In yesterday mornings poem I mentioned Rosie the leper. I met her while preaching in a church in Adelaide, Australia.
There she was, two hands raised in worship to God; stubs where there should have been fingers, twisted slits where there should have been lips.
Ah, but Rosie’s eyes when she spoke about her love for the Lord Jesus: they glowed and her brown skin almost shone from the light within. Rosie was an Aboriginal who had lived with an abusive husband somewhere in the vast outback. She had no sensation in her hands because of leprosy and had burned her fingers to the stumps cooking over a campfire. When her husband had died, Rosie had made her way to the big city, found her way into a church, got gloriously saved and from that moment “lived full-on for Jesus” ( her words.)
As I recall, I taught in the Adelaide church for five days. I like to think that I preached some good sermons, but by far the greatest sermon was the one preached to me by a lady called Rosie, disfigured by hideous leprosy but transfigured by her love for the Lord Jesus Christ!
There she was, two hands raised in worship to God; stubs where there should have been fingers, twisted slits where there should have been lips.
Ah, but Rosie’s eyes when she spoke about her love for the Lord Jesus: they glowed and her brown skin almost shone from the light within. Rosie was an Aboriginal who had lived with an abusive husband somewhere in the vast outback. She had no sensation in her hands because of leprosy and had burned her fingers to the stumps cooking over a campfire. When her husband had died, Rosie had made her way to the big city, found her way into a church, got gloriously saved and from that moment “lived full-on for Jesus” ( her words.)
As I recall, I taught in the Adelaide church for five days. I like to think that I preached some good sermons, but by far the greatest sermon was the one preached to me by a lady called Rosie, disfigured by hideous leprosy but transfigured by her love for the Lord Jesus Christ!
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