Often in our lives we get so accustomed to asking God for things that we forget the power of just thanking him. God is the ultimate power source, our Redeemer, our Father, and our Friend, but unfortunately; we become so impatient and discontent that we forget to acknowledge His presence.
Psalms 150 :6 tells us that everything that has breath should give God praise. Praise is the ultimate sacrifice of worship because it causes us to acknowledge God at all times, and give him the praise and honor despite what maybe going on in our lives. We were put here to worship our Father. If you are at the highest point in your life; stop to tell Him thank you…If you feel like God is not with you feel his presence by stopping to tell him Thank you…If God has you in the midst of a storm; stop to tell Him thank you because at the end of the storm there is always a blessing . Praise has the power to remove shackles and bring down walls. (Joshua 6:4-5) (Acts 16:25-30). Get in the habit of honoring and devoting your time to the Creator of all Things. Take time out of your day to honor his amazing power and mercy.
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Hey guys, as you may know I am an author and screenwriter. Here is a short story I wrote in honor of one of my favorite authors or poets, Edgar Allan Poe, here is my interpretation of a lover scorned. This is a short story titled, "Decisions Decisions". Decisions, Decisions
by:Krystale Turner I was at home. There was no familiar scent of island breeze air fresher, candles, or aromas from the kitchen. The inviting aroma from my home is the inviting scent of disinfectants, iodine, industrial strength cleaners and the lingering scent of death and illness. If home is where the heart is, my home’s address is 8700 Beverly Boulevard, Los Angeles California. I live at Cedar Sinai Hospital. I don’t actually live here, but I am the director of the hospital. Eighty Five percent of my time is spent here, and the other 15 percent is spent with my wife, or at least I should say; was. My lovely wife whom I showered with the finer things in life, and whom I had been loyal to and cherished dearly; isnot the woman I thought she was. My dearest Isabella has been having an affair. I have always had a feeling something wasn’t right. Isabella no longer responded to me the way she used to when we made love. I assumed it was the stress caused by the demanding hours I put in at the hospital. “Sometimes I feel like you are married to that hospital and not me.” I remember Isabella saying a few months ago when I went to Philadelphia for a National Surgeons Convention. As I sit in my lavish office surrounded by my framed accomplishments I started to feel guilty. Maybe it had been my fault. My career required a lot from me, but I spent all the time I could with my wife. I tried my best to accommodate her every need and feel the void from my absence. I adored her and she knew it. Why, Isabella? I picked up the picture frame of us on our honeymoon in St. Tropez. We stood on the glorious golden sand. My wife’s short hair was wet from our swim. She stood with her arms wrapped tightly around my waist showing her exquisite dimpled smile and curvaceous physique. Isabella’s yellow bikini complimented her dark brown skin. My toned body was tanned darker from the island sun. Now, staring in the dining hall mirror, six years of a fast paced and hectic schedule, traveling, and having a wife who could only make tacos and shrimp scampi; had definitely taken it’s toll on my physique. I had gained about seven or eight pounds. I wasn’t the stud I was in St Tropez, but I still looked pretty good. The man’s naked and toned physique intertwined with my wife’s cocoa brown skin flashed in my mind. I stood staring through the open door of my bedroom as I watched my wife moan in pure ectasy that we hadn’t experienced together since our second year of marriage. I watched. I was to stunned to believe what I was seeing. The young man looked no more than about 25. He handled my wife with fluid motions as he bent her over, grabbing her hair and slamming his body into hers. “Oh, Diego, I love you.” My wife moaned. “Tell me it’s mine.” My wife’s lover whispered in her ear seductively. I stood motionless. There was nothing to do as my mind flashed and thought about my .38 downstairs. Rational thinking kicked back in and I quietly tiptoed downstairs, hopped in my Astin Martin, and headed back to work. What had I been thinking coming home early to eat lunch with my wife? “Dr. Lopez! We need you downstairs in emergency ER stat! We have a motorcycle victim with severe internal wounds” I snapped out of the daze and responded immediately. The picture frame slid out of my hand and onto the floor shattering just like my marriage. “What’s his stat?” I asked the nurse as we hurriedly got on the elevator to the 4th floor. “White male, 27 years old. Headed from Beverly Hills. A car ran the red light hit him, and knocked him head first into an industrial truck carrying metal pipes.” We arrived in the O.R. the staff was already suiting up and ready to save another life. I disinfected my hands and suited up. Ready to do what I do best, and then I froze in my tracks. Lying on lying on the operating table was Diego. The man who had been making love to my wife. He was almost unrecognizable. His face was swollen and one eye was swollen shut. “No head trauma, just abdominal trauma. Bleeding from his spleen and intestines.” I heard the O.R. nurse say. She sounded a million miles away. Now, I had the opportunity for sweet revenge. My wife’s lover was lying on my hospital table and his life was in my hands. I walked slowly to the table. “Dr. Lopez, hurry. He’s bleeding out!” My conscience was battling with my broken heart as I walked to the table. My hands were shaking worse than a medical intern opening their first cadaver. I recited parts of the doctor’s oath in my mind, “I will follow that system of regimen which, according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous.” “Oh Diego, I love you” My wife’s face and words hunted my mind as I began the first incision. I was vaguely aware of the monitors or the instructions I was giving my staff. A part of me wanted to take his life, but I knew I was not a man to commit murder. He looked to have been very handsome, but now he was not much more than a shell whose delicate organs lay in the midst of my ravaging scalpel. “Mijo, never take revenge.. allow it to be the Lord’s final judgement” I recalled my mother saying to me before she died. No matter how hard I prayed for his body to shut down, my hands gave him life. Then I had an idea. “Thanks mama”, I thought. “Victim has severe renal puncture,” I said as I as I quickly diverted my staff’s attention to the surgical television screen. I had just enough time to do a quick swipe with my scalpel. “ The good news is he will live. The bad news is he will spend the rest of his life with a colostomy bag.” I remembered my dear old mama and how much Isabella hated the “Shit Bag” My dear mother suffered from cancer. Her renal function and kidneys paid the price. “Shit Bag”, is what we named her colostomy bag. I began to close Diego up thinking to myself, “it’s funny how shit happens.” I smiled as the medical staff gave me the thumbs up. Have you ever had one of those days where nothing seemed to go quite right? One of those days where you knew for sure you were going to reach your breaking point and either be committed to the closest mental hospital or incarcerated?
Today was one of those days for me. I was almost late for work, left my phone on top of the car and it broke, I didn't sleep very well, disappointed by a phone call, and it seemed I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. As I was driving to work, I thought about the story of Job. A man who not only had a very bad day, but had a few bad days or even months of a series of horrible events (Job 7:3). Job lost his wealth, his children, his health, and it got so bad his wife even told him to just curse God and die! When I thought about this particular book in the bible I looked at the man Job, a man who loved God and still stood strong in his faith. When we are in our darkest hour rather it's a bad day, having an argument with a loved one, confusion, can't seem to make ends meet, or even a health problem we must remember that Psalms 121:1 says, "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help." Looking toward the hills means to look up. So many times when we are in distress we try to find a way out either in ourselves, friends, material things, or temporary solutions instead of looking up towards our Creator who is the the ultimate problem solver. Allow God to speak to you and listen to his voice. He may give you the peace you need to get through your situation, or the revelation to give you understanding as to why you are going through this season of difficulty. |
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