Articles
What is Your Price?
What Is Your Price?
By Steve Melton, May 29, 2025
“Can you be bought and what is your price?”
The Devil asked each one in the room.
Most said they could,
Not knowing it was their doom.
“What is your price?” Asked the Devil.
One said, “I want great wealth.”
“I’ll get it by hook or crook.”
Not thinking of his spiritual health.
“What is your price?” The Devil asked another.
“I want the power and honor of a king.”
“Your request is granted.”
“But, to me your soul you’ll bring.”
“What is your price?” The Devil asked the next.
“I want adoration, attention and fame.”
“You can be a movie star and singer.
But, remember in hell, it’s only you to blame.
“What is your price?” The Devil asked me.
“I’m already bought and paid for” as I showed him the door.
“Jesus paid the full price.”
“And I am His forever more.”
Prayers from the Basement
By Byron D. and Thelma C. Augustan
Mom was born in the family farmhouse near Juniata, Nebraska, and has lived her entire life within 10 minutes of that farm. She married her childhood sweetheart in 1935 and had three boys. She is still active at 104 years of age, and her long-term memory is as sharp as a tack. When I visit her, I beg her to share experiences that had an impact on my life. One such story was related to weather, a favorite topic in rural Nebraska.
On a hot, sticky, summer day in 1928, Grandpa came rushing from the field with his team of horses, shouting for Grandma, Mom and a younger brother to go to the tornado cellar, as a bad storm was headed their way. While Grandpa had only an eighth-grade education and no training in meteorology, he had experienced many years of living in tornado alley. He did not know the name of the puffy, gray, cotton-ball-shaped clouds that were advancing in their direction. However, he did know from past experience that violent weather sometimes followed those types of clouds.
As the family rushed for the tornado cellar, they looked across their fields and watched as the tail of a tornado dropped from the sky and headed straight for their farm. With the door to the cellar open, they stood frozen at the entrance and observed as two neighbors' houses, barns and a machine shed were crushed, splintered and tossed into the air like rag dolls.
The tornado continued on its path of destruction, advancing steadily toward where the family was standing. As they came to their senses, they rapidly entered the cellar, slammed the heavy door shut, and hooked it with a strong steel hook. Rushing down the steps, they knelt on the dirt poor and prayed that God would save them and their farm. A few hundred yards from the farm buildings, the tornado turned abruptly and headed across open fields before disappearing back into the clouds.
That story helped me understand why my mother was a little paranoid about tornadoes. It also helped explain her actions regarding the protection of her three young sons growing up in the 1940s and '50s.
Our farm did not have a tornado cellar, but there was a basement under the house. During the daylight hours, it was no problem to watch for tornadoes and head for the basement when needed. The dilemma for Mom was how to detect if a tornado was approaching at night. Like her father, Mom did not have scientific training in weather forecasting. She did have experience, logic and common sense.
A 35-foot windmill stood about 30 feet from the house. When spring and summer weather fronts roared across the Great Plains, the wind shifted and blew from the north. The advancing cold front frequently spawned strong thunder-storms and occasional tornadoes. Just before the front passed, a deathly quiet would settle over the landscape. A few minutes later, the wind's direction would shift, and it would begin to pick up speed. At that moment, the head on the windmill would also shift while emitting a loud screeching noise.
For Mom, that high-pitched screech was the same as a tornado-warning siren. Although we three boys slept upstairs, we could hear her feet hit the floor, and she was soon pounding on the stairway door. “Boys, get to the basement! There could be a tornado comingl” We would jump out of bed, running to the basement in a matter of seconds. Once in the basement, we would light a kerosene lantern and turn over some empty egg baskets to sit on, and Mom would lead us in prayer. Approximately 30 minutes later, with the threat over, we would trudge up the stairs and go back to bed.
As we grew older, we began to think that the entire evacuation process was a little bit like the boy who cried “Wolf!” One threatening June night, the windmill screeched and Mom flew into action. All three boys headed below deck.
My older brother spoke for all of us when he said, “Mom, we have been getting out of bed in the middle of the night for years. We run to the basement and sit on egg baskets, praying, and nothing ever happens.” Her voice was as strong and clear as a bell as she replied, “Precisely. Now fold your hands and bow your heads” (Good OId Days: July/August 2016)
A Moments Wisdom
--You don’t need to have an opinion about everything. Don’t get worked up about things you cannot control. These things didn’t ask for your attention. Leave them alone. (Marcus Aurelius)
--Procrastination is the arrogant assumption that God owes you another opportunity to do tomorrow what you had time to do today.
-- The man who does not read has no advantage over the man who cannot read. (Mark Twain)
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