame because they are barely wearing any clothing. No. I treat them all the same. Would you like to know why? Because they deserve it. They deserve the christian love. We are all sinners.

I was fortunate to be able to wear skirts to work. In that, I realize how quickly people in work-place and in general label you and how they treat you.

What I want to do, is explain to you. That even if you see a person for only a brief moment.
Make that moment stick to their minds.
I work at a grocery store. Bagging groceries. :-) So I come in contact with people for 1- to even 10 minutes.

you can either waste that moment. Or make it count. It could make them think about something. Even if you wear a skirt. it could make them think about people that wear skirts all the time. Which could lead to them getting saved one day. Its a moment that is up to you.

is it their fault if they dress in close to nothing at the store? Do they know better? How did Jesus treat the adulterer? I'm no better then her. That's one thing you have to face. You are not perfect, you are no better christian then someone else, saved or not.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

What is a Ruby?

What is a Ruby?

Written by: Arianna Lindgren, Age 13

What is a ruby?

A ruby is a stone.

It stands above the others,

Glimmering red all alone.

While the diamonds and the crystals,

May easily be flawed,

The tiny blood red ruby,

Reminds me most of God.

This awful sinful world,

Is what Christ came to save.

And this tiny little gemstone

Is what to us He gave.

Glimmering like the blood,

Dripping from the cross,

This tiny blood red ruby

Falls gently to the moss.

For us sinners Christ has died,

His love is open wide,

And every time I think of Christ,

A tiny blood red ruby will always come to mind.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

When Queens Ride By.

Dear Ladies I wanted to share this story with you. Happy Mothers Day.

When Queens Ride By

Agnes Slight Turnbull

Jennie Musgrave woke at the shrill rasp of the alarm clock as she always woke—with the shuddering start and a heavy realization that the brief respite of the night's oblivion was over. She had only time to glance through the dull light at the cluttered, dusty room, before John's voice was saying sleepily as he said every morning, "All right, let's go. It doesn't seem as if we'd been in bed at all!"

Jennie dressed quickly in the clothes, none too clean, that, exhausted, she had flung from her the night before. She hurried down the back stairs, her coarse shoes clattering thickly upon the bare boards. She kindled the fire in the range and then made a hasty pretense at washing in the basin in the sink.

John strode through the kitchen and on out to the barn. There were six cows to be milked and the great cans of milk to be taken to the station for the morning train.

Jennie put coffee and bacon on the stove, and then, catching up a pail from the porch, went after John. A golden red disk broke the misty blue of the morning above the cow pasture. A sweet, fragrant breath blew from the orchard. But Jennie neither saw nor felt the beauty about her.

She glanced at the sun and thought, It's going to be a hot day. She glanced at the orchard, and her brows knit. There it hung. All that fruit. Bushels of it going to waste. Maybe she could get time that day to make some more apple butter. But the tomatoes wouldn't wait. She must pick them and get them to town today, or that would be a dead loss. After all her work, well, it would only be in a piece with everything else if it did happen so. She and John had bad luck, and they might as well make up their minds to it.

She finished her part of the milking and hurried back again to the overcooked bacon and strong coffee. The children were down, clamorous, dirty, always underfoot. Jim, the eldest, was in his first term of school. She glanced at his spotted waist. He should have a clean one. But she couldn't help it. She couldn't get the washing done last week, and when she was to get a day for it this week she didn't know, with all the picking and the trips to town to make!

Breakfast was hurried and unpalatable, a sort of grudging concession to the demands of the body. Then John left in the milk wagon for the station, and Jennie packed little Jim's lunch basket with bread and apple butter and pie, left the two little children to their own devices in the backyard, and started toward the barn. There was no time to do anything in the house. The chickens and turkeys had to be attended to, and then she must get to the tomato patch before the sun got too hot. Behind her was the orchard with its rows and rows of laden apple trees. Maybe this afternoon—maybe tomorrow morning. There were the potatoes, too, to be lifted. Too hard work for a woman. But what were you going to do? Starve? John worked till dark in the fields.

She pushed her hair back with a quick, boyish sweep of her arm and went on scattering the grain to the fowls. She remembered their eager plans when they were married, when they took over the old farm—laden with its heavy mortgage—that had been John's father's. John had been so straight of back then and so jolly. Only seven years, yet now he was stooped a little, and his brows were always drawn, as though to hide a look of ashamed failure. They had planned to have a model farm someday: blooded stock, a tractor, a new barn. And then such a home they were to make of the old stone house! Jennie's hopes had flared higher even than John's. A rug for the parlor, an overstuffed set like the one in the mail-order catalogue, linoleum for the kitchen, electric lights! They were young and, oh, so strong! There was nothing they could not do if they only worked hard enough.

But that great faith had dwindled as the first year passed. John worked later and later in the evenings. Jennie took more and more of the heavy tasks upon her own shoulders. She often thought with some pride that no woman in the countryside ever helped her husband as she did. Even with the haying and riding the reaper. Hard, coarsening work, but she was glad to do it for John's sake.

The sad riddle of it all was that at the end of each year they were no further on. The only difference from the year before was another window shutter hanging from one hinge and another crippled wagon in the barnyard which John never had time to mend. They puzzled over it in a vague distress.

And meanwhile life degenerated into a straining, hopeless struggle. Sometimes lately John had seemed a little listless, as though nothing mattered. A little bitter when he spoke of Henry Davis.

Henry held the mortgage and had expected a payment on the principle this year. He had come once and looked about with something very like a sneer on his face. If he should decide someday to foreclose—that would be the final blow. They never would get up after that. If John couldn't hold the old farm, he could never try to buy a new one. It would mean being renters all their lives. Poor renters at that!

She went to the tomato field. It had been her own idea to do some tracking along with the regular farm crops. But, like everything else, it had failed of her expectations. As she put the scarlet tomatoes, just a little overripe, into the basket, she glanced with a hard tightening of her lips toward a break in the trees a half mile away where a dark, listening bit of road caught the sun. Across its polished surface twinkled an endless procession of shining, swift-moving objects: The State Highway.

