Suvendu K: July 2019

*बाईबल हीन्दी हीस्टोरी*

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹
*-परमेश्वर का वचन कितना प्रभावशाली और मनोहर है बाइबल महिमा वाला श्रेष्ठ प्रभु का वचन है'*

📒 *आपकी पूरी बाइबल*

1📚 *आपकी बाइबिल में 66 पुस्तक है*

2📚 *आपकी बाइबिल में 1189 अध्याय हैं*

3📚 *आपकी बाइबिल में 31,101पदें हैं*

4📚 *बाइबिल में कुल 783,137 शब्द है*

5📚 *बाइबिल में अंग्रेजी के lettars 3,556,480 हैं*

6📚 *आपकी बाइबल में प्रतिज्ञा 1,280 है*

7📚 *बाइबिल में आज्ञाएँ 6,468 है*

8📚 *बाइबिल में भविष्यवाणी 8,000 है*

9📚 *बाइबल की 3,268 पदों की नबूवत पूर्ण हुई है*

10📚 *बाइबिल की 3140 पदों की नबूवत अभी पूरी नहीं हुई है*

11📚 *बाइबिल में 3,294 प्रश्न है*

12📚 *बाइबिल का सबसे लंबा नाम यशायाह 8:1 में है*

13📚 *बाइबिल का सबसे लंबा पद एस्तेर 8:9 है*

📚14 *बाइबिल का सबसे छोटा पद यूहन्ना 11:35 है*

📚15 *बाइबल की मध्य पुस्तक मीका और नहूम है*

16📚 *बाइबिल का मध्य पद भजन संहिता 118:5 है*

17📚 *बाइबिल का सबसे छोटा अध्याय भजन संहिता 116-117 है बाइबल की सबसे छोटी पुस्तक 3 यूहन्ना हैं*

18📚 *बाइबल मे God शब्द 3,568 बार आया है*

19📚 *बाइबिल में Lord शब्द 7,736 बार आया है*

20📚 *बाईबल के 40 लेखक है*

21📚 *बाईबल 1600 वर्षों में तैयार हुई है*

22📚 *बाइबल लगभग 2300 भाषाओं में अनुवाद हो चुकी है*

23📚 *अंग्रेजी बाइबल सबसे पहले AD 1380 में तैयार हुई*

24📚 *हिंदी भाषा सबसे पहले AD सन् 1821 में तैयार हुई*

🌹 *सभी मसीह भाई को ये सन्देश भेजो*🌹

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His Dad forced him to smoke weed when he was 6. Robert's dad was a drug addicted filmmaker who made him do drugs, so they could bond together. "It was like him trying to express his love for me in the only way he knew how." When his parents divorced Robert moved to California with his dad. By this time, he was abusing alcohol and drugs every night. In the midst of the chaos Robert dropped out of school and decided to pursue a career in acting. He focused on his work and took any role he could find, and was hired to be on Saturday Night Live.

But SNL had terrible ratings that year and Robert was fired. Still, he continued working small roles in popular films like Weird Science, and soon landed a breakout role in Less than Zero, where he played a cynical drug addict whose life spirals out of control. His performance was widely praised as moving and mature, but Robert felt that he was playing his own drug-addicted self and checked himself into rehab.

Now clean and sober he was ready to work and prepared extensively for the role of Charlie Chaplin by learning the violin and becoming left-handed. "Nothing will serve you better than a strong work ethic. Nothing." His performance got him nominated for an Oscar.

But despite his success, drugs were never far behind. He gave into his demons again and hit rock-bottom, getting arrested and going to prison several times in a few short years. His wife was fed up and left with their son. Lost, tired and desperate for help, Robert checked himself into rehab again.

"Remember that just because you hit bottom doesn't mean you have to stay there." While there, he took up meditation, yoga and kung-fu, and finished treatment with a renewed passion for life and desire to stay drug-free. His second wife gave him an ultimatum to stick to his sobriety or lose her. This time, he was ready to give it his all. All his hard work paid off when he landed the role of Iron Man, which went on to make billions worldwide and got him named one of the world's most influential people.

A true hero, Robert spends much of his time with children who are sick or in need of help. He visits them in the hospital, and in true Tony Stark style, once delivered a new bionic arm to a young boy. Knowing their struggles, he also helps addicts get the help they need to recover. Robert's inspiring comeback story is proof that you can always turn your life around. "People rise out of the ashes, because they are invested in the possibility of triumph over seemingly impossible odds."

