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From Chicken Soup for the Single's Soul:


     Have you ever noticed that dining room tables seat six, eight or twelve --not seven, nine or thirteen?  I've been single all my life, usually not thinking much of it.  But on holidays even the place settings conspire against me, rendering a silent rebuke against my single status.
     You can endure holidya dinners two ways if you're single: 1) Bring someone you don't particularly care for; 2) hear the awful words "Pull up an extra eat," a euphemism for either a collapsible chair or one that is too high or too low for the table.  Either strategy leaves you uncomfortable.
     At Thanksgiving two years ago, while my calves cramped from straddling the leg of my brother's dining room table, Aunt Nell took the opportunity to ask for details about my love life, which was seriously lacking at the time.  The event was excruciating.
     Though I enjoy singlehood in the main, there have been times when I've worked myself into a mad frenzy looking for someone to fill a void I thought I couldn't satisfy on my own.  Someone, anyone with a pulse would do.  Over the years, I dated quite a few guys I liked --I was even engaged once, but "till death us to part" seemed a very long time.  I was relieved to be alone again.
     So holidays, expecially with the Aunt Nells of the family leave me a little bereft.  On day, noting my frustration a friend of mine suggested we try something different on the next such holiday.
     "How 'bout you and I go down to a homeless shelter and help out? Then maybe we'll be grateful for what we have," she proposed.
     I had a thousand reasons why this wasn't a good idea, but my friend persisted.  The next Christmas I found myself in an old warehouse, doling out food.
     Never in my life had I seen so many turkeys and rows of pumpkin pies.  Decorations donated by a nearby grocery store created a festive atmosphere that uplifted even my reluctant spirit.  When everyone was fed, I took a tray fand filled a plate with the bountiful harvest.  After a few bits, I knew what everyone was carrying on about; the food was really good.
     My dinner compaions were easy company.  Nobody asked me why I didn't have a date.  People just seemed grateful for a place to sit and enoy a special dinner.  To my surprise, I found I had much in common with my fellow diners.  They were people just like me.
     My experience that Christmas brought me back to the shelter the following year.  I enjoyed helping others so much that I began seeking more opportunities to serve.  I started volunteering for the Literacy Foundation once a week.  I figured I could sit in front of the TV, or I could use those evening hours to help others learn to read.
     Caring for others has abundantly filled the void in my life that Ihad sometimes interpreted as a missing mate.  When I stopped trying so hard to fin in, I realized i was single for a reason and found my own special purpose.
     There is room at the table for a part of one.  And somtimes "just one" is the perfect fit.
by, Vivian Eisenecher

Heirloom

     It had belonged to Great-grandmother and he knew he must be very careful.  The vase was one of mother’s dearest treasures.  She had told him so.
     The vase, placed high on the mantle, was out of the reach of little hands, but somehow he managed.  He just wanted to see if the tiny little rosebud border went all around the back.  He didn’t realize that a boy’s five-year-old hands are sometimes clumsy and not meant to hold delicate porcelain treasures.  It shattered when it hit the floor, and he began to cry.  That cry soon became a sobbing wail, growing louder and louder.  From the kitchen his mother heard her son crying and she came running.  Her footsteps hurried down the hall came around the corner.  She stopped then, looked at him, and saw what he had done. 
     Between his sobs, he could hardly speak the words, “I broke…..the vase.”
     And then his mother gave him a gift.
     With a look of relief, his mother said “Oh, thank heavens, I thought you were hurt!”  And then she held him tenderly until his sobbing stopped.
     She made it very clear –he was the treasure.  Though now a grown man, it is a gift he still carries in his heart.

By Ann Weems
Retold by Alice Gray
From; More Stories for the Heart
     
In Christ,
Grammyluv

     
      In earlier days, I was a mother who made her kids pick up their rooms, make their own snacks and put their laundry in the utility room.  Now when they cme home, I put the rules aside.  I am like a concierge looking for a big tip.  I follow them around asking, “Are you hungry?  Can I get you something?  Do you have laundry?”
     I eat when they want to ear, cook their favorite foods just before they tell me they are going out with friends and watch helplessly as they eat their way a pound of baked ham at three in the afternoon.
     On their visit, my life changes.  I have no car.  My washer is set at extra-large and has two socks and a T-shirt in it.  The phone rings constantly and is never for me.
     At the end of their visits, we set aside a day, pack a lunch and head for the airport.  It isn’t until I return home that I sense how orderly my life has become.  I enjoy the quiet.  The TV tuner is rescued from the clothes hamper and is returned to its place on the coffee table.  The empty milk and juice cartons are removed from the refrigerator.  The we towels are put in the washer.  The bathroom is returned to health standards.
     It is my world again.  So why am I crying?

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Chicken Soup for the Single's Soul


     Just out of college, I began working at an upscale gift gallery near San Francisco's Union Square.  After several months, my hurried morning walk to work, past a small flower stand, became routine.  Then one morning, passing tat stand, I felt an overwhelming desire to buy flowers for someone.  I found myself looking intently at different bouquets.  On the bottom shelf there was a nosegay of violets.  Mrs. Cairns, a grey-haired widow who worked at the gallery, came to mind.  I could just see that nosegay on the lavender tweed suit she often wore to work.
     We weren't close friends.  To me she seemed interested only in her job.  I was even a little envious because she always helped the wealthy San Francisco dowagers who came to shop and usually rang up four or five times my sales.  But, I followed my instinct.
     A few minutes later, I saw her standing inside the gallery doors, dressed in her lavender tweed suit.
     Hesitantly, I handed her the nosegay.  "These are for you, Mrs. Cairns."
     There was a second or two of silence before she said, "Know what?"
     Her faded brown eyes teared.  "Today is my wedding anniversay.  My huband passed away years ago, so no I'm the only one who remembers."
     As she pinned on the nosegay, I told her how pleased I was that my impulse purchase happened on her anniversary.
     She took both of my hands.  "But, my dear...I must tell you that I married forty years ago in a small town in Oregon.  It was a cold, winter day and there were no flowers in town, so my wedding bouquet was a nosegay of violets."

by Carol Fannin Rohwedder

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     As a boy I loved to wander over to a nearby park and watch the older men play checkers.  One day one of them invited me to play.  At first it looked easy.  I captured one, then another of his checkers.  But then, suddenly, he took one checker and hopped and skipped right across the board to the border and yelled, "King me!"  With that king, he proceeded to wipe me off the board.
     That day I learned about long-range vision.  No one minds losing a few checkers if he's headed for king territory.

     The plane was headed for New York--a routine and normally very boring flight.  But this time it proved to be otherwise.
     As they were on their descent pattern, the pilot realized that the landing gear was not engaging.  He messed around with the controls, trying again and again to get the gear to lock into place...without success.  He then asked ground control for instruction.  as the plane circled the landing field, the emergency crew coated the runway with foam and fire trucks and other emergency vehicles moved into position.
     Meanwhile, the passengers were told of each maneuver in that calm, unemotional voice pilots do so well.  Flight attendants glided about the cabin with an air of cool reserve.  Passengers were told to place their heads between their knees and grab their ankles just before impact.  There were tears and few cries of despair...
     Then, with the landing only minutes away, the pilot suddendly announced over the intercom:  "We are beginning our final descent.  At this moment, in accordance with International Aviation Codes established at Geneva, it is my obligation to inform you that if you believe in God you should commence prayer."
     Scout's honor...that's exactly what he said!

by Charles Swindoll

     A public school teacher made clear to me the complex ideas of giving and receiving.
     Evidently she noticed something about the way I held the book in reading class and arranged for an eye examination.  She did not send me to a clinic; she took me to her own oculist, not as a charity case but as a friend.  Indeed, I was so intriegued with the activity that I didn not realize exactly what had happened until one day at school she gave me the glasses.
     "I can't take them.  I can't pay for them," I said, embarrassed by my family's poverty.
     She told me a story:  "When I was a child, a neighbor bought glasses for me.  She said I should pay for them someday by getting glasses for some other little girl.  So, you see, the glasses were paid for before you were born."
     Then the teacher said the most welcome words that anyone had ever said to me:  "Someday you will buy glasses for some other little girl."
     She saw me as a giver.  She made me responsible.  She accepted me as a member of the same world she lived in.  I walked out of that room, clutching the glasses, not as a recipient of charity, but as a trusted courier.


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Have a blessed day!
Grammyluv

     It was early in the morning in another country.  Exhausted as I was, I awoke around tree o'clock.  The name of someone I loved dearly flashed into my mind.  It was like an electric shock.
     Instantly I was wide awake.  I knew there would be no more sleep for me the rest of the night.  So I lay there and prayed for the one who was trying hard to run from God.  When it is dark and the imagination runs wild, there are fears only a mother can understand.
     Suddenly the Lord said to me, "Quit studying the problems and start studying the promises."
     Now, God has never spoken to me audibly, but there is no mistaking when He speaks.  So I turned on the light, got out my Bible, and the first verses that came to me were Philippians 4:6-7: "Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.  And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus"
     Suddenly I realized the missing ingredient in my prayers had "with thanksgiving."  So I put down my Bible and spent time worshipping Him for who ans what He is.  This covers more territory than any one mortal can comprehend.  Even contemplating what little we do know dissolves doubts, reinforces faith and restores joy.
     I began to thank God for giving me this one I loved so dearly in the first place.  I even thanked Him for the difficult spots which taught me so much.
     And you know what happened?  It was as if someone turned on the lights in my mind and heart, and the little fears and worries that had been nibbling away in the darkness like mice cockroaches hurriedly scuttled for cover.
     That was when I learned that worship and worry cannot live in the same heart: they are mutually exclusive.

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Fear not tomorrow, for God is already there.

From Chicken Soup for the Single's Soul



     "Every day since my husband, Jack Benny, has been gone, the florist has delivered one long-stemmed red rose to my home..." Mary began.  "For the first few weeks, I was in a state of deep mourning.  It never occurred to me to ask who the roses were coming from.
     "I can't begin to exprss the grief I felt.  Jack's loss... Our separation after forty-eight years of complete togetherness...My feelings of utter loneliness, even though I was surrounded by relatives and dear, dear friends who tried to cheer me up.
     "Jack died the day after Christmas. The New Year of 1975 came and went without my noticing it.  I heard of people 'being numb with grief,' but I had never fully understood what those words meant-- not until I went through it myself.
     "It must have been seven or eight weeks before I finally asked the maid who the daily flower was from.  To my surprise, she had no idea.  I called our florist and asked him...
     "He told me quite a while before Jack passed away, he stopped in to send a bouquet of flowers to a friend.  As Jack was leaving, he suddenly turned back and said, 'David, if anything should happen to me, I want you to send my doll a red rose every day...'
     "When the florist finished, I was silent for a moment, and tears started running down my face.  I thanked him and said good-bye."
     Subsequently, Mary learned that Jack had actually included a provision for the flowers in his will.  One perfect red rose was to be delivered to here every day...for the rest of her life.


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     I was deep in thought at my office, preparing a lecture to be given that evening at a college across town, when the phone rang.  A woman I had never met introduced herself and said that she was the mother of a seven-year-old and that she was dying.  She said that her therapist had advised her that discussing her pending death with her son would be too traumatic for him, but somehow that didn't feel right to her.
     Knowing that I worked with grieving children, she asked my advice.  I told her that our heart is often smarter than our brain and that I thought she knew what would be best for her son.  I also invited her to attend the lecture that night since I was speaking about how children cope with death.  She said she would be there.
     I wondered later if I would recognize her at the lecture, but my question was answered when I saw a frail woman being half carried into the room by two adults.  I talked about the fact that children usually sense the truth long before they are told and that they often wait until they feel adults are ready to talk about it before sharing their concerns and questions.  I said that children usually can handle truth better than denial, even though the denial is intended to protect them from pain.  I said that respecting children meant including them in the family sadness, not shutting them out.
     She had heard enough.  At the break, she bobbled to the podium and through her tears she said, "I knew it in my heart.  I just knew I should tell him."  She said that she would tell him that night.
     The next morning I received another phone call from her.  She could hardly talk but I managed to hear the story through her choked voice.  She awakened him when they got home the night before and quietly said, "Derek, I have something to tell you."  He quickly interrupted her saying, "Oh, Mommy, is it now that you are going to tell me that you are dying?"  She held him close and they both sobbed while she said, "Yes."
     After a few minutes the little boy wanted down.  He said that he had something for her that he had been saving.  In the back of one of his drawers was a dirty pencil box.  Inside the box was a letter written in simple scrawl.  It said, "Good-bye, Mom.  I will always love you."
     How long he had been waiting to hear the truth, I don't know.  I do know that two days later Mom died.  In her casket was placed a dirty pencil box and a letter.

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Think of---

Stepping on shore, and finding it Heaven!
Of taking hold of a hand, and finding it Gods's hand.
Of breathing a new air, and finding it celestial air.
Of feeling invigorated, and finding it immortality.
Of passing from storm to tempest to an unbroken calm.
Of waking up, and finding it Home.

Author Unknown

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AMEN SISTER YVETTE!

What a beautiful way to start the day! I think about going HOME all the time, and I know that CHRIST could RAPTURE HIS CHURCH at any time. Today would be a great day - I'm Ready!

Love In Christ,
Tom

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 NASB
But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfort one another with these words.

I am SO ready too Brother Tom!  This old world is getting pretty hard to look at.
Have a blessed day!  I'm on my way out the door to my new job!!
In Christ,
Yvette

Sister Yvette,

I'm very happy for you. Please let us know how things are going. I know this will be a challenge, but I also know that the satisfaction of helping so many is wonderful. You'll be in our prayers.

Love In Christ,
Tom

     Jonas Salk, the great scientist and the discoverer of the vaccine against polio, understood the concept of being encouraging.  He was once asked, "How does this outstanding achievement, which has effectively brought an end to the word polio in our vocabulary, cause you to view your previous 200 failures?"
     His response (paraphrased) was, "I never had 200 failures in my life.  My family didn't think in terms of failure.  They taught in terms of experiences and what could be learned.  I just made my 201st discovery.  I couldn't have made it without learning from the previous 200 experiences."
     Winston Churchill, too, was raised with encouragement.  He was not intimidated by errors.  When he made one, he simply thought the problem through again.  Someone asked him, "Sir Winston, what in your school experience best perpared you to lead Britain out of her darkest hour?"
     Winston thought a minute and then said, "It was the two years I spent at the same level in high school."
     "Did you fail?"
     "No," replied Winston, "I had two opportunities to get it right."

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Hello Grammyluv,

I think you just spoke volumes that is part of all of our lives. If we didn't make any mistakes, we wouldn't be doing anything. I think that many of the greatest discoveries all involved many trials before success. GOD is the only one who gets it right the first time. I think we can all look back in our lives and see that times of progress were usually after mistakes.

The same is true for the most important thing in our lives - Salvation. We all started out as lost sinners, and knowledge of sin and our need of a SAVIOUR is the first big step toward the LIGHT.

Love In Christ,
Tom

 

I can't help but to have some envy for how these two were raised.  As was mentioned in posts, "words are powerful".  They build up or they can literally destroy.
I was raised believing that I was too stupid to hold a pencil.  I believed it for many years and didn't do well in school early on.  I made a big turn around in high school when I finally realized that I wasn't stupid at all.  And then went on to community college after that.
With my grandson, I encourage him in everything he does and I tell him he is smart and good.  Children thrive on that and in turn strive for higher goals. If a mistake is made; it's not the end of the world.  It's called "learning".

     When Leonardo da Vinci had painted his immortal "Last Supper", he asked a friend for an evaluation.  The friend heaped superlatives on the masterpiece and especially praised the wine cup by the Lord's hand.  At that point, Leonardo blotted out the cup.  "Nothing", he was said to have answered, "should distract one's attention from the Lord."




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Amen Sister Yvette!

This is beautiful, but it also involves a profound TRUTH in the lives of every Christian. Our worst times are when JESUS CHRIST isn't the central focus of our lives. Our best times, regardless of circumstances, is when JESUS CHRIST is FIRST and GOD is the CORE concern for everything that we do and say.