Jennie hated it. In the first place, it was so tauntingly near and yet so hopelessly far from them. If it only ran by their door, as it did past Henry Davis's for instance, it would solve the whole problem of marketing the fruits and vegetables. Then they could set the baskets on the lawn, and people could stop for them. But as it was, nobody all summer long had paid the least attention to the sign John had put up at the end of the lane. And no wonder. Why should travelers drive their cars over the stony country byway, when a little farther along they would find the same fruit spread temptingly for them at the very roadside?

But there was another reason she hated that bit of sleek road showing between the trees. She hated it because it hurt her with its suggestions of all that passed her by in that endless procession twinkling in the sunshine. There they kept going, day after day, those happy, carefree women, riding in handsome limousines or in gay little roadsters. Some in plainer cars, too, but even those were, like the others, women who could have rest, pleasure, comfort for the asking. They were whirled along hour by hour to new pleasures, while she was weighted to the drudgery of the farm like one of the great rocks in the pasture field.

And—most bitter thought of all—they had pretty homes to go back to when the happy journey was over. That seemed to be the strange and cruel law about homes. The finer they were, the easier it was to leave them. Now with her—if she had the rug for the parlor and the stuffed furniture and linoleum for the kitchen, she shouldn't mind anything so much then; she had nothing, nothing but hard slaving and bad luck. And the highway taunted her with it. Flung its impossible pleasures mockingly in her face as she bent over the vines or dragged the heavy baskets along the rows.

The sun grew hotter. Jennie put more strength into her task. She knew, at last, by the scorching heat overhead that is was nearing noon. She must have a bit of lunch ready for John when he came in. There wasn't time to prepare much. Just reheat the coffee and set down some bread and pie.

She started towards the house, giving a long yodeling call for the children as she went. They appeared from the orchard, tumbled and torn from experiments with the wire fence. Her heart smothered her at the sight of them. Among the other dreams that the years had crushed out were those of little rosy boys and girls in clean suits and fresh ruffled dresses. As it was, the children had just grown like farm weeds.

This was the part of all the drudgery that hurt most. That she had not time to care for her children, sew for them, teach them things that other children knew. Sometimes it seemed as if she had no real love for them at all. She was too terribly tired as a rule to have any feeling. The only times she used energy to talk to them was when she had to reprove them for some dangerous misdeed. That was all wrong. It seemed wicked; but how could she help it? With the work draining the very life out of her, strong as she was.

John came in heavily, and they ate in silence except for the children's chatter. John hardly looked up from his plate. He gulped down great drafts of the warmed-over coffee and then pushed his chair back hurriedly.

"I'm goin' to try to finish the harrowin' in the south field," he said.

"I'm at the tomatoes," Jennie answered. "I've got them' most all picked and ready for takin'."

That was all. Work was again upon them.

It was two o'clock by the sun, and Jennie had loaded the last heavy basket of tomatoes on the milk wagon in which she must drive to town, when she heard shrill voices sounding along the path. The children were flying in excitement toward her.

"Mum! Mum! Mum!" they called as they came panting up to her with big, surprised eyes.

"Mum, there's a lady up there. At the kitchen door. All dressed up. A pretty lady. She wants to see you."

Jennie gazed down at them disbelievingly. A lady, a pretty lady at her kitchen door? All dressed up! What that could mean! Was it possible someone had at last braved the stony lane to buy fruit? Maybe bushels of it!

"Did she come in a car?" Jennie asked quickly.

"No, she just walked in. She's awful pretty. She smiled at us."

Jennie's hopes dropped. Of course. She might have known. Some agent likely, selling books. She followed the children wearily back along the path and in at the rear door of the kitchen. Across from it another door opened into the side yard. Here stood the stranger.

The two women looked at each other across the kitchen, across the table with the remains of two meals upon it, the strewn chairs, the littered stove—across the whole scene of unlovely disorder. They looked at each other in startled surprise, as inhabitants of Earth and Mars might look if they were suddenly brought face-to-face.

Jennie saw a woman in a gray tweed coat that seemed to be part of her straight, slim body. A small gray hat with a rose quill was drawn low over the brownish hair. Her blue eyes were clear and smiling. She was beautiful! And yet she was not young. She was in her forties, surely. But an aura of eager youth clung to her, a clean and exquisite freshness.

The stranger in her turn looked across at a young woman, haggard and weary. Her yellowish hair hung in straggling wisps. Her eyes looked hard and hunted. Her cheeks were thin and sallow. Her calico dress was shapeless and begrimed from her work.

So they looked at each other for one long, appraising second. Then the woman in gray smiled.

"How do you do? " she began. "We ran our car into the shade of your lane to have our lunch and rest for a while. And I walked on up to buy a few apples, if you have them."

Jennie stood staring at the stranger. There was an unconscious hostility in her eyes. This was one of the women from the highway. One of those envied ones who passed twinkling through the summer sunshine from pleasure to pleasure while Jennie slaved on.

But the pretty lady's smile was disarming. Jennie started toward a chair and pulled off the old coat and apron that lay on it.

"Won't you sit down?" she said politely. "I'll go and get the apples. I'll have to pick them off the tree. Would you prefer Rambos?"

"I don't know what they are, but they sound delicious. You must choose them for me. But mayn't I come with you? I should love to help pick them."

Jennie considered. She felt baffled by the friendliness of the other woman's face and utterly unable to meet it. But she did not know how to refuse.

"Why I s'pose so. If you can get through the dirt."

She led the way over the back porch with its crowded baskets and pails and coal buckets, along the unkept path toward the orchard. She had never been so acutely conscious of the disorder about her. Now a hot shame brought a lump to her throat. In her preoccupied haste before, she had actually not noticed that tub of overturned milk cans and rubbish heap! She saw it all now swiftly through the other woman's eyes. And then that new perspective was checked by a bitter defiance. Why should she care how things looked to this woman? She would be gone, speeding down the highway in a few minutes as though she had never been there.

She reached the orchard and began to drag a long ladder from the fence to the Rambo tree.

The other woman cried out in distress. "Oh, but you can't do that! You mustn't. It's too heavy for you, or even for both of us. Please just let me pick a few from the ground."

