But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name, who were born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God." John 1:9-13 (NAS)

This is a beautiful passage which us people from different nations are able to claim we are children of God.

The chosen people of God (Descendents of Abraham) believed that they are the children of God as through Abraham and all blessings of God are to them alone for quite some time.

We even see that Jesus healing a woman (click here- An excellent article, read it) who is not a descendant of Abraham but gets healing from Jesus based on her faith. (‘even dogs get what falls from the plates of the master') Also we see in bible that the word of god/salvation was taken to gentiles other than the descendants of Abraham only after the vision Peter received in Acts.

But as in John 3:16 "whosoever believes in him" no matter what caste, color, creed or religion its everyone in this world. The same applies in this word where we have this wonderful promise in this verse that whoever believes/receives/ accepts Christ into their hearts, they get the rights to become children of God. We have the right to call him 'Abba Father' Amen.

Some commentaries on this topic can be seen here

Essay written by a young man called Brian a few months before his death..... takes time...but a must read stuff..God bless you

The Room. . .

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird.

"Books I Have Read,"

"Lies I Have Told,"

"Comfort I have Given,"

"Jokes I Have Laughed at."

Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:

"Things I've yelled at my brothers."

Others I couldn't laugh at:

"Things I Have Done in My Anger",

"Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents."



As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.



A file named "Friends" was next to one-marked "Friends I have betrayed," The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I have Read," Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger"," Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.



Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.



When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.



When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot.



Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I Pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.


No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes.

Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, and so alive.


The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.

He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door.

There were still cards to be written..........

Brian Moore

What is Crucifixion?

A medical doctor provides a physical description: The cross is placed on the ground and the exhausted man is quickly thrown backwards with his shoulders against the wood. The legionnaire feels for the depression at the front of the wrist. He drives a heavy, square wrought iron nail through the wrist deep into the wood. Quickly he moves to the other side and repeats the action, being careful not to pull the arms too tightly, but to allow some flex and movement. The cross is then lifted into place. The left foot is pressed backwards against the right foot, and with both feet extended, toes down, a nail is driven through the arch of each, leaving the knees flexed. The victim is now crucified.

As he slowly sags down with more weight on the nails in the wrists, excruciating fiery pain shoots along the fingers and up the arms to explode in the brain- the nails in the wrists are putting pressure on the median nerves. As he pushes himself upward to avoid this stretching torment, he places the full weight on the nail through his feet. Again he feels the searing agony of the nail tearing through the nerves between the bones of his feet.

As the arms fatigue, cramps sweep through his muscles, knotting them deep relentless, throbbing pain. With these cramps comes the inability to push himself upward to breathe. Air can be drawn into the lungs but not exhaled. He fights to raise himself in order to get even one small breath. Finally, carbon dioxide builds up in the lungs and in the blood stream, and the cramps partially subside. Spasmodically, he is able to push himself upward to exhale and bring in life-giving oxygen. Hours of limitless pain, cycles of twisting, joint wrenching cramps, intermittent partial asphyxiation, searing pain as tissue is torn from his lacerated back as he moves up and down against rough timber.

Then another agony begins: a deep, crushing pain deep in the chest as the pericardium slowly fills with serum and begins to compress the heart. It is now almost over-the loss of tissue fluids has reached a critical level-the compressed heart is struggling to pump heavy, thick, sluggish blood into the tissues-the tortured lungs are making frantic effort to gasp in small gulps of air. He can feel the chill of death creeping through his tissues...Finally, he can allow his body to die... All this the Bible records with the simple words, "and they crucified Him" (Mark 15:24). What wondrous love is this?

Many people don't know that pain and suffering our Lord, Jesus Christ went through for us...because of the brutality, crucifixion was given a sentence to only its worst offenders of the law. Thieves, murderers, and rapists would be the types of creeps who got crucified. Yet, here Jesus is being crucified between two hardened criminals...What did Jesus do? Did he murder anyone? Did he steal anything? The answer as we all know is NO!!

Jesus did nothing to deserve this type of death, yet he went willing to die, in between 2 thieves, so that we might be saved. And there, in between the sinners, was our saviour slain for our sins.

EMERGENCY Phone Numbers..to contact GOD

When in sorrow...call John 14.
When men fail you...call Psalm 27.
If you want to be fruitful...call John 15.
When you have sinned...call Psalm 51.
When you worry...call Matthew 6:19-34.
When you are in danger...call Psalm 91.
When God seems far away...call Psalm 139.
When your faith needs stirring...call Hebrews 11.
When you are lonely and fearful...call Psalm 23.
When you grow bitter and critical...call I Corinthians 13.
For Paul's secret to happiness...call Colossians 3:12-17.
For understanding of Christianity...call II Corinthians 5:15-19.
When you feel down and out...call Romans 8:31.
When you want peace and rest...call Matthew 11:25-30.
When the world seems bigger than God...call Psalm 90.
When you want Christian assurance...call Romans 8:1-30.
When you leave home for labor or travel...call Psalm 121.
When your prayers grow narrow or selfish...call Psalm 67.
For a great invention/opportunity...call Isaiah 55.
When you want courage for a task...call Joshua 1.
For how to get along with fellow men...call Romans 12.
When you think of investments and returns...call Mark 10.
If you are depressed...call Psalm 27.
If your pocketbook is empty...call Psalm 37.
If you are losing confidence in people...call I Corinthians 13.
If people seem unkind...call John 15.
If discouraged about your work...call Psalm 126.
If you find the world growing small and yourself great...call
Psalm19.

Alternate numbers:
For dealing with fear, ............... call Psalm 34:7.
For security, ........................... call Psalm 121:3.
For assurance, ....................... call Mark 8:35.
For reassurance, .................... call Psalm 145:18.

Emergency numbers may be dialed direct.
No operator assistance is necessary.
All lines to Heaven are open 24 hours a day!
Feed your faith, and doubt will starve to death!!!
KEEP THE FAITH.....DONT BE SHY....CALL GOD.....AND HE WILL ANSWER.....

Dying like Jesus.....

An old preacher was dying. He sent a message for an IRS agent and his Lawyer, both church members, to come to his home. When they arrived, they were ushered up to his bedroom. As they entered the room, the preacher held out his hands and motioned for them to sit on each side of the bed. The preacher grasped their hands, sighed contentedly, smiled and stared at the ceiling. For a time, no one said anything. Both the IRS agent and Lawyer were touched and flattered that the old preacher would ask them to be with him during his final moment. They were also puzzled; the preacher had never given them any indication that he particularly liked either of them. They both remembered his many long, uncomfortable sermons about greed, covetousness and their avaricious behavior that made them squirm in their seats. Finally, the lawyer said, "Preacher, why did you ask the two of us to come?"
The old preacher mustered up some strength, then said weakly, "Jesus died between two thieves, and that's how I want to go, too."