. . . and Jesus Said, “Feed My Sheep”

By Sherryl Hartlen

This second collection of stories chronicling Sherryls faith journey in as many years will surprise and delight as she candidly reveals how God has turned adversity into abundant blessings through prayer. To be fruitful and a blessing to others is her greatest desire. As you read, you will discover why she is!

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Aug 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781973636144

Sherryl Hartlen

If there's one thing the author likes almost as much as writing, it is gardening. Sherryl enjoys the fruits of her labor while living in Fletcher's Lake Nova Scotia with her husband of 52 years, Gary. She is equally passionate about her family and prayer pursuits, all blessings from the Lord.

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… AND JESUS SAID,

FEED MY SHEEP

SHERRYL HARTLEN

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Copyright © 2018 Sherryl Hartlen.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-9736-3615-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-3614-4 (e)

WestBow Press rev. date: 08/22/2018

DEDICATION

This second collection of stories in as many years is dedicated to three very special people, all of whom helped me get the first out there, available to all who love to read as I do.

To my faithful husband Gary who has continued to put up with long hours of writing at a time and helped out with more than his share of housework as well as online adventures to see it happen, I say a heartfelt Thanks! As before, I could not have done it without you.

To Pastor Chris Ivany, your enthusiastic acceptance and promotion of Drawing from the Wells of Salvation is greatly appreciated. Thank you for helping God’s blessing to me become a blessing to all. To everyone at Rock church who has encouraged me to keep on keeping on, in fact, I owe a debt of gratitude, especially to those who prayed.

Finally, it is dedicated to Garret whose favorite word was Multiplicity and whose prayers helped me complete the task set before me. I am sure those prayers have had more than a little to do with this second collection of stories as well.

May the effect of those prayers for all of us, God’s people, be multiplied many times over.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

My sincere thanks to Kimberly Phillips, formerly of Ottawa and

now residing in Brussels, Belgium for her beautiful

photo of sheep taken while hiking in Nfld.

It was featured on the back cover of the April/May 2018 edition of

Our Canada Magazine where I discovered it.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgment

Foreword

Introduction

1)      Christmas 2017

2)      Miraculous Interventions

3)      A Star Still Points The Way

4)      The Eastern Gate

5)      The Blue Pedal-Push Car

6)      January Jaunt

7)      Interlude

8)      Bridging The Gap

9)      Calvary: Not The Only Sacrifice

10)    The Father’s Love

11)    Ordinary Moments

12)    Disentangling Messes

13)    Without Spot Or Wrinkle

14)    Seaside Escape

15)    A Summer Story

16)    Lost Suitcases

17)    Cutting Some Slack

18)    The Cross

19)    Speaking The Truth In Love

20)    My Sheep Hear My Voice

21)    Were You There?

22)    Two Questions

23)    Troubled Waters

24)    Though Sarah Laughed

25)    What God Hates

26)    Onesimus

27)    A Woman Called Abigail

28)    The Mysterious Enigma

29)    Things New And Old

30)    Coppermine Adventure

31)    Small Bits And Pieces, One At A Time

32)    A Man Called Elijah

33)    Halting Between Two Opinions

34)    The Treasures Money Can’t Buy

35)    Is There Not A Cause?

36)    Rude Awakenings

37)    A Drink Of Water

38)    In Obedience Is Blessing

39)    The Story My Mother Loved To Tell

40)    Two Babes Within

41)    The Gates Of Hell Shall Not Prevail

42)    Spiritual Acuity

43)    The God Of All Comfort

44)    Hold Me In Your Hand

45)    An Abundance Of Rain

46)    Parallel Awakening

47)    This Day

48)    Lessons Learned, But Not Overnight

49)    Eyes On A Lovely Scene

50)    Wilderness Experiences

51)    Two Women Of The Same Palace

52)    Oh, The Blood Of Jesus!

53)    Giving It Our All

54)    Whoa, Nellie!

55)    The First Day Of Spring

56)    Seeds And Bulbs And All Good Growing Things

57)    Praying For Others

58)    Resistance Bands

59)    Quietness

60)    The Israel Connection

61)    Blow, Sweet Spirit!