Jennie looked in amazement at the stranger's concern. It was so long since she had seen anything like it.

"Heavy?" she repeated. "This ladder? I wish I didn't ever lift anything heavier than this. After hoistin' bushel baskets of tomatoes onto a wagon, this feels light to me."

The stranger caught her arm. "But—but do you think it's right? Why, that's a man's work."

Jennie's eyes blazed. Something furious and long-pent broke out from within her. "Right! Who are you to be askin' me whether I'm right or not? What would have become of us if I didn't do a man's work? It takes us both, slaving away, an' then we get nowhere. A person like you don't know what work is! You don't know—"

Jennie's voice was the high shrill of hysteria; but the stranger's low tones somehow broke through. "Listen," she said soothingly. "Please listen to me. I'm sorry I annoyed you by saying that, but now, since we are talking, why can't we sit down here and rest a minute? It's so cool and lovely here under the trees, and if you were to tell me all about it—because I'm only a stranger—perhaps it would help. It does sometimes, you know. A little rest would—"

"Rest! Me sit down to rest, an' the wagon loaded to go to town? It'll hurry me now to get back before dark."

And then something strange happened. The other women put her cool, soft hand on Jennie's grimy arm. There was a compelling tenderness in her eyes. "Just take the time you would have spent picking apples. I would so much rather. And perhaps somehow I could help you. I wish I could. Won't you tell me why you have to work so hard?"

Jennie sank down on the smooth green grass. Her hunted, unwilling eyes had yielded to some power in the clear, serene eyes of the stranger. A sort of exhaustion came over her. A trembling reaction from the straining effort of weeks.

"There ain't much to tell," she said half sullenly, "only that we ain't gettin' ahead. We're clean discouraged, both off us. Henry Davis is talking about foreclosin' on us if we don't pay some principle. The time of the mortgage is out this year, an' mebbe he won't renew it. He's got plenty himself, but them's the hardest kind." She paused; then her eyes flared. "An' it ain't that I haven't done my part. Look at me. I'm barely thirty, an' I might be fifty. I'm so weather-beaten. That's the way I've worked!"

"And you think that has helped your husband?"

"Helped him?" Jennie's voice was sharp. "Why shouldn't it help him?"

The stranger was looking away through the green stretches of orchard. She laced her slim hands together about her knees. She spoke slowly. "Men are such queer things, husbands especially. Sometimes we blunder when we are trying hardest to serve them. For instance, they want us to be economical, and yet they want us in pretty clothes. They need our work, and yet they want us to keep our youth and our beauty. And sometimes they don't know themselves which they really want most. So we have to choose. That's what makes it so hard."

She paused. Jennie was watching her with dull curiosity as though she were speaking a foreign tongue. Then the stranger went on:

"I had to choose once, long ago; just after we were married, my husband decided to have his own business, so he started a very tiny one. He couldn't afford a helper, and he wanted me to stay in the office while he did the outside selling. And I refused, even though it hurt him. Oh, it was hard! But I knew how it would be if I did as he wished. We would both have come back each night. Tired out, to a dark, cheerless house and a picked-up dinner. And a year if that might have taken something away from us—something precious. I couldn't risk it, so I refused and stuck to it."

"And then how I worked in my house—a flat it was then. I had so little outside of our wedding gifts; but at least I could make it a clean, shining, happy place. I tried to give our little dinners the grace of a feast. And as the months went on, I knew I had done right. My husband would come home dead-tired and discouraged, ready to give up the whole thing. But after he had eaten and sat down in our bright little living room, and I had read to him or told him all the funny things I could invent about my day, I could see him change. By bedtime he had his courage back, and by morning he was at last ready to go out and fight again. And at last he won, and he won his success alone, as a man loves to do."

Still Jennie did not speak. She only regarded her guest with a half-resentful understanding.

The woman in gray looked off again between the trees. Her voice was very sweet. A humorous little smile played about her lips.

"There was a queen once," she went on, "who reigned in troublous days. And every time the country was on the brink of war and the people ready to fly into a panic, she would put on her showiest dress and take her court with her and go hunting. And when the people would see her riding by, apparently so gay and happy, they were sure all was well with the Government. So she tided over many a danger. And I've tried to be like her.

"Whenever a big crisis comes in my husband's business—and we've had several—or when he's discouraged, I put on my prettiest dress and get the best dinner I know how or give a party! And somehow it seems to work. That's the woman's part, you know. To play the queen—"

A faint honk-honk came from the lane. The stranger started to her feet. "That's my husband. I must go. Please don't bother about the apples. I'll just take these from under the tree. We only wanted two or three, really. And give these to the children." She slipped two coins into Jennie's hand.

Jennie had risen, too, and was trying from a confusion of startled thoughts to select one for speech. Instead she only answered the other woman's bright good-bye with a stammering repetition and a broken apology about the apples.

She watched the stranger's erect, lithe figure hurrying away across the path that led directly to the lane. Then she turned her back to the house, wondering dazedly if she had only dreamed that the other woman had been there. But no, there were emotions rising hotly within her that were new. They had had no place an hour before. They had risen at the words of the stranger and at the sight of her smooth, soft hair, the fresh color in her cheeks, the happy shine of her eyes.

A great wave of longing swept over Jennie, a desire that was lost in choking despair. It was as thought she had heard a strain of music for which she had waited all her life and then felt it swept away into silence before she had grasped its beauty. For a few brief minutes she, Jennie Musgrave, had sat beside one of the women of the highway and caught a breath of her life—that life which forever twinkled in the past in bright procession, like the happenings of a fairy tale. Then she was gone, and Jennie was left as she had been, bound to the soil like one of the rocks of the field.

The bitterness that stormed her heart now was different from the old dull disheartenment. For it was coupled with new knowledge. The words of the stranger seemed more vivid to her than when she had sat listening in the orchard. But they came back to her with the pain of agony.

"All very well for her to talk so smooth to me about man's work and woman's work! An' what she did for her husband's big success. Easy enough for her to sit talking about queens! What would she do if she was here on this farm like me? What would a woman like her do?"