Love In Christ,
Tom

     I had finally had it.  The children were loud, cranky, impossible.  I was tired and fed up.  I decided that I was going to fun away from it all and have a day just for me.  I wanted to spoil myself.  I wanted to have a day in which I did just what I wanted to do.  I was going to live it up and be as greedy as I pleased.  I wasn't going to tend to anyone except myself.
     I zoomed out of the house with fifty dollars.  There!  I did it! I said to myself as I drove to the highway and headed north.
     Well, I drove to a mall and had a wild time in a bookstore and bought the collected poems of Walt Whitman.  After that I drove to a McDonald's and ordered two hamburgers, my own large fries, and my own large soda.  I ate everything without being interrupted, without giving my pickle to anyone, without wiping someone's mouth, nose, lap.  Then I bought the biggest chocolate ice cream I could find.
     I was free.  I was out of town, so I drove to a movie theater and watched a movie without buying popcorn, without someone sitting on my lap, without escorting someone to the bathroom.  I was a free man.  I was living it up.  And I was miserable.
     By the time I had returned home, everyone was asleep.  As I slipped into bed, my wife whispered, "We missed you."
     "Me, too," I answered.  I never ran away from home again.

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My own personal note:  While taking time for yourself can be a good and healthy thing, make sure your attitude and motivations are in right standing.  ;)

In Christ,
Grammyluv

     A nurse with whom I worked, Gracie Schaeffler, had taken care of a five year old lad during the latter days of his life.  He was dying of lung cancer...
     This little boy had a Christian mother who loved him and stayed by his side through the long ordeal.  She cradled him on her lap and talked softly about the Lord.  Instinctively, the woman was preparing her son for the final hours to come.  Gracie told me that she entered his room one day as death approached, and she heard this lad talking about hearing bells ringing.
     "The bells are ringing, Mommy," he said.  "I can hear them."
     Gracie thought he was hallucinating because he was already slipping away.  She left and returned a few minutes later and again heard him talking about hearing bells ring.
     The nurse said to his mother, "I'm sure you know your baby is hearing things that aren't there.  He is hallucinating because of the sickness."
     The mother pulled her son closer to her chest, smiled and said, "No, Mrs. Schaeffler.  He is not hallucinating.  I told him when he was frightened- when he couldn't breathe- if he would listen carefully, he could hear the bells of heaven ringing for him.  That is what he's been talking about all day.
     That precious child died on his mother's lap later that evening, and he was still talking about the bells of heaven when the angels came to take him...

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     A young fella rushed into a service station and asked the manager if he had a pay phone.  The manager nodded, "Sure, over there."  The boy pushed in a couple of coins, dialed, and waited for an answer.  Finally, someone came on the line.  "Uh, sir," he said in a deep voice, "could you use an honest, hardworking young man to work for you?"  The station manager couldn't help overhearing the question.  After a moment or two the boy said, "Oh, you already have an honest, hardworking young man?  Well, okay.  Thanks just the same."
     With a broad smile stretched across hes face, he hung up the phone and started back to his car, humming and obviously elated.  "I couldn't help but hear your conversation.  Why are you so happy?  I thought the guy said he already had somebody and didn't need you?"  The young man smiled.  "Well, you see, I am the honest, hardworking young man.  I was just checking up on my job!"

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AMEN SISTER YVETTE!

This is beautiful. Our Loving HEAVENLY FATHER does care about HIS Children. We are safe and secure in HIS Mighty Hands. HE'S not willing to lose a single one of us. We will hear HIS Voice and follow HIM for Eternity.

Love In Christ,
Tom

John 10:27-30 NASB
"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; and I give eternal life to them, and they will never perish; and no one will snatch them out of My hand. "My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand. "I and the Father are one."

I love this verse and thanks!  By the way, thanks for stopping by and signing my guest!  That was a delightful surprise!  BTW....I kept your email address.  Hope you don't mind.  If you do, I will delete it.

Sister Yvette,

You are most welcome to keep my email address. In fact, I would love to hear from you from time to time. Your web site really is quite beautiful, and I enjoyed it. My site is down since I changed Internet Service Providers, but I've been wanting to change things for a long time anyway. I'm working on the raw material for a new site right now. I won't get excited about this until most of the work is done, and I'm much slower than I used to be. I think it has something to do with symptoms of Senioritis.   ;)

Love In Christ,
Tom

1 Corinthians 3:11-15 NASB
For no man can lay a foundation other than the one which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if any man builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw, each man's work will become evident; for the day will show it because it is to be revealed with fire, and the fire itself will test the quality of each man's work. If any man's work which he has built on it remains, he will receive a reward. If any man's work is burned up, he will suffer loss; but he himself will be saved, yet so as through fire.

You're cracking me up!    (http://i181.photobucket.com/albums/x125/luvmarley_bucket/cid_006701c66bbe0d2562b00900a8c0Dis.gif)

     Someone once asked Corrie ten Boom how she could possibly handle all the compliments and praise that were constantly heaped upon her, without becoming proud.  She said she looked at each compliment as a beautiful long stemmed flower given to her.  She smelled it for a moment and then put it into a vase with the others.  Each night, just before retiring, she took the beautiful bouquet and handed it over to God saying, "Thank you, Lord, for letting me smell the flowers; they all belong to you."  She had discovered the secret to genuine humility.


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     Some time ago, a friend of mine punished his three year old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper.  Money was tight, and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree.  Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, "This is for you, Daddy."  He was embarrassed by his earlier over-reaction, but his anger flared again when he found that the box was empty.
     He yelled at her, "Don't you know that when you give someone a present, there's supposed to be something inside of it?"
     The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said, "Oh, Daddy, it's not empty.  I blew kisses in the box.  I filled it with my love.  All for you, Daddy."
     The father was crushed.  He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged her for forgiveness.  My friend told me that he kept that gold box by his bed for years.  Whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember thelove of the child who had put it there.
     In a very real sense, each of us as parents has been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children.  There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.

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     A little girl was visiting her grandmother in the country.  One evening they sat and enjoyed the panorama of stars in the heavens.  Such sparkling brilliance the little girl hadn't seen, living in the city with all the lights.  She was in awe of the beauty and said to her grandmother, "If heaven is so beautiful on the wrong side, what must it be like on the right side?"

     At the Royal Palace of Tehran in Iran, you can see one of the most beautiful mosiac work in the world.  The ceilings and walss flash like diamonds in multifaceted reflections.
     Originally, when the palace was designed, the architect specified huge sheets of mirrors on the walls.  When the first shipment arrived from Paris, they found to their horror that the mirrors were shattered.  The contractor threw them in the trash and brought the sad news to the architect.
     Amazingly, the archtect ordered alll of the broken pieces collected, then smashed them into tiny pieces and glued them to the walls to become a mosaic of silvery, shimmering, mirrored bits of glass.
     Broken to become beautiful!  It's possible to turn your scars ito stars.  It's possible to be better because of the brokenness.  It is extremely rare to find in the great museums of the world objects of antiquity that are unbroken.  Indeed, some of the most precious pieces in the world are only fragments that remain a hallowed reminder of a glorious past.
     Never underestimate God's power to repair and restore.

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     At the Royal Palace of Tehran in Iran, you can see one of the most beautiful mosiac work in the world.  The ceilings and walss flash like diamonds in multifaceted reflections.
     Originally, when the palace was designed, the architect specified huge sheets of mirrors on the walls.  When the first shipment arrived from Paris, they found to their horror that the mirrors were shattered.  The contractor threw them in the trash and brought the sad news to the architect.
     Amazingly, the architect ordered all of the broken pieces collected, then smashed them into tiny pieces and glued them to the walls to become a mosaic of silvery, shimmering, mirrored bits of glass.
     Broken to become beautiful!  It's possible to turn your scars into stars.  It's possible to be better because of the brokenness.  It is extremely rare to find in the great museums of the world objects of antiquity that are unbroken.  Indeed, some of the most precious pieces in the world are only fragments that remain a hallowed reminder of a glorious past.
     Never underestimate God's power to repair and restore.

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Here is an extra treat this morning!  You will have to go to the link yourselves and the viewing will take 60 seconds.  However it will be well worth it and the experience will be unforgettable.  You will probably want to copy the link for yourself and email it to friends and family!

In Christ,
Grammyluv!

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Hello Grammyluv,

THANKS! Sister Yvette - that was beautiful. Chicken Soup is also beautiful.

Love in Christ,
Tom

   

Thanks Brother Tom!  I was wondering where you've been?

     We went to Open House tonight at the public elementary school.  When Rachel's teacher met us, her eyebrows seemed to elevate slightly.  She spoke kindly of our first grader but said she had some concerns.  She then invited us to look at the artwork; we would see what she meant.
     Dozens of brown paper treasure chests were tacked to the bulletin board.  Each had a barreled top attached with a brad.  On the front was printed, "A Real Treasure Would Be..."  We walked over and began opening the lids to find Rachel's treasure and see why it so concerned the teacher.
     As we peeked into each chest, we saw TV's and Nintendos, a few genies, heaps of gold coins, and a unicorn.  Rachel's chest was in the very bottom corner.  We had to stoop to open it.  Inside, our daughter had drawn Christ, hanging on a cross with red drops of blood shaped like hearts dripping from his hands.  She had completed the sentence, "A Real Treasure Would Be...Jesus."
     "Do you see my concern?" the teacher asked, her arms folded across her chest.
     "Yes," my husband agreed, "I see what you mean.  The J is backwards, isn't it?"

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Sister Yvette,

I've been down with my back. I don't want to complain, and I think that I'm getting better.

Love In Christ,
Tom


   

I apololigize ya'll, that I wasn't able to post here today.  I hope you will stay tuned for tomorrow's posting!

Brother Tom, I'm sorry to hear your back is bothering you again.  You are in my prayers.  ;)

Sister Yvette,

You are in my prayers also for more than just the new job. Many people in your area of the country have had a really hard time with weather and resulting disasters. I know there were huge mud slides in Oregon today from recent rains. In fact, people in many areas of the country are having hard times. Most of the really bad ice storm missed my part of Oklahoma, but many people in this part of the country are without electricity. Realistically, Christians around the world need our prayers. Thankfully, our Gracious GOD loves to hear our prayers.

Love In Christ,
Tom

 

Brother Tom,
So far, so good here in the Seattle area.  I heard about the ice storm in Oklahoma yesterday and immediately thought of you.  It sounded like it was headed PR's way?  It is definitely cold here.  I about freeze taking the bus late at night to get home.  So much for global warming, uh?
And yes, Christians everywhere need prayers.  The world is so uncertain now.  I wish more would see that truth and come racing to our Lord.

In Christ,
Yvette

     A woman caught in a frightening storm in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean had kept all the little children on board from panicking by telling Bible stories.  After finally reaching the dock safely, the ship's captain approached the woman, whom he had observed in the midst of the tempest.
     "How were you able to maintain your calm when everyone feared the ship would sink in this storm?" the captain asked.  As she looked up, he noted the same quiet peace in her eyes that she had maintained throughout the journey.
     "I have two daughters," explained the Christan woman.  "One of them lives in New York.  The other lives in heaven.  I knew I would see one or the other of my daughters in a few hours.  And it really didn't matter to me which one."

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     I'll never forget the day I looked out of our living room and saw Mark, our youngest, walking home from school in the driving rain.  Mark was in third grade, and he was allowed to ride his bike to his grade school, located right within our sub-division.  I happened to home from the church early that day, and I was sitting in an easy chair by the window.  I looked outside at the pouring rain ans saw my boy in the distance, trudging his way through the downpour.  His clothing was absolutely drenched and his hair was plastered against his head.  I hopened the door for him, and he looked up at me with a little smile, his face red from the cold.
     "Hi Dad!" he said.  "You're home early."
     "Hi son," I replied.  "You're soaked to the skin."
     "Yeah, I know."
     "Umm, Mark, you know, if you'd ride your bike you'd get home faster.  You wouldn't get so wet."
     He looked at me rather sheepishly as rivulets of rain streamed from his hair down across his face.  "I know, Dad."
     I was puzzled.  "Well, Son, if you know, why in the world didn't you do it?"
     Then he hung his head, just a bit, and it hit me.  Boy, did I feel like crawling under a table and hiding for a while.  He had told me several times before that his bike had a flat tire.  He had asked me, "Dad, could you please fix it for me?"
     "Sure, Son," I'd promised him.  "Don't worry.  I'll get after it right away."  But I never did.  I'd forgotten all about it.
     As he stood there in the entryway, dripping and shivering, he could have said, "I couldn't ride my bike today because someone promised me he'd fix it and never did."  He would have had every right to say that.  But he didn't.  What he did say remains printed indelibly on this dad's heart.
     "Aw, Dad, I know how busy you are and everything, and --I just didn't want to bother you with it again."
     I thought, Son, your dad isn't too busy; he's just too selfish.
     For me, a bike tire was no big deal --just one more thing on a long "to do" list.  But for Mark, it meant more than transportation.  It meant more than a long walk home in the rain.  It meant trusting his father to meet his every need.

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     Busy in his study, a minister was preparing his sermon for the coming Sunday.  He reached to the shelf at his side for a book, and then remembered that he had left it downstairs.  His little daughter was playing in the bedroom, and he called her.  She came, running, eager and delighted at the throught that Papa needed her.  He explained carefully where she could find the book, and she went gladly, returning in a moment with a book which he saw at a glance was the wrong one.  But he hardly looked at the book as he took it and laid it on the table.  He looked only at the eager face of his daughter, wreathed in smiles.  Gathering her close to his heart, he kissed her and said, "Thank you, darling."  And when she had gone back happy and contented to her play he went quietly for the book he needed.  I think I should like to listen to the sermons that man would preach.

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     Ahhh...an hour of contentment.  A precious moment of peace.  A few minutes of relaxation.  Each of us has a setting in which contentment pays a visist.
Early in the morning while the coffee is hot and everyone else is asleep.
Late at night as you kiss your six-year-old's sleepy eyes.
In a boat on a lake when memeories of a life well-lived are vivid.
In the companionship of a well-worn, dog-eared, even tear-stained Bible.
In the arms of a spouse.
At Thanksgiving dinner or sitting near the Christmas tree.
     An hour of contentment.  An hour when deadlines are forgotten and strivings have ceased...
     But unfortunately, in our squirrel cages of schedules, contests, and side-glancing, hours like these are about as common as one-legged monkeys.  In our wourld, contentment is a strange street vendor, roaming, looking for a home, but seldom finding an open door.  This old salesmans moves slowly from hours to hourse, tapping on windows, knocking on doors, offering his wares: an hour of peace, a smile of acceptance, a sigh of relief.  But his goods are seldom taken.  We are too busy to be content...
     "Not now, thank you.  I've too much to do," we say.  "Too many marks to be made, too many achievements to be achieved, too many dollars to be saved, too many promotions to be earned.  And besides, if I'm content, someone might think I've lost my ambition."
     So the street vindor named Contentment moves on.

     My list of things was, for the most part, undone.  My responsibilities were just as burdensome as ever.  Calls to be made.  Letters to be written.  Checkbooks to be balanced.
     But a funny thing happened on the way to the rat race that made me slip into neutral.  Just as I got my sleeves rolled up,, just as the old engine was starting to purr, just as I was getting up a good head of steam, my infant daughter, Jenna, needed to be held.  She had a stomachache.  Mom was in the bath so it fell to Daddy to pick her up.
     She's three weeks old today.  At first I started trying to do things with one hand and hold her with the other.  Your're smiling.  You've tried that too?  Just when I realized that it was impossible, I also realized that it was not at all what I was wanting to do.
     I sat down and held her tight little tummy against my chest.  She began to relax.  A big sigh escaped her lungs.  Her whimpers became gurgles.  She slid down my chest until her little ear was right on top of my heart.  That's when her arms went limp and she fell asleep.
     And that's when the street vendor knocked at my door.
     Good-bye, schedule.  See you later, routing. Come back tomorrow, deadlines...hello Contentment, come on in.

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Hello grammyluv
     The Secret of Love
As the Lord was creating the world
He called upon His archangels.
The Lord asked His archangels to help
him decide where to put the Secret of Life.

"Bury it in the ground," one angel replied.
"Put it on the bottom of the sea," said another.
"Hide it in the mountains," another suggested.

The Lord replied,"If I see to do any of those
only a few will find the Secret of Life.
The Secret of Life must be accessible to
EVERYONE!"