62)    Ezekial’s Bones Revisited

63)    Contradictory Illusions

64)    It’s Winnowing Time

65)    Called To Do Exploits

66)    A Day Like No Other

67)    The Paradox

68)    Jeremiah’s Lament

69)    Sapphires

70)    Waiting For The Harvest

71)    Since First The World Began

72)    Coming Full Circle

73)    Jesus, Our Bridegroom

74)    Should It Be Today

FOREWORD

April 12th, 2018

A few years ago, perhaps three, before either Drawing from the Wells of Salvation or this new collection of stories came into existence, I kept hearing the Lord ask, Do you love Me?

Of course, I love You, I insisted. With all my heart.

Then feed My sheep, He’d say.

Like Peter, I was taken aback. It was not only that He seemed to doubt that I love Him, but that I hadn’t the foggiest notion of what He meant by Feed My sheep.

For Peter, it meant giving his life in sacrifice in every way, first as leader in starting up the fledgling Church we know as Christianity, overseeing the building of the earliest foundation from the ground up, then as faithful martyr for the cause of Christ.

I couldn’t fathom it. The Church has long since been built. Indeed, the entire Church Age seems poised to reach a stirring conclusion as the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ draws ever nearer.

I have nothing to give which would enable me to do that, I protested. My teaching days are long over, and even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t know what to say. Everything that needs to be said has long since been said by dear people, hand-picked to do so: pastors, teachers, evangelists, prophets, apostles, missionaries, even humble Sunday school teachers…and done quite well, if you don’t mind me saying so.

I truly don’t know what You mean, Lord.

There would be no reply. Yet His words stirred something within my heart to bless God’s precious people, His sheep.

This conversation would be repeated several times before the first chapter was written nearly fourteen months ago, My Mother’s Departure and the Schemitah. Then only because I was feeling an overwhelming desire to put into words all I was experiencing as a result of my mother’s lengthy illness and recent death. As I sent a copy of the resulting 14- page story online to a few friends who had helped me through this emotional time, thanking them for their kindness, support and prayers, I was astonished at their encouraging comments. They had all been affected by my words.

You should write more, one friend said.

And so, I did. Little by little the stories spilled forth from a seemingly endless supply of living water within, until at last, Drawing From the Wells of Salvation was complete.

That was last year, 2017.

This year has seen those events mirrored in almost every way, producing more stories which have virtually tumbled over themselves in their eagerness to be born into the world.

Finally, as of yesterday, the flow has stopped. It is complete, I heard my Only Wise Counsellor say.

It has left me scratching my head thinking, How did that happen, Lord? Really. How did that all happen?

The two book titles I thought of to use for this second compilation of stories just didn’t seem to fit as I tried to draw it all to a conclusion. Once again, I protested, Lord, this isn’t adding up. Maybe I should just forget about the whole thing.

Weary, I was trying to bow out of it, knowing many hours and days of typing it all up were in store and taking it to the next level of lengthy, frustrating self-publishing really didn’t appeal to me very much either. Not to mention the cost of doing so.

Do you remember what I told you before you started writing? He asked, not paying a bit of attention to my protests. In fact, I told you several times.

I reached for a magazine to read, hoping to disengage myself from this conversation as gracefully as possible. I was feeling annoyed that I wasn’t getting any help with the title after all that work. If all else content-wise, was as it should be, surely the title mattered too.

As I did so, I turned the Our Canada publication over to the back cover in order to see which edition it was, before diving in to some light reading, hoping to avoid having to make any weighty decisions for the next little while.

There, staring me in the face on that back cover was a full color photo of a small flock of sheep which a lady had taken while exploring Gros Morne National Park in Newfoundland on a guided walking tour.¹

It was visibly arresting, so amusing and personable were the faces on those sheep.

How like us! I mused.

There’s one with its eyes closed, sleeping away through sermons, one looking into the distance, head turned aside as if thinking about other things, and one kneeling in front, listening attentively to what the pastor is saying. From behind the grassy embankment there peeked a black head, barely visible, but there nonetheless. The black sheep of Jesus’ parable!" I thought.

Oh, my. I think You are trying to tell me something here, Lord.

Indeed. Do you remember what I told you over and over again before you began writing? He repeated, patiently waiting.

It suddenly hit me. Feed My sheep!

Yes, beloved. ‘Feed My sheep.’