Jennie had reached the kitchen door and stood there looking at the hopeless melee about her. Her words sounded strange and hollow in the silence of the house. "Easy for her!" she burst out. She never had the work pilin' up over her like I have. She never felt it at her throat like a wolf, the same as John an' me does. Talk about choosin'! I haven't got no choice. I just got to keep goin'—just keep goin', like I always have—"

She stopped suddenly. There in the middle of the kitchen floor, where the other woman had passed over, lay a tiny square of white. Jennie crossed to it quickly and picked it up. A faint delicious fragrance like the dream of a flower came from it. Jennie inhaled it eagerly. It was not like any odor she had ever known. It made her think of sweet, strange things. Things she had never thought about before. Of gardens in the early summer dusk, of wide fair rooms with the moonlight shining in them. It made her somehow think with vague wistfulness of all that.

She looked carefully at the tiny square. The handkerchief was of fine, fairylike smoothness. In the corner a dainty blue butterfly spread his wings. Jennie drew in another long breath. The fragrance filled her senses again. Her first greedy draft had not exhausted it. It would stay for a while, at least.

She laid the bit of white down cautiously on the edge of the table and went to the sink, where she washed her hands carefully. The she returned and picked up the handkerchief again with something like reverence. She sat down, still holding it, staring at it. This bit of linen was to her an articulated voice. She understood its language. It spoke to her of white, freshly washed clothes blowing in the sunshine, of an iron moving smoothly, leisurely, to the accompaniment of a song over snowy folds; it spoke to her of quiet, orderly rooms and ticking clocks and a mending basket under the evening lamp; it spoke to her of all the peaceful routine of a well managed household, the kind she had once dreamed of having.

But more than this, the exquisite daintiness of it, the sweet, alluring perfume spoke to her of something else which her heart understood, even though her speech could have found no words for it. She could feel gropingly the delicacy, the grace, the beauty that made up the other woman's life in all its relations.

She, Jennie, had none of that. Everything about their lives, hers and John's, was coarsened, soiled somehow by the dragging, endless labor or the days.

Jennie leaned forward, her arms stretched tautly before her upon her knees, her hands clasped tightly over the fragrant bit of white. Suppose she were to try doing as the stranger had said. Suppose that she spent her time on the house and let the outside work go. What then? What would John say? Would they be much farther behind than they were now? Could they be? And suppose, by some strange chance, the other woman had been right! That a man could be helped more by doing of these other things she had neglected?

She sat very still, distressed, uncertain. Out in the barnyard waited the wagon of tomatoes, overripe now for market. No, she could do nothing today, at least, but go on as usual.

Then her hands opened a little; the perfume within them came up to her, bringing again that thrill of sweet, indescribable things.

She started up, half-terrified at her own resolve. "I'm goin' to try it now. Mebbe I'm crazy, but I'm goin' to do it anyhow!"

It was a long time since Jennie had performed such a meticulous toilet. It was years since she had brushed her hair. A hasty combing had been its best treatment. She put on her one clean dress, the dark voile reserved for trips to town. She even changed from her shapeless, heavy shoes to her best ones. Then, as she looked at herself in the dusty mirror, she saw that she was changed. Something, at least, of the hard haggardness was gone from her face, and her hair framed it with smooth softness. Tomorrow she would wash it. It used to be almost yellow.

She went to the kitchen. With something of the burning zeal of a fanatic, she attacked the confusion before her. By half past four the room was clean: the floor swept, the stove shining, dishes and pans washed and put in their places. From the tumbled depths of a drawer Jennie had extracted a white tablecloth that had been bought in the early days, for company only. With a spirit of daring recklessness she spread it on the table. She polished the chimney of the big oil lamp and then set the fixture, clean and shining, in the center of the white cloth.

Now the supper! And she must hurry. She planned to have it at six o' clock and ring the big bell for John fifteen minutes before, as she used to just after they were married.

She decided upon fried ham and browned potatoes and applesauce with hot biscuits. She hadn't made them for so long, but her fingers fell into their old deftness. Why, cooking was just play if you had time to do it right! Then she thought of the tomatoes and gave a little shudder. She thought of the long hours of backbreaking work she had put into them and called herself a little fool to have been swayed by the words of a stranger and the scent of a handkerchief, to neglect her rightful work and bring more loss upon John and herself. But she went on, making the biscuits, turning the ham, setting the table.

It was half past five; the first pan of flaky brown mounds had been withdrawn from the oven, the children's faces and hands had been washed and their excited questions satisfied, when the sound of a car came from the bend. Jennie knew that car. It belonged to Henry Davis. He could be coming for only one thing.

The blow they had dreaded, fending off by blind disbelief in the ultimate disaster, was about to fall. Henry was coming to tell them he was going to foreclose. It would almost kill John. This was his father's old farm. John had taken it over, mortgage and all, so hopefully, so sure he could succeed where his father had failed. If he had to leave now there would be a double disgrace to bear. And where could they go? Farms weren't so plentiful.

Henry had driven up to the side gate. He fumbled with some papers in his inner pocket as he started up the walk. A wild terror filled Jennie's heart. She wanted desperately to avoid meeting Henry Davis's keen, hard face, to flee somewhere, anywhere before she heard the words hat doomed them.

Then as she stood shaken, wondering how she could live through what the next hours would bring, she saw in a flash the beautiful stranger as she had sat in the orchard, looking off between the trees and smiling to herself. "There was once a queen."

Jennie heard the words again distinctly just as Henry Davis' steps sounded sharply nearer on the walk outside. There was only a confused picture of a queen wearing the stranger's lovely, highbred face, riding gaily to the hunt through forests and towns while her kingdom was tottering. Riding gallantly on, in spite of her fears.

Jennie's heart was pounding and her hands were suddenly cold. But something unreal and yet irresistible was sweeping her with it. "There was once a queen."

She opened the screen door before Henry Davis had time to knock. She extended her hand cordially. She was smiling. "Well, how d' you do, Mr. Davis. Come right in. I'm real glad to see you. Been quite a while since you was over."