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*WISE WORDS*

In life, some may walk, others may run, but remember the Lord gave the tortoise and the horse the same days to reach Noah's ark. Your journey might be rough and tough but you will definitely get to your destination.

Jacob looked at Joseph and saw a good son! The ten brothers looked at Joseph and saw a useless dreamer! The travellers looked at Joseph and saw a slave!! Potiphar looked at Joseph and saw a fine servant!! Potiphar's wife looked at Joseph and saw a potential boyfriend! The prison officers saw in Joseph a prisoner! How wrong were all of them!

God looked at Joseph and saw a Prime Minister of Egypt in waiting!! Don't be discouraged by what people see in you!! Be encouraged by what God sees in you!!

Never underrate the person next to you because you never know what the Lord has deposited in that person. Your maid may be a Chief Executive Officer in waiting for a company which shall employ your child. Your garden-boy may be a president in waiting. (Remember David got the anointing of becoming a King while he was a simple child herding sheep. Esther was a simple orphaned girl yet she was a Queen in waiting).

Let's share God's love and make the world a better place to live.

IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW PEOPLE SEE YOU, IT MATTERS HOW GOD SEES YOU

God is God:

🏽He doesn't care about *age*, no wonder he blessed Abraham.

🏽He doesn't care about *experience*, no wonder he chose David.

🏽He doesn't care about *gender,* no wonder he lifted Esther.

🏽He doesn't care about *your past*, no wonder he called Paul.

🏽He doesn't care about *your physical appearance*, no wonder he chose Zacchaeus (the shortest one).

🏽He doesn't care about *fluency in speech* , no wonder he chose Moses.

🏽He doesn't care about *your career*, no wonder he choose Mary Magdalene; a prostitute.
All I know is that my God never changes

🏽He never made *a promise he wouldn't keep*
He never saw *a person he couldn't help*

🏽He never heard *a prayer he wouldn't answer*
He never found *a soul he wouldn't love*

🏽He never found *a sinner he wouldn't forgive*

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A CONFLUENCE OF PATHS

Two roads diverged in the middle of my life,

I heard a wise man say

I took the road less traveled by

And that’s made the difference every night and every day

—Larry Norman (with apologies to Robert Frost)

March unleashed a torrent of rainfall after an abnormally dry winter. A cold front out of Canada then descended and was held in place by a swirling wind that roared down the Gorge from eastern Oregon. Although spring was surely just around the corner, the god of winter was not about to relinquish its hard-won dominion without a tussle. There was a blanket of new snow in the Cascades, and rain was now freezing on impact with the frigid ground outside the house; enough reason for Mack to snuggle up with a book and a hot cider and wrap up in the warmth of a crackling fire. But instead, he spent the better part of the morning telecommuting into his downtown desktop. Sitting comfortably in his home office wearing a pajama pants and a T-shirt, he made his sales calls, mostly to the East Coast. He paused frequently, listening to the sound of crystalline rain tinging off his window and watching the slow but steady accumulation of frozen ice thickening on everything outside. He was becoming inexorably trapped as an ice-prisoner in his own home—much to his delight.

There is something joyful about storms that interrupt routine. Snow or freezing rain suddenly releases you from expectations, performance demands, and the tyranny of appointments and schedules. And unlike illness, it is largely a corporate rather than individual experience. One can almost hear a unified sigh rise from the nearby city and surrounding countryside where Nature has intervened to give respite to the weary humans slogging it out within her purview. All those affected this way are united by a mutual excuse, and the heart is suddenly and unexpectedly a little giddy. There will be no apologies needed for not showing up to some commitment or other. Everyone understands and shares in this singular justification, and the sudden alleviation of the pressure to produce makes the heart merry.

Of course, it is also true that storms interrupt business and, while a few companies make a it extra, some companies lose money—meaning there are those who find no joy when everything shuts down temporarily. But they can’t blame anyone for their loss of production, or for not being able to make it to the office. Even if it’s hardly more than a day or two, somehow each person feels like the master of his or her own world, simply because those little droplets of water freeze as they hit the ground.