And so, I will.

INTRODUCTION

There is a divine strength available to help us meet every challenge in life, whether it be grief, loneliness, despair, unbelief, brokenness, confusion, sickness, discouragement, weariness or merely to navigate the routine of living successfully, but it can only be accessed by coming through the portal of God’s Word and prayer.

Just as we are unable to benefit from our home’s warmth and protection on a freezing cold Winter day until we come through the door, so too we are merely wearing all God’s benefits of comfort, protection and strength as ornaments (ie. superficially) if we don’t make time in our daily routine for Him.

God IS a person after all. He longs for our fellowship and is not fooled by our pretenses of intimacy with Him. We may have the most impressive medals for servanthood hanging about our neck, but if we don’t take the time to seek His presence, and having found it, linger awhile there joyfully, gratefully each day then our faith is in vain.

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This collection of stories for all seasons is my way of sharing from an honest heart, how the Lord has given me hope and encouragement for every daily struggle. Each time I have succeeded (and many times I didn’t as you already know from reading Drawing from the Wells…), it all began by crossing that threshold of worship and prayer and most times, seeking help from His Word as well.

The first few chapters of this new collection contain stories given for a specific season, that of Christmas 2017. Though they may seem at first glance to be out of sync with later chapters, I believe the Lord wants me to include them as a reminder that He is a God who loves us profoundly in every season, whether it be of the year or in life.

If you were to ask me what I most treasure about being a follower of Christ, it would be that He gives grace and favor in every season of life. He is causing me in my latter years to be fruitful, a genuine blessing to others which is my heart’s greatest desire. That truly is remarkable given my meagre concept of what I could become in early years of following Him who is my All-In-All.

These stories for every season hopefully reveal how deep, how high, how wide, how marvellous is our Saviour’s love for me….and for you. May you be richly blessed as you read them.

CHRISTMAS 2017

Whether we are ready for it or not, Christmas comes, and Christmas goes. I thought I was ready this year and had diligently planned, purchased and cleaned, wrapped, baked and decorated, making sure special treats were in place before guests arrived for supper on Christmas Day.

One thing more, the tinkling Merry Christmas bell had to be hung in the exact spot on the curtain rod enabling it, as it moved slightly each time the door opened, to announce the arrival of guests with its sweet tinkle.

A final check. All was in place, or so I thought. Let me tell you what happened…

It began as Christmas Day always does with Gary and I rising early, enjoying a leisurely breakfast together, asking the Lord to bless us with His presence throughout the day.

All the preceding days of December as well as a few in late November had been preparing us for this one day when we would celebrate our Saviour’s birth. The song we’d sung as a choir in early December, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day, flooded my thoughts for some reason.

"And mild and sweet the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Even the weather seemed appropriately Christmas-like upon arising, a light skiff of snow covering the ground as a few flakes drifted lazily down.

I wanted to dash hurriedly into the living-room where gifts were waiting under the tree, sparkling bright, as alluring as the tree lights themselves.

But something restrained me. A deeper call within fought to be recognized. Suddenly I felt the need to be alone with the Lord in prayer for just a little while before the gift-opening began.

I nodded, That’s great Honey, I’ll call you when I’m ready, as he headed to his room, coffee in hand. He had just announced he’d like to rest a bit before we exchanged our gifts.

He doesn’t seem in any rush either, I noted. Perhaps he too sensed the need to be alone with the Heavenly Father before the excitement of the day overtook us.

Heading for my blue chair, my thinking/praying spot, highlights of God’s goodness to us throughout the year flooded my mind, and praise broke forth for His unmerited favor on my life; gratitude so deep that mere words cannot express it.

Tears and songs of praise welled up within. I found myself praying for people in my life, for happenings and events I knew to be of importance in God’s eyes, but especially for Israel. Lord, bring peace to that nation You love so dearly, to Jerusalem and to that little town of Bethlehem where You trusted Your Son to be born.

Thank You for doing that, Lord. Just so we could be blessed and touched by the Saviour of the world-this babe we know as Jesus.

As the words poured forth from a grateful heart, it seemed God’s presence permeated the very room, indeed all the rooms of our house, readying us for events of the day.