Henry looked surprised and very much embarrassed. "Why, no, now, I won't go in. I just stopped to see John on a little matter of business. I'll just—"

"You'll just come right in. John will be in from milkin' in a few minutes an' you can talk while you eat, both of you. I've supper just ready. Now step right in, Mr. Davis!"

As Jennie moved aside, a warm, fragrant breath of fried ham and biscuits seemed to waft itself to Henry Davis's nostrils. There was a visible softening of his features. "Why, no, I didn't reckon on anything like this. I 'lowed I'd just speak to John and then be gettin' on."

"They'll see you at home when you get there," Jennie put in quickly. "You never tasted my hot biscuits with butter an' quince honey, or you wouldn't take so much coachin'!"

Henry Davis came in and sat in the big, clean, warm kitchen. His eyes took in every detail of the orderly room: the clean cloth, the shining lamp, the neat sink, the glowing stove. Jennie saw him relax comfortably in his chair. Then above the aromas of the food about her, she detected the strange sweetness of the bit of white linen she had tucked away in the bosom of her dress. It rose to her as a haunting sense of her power as a woman.

She smiled at Henry Davis. Smiled as she would never have thought of doing a day ago. Then she would have spoken to him with a drawn face full of subservient fear. Now, though the fear clutched her heart, her lips smiled sweetly, moved by that unreality that seemed to possess her. "There was once a queen."

"An' how are things goin' with you, Mr. Davis?" she asked with a blithe upward reflection.

Henry Davis was very human. He had never noticed before that Jennie's hair was so thick and pretty and that she had such pleasant ways. Neither had he dreamed that she was such a good cook as the sight and smell of the supper things would indicate. He was very comfortable there in the big sweet-smelling kitchen.

He smiled back. It was an interesting experiment on Henry's part, for his smiles were rare. "Oh, so-so. How are they with you?"

Jennie had been taught to speak the truth; but at this moment there dawned in her mind a vague understanding that the high loyalties of life are, after all, relative and not absolute.

She smiled again as she skillfully flipped a great slice of golden brown ham over in the frying pan. "Why, just fine, Mr. Davis. We're gettin' on just fine, John an' me. It's been hard sleddin' but I sort of think the worst is over. I think we're goin' to come out way ahead now. We'll just be proud to pay off that mortgage so fast, come another year, that you'll be surprised!"

It was said. Jennie marveled that the words had not choked her, had not somehow smitten her dead as she spoke them. But their effect on Henry Davis was amazingly good.

"That so?" he asked in surprise. "Well now, that's fine. I always wanted to see John make a success of the old place, but somehow—well, you know it didn't look as if—that is, there's been some talk around that maybe John wasn't just gettin' along any too—you know. A man has to sort of watch his investments. Well, now, I'm glad things are pickin' up a little."

Jennie felt as though a tight hand at her throat had relaxed. She spoke brightly of the fall weather and the crops as she finished setting the dishes on the table and rang the big bell for John. There was delicate work yet to be done when he came in.

Little Jim had to be sent to hasten him before he finally appeared. He was a big man, John Musgrave, big and slow moving and serious. He had known nothing all his life but hard physical toil. Heaviness had pitted his great body against all the adverse forces of nature. There was a time when he had felt that strength such as his was all any man needed to bring him fortune. Now he was not so sure. The brightness of that faith was dimmed by experience.

John came to the kitchen door with his eyebrows drawn. Little Jim had told Jim that Henry Davis was there. He came into the room as an accused man faces the jury of his peers, faces the men who, though the same flesh and blood as he, are yet somehow curiously in a position to save or to destroy him.

John came in, and then he stopped, staring blankly at the scene before him. At Jennie moving about the bright table, chatting happily with Henry Davis! At Henry himself, his sharp features softened by an air of great satisfaction. At the sixth plate on the white cloth. Henry staying for supper!

But the silent deeps of John's nature served him well. He made no comment. Merely shook hands with Henry Davis and then washed his face at the sink.

Jennie arranged the savory dishes, and they sat down to supper. It was an entirely new experience to John to sit at the head of his own table and serve a generously heaped plate to Henry Davis. It sent through him a sharp thrill of sufficiency, of equality. He realized that before he had been cringing in his soul at the very sight of this man.

Henry consumed eight biscuits richly covered with quince honey, along with the heavier part of his dinner. Jennie counted them. She recalled hearing that the Davises did not set a very bountiful table; it was common talk that Mrs. Davis was even more "miserly" than her husband. But, however that was, Henry now seemed to grow more and more genial and expansive as he ate. So did John. By the time the pie was set before them, they were laughing over a joke Henry had heard at Grange meeting.

Jennie was bright, watchful, careful. If the talk lagged, she made a quick remark. She moved softly between table and stove, refilling the dishes. She saw to it that a hot biscuit was at Henry Davis's elbow just when he was ready for it. All the while there was rising within her a strong zest for life that she would have deemed impossible only that morning. This meal, at least, was a perfect success, and achievements of any sort whatever had been few.

Henry Davis left soon after supper. He brought the conversation around awkwardly to his errand as they rose from the table. Jennie was ready.

"I told him, John, that the worst was over now, an' we're getting' on fine!" She laughed. "I told him we'd be swampin' him pretty soon with our payments. Ain't that right John?"

John's mind was not analytical. At that moment he was comfortable. He has been host at a delicious supper with his ancient adversary, whose sharp face marvelously softened. Jennie's eyes were shining with a new and amazing confidence. It was a natural moment for unreasoning optimism.

"Why that's right, Mr. Davis. I believe we can start clearin' this off now pretty soon. If you could just see your way clear to renew the note mebbe. . . ."

It was done. The papers were back in Davis's pocket. They had bid him a cordial good-bye from the door.

"Next time you come, I will have biscuits for you, Mr. Davis," Jennie had called daringly after him.

"Now you don't forget that Mrs. Musgrave! They certainly ain't hard to eat."

He was gone. Jennie cleared the table and set the shining lamp in the center of the oilcloth covering. She began to wash the dishes. John was fumbling through the papers on a hanging shelf. He finally sat down with and old tablet and pencil. He spoke meditatively. "I believe I'll do a little figurin' since I've got time tonight. It just struck me that mebbe if I used my head a little more I'd get on faster."