Even commonplace activities become extraordinary. Routine choices become adventures and are often experienced with a sense of heightened clarity. Late in the afternoon, Mack bundled up and headed outdoors to struggle the hundred or so yards down the long driveway to the mailbox. The ice had magically turned this simple everyday task into a foray against the elements: the raising of his fist in opposition to the brute power of nature and, in an act of defiance, laughing in its face. The fact that no one would notice or care mattered little to him—just the thought made him smile inside.

The icy rain pellets stung his cheeks and hands as he carefully worked his way up and down the slight undulations of the driveway; he looked, he supposed, like a drunken sailor gingerly heading toward the next watering hole. When you face the force of an ice storm, you don’t exactly walk boldly forward in a show of unbridled confidence. Bluster will get you battered. Mack had to get up off his knees twice before he was finally hugging the mailbox like some long-lost friend.

He paused to take in the beauty of a world engulfed in crystal. Everything reflected light and contributed to the heightened brilliance of the late afternoon. The trees in the neighbor’s field had all donned translucent mantles and each now stood unique but unified in their presentation. It was a glorious world and for a brief moment its blazing splendor almost lifted, even if only for a few seconds, The Great Sadness from Mack’s shoulders.

It took almost a minute to knock off the ice that had already sealed shut the door of the mailbox. The reward for his efforts was a single envelope with only his first name typewritten on the outside; no stamp, no postmark, and no return address. Curious, he tore the end off the envelope, which was no easy task with fingers beginning to stiffen from the cold. Turning his back to the breath-snatching wind, he finally coaxed the single small rectangle of unfolded paper out of its nest. The typewritten message simply said:

Mackenzie,

It’s been a while. I’ve missed you.

I’ll be at the shack next weekend if you want to get

together.

--Papa

Mack stiffened as a wave of nausea rolled over him and then just as quickly mutated into anger. He purposely thought about the shack as little as possible and even when he did his thoughts were neither kind nor good. If this was someone’s idea of a bad joke they had truly outdone themselves. And to sign it “Papa” just made it all the more horrifying.

“Idiot,” he grunted, thinking about Tony the mailman; an overly friendly Italian with a big heart but little tact. Why would he even deliver such a ridiculous envelope? It wasn’t even stamped. Mack angrily stuffed the envelope and note into his coat pocket and turned to start the slide back in the general direction of the house. Buffeting gusts of wind, which had initially slowed him, now shortened the time it took to traverse the mini glacier that was thickening beneath his feet.

He was doing just fine, thank you, until he reached that place in the driveway that sloped a little downward and to the left. Without any effort or intention he began to build up speed, sliding on shoes with soles that had about as much traction as a duck landing on a frozen pond. Arms flailing wildly in hopes of somehow maintaining the potential for balance, Mack found himself careening directly toward the only tree of any substantial size bordering the driveway—the one whose lower limbs he had hacked off only a few short months before. Now it stood eager to embrace him, half naked and seemingly anxious for a little retribution. In a fraction of a thought he chose the chicken’s way out and tried to plop himself down by allowing his feet to slip out from under him—which is what they had naturally wanted to do anyway. Better to have a sore butt than pick slivers out of his face.

But the adrenaline rush caused him to over compensate, and in slow motion Mack watched his feet rise up in front of him as if jerked up by some jungle trap. He hit hard, back of the head first, and skidded to a heap at the base of the shimmering tree, which seemed to stand over him with a smug look mixed with disgust and not a little disappointment.

The world went momentarily black, or so it seemed. He lay there dazed and staring up into the sky, squinting as the icy precipitation rapidly cooled his flushed face. For a fleeting pause, everything felt oddly warm and peaceful, his ire momentarily knocked out by the impact. “Now, who’s the idiot?” he muttered to himself, hoping that no one had been watching.

Cold was creeping quickly through his coat and sweater and Mack knew the ice rain that was both melting and freezing beneath him would soon become a major discomfort. Groaning and feeling like a much older man, he rolled onto his hands and knees. It was then that he saw the bright red skid mark tracing his journey from point of impact to final destination. As if birthed by the sudden awareness of his injury, a dull pounding began crawling up the back of his head. Instinctively, he reached for the source of the drum beat and brought his hand away bloody.

