Happy St. Patrick's Day!


The Real St. Patrick 

Most American Christians are unaware of the true story of St. Patrick, one of the greatest missionaries of all time. He evangelized all of Ireland, and then trained leaders to go to a Europe lost in the Dark Ages after the collapse of the Roman Empire.  Patrick's disciples re-evangelized all of Europe. This certainly gives us a REAL reason to celebrate this Saturday.

Born in 389 in England, Magonus Sucatus Patricius expressed little interest in God as a child.  God, however, had big plans for this son of a deacon and grandson of a priest.  In 405 Irish raiders attacked Wales, searching for plunder and captives.  Sixteen-year-old Patrick and hundreds of others were dragged aboard ships.  Once in port in Ireland, the marauders herded the captives off the boats to the slave market.  A man named Milchu bought Patrick.  While other boys his age learned Latin, he tended sheep.

During his captivity, Patrick embraced a personal faith.  "And there the Lord opened the sense of my unbelief," he said, "that I might at last remember my sins and be converted with all my heart to the Lord my God." After six years of slavery, Patrick dreamt that a ship lay waiting in port to take him home.  Now 22, he ran away from Milchu, made his way to the ship and eventually returned to Britain.

Soon after his reunion with his family, Patrick had his most famous vision. He saw a man walking toward him over a sea.  The man held out a letter, the first words of which were, "The voice of the Irish."  Then, as if from all around, Patrick heard the cries of those he had come to know during his Irish captivity.  "We beseech thee holy youth," they pleaded, "to come and walk once more amongst us."  Taking this as a call from God to bring the gospel to his former captors, Patrick left Britain-this time of his own volition-to start the process that ultimately resulted in appointment as Bishop to Ireland.

Around 432 Patrick again set foot on Irish soil.  "He gathered people around him in the open fields and preached Christ to them," writes biographer Elgin Moyer.  "His burning zeal, deep sincerity and gentleness of manner won peasants and nobility alike."  Milchu, his former slave master, was one of his first converts. Patrick knew from his years of slavery that if he could win tribal chieftains to Christ, the rest of the tribe would follow.  Through there is no proof of this, legend says that Patrick used a shamrock to explain the Trinity to one of these local lords.  Not surprisingly, he met with substantial opposition from the druid magician-priests of Celtic Ireland. Legend says that Patrick battled them using what we would now call "power encounters."  There are stories of him raising the dead and causing the earth to swallow up his enemies.

Although he was painfully aware of his poor Latin and rusticity, tradition has it that Patrick founded hundreds of churches, monasteries, and schools, and baptized 100,000 converts.  After nearly 30 years of ministry, he retired to the Irish village of Saul where he wrote his Confession and, on March 17th, 461, died.

When the dust settled from the collapse of the Roman Empire, one of the few Christian communities in the world with any vitality was the Irish church, founded by Patrick.  The task of re-evangelizing England and parts of
continental Europe fell to the Christians of Ireland.  David Burnett, author of Dawning of the Pagan Moon writes that "while Europe was entering its Dark Ages the Celtic church began to send out its most adventurous as missionaries." The most famous of these, Columba, settled on the small island of Iona with twelve companions.  The monastery they founded became the center of missions to Scotland.  These missions eventually moved south to the rest of England.

Patrick is no leprechaun. He stands in history as the apostle to Ireland, just as Paul was an apostle . This March 17th, let's not forget the real Patrick.  Kidnapped from his home and sold as a slave.  Called by God to take the name of Jesus, and a hearty dose of forgiveness, to his former captors.  Used of God to start hundreds of churches and lead thousands of people to Christ. "Is it my own doing that I have holy mercy on the people who once took me captive?" said Patrick.  "What I am I have received from God.  And so I live among barbarians a stranger and exile for the love of God."

Charlie Mack, Campus Crusade for Christ

Lansing, Michigan

The Wonderland

      My brother got a skateboard for a present from me and my dad. I used his skateboard for a carriage for my sister’s cat. I put my mom’s basket on the skateboard. I put some towels in the basket and then I put my sister’s cat, whose name was Rough ‘n’ Tough (whose nick- name is now Bubsey) in basket. I don’t know how that name came to be on Rough ‘n’ Tough, but there’s no problem about it now.
    So, I put a towel over Bubsey and I tied it with a string. I put a string around the skateboard and pulled him up the hill. I was starting to pull him down again when the basket tipped over and he jumped out and Bubsey ran away. I saw him two times up by our neighbor’s house, but I never did catch him. While I was walking, I saw a maple tree. It was tall and brilliant and green. It was the hottest day and the shade of the big tree was very nice. To me it was a beautiful wonderland.
    The people that are reading this story might live in a town and not know how beautiful it is in the spring on a farm, but if you want to see it, then ask your mother if you can go to a farm, if you live near one. This is all of my story about the wonderland. I’ll see you around the blog some other time.

We got some goats, two goats, but it's going to be four. Cherry is having a baby, but she is not lying down and didn't have it yet. So I put a saddle pad on her and rode her. I pretended that I was a little girl, and the goat was the pony, and there was one more pony that was white and I was riding the brown one. The white one was a colt, and the brown one was the mother of the colt. It was fun, but soon she laid down. That is all.*

*A note from mom,

After some research I found out that you are not supposed to ride goats. That is the end of Cherry’s riding career!

We were going to go to the field east of the house. Then we said it was too rough so we decided to go to the field south of the house. And we said it was too rough. Then we zig zagged like a Z and went up to an area where I found these smooth paths. We went uphill and we went downhill on our bikes. I had a little knob on my bike and when I turned it, it would go faster. When I stopped pedaling I could go whizzing downhill and it was so, so fun. I loved it because we thought it was a campout. Campouts are when you go in the field and you have so much fun. We went up and down the hills and up and down the hills. We did that three times and went back home because we got tired. Finally, we reached the grain barn and lay down and panted. The end of your story hour.

Buster is my Aunt Bonnie’s dog. We are babysitting him while she is on vacation.
He chased the chickens with me. He chased the chickens into the garage. In the garage dad put a door so the chickens could walk up a ramp. You know that chickens are just like humans beings because they walk up the ramps and they walk like people, and their legs have two pieces like humans, only humans don’t have chicken feet. The End         

    I took blankets and pillows and put them on our bed. Then I called it Mount Garret. Then I called it Mount Carrot meaning rabbit. Claire said, “Did you bury my notebooks under Mount Carrot? I said, “Yes, I forgot.” Then I said, “Elizabeth, you have to get in with this password…Rose.” This is the end of the story Mount Garret!!!