Do You Ever Wonder Why Jesus Has So Many Name . . . ?

 

From   themomentswestand  Instagram

"Well Done, Good & Faithfull Servant . . . "

There was a certain Professor of Religion named Dr. Christianson who taught at a small college in the Western United States. Dr. Christianson taught the required survey course in Christianity at this particular institution. Every student was required to take this course his or her freshman year regardless of his or her major.

Although Dr. Christianson tried hard to communicate the essence of the gospel in his class, he found that most of his students looked upon the course as nothing but required drudgery. Despite his best efforts, most students refused to take Christianity seriously.

This year, Dr. Christianson had a special student named Steve. Steve was only a freshman but was studying with the intent of going onto seminary for the ministry. Steve was popular, he was well liked, and he was an imposing physical specimen. He was now the starting center on the school football team and was the best student in the professor's class.

One day, Dr. Christianson asked Steve to stay after class so he could talk with him. "How many pushups can you do?"

Steve said, "I do about 200 every night."

"200? That's pretty good, Steve," Dr. Christianson said.
"Do you think you could do 300?"
Steve replied, "I don't know...I've never done 300 at a time."
"Do you think you could?" again asked Dr. Christianson.
"Well, I can try," said Steve.
"Can you do 300 in sets of 10? I have a class project in mind, and I need you to do about 300 pushups in sets of ten for this to work. Can you do it? I need you to tell me you can do it," said the professor.
Steve said, "Well...I think I can...yeah, I can do it."
Dr. Christianson said, "Good! I need you to do this on Friday. Let me explain what I have in mind."

Friday came, and Steve got to class early and sat in the front of the room. When class started, the professor pulled out a big box of donuts. These weren't the normal kinds of donuts, they were the extra fancy BIG kind, with cream centers and frosting swirls. Everyone was pretty excited it was Friday, the last class of the day, and they were going to get an early start on the weekend with a party in Dr. Christianson's class.

Dr. Christianson went to the first girl in the first row and asked, "Cynthia, do you want to have one of these donuts?" Cynthia said, "Yes." Dr. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so that Cynthia can have a donut?" "Sure." Steve jumped down from his desk to do a quick ten. Then Steve again sat in his desk. Dr. Christianson put a donut on Cynthia's desk.

Dr. Christianson then went to Joe, the next person, and asked, "Joe, do you want a donut?" Joe said, "Yes." Dr. Christianson asked, "Steve would you do ten pushups so Joe can have a donut?" Steve did ten pushups, and Joe got a donut.

And so it went, down the first aisle, Steve did ten pushups for every person before they got their donut, and down the second aisle, till Dr. Christianson came to Scott. Scott was on the basketball team and in as good condition as Steve. He was very popular and never lacking for female companionship. When the professor asked, "Scott do you want a donut?" Scott's reply was, "Well, can I do my own pushups?" Dr. Christianson said, "No, Steve has to do them." Then Scott said, "Well, I don't want one then." Dr. Christianson shrugged and then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so Scott can have a donut he doesn't want?" With perfect obedience, Steve started to do ten pushups. Scott said, "HEY! I said I didn't want one!" Dr. Christianson said, "Look, this is my classroom, my class, my desks, and these are my donuts. Just leave it on the desk if you don't want it." And he put a donut on Scott's desk.

Now by this time, Steve had begun to slow down a little. He just stayed on the floor between sets because it took too much effort to be getting up and down. You could start to see a little perspiration coming out around his brow. Dr. Christianson started down the third row. Now the students were beginning to get a little angry. Dr. Christianson asked Jenny, "Jenny, do you want a donut?" Sternly, Jenny said, "No." Then Dr. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten more pushups so Jenny can have a donut that she doesn't want?" Steve did ten, and Jenny got a donut.

By now, a growing sense of uneasiness filled the room. The students were beginning to say "No" and there were all these uneaten donuts on the desks. Steve also had to really put forth a lot of extra effort to get these pushups done for each donut. There began to be a small pool of sweat on the floor beneath his face. His arms and brow were beginning to get red because of the physical effort involved.

