HINDS FEET HIGH PLACES HANNAH HURNARD PDF

I already journal, so maybe I will journal with more purpose. Return to Book Page. This page was last edited on 25 Decemberat It was true, just as he had said, it did cause a piercing pain, but it slipped in quickly and then, suddenly, a sweetness she had never felt or imagined before tingled through her. With linked Table of Contents.

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Howell has done a good job of interpreting both the song-poems and the connecting storyline. The music is very beautiful and it helps to paint a clear picture of the characters and their actions…. This recording is worth a good listen.

Based on excerpts from the Song of Solomon, the album brings new life to the Old Testament canticles. While some melodies are simple, they are not predictable. They range from full-bodied and majestic to haunting airs in minor keys. Energy builds and subsides; orchestration ranges from simple to complex…. Throughout, the sound of the music supports the plot in its variety of moods and changes.

Having played the record, I must say that the standard of production is extremely high and I hope you agree reflects credit on everyone involved. I hope that it achieves the success it deserves and that you feel a sequel is warranted.

It is beautifully done, especially the orchestrations and the full rich sound of the orchestra. I really felt like I was going out on a limb ordering pieces from that, and we sold out in three days. What was so amazing on that is they ran out of their own pressing in a week. I am ever so grateful that you have taken the time to produce it. We hope for your success with this endeavor and that it will reach those who are inspired by music who otherwise would not have read the book.

With warmest greetings and thanks. Cummings, K. Duffy, C. Nolan, K. Lawrence, G. Pyatt, C. Dobbins, A. Klee, R. Issell, C. Beldom, M. Cosham, I. Rhodes, C. Newton, P. Yeeles, P. Nutting, S. Wicebloom, G. Hein, E. Danks, A. Cookson, D. Newland, M. Samuel, R. Del Mar, P. Sermon, D. Thompson, H. Fox, A. Stark, C. Irby, N. Pinkett, G. McCormack, J. Bass, P. Hunt, G. Whittaker, K. Chapman, A. Bimson, R. McIntosh, J. Warburton, N. Simmons, G. James, J. All glory to God in the highest places!

May this work be pleasing in his sight. It was winter, and time to head North again. Most were going South, fleeing the icy blasts that had taken over their world—but not me. I aimed my hood ornament toward the coldest spot—Minnesota—and slowly, painfully clicked off section after section of Interstate. Each ribbon of tar thumped out a dull, rhythmic mockery of my predicament. The physical points of Departure and Destination were plain, yet somewhere in between, I had no clear idea where I was headed.

Of course, as I look back on it now, it is clear enough. And so, though the strips of concrete marked out my path for miles ahead, inside I wandered, aimless.

Somewhere in Iowa I came over a hill and the road stretched out to the horizon under gray slabs of cloud.

Slowly and surely, the marble ceiling pressed down, until it nearly scraped the top of my car. Behind and on both sides closed in a swirl of discontented memories: A man lying on a bed under an August moon. Very close, very close to his dream. He reaches out, leans toward it over the edge of a bottomless chasm, and just as he touches it: life, love, fire—he falls. Tumbles as his stomach contracts and his heart breaks. The longed-for faces of a thousand passers-by wash past and he feels the current pulling him down, down with warm, inexorable, waving fingers… I shook under the tremendous weight of stone and impossibilities and longed for oblivion.

Knowing I was very near some kind of limit, I screamed out at God: if He did not come to my rescue in this very moment I would make my own end to this neverending road of mine—so help me, I would drive into that cement piling just ahead. My hand flew out to the book automatically and opened it. I began reading voraciously, throwing words into my eyes like bits of flesh to a starving animal. I read again of Much-Afraid in the Valley of Humiliation, and of her longing for deliverance—love.

I listened with her in amazement as the Lord promised a life free of disfigurement on the High Places—a place where she—we—would finally be loved in return. I felt the pain of the seed of love implanted—the pain that could not be distinguished from delight—and the humiliation of being entrusted to Sorrow and Suffering. Then came the terrible encounter with Pride an encounter with which I could all too readily relate , and the turning of the path down toward the desert, directly away from the High Places.

Much-Afraid protested pitifully that this was an absolute contradiction of His promises. On it she laid down her trembling, rebelling will. Tears dropped down on my chest as I closed the book. The highway blurred. It had begun to rain. A few moments ago I could not even think of such a thing, much less believe it. But now—now You have spoken, and I, too, lay down my will—my trembling, rebelling will. Lord, You may do with me as You please. The next two afternoons, as I practiced in a church near my Minneapolis home base, the Lord gave me music to the songs which Much-Afraid and the Shepherd sang to each other all taken from the Song of Solomon.

The story unfolded in my mind like a movie, and as I imagined scene after scene, music echoed throughout the hills with laughter and accompanied every sorrow. When I returned home after my trip, I contacted Tyndale House and received permission to use the lyrics in the songs. I sent a tape to Mike, then my producer with Eden Records. He was very excited, but unfortunately, since we had just completed another recording The Singer album , there was neither time nor money for yet another album at the moment.

Over four years later, in the spring of , Mike and I were brainstorming in my apartment. The Lord had blessed him in his business, he said, and he was ready to embark on another recording project if one can ever be ready! The version I heard was my well-worn favorite, with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. That recording seemed to move me as no other has done—before or since. I expected a laugh—the kind of chuckle Mike had used before in answer to my harebrained schemes.

My mind raced. Call them? What do you mean, call them? The idea seemed preposterous, but a few days later, I phoned London…and we arranged to record with them at Abbey Road Studios. That melody came to signify to me the promise.

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Miserable Hannah R. Hurnard Was Converted

About this title Much-Afraid had been in the service of the Chief Shepherd, whose great flocks were pastured down in the Valley of Humiliation. She lived with her friends and fellow workers Mercy and Peace in a tranquil little white cottage in the village of Much-Trembling. She loved her work and desired intensely to please the Chief Shepherd, but happy as she was in most ways, she was conscious of several things which hindered her in her work and caused her much secret distress and shame. Here is the allegorical tale of Much-Afraid, an every-woman searching for guidance from God to lead her to a higher place. Book Description: The lessons of triumphing over evil and becoming acquainted with grief are learned in the allegory in this book.

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