"Well now, you might," said Jennie. It would not be John's way to comment just yet on their sudden deliverance. She polished two big Rambo apples and placed them on a saucer beside him.

He looked pleased. "Now that's what I like." He grinned. Then making a clumsy clutch at her arm, he added, "Say, you look sort of pretty tonight."

Jennie made a brisk coquettish business of freeing herself. "Go along with you!" she returned, smiling and started in again upon the dishes. But a hot wave of color had swept up in her shallow cheeks.

John had looked more grateful over her setting those two apples beside him now, than he had the day last fall when she lifted all the potatoes herself! Men were strange, as the woman in gray had said. Maybe even John had been needing something else more than he needed the hard, backbreaking work she had been doing.

She tidied up the kitchen and put the children to bed. It seemed strange to be through now, ready to sit down. All summer they had worked outdoors till bedtime. Last night she had been slaving over apple butter until she stopped, exhausted, and John had been working in the barn with the lantern. Tonight seemed so peaceful, so quiet. John still sat at the table, figuring while he munched his apples. His brows were not drawn now. There was a new, purposeful light upon his face.

Jennie walked to the doorway and stood looking off through the darkness and through the break in the trees at the end of the lane. Bright and golden lights kept glittering across it, breaking dimly through the woods, flashing out strongly for a moment, then disappearing behind the hill. Those were the lights of the happy cars that never stopped in their swift search for far and magic places. Those were the lights of the highway which she had hated. But she did not hate it now. For today it had come to her at last and left with her some of its mysterious pleasure.

Jennie wished, as she stood there, that she could somehow tell the beautiful stranger in the gray coat that her words had been true, that she, Jennie, insofar as she was able, was to be like her and fulfill her woman's part.

For while she was not figuring as John was doing, yet her mind had been planning, sketching in details, strengthening itself against the chains of old habits, resolving on new ones; seeing with sudden clearness where they had been blundered, where they had made mistakes that farsighted, orderly management could have avoided. But how could John have sat down to figure in comfort before, in the kind of kitchen she had been keeping?

Jennie bit her lip. Even if some of the tomatoes spoiled, if all of them spoiled, there would be a snowy washing on her line tomorrow; there would be ironing the next day in her clean kitchen. She could sing as she worked. She used to when she was a girl. Even if the apples rotted on the trees, there were certain things she knew now that she must do, regardless of what John might say. It would pay better in the end, for she had read the real needs of his soul from his eyes that evening. Yes, wives had to choose for their husbands sometimes.

A thin haunting breath of sweetness rose from the bosom of her dress where the scrap of white linen lay. Jennie smiled into the dark. And tomorrow she would take time to wash her hair. It used to be yellow—and she wished she could see the stranger once more, just long enough to tell her she understood.

As a matter of fact, at that very moment, many miles along the sleek highway, a woman in a gray coat, with a soft gray hat and a rose quill, leaned suddenly close to her husband as he shot the high-powered car through the night. Suddenly he glanced down at her and slackened the speed.

"Tired?" he asked. "You haven't spoken for miles. Shall we stop at this next town?"

The woman shook her head. "I'm all right, and I love to drive at night. It's only—you know—that poor woman at the farm. I can't get over her wretched face and house and everything. It—it was hopeless!"

The man smiled down at her tenderly. "Well, I'm sorry, too, if it was all as bad as your description; but you mustn't worry. Good gracious, darling, you're not weeping over it, I hope!"

"No, truly, just a few little tears. I know it's silly, but I did so want to help her, and I know now that what I said must have sounded perfectly insane. She wouldn't know what I was talking about. She just looked up with that blank, tired face. And it all seemed so impossible. No, I'm not going to cry. Of course I'm not—but—lend me your handkerchief, will you dear? I've lost mine somehow!"

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Are we supposed to be "Normal"?

As I walk through the store, I can see some people stare. Some people open the door for me.
But in all my life, I have never "hated" that girls stared at me. Nor did I "like it" obviously who like being stared at? no one. Maybe attention wanters
But My point is, that when we worry or care about if girls stare at us. We then care what the world thinks more then what God thinks. If we keep our minds on the Lord then we will be fine. I'd rather leave my life and worries in the Lords hands then have to carry the burden of worrying about if girls stare at me.

I'm doing what the Lord wants. I want to give all that I am to God. I don't want to waste time trying to be normal. to me I am normal, some other girls its different, I'm weird.
But in taking the time to even go and say I hate when girls stare at me, I'm then worrying about what those girls think, when that's not what is important. what God thinks is important.

So ladies as you move on into summer. Don't worry about what pleases other girls or even boys. if its over 100 degrees and your wearing a light long flow-y skirt. Some girls are going to stare at you for being totally covered. Stay true to your convictions.

Don't trade in peace for worries. We are supposed to be separated from the world, and be a witness to the lost.

Don't try to be what everyone else wants you to be. Be what God wants you to be.
If you do not have modest summer clothes. Please contact us on our page and we will be more then happy to find a resource for you. :-)

Your Sister In Christ.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

I Asked For Strength.

I asked for strength...

I asked for strength and

God gave me difficulties to make me strong.

I asked for wisdom and

God gave me problems to solve.

I asked for prosperity and

God gave me brawn and brains to work.

I asked for courage and

God gave me dangers to overcome.

I asked for patience and

God placed me in situations where I was forced to wait.

I asked for love and

God gave me troubled people to help.

I asked for favors and

God gave me opportunities.

I received nothing I wanted

I received everything I needed.

My prayers have all been answered."

Author Unknown
VIA Plain Pams Blog.

Why Every Lady Should Have a Denim Skirt.

Denim skirts are not like material skirts, they can be worn any season.

Whether its a hot and humid day, or a below zero degrees outside. Thin or thicker layers no matter the season.

Denim skirts can be elegant or casual or even dressy. Depending on the style and color.

Every lady should have a denim skirt as it is feminine and also a skirt, which is the essential garment to have.

Whether you are a young delicate flower or a full bloomed wise woman, you are never too young or too old to wear a denim skirt.