Dr. Christianson started down the fourth row. During his class, however, some students from other classes had wandered in and sat down on the steps along the radiators that ran down the sides of the room. When the professor realized this, he did a quick count and saw that now there were 34 students in the room. He started to worry if Steve would be able to make it. Dr. Christianson went on to the next person and the next and the next. Near the end of that row, Steve was really having a rough time. He was taking a lot more time to complete each set.

A few moments later, Jason, a recent transfer student, came to the room and was about to come in when all the students yelled in one voice, "NO! Don't come in! Stay out!" Jason didn't know what was going on. Steve picked up his head and said, "No, let him come." Professor Christianson said, "You realize that if Jason comes in you will have to do ten pushups for him?" Steve said, "Yes, let him come in. Give him a donut." Dr. Christianson said, "Okay, Steve, I'll let you get Jason's out of the way right now. Jason, do you want a donut?" Jason, new to the room hardly knew what was going on. "Yes," he said, "give me a donut." "Steve, will you do ten pushups so that Jason can have a donut?" Steve did ten pushups very slowly and with great effort. Jason, bewildered, was handed a donut and sat down.

Dr. Christianson finished the fourth row then started on those visitors seated by the heaters. Steve's arms were now shaking with each pushup in a struggle to lift himself against the force of gravity. Sweat was profusely dropping off of his face and, by this time, there was no sound except his heavy breathing. There was not a dry eye in the room.

The very last two students in the room were two young women, both cheerleaders, and very popular. Dr. Christianson went to Linda, the second to last, and asked, "Linda, do you want a doughnut?" Linda said, very sadly, "No, thank you." Professor Christianson quietly asked, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so that Linda can have a donut she doesn't want?" Grunting from the effort, Steve did ten very slow pushups for Linda.

Then Dr. Christianson turned to the last girl, Susan. "Susan, do you want a donut?" Susan, with tears flowing down her face, began to cry. "Dr. Christianson, why can't I help him?" Dr. Christianson, with tears of his own, said, "No, Steve has to do it alone. I have given him this task and he is in charge of seeing that everyone has an opportunity for a donut whether they want it or not. When I decided to have a party this last day of class, I looked at my grade book. Steve is the only student with a perfect grade. Everyone else has failed a test, skipped class, or offered me inferior work. Steve told me that when a player messes up in football practice, he must do pushups. I told Steve that none of you could come to my party unless he paid the price by doing your pushups. He and I made a deal for your sakes. Steve, would you do ten pushups so Susan can have a donut?" As Steve very slowly finished his last pushup, with the understanding that he had accomplished all that was required of him, having done 350 pushups, his arms buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor.

Dr. Christianson turned to the room and said. "And so it was, that our Savior, Jesus Christ, on the cross, pled to the Father, 'into thy hands I commend my spirit.' With the understanding that He had done everything that was required of Him, he yielded up His life. And like some of those in this room, many of us leave the gift on the desk, uneaten."

Two students helped Steve up off the floor and to a seat, physically exhausted, but wearing a thin smile. "Well done, good and faithful servant," said the professor, adding, "Not all sermons are preached in words."

Turning to his class the professor said, "My wish is that you might understand and fully comprehend all the riches of grace and mercy that have been given to you through the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for us all, now and forever. Whether or not we choose to accept His gift to us, the price has been paid. Wouldn't you be foolish and ungrateful to leave it laying on the desk?"

A Very Special Day At The Temple - Wonderful Experience Shared . . .

Find original post at

ldsliving

The Visitor

by Ken Merrell

When I was 18, as I was preparing to serve a mission, my bishop called me to teach the Sunbeams. I had never before learned to love others more than myself until I had served those children in such a simple assignment. With time and patience I learned how to keep those seven children in their seats and listening to a simple lesson.

One day I invited Mike to come to church and sit in my class. Mike was my age but had stopped attending church completely by the time he was 12. We had remained friends over the years as I had served as the deacons quorum president, the teachers quorum president, and first assistant to the bishop in the priests quorum. He had been the topic of many fellowshipping discussions and was often part of my prayers as the years had passed. Once in a while Mike would accept my invitations to come to an activity. It always surprised me when he did, so I kept inviting him.

At that time, Mike had long, black hair and a beard. His complexion was dark and pleasant. I don’t remember when I invited him to my Primary class, but one day he showed up.