One angel replied," I know: put it in each
man's heart.
Nobody will think to look there."
"Yes!" said the Lord."Within each man's heart."
And so it was­­­­---
The SECRET OF LIFE lies within all of us.
                                           Author Unknown
Love in Jesus Def(';')

I like that very much!  Thank you Def!

    There is story of a woman in England who came to her vicar with a troubled conscience.  The vicar knew her to be an habitual gossip --she maligned nearly everyone in the village.
     "How can I make amends?" she pleaded.  The vicar said, "If you want to make peace with your conscience, take a bag of goose feathers and drop one on the porch of each one you have slandered."
     When she had done so, she came back to the vicar and said, "Is that all?"  "No," said the wise old minister, "you must go now and gather up every feather and bring them all back to me."
     After a lone time the woman returned without a single feather.  "The wind has blown them all away."  she said.  "My good woman," said the vicar, "so it is with gossip.  Unkind words are easily dropped, but we can never take them back again."

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     What does a healthy man look like?  I can't help but recall a statement from a young man who lives near us--- a sixteen-year-old high school sophomore.  His parents divorced when he was eight years old.  His father left and has never returned.  His stepdad, a tyrannical and poor excuse for a man, treats him poorly.  Tells him to "shut up" all the time.  Tells him he's worthless, stupid, and will never amount to anything.
     But just ask the boy about his dream and his eyes will light up.  This is what he'll tell you:  "I'd like to find out where my real dad lives.  And I'd like to move in next door without him knowing who I was.  And---I'd like to just become his friend.  Once I had become his friend, then maybe it would be OK for me to move on."
     This same young man who has had all kinds of difficulty in his life was asked to write an essay on the subject, "What is a man?"  The following is his brief essay---written by a boy who has never really been around a man, never really seen one.  But I think there is something so inherent, so ingrained, so intrinsic, so fundamental, that even a young boy who has never seen it modeled can put it into words.  Here's what he wrote:
A real man is kind.
A real man is caring.
A real man walks away from silly macho fights.
A real man helps his wife.
A real man helps his kids when they are sick.
A real man doesn't run from his problems.
A real man sticks to his word and keeps his promises.
A real man is honest.
A real man is not in trouble with the law.

     It's one lonely boy's vision of a man who stays.  A man who is both in authority and under authority.
     It's a vision of a Tender Warrior.

     He had built for himself a great house on one of the Caribbean islands.  It is a thing to behold.  Tall rusty iron columns, collected and resurrected with an ingenious homemade device.  The Great House is a masterpiece of salvaged materials.
     A collector and seller of scrap metal as well as antiques, he was also fascinated with broken bits and pieces of china dug from his front yard.  His friends, John and June Cash, laughingly remarked it was the first time they had heard of a yard sale where the man had sold the yard itself.  Carefully he fitted and glued the pieces together.  Few ever came out whole.  They remained simply a collection of one who cared.
     When I expressed interest, he gave me a blue-and-white plate, carefully glued together--pieces missing.
     "You remind me of God," I said.  By the look on his face, I knew I had shocked him, and I hurriedly explained.
     "God pieces back broken lives lovingly.  Sometimes a piece is irretrievably lost.  But still He gathers what He can and restores us."

     Carl Coleman was driving to work one morning when he bumped fenders with another motorist.
     Both cars stopped, and the woman driving the other car got out to survey the damage.
     She was distraught.  It was her fault, she admitted, and hers was a new car, less than two days from the showroom.  She dreaded facing her husband.
     Coleman was sympathetic; but he had to pursue the exchange of license and registration data.
     She reached into her glove compartment to retrieve the documents in an envelope.
     On the first paper to tumble out, written in her husband's distinctive hand, were these words:
     In case of accident, remember, Honey, it's you I love, not the car"

I'm proud of you.
Way to go!
Bingo!  You did it!
Magnificent.
I knew you could do it.
What a good helper.
You're very special to me.
I trust you.
What a tresure.
Hurray for you!
Beautiful work.
You're a real trooper.
Well done.
That's so creative.
You make my day.
You're a joy.
Give me a big hug.
You're such a good listener.
You figured it out.
I love you.
You're so responsible.
You remembered.
You're the best.
You sure tried hard.
I've got to hand it to you.
I couldn't be prouder of you.
You light up my day.
My buttons are popping off!
I'm praying for you.
You're wonderful.
I'm behind you.

     My are instructor, an excellent craftsman, told me a compelling story about the benefits of diligent work.
     Many years ago there was a famous Japanese artist named Hokusai, whose paintings were coveted by royalty.  One day a nobleman requested a special painting of his prized bird.  He left the bird with Hokusai, and the artist told the nobleman to return in a week.
     The master missed his beautiful bird, and was anxious to return at the end of the week, not only to secure his favorite pet, but his painting as well.  When the nobleman arrived, however, the artist humbly requested a two-week postponement.
     The two-week delay stretched into two months----and then six.
     A year later, the nobleman stormed into Hokusai's studio.  He refused to wait any longer and demanded both his bird and his painting.  Hokusai, in the Japanese way, bowed to the nobleman, turned to his workshop table, and picked up a brush and a large sheet of rice paper.  Within moments he had effortlessly painted and exact likeness of the lovely bird.
     The bird's owner was stunned by the painting.
     And then he was angry.  "Why did you keep me waiting for a year if you could have done the painting in such a short time?"
     "You don't understand," Hokusai replied.  Then he escorted the nobleman into a room where the walls were covered with paintings of the same bird.  None of them, however, matched the grace and beauty of the final rendering...
     This must also be true of the canvas of our lives.... If we want to have something of real worth and lasting value in our character, it won't come easy.
     It never does.

     A preschooler who lives down the street was curious about grandparents.  It occured to me that, to a child, grandparents appear like an apparition with no explanation, no job description and few credentials.  They just seem to go with the territory.
     This, then, is for the little folks who wonder what a parent is.
     A grandparent can always be counted on to buy all your cookies, flower seeds, all-purpose greeting cards, transparent tape, paring knives, peanut brittle and ten chances on a pony.  (Also a box of taffy when they have dentures.)
     A grandparent is the only baby-sitter who doesn't charge more after midnight -- or anything before midnight.
     A grandparent buys you gifts your mother says you don't need.
     A grandparent arrives three hours early for your baptism, your graduation and your wedding because he or she wants a seat where he or she can see everything.
     A grandparent loves you from when you're a bald baby to a bald father and all the hair in between.
     A grandparent will put a sweater on you when she is cold, feed you when she is hungry and put you to bed when she is tired.
     A grandparent will brag on you when you get a typing pin that 80 other girls got.
     A grandparent will frame a picture of your hand that you traced and put it in her Mediterranean living room.
     A grandparent will slip you money just before Mother's Day.
     A grandparent will help you with your buttons, your zippers, and your shoelaces and not be in any hurry for you to grow up.
     When you're a baby, a grandparent will check to see if you are crying when you are sound asleep.
     When a grandchild say, "Grandma, how come you didn't have any children?" a grandparent holds back the tears.

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     A successful beauty product company asked the people in a large city to send pictures along with brief letters about the most beautiful women they knew.  Within a few weeks thousands of letters were delivered to the company.
     One letter in particular caught the attention of the employees and soon it was handed to the company president.  The letter was written by a young boy who was obviously from a broken home, living in a run-down neighborhood.  With spelling corrections, an excerpt from his letter read:  "A beautiful woman lives down the street from me.  I visit her every day.  She makes me feel like the most important kid in the world.  We play checkers and she listens to my problems.  She understands me and when I leave she always yells out the door that she's proud of me."
     The boy ended his letter saying, "This picture shows you that she is the most beautiful woman.  I hope I have a wife as pretty as her."
     Intrigued by the letter, the president asked to see this woman's picture.  His secretary handed him a photograph of a smiling, toothless woman, well advanced in years, sitting in a wheelchair.  Sparse gray hair was pulled back in a bun and wrinkles that formed deep furrows on her face were somehow diminished by the twinkle in her eyes.
     "We can't use this woman," explained the president, smiling.  "She would show the world that our products aren't necessary to be beautiful."

     A certain old recluse lived deep in the mountains of Colorado.  When he died, distant relatives came from the city to collect his valuables.  Upon arriving, all they saw was an old shack with an outhouse beside it.  Inside the shack, next to the rock fireplace, was an old cooking pot and his mining equipment.  A cracked table with a three-legged chair stood guard by a tiny window. and a kerosene lamp served as the centerpiece for the table.  In a dark corner of the little room was a dilapidated cot with a treadbare bedroll on it.
     They picked up some of the old relics and started to leave.  As they were driving away, an old friend of the recluse, on his mule, flagged them down.  "Do you mind if I help myself to what's left in my friend's cabin?" he asked.  "Go right ahead," they replied.  After all, they thought, what inside that shack could be worth anything?
     The old friend entered the shack and walked directly over to the table.  He reached under it and lifted one of the floor boards.  He then proceeded to take out all the gold his friend had discovered over the past 53 years --- enough to have built a palace.  The recluse died with only his friend knowing his true worth.  As the friend looked out of the little window and watched the cloud of dust behind the relative's car disappear, eh said, "They shoulda got to know him better."

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     The very wealthy English Baron Fitzgerald had only one child, a son, who understandably was the apple of his eye, the center of his affections, an only child, the focus of this little family's attention.
     The son grew up, but in his early teens his mother died, leaving him and his father.  Fitzgerald grieved over the loss of his wife but devoted himself to fathering their son.  In the passing of time, the son became very ill and died in his late teens.  In the meantime, the Fitzgerald financial holdings greatly increased.  The father had used much of his wealth to acquire art works of the "masters."
     And with the passing of more time, Fitzgerald himself became ill and died.  Previous to his death he had carefully prepared his will with explicit instructions as to how his estate would be settled.  He had directed that there would be an auction in which his entire collection of art would be sold.  Because of the quantity and quality of the art works in his collection which was valued in the millions of English pounds, a huge crowd of prospective buyers gathered, expectantly.  Among them were many museum curators and private collectors eager to bid.
     The art works were displayed for viewing before the auction began.  Among them was one painting which received little attention.  It was of poor quality and done by an unknown local artist.  It happened to be a protrait of Fitzgerald's only son.
     When the time came for the auction be begin, the auctioneer gaveled the crowd to attention and before the bidding began, the attorney read first from the will of Fitzgerald which instructed that the first painting to auctioned was the painting of "my beloved son."
     The poor quality painting didn't receive any bidders...except one!  The only bidder was the old servant who had known the son and loved him and served him and for sentimental reasons offered the only bid.  For less than an English pound he bought the painting.
     The auctioneer stopped the bidding and asked the attorney to read again from the will.  The crowd was hushed, it was quite unusual, and the attorney read from the Fitzgerald will:  "Whoever buys the painting of my son gets all my art collection.  The auction is over!"

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     In desperation, I asked if he could be retested.  She shook her head and said no.  In an attempt to show her just how "normal" Michael really was, I began telling her about all the things that Michael did well.  But she brushed my comments aside and stood up, dismissing me.  "Michael will be all right," she said.
     Later that evening, after Michael and his three-year-old sister, Linda, were in bed, I tearfully told Frank what I had learned that day.  After talking it over, we agreed that we knew our son much better than an IQ test.  We decided that Michael's low score must have been a mistake.
     Like me, Frank could not believe that ou son was "nearly retarded."  Instead, he told me about some of the things Michael recently had done that he felt proved Michael was intelligent... He said that one night Michael showed an interest in the blueprint sketches he was working on, so he found Michael's set of odd-shaped blocks and quickly sketched two-dimensional drawing of each of them.  Frank then asked Michael to match each block with it's corresponding drawing.  Frank said he was pleased with how easily Michael made things with his toy construction sets from the diagrams that came with the toys.
     We moved to Fort Wayne, Indiana, in 1962, and Michael entered Concordia Lutheran High School.  His grades warranted his selecting collage preparatory courses, including biology, Latin, and algebra--- the subject we had been told, when he was in first grade, he would never be able to handle.  Biology soon became his favorite subject.  He started telling everyone he was going to be a doctor.
     Michael entered Indiana University at Bloomington in 1965 as a premedical student.  By midyear, with a 3.47 grade point average, he had made the dean's list, and his faculty counselor gave him special permission to take more than the recommended number of course hours.  He earned enough credits to be accepted into the Indiana University School of Medicine in Indianapolis at the end of his junior year in college.
     During his first year at medical school, Michael took another IQ test and scored 126, an increase of 36 points.  An increase like that was supposed to be impossible.
     On graduation day, May 21, 1972, Frank, Linda, and I attended the ceremony and hugged our Dr. Mike!  After the ceremony, we told Michael and Linda about the low IQ score Michael had received when he was six---- as we had planned to do all along.  At first, both of them thought we were joking.  Since that day, Michael sometimes will look at us and say with a big grin, "My parents never told me that I couldn't be a doctor-- that is, not until after I graduated from medical school!"  It's his way of thanking us for the faith we had in him.
     It has been said that children often live up to what adults expect of them--- tell a child he is "dumb" and he may play the part.  We often wonder what would have happened if we had treated Michael as "nearly retarded" and imposed a limit on his dreams.

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     An old man showed up at the back door of the house we were renting.
Opening the door a few cautious inches, we saw his eyes were glassy and his furrowed face glistened with silver stubble.  He clutched a wicker basket holding a few unappealing vegetables.  He bid us good morning and offered his produce for sale.  We were uneasy enough to make a quick purchase to alleviate both our pity and our fear.
     To our chagrin, he returned the next week, introducing hmself as Mr. Roth, the man who lived in the shack down the road.  As our fears subsided, we got close enough to realize that it wasn't alcohol, but cataracts, that marbleized his eyes.  On subsequent visits, he would shuffle in, wearing two mismatched right shoes, and pull out a harmonica.  With glazed eyes set on a futrue glory, he'd puff out old gospel tunes between conversations about vegtables and religion.
     On one visit, he exclaimed, "The Lord is so good!  I came out of my shack this morning and found a bag full of shoes and clothing on my porch."
     "That's wonderful, Mr. Roth," we said.  "We're happy for you."
     "You know what's even more wonderful?" he asked.  "Just yesterday I met some people that could use them."

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     Shortly after World War II came to a close, Europe began picking up the pieces.  Much of the Old Country had been ravaged by war and was in ruins.  Perhaps the saddest sight of all was that of little orphaned children starving in the streets of those war-torn cities.
     Early one chilly morning, an American soldier was making his way back to the barracks in London.  As he turned the corner in his jeep, he spotted a little lad with his nose pressed to the window of a pastry shop.  Inside, the cook was kneading dough for a fresh batch of doughnuts.  The hungry boy stared in silence, watching every move.  The soldier pulled his jeep to the curb, stopped, got out, and walked quietly over to where the little fellow was standing.  Through the steamed-up window he could see the mouth-watering morsels as they were being pulled from the oven, piping hot.  The boy salivated and released a slight groan as he watched the cook place them onto the glass enclosed counter ever so carefully.
     The soldier's heart went out to the nameless orphan as he stood beside him.
     "Son...would you like some of those?"
     The boy was startled.
     "Oh, yeah...I would!"
     The American stepped inside and bought a dozen, put them in a bag, and walked back to where the lad was standing in the foggy cold of the London morning.  He smiled, held out the bag, and said simply: "Here you are."
     As he turned to walk away, he felt a tug on his coat.  He looked back and heard the child ask quietly,  "Mister...are you God?"

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     The nurse escorted a tired, anxious young man to the bedside of an elderly man.  "Your son is here," she whispered to the patient.  She had to repeat the words several times before the patient's eyes opened.  He was heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack and he dimy saw the young man standing outside the oxygen tent.
     He reached out his hand and the young man tightly wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing a message of encouragement.  The nurse brought a chair next to the bedside.  All through the night the young man sat holding the old man's hand and offering gently words of hope.  The dying man said nothing as he held tightly to his son.
     As dawn approached, the patient died.  The young man placed on the bed the lifeless hand he had been holding, then he went to notify the nurse.  While thenurse did what was necessary, the young man waited.  When she had finished her task, the nurse began to offer words of sympathy to the young man.  But he interrupted her.
     "Who was that man?" he asked.
     The startled nurse replied, "I thought he was your father."
     "No, he was not my father," he answered.  "I never saw him before in my life."
     "Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?" asked the nurse.
     He replied, "I also knew he needed his son, and his son just wasn't here.  When I realized he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, I knew how much he needed me."