Denim skirts are a ladies best friend, from birth and on. Through the years fading with vivid memories with family and friends.

There are so many things you can do in denim skirts from housework to gardening. Going to a friends house, playing in a yard. Getting the kids from school or even playing baseball with the kids.

Since the 1970's ladies of all ages have been wearing denim skirts.

Designed for years of comfort and beauty.

Whether your playing in a patch of flowers or sitting in a rocking chair. A denim skirt is something you should have. Not just one but many of.

Thursday, March 3, 2011








Greetings everyone! Congratulations, you’ve been selected to receive my monthly newsletter, CHOSEN. You’ve been selected not by random chance, but because somewhere in life, our paths have crossed. The purpose of this letter is to update you on our ministry and present circumstances in addition to giving you some Topics For Discussion and Points To Ponder. As many of you know, Stacey and I have been through a lot over the past year. For those of you who are not up to date, let me fill you in.

Our trials began shortly after our marriage. Our life in Christ was not well received by two members of Stacey’s family. Shortly after our marriage the attacks became severe, from harassing phone calls to death threats. Stacey and I chose to remove ourselves from the volatile relationship, six months later we found ourselves in court being persecuted under the law. These two members wanted unsupervised access to our children, Raven (6) and Malachi (1.5). Under the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) all children have a right to an identity which means any blood relative. In Canada anyone can petition for access to your children, whether they’re a blood relative or complete stranger. In addition, under the UNCRC a judge can make it illegal for you to pray in your children’s presence, home school, or take your children to church. All that is required to begin the process is for the child to have one “advocate” acting on their behalf. In May of 2010 the Aboriginal Social Services received a report alleging 15 allegations against myself in regards to my wife and children. The allegations were so erroneous it was obvious to the social workers that the call was malicious. We were interrogated separately for two hours, the third hour we spent sharing our testimony!

In July of 2010 through a series of events, God moved us to sunny Keremeos! These were trying times as we felt led of God to defy the court orders for access. With the possibility of serving time in prison, our only assurance was God’s care. Two years into this ordeal we’ve not yet had to serve any time and continue to defy the court orders.

Trial was set for November 9, 2010. Stacey and I went before the judge with absolutely nothing prepared. Their lawyer taunted us with every opportunity he could muster. We could not afford a lawyer and so we stood with our only hope in God. It turned out that the trial would have to be postponed; one of the applicants needed a life threatening emergency surgery the following week. As of February 2011 no date for trial has yet been set.

We continue to follow God’s leading in regards to this matter and life in general. We are excited to announce the arrival of our next little one sometime in August. Stacey has been supporting us by working at the First Nations Band School as an executive assistant. I am currently memorizing scripture and working towards my Bachelor’s in Biblical Studies in addition to home schooling our children. We are thankful for our trials, bearing in mind James 1:3 “knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience”.

Due to this ordeal we left everything behind. We currently live in an RV on the First Nation Reservation. Life has been anything but easy, but we move forward expectantly as we journey in God’s university of life. We are thankful for the many things he has taught us and would endure this hardship again to learn the vital things we have gleaned thus far.


Support For The King James Version

Thou hast magnified thy word above all thy name -Psalm 138:2, KJV

The battle for the Word of God is going on today as it always has. The work of the Evil One himself has always been to cause men to doubt the Word (Gen. 3:1), to corrupt the Word (2 Cor. 2:17), and to misquote the Word (Luke 4:10-14). There are many Modern Versions on the scene today all claiming to be more accurate or more readable renderings of the Word of God. Most of these versions follow the MINORITY Greek Text even though the text exhibits corruption throughout. The King James Version was translated from the MAJORITY Greek Text which agrees with about 95% of all manuscripts.

All new bible versions compare themselves with the Authorized King James Version of 1611. Why is it that they don’t compare themselves with other newer versions? I believe that Matthew 12:26 explains the reason.

The KJV translators believed they were handling the very words of God (I Ths. 2:13). Just read the King James Dedicatory and compare it to the prefaces in the modern versions. Immediately, you will see a world of difference in the approach and attitude of the translators. Which group would YOU pick for translating a book?

The KJV exalts the Lord Jesus Christ. The true scriptures should testify of Jesus Christ (John 5:39). There is no book on this planet which exalts Christ higher than the King James Bible. In numerous places the new perversions attack the Deity of Christ, the Blood Atonement, the Resurrection, salvation by grace through faith, and the Second Coming. The true scriptures will TESTIFY of Jesus Christ, not ATTACK Him!

The KJV translators were honest in their work. When the translators had to add certain words, largely due to idiom changes, they placed the added words in italics so we'd know the difference. This is not the case with the new translations.

The KJV has no copyright. The text of the KJV may be reproduced by anyone, for there is no copyright forbidding it's duplication. This is not true with the modern perversions.

The major complication caused by copyright is not that it makes a work profitable but that it is a) owned by man and b) that international copyright law states that each new work must maintain a 10% variance from any work created prior. How many English versions are available today? In essence the newer the work, the farther from truth.

There is one true God, yet many false gods. There is one true Church, consisting of true born-again believers in Christ, yet there are many false churches. So why do you think it's so wrong to teach that there is one true Bible, yet many false "bibles"?

King James went through great efforts to guard the 1611 translation from errors. Please note the following:

1. In 1604, King James announced that fifty-four Hebrew and Greek scholars had been appointed to translate a new Bible for English speaking people. The number was reduced to forty-seven by the time the work formally began in 1607.

2. Rather than working together all at one location, these men were divided into six separate groups, which worked at three separate locations. There were two at Westminster, two at Oxford, and two at Cambridge.

3. Each group was given a selected portion of Scripture to translate.

4. Each scholar made his own translation of a book, and then passed it on to be reviewed by each member of his group.

5. The whole group then went over the book together.

6. Once a group had completed a book of the Bible, they sent it to be reviewed by the other five groups.

7. All objectionable and questionable translating was marked and noted, and then it was returned to the original group for consideration.

8. A special committee was formed by selecting one leader from each group. This committee worked out all of the remaining differences and presented a finished copy for the printers in 1611.