“Class, I would like to introduce you to my friend Mike,” is how I began my lesson. “He is visiting us today.”

Mike sat next to me in front. The children sat in a semicircle with their eyes fixed on him. They were much quieter than usual. I was about five or six minutes into the lesson when one little boy got up from his chair and walked across the room and stood directly in front of my friend. The boy paused for a moment and then climbed onto his lap. I continued with the lesson as I watched the two of them from the corner of my eye.

The boy sat looking into Mike’s face. Mike was quite uncomfortable but did not interrupt the lesson or turn the boy away. The other children watched the two of them for a few minutes.

Then one of the girls climbed off her seat and approached Mike. I was intently interested in seeing how Mike would react and did not want to instruct the two children to return to their seats. The girl stood with her hand on Mike’s knee looking into his face.

Then it happened. The boy on Mike’s lap reached up with both hands and turned Mike’s face directly to his. I stopped my lesson to see what was about to unfold.

With the innocence of a child, he said to Mike, “Are you Jesus?”

The look on Mike’s face was total surprise. It seemed, as I glanced at the children’s faces, they all had the same question on their minds.

Mike looked at me as if to say, Help, what do I say?

I stepped in. “No, this is not Jesus. This is His brother.”

Mike looked at me as if in shock.

Then without hesitation the boy in Mike’s lap reached up and wrapped his arms around Mike’s neck. “I can tell,” the boy said as he hugged Mike.

The rest of the children smiled and nodded in agreement as their simple question was answered. Mike blinked back the tears in response to the love he felt from this small Sunbeam. The lesson went on, but that day the teacher who taught the most was a three-year-old child.

Mike spent more than a year getting ready to serve a mission. It thrilled me to learn that he left for the mission field a few months before I returned. I still think of the scripture in Matthew 18:5: 

“And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.”

Find original story HERE

May 2000 - The New Era

On Instagram Page find.christ   -  Video of him telling the same story above

"God Comes To Women"

Have you ever noticed how in the scriptures men are always going up into the mountains to commune with the Lord?

Yet in the scriptures we hardly ever
hear of women going to the mountains.
But we know why — right?

Because the women were too busy
keeping life going;
they couldn’t abandon babies,
meals,
homes,
fires,
gardens,
and a thousand responsibilities to make the climb into the mountains!

I was talking to a friend the other day,
saying that as modern woman
I feel like I’m never “free” enough
from my responsibilities,
never in a quiet enough space
I want with God.

Her response floored me,
“That is why God comes to women.
Men have to climb the mountain to meet God, but God comes to women where ever they are.”

I have been pondering on her words for weeks and have searched my scriptures
to see that what she said is true.
God does in deed come to women
where they are,
when they are doing their ordinary,
everyday work.

He meets them at the wells
where they draw water for their families,
in their homes,
in their kitchens,
in their gardens.

He comes to them
as they sit beside sickbeds,
as they give birth,
care for the elderly,
and perform necessary mourning and burial rites.

Even at the empty tomb,
Mary was the first to witness Christ’s resurrection,
She was there because she was doing the womanly chore of properly preparing Christ’s body for burial.

In these seemingly mundane
and ordinary tasks,
these women of the scriptures found themselves face to face with divinity.

So if — like me — you ever start to bemoan the fact that you don’t have as much time to spend in the mountains with God as you would like. Remember, God comes to women. He knows where we are and the burdens we carry. He sees us, and if we open our eyes and our hearts we will see Him, even in the most ordinary places and in the most ordinary things.
He lives. And he’s using a time such as this to speak to women around the world.

-Heather F

The Work of His Hands . . .

Lauren Willardson

AnluetngthufdSpsist onSe15 isocanat 6a:rredln0i7 PM  · 

These pictures of me were taken one year apart. One on Saturday, August 15, 2020, in Houston, Texas, at 2:35 PM. The other on Sunday, August 15, 2021, in Maricopa, Arizona, also at 2:35 PM. Looking at them both now, you can't see much of a difference. You can tell I'm outside instead of inside, you can tell I'm wearing a different dress, and that I'm maybe a little older....but that's about it! What you can't tell is the story that transpired between these two pictures. What you can't tell is all that awaited the innocent, unknowing me in 2020, and all that the current me has overcome in this past year through my Savior.