With rough ice and sharp gravel gouging his hands and knees, Mack half crawled and half slid until he eventually made it to a level part of the driveway. With not a little effort he was finally able to stand and gingerly inch his way toward the house, humbled by the powers of ice and gravity.

Once inside, Mack methodically shed the layers of outerwear as best he could, his half-frozen fingers responding with about as much dexterity as oversized clubs at the ends of his arms. He decided to leave the drizzly bloodstained mess right where he doffed it in the entryway and retreated painfully to the bathroom to examine his wounds. There was no question that the icy driveway had won. The gash on the back of his head was oozing around a few small pebbles still embedded in his scalp. As he had feared, a significant lump had already formed, emerging like a humpbacked whale breaching the wild waves of his thinning hair.

Mack found it a difficult chore to patch himself up by trying to see the back of his head using a small hand-held mirror that reflected a reverse image off the bathroom mirror. A short frustration later he gave up, unable to get his hands to go in the right directions and unsure which of the two mirrors was lying to him. By gingerly probing around the soggy gash he succeeded in picking out the biggest pieces of debris, until it hurt too much to continue. Grabbing some first-aid ointment and plugging the wound as best he could, he then tied a washcloth to the back of his head with some gauze he found in a bathroom drawer. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he thought he looked a little like some rough sailor out of Moby Dick. It made him laugh, then wince.

He would have to wait until Nan made it home before he would get any real medical attention; one of the many benefits of being married to a registered nurse. Anyway, he knew that the worse it looked the more sympathy he would get. There is often some compensation in every trial, if one looked hard enough. He swallowed a couple over-the-counter painkillers to dull the throbbing and limped toward the front entry.

Not for an instant had Mack forgotten about the note. Rummaging through the pile of wet and bloody clothing he finally found it in his coat pocket, glanced at it and then headed back into his office. He located the post office number and dialed it. As expected, Annie, the matronly postmaster and keeper of everyone’s secrets, answered the phone. “Hi, is Tony in by chance?”

“Hey, Mack, is that you? Recognized your voice.” Of course she did. “Sorry, but Tony ain’t back yet. In fact I just talked to him on the radio and he’s only made it halfway up Wildcat, not even to your place yet. Do ya need me to have him call ya, or would ya just like to leave a message?”

“Oh, hi. Is that you, Annie?” He couldn’t resist, even though her Midwestern accent left no doubt. “Sorry, I was busy for a second there. Didn’t hear a word you said.”

She laughed. “Now Mack, I know you heard every word. Don’t you be goin’ and tryin’ to kid a kidder. I wasn’t born yesterday, ya know. Whaddya want me to tell him if he makes it back alive?"

“Actually, you already answered my question.”

There was a pause at the other end. “Actually, I don’t remember you askin’ a question. What’s wrong with you, Mack? Still smoking too much dope or do you just do that on Sunday mornings to make it through the church service?” At this she started to laugh, as if caught off guard by the brilliance of her own sense of humor.

“Now Annie, you know I don’t smoke dope—never did, and don’t ever want to.” Of course Annie knew no such thing, but Mack was taking no chances on how she might remember the conversation in a day or two. Wouldn’t be the first time that her sense of humor morphed into a good story that soon became “fact.” He could see his name being added to the church prayer chain. “It’s okay, I’ll just catch Tony some other time, no big deal.”

“Okay then, just stay indoors where it’s safe. Don’t ya know, an old guy like you coulda lost his sense of balance over the years. Wouldn’t wanna see ya slip and hurt your pride. Way things are shapin’ up, Tony might not make it up to your place at all. We can do snow, sleet, and darkness of night pretty well, but this frozen rain stuff. It’s a challenge to be sure.”

“Thanks, Annie. I’ll try and remember your advice. Talk to you later. Bye now.” His head was pounding more than ever; little trip hammers beating to the rhythm of his heart. “That’s odd,” he thought, “who would dare put something like that in our mailbox?” The painkillers had not yet fully kicked in, but were present enough to dull the edge of worry that he was starting to feel, and he was suddenly very tired. Laying his head down on the desk, he thought he had just dropped off to sleep when the phone startled him awake.

“Uh . . . hello?”

“Hi, love. You sound like you’ve been asleep.” It was Nan, sounding unusually cheery, even though he felt he could hear the underlying sadness that lurked just beneath the surface of every conversation. She loved this kind of weather as much as he usually did. He switched on the desk lamp and glanced at the clock, surprised that he had been out for a couple hours. “Uh, sorry. I guess I dozed off for a bit.”

