A Visit With Mrs. G

Guest (Female): Here we are.

Guest (Female): I hope she's home.

Guest (Female): Can I ring the bell?

Guest (Male): May I ring the bell?

Guest (Female): But I want to.

Guest (Male): Well, somebody better, or we'll miss our visit with Mrs. G.

Mrs. Kitty Griffiths: Hello, I'm glad to see you. I was listening for you. Come on in.

Guest (Male): How about some stories?

Mrs. Kitty Griffiths: Stories? Yes, I've got some specially for you.

A tear rolled down the farmer's cheek and trickled into his beard as he stood leaning his shoulder against a pillar in Solomon's Porch at the temple. That tear was followed by another and another. Now they splashed, falling off the end of his beard onto the ground. His friend, who'd been standing next to him in the crowd listening to Jesus, said, "What's up with you?"

"Nothing, really nothing at all," the farmer replied. But he was obviously embarrassed because he walked around the pillar and now leaned his other shoulder against it. His friend followed him around the pillar. "Aha, something's up," he said.

"I was only thinking about that illustration Jesus gave just now about how he'd have liked to protect Jerusalem if her people had let him. About the hen and her chickens. You heard him as well as I did." "Aha, but why cry?" "If the people of Jerusalem refused, it was the hen," the farmer said. "The hen?" "Yep, the hen."

"Aha, hens are in every farmer's yard," his friend said in amazement as he gave the farmer a queer look. "A hen protecting her brood? Why, that happens every day." "Yep, and that's why I can understand it," the farmer said. "Jesus has just said that terrible times will come to this city of Jerusalem because the people wouldn't listen to him. If they had, he'd have kept them from danger, just like a hen protects her chickens under her wings."

"Aha, well, being a farmer myself, I can understand that. I was just thinking when you asked me what's up about an old hen I once had. I'll never forget it. It was the day when a fire swept through my farmyard. That old hen, as the fire surrounded her and her chicks, collected all those chicks under her wings and there she sat. The flames leaped over her and around her as the fire devoured all in its path. That old hen did not move. She sat trying to protect her precious chicks under her wings."

"As soon as the fire had spent its fury, leaving nothing standing—straw, grass, wood, everything burnt to cinders and ashes—I walked through my desolate yard, and there I saw the charred body of that old hen. Feathers all burnt, her brave head keeled over to one side, her body a cinder. I turned her poor body over gently with my foot. To my utter amazement, out ran five little yellow chicks from under their mother's burnt body. They had remained safe and unharmed."

"I'm silly to shed a tear, perhaps, but I can't help it. That's what I call a mother's devotion. It's the same in storms or any kind of danger. A hen will protect her chickens with her very life. And Jesus said he would have protected the people of Jerusalem just as a hen protects her brood, but they refused to let him. Aha. Oh," the farmer said suddenly. "Jesus has got up. He must be going. Let's follow him."

Together they followed Jesus as he made his way through the outer court, the Court of the Gentiles, towards the treasury, a chamber opening into the Court of Women. As they went, the farmer said to his friend, "Jesus must be sick and tired of those spies from the Sanhedrin coming at him all day with their catchy questions. It's one thing to answer straightforward questions asked by people who really want to know, but to have sneaky spies asking you questions and watching like hawks, ready to pounce on you the moment you say the wrong thing. Why, it ain't easy, I tell you, is it?"

"No, aha," his friend replied. "Oh, it's as well that I know what you mean when you say aha." "Aha, I'm a man of few words." By now, the farmer and his friend had reached the chamber called the treasury. Here, worshippers brought their offerings to God. Jesus now sat down near one of the 13 collection boxes. He watched as the crowd came to throw their contributions into its trumpet-shaped mouth. Other people could watch and listen too, if they wished, and the farmer and his friend did.

"Oh, my, it's interesting watching and listening here," the farmer told his friend. "Interesting to see what people give." "Aha, don't you give anything yourself?" "Well, yes, of course, I will before I go home," the farmer said. "Now I'm using my eyes and ears. Aha, and your—" but the farmer was taken up with what was going on. "My, what a heap of money the rich people are putting in there. And they're telling the priest on duty what it's for, whether they're paying off a vow they've made or just making a thank-you gift to God. Interesting. Oh, here comes a poor widow woman."

"Aha, who told you?" "Oh, I can tell. She's dressed like a widow with a tear in her dress for sorrow, and her clothes are made of poor, cheap material, which shows she's poor. But surely she's not going to put anything in the collection? She can't afford it. Aha, who told you? Well, I should think she doesn't even have enough money for food. She's so thin. Now she's saying something to the priest. Did I hear her say 'God is so good, God is so good to me'? Maybe I'm imagining that. Aha."

"Now two little tinkling coins have rolled into the box to join the offerings of the rich. Did I hear the priest ask her, 'Is that all you've brought?' And did she say, 'I'm so sorry, but that's everything I've got'? Oh, but I'm imagining again," the farmer said. "Aha. Oh, did you see that?" "Aha," his friend said. "Don't talk, listen."