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Some of you may know what I am referring to. Tomorrow is my one year anniversary since the attack. It's been called my "undead day," my "re-birthday," the "day of miracles," the "day of protection," and so many other things. As you can imagine, my heart is overflowing with thoughts and emotions, and I can't wait to share many of the stories and miracles from this past year with you all tomorrow.

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However, as I got ready this morning, I couldn't help but also stop to appreciate the significance of today. August 15th was, for a long time and maybe forever, the last day of my "normal." It was the last day with no trauma. The last day with no scars. The last day of being a normal teenager with a normal body serving as a normal missionary. It was my last day serving in the Texas Houston Mission. I went to bed on August 15th completely naive to how that night would change my life forever.

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Now I do, and will always, have scars--mentally and physically. Now I did, and will always, have experienced attempted murder. Now I am, and will always be, a trauma survivor. I used to look at this picture of myself on August 15th and feel a sort of longing in my soul. To me, it represented what was and could never be again. The innocent, the unbroken, the unexpecting.

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And it's true that me on this August 15th is different than the me on the last, but it's not because I can never be who I once was. It's because I'm everything I was in that blue dress and so much more. It's because I learned once that Jesus Christ doesn't just heal. He restores.

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For the longest time after the attack, I clung to the idea that Jesus was the Master Healer. That He really COULD bind up my wounds, help me walk, remove my pain. But inside I was still struggling to accept the change. Even if the wounds were sealed..... scars would still remain. Even if I could walk again, I'd never have the same endurance as before. Even if my pain went away, it could still come back again.

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And then one day the Spirit spoke to me and said, "Jesus is not just the Master Healer. He is the Restorer." He doesn't just bind up our wounds but gives us the same perfect peace we had before the injury with a greater peace in Him because of them! He doesn't just repair us until we're good enough to stand alone; He brings us back to the same strength we had before and then adds His strength to it! He doesn't just help us fix the current pain but gives us the same relief we enjoyed previously with a greater capacity to withstand in the future!

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As I look back after one year now, I can truly say that Jesus Christ has not only healed, but restored me. I have learned in the most powerful way that there is no man nor force on this earth that possesses the power to take from us what God has bestowed. Christ has brought back everything that was lost. I am back doing what I was a year ago, serving in His wondrous work as His representative, with all the joy and strength I had before, but a more perfect hope in Him because of what I've been through. I am so grateful for all that was taken from me. Because Christ has restored it all to me again, along with more than I could ever imagine

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Sleep tight tonight, everyone! See you all tomorrow

The Work of His Hands

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100042937447099

To explain the above testimony:

August 16th, 2020. Do you remember where you were that day? Where did you wake up? Who were you with? What plans had you made? No matter how long I live, in this life or the next, I will never forget what happened on August 16th for me. Needless to say, I have been anticipating this anniversary and this post for a very long time. I have spent many hours pondering what I could possibly share to express the love and gratitude overflowing from my heart and all the miracles that Heavenly Father has shown me this past year. It is my earnest hope that everything I experienced on this day a year ago and every day following may be shared here in a way that shows the goodness and mercy of Heavenly Father, the love and power of Jesus Christ. They saved my soul in a sacred garden thousands of years before my birth and again in a dank apartment just north of Houston, Texas, exactly one year ago today. I am Theirs, and my soul purpose for now and for eternity is to testify of Them.

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Many of you reading this know the event which I am referring to. Many of you already know about what happened, but I would bargain to say that most of you reading this right now know little about what ACTUALLY happened. The miracles, the emotions, the continuing struggles. It's true-- it all started with the stabbing. On August 16th, 2020 at 4 am I was in my apartment in Houston, Texas, with my companion. We had great plans for the following day like our church service and teaching appointments with six or seven families. I remember going to bed so excited about how successful of a day we had lined up. But that all changed when, on August 16th, I woke up to screaming and an unfamiliar figure above my bed. I woke up to a fight, a struggle of life or death that would last about 15 minutes. Grappling, screaming, slashing, praying. I woke up to the potential of death. I received 9 stab wounds in the fight: one in my shoulder that pierced my lungs, one in my elbow, one on both sides of my hand, one in my side, two in my thigh, and one through both sides of my calf. We called 911 and they came and rushed us to the hospital. I called my president to come give me a life saving blessing. I called my parents to get their opinion on the surgery. They operated for six hours, and I then spent eight days in my home away from home--Houston HCA Northwest hospital--relearning how to eat, sit up, walk, etc. I was then in recovery for five months with constant physical therapy and hospital trips. We used to fill up a whole little garbage can just redressing my wounds each morning . After what seemed like forever, I received a phone call in Walmart two days before Christmas, informing me that I had once again been called to serve as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ, and that I would finish my labor in the Arizona Tempe Mission