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by Philip Yancey

     A story is told about Beethoven, a man not known for social grace.  Because of his deafness, he found conversation difficult and humiliating.  When he heard of the death of a friend's son, Beethoven hurried to the house, overcome with grief.  He had no words of comfort to offer.  But he saw a piano in the room.  For the next half hour he played the piano, pouring out his emotions in the most eloquent way he could.  When he finished playing, he left.  The friend later remarked that no one else's visit had meant so much.

Most Beautiful Heart

 
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One day a young man was standing in the middle
of the town proclaiming that he had the most
beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large
crowd gathered and they all admired his heart
for it was perfect.
There was not a mark or a flaw in it.
Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most
beautiful heart they had ever seen.
The young man was very proud and boasted
more loudly about his beautiful heart.

 

Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of
the crowd and said, "Why your heart is not
nearly as beautiful as mine."

The crowd and the young man looked at the
old man's heart. It was beating strongly,
but full of scars, it had places where pieces
had been removed and other pieces put in, but
they didn't fit quite right and there were
several jagged edges. In fact, in some places
there were deep gouges where whole pieces
were missing.



The people stared -- how can he say his heart
is more beautiful, they thought?
The young man looked at the old man's heart
and saw its state and laughed.

"You must be joking," he said.
"Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect
and yours is a mess of scars and tears."

"Yes," said the old man, "Yours is perfect
looking but I would never trade with you.
You see, every scar represents a person to
whom I have given my love - I tear out a piece
of my heart and give it to them, and often
they give me a piece of their heart which fits
into the empty place in my heart, but because
the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges,
which I cherish, because they remind me of the
love we shared. "Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart
away, and the other person hasn't returned
a piece of his heart to me. These are the
empty gouges -- giving love is taking a chance.

Although these gouges are painful, they stay open,
reminding me of the love I have for these people too,
and I hope someday they may return and fill the
space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?"



The young man stood silently with tears running
down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man,
reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart,
and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old
man with trembling hands



The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart
and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and
placed it in the wound in the young man's heart.
It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.
The young man looked at his heart, not perfect
anymore but more beautiful than ever,
since love from the old man's heart flowed into his.
They embraced and walked away side by side.


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     The young people at Shively Christian Church, led at the time by Youth Pastor Dave Stone, were fiercely competitive with their neighbor, Shively Baptist, in all things, especially softball.  They were also serious about their Christianity, faithfully attending the summer Bible camp led by the youth pastor.
     One week, the Bible lesson was about Jesus washing his disciples' feet, from John 13.  To make the servanthood lesson stick, Pastor Stone divided the kids into groups and told them to go out and find a practical way to be servants.
     "I want you to be Jesus in the city for the next two hours," he said.  "If Jesus were here, what would he do?  figure out how he would help people."
     Two hours later the kids reconvened in Pastor Stone's living room to report what they had done.
     One group had done two hours of yard work for an elderly man.  Another group bought ice cream treats and delivered them to several widows in the church.  A third group visited a church member in the hospital and gave him a card.  Another group went to a nursing home and sang Christman carols - yes, carols in the middle of August.  One elderly resident remarked that it was the warmest Christmas she could remember.
     But when the fifth group stood up and reported what they had done, everyone groaned.  This group had made its way to none other than their arch rival, Shively Baptist, where they had asked the pastor if he knew someone who needed help.  The pastor sent them to the home of an elderly woman who needed yard work done.  There, for two hours, they mowed grass, raked the yard and trimmed hedges.
     When they were getting ready to leave, the woman called the group together and thanked them for their hard work.  "I don't know how I could get along without you," she told them.  "You kids at Shively Baptist are always coming to my rescue."
     "Shively Baptist!" interrupted Pastor Stone.  "I sure hope you set her straight and told her you were from Shively Christian Church."
     "Why, no, we didn't," the kids said.  "We didn't think it mattered."

by Charles W. Colson

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Dear Abby:

     One of the toughest tasks a church faces is choosing a good minister.  A member of an official board undergoing this painful process finally lost patience.  He's just witnessed the pastoral relations committee reject applicant after applicant for some minor fault...real or imagined.  It was time for a bit of soul searching on the part of the committee.  So he stood up and read this letter purported to be from an applicant.

     "Gentlemen:  Understanding your pulpit is vacant, I should like to apply for the position.  I have many qualifications.  I've been a preacher with much success and also have had some successes as a writer.  Some say I'm a good organizer.  I've been a leader most places I've been.
     I'm over 50 years of age and have never preached in one place for more than three years.  In some places, I have left town after my work cause riots and disturbances.  I must admit I have been in jail three or four times, but not because of any real wrongdoing.
     My health is not too good, though I still accomplish a great deal.  The churches I have preached in have been small, though located in several large cities.
     I've not gotten along well with religious leaders in the towns where I have preached.  In fact, some have threatened me, and even attacked me physically.  I am not too good at keeping records.  I have been known to forget whom I have baptized.
     However, if you can use me, I promise to do my best for you."

     The board member turned to the committee and said, "Well, what do you think?  Shall we call him?"
     The good church folks were appalled!  Consider a sickly, troublemaking, absent-minded ex-jailbird?  Was the board member crazy?  Who signed the application?  Who had such colossal nerve?
     The board member eyed them all keenly before he replied, "It's signed, The Apostle Paul."

Author Unknown
from Dear Abby
Submitted by Jean Maier

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Hello GrammyLuv,

Sister Yvette, I've read this one about the Apostle Paul before and love it. In fact, I think that the Apostle Paul is one of the most fascinating characters in the Holy Bible. The term "Characters" makes this sound like a play or a novel, but the life of the Apostle Paul is quite REAL. Paul's life was one of great contrasts between what Paul called himself, "The chief of sinners", to a BORN AGAIN CHILD OF GOD given the Revelation of the Gospel of GOD'S Marvelous GRACE! We can relate to the Apostle Paul because all Christians have experienced the same dramatic change. Paul had a hard life with many trials, even after he was SAVED. Paul explains to us that GOD has not promised Christians an easy time in this short life, and we can take what Paul learned and apply it to our own lives. May GOD give us the courage, strength, and guidance to live a Bold Christian Life like the Apostle Paul did!

Love In Christ,
Tom

Ephesians 2:8-10 NASB  For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.

Thanks Brother Tom!  And good to hear from you!  Yeah, I've read it before too and then I came across it again today and since it was such a good one, I had to share.
Hope all is well with you and yours!
God Bless,
Yvette

Hello Sister Yvette,

Things are going very well, and it's impossible to count all the blessings GOD has given my family and me. I've also been reading good things about you and your new work. I give thanks that you are happy and fulfilled in your work. Sister, what you are doing is an important ministry, and I pray that GOD will make your joy more and more full.

Sister, we should all look up several times every day and say, "THANK YOU LORD!"

Love In Christ,
Tom

 

Amen to that!

     A missionary was serving as a medic at a small field hospital in Africa.  Periodically he had to ravel by bicycle through the jungle to a nearby city for supplies.  It was a two-day trip so he had to camp out overnight.  He had made this trip several times without incident.  One day, however, he arrived at his destination and saw two men fighting.  One was seriously hurt, so he treated him and witnessed to him and went about his business.
     Upon arriving in the city again several weeks later, he was approached by the man he had treated earlier.  "I know you carry money and medicine", said the man to the missionary.  "Some friends and I followed you into the jungle the night you treated me, knowing you would camp overnight.  We waited for you to go to sleep and planned to kill you and take your money and drugs.  Just as we started moving into the campsite, we saw you were surrounded by 26 armed guards.  There were only six of us and we knew then we couldn't possibly get near you, so we left."
     Hearing this the missionary laughed and said, "That's impossible.  I can assure you I was alone in the campsite."
     The young man pressed his point: "No sir, I was not the only one to see the guards.  My friends also saw them, and we all counted them.  We were frightened.  It was because of those guards that we left you alone."
     Several months later, the missionary attended a church presentation in Michigan where he told about his experiences in Africa.  One of the congregants jumped to his feet, interrupting the missionary, and said something that left everyone in the church stunned.
     "We were there with you in spirit," said the man.  The missionary looked perplexed.  The man continued.  "On that night in Africa, it was morning here.  I stopped at the church to gather some materials for an out-of-town trip to another parish.  But as I put my bags into the trunk, I felt the Lord leading me to pray for you.  The urging was so great I called the men in the church together to pray for you."
     Then the man turned around and said, "Will all of those men who met with the Lord that morning please stand?"  One by one they stood---all 26 of them!

Anonymous

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A burglar was no match for a Florida marathon runner and karate black belt.

On Friday morning Margo Foster returned home from tennis practice to find an intruder rummaging through her bedroom, Florida's Sun-Sentenil reported Sunday.

Click here to read the full Sun-Sentenil report.

In an interview with the newspaper, Foster said without thinking twice she ran through the house and chased the surprised man out to the backyard, and didn't stop for seven-blocks.

Foster caught up with the intruder as he began to climb the 6-foot-high wooden fence in the yard. She said she "grabbed him by the neck, ripped him off the fence.. threw him to the ground, and put my knee to his chest," it was reported.

In her white tennis shirt, Foster struggled with the man only until the burglar dropped a bag filled with her property. After that, he took off running again, the report said.

"Go ahead and run," the former yacht detailer yelled at the retreating robber. "You're not going to get away from me. I've been running for 40 years."

Police eventually caught up with the man after Foster flagged down a motorist, who called police, the newspaper reported.


With all the "bad" news I just had to post this "feel good" story somewhere, so why not in Chicken Soup?   ;D

     It was a day of pink azaleas and white dogwoods in April, 1935 and Willie Ann "Babe" Hill lay dying.  She needed to rest and couldn't.  She worried about what would become of her nephew Joe.
     this was the great Depression in Lincolnton, North Carolina, a town of 4.000 people in the segregated South, where everyone knew each other by face if not by name.  Joe Hill was 15 years old, retarded and black.  His Uncle Henry didn't have it in him to care for Joe and he knew of no one else to turn to in their community.
     So Henry Hill went to Marvin and Mattie Leatherman, who lived in a white neighborhood off Main Street and had helped him before.  Willie Ann used to clean the Leathermans' house and Joe sometimes mowed their lawn.
     Marvin Titus Leatherman- "M. T." to colleagues- was a lawyer who would reach into his pockets to pay court fees for poor clients and who counseled against divorce.  Mattie Leatherman was the neighborhood "angel of mercy," the mom who baked birthday cakes for the children of others, the neighbor who nursed the sick.
     Henry pleaded with them.  "Babe said she can't die until she finds somewhere to send Joe.  She doesn't want him sent off to some institution where he won't have somebody to look after him."
     Mattie reassured him.  "You tell her to go in peace to the Lord.  God has made a place for Joe, and he'll put him in it."
     The next day, there was a knock on the Leathermans' door.  Mattie peered past the sheer curtains and there stood Joe Hill.  Beside him, a rusty metal cot.
     Mattie hadn't meant she'd take him in.  Yet there he stood.  Marvin told his wife there was only one thing to do.  If they didn't take him in, Joe might die.
     They built a house out back, painted it white like the big house.  Barely 9 by 20 feet, it had room for everything he needed.  A bed, a dresser and a kerosene heater.
     It was Joe Hill's house, and he was proud.
     The Leathermans had one child of their own, Marguerite.  Though Joe was 10 years older, he and Marguerite grew up together, opening presents on Christmas, blowing out birthday candles, and going for sunday drives with the family.  Little Marguerite called her parents "Mama" and "Daddy" and Joe took to calling them that, too.  He was like a child, and they taught him by example and affirmation.
     Saturday nights, Marvin sat beside Joe and taught him the same Bible lessons he would teach the next morning at First Baptist Church.  The rules of Society might not let Joe through the church door, but Marvin was determinded he would not suffer because of it.
     Marvin tried to walk his life according to Matthew 25 -- "For I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was a stranger, and you took me in."
     they settled into a routine that lasted more than 45 years.  Promptly at 7:30 each weekday morning, Marvin strode off to his law office half a mile away.  Here was the dean of Lincoln County lawyers, the former county attorney and state senator, cutting a distinguished figure down Main Street.  Always a few paces behind, Joe Hill, struggling to keep up, smiling a big smile and flinging his right arm in greeting.
     "Hello, M.T.!"  neighbors called out.  "Hello Joe!"
     While Marvin worked in his second-floor law office, Joe went downstairs to Turner's clothing store or to the Western Auto.  He'd sit in a chair for hours, dozing off if he sat too long, getting up to help if something needed lifting.  As much as Marvin was fixture at the county courthouse, so was Joe on Main Street.
     One brisk morning in January 1981, Marvin walked to his office with Joe close at his heels.  Marvin set to work; Joe Hill began his rounds.  Marvin then went to the local diner for his usual hamburger and cottage cheese.  The waitress brought a cup of coffee.  A few minutes later, she turned back.  The cup was tipped over.  Marvin could not speak.  A stroke had silenced him.  Marvin was bedridden, but Joe kept up his rounds alone for months.
     One day when he got home from Clemons Barbershop on the evening of October 3, 1981, he opened the front door to find extra people in the house.
    "He's gone," said Marvin's daughter, Marguerite Reid.  Marvin had died from another stroke.
     Joe hid in the kitchen, confused and disoriented.  The next day, a neighbor found him sitting on the front steps, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes bloodshot.
     "Daddy's gone," he said.  "What am I going to do?"
     The week after they buried Marvink, Joe moved into the big house with Mattie.  He fixed her breakfast in the mornings, iced tea in the afternoons, and fried chicken on Sundays.  She grew weaker with each passing year and the time finally came to move in with her daughter.
     "I can't manage both of them," Marguerite told her husband, Dr. Leary Reid.
     "Yes, we can," he said.  "God will walk us through it... Joe Hill is part of our family.  He has never known anything else.  We can't turn our backs on him now."
     They built him a little bedroom in their house, barely 8 feet by 10 feet.  It had room for everything he needed: a bed, a dresser and a bulletin board for family pictures.
     It was Joe's room, and he was happy.
     A year and a half later, on December 30, 1991, Mattie died quietly in her sleep.  she was 90 years old.  Joe, 72.
     "Mother's gone to be with Jesus," Marguerite told him.  "But don't you worry.  We'll take care of you."
     And they did.

Elizabeth Leland


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     A few years ago my sister, Marjorie, and I were walking along our lake road in Crystal Lake, Michigan, discussing our day's events.  Marjorie saw something sticking up out of the sand and she stopped for a closer look.  To our amazement it was a crumpled $20 bill.
     A little bit jealous, I silently wondered what she would do with the money.  Fortunately, I didn't need to be jealous for too long, because just a few yards away I spotted another 20!  What a lucky day! I thought.
     We continued the rest of our walk together, reveling in our good fortune.  We laughed and talked all the way home about our "found money".
     When I arrived at home I just couldn't stop thinking about how I was going to spend it.  I know!  I'll spend it on something absolutely unpractical! I proclaimed to myself.  I will spend it on something entirely just for me!  What a lucky day.
     I carefully tucked my stash into a corner of my chest of drawers, repeating my vow to spend it on something I didn't need.  Fun money!
     at church the next Sunday, I was to be forever humbled.  While the collection plate was making its rounds, I spied Marjorie take out her crumpled $20 bill and drop it in.   That day I discovered the true difference between me and my sister.
     Funny, I can't seem to remember what I bought.

Sue Freshour

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     An English schoolteacher was looking for rooms in Switzerland.  She called upon the local schoolmaster to help her find an apartment that would be suitable.  Such rooms were found, and she returned to London for her belongings.  She remembered that she had not noticed a bathroom, or as she called it, "a water closet."  She wrote to the schoolmaster and asked if there was a "W.C." in or near the apartment.
     The schoolmaster, not knowing the English expression, was puzzled by the "W.C.," never dreaming that she was talking about a bathroom.  He finally sought advice from the parish priest.  They concluded that she must mean a Wayside Chapel.  The lady received the following letter a few days later.