Jesus was talking to his disciples. "I tell you truly, that poor widow has given more than all those who have given to the treasury. They all gave just a part of their plenty. But she, from the little she had, has given all she had to live on." "Oh, I wouldn't have missed that," the farmer told his friend. "That is what I call sacrifice. A poor widow woman giving all she had to God. Aha, but what's the matter?" his friend asked as he watched a tear roll off the end of the farmer's beard, followed by a couple more.

"Nothing," the farmer said, but he looked away for a moment while he brushed his tears away. He took out his purse from his pocket. "Wait there till I come back," he said to his friend. "Aha," his friend replied as he craned his neck to watch where the farmer was going. The farmer had joined the lineup to put some money in the box. When he came to the priest, he said, "A thank-you offering," and he dropped his money in. Alf and Joe were on the edge of the crowd. They'd been listening and heard what Jesus said about the widow woman's offering.

Guest (Alf): I think she heard what Jesus said about her. I saw her smile.

Guest (Joe): I hope she did hear. Whatever must it be like to give up your very last penny for God?

Guest (Alf): Ya, and if you're a widow, where do you get another penny from to buy food? But there, I guess she just trusts God. Jesus said God feeds the birds, and Jesus said God even looks after the flowers, gives them pretty clothes. We heard him say that ourselves, didn't we, Joe? I guess God will specially look after a poor widow who trusts him. And, Joe, doing hard things like giving up everything for God or putting up with hard things are worth it all when you know that Jesus knows all about it.

Guest (Joe): That's true. Jesus was pleased to see what that poor widow lady did. I do like when there's something that makes Jesus pleased and glad, don't you, Joe?

Guest (Alf): Yes. Jesus has so much to make him sad these days, doesn't he?

Guest (Joe): Yeah. What with people being so horrid and mean, Pharisees and scribes and the other lot, Sadducees.

Guest (Alf): Well, I wish a whole lot of nice things would happen for Jesus, don't you, Joe?

Guest (Joe): Look, Alf, Jesus looks as if he's leaving the temple now with his disciples. Let's go too.

Mrs. Kitty Griffiths: In all the crowd going out and coming in through the great doors, Alf and Joe got as near to Jesus as they could, near enough to hear a conversation. On the top step near the great temple wall, one of Jesus' disciples turned and looked at the wall. "Master," he said, "just look at these stones." Alf and Joe ran their hands along the part of the wall they could reach. The wall, which towered above them, was made of enormous hewn rocks, some of them 30 feet long.

"Master, just look at these great buildings too," the disciple said as he now looked over the temple area from where he stood on the great steps. And didn't it all look splendid against the blue afternoon sky? "Yes, you see these great buildings? I tell you, not one stone shall be left on top of another. All will be destroyed." The disciples looked at each other in dismay. Alf looked at Joe, and the question written on all of their faces was, "Oh, dear, when will that happen?"

Guest (Male): I see we still have time for just one more short story, Mrs. G. How about it?

Mrs. Kitty Griffiths: Kara lived in India. She was a little Indian orphan girl. She had no mother or father to care for her, so before her lay a life of slavery. But she had heard about the school for girls, a day's journey away at the mission compound. And right now, Miss Brown from the school was visiting in the village where Kara lived. If only Miss Brown would take her to the mission school.

"Please," Kara said to Miss Brown in the roadway. "I'm Kara. Can I come to your mission school?" Miss Brown looked sadly at Kara and said, "I'm sorry, little Kara, I can't take you. There isn't money enough to take any more little girls into the school." Kara was disappointed. Then Miss Brown said, "Well, Kara, you pray and ask God to send us money to enable us to take you. I will pray too. And I promise you, Kara, that as soon as I have money, I will send someone to fetch you. You pray and I'll pray."

When Miss Brown arrived home, a day's journey away, waiting at the compound for her were her letters. She opened them—letters from friends and home. Then she opened another letter from America, and in it was a check, a nice sum of money marked, "So that you can take one more little girl into your school." "Well," said Miss Brown, "this is lovely. First thing in the morning, I'll send someone to fetch poor little Kara. Won't the child be excited to hear that she can come?"

Early next morning, Miss Brown sent the messenger off for Kara. It was a whole day's journey there and a whole day's journey back. "Kara will arrive tomorrow night," Miss Brown said. "We'll be ready for her tomorrow night." But by evening, back came the messenger to the mission compound with Kara. Miss Brown was astonished. "How come?" she said. "So soon?" Little Kara said, "Well, teacher, you prayed to God to send the money so I could come, and I prayed to God to send the money so I could come. I knew God would hear us, so I thought I might as well start." Kara was halfway to the mission compound when the messenger met her.

Guest (Male): Thank you for visiting Mrs. G today. God's word, the Bible, has hundreds of stories, and you can find many of them retold by Mrs. G. When you visit our website at www.biblestoriesalive.org, you can download audio of these stories and also find them on CDs and in books. You can also read copies of our newsletter or help us send Bible stories to the rest of the world free of charge.

That address again is www.biblestoriesalive.org. Mrs. G's Bible stories are also available from Trans World Radio in several languages, including Arabic, Mandarin, and Spanish. Visit our website for more information at www.biblestoriesalive.org. Until next time.

Mrs. Kitty Griffiths: Goodbye, and God bless.