December 2018 Signs of the Times Email Newsletter

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December 2018 Signs of the Times Email Newsletter The Signs of the Times newsletter is a collection of stories and quotes from past issues ofSigns and These Times. ***************************     “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” Shakespeare assured us.      A lot he knew. If he had been an actor, an ad writer, or a politician, he’d have known better.      Leonard Slye and his golden palomino? Somehow it doesn’t roll off the tongue the way Roy Rogers and Trigger does.      And what about Issur Danielovitch? Issur knew he had to come up with a different name if he ever expected to make it in Hollywood. His first try—Isadore Demsky—seemed somewhat less than inspired. So the second time around Issur/Isadore settled on Kirk Douglas. It worked a lot better.     Can you imagine a rugged cowboy named Marion Morrison taking on the bad guys or swaggering into the sunsets of a hundred western films? Neither could Marion, so he wisely became John Wayne and then took on the nickname, The Duke.      Politicians, too, know that the name of the game is names.      Take Luther D. Knox, a candidate in Louisiana’s gubernatorial primary. He thought he had hit on a sure way to sew up the campaign. He simply had his name legally changed toNone of the Above. But a federal judge with no sense of humor took Mr. Above’s name off the ballot, charging that it would be deceptive to voters. So much for his political aspirations!      So what’s the point of all this?      That names are important. That, more than we’d like to believe, we’re all influenced by perceptions of reality as much or more than by reality itself.      Now that may not matter too much when it comes to the silver screen and advertising copy—things that are based, after all, on illusion and unreality. But it matters a great deal in other areas.      It matters when we label people—conservative, liberal, black, white, Jew, Arab, ignorant, intelligent—and then can’t see past the label to the reality beneath.      It matters when we use the name Christian to camouflage something that isn’t.      It matters if we think that by changing what we call a thing we have changed the thing itself.      We seem to be doing a lot of that today.      All this name swapping has made things sound so much better. But God says, “Woe unto them that call evil  good, and good evil; that  put darkness for light, and light for darkness.” Isaiah 5:20.      So let Eppie Lederer call herself Ann Landers if she thinks it will make her advice more acceptable. She’s probably right, and besides, it doesn’t matter.      But some names do matter. Can you imagine Jesus with a different name? The angel told Joseph, “You shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” Matthew 1:21, RSV.      Thank God, some things and some names never change!—By B. Russell Holt, Signs of the Times, June 1986. Quote: “ ‘God is love’ is written upon every opening bud, upon every spire of springing grass. The lovely birds making the air vocal with their happy songs, the delicately tinted flowers in their perfection perfuming the air, the lofty trees of the forest with their rich foliage of living green -- all testify to the tender, fatherly care of our God and to His desire to make His children happy.”—By Ellen White, These Times, October 1961. *************************** Don't miss the January 2019 issue of Signs of the Times: To order Signs, call: 1-800-765-6955 or CLICK TO ORDER ONLINE! ***************************      The year was 1875—in the middle of the Plains Indian conflict—and the place was Bismarck, North Dakota. Captain and Mrs. Francis Gibson had invited the men who were serving in Colonel George Custer’s Seventh Cavalry and their families to a “Christmas tree party.”      Unable to find a real Christmas tree, soldiers had fashioned one from bunches of sage and cedar brush. It was hung from the ceiling over a decorated washtub filled with river sand in which all sorts of presents had been buried. The simple decorations on the fake branches displayed considerable artistic talent: stars cut from tin cans, paper bells, pictures of Santa Claus, nuts covered with the silver foil from cigar wrappers, a few red candles, hand-drawn greeting cards festooned with faded ribbons, and the like.      Considering the limitations of the local trader’s store and commissary, the women had managed to prepare a feast. The menu included wild duck and venison, sandwiches, cake, candy, homemade beer, eggnog, and even ice cream concocted from condensed milk, whipped-up gelatin, and some precious eggs (which had been delivered to Mrs. Katherine Gibson by the mailman, who had carried them inside his buckskin shirt, next to his bare chest, to keep them from freezing).      The Christmas Eve party was a merry affair. For an addition to the colorful “tree,” the presents, and the good food, several musically talented men had formed a minstrel troupe and led the group in some dances and singing. Between the waltzes, polkas, and carols, the eggnog was served, accompanied by hearty rounds of greetings.      Well after midnight, when all had retired to their quarters, as Katherine Gibson was tidying up by candlelight, she was startled by a bunch of Indian children’s faces pressed against her living-room window. Their eyes were filled with wonder at the marvelous tree with its unusual and colorful decorations.      Cautiously, Mrs. Gibson opened her front door and invited the children in. Surprised and a little embarrassed, they remained frozen in place until the tallest boy, dragging a shivering and frightened little girl, decided to step inside. The others followed in single file, like miniature braves. All were cold, somewhat shy, yet filled with the innocent curiosity of childhood.      Mrs. Gibson led them to the odd-looking tree in the middle of her living room. Digging in the sand that filled the washtub, she found a small present and gave it to the little girl. Before long, the rest of the children were all digging for trinkets or helping themselves to some of the tree decorations while their hostess was plying them with hot chocolate, nuts, popcorn, cake, and what was left of the ice cream. Not content even to give just the food and trinkets, she went upstairs looking for whatever warm clothing she could find for those who seemed the coldest.      As she came down the stairs, accompanied by her disbelieving officer husband, the children were dancing around the tree, clapping their hands in perfect rhythm and chanting in unison. Faster and faster they circled the tree and louder and louder they sang until they collapsed on the floor in a burst of joyous giggles. Before leaving, almost every child received something warm—mittens, a scarf, a blanket, leggings, galoshes—and all were given bags of candy, some cake, and a friendly hug from the Gibsons.      