From the first early morning Merry Christmas! text messages to loved ones, through the last-minute cleaning, polishing and food-prep, through opening gifts (mine and Gary’s) and disposing of all that ribbon and wrap (not to mention boxes), through setting up the table and our guests’ arrival for turkey supper, the sounds of Christmas abounded, especially that of tinkling bells.

There was no lack of good cheer as we chatted, laughed and ate our way through generous helpings of every food our hearts could desire.

Our daughter Krystin had brought along shortbread cookies she had made herself, a joyous moment for me as she is not a big fan of baking. That too, was part of what made Christmas 2017 so memorable. As well, goodies had come our way from kind neighbours and Gary’s sister, Gail who usually joins us at family gatherings, sprinkling conversation with her lively gracious ways. She was in Quispamsis celebrating with her own family by now. However, the Panetone bread she’d sent along was oven-fresh and I couldn’t wait to try it.

In addition, I received two fruitcakes as gifts, one of which was from Krystin who insisted I open it before supper. It seems the Lord knew I needed a little extra help this year as last-minute baking had gone by the wayside in order to drive to the country and help a family member who was in dire straits. We also had made unplanned excursions near Christmas to help friends; hence my energy level was on or next to zero.

Krystin, Jason and their wee dog Peanut had arrived a couple of hours early so we could enjoy some unhurried relaxation time together, which I thoroughly enjoy.

Too soon, however, I had to excuse myself from conversation long enough to start getting the vegetables ready for supper. As I did so, I noticed the wind was gusting strongly outside my kitchen window, blowing everything that wasn’t tied down around in the yard. It had come up suddenly and we hadn’t noticed before, engaged as we were in enjoying each other’s company.

I’d better get these turnips and potatoes on in a hurry, I thought. By the looks of things, dear knows how long we’ll have power."

I was right. No sooner had the two pots begun to boil atop the stove when I heard the flick as lights went out.

What to do now?

Keep calm and try to remember where that camp stove is down in the basement, I encouraged myself. If the power doesn’t come back on, I’ll be needing it, big time!

The potatoes and turnip had stopped their boiling by now as I tried to collect my thoughts. Time for action!

Slipping up behind Gary who was in the midst of one of his stories in the living-room, I hugged him and whispered, (so as not to interrupt too much), Honey, do you think you know where the camp stove is down in the basement?

Why?" he asked.

Because the power’s out, I responded, wondering why he didn’t understand my request, and I don’t have any way to get the vegetables cooked for supper.

No, he replied, moving on with his story. I went back to the kitchen trusting it would sink in, in a minute or two and that the story could be finished a little later. Help. Lord! I breathed a silent prayer. You know these stories mean a lot to him. Help me be patient."

Just then Gary came out and made his way to the basement.

Luckily, I had cooked the turkey and dressing which would keep warm in the oven for a little while longer. I was trying to figure out what to do next when Gary placed the camp stove on top of the electric range, a good safe place for it, and reminded me to keep the window open a bit so fumes from the propane burners wouldn’t cause us harm.

Right, I said, thankfully, opening the window. It wasn’t long before those potatoes and turnips were boiling away again.

Praise the Lord! Things are working out after all, I thought.

It was dark by now and only 20 minutes or so till suppertime. Bryn, Lena and Nathan hadn’t arrived yet so there was still time to get the rest ready if I hustled. Gary rounded up the L.E.D. lantern to give me some light to work by.

Once the turnips & potatoes are done I can drain, mash, and season them, keeping them warm with pot-lids still on, and replacing each burner with two more pots, one for peas and carrots, the other for gravy, I thought, working toward that end. Krystin arrived on scene to help stir the gravy.

Just then the tinkling of bells could be heard above the din. Bryn and his family were at the door. It wasn’t long before Lena had joined in on meal prep and setting the table. Nathan was eager to have a wee bite of the turkey, now carved on the counter, thanks to Gary and Jason’s efforts. Bryn set up the extra small tables we use when guests come for meals. Everyone was in a jovial mood as we raced against the clock to have it ready before the food got cold.

Oh, yes the pickles and cranberries, I said, we can’t have Christmas dinner without cranberries. I left my job of cutting the homemade Panetone bread to Lena and was about to open the can of cranberries when I remembered, Electric can openers don’t work when the power is off.

Thinking