Dear Madam:
     
     The W.C. is located 9 miles from the house, in the heart of a beautiful grove of trees.  It will seat 150 people at one time, and is open on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays.
     Some people bring their lunch and make a day of it.  On Thursdays there is an organ accompaniment.  The acoustics are very good.  The slightest sound can be heard by everyone.  It may interest you to know that my daughter met her husband at the W.C.  We arenow in the process of taking donations to purchase plush seats.  We feel that this is a long-felt need, as the present seats have holes in them.
     My wife, being rather delicate, hasn't been able to attend regularly.  It has been six months since she last went.  Naturally, it pains her not to be able to go more often.
     I will close now with the desire to accommodate you in every way possible, and will be happy to save you a seat either down front or near the door, as you prefer.

author unknown

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 ;D   ;D   ;D   ;D   ;D    ROFL! - This one's a HOOT!

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     To make it possible for everyone to attend church next Sunday, We are going to have a special "No Excuse Sunday."  Cots will be placed in the foyer for those who say, "Sunday is my only day to sleep in."  There will be a special section with lounge chairs for those who feel that our pews are too hard.  Eyedrops will be available for those with tired eyes from watching TV late Saturday night.  We will have steel helmets for those who say, "The roof would cave in if I ever came to church."  blankets will be furnished for those who say the church is too cold and fans for those who say it is too hot.  Scorecards will be available for those who wish to list the hypocrites present.  Relatives and friends will be in attendance for those who can't go to church and cook dinner, too.  We will distribute "Stamp Out Stewardship" buttons for those who feel that the church is always asking for money.
     One section will be devoted to trees and grass for those who like to seek God in nature.  Doctors and nurses will be in attendance for those who plan to be sick on Sunday.  The sanctuary will be decorated with both Christmas poinsettias and Easter lilies for those who never have seen the church without them.  We will provide hearing aids for those who can't hear the preacher and cotton for those who can.

Author Unknown
From theJoyful Noiseletter

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     Among the U.S. Marines who fought against the Japanese in World War II was 21-year-old Corporal William Devers, who considered himself an agnostic.  No amount of arguing, Bible-quoting or coercion by his fellow Marines or the chaplain could sway him.  During the company's first major encounter with the Japanese, a number of the unit were killed and the chaplain was wounded.  In great pain, the chaplain called to Devers, "My...left pocket...take it...please...Last night I had a dream.  n the dream an angel appeared and told me that I had to make you take the Bible.  Take it, son...please."  Devers shoved the Bible into his shirt pocket to satisfy the wounded man.
     Twenty minutes later, Corporal Devers' squad stumbled right into a Japanese patrol, and before he knew what had happened he was on the ground, his mind fading into the darkness, certain he was dying.  When he came to, he felt a ripple of pain shoot through his chest, but there was no blood.
     The bullet had torn into the Bible he carried in his pocket, ending its journey at the book of Psalms, which read:  "A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee."

by James Pruitt

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     Helen Packer was 17 years old when I met her.  A devout Christian and much-loved child, she was entering the hospital for the last time.  Her diagnosis was lymphoma and all attempts at remission had failed.  Helen shared with me, her nurse, that she could handle everything but the thought of dying alone.
     She just wanted a loved one near her to hold her hand and pray with her.  Helen's mother would stay at her bedside from early morning to late evening, return home for rest and resume the vigil come morning.  Her father traveled in his job but relieved his wife as often as he could.
     All of the nurses on the unit realized that Helen was precariously near death, as did she and her family.  She began having seizures and lapses of consciousness.
    As I was leaving the hospital at 11:00 one night, I noticed Helen's mother heading toward the parking garage as well.  Our conversation was interrupted by the loudspeaker.  "Outside call, Helen Packer.  Please call the operator!"
     Mrs. Packer reacted immediately with alarm.  "Everyone knows how ill she is!" she blurted.  "I'm going back to her room and see who is calling."  With that she left me and returned to Helen.  The operator reported that the calling party had hung up but left a message:  "Tell Helen her ride will be late but is coming."
     Baffled, Mrs. Packer stayed at Helen's bedside in anticipation of a mysterious visitor.  Helen died at 1:13 A.M. with her mother at her side, holding her hand and praying.
     When queried the next day, the operator couldn't remember even the gender of the caller.  No other Helen Packer was found, employee or patient or visitor.  For those of us who cared for, nurtured and prayed for Helen, there was only one answer.

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AFTER A FEW OF THE USUAL SUNDAY EVENING HYMNS,
THE CHURCH'S PASTOR SLOWLY STOOD UP,
WALKED OVER TO THE PULPIT & 
BEFORE HE GAVE HIS SERMON HE BRIEFLY INTRODUCED A GUEST MINISTER
WHO WAS IN THE SERVICE THAT EVENING.
 
IN THE INTRODUCTION, THE PASTOR TOLD THE
CONGREGATION THAT THE GUEST MINISTER WAS
ONE OF HIS DEAREST CHILDHOOD FRIENDS AND
THAT HE WANTED HIM TO HAVE A FEW MOMENTS
TO GREET THE CHURCH AND SHARE WHATEVER
HE FELT WOULD BE APPROPRIATE FOR THE SERVICE.
 
WITH THAT, AN ELDERLY MAN STEPPED UP TO THE PULPIT AND BEGAN TO SPEAK.
 
"A FATHER, HIS SON, AND A FRIEND OF HIS SON WERE SAILING OFF THE PACIFIC COAST ," HE BEGAN.
"WHEN A FAST APPROACHING STORM BLOCKED ANY
ATTEMPT TO GET BACK TO THE SHORE.
 
THE WAVES WERE SO HIGH, THAT EVEN THOUGH THE FATHER WAS AN EXPERIENCED SAILOR,
HE COULD NOT KEEP THE BOAT UPRIGHT AND THE THREE WERE SWEPT
INTO THE OCEAN AS THE BOAT CAPSIZED."
 
THE OLD MAN HESITATED FOR A MOMENT,
MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH TWO TEENAGERS WHO WERE, FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THE SERVICE BEGAN,
LOOKING SOMEWHAT INTERESTED IN HIS STORY.
 
THE AGED MINISTER CONTINUED WITH HIS STORY, "GRABBING A RESCUE LINE, THE FATHER HAD TO MAKE THE MOST EXCRUCIATING DECISION OF HIS LIFE:
WHICH BOY WOULD HE THROW THE OTHER END OF THE LIFE LINE.
HE ONLY HAD SECONDS TO MAKE THE DECISION.
THE FATHER KNEW THAT HIS SON WAS A CHRISTIAN AND HE, ALSO, KNEW THAT HIS SON'S FRIEND WAS NOT.
THE AGONY OF HIS DECISION COULD NOT BE MATCHED BY THE TORRENT OF WAVES.
 
AS THE FATHER YELLED OUT,
'I LOVE YOU, SON!'
HE THREW OUT THE LIFE LINE TO HIS SON'S FRIEND.
BY THE TIME THE FATHER PULLED THE FRIEND BACK TO THE CAPSIZED BOAT, HIS SON HAD DISAPPEARED BENEATH
THE RAGING SWELLS INTO THE BLACK OF NIGHT.
 
HIS BODY WAS NEVER RECOVERED.
 
BY THIS TIME, THE TWO TEENAGERS WERE SITTING UP STRAIGHT IN THE PEW,
ANXIOUSLY WAITING FOR THE NEXT
WORDS TO COME OUT OF THE OLD MINISTER'S MOUTH.
 
"THE FATHER," HE CONTINUED, "KNEW HIS SON WOULD STEP INTO ETERNITY WITH JESUS
AND HE COULD NOT BEAR THE THOUGHT OF HIS SON'S FRIEND STEPPING INTO
AN ETERNITY WITHOUT JESUS.. THEREFORE, HE SACRIFICED HIS SON TO SAVE THE SON'S FRIEND. "
 
HOW GREAT IS THE LOVE OF GOD THAT HE SHOULD DO THE SAME FOR US.
OUR HEAVENLY FATHER SACRIFICED HIS ONLY
BEGOTTEN SON THAT WE COULD BE SAVED.
I URGE YOU TO ACCEPT HIS OFFER TO RESCUE YOU AND TAKE A HOLD OF THE
LIFE LINE HE IS THROWING OUT TO YOU IN THIS SERVICE."
WITH THAT,
THE OLD MAN TURNED AND SAT BACK DOWN IN
HIS CHAIR AS SILENCE FILLED THE ROOM.
 
THE PASTOR AGAIN WALKED SLOWLY TO THE PULPIT AND DELIVERED A BRIEF SERMON WITH AN INVITATION AT THE END.
HOWEVER, NO ONE RESPONDED TO THE APPEAL.
 
WITHIN MINUTES AFTER THE SERVICE ENDED, THE TWO TEENAGERS WERE AT THE OLD MAN'S SIDE.
 
"THAT WAS A NICE STORY," STATED ONE OF
THEM,"BUT I DON'T THINK IT WAS VERY REALISTIC FOR A FATHER TO GIVE
UP HIS ONLY SON'S LIFE IN HOPES THAT
THE OTHER BOY WOULD BECOME A CHRISTIAN."
 
"WELL, YOU'VE GOT A POINT THERE,"
THE OLD MAN REPLIED, GLANCING DOWN
AT HIS WORN BIBLE.
A BIG SMILE BROADENED HIS NARROW FACE.
HE ONCE AGAIN LOOKED UP AT THE BOYS
AND SAID,
"IT SURE ISN'T VERY REALISTIC, IS IT?  BUT, I'M STANDING HERE TODAY TO TELL YOU THAT STORY GIVES ME A GLIMPSE OF
WHAT IT MUST HAVE BEEN LIKE FOR GOD
TO GIVE UP HIS SON FOR ME.
 
YOU SEE...
 
 
I WAS THAT FATHER AND YOUR PASTOR IS MY SON'S FRIEND."

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Amen GrammyLuv,

Sister Yvette, I loved that story, and it does make us think about the ultimate love that has already been extended to us by GOD. There is no greater love.

THANKS SISTER!

Love In Christ,
Tom

     Little Benjamin sat down at the desk to write a letter to God asking for a little baby sister.  He started the letter like this:


     He stopped, thinking. "No, God won't belive that."  He wadded up the piece of paper, threw it away, and started again:


     He stopped in the middle of the line, again thinking, "God won't be moved by this."  So he wadded up the letter and into the trash can it went.
     Benjamin then went into the bathroom and grabbed a big terry cloth towel off the towel rack.  He carried it into the living room and carefully laid it out on the couch.  He smoothed out all the wrinkles.  Then he went over to the fireplace mantle, reached up, and very carefully lifted down a statue of the Madonna.  He had often seen his mother carefully dust the statue, and he had eyed it many times.  On several occasions, his parents had told him that he could look but was not to touch the statue.  Now, with all the care he could muster, he had it in his possession.
     Benjamin gently placed the statue in the middle of the towel, carefully folding over the edges.  He then placed a rubber band around the whole thing.  He brought it to the desk, took out another piece of paper, and began to write his third letter to God.  It went like this:


From Moments for Mothers

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      As one who has served time in prison and has since spent most of my life working in them, I'll never forget the most unusual prison I've ever visited.
     Called Humaita Prison, it is in Sao Jose dos Campos in Brazil.  Formerly a government prison, it is now operated by Prison Fellowship Brazil as an alternative prison, without armed guards or high-tech security.  Instead, it is run on the Christian principles of love of God and respect for men.
     Humaita has only two full-time staff; the rest of the work is done by the 730 inmates serving time for everything from murder and assault to robbery and drug-related crimes.  Every man is assigned another inmate to whom he is accountable.  In addition, each prisoner is assigned a volunteer mentor from the outside who works with him during his term and after his release.  Prisoners take classes on character development and are encouraged to participate in educational and religious programs.
     When I visited this prison, I found the inmates smiling - particularly the murderer who held the keys, opened the gates and let me in.  Wherever I walked, I saw men at peace.  I saw clean living areas.  I saw people working industriously.  The walls were decorated with motivational sayings and Scripture.
     Humaita has an astonishing record.  Its recidivism rate is 4 percent, compared to 75 percent in the rest of Brazil.  How is that possible?
     I saw the answer when my inmate guide escorted me to the notorious cell once used for solitary punishment.  Today, he told, it always houses the same inmate.  As we reached the end of the long concrete corridor and he put the key into the lock, he paused and asked, "Are you sure you want to go in?"
     "Of course," I replied impatiently.  "I've been in isolation cells all over the world."  Slowly he swung open the massive door, and I saw the prisoner in that cell: a crucifix, beautifully carved - Jesus, hanging on the cross.
     "He's doing time for the rest of us," my guide said softly.

Charles W. Colson

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     It was a busy day in our Costa Mesa, California, home.  But then, with 10 childrean and one on the way, every day was a bit hectic.  On this particular day, however, I was having trouble doing even routine chores - all because of one little boy.
     Len, who was three at the time, was on my heels no matter where I went. Whenever I stopped to do something and turned back around, I would trip over him.  Several time, I patiently suggested fun activities to keep him occupied.  "Wouldn't you like to play on the swing set?" I asked again.
     But he simply smiled an innocent smile and said, "Ohk, that's all right, Mommy.  I'd rather be here with you."  Then he continued to bounce happily along behind me.
     After stepping on his toes for the fifth time, I began to lose my patience and insisted that he go outside and play with the other children.  When I asked him why he was acting this way, he looked up at me with sweet green eyes and said, "Well, Mommy, in Primary my teacher told me to walk in Jesus' footsteps.  But I can't see him, so I'm walking in yours."
     I gathered Len in my arms and held him close.  Tears of love and humility spilled over from the prayer that grew in my heart - a prayer of thanks for the simple, yet beautiful perspective of a three-year-old boy

by Davida Dalton


This may be a repeat as I haven't been able to post for a while, but I think it's worth it!
Grammyluv

     When I was 23 years old, I made the best decision of my life.  I asked a beautiful, witty woman to by my wife, and she accepted, against the advice of her friends, her family, and goodly portion of the Western world.  On our wedding day, the bridesmaids wore black.
     For eight years, I was the model of responsibility.  I worked hard.  I dried the dishes.  I lowered the toilet seat.  Then my wife became pregnant.  I attended birthing classes and learned to commiserate.  When we brought Spencer home, I rose with her to feed him.  And when he regurgitated on me, I bore it with good humor.
     Three months after his birth, Joan returned to part-time work.  On the morning of her departure, she cautioned me to keep a close eye on our son.  My feelings were hurt, and I said a much.
    "Please, honey, haven't I proven myself reliable?"  Thus, I can only think it was the pain of mistrust which caused me to forget my son when I went to the grocery store that afternoon.
     I was on my way there and turned around to see him.  He was missing!  I raced home and ound him in his crib, glowering, and I knew what he was going to say when he learned to talk.  So I confessed to Joan myself, over a candlelight dinner and new silver bracelet.
     Being a Christian woman, Joan forgave me and offered me another chance.  And the very next morning, after she handcuffed me to Spencer, she said, "Honey, I trust you."
     Reflection o this experience has taught me two thing: first, having children causes irraparable damage to those areas of the brain having to do with memory; and second, uh, what's the second point?  Oh, yeah, the second point is this: we all feel forgotten sometimes.
     Actually, I'd learned that second lesson at an early age.  My family drove off and forgot me once, too.  We were on vacation; five kids, Mom, and Dad; and stopped to eat at a Stuckey's.  I was in the bathroom when they climbed back in the car and headed out.  They went 20 miles before discovering they were short a kid.  Took a quick vote and decided to come back for me.  It was almost a tie, but at the last minute Mom changed her mind.
     So sometimes each of us feels forgotten.  Saddest line in the Bible is when Christ asks God why He forsook him.  If Christ felt left behind, how then can we avoid feeling forgotten and forsaken?
     Some Bible scholars say that isn't what Jesus meant when he cried from the cross.  They say he was quoting the first line of Psalm 22, because to quote the first line was to affirm that psalm's victorious conclusion.  I have a great deal of respect for Bible scholars, but they're full of baloney on this one.  I think Jesus felt forgotten.
     However, the empty tomb tells us he was remembered.  And so are we all, which is what I'm going to tell my son, just as soon as I remember where I left him.

by Philip Gulley

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'When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore.
So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.'

