One of the kids has a report to write on an American who has made a significant contribution to mankind. He knew his choice. So we went to the library today and checked out three books at his reading level -- on George Washington Carver.
As the boys played Legos nearby, I picked up one of the books and was reading it to myself.
Born probably during the American Civil War, infant George and his mother were snatched away by slave kidnappers, to be sold in another state. George was found and returned to his home, but his mother was never located. Despite overwhelming odds, and with the encouragement and faith of adult friends, this youngster was determined to learn, and his love was birds and plants.
Reading about his amazing life and brave decisions, I oohed and ahhed aloud. To the boys’ raised eyebrows, I explained George’s cleverness in securing his first job as a cook at the age of 13. They were hooked and settled in on the couch on either side of me. I continued reading aloud for the next couple of hours as they listened intently.
We heard the story of a child, a young man, and then an adult, who never gave up, who made the best of what he had, and often made the best even better. A man who loved nature. A man whose goal was to improve life first for his own people, and then for everyone else as well. His expertise became farming. And his practical contributions were hundreds and far-reaching.
We also heard the story of a man who was on intimate terms with his God. He had conversations with God, asked Him questions, listened carefully to the answers.
This God connection finally explained, for me, how he could accomplish so much good. Because I also believe that the source of all that is good is God. Yet this humble man teaches me that my questions to my Maker are mostly too small in scope. I need to ask more questions, broader questions, and to listen better for the answers.
To accomplish unlimited good, we must commune with an unlimited God. And not be afraid after asking the basic questions, to go forward with the answers we hear.
As the boys played Legos nearby, I picked up one of the books and was reading it to myself.
Born probably during the American Civil War, infant George and his mother were snatched away by slave kidnappers, to be sold in another state. George was found and returned to his home, but his mother was never located. Despite overwhelming odds, and with the encouragement and faith of adult friends, this youngster was determined to learn, and his love was birds and plants.
Reading about his amazing life and brave decisions, I oohed and ahhed aloud. To the boys’ raised eyebrows, I explained George’s cleverness in securing his first job as a cook at the age of 13. They were hooked and settled in on the couch on either side of me. I continued reading aloud for the next couple of hours as they listened intently.
We heard the story of a child, a young man, and then an adult, who never gave up, who made the best of what he had, and often made the best even better. A man who loved nature. A man whose goal was to improve life first for his own people, and then for everyone else as well. His expertise became farming. And his practical contributions were hundreds and far-reaching.
We also heard the story of a man who was on intimate terms with his God. He had conversations with God, asked Him questions, listened carefully to the answers.
This God connection finally explained, for me, how he could accomplish so much good. Because I also believe that the source of all that is good is God. Yet this humble man teaches me that my questions to my Maker are mostly too small in scope. I need to ask more questions, broader questions, and to listen better for the answers.
To accomplish unlimited good, we must commune with an unlimited God. And not be afraid after asking the basic questions, to go forward with the answers we hear.
When you swerve to the right or left,
you hear a Voice behind you whispering,
"This is the way, walk here."
(Moffatt)
you hear a Voice behind you whispering,
"This is the way, walk here."
(Moffatt)
1 comment:
What fortunate grandchildren you have.
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