Wednesday, November 23, 2011


May the Lord make each one of us “professional praisers” this Thanksgiving. Here is a little story to help "jumpstart" our Thanksgiving spirit.

Sir Gabriel’s trumpet blared up and down the golden streets of Beulah Land. Multitudes of people from every kindred shouted in unison, “Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive glory and honor forever and ever. Worthy is the Lamb upon His throne.”

As the corridors of Heaven rang with the praises of the redeemed, Sir Michael whispered to his friend, “Sir Gabriel, look at the white-robed throng! Isn’t it strange? No nation has a monopoly of saints here in Heaven and no tribe is unrepresented.”

Sir Gabriel smiled. “That’s right, Sir Michael. King El Shaddai has seen to it that all people can understand the greatest story ever told.”

Prince Emmanuel sat on His throne as the praise and worship filled the Celestial City. Zoe, a cherub, trotted towards Him, crawled on His lap, clutched His nail-scarred hand and gently kissed it. “Mama told me that the scars in Your hands are the only thing made by man that King El Shaddai would allow in Heaven.”

The beloved Prince patted her chocolate curls. “That’s right, Zoe. Your mother has taught you well.”

Zoe’s dark eyes darted as she scanned the masses. “Mama says the reason the people’s robes are so white and shining is because they have scrubbed them sparkling clean in the Blood of the Lamb and there’s nothing that can take dark spots out of a human soul like the Lamb’s Blood.”

Prince Emmanuel planted a kiss on the little angel’s head, as heavenly harmonies floated with crystal clarity. “Your mother is very wise.”

Zoe cooed, “She sure is! She said that the tiniest people on earth learn about the Lamb in their grandmother’s rocking chair. Did you know that, Prince Emmanuel?”

“I believe that is very true, Zoe.”

The smoke from the incense billowed around the holy court. Sir Gabriel shouted, “It’s the prayers of the saints. Pray on! Oh, Christians, pray on! Though your voice may be feeble, you have a High Priest who has been touched by your infirmities and He lives forever and makes intercession for you.”

Waves of spontaneous praise flooded the streets of the New Jerusalem.

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand, Prince Emmanuel.” Zoe crinkled her freckled nose. “Why can’t angels sing these beautiful songs?”

“Because, little one, these are songs that are reserved for only those who have been redeemed.”

“Oh, I get it.” Zoe cheered, “The redeemed are singing songs of praise to the Lamb, who rescued them.”


“And I know how they got so good at praising the Lamb, too.”

“And how is that?” Prince Emmanuel tilted his head slightly.

Zoe lifted her hands and squealed. “They praised the Lamb together in church every Sunday, week after week and year after year. They bowed their heads and thanked Him for His blessings day after day. With all that practice, they have become professional praisers!”

Prince Emmanuel chuckled. “Indeed they have, Zoe!”

“And they even have one day out of the year that they set aside to give thanks.” Zoe waved one finger in the air. “They call it Thanksgiving.”

“Very true.” Prince Emmanuel’s head bobbed. “And all of heaven is sweeter because of the praises of the saints.”

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