Rebecca- age 8


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'When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different.
You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.'

Billy - age 4


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'Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.'

Karl - age 5


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'Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.'

Chrissy - age 6


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'Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.'

Terri - age 4


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'Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.'

Danny - age 7


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'Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.
My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss'

Emily - age 8


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'Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.'

Bobby - age 7 (Wow!)


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'If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,'

Nikka - age 6
(we need a few million more Nikka's on this planet)


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'Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.'

Noelle - age 7


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'Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.'

Tommy - age 6


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'During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling.

He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.'

Cindy - age 8


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'My mommy loves me more than anybody
You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.'

Clare - age 6


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'Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.'

Elaine-age 5


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'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.'

Chris - age 7


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'Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.'

Mary Ann - age 4


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'I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.'

Lauren - age 4


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'When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.' (what an image)

Karen - age 7


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'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross.'

Mark - age 6


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'You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.'

Jessica - age 8


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And the final one

The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.

Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.

When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said,

'Nothing, I just helped him cry'

     Bert looked into time from heaven and saw the atrocities carried out in the human realm.  Absolutely aghast, he pointed to one unspeakable scene and asked God about it.  "How can you allow it?  Look what evil is setting in motion down there!"
     "There's no one better than the devil for creating a tragedy like that!" God said.
     "But God, that man is one of your people...oh, that poor man!"
     "I gave freedom to choose between good and evil," God said, his face sad.  "No matter what they choose, they all live there together.  Sometimes, those who choose my way are impacted by those who don't."  He slowly shook his head.  "It's always painful when that happens."
     "But those people right there have no choice," Bert protested.  "Evil is being crammed down their throats!  That isn't choice!"
     Now, Bert," God said patiently, "have I ever let pain go unavenged?"
     "No...no, but..." Bert cringed from the sight, unable to bear any more.
     "Watch!"  God put his arm around Bert's hunched shoulders and turned him again.  "Look right over there, by the wall."
     "That one?  He looks nearly dead.  Is he praying?"
     "Ah, Bert, you should hear his prayers!"  Intense love flashed in God's eyes like lightening.  "Simple prayers from an aching heart.  This is triumph over evil.  Trusting me - that is the choice."  God smiled through sparkling tears of love.  "Isn't he magnificent?"
     Together they stood in silence, and Bert began to see as God did.
     "Now watch this, Bert." God spoke softly, never letting his eyes leave the scene.  He called for Michael and the archangel appeared.
     "Go down and get him, Michael."  The tears of divine joy spilled over.  "I'll arrange the party."

by Robin Jones

[/i]

I'm not sure if I've done this one before but it's worth repeating, especially in our days and times.


     I heard and interesting story on a radio broadcast.  While Benjamin Franklin was in Europe, he met with several of his peers -- "a meeting of the minds," so to speak.  They came together to review various pieces of literature.
     Mr. Franklin chose to read a passage that evoked a curious response from he group.
     "This story must be published!"  the group chorused.  "What's the title?"
     "This is really only part of a story," Mr. Franklin replied, "from a book that you have often ridiculed."
     The group protested, insisting they would not have rejected a story of such impact.
     "In fact," Mr. Franklin continued, "the story that has so moved you all is from the book of Ruth-----from the Bible.

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     Have you ever felt the need for forgiveness...or perhaps the need to forgive?  I meet so many people who are paralyzed in their present circumstances because they're chained to something in their past.  They are either unable to forgive or to accept the fact that they are truly forgiven.
     I once heard [a legend] of a priest in a small midwestern parish who as a young man had committed what he felt was a terrible sin.  Although he had asked God's forgiveness, all his life he carried around the burden of this sin.  He just could not be sure God had really forgiven him.
     One day he was told of an elderly woman in his congregation who sometimes had visions.  During these visions, he had heard, she would often have conversatons with the Lord.  After a while the priest finally got up enough courage to visit this woman.
     She invited him in and offered him a cup of tea.  Toward the end of his visit, he set his cup down on the table and looked into the old woman's eyes.
     "Is it true that sometimes you have visions?" he asked her.
     "Yes," she replied.
     "Is it also true that during these visions, you often speak with the Lord?"
     "Yes," she said again.
     "Well...the next time you have a vision and speak with the Lord, would you ask Him a question for me?"
     The woman looked at the priest a little curiously.  She had never been asked this before.  "Yes, I would be happy to," she answered.  "What do you want me to ask Him?"
     "Well," the priest began, "would you please ask Him what sin it was that your priest committed as a young man?"
     The woman, quite curious now, readily agreed.
     A few weeks passed, and the priest again went to visit this woman.  After another cup of tea he cautiously, timidly asked, "Have you had any visions lately?"
     "Why yes, I have," replied the woman.
     "Did you speak with the Lord?"
     "Yes."
     "Did you ask Him what sin I committed as a young man?"
     "Yes," the woman replied, "I did."
     The priest, nervous and afraid, hesitated a moment and then asked, "Well, what did the Lord say?"
     The woman looked up into the face of her priest and replied gently, "The Lord told me He could not remember."

     God not only forgives our sins, He also chooses to forget them.  The Bible tells us He takes them and buries them in the deepest sea.  And as Corrie ten Boom used to say, "He puts up a sign that says, 'No fishing allowed.'"

by Gigi Tchividjian

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Amen Grammyluv,

I really enjoy these devotions. They illustrate some of the most beautiful truths in the Holy Bible.

Love In Christ,
Tom

   

Thank you Brother Tom. (http://i181.photobucket.com/albums/x125/luvmarley_bucket/heart.gif)

     An old sea captain named Eleazar Hall lived in Bedford, Massachusetts, during the time great sailing ships.  He was renowned, legendary and revered as the most successful of all sea captains of the day.  He worked harder, stayed out longer, and lost fewer men while catching more fish than anyone else.
     Captain Hall was often asked about his uncanny ability to stay out so long without navigational equipment.  He'd once been gone for two years without coming home for a point of reference.
     Eleazar simply replied, "Oh, I just go up on the deck and listen to the wind and rigging.  I get the drift of the sea, look up at the stars, and then set my course."
     Well, times changed in Bedford.  The big insurance companies moved in and said they could no longer insure the ships if the captains didn't have a certified and properly trained navigator on board.  They were terrified to tell Eleazar.  But to their amazement he said, "If I must, I will go and take the navigational courses."
     Eleazar graduated high in his class, and having greatly missed the sea, he immediately took off for a long voyage.  On the day of his return, the whole town turned out to ask him the question:
     "Eleazar, how was it having to navigate with all those charts and equations?"
     Eleazar sat back and let out a long, low whistle.  "Oh," he replied, "it was simple.  Whenever I wanted to know my location, I'd go to my cabin, get out my charts and tables, work the equations and set my course with scientific precision.  Then I'd go up on the deck and listen to the wind and rigging, get the drift of the sea, look at the stars, and go back and correct the errors that I had made in computation.
     When I heard that, I prayed, Lord, I want to know You that way.  I want to go up on deck, hear Your quiet voice in my heart, consider Your eternal Word, and then go back down below and make adjustments to all those fine, logical, scientific plans I've drawn up in my head.


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Being a Friend

We all know or knew someone like this!!

One day, when I was a freshman in high school,

I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school.

His name was Kyle.

It looked like he was
carrying all of his books.

I thought to myself, 'Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday?

He must really be a nerd.'

I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.

As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him.

They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt.

His gla sses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him.He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes

My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye.

As I handed him his glasses, I said, 'Those guys are jerks.
'

They really should get lives.

' He looked at me and said, 'Hey thanks!'

There was a big smile on his face.

It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his b ooks , and asked him where he lived.

As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before.

He said he had gone to private school before now.

I would have never hung out with a private school kid before.

We talked all the way home, and I carried some of his books.

He turned out to be a pretty cool kid.

I asked him if he wanted to play a little football
with my friends

He said yes.

We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my friends thought the same of him.

Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again.

I stopped h im and said, 'Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!

' He just laughed and handed me half the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends..

When we were seniors we began to think about college.

Kyle decided on Georgetown and I was going to Duke.

I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would never
be a problem.

He was going to be a doctor and I was going for business on a football scholarship.

Kyle was valedictorian of our class

I teased him all the time about being a nerd.

He had to prepare a speech for graduation.

I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak

Graduation day, I saw Kyle.

He looked great.

He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school.

He filled out and actually l o oked good in glasses.

He had more dates than I had and all the girls loved him.

Boy, sometimes I was jealous!
Today was one of those days.

I could see that he was nervous about his speech.

So, I smacked him on the back and said, 'Hey, big guy, you'll be great!'

He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled.

' Thanks,' he said.

As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began

'Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years.

Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach...but mostly your friends...

I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them.

I am going to tell you a story.'

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the
story of the first day we met.

He had planned to kill himself over the weekend.

He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home.

He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile.

'Thankfully, I was saved.

My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable.'

I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment.

I saw his Mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile.

Not until that moment did I realize it's depth.

Never underestimate the power of your actions.

With one small gesture you can change a person's life.

For better or for worse.

God puts us all in each others lives to impact one another in some way.

Look for God in others.


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     A little child playing one day with a very valuable vase put his hand into it and could not withdraw it.  His father, too, tried his best, but all in vain.  They were thinking of breaking the vase when the father said, "Now, my son, make one more try.  Open your hand and hold your fingers out straight as you see me doing, and then pull."
     To their astonishment the little fellow said, "Oh no, father.  I couldn't put my fingers out like that, because if I did I would drop my penny."
     Smile, if you will....but thousands of us are like that little boy, so busy holding on to the world's worthless penny that we cannot accept liberation.  I beg you to drop that trifle in your heart.  Surrender!  Let go, and let god have His way in your life.

Dr. Billy Graham

Psalm 32:9
Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding: whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle, lest they come near unto thee.

Miriam did exactly as she pleased, whether it was wise or not. Her stubborn streak was a mile wide, and no one could dissuade her, once her mind was made up. On many occasions she had been hurt simply because she refused to use good sense. Each lesson she encountered she chose to ignore, so very little growing ever took place. In time Miriam grew bitter and angry because her unhappiness grew.
Let's face it: We need guidance. Our willfulness gets us into trouble when we refuse to unite it with common sense. Our Lord is the author of good sense and levelheadedness. It only makes sense that we should turn our lives over to Him. He is faithful to guide and direct us. He teaches and nurtures us, enabling us to be the best that we can be.

Prayer:

Break my willful pride, O Lord, and let me recognize my limitations. Nee ding guidance is not weakness. Help me to see the strength which can only come from depending on You. Amen.
 
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WHY DID JESUS FOLD THE NAPKIN?
 
 An unusual approach to a biblical story...

Why did Jesus fold the linen burial cloth after His resurrection? I never noticed this...
 
The Gospel of John (20:7) tells us that the napkin, which was placed over the face of Jesus, was not just thrown aside like the grave clothes. The Bible takes an entire verse to tell us that the napkin was neatly folded, and was placed at the head of that stony coffin.
 
Early Sunday morning, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and found that the stone had been rolled away from the entrance. She ran and found Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved .
She said, 'They have taken the Lord's body out of the tomb, and I don't know where they have put him!' Peter and the other disciple ran to the tomb to see. The other disciple out ran Peter and got there first. He stooped and looked in and saw the linen cloth lying there, but he didn't go in.. Then Simon Peter arrived and went inside. He also noticed the linen wrappings lying there, while the cloth that had covered Jesus' head was folded up and lying to the side.
 
Is that important? Absolutely! Is it really significant? Yes! In order to understand the significance of the folded napkin, you have to understand a little bit about Hebrew tradition of that day. The folded napkin had to do with the Master and Servant, and every Jewish boy knew this tradition. When the servant set the dinner table for the master, he made sure that it was exactly the way the master wanted it. The table was furnished perfectly, and then the servant would wait, just out of sight, until the master had finished eating, and the servant would not dare touch that table, until the master was finished. Now if the master was done eating, he would rise from the table, wipe his fingers, his mouth, and clean his beard, and would wad up that napkin and toss it onto the table. The servant would then know to clear the table. For in those days, the wadded napkin meant, 'I'm done'. But if the master got up from the table, and folded his napkin, and laid it beside his plate, the servant would not dare touch the table, because……

The folded napkin meant, 'I'm coming back!' 
 
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AMEN!

This is beautiful and so true. We serve a LIVING LORD AND SAVIOUR, JESUS CHRIST! Our Life is in HIS, so this is something for us to give THANKS for every day. It gives me great JOY to know that I'm one of HIS Purchased Possessions. HIS Blood has washed my sins away, and I give THANKS this world is NOT my HOME!

Love In Christ,
Tom

Amen to that my friend!

     A pastor went to see a man who didn't attend church very faithfully.  The man was sitting before a fire, watching the warm glow of the coals.  It was a cold winter day, but the coals were red hot, and the fire was warm.  The pastor pleaded with the man to be more faithful in meeting with the people of God, but the man didn't seem to be getting the message.
     So the pastor took the tongs beside the fireplace, pulled open the screen, and reached in and began to separate all the coals.  When none of the coals was touching the others, he stood wand watched in silence.  In a matter of moments, they were all cold.... The man got the message.

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I looked at you and smiled the other day
I thought you'd see me but you didn't
I said, "I love you" and waited for what you would say
I thought you'd hear me but you didn't
I asked you to come outside and play ball with me
I thought you'd follow me but you didn't
I drew a picture just for you to see
I thought you'd save it but you didn't
I found some worms 'n such for fishing if we could
I thought you'd want to go but you didn't
I needed you just to talk to, my thought to share
I thought you'd want to but you didn't
I told you about the game hoping you'd be there
I thought you'd surely come but you didn't
I asked you to share my youth with me
I thought you'd want to but you couldn't
My country called me to war, you asked me
  to come home safely
But I didn't.

Stan Gebhardt

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Amen GrammyLuv!


Our children are gifts from GOD we are to raise for HIM.

Love In Christ,
Tom

 

I just ran across this little jewel and had to share:

You dont' have to be old in America to say of a world you lived in, "That world is gone."
Peggy Noonan

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     There is a story of identical twins.  One was a hopefilled optimist.  "Everything is coming up roses!" he would say.  The other was a sad and hopeless pessimist.  He thought that Murphy, as in Murphy's Law, was an optimist.  The worried parents of the boys brought them to the local psychologist.
     He suggested to the parents a plan to balance the twins' personalities.  "On their next birthday, put them in separate rooms to open their gifts.  Give the pessimist the best toys you can afford, and give the optimist a box of manure."  The parents followed these instructions and carefully observed the results.
     When they peeked in on the pessimist, they heard him audibly complaining, "I don't like the color of this computer...I'll bet this calculator will break...I don't like this game...I know someone who's got a bigger toy car than this..."
     Tiptoeing across the hall, the parents peeked in and saw their little optimist gleefully throwing the manure up in the air.  He was giggling.  "You can't fool me!  Where's there's this much manure, there's gotta be a pony!"

Unknown

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Hello GrammyLuv,

Sister, I was just laughing and reflecting on how many times my dad told various versions of this story. It usually had something to do with complaining, and dad always thought it was funny, regardless of how many times he told it. In fact, he intentionally made up new versions of the story just to irritate us. Bless his heart - he's HOME with the LORD now, so I'd love to hear several more versions of this story.

Love In Christ,
Tom

Ephesians 1:18-23 NASB I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you will know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what is the surpassing greatness of His power toward us who believe. These are in accordance with the working of the strength of His might which He brought about in Christ, when He raised Him from the dead and seated Him at His right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come. And He put all things in subjection under His feet, and gave Him as head over all things to the church, which is His body, the fullness of Him who fills all in all.

Oh?  How funny!  I'd never heard it before today so I had to post it!  ;D ;D

If I had my child to raise all over again,
I'd finger-paint more and point the finger less.
I'd do less correcting and more connecting.
I'd take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.
I would care to know less and know to care more.
I'd take more hikes and fly more kites.
I'd stop playing serious, and seriously play.
I'd run through more fields and gaze at more stars.
I'd do more hugging and less tugging.
I would be firm less often, and affirm much more.
I'd build self-esteem first, and the house later.
I'd teach less about the love of power,
  and more about the power of love.