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But my journey doesn't end there. I haven't shared the continuing story with many, but my story hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows. About five months ago, I started having a lot of returning health problems, specifically with my ability to eat. I began to get extremely nauseous almost 24/7, and eating became very difficult, and sometimes impossible, for me. I often can't sleep or work because the nausea and the pain is so bad. I have had a plethora of medical exams, tests, CT scans, xrays, and other things to try and figure out the problem. They assume it was caused by the stab wound in my intestines, but as of right now, there are no answers and it is something I still struggle with to this day.

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Now please understand, I don't share any of this to be pitied for my pain or praised for the perseverance. I have shared this with very few people because, when all is said and done, I consider myself the luckiest and most blessed soul on the planet to have gone through what I have and to have escaped with such FEW problems. And I am a missionary! I'm part of the greatest work in the world!! How could I be anything BUT happy?!

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But I feel impressed to share these recent experiences with you all now because they are the context that explains just how miraculous the Lord has been in my life this past year. They show that the stabbing was only the beginning of the miracle. Christ didn't just show up for five minutes to fight my battle and then retreat to His comfortable throne to observe my recovery. He has NEVER LEFT MY SIDE! Not when I left that apartment on the stretcher. Not when I left the hospital. Not when I left the THM. And not when I was healed enough to leave my home and return to service. What has REALLY built my faith in His infinite mercy and goodness is His hand in everything that has followed the attack. In the OVERWHELMING and CONSTANT love that He has shown me through each of you!!

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For me, it's all about moments. The indescribable connection I felt when a man, bent on my death, held me to the ground, but I screamed Heavenly Father's name as loud as I could and knew that He heard me. The comfort when I turned on a light for the first time after the fight and saw the world as it really was. The vision that filled my heart when I saw the stab wound through my palm and instantly felt my Savior there. The absolute wave of relief when I saw a handful of fully armed policemen crowd the scene and I knew that everything would be alright.

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And then there's other moments like when my mission president placed his hands on my frail and broken body and pronounced a blessing of peace. Or when I first semi-consciously recognized my parents as they rushed into my hospital room. And when I left the THM and was surprised with a parade from my ward and mission to see me off. Or how speechless I was when I received another parade from my ward and family in my neighborhood upon my homecoming.

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All of these moments in this past year, and so many more, have sustained me through the infinite love of Jesus Christ, expressed in each of you. But as I got ready yesterday, I realized that each of these moments are made up of little things. The things like being able to roll over in bed or cough without searing pain. The little things like fingers that can curl my hair or put on mascara. Things like how I can balance on one foot now, step up onto a curb, put on my own shirt, swallow a sip of water, wiggle my toes.

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There are more moments, memories, lessons, and experiences in this last year that have testified to me of the absolutely eternal goodness and love of our Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ, than I could ever possibly share. But seriously, just take my word for it. GOD IS SO GOOD!!!!! He knows us, He saves us, He lifts us, He fills us! I am ONLY standing here today, alive, breathing, and absolutely beaming with joy because of HIM! It is ALL because. of. HIM.