Christmas had indeed come for these children of the snowy plains. It had come not merely in the form of an impromptu party of leftovers and hand-me-down presents, but primarily in the attitude and spirit expressed by the children and their hosts. At a time when treachery, betrayal, and hatred seemed to be the order of the day, on that particular Christmas night, a Christian couple and a group of Indian children were willing to love and to be loved, to show hospitality and to respond with gratitude. On that cold night, they all shared and experience the warm spirit of Christmas.      Would that the same spirit of Christmas had remained alive half a year later on the Little Big Horn!—By Paul Landa, Signs of the Times, December 1994. Quote: “The true test of civilization is, not the census, nor the size of cities, nor the crops, but the kind of man (person) that the country turns out.”—By Emerson, These Times, January 1967. *************************** NEW from Pacific Press—Christmas In My Heart,  #27—vintage, heart-warming stories of Christmas for the entire family compiled by Dr. Joe Wheeler! CLICK to read the first story FREE online. CLICK to order online or from your local Adventist Book Center—1-800-765-6955. ***************************      The father of modern science, Sir Isaac Newton, was a diligent student of the Bible. He believed that, in fulfillment of its divine predictions, there would come an increase of knowledge, and a mode of transportation far beyond the dreams of his generation, that would enable mankind to travel at the rate of fifty miles an hour.      The infidel Voltaire, an avowed enemy of the Scriptures, held these ideas up to ridicule, saying, “Now look at that mighty mind of Newton who discovered gravity, and told us such marvels for us all to admire. When he became an old man and got into his dotage, he began to study that Book called the Bible; and it seems that, in order to credit its fabulous nonsense, we must believe that the knowledge of mankind will be so increased that we shall be able to travel at the rate of fifty miles an hour.”      Who was right? Voltaire, who laughed at the Bible, or Newton, who believed it?—By H. M. S. Richards, Signs of the Times, September 1, 1942. Quote: “The  life of a thoughtful man is one continued struggle to fight shy of extremes—to look at both sides at once.”—Unknown, Signs of the Times, January 20, 1920. *************************** Place this in your church bulletin or newsletter: Send a GIFT that helps your friends and neighbors find hope and meaning. Each month Signs of the Times® takes on a broken world and directs hearts to Jesus for relevant answers. The result is changed lives! Order from your Adventist Book Center. Call 1-800-765-6955 or go online at:http://www.adventistbookcenter.com/signs-of-the-times-magazine-yearly-us-subscription.html ***************************      A long while ago, there was born to a good father and mother a little blue-eyed boy, the joy of their hearts. Fondly and often they talked of what his future might be. He grew up to childhood, very unselfish, and always ready to divide his all with poorer playmates. Though his bank contained only a little, still he was willing to give of his meager store whatever necessary. But as he and his account grew, he became less willing to give, but wanted to save.      As a youth, he made small investments. They prospered. He made more, and they likewise prospered, until a considerable sum was accumulated. The more he gained, the less he gave; and finally his life became a veritable vortex, instead of a refreshing fountain, such as it once had been. Like an unwise sailor quaffing salty spray, the more he gained, the thirstier he became. At last, he was very rich. He loved money solely for money’s sake, until he had both idle money and idol money in abundance.      Constructing a great, air-tight safety vault, he hoarded large amounts of gold and silver coin. Every day he entered this vault, and sitting down amidst his ill-gotten wealth, gloated over his amassed fortune. Lifting the shining coins, and letting them slip through his bony fingers, seemed to be his greatest delight.      One day, while engaged in this way, he heard the great iron door click behind him. Quickly arising, he tried it, and found it securely fastened. Greatly alarmed, he called loudly for help; but no one could hear. The walls had been made too safe, and the door too heavy.      There was not a crack or an opening where even a breath of fresh air could enter. Frantically tearing his hair, he pounded the iron door, until his hands were torn and bleeding; but no one came. Oh, what would he not give for even a little life-sustaining oxygen that he might survive until help should come!      Gladly now would he give all his money for life and liberty; but it would purchase neither. Finally, in a last desperate effort for liberty, he was overcome, and fell heavily across the pile of hoarded wealth—dead! What was the matter? Broken through the hedge, and bitten by the serpent!      “Whoso breaketh an hedge, a serpent shall bite him.” Ecclesiastes 10:8. Observe how positive the preacher is. He does not say, “A serpent may bite him,” or, “It is a little risky to break through,” but “A serpent shall bite him.”—By Charles G. Bellah, Signs of the Times, January 9, 1917. Quote: “I love you, not for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.”—Author Unknown, These Times, January 1969. *************************** The Gift, A Signs of the Times special issue for the  holidays. Share with your friends and neighbors the true reason for the season. *************************** A Christian’s Prayer My God, in me thy mighty power exert; Enlighten, comfort, sanctify my heart; Sweeten my temper and subdue my will; Make me like Jesus; with thy Spirit fill. I want to live on earth a life of faith; I want to credit all the Bible saith; I want to imitate my Saviour's life— Avoiding lightness, gloom and sinful strife. I want to bring poor sinners to thy throne; I want to love and honor Christ alone; I want to feel the Spirit's inward power, And stand prepared for each important hour. I want a meek, a gentle, quiet frame; A heart that glows with love to Jesus' name; I want a living sacrifice to be, To Him who died a sacrifice for me. I want to do whatever God requires; I want my heart to burn with pure desires; I want to be what Christ my Lord commands And leave myself, my all, in His dear hands. O Lord, pour out thy Spirit on my soul; My will my temper, and my tongue control; Lead me, through life, to glorify thy grace, That I at length may see thee face to face.—Unknown, Signs of the Times, August 7, 1884. *************************** Compiled by Dale Galusha. Please pass this newsletter on to others.