9. This means that the King James Bible had to pass at least FOURTEEN examinations before going to press.

10. Throughout this entire process, any learned individuals of the land could be called upon for their judgment, and the churches were kept informed of the progress.


Number One:

The preface of the KJV vs. any other version shows the intent of its creation. If you have time, read the differences between the KJV and say the NIV and I think you'll understand my point.

Number Two:

There is no copy right on the KJV. Many will argue that copyright was not around in 1611. That’s fine, however it does pose a problem with current copyright law. All new copyright material must maintain a minimum 10% variance from any other work created prior. That being said, any new versions of the bible must be 10% different from any before it. In essence the newer the version, the farther from truth. What is the intent of copyright? To protect one's work for profit (I Timothy 6:10). If we need to ask the owners of the copyright for permission to utilize it, we should be asking ourselves if it really is God’s word.

Number Three:

This is my favourite reason for why I use the KJV. Any words added due to idiom changes are placed in italics, so you know what’s been added. Some argue that it then, is not the word of God because there have been additions. However, scripture reinforces itself! Many verses in the Old Testament that contain italics are quoted in the New Testament without italics and visa versa.

Number Four:

The KJV has no missing scripture. It was created by what’s called the Textus Receptus (majority text) whereas the other versions were created by the Alexandrian Text (minority text). If you have a NIV look up these verses and you'll see what I mean.

Matthew 17:21, Matthew 18:11, Matthew 23:14, Mark 7:16, Mark 9:44,46, Mark 11:26, Mark 15:28, Luke17:36, Luke 23:17, John 5:4, Acts 8:37, Acts 15:34, Acts 24:7 and Acts 28:29.

These are only from the first five books of the NT where the verse has been removed completely. Many argue that it’s all about the "context" of the scripture, regardless of what version one uses. However, where is the context in the verses that are completely absent? When Zondervan was questioned about the missing verses they stated that they used all available manuscripts. (FAQ @ Seeing how the original manuscripts (majority text) have long since been lost they utilized what was available to them. Are they more capable to interpret scripture now than in 1604 with less than a quarter of the original material? I think NOT!

Another matter for discussion is that of changed verses. One example of a changed verses is the following where Lucifer AND Jesus are ONE in the NIV!

NIV: Isaiah 14:12--“How you have fallen from heaven, morning star (KJV reads “Lucifer”), son of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations!” (emphasis mine)

NIV: Revelation 22:16--"I, Jesus, have sent my angel to give you this testimony for the churches. I am the Root and the Offspring of David, and the bright Morning Star."

NIV: 2 Peter 1:19--“And we have the word of the prophets made more certain, and you will do well to pay attention to it, as to a light shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.

NIV: Revelation 2:28-- “I will also give him the morning star.”

Number Five:

The godless lives of Westcott and Hort known to be the creators of the “source text” for all modern versions.

1. Together, the Life and Letters of Brooke Foss Westcott and the Life and Letters of Fenton John Anthony Hort run over 1,800 pages. A personal salvation testimony is not given once for either man, and the name "Jesus" is found only nine times!

2. Westcott was a firm believer in Mary worship, and Hort claimed that Mary worship had a lot in common with Jesus worship.

3. Hort believed in keeping Roman Catholic sacraments.

4. Hort believed in baptismal regeneration as taught in the Catholic church.

5. Hort rejected the infallibility of Scripture.

6. Hort took great interest in the works of Charles Darwin, while both he and Westcott rejected the literal account of Creation.

7. Westcott did not believe in the Second Coming of Christ, the Millennium, or a literal Heaven.

8. Both men rejected the doctrine of a literal Hell, and they supported prayers for the dead in purgatory.

9. Hort refused to believe in the Trinity.

10. Hort refused to believe in angels.

11. Westcott confessed that he was a communist by nature.

12. Hort confessed that he hated democracy in all it's forms.

13. Westcott also did his share of beer drinking. In fact, only twelve years after the Revised Version was published, Westcott was a spokesman for a brewery.

14. While working on their Greek text (1851-1871), and while working on the Revision Committee for the Revised Version (1871-1881), Westcott and Hort were also keeping company with "seducing spirits and doctrines of devils" (I Tim. 4:1). Both men took great interest in occult practices and clubs. They started the Hermes Club in 1845, the Ghostly Guild in 1851, and Hort joined a secret club called The Apostles in the same year. They also started the Eranus Club in 1872. These were spiritualists groups which believed in such unscriptural practices as communicating with the dead.

15. The Westcott and Hort Greek text was SECRETLY given to the Revision Committee.

16. The members of the Revision Committee of 1881 were sworn to a pledge of secrecy in regard to the new Greek text being used, and they met in silence for ten years.

17. The corrupt Greek text of Westcott and Hort was not released to the public until just five days before the debut of the Revised Version. This prevented Bible-believing scholars like Dean Burgon from reviewing it and exposing it for the piece of trash that it was.

QUESTION: Does this sound like an HONEST work of God or a DISHONEST work of the Devil?

At this point I don’t question that most of you will be questioning the validity of these points. Most of you will come to a conclusion that most individuals and churches as a whole, utilize other versions and that certainly the majority cannot be wrong… or can they?

Bare in mind that the majority CAN be wrong…

 It was the majority that believed the planets rotated around the earth.

 It was the majority that believed in the extermination of the Jews.

 It was the majority that believed slavery was biblically justified.

 It is the majority that believes in evolution!

Note the strange behaviour of multitudes who, having abandoned the King James Version of the Scriptures, react in various ways:

 Many refuse to discuss the reason for receiving a modern version.

 Many more have an angry reaction when questioned.

 Many in high positions give evasive answers.

 Many say the most ridiculous things, without proof of any kind.

 Almost all avoid an open public debate on this vital subject.

For the reasons noted above, I believe that the KJV is God's inspired, preserved Word.

I admonish you to research your version of preference, knowing why you hold it to be the Word of God.


My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge: because thou hast rejected knowledge, I will also reject thee, that thou shalt be no priest to me: seeing thou hast forgotten the law of thy God, I will also forget thy children. Hosea 4:6

God Bless and Take Care,