“Well, you sound a little groggy. Is everything all right?”

“Yup.” Even though it was almost dark outside, Mack could see that the storm had not let up. It had even deposited a couple more inches of ice. Tree branches were hanging low, and he knew some would eventually break from the weight, especially if the wind kicked up.

“I had a little tussle with the driveway when I got the mail, but other than that, everything is fine. Where are you?”

“I’m still at Arlene’s, and I think me and the kids’ll spend the night here. It’s always good for Kate to be around the family . . . seems to restore a little balance.” Arlene was Nan’s sister who lived across the river in Washington. “Anyway, it’s really too slick to go out.

Hopefully it’ll break up by morning. I wish I had made it home before it got so bad, but oh well.” She paused. “How’s it up at the house?”

“Well, it’s absolutely stunningly beautiful, and a whole lot safer to look at than walk in, trust me. I, for sure, don’t want you to try and get up here in this mess. Nothing’s moving. I don’t even think Tony was able to bring us the mail.”

“I thought you already got the mail?” she queried. “Nope, I didn’t actually get the mail. I thought Tony had already come and I went out to get it. There,” he hesitated, looking down at the note that lay on the desk where he had placed it, “wasn’t any mail yet. I called Annie and she said Tony probably wouldn’t be able to make it up the hill, and I’m not going out there again to see if he did.

“Anyway,” he quickly changed the subject to avoid more questions, “how is Kate doing over there?”

There was a pause and then a long sigh. When Nan spoke her voice was hushed to a whisper and he could tell she was covering her mouth on the other end. “Mack, I wish I knew. She is just like talking to a rock, and no matter what I do I can’t get through. When we’re around family she seems to come out of her shell some, but then she disappears again. I just don’t know what to do. I’ve been praying and praying that Papa would help us find a way to reach her, but . . .” she paused again, “it feels like he isn’t listening.”

There it was. Papa was Nan’s favorite name for God and it expressed her delight in the intimate friendship she had with him.

“Honey, I’m sure God knows what he’s doing. It will all work out.” The words brought him no comfort but he hoped they might ease the worry he could hear in her voice.

“I know,” she sighed. “I just wish he’d hurry up.”

“Me too,” was all Mack could think to say. “Well, you and the kids stay put and stay safe, and tell Arlene and Jimmy hi, and thank them for me. Hopefully I will see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, love. I should go and help the others. Everyone’s busy looking for candles in case the power goes out. You should probably do the same. There’s some above the sink in the basement, and there’s leftover stuffed bread dough in the fridge that you can heat up. Are

you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, my pride is hurt more than anything.”

“Well take it easy, and hopefully we’ll see you in the morning.”

“All right honey. Be safe and call me if you need anything. Bye.”

It was kind of a dumb thing to say, he thought as he hung up the phone. Kind of a manly

dumb thing, as if he could help if they needed anything.

Mack sat and stared at the note. It was confusing and painful trying to sort out the swirling cacophony of disturbing emotions and dark images clouding his mind—a million thoughts traveling a million miles an hour. Finally, he gave up, folded the note, slid it into a small tin box he kept on the desk, and switched off the light.

Mack managed to find something to heat up in the microwave, then he grabbed a couple of blankets and pillows and headed for the living room. A quick glance at the clock told him that Bill Moyer’s show had just started; a favorite program that he tried never to miss. Moyer was one of a handful of people whom Mack would love to meet; a brilliant and outspoken man, able to express intense compassion for both people and truth with unusual clarity. One of the stories tonight had something to do with oilman Boone Pickens, who was now starting to drill for water, of all things.

Almost without thinking, and without taking his eyes off the television, Mack reached over to the end table, picked up a photo frame holding a picture of a little girl, and clutched it to his chest. With the other hand he pulled the blankets up under his chin and hunkered deeper into the sofa.

Soon the sounds of gentle snoring filled the air as the media tube turned its attention to a piece on a high school senior in Zimbabwe, who had been beaten for speaking out against his government. But Mack had already left the room to wrestle with his dreams; maybe tonight there would be no nightmares, only visions, perhaps, of ice and trees and gravity.

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