I didn't mean it as the way i typed it.  I meant it as if I hadn't witnessed.  In my hurry I mistyped alot and I just was careless.  But I did witness and she did respond, differently.

One of my friends died last night. From gunshot wounds complications.  I've tried witnessing to her, but she rejected the gospel, not me, just the gospel.  She never got saved, down to the last minute.  The bible says that if someone you have direct contact with every single day, goes to hell, it's your fault.  You have their blood on your hands.  I am calling to the saved people who have friends that aren't saved.  Yes, my friend, I'm talking about you.  If they don't know God personally and they go to hell because you never bothered to witness, then, it's your fault.  I am calling out to all the christians everywhere, WAKE UP!  We don't have forever to witness.  None of us are promised tomorrow with our friends.  We can't say I'll do it later.  For Jessica, later doesn't happen!  You know where she is?  She's six feet under and below that, she's burning in hell.  HELL.  She's dead and she'll never see the ones she loves again.  IF you love your friends.  IF you care about them.  IF you want to spend eternity with them, then WAKE UP!  What is it going to take to get everyone saved?  ALL people everywhere need Jesus, but we're standing there like we don't care about it.  It is eveternity we're talking about after all.  WAKE UP! Stop sleeping.  You've got all of death to sleep away.  WAKE UP!   I beg you to stop waiting til tomorrow to tell those you love about Jesus.  He is not to be put into a corner and come out only on Sunday.  If you really are serious about your faith, you'll wake up and smell the roses.  Life isn't forever.  God is.  SO WAKE UP!!

the poem is a song, called i forget, i'm glad you liked it.  People are telling me that I should publish it, but i don't think i will, drama is my first love.  I have another story coming, sometime soon.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you.  I realize that some people don't believe in women preachers, but you obviously don't really care.  I mean, I appreciate that.  

I have known some really bibical teachers in my time that were female, but you could not get one of them to get behind a podium and "preach" the Word of God. They would willingly lead a classroom full of people though. I wonder why they would not preach the Word, only teach the Word?

Simple they were not called to preach the word, only called to teach.  I am called to preach the word to the congregation, but not teach it.  

Yes, there are times where I will discuss everything, but I can't talk to a person who's a legalist.  I don't know why you ppl have such a hard time with me being a pastor.  You can argue all you want, but guess what?  It still doesn't change my calling to preach.  You can't "uncall" my calling to preach.

The Light

   Sometimes, I dream underneath the stars.  Sometimes, when I sleep, I dream of flying.  Those dreams, of the beaches, of the waves, are the best ones.  Where the surf will be coming in, and the sun will be setting.  I will sit with a cup of coffee in my hand, and listen to the gull's sing their last.  The sun's song starts its last refrain, and the night starts its lullabies.  I watch as a couple, walk together, hand in hand, and listen to the night's enticement.  I look up at the lighthouse, and I fly unto the rails.  We can see the sun again, but it runs away to retire to its loved one.  Oh, how I wish I were that lucky.  Remembering the times, we shared, the look, each thought more pleasant than the last.  I remember love, and I remember friends, but I still remember my love.  Look!  The waves, how they crash!  I have to wonder if Neptune is somewhere in the depths making love to some unknown.  Slashing one way and another, seems a storm's coming on.  They crash and clash until the silence afterwards scares me.  I see the moon, I see porch lights clicking off, curtains drawing themselves closed.  The lights are turning themselves  off.  I can only see the light of the moon, and hear the waves crash around me.  Then, only then, I know I am safe.  There, coming toward me, toward the lighthouse, is a single light.  It is bright, and small, and very fragile.  Yet I can see its mover, and it is . . .  an old man.
   He is hobbling down a pathway, with a single light to light his way around the world.  Suddenly, he makes a sharp turn to the left, away from the lighthouse.  I know I am safe.  He is not coming toward me anymore.  He goes into a shed and retrieves a lantern, empties it of all its oil.  Filling the lantern, he empties his can.  "Tomorrow," he says, as he leaves the shed.  Then, he returns to the path.  Tomorrow, he will go to town, and buy some things.  He has been doing this routine for nearly thirty years now, well beyond what anyone expected.  A few years ago, they invited him to Raleigh to talk about retirement, but he would have no talk of retirement.  For, the promised for his love he would never leave the lighthouse.  His love, his only love, that left him, a few years ago.  He was a better person then, when she was around.  He has been alone for five years now, and each year is more painful than the last.  He's reached a point where he does not care for himself anymore.  Why should he?  No one really knows him anymore, except the lawyers in Raleigh that wear fancy suits.  
   He scratches his three-day-old beard.  The razor broke Wednesday, he only goes to town on Saturdays.  As he warms himself at the roughness of it, he thinks of the day.  The day was hot, but when the sun leaves, we can see frost on everything.  His thin plaid shirt doesn't have another day of wear in it, but he'll get that too, tomorrow.  His corduroys are damp and dirty from the day's work.  From the shirt, to the beard, you'd think he hailed from the North Carolina foothills.  Where the small town variety that he  grew up in, stuck with him, and there he is always  a boy.  That was before he came to the beach, before he fell in love with the beach.  That was before he fell in love with her.  
   She died ten years ago, his only lady, and his only wife.  The cancer took her beauty and her life, but still, he had her smile until they laid her into that casket.  To me and the rest of the world, she'd be just an ordinary person, to him, she was a goddess.  He loved her more than anything in the world, and never ceased to show her how much he loved her.  He even loved her more than the beaches, much, much more.  He loved her with a light that the fiercest of the world's wind never would blow out.  He looks upon the beaches and sees one couple, still standing there, awed and amazed at the sight.   The sight of the beautiful moon is enough to take one's breath away.  He reaches the first door to the lighthouse, and unlocks it.  He sees that someone has disturbed the belongings on the inside, mere children that he doesn't know.  We climb up the stairs, round and round, up and up.  Until, he reaches the top.  
T here is a giant oak door that he spent months carving an image into, her image.  Every feature he caught, every shadow, until it is the splitting image of her.  The door was a beautiful one, but it never truly caught the light that she gave out to the world.  It never caught her beauty.  He gazes at it, and then, starts his work.