Diane Loomans

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After a while you learn the subtle difference between
   holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning and
   company doesn't mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
   and presents aren't promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats with your head
   up and your eyes open, with the grace of an adult,
   not the defeat of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today
   because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for
   plans.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if
   you get too much.
So plant your own garden and decorate your own
   soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you
   flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.

Veronica A. Shoffstall

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     When I was working as a disc jockey in Columbus, Ohio, I used to go to University Hospital or Grant Hospital on my way home.  I would walk down the corridors and just walk into different people's rooms and read Scripture to them or talk to them.  It was a forgetting about my problems and being thankful to God for my health.  It made a difference in the lives of those I visited.  One time it literally saved my life.
     I was very controversial in radio.  I had offended someone in an editorial that I had done about a promoter who was bringing entertainers into town who were not the original members of a particular group.  The person I exposed literally took a contract out on me!
     One night I was coming home at about two o'clock in the morning.  I had just finished working at a night club where I was the emcee.  As I began to open my door, a man came out from behind the side of my house and said, "Are you Les Brown?"
     I said, "Yes, sir."
     He said, "I need to talk to you.  I was sent here to carry out a contract on you."
     "Me? Why?", I asked.
     He said, "Well, there's a promoter that's very upset about the money you cost him when you said that the group that was coming to town was not the real group."
     "Are you going to do something to me?", I asked.
     He said, "No."  And I didn't want to ask him why because I didn't want him to change his mind!  I was just glad!
     He continued, "My mother was in Grant Hospital and she wrote me about how you came in one day and sat down and talked to her and read Scripture to her.  She was so impressed that this morning-disc-jockey, who didn't even know her, came in and did that.  She wrote me about you when I was in the Ohio penitentiary.  I was impressed with that and I've always wanted to meet you.  When I heard the word out on the street that somebody wanted to knock you off," he said, "I accepted the contract and then told them to leave you alone."

Les Brown

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   Two brothers worked together on the family farm.  One was married and had a large family.  The other was single.  At the day's end, the brothers shared everything equally, produce and profit.
   Then one day the single brother said to himself, "It's not right that we should share equally the produce and the profit.  I'm alone and my needs are simple."  So each night he took a sack of grain from his bin and crept across the field between their houses, dumping it into his brother's bin.
   Meanwhile, the married brother said to himself, "It's not right that we should share the produce and the profit equally.  After all, I'm married and I have my wife and children to look after me in years to come.  My brother has no one, and no one to take care of his future."  So each night he took a sack of grain and dumped it into his single brother's bin.
   Both men were puzzled for years because their supply of grain never dwindled.  Then one dark night the two brothers bumped into each other.  Slowly it dawned on them what was happening.  They dropped their sacks and embraced one another.

Author Unknown

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     Author Unknown

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     An executive hirer, a "head-hunter" who goes out and hires corporation executives for other firms, once told me, "When I get an executive that I'm trying to hire for someone else, I like to disarm him.  I offer him a drink, take my coat off, then my vest, undo my tie, throw up my feet and talk about baseball, football, family, whatever, until he's all relaxed.  Then, when I think I've got him relaxed, I lean over, look him square in the eye and say, "What's your purpose in life?"  It's amazing how top executives fall apart at that question.
     "Well, I was interviewing this fellow the other day, had him all disarmed, with my feet up on his desk, talking about football.  Then I leaned up and said, "What's your purpose in life, Bob?'  And he said, without blinking and eye, "To got to heaven and take as many people with me as I can." For the first time in my career I was speechless."

Josh McDowell

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A Dog's Purpose (from a 6-year-old)

 Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine
 a ten-year-old Irish wolfhound named Belker.

 The dog's owners, Ron, his wife, Lisa, and their
 little boy, Shane, were all very attached to Belker.

 I examined Belker and found he was dying of
 cancer.

 I told the family we couldn't do anything for
 Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure
 for the old dog in their home.

 As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me
 they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane
 to observe the procedure. They felt as though
 Shane might learn something from the experience.

 The next day, I felt the familiar catch in
 my throat as Belker's family surrounded him.

 Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the
 last time, that, I wondered if he
 understood what was going on.

 Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully
 away.

 The little boy seemed to accept Belker's
 transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat
 together   for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud
 about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter
 than human lives. Shane, who had been listening
 quietly, piped up, 'I know why.'

 Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of
 his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more
 comforting explanation.

 He said, 'People are born so that they can learn
 how to live a good life -- like loving everybody all the
 time   and being nice, right?'

 The six-year-old continued, 'Well, dogs already
 know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long.'

 Live simply..

 Love generously.

 Care deeply.

 Speak kindly.

 Remember, if a dog was the teacher, you would learn things like:


 When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.

 Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.

 Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind
 in your face to be pure ecstasy.

 Take naps.

 Stretch before rising.

 Run, romp, and play daily.

 Thrive on attention and let people touch you.

 Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.

 On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.

 On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.

 When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.

 Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.

 Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.

 Stop when you have had enough.


 Never pretend to be something you're not.


 If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.

 When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.

 Be always grateful for each new day. 

He came to know the Lord on a Thursday evening, and on Sunday he showed up at church. The pastor announced that we were going to have an evening service, and of course the guy didn't know enough to stay home.  So he showed up again.  That's when he learned that our church had a Bible study and prayer meeting on Wednesday night, so he came that evening as well.

I sat next to him at the prayer meeting, and just before we got started, he turned to me and asked, "Do you think they'd mind if I prayed?"
"Of course not," I assured him.  "That's what we're here for."
"Yeah, I know, " he said, "but I've got a problem.  I can't pray the way you people do."
I told him, "That's no problem, friend.  You should thank God for that!"

Well, we started praying, and I could tell he was too nervous to take part.  Finally, I put my hand on his thigh to encourage him.  I'll never forget his prayer: "Lord, this is Jim," he began.  "I'm the one who met you last Thursday night?  I'm sorry, Lord, because I can't say it he way the rest of these people do, but I want to tell you the best I know how.  I love you, Lord.  I really do.  Thanks a lot.  I'll see you later."

I tell you, that prayer ignited our prayer meeting!  Some of us had been doing a good job of talking about theology in prayer - you know, exploring the universe of doctrine, scraping the Milky Way with our big words.  But this guy prayed---earnestly!

Howard Hendricks (condensed)

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Consider this:

Woody Allen - Academy Award winning writer, producer and director- flunked motion picture production at New York University and the City College or New York.  He also failed English at New York University.

When Lucille Ball began studying to be an actress in 1927, she was told by the head instructor of the John Murray Anderson Drama School, "Try any other profession.  Any other."

In 1944, Emmeline Snively, director of the Blue Book Modeling Agency, told modeling hopeful Norma Jean Baker (Marilyn Monroe), "You'd better learn secretarial work or else get married."

Malcolm Forbes, the late editor-in-chief of Forbes magazine, one of the most successful business publications in the world, failed to make the staff of the school newspaper when he was an under-graduate at Princeton University.

In 1962, four nervous young musicians played their first record audition for the executives of the Decca Recording Company.  The executives were not impressed.  While turning down this British rock group called the Beatles, one executive said, "We don't like their sound.  Groups of guitars are on the way out."
(personal note: I'm not a Beatles fan either!)

When Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone in 1876, it did not ring off the hook with calls from potential backers.  After making a demonstraton call, President Rutherford Hayes said, "That's an amazing invention, but who would ever want to use one of them?"

Louis L'Amour, sucessful author of over 100 western novels with over 200 million copies in print, received 350 rejections before he made his first sale.  He later became the first American novelist to recieve a special congrssional gold medal in recognition of his distinguished career as an author and contributor to the nation through his historically based works.
(personal note:  I've read every book he wrote!)

I have a few more of these so I will continue with them tomorrow!

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When Thomas Edison invented the light bulb, he tried over 2,000 experiments before he got it to work.  a young reporter asked him how it felt to fail so many times.  He said, "I never failed once.  I invented the light bulb.  It just happened to be a 2,000 step process."

General Douglas MacArthur might never have gained power and fame without persistence.  When he applied for admission to West Point, he was turned down, not once but twice.  But he tried a third time, was accepted and marched into the history books.

Abraham Lincoln entered Blackhawk War as a captain.  By the end of the war, he had been demoted to the rank of private.

After having lost both legs in an air crash, British fighter pilot Douglas Bader rejoined the British Royal Air Force with two artificial limbs.  During World War II he was captured by the Germans three times -- and three times he escaped.

When Pablo Casals reached 95, a young reporter threw him the following question. "Mr. Casals, you are 95 and the greatest cellist that ever lived.  Why do you still practice six hours a day?"  Mr. Casals answered, "Because I think I'm making progress."

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You do not have to be your mother unless she is who you want to be.  You do not have to be your mother's mother, or your mother's mother's mother, or even your grandmother's mother on your father's side.  You may inherit their chins or their hips or their eyes, but you are not destined to become the women who came before you.  You are not destined to live their lives.  So if you inherit something, inherit their strength, their resilience.  Because the only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.

Pam Finger

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He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman.  He grew up in still another village, where he worked in a carpenter shop until he was thirty.  Then for three years he was an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book.
He never held an office.
He never had a family or owned a house.
He didn't go to college.
He never traveled 200 miles from the place where he was born.  He did none of these things one usually associates with greatness.
He was only 33 when public opinion turned against him.
His friends ran away.  He was turned over to his enemies and went through the mockery of a trial.  He was nailed to a cross between two thieves.
When he was dying, his executioners gambled for his clothing, the only property he had on earth.  When he was dead, he was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.
Nineteen centuries have come and gone, and today he is the central figure of the human race, the leader of mankind's progress.
All the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever sat, all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man on earth as much as that One Solitary Life.

author unknown

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Their Wedding picture mocked them from the table, these two whose minds no longer touched each other.

They lived with such a heavy barricade between them the neither battering ram of words nor artilleries of touch could break it down.

Somewhere, between the oldest child's first tooth and the youngest daughter's graduation, they lost each other.

Throughout the years each slowly unraveled that tangled ball of string called self, and as they tugged at stubborn knots, each hid his searching from the other.

Sometimes she cried at night and begged the whispering darkness to tell her who she was.  He lay beside her, snoring like a hibernating bear, unaware of her winter.

Once, after they had made love, he wanted to tell her how afraid he was of dying, but fearful to show his naked soul. he spoke instead of the beauty of her breasts.

She took a course on modern art, trying to find herself in colors splashed upon canvas, complaining to the other women about men who are insensitive.

He climbed into the tomb called "The Office," wrapped his mind in a shroud of paper figures, and buried himself in customers.

Slowly, the wall between them rose, cemented by the mortar of indifference.

One day, reaching out to touch each other, they found a barrier they could not penetrate, and recoiling from the coldness of the stone, each retreated from the stranger on the other side.

For when love dies, it is not in a moment of angry battle, not when fiery bodies lose their heat.  It lies panting, exhausted expiring at the bottom of a wall it could not scale.

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     Father John's little desert parish truly loved and appreciated his sincere style and caring ways.  During the Sign of Peace, he always called all of the children attending Mass to come up and give him hugs.  He did it for himself I'm sure, but he did it for the children too.  Each and every child waited for the time during Mass when he or she cold stand next to the altar, be the center of attention and hug the not-so-old, and slightly plump priest.
     On on particular sunday, after all the hugs were thought to have been completed and the "Lamb of God, You take away the sins of the world," had begun, one small voice from half-way back in the church said, "What about me?"  Father John stopped his prayer, and held out his arms.  The little freckled face, slicked back hair, shiny cowboy boots and shorts, ran down the aisle towards the altar, crying because he thought he had been forgotten.  Father John just held out his arms, picked up the little boy and held him very near, and held him very dear.
     Three weeks later, I returned to the little desert parish and there was a different priest, one I didn't recognize, saying Mass.  I sat next to a woman who silently cried as she held my hand as we all sang, "Our Father, who art in Heaven..."  It seems that Father John had lost his place in the same part of Mass the Sunday before.  He told his parishioners, "As the Lord so taught us to pray..." and the parish responded with the Lord's Prayer.  And after they were finished, Father John again said, "As the Lord so taught us to pray..." and again, the confused, but willing parish responded with the Lord's Prayer.  And for a third time after the prayer was finished, Father John said, "As the Lord so taught us to pray..."  But then, before his willing congregation could have obliged him for the third time, Father John stopped, and he fainted, and then Father John died.  And once again, Father John had stopped his prayer, and held out his arms, and he answered the one who called out to him.

Edward B. Mullen

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     I began life, literally, with nothing.  Given p as an infant by my biological mother, an unmarried young woman from the small town of Moose Jaw in Saskatchewan, Canada, I was adopted by a poor middle aged couple, John and Mary Linkletter.
     My adoptive father was one of the warmest men I've ever known, but he had absolutely no ability as a businessman.  A part-time evangelical preacher, he also tried selling insurance, running a small general store and making shoes, all rather unsuccessfully.  Eventually we found ourselves living in a charity home run by a local church in San Diego.  Then Dad Linkletter felt called by God to become a full-time preacher, and we had even less money.  And what we did have was usually shared with whatever neighborhood derelict happened to be looking for a meal.
     I graduated from high school early and hit the road as a hobo at the tender age of 16 with the idea of finding my fortune.  One of the first things I found, however, was the wrong end of a pistol: my traveling companion and I were held up by a couple of toughs who found us sleeping in a boxcar.
     "Put your hands straight out and lie flat!" one of the men ordered.  "If this match goes out and I hear anything more I'll shoot."  As they searched our pockets and felt around our middles, I wondered if money was all they wanted.  I was frightened because I had heard stories of older hobos sexually attacking young boys.  Just then, the match went out...and was hastily re lit.  We did not move!  The thieves found $1.30 on me but missed $10.00 I had sewn into my coat lining.  They also took two dollars from my friend, Denver Fox.
     The match went out again and I could tell by their hesitation that they were undecided about something.  As Denver and I lay there, inches apart in the darkness, I heard the hammer of the pistol click back and a cold chill ran down my back.  I knew they were considering killing us.  There was little risk for them.  The rain hammering down on the outside of the boxcar would drown out any noise.  Frozen with terror, I thought of my father and how he would have prayed for me had he known.  Suddenly fear left me, and peace and calm returned.  As if in response to my own restored self-assurance, they moved back toward us.  Then I could feel one of the men push something against my arm.
     "Here's your thirty cents," he said.  "Breakfast money."
     Today I can look back on 45 years as star of two of the longest running shows in broadcasting history; I can reflect on the success I've had as a businessman, author, and lecturer; and I can be proud of my wonderful family life - 58 years with the same wife, five children, seven grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren.  I mention this not to be boastful but to encourage others who are at the lower rung of the economic ladder.  Keep in mind where I started and remember, if I could do it, you can too!  Yes --you can!

Art Linkletter

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     Of all the rituals and colorful ceremonies that children see performed in church, perhaps the most misunderstoon of all is the sacrament of Communion.  Seeing the bread and wine (or grape juice) used in this rite, children often think that refreshments are being served.

Attending his first Mass, one small boy listened as the altar boys rand the bells for the consecration, and yelled, "Come and get it!"  Whereupon those who were to take Communion went and got it.

A boy of three was intrigued by the Communion rite and watched every move of the priest until he finished by wiping the chalice.  Then the boy turned to his mother and said, "He's doing the dishes, Mom...now can we go home?"

After doing her best to explain the ceremony to her daughter, a young mother went to the Communion rail.  As she returned, the girl asked, "When will it be my turn to eat lunch with God?"

Kneeling beside his mother at Mass after she returned from taking Communion, a boy asked, "How does that pill taste?"  Since she was praying silently to herself, she didn't answer.  The he tried again: "It's the kind of pill that puts you to sleep, huh?"

Dick Van Dyke


There are several of these so I will spread them out over the weekend. ;D

Trying to acquaint her five-year-old son with the ritual of the Mass, a mother gave her boy a picture missal so he could see in front of him what was going on at the altar during Communion.  The boy watched as the priest opened the tabernacle, removed the chalice, and drank the wine.  Then the boy pointed to the tabernacle in his book and asked, "Is that the little refrigerator where he keeps his drinks?"

