IN HIS HANDS By Ronda Hinrichsen

I don't know who wrote the following message, but I recently received it from my Relief Society President and I thought I'd share it here because I've been thinking about this truth a bit lately: no matter what is going on in the world, we--the entire world--is in God's hands. HE is in control. He has not forgotten us. 

"A basketball in my hands is worth about $19.  A basketball in Michael Jordan's hands is worth about $33 million.

"A rod in my hands will keep away a wild animal. A rod in Moses' hands will part the mighty sea. It depends whose hands it's in.

"A sling shot in my hands is a kid's toy. A sling shot in David's hand is a mighty weapon. It depends on whose hands it's in.

"Two fish and five loaves of bread in my hands are a couple of fish sandwiches. Two fish and five loaves of bread in God's hands will feed thousands. It depends whose hands it's in.

"Nails in my hands might produce a birdhouse. Nails in Jesus Christ's hands will produce salvation for the entire world. It depends whose hands it's in.

"As you see now, it depends on whose hands it's in. So put your concerns, your worries, your fears, your hopes, your dreams, your families, and your relationships in God's hands because--It depends on whose hands it's in."

Grateful for "Surrogates"

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http://rondagibbhinrichsen.com/2007/11/16/grateful-for-surrogates.a

 It was a crisp, stormy afternoon, when I gathered two flakes of alfalfa hay to give to our milk goat, Mitsy. Feeding her was one of my nightly chores, and while I usually completed this task with the dulled-over awareness that frequently accompanies mundane activities, that evening was different. That evening, beneath a brilliant, red-orange sunset, I thought of this animal’s role in my family’s life—providing milk for a few of our calves—and I thought of how all beings, even those of us who, like this creature, sometimes act like rebellious goats on the left hand of God, can still reach beyond our natures and do for others what they can not do for themselves. We can become Christ-like “surrogates.”

   One such surrogate was made famous by Paul Harvey during his “Rest of the Story,” radio broadcast back in 1977. The harrowing account was titled “The Old Man and the Gull.”* 

    Before his death in 1973, an elderly, white-haired man, named Eddie Rickenbacker, spent every Friday evening, at sunset, walking along the eastern Florida seacoast, carrying a large bucket of shrimp which he fed to the gulls. It was a moment of thanksgiving, a small token of gratitude for what a lonely gull had done for him many years before.

    In the fall of 1942, Captain Rickenbacker, his crew, and their B-17, the “Flying Fortress,” were traveling somewhere over the South Pacific, on their way to deliver an important message to General MacArthur, when they discovered they were lost, beyond the reach of radio, and dangerously low on fuel. Realizing they had no other way to save their lives, the crew ditched their plane in the ocean and spent the next month in rafts, fighting the elements—the water, the weather, the scorching sun—and sharks twice the size of their largest raft. But their greatest enemy was starvation.

    Eight days into their ordeal, their rations gone or destroyed by salt water, the crew prayed to God for deliverance and followed that prayer with a hymn of praise.

    “There was some talk (after that),” Rickenbacker said, “but it tapered off in the oppressive heat. With my hat pulled down over my eyes to keep out some of the glare, I dozed off."

    Shortly thereafter, however, their deliverance came in the form of a seagull; it landed on Captain Rickenbacker’s head.

    “The rest of the story,” as Paul Harvey would say, was the captain caught the gull, they ate its flesh, and then the crew used its entrails as bait to catch fish and sustain their lives until they were rescued weeks later. Thus, that bird, unnaturally far from land, gave itself as a Christ-like sacrifice, like manna from heaven, that those men might eat and live. And Captain Rickenbacker was grateful.

    This story of God-led creatures—surrogates—reminded me of two miraculous events from our LDS heritage. First, there were the quails that flung themselves into the wagons of persecuted and destitute pioneers who tarried along the riverbank above Montrose, Iowa. The birds had either stunned or killed themselves, and the saints were then able to gather them up and have the food they needed for the coming days (Discourses of Brigham Young, 474). There was also the well-known story of the seagulls that saved the early Utah settlers crops by eating the devastating swarm of crickets. In both cases, the pioneers were grateful.

    But animals are not the only surrogates who perform miracles. In fact, I believe most miracles are accomplished quietly, by ordinary people like you and me. Consider, for instance, one of my past home teachers. One evening, after making an appointment to visit with my family, he asked, “Is there anything you’d specifically like me to teach a lesson on?”

    I said, “No, whatever is fine,” but in my heart I knew what lesson I needed, but because of existing circumstances, I could not tell him. I did, however, pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to tell my home teacher what I needed to hear.

    As expected, Heavenly Father heard and answered my prayer, and our Home Teacher taught the subject I yearned for. But while I couldn’t adequately thank that man—again, because of my circumstances—I was able to thank God for sending this surrogate, this man who did for me what I couldn’t do for myself.

    There have been other surrogates in my life, too. Like the youth leaders who guided and “nudged” my children toward righteous activities—even ward choir practice!—when my persuasion wasn’t enough, or the man who sacrificed so much of his time to help my husband roof our house because I was so debilitatingly terrified of heights. Other leaders have also been surrogates to my children, even those who disliked their callings but fulfilled them anyway, because they not only touched my children’s hearts in ways I couldn’t, but they also changed mine by showing me what it meant to subject their natures to God. And I was—am—grateful.

    Following the ongoing precedence set by his forerunners, President Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving to be a Federal holiday, a “prayerful day of Thanksgiving,” in which the citizens of the United States could thank God for their abundant blessings. Often, in keeping with this tradition, my thanksgiving prayers have included my family, my friends, my life’s sustenance, and my nation. But this year, and perhaps even beneath a brilliant, red-orange sunset, I’ll find a quiet moment and gratefully thank Him for surrogates, too.

__________________

* Paul Aurandt, "The Old Man and the Gulls", Paul Harvey's The Rest of the Story, 1977, quoted in Heaven Bound Living, Knofel Stanton, Standard, 1989, p. 79-80.
http://www.sermonillustrations.com/a-z/t/thanksgiving.htm