   As he finishes his job, something changes of him.  He looks for the couple, but they've gone now.  He can remember when she stood there, waiting for him to return.  He can remember when he went up next to her and held her in his arms.  And he can remember the times he didn't.  Those times when he was so self-absorbed that he didn't seem to care.  "How did she ever put up with me?"  He wonders aloud to himself, and takes that thought with him.  He goes down the lighthouse and locks the door.  He notices it will be locking its last tonight.  Tomorrow, he will replace doorknobs.  Tomorrow, wonder if he's lucky enough to have it.  Time passes by quickly now, is he getting older or are his days getting numbered?  Both, he guesses.  And he's probably right.  He walks on, and suddenly stops.  He thinks about his wife, and about his son.  He's been alone for five years now, but she's been dead for 10.  All he remembers now is a fight, about the business going down.  The drinking, and the leaving of his son's wife.  Then another huge fight, and a single gunshot ringing through the air.  And putting his son beneath the daisies.  Lucky.  Sometimes, he wants to spare death its mercy, and take matters to his own hands.  Sometimes, he wants to end it himself.  Still, how would she feel when they called him up?  Would she be mad that he ended his life that way?  He reaches down to sit on a huge rock.  He closes his eyes, and I wait.  I wait for what may be an eternity.  Tears are rolling down, mixing in with the sand, and his lips are moving as if in prayer.  Crying his love's names and falling down again.  When he has dried himself completely out, he stands up with an "Amen" on his lips.  I watch as I see a small light like that of the candle descends upon him, and clean him.  An inky blackness comes from his soul and devours another lost soul.  For the first time, I realize what he has done, and realize whom he accepted.  I see a huge and beautiful smile that he would carry for the rest of his life.  

   The next day, he goes to town and gets the things he needed.  He had some lightness to his step and a smile on his face.  As he heads home, he is polite and courteous.  That very same day, I heard of an accident that occurred in town.  A driver swerved to miss many kids playing, and hit a man.  This man had in his hand, a can of lantern oil, and a razor in one bag.  The man was wearing a plaid shirt and overalls.  The look of a tired fisherman, and an unshaven four-day-old beard.  With a big smile on his face.  His lighthouse shut itself down, and no one ever operated that lighthouse again.
   

"You are the light of the world . . . In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven." —Matthew 5:14;16
   

      

Shoe me from the word where Christ Oked female minister's and why did he only choose men to be with him? I am Baptist and and very glad to be. But when it comes to famale ministers, no way.

Well, who are you to say that God hasn't called female ministers?  

And where did he only choose men to be with him??? Yes, he had male disicples, because of the culture.  And culture has changed alot of things.  According to the bible a female is saved only by bearing a child . . . what's up with that?  I know I'm saved, because I've been spiritually reborn, not had a kid.  I'm not gonna argue with you, I don't have the time nor the energy to argue with a legalist like yourself.  God Bless and have a great day!

And thank God he did!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But I've never tasted the doughnuts!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

What about their doughnuts, energizer??




oh forgot, but have never tasted their doughnuts, but if they're anything like Krispy Kreme, I love 'em!

Well I'm glad you like their coffee!  

 

No one can say a woman is not called to preach, except God.

 

 

Didn't catch the irony?  

I do.   2Timothy chapter 2.

I just wonder who you are.  Who are you??? Listen, don't you think that culture was the basic reason for that guideline??? THings were a whole lot different than they are today, buddy.  You need to really think about this one!!!!  

Hey this is a rerun:  but who are you to say that I'm not called?  Have you even talked to me in person and i am convinced that if you do talk to me in person, you will see that God has called me to the mininistry of preaching.

author=energizerbunny

I am converting from Baptist to a methodist church, because in the area you are either a baptist, methodist or anthiest.  For the moment, I am going to a methodist church because yes, they do accept women preachers, and they know that women are also called.

God is leading me throgh this ministry.  But man is pushing against me.

If God is truly leading you, then does it matter what man does?  


Edited to fix the quotey thingies.

It doesnt matter what man does, but most people push against me.  But I must fight!

[Please share your doctrine]

I've read all this, and i have to give you what I think.   It was a culture thing.  I should know.  I am called and guess what?

I'm a girl.

Whose culture? God's or man's? By which are you called?

God's culture,  and I'm called to stand in front of the congregation and preach the message.  I know God has called me to preach, sorry If I wasn't clear on that before, but I am called to pastor a congregation.  I'm not sure as to why he chose me or why he did that.  But thank God he did!

Please share your doctrine

Ok here it is.  I am a christian.  I believe we are also in the last days.  In Revelations, there is a verse, (don't have my bible with me right now, not at home) but there is a verse saying that (this is my translation)  God will call the prophets from all nations, of all race and sex to spread the gospel in one last time.  I am not worthy to be called to preach, and I know that, but I am going to anyways.  See, my doctrine used to be "Women pastors and preachers only" but now, I have changed that outlook.  There are women preachers in the field that I know are called.  No one can say a woman is not called to preach, except God.  I mean, it isn't anyone's place to judge wheather a person is called or not.  That's just the way I see it.  Is  that enough or would you like me to tell you step by step what my doctrine is?