The following is an article\/post that really moved me. It's a story you may know, but the lessons are timeless. <\/p>\n
I found a part of myself in Mr. Jackson.<\/p>\n
Pain<\/strong> They called him "Old Although he bore the Four years later, Some time later, one Pain humbles the I have tried and I It was just such a Guests
by Charles R. Swindoll<\/font><\/em><\/p>\n
\nHickory" because of his tenacity and grit. His mother chose "Andrew" on March
\n15, 1767, when she gave birth to that independent-minded South Carolina rebel.
\nWild, quick-tempered, and disinterested in school, Andrew answered the call for
\nsoldiers to resist the British invasion at age thirteen. Shortly thereafter, he
\nwas taken prisoner. Refusing to black an enemy officer's boots, he was struck
\nwith a saber—Andrew's introduction to pain.<\/font><\/em><\/p>\n
\nmarks of the blow for the rest of his life, Andrew's fiery disposition never
\nwaned. A fighter to the core, he chose to settle arguments in duels and lived
\nmost of his days with two bullets painfully wedged in his body. After he
\ndistinguished himself on the battlefield, his name became a national synonym for
\nvalor and stern persistence. When politics nodded in his direction, "Old
\nHickory" accepted the challenge: first the Senate, then nomination for
\nPresident. The shadow of pain appeared again in another form as he lost a narrow
\nrace with John Quincy Adams.<\/font><\/em><\/p>\n
\nhowever, he ran again . . . and won! But pain accompanied the victory. Two
\nmonths before he took office he lost his beloved wife, Rachel. Grief-stricken,
\nthe President-elect pressed on. Even as he was being sworn into office as our
\nnation's seventh President, he fought the anguish of a raging fever caused by an
\nabscess in the lung.<\/font><\/em><\/p>\n
\nof the bullets within him had to be surgically removed. He endured that
\noperation—done without anesthetic—in typically courageous fashion. Even his
\npolitical career was painful. A nasty scandal split his cabinet, and critics
\nclawed at him like hungry lions. Although he stood firm for many months, the
\ntelling signs of pain began to manifest themselves. He was one of the few men
\nwho left office, however, more popular than when he came. "For once, the rising
\nwas eclipsed by the setting sun," wrote a contemporary sage. And it was pain,
\nmore than any other single factor, which drew the qualities of greatness out of
\nAndrew Jackson.<\/font><\/em><\/p>\n
\nproud. It softens the stubborn. It melts the hard. Silently and relentlessly, it
\nwins battles deep within the lonely soul. The heart alone knows its own sorrow
\nand not another person can fully share in it. Pain operates alone; it needs no
\nassistance. It communicates its own message whether to statesman or servant,
\npreacher or prodigal, mother or child. By staying, it refuses to be ignored. By
\nhurting, it reduces its victim to profound depths of anguish. And it is at that
\nanguishing point that the sufferer either submits and learns, developing
\nmaturity and character, or resists and becomes embittered, swamped by self-pity,
\nsmothered by self-will.<\/font><\/em><\/p>\n
\ncannot find, either in Scripture or history, a strong-willed individual whom God
\nused greatly until He allowed him to be hurt deeply.<\/font><\/em><\/p>\n
\nperson who wrote these words for all to read:<\/font><\/em><\/p>\n\n
Pain
\nknocked upon my door and said
That she had come to stay,
And though I
\nwould not welcome her
But bade her go away,
She entered in.
Like my own
\nshade
She followed after me,
And from her stabbing, stinging sword
No
\nmoment was I free.
And then one day another knocked
Most gently at my
\ndoor.
I cried, "No, Pain is living here,
There is not room for
\nmore."
And then I heard His tender voice,
"'Tis I, be not afraid."
And
\nfrom the day He entered in,
The difference it made!<\/font><\/em><\/p>\n