The ‘True Christian’ Contrast
Most thankfully, there are today - and have been in past eras – so
very many who are, more than grateful, for whatever role they were
‘born in to’ in life. Yes and such folk have been amongst the very
salt of this earth. One of the latter was the writer of over two
‘thousand!’ glorious hymns; several appearing in most hymn books. I
refer to Fanny Crosby (also known as Frances Van Alstyne). When she
was a very young child, and suffering from severely smarting eyes, a
rogue of a travelling ‘healer, suggested that her mum put poultices on
both the little child’s eyes. Consequently, Fanny was blinded for
life! The rogue of an itinerant ‘healer’ fled for his life and his
child victim could have gone in to a future existence comparable to
‘hell on earth!’
But what happened to little Fanny when around six years of age? She
began to ‘make up’ and recite poetry. Around such an age she read out
the following:
O what a happy child I am although I cannot
see.
I am convinced while in this world that happy I shall be!
On reaching maturity she asked The Lord Jesus to come in to her
heart! He did, and she never looked back. Then, amongst the hymns she
began writing were such popular ones as: ‘Blessed assurance Jesus is
mine!’ Yes, and also: ‘All the way my Saviour leads me; what have I to
ask besides!’ Indeed, she wrote literally hundreds of them! And when
reaching old age and told that there might be a future cure for her
blindness she shrugged off the offer. Her reason, she said, was that
when she regained her sight, the first person she wanted to see was
‘Jesus Himself!’
“What a wonderful, wonderful person!” Indeed, I would be absolutely
unworthy to walk in her footsteps. But, at least, I can be so
eternally grateful to my Maker and my God, that he put me ‘for this
life’ in to the casing and body of a human rather than that of a
beetle, a bird or a beast. For let us never forget that each of the
latter species has mental and bodily feelings, such as we have. But it
is something that predatory humans conveniently prefer to forget.
Go on to
The emptiness of spiritual windbags
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