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In the hospital a few days after the attack, one of my cousins texted my mom with a question to ask me: "What is your favorite name for Jesus Christ?" Because of the pain and circumstances of the moment, I am just now realizing that I don't know if I ever gave her a good response to that question But even if I tried to answer her question now, I couldn't. Each one of these moments for me was so sacred because it represented a different role and a different hole that Jesus Christ was filling in my life. But because it has been a year, I think I owe my cousin something;) So, to commemorate these twelve months of miracles, for the next twelve days I am going to share the twelve roles of Jesus Christ that have had the greatest influence on me this last year. I will also share the stories and miracles of healing that brought me to the testimony of each of His mighty, miraculous names. I hope that each of you will join me in this celebration of our Redeemer and reflect on the miraculous moments that He has bestowed to make you who you are today (the posts will be on here and on my page, The Work of His Hands. See link below:)

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Thank you all, each and everyone, for remembering me on this re-birthday and for helping me remember my Life-giver. Christ gave me my life once through His atoning sacrifice and baptism in His church. That potential of salvation is more than I could ever thank Him for, in this life or the next. But this re-birthday has been truly special for me because, one year ago today could have been the end. I could have died. He saved me once, He didn't have to do it again. But the thing is--He is Jesus. So He DID. He did save me again. He gave my life back to me. It has been bought, it is His. The only question that remains for me and for each of us is WHY? And what are we going to do about it?

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Now, more than ever, I know that I owe my life to the Lord! Now, more than ever, I know that I can do nothing but give every breath testifying of Him and His infinite goodness and love! My only purpose, now and forever, is to testify of my Life Saver and spread His good news to all the world! That He can save your life, too! That in Him you, me, and we all, can be reborn! As I look back, I can say with confidence that i am SO GRATEFUL I was stabbed. There is not a single thing in this year I would change. We don't have to change the past. Because He can change our future

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As my heart fills with gratitude today for all He has given that I can never repay, I know that the one thing I can give is my testimony. After one year, I can still say with confidence: I KNOW that Jesus Christ lives, because I live. I KNOW that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father love you more than you can ever imagine, because I have finally felt some real sorrow and some real pain that allowed me to imagine a microscopic portion of how unfathomable the Atonement really was, and what a miracle that They loved us enough to perform it. I KNOW that Christ's gospel is the way to salvation, because it has saved my mind from trauma, my body from pain, and my soul from death. I know that Christ loves us because He let me suffer and almost die, so that in Him, I could be reborn, as we all can be if we choose to see each day as His day of miracles! and I bear this witness and promise to each of you in the name of He Who fulfills all His promises, even the name of Jesus Christ, amen

Original post:https://ldsemailforwards.blogspot.com/2020/12/cami-carpenter-smith.html

My Oldest Friend

It’s been five days since the walk when my good friend told me about the boy who gave his farewell in her ward last Sunday.
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The one who had been asked to speak on his relationship with Christ.
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He said writing the talk was hard for him because he had so many personal stories to choose from.
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“Jesus is my oldest friend,” he explained.
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My heart almost beat right out of my chest when she told me that.
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I knew exactly what that boy was talking about, but I’ve never described it quite like that.
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And now the phrase won’t leave my thoughts.
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I remember Him showing up that day after my grandpa died and I sat on the curb of the playground at recess and wondered why all of the other kids were so happy.
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I was seven.
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He was there.
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And when I was twelve and the girls who had always been my friends told me I wasn’t cut out for the popular crowd and I walked home from the bus stop alone, He was there then too.
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At seventeen, when I left everything behind for a cause He called me into, at nineteen when I was the loneliest I have ever been, at twenty-six when the sky came crashing down.
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Still there.
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When I was diagnosed with my second melanoma and I was so sick for days, and weeks, and months, and I wondered if I would ever be whole again.
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When I lost my dear friend to cancer.
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When doubt and discouragement and failure overwhelmed.
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In every single one of those moments, He was there.
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Constant. Steady. Sure.
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The One who kept me from falling.
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An ever present help in times of trouble.
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The giver of grace.
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Jesus.
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For me, to live, is Christ.
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I don’t know where I would be without Him.
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To that boy who put into words what my heart has known but lacked a description for...thank you from the depths of my heart.
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In two years from now I can’t wait to hear about the stories you will share about your oldest friend who will surely accompany you on this upcoming journey.
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I am certain you will not travel alone.
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Thanks for reminding me that none of us do.
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Today I want to spend sacred time remembering Him.
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The One who has been there through it all.
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My oldest friend.

Emily Belle Freeman, post from facebook

https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=298016338361061&set=p.298016338361061