While visiting his aunt in Columbus, Mississippi, a second grader attended the local Methodist Church with her.  after they knelt at the altar and partook of the Communion bread and wine, the boy asked, "Aunt Audrey, is that all we'll have to eat up in Heaven?"

A young married couple who were baptized into the First Presbyterian Church in Hollywood brought along their seven-year-old son, Michael, to see the ceremony.  His mother explained in advance about baptism, but she had forgotten to explain that Communion would also be offered to the entire congregation.  After the service, she asked him what the thought of the morning's events.  "Well," he said, "I didn't think much of the cookies, and there wasn't enough juice."

Another woman brought her grandson along for Episcopal services.  The boy watched as the priest at the altar prepared Communion and said, "Look, Grandma...God is making Kool-Aid!"

Dick Van Dyke

When his father returned and knelt in prayer after receiving the Blessed Host, a 14 year old asked, "They got any chocolate ones up there?"

Not all children are disappointed by what's served at Communion.  A teenager's mother tells me he came home after a week at church camp to report that Communion was the only decent meal they had.

A boy over heard his parents talking about going to the Lord's Supper and told his brother, "I hope we have chicken!"

The last word on Communion comes from a four-year-old Catholic boy who told his dad what had happened in church that day: "The Father called on some of the people to come down front, and he gave them each an Alka-Seltzer!"

Dick Van Dyke

   The fields were parched and brown from lack of rain, and the crops lay wilting from thirst.  People were anxious and irritable as they searched the sky for any sign of relief.  Days turned into arid weeks.  No rain came.
   The ministers of the local churches called for an hour of prayer on the town square the following Saturday.  They requested that everyone bring an object of faith for inspiration.
   At high noon on the appointed Saturday the townspeople turned out en masse, filling the square with anxious faces and hopeful hearts.  The ministers were touched to see the variety of objects clutched in prayerful hands-- holy books, crosses, rosaries.
   When the hour ended, as if on magical command, a soft rain began to fall.  Cheers swept the crowd as they held their treasured objects high in gratitude and praise.  From the middle of the crowd one faith symbol seemed to overshadow all the others: A small nine-year-old child had brought an umbrella.

Laverne W. Hall

     The Rogers are devout Christians who have built a strong family.  The father has a special interest in the spiritual condition of each of his children and often would quiz them in order to know if they were sure of their salvation.  Occasionally he would ask them to share in their own words about their relationship with Jesus Christ.
     One day it was seven-year-old Jimmy's turn to express how he knew he had eternal life.  Jimmy told his version: "I think it will be something like this in Heaven.  One day when we all get to go to Heaven, it will be time for the big angel to read from the big book the names of all the people who will be there.  He will come to the Rogers family and say, 'Daddy Rogers?' and Daddy will say, 'Here!' Then the angel will call out, 'Mommy Rogers?' and Mommy will say, 'Here!'  Then the angel will come down to call out Suzie Rogers and Mavis Rogers, and they both will say, 'Here!'"
     He paused, took a big deep breath and continued.  "And finally that big angel will read my name, Jimmy Rogers, and because I'm little and maybe he'll miss me, I'll jump and shout real loud,'HERE!' to make sure he knows I'm there."
     Just a few days later there was a tragic accident.  A car struck down little Jimmy Rogers as he made his way to catch the school bus.  He was rushed by ambulance to the hospital, and all the family was summoned.  He was in critical condition.
     The little family group gathered around the bed in which little Jimmy now lay with no movement, no consciousness and no hope for recovery.  The doctors had done all that was in their power.  Jimmy would probably be gone by morning.
     The family prayed and waited.  Late in the night the little boy seemed to be stirring a bit.  They all moved closer.  They saw his lips move; just one word was all he uttered before he passed from this life.  But what a word of comfort and hope for a grieving family he was to leave behind.  In the clear voice of a little boy, loud and clear enough so all could hear and understand, little Jimmy Rogers said the one word: 'HERE!'  And then he was gone to another life beyond this world, where a big angel was reading the names of all those written there.

Excerpted from Moments for Mothers

AMEN GRAMMYLUV!

This one was a particularly beautiful story. I think that we all know some "Little Jimmy's" who are already home with the LORD. I know that we most commonly associate things like this with great sadness, but Little Jimmy isn't sad. Little Jimmy has the greatest Love and Care anyone could possibly have, and he's with JESUS CHRIST for Eternity. There are many real-life stories just like this that are quite real. This is why we should think about GOD'S Promises to us every day and tell others about JESUS. One of our greatest responsibilities is to our own children, and that should be a matter of love.

Love In Christ,
Tom

   

I had such a lump in my throat when I read that story.  But you're right about it's beauty.  That little boy wasn't afraid...."Here!" he said.  I can't wait to hear God say my name...hopefully it will be preceded by, "Welcome".  ;D

"They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor" (Isa. 61:3).

It was the worst time in my life. Feeling betrayed by God, I stormed out of the door and walked up the heavily wooded hill behind my house. Reaching the hilltop, I raged at God. "God!" I shouted, "Is this how you treat someone who is faithful to You?! I've waited and waited. I've worked and prayed. And for what? For this?" My lungs hurt and my throat was raw - but I had one more thing to say to God. "I hate You, God! I hate You!"

I sat down on an old oak tree that had broken at the base and was lying on the ground. For the next three hours, I sobbed uncontrollably, unable to speak, unable to pray. I wondered how God could abandon me. I wondered if He even existed. Maybe I had wasted my life believing in a myth.

Finally, I got up to leave. When I looked over at the fallen oak that I had sat on, I noticed something interesting. The fallen tree was pointed toward the base of another oak tree - a tree that stood strong and tall with wide spreading branches. At that moment, I heard a quiet voice inside me say, Today, like this broken oak tree, you are a broken man. But this brokenness was needed in order for you to become like the large, strong oak tree that stands before you.

Years later, I would look back and know that God Himself had spoken to me out of my period of darkness and silence.

Even when I raged at God and told Him I hated Him, God was faithful and forgiving. Today, He has replaced the ashes of my despair with the oil of gladness. He has planted me firmly like a strong and sturdy oak tree, and I live my life in gratitude for His mercy.

Do you find yourself in a dark place? Share your true feelings with God. You'll be surprised how well He is willing to listen.

by Os Hillman

Days of the Week

Monday WashDay
Lord, help me wash away all my selfishness and vanity, so I may serve you  with perfect humility through the week ahead.
 
Tuesday  Ironing  Day   
Dear Lord, help me iron out all the wrinkles
of prejudice I have collected through the years so that I may see the  beauty in others.

Wednesday Mending Day 
O God, help me mend my ways so I will not
set a bad example for others.

Thursday  Cleaning Day
Lord Jesus, help me to dust out all the many faults I have been hiding in  the secret corners of my heart.

Friday Shopping  Day
O God, give me the grace to shop wisely so I may purchase eternal happiness  for myself and all others in need of love.

Saturday Cooking  Day
Help me, my Savior, to brew a big kettle of brotherly love and serve it  with clean, sweet bread of human kindness.

Sunday  The  Lord's Day   
O God, I have prepared my house for you. Please help me so I may spend the  day and the rest of my life in your presence.


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Answering machines seem to be a necessary part of our modern day living.  But I wonder.... What if God decided to install an automated answering machine?

Imagine praying and hearing this answer:

"Thank you for calling My Father's House.  Please select one of the following four options:  Press 1 for requests, press 2 for a thankgiving, press 3 for complaints, for all other inquiries press 4.

What if God used the familiar excuse: "All angles are helping other customers right now.  Please stay on the line.  Your call will be answered in the order it was received."

Can you imagine getting these kinds of responses as you called on God in prayer?

• If you would like to speak with Gabriel, press 1; for Michael 2; for any other angels, press 3.
  If you would like King David to sing you a psalm, press 6
  To find out if your relative is here, enter his/her date of death and listen for the list that follows.
  For reservations at My Father's House, simply press the letters J-O-H-N, followed by the numbers 3-1-6.
  For answers to nagging questions about dinosaurs, the age of the earth, and where Noah's ark is, wait till you get here.
  Our computers show that you have called once today already.  Please hang up immediately.
  This office is closed for the weekend.  Please call again on Monday.

Thank God you can't call Him too often!  You only need to ring once and god hears you.  Because of Jesus, you never get a busy signal.  God takes each call and knows each caller personally.

Then you will call and the Lord will answer, you will cry for help and he will say; 'Here I am'.
Isaiah 58:9

* Personal note:...... I LOVE THAT VERSE!

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'If we ever forget that we're one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under' - Ronald Reagan  

Hello GrammyLuv,

Sister, I think this is a completely true statement. By the way, that was a beautiful graphic, and I did snag it.

SOON, I think that the world will get to see how things are with devil, and they will get to see the same end. Bluntly, the devil doesn't have anything except misery, and the misery is forever. We are watching a time where the powers of darkness are getting much stronger - just like the BIBLE said that they would. Even the imagined pleasures of darkness are misery, so I really don't understand what the devil has to offer. Whatever it is, this lost and dying world will get its fill before the DAY OF THE LORD.

As Christians, we have a better HOPE, and it isn't of this world.

Love In Christ,
Tom

   

True.  So very true.

   It was one of the worst days of my life:  The washing machine broke down, the telephone kept ringing, my head ached, and the mail carrier brought a bill I had no money to pay.  Almost to the breaking point, I lifted my one-year-old into his highchair, leaned my head against the tray, and began to cry.  Without a word, my son took his pacifier out of his mouth and stuck it in mine.

Clara Null



   Kathy Smith, West Coast TV-news anchorwoman, claims that off-camera and without makeup she wouldn't be recognized.  to avoid attracting attention in her Seattle neighborhood, she asked her children not to tell people what she did for a living.
   One day, while her five-year-old son was getting a haircut, she overheard him reply to a question from the barber about her work:  "I can't tell you what my mom does.  All I know is she gets all dressed up and goes out at night."

Contributed by Maggi White

 ;D   ;D    ROFL!

This was another HOOT! Children do have a way of putting us in our place fairly quickly and keeping us humble.



   

Hey!  I used to have a Shar Pei!  They are from China so I called him "Charlie Chan -The Animal Man"!!

   I'm in the military, and being on time is always an issue.  I woke up late that morning, left late... the day was going horribly.  My six-year-old son wasn't speedy enough for me which increased my frustration.  we finally left for school and I was in no mood for chit-chat.  Halfway there I felt bad fro all my grumblings that morning.  It wasn't his fault I got up late.  He's only six, I thought, but I didn't relent.  We got to school, gave a quick hug and kiss and then I left.  While thinking about what lay ahead for the day, still worrying about being late, I backed out of the school parking lot.  Something told me to look up.  There he was, my sweet precious child blowing a kiss in the window.  It stopped me in my tracks.  For all the grumbling I had done that morning, all the yelling to hurry up, that one blown kiss made me stop.  Who cared if was late?  I certainly didn't, not by then at least.  My boss and my job would wait.  What really mattered here?  It was a simple reminder to slow down, lighten up, keep it simple.  My six-year-old reminded me time really didn't matter, only love.  I'll try harder not to forget that lesson, Son - I love you, too.

Katherine Pepin

   After an exhausting weekend, I woke up Monday morning and sleepily packed lunch for my eight-year-old.
When I got home from work late that day, she handed me a note from her teacher, requesting I see her.  "What's
this about?" I asked sternly.
   Opening her lunch box, my daughter showed me the drink I had given her that morning.  It was a can of beer.

From: Chicken Soup for the Working Woman's Soul
Cynthia Briche

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     Here is something to think about next time that you have a problem that dims your faith.  Try to figure out the math in this without God in the equation.  It cannot be done!

     Moses and the people were in the desert, but what was he going to do with them?  They had to be fed, and feeding 2 or 3 million people requires a lot of food.  According to the Quartermaster General in the Army, it is reported that Moses would have had to have 1,500 tons of food daily.
     Do you realize that to take that much food each day, two freight trains, each a mile long, would be required?  Besides, they were out in the desert, and they would require firewood to use in cooking the food.  This would take 4,000 tons of wood and a few more freight trains, each a mile lone just for one day!  Consider; they were forty years in transit.
     Oh yes; they would need water.  For only enough to drink and to wash a few dishes, it would necessitate 11 million gallons daily.  That would require a freight train with tank cars 1,800 miles long, just to accommodate water!
     Consider another concern:  They had to cross the Red Sea in one night.  If they selected a narrow path, double file, the line would be 800 miles long and would require 35 days and nights to pass through, so there had to be a space in the Red Sea three miles wide so they could walk 5,000 abreast, to cross in ONE night.
     Another dilemma faced Moses.  Each time they camped at the end of the day, it required a campground about two-thirds the size of Rhode Island, or a total of 750 square miles. 
     Do you think Moses considered all this before he left Egypt?  You see Moses believed in God.  God took care of these things for him.
     Do you really think God has any problem taking care of all your needs?

Unknown

     Working as a secretary at an international airport, my sister had an office adjacent to the room where security temporarily holds suspects.
     One day security officers were questioning a man when they were suddenly called away on another emergency.  To the horror of my sister and her colleagues, the man was left alone in the unlocked room.  After a few minutes, the door opened and he began to walk out.  Summoning up her courage, one of the secretaries barked, "Get back in there, and don't you come out until you're told!"
     The man scuttled back inside and slammed the door.  When the security people returned, the woman reported what had happened.
     Without a word, an officer walked into the room and released one very frightened telephone repairman.

Russel M. Perman

Hello GrammyLuv,

 ;D  I resemble most of those old songs, but the words have been changed some. Do you get extra points for answering a certain number, "YES - that's me"? Regardless, that's a keeper and I had to save it. I might have some fun with that.

You just help yourself Brother Tom!  One of my best girlfriends got me a T-Shirt for my birthday this past March that said, "How Old I Art!" on it,  this little poem came with it on the box!  tee hee!

     Four years ago, on a rainy January night, I picked my mom up from the San Diego, California, airport.  Her flight from Seattle had been relatively short, but nonetheless she looked drained and frail.  Just hours before, her best friend in Washington had helped her pack some belonging, and had somehow maneuvered her onto the plane.  after being in an abusive relationshop for many years, my mom had finally decided she was ready to take control of her life, so we had agreed she would leave her home and come live with me.
     That first night I held her as she cried herself to sleep.  The ache in my heart called out to the deep sadness in hers.  I had always loved my mom but was shortsighted, as children often are, when it came to seeing her as an individual.  But now as we lay together I felt how wounded she was.  This wasn't the mom whom I, as a child, had always expected to be strong and all-knowing.  Nor was she the uncool, boring old-timer I saw through the lens of my rebellious teenage years.  No, this was a flesh-and-blood woman in her own right, with a heart and a soul, with her own hopes, dreams and disappointments---and her own pain.
     In those first few weeks at my house, the only thing that held my mother together was her faith that God would help her find her way, somehow.  I often heard her pray for guidance and strength, and I always added my silent "Amen" to her petition.
     In February, the local Christian university advertised a degree completion program.  "Earn a bachelor's degree in just two years," the announcement read.  I immediately thought of Mom, who never had the opportunity to complete her education.  I showed the ad to her, and she agreed it looked interesting, so I made an appointment with a guidance counselor at the college.  Mom and I walked in thinking that we would just be gathering information that day.  An hour later, my mom walked out a newly enrolled university student.
     Over the next twenty-four months, every Tuesday night, my mom packed up her school bag, kissed me good-bye and drove herself to class.  At first, she was apprehensive about being a fifty-three-year-old college student.  However, she soon found herself in a tightly knit group of people from all stages and walks of life, and her spirit took flight.
     Each month that passed brought her battered heart a renewed sense of hope, strength and independence.  I watched with joy as she began to view herself differently.  No longer was she timid about her own capabilities and achievements.  No longer was she reticent about expressing her own opinions.  She was realizing once more that she was a person who mattered.  A person whose hopes and desires could still float on the updraft of dreams.  A person who had courage and stamina.  A person who was valuable, not because she was or had been a wife or a mother or a friend, but because of who she essentially was, in herself.  My mom discovered her own worth.
     Just over two years later, on a warm May afternoon, I helped my mom gather together the things she needed.  I tied the sash on her dress and assisted her into the long, black satin gown.  I took pictures as we headed down the stairs, into the car and across town.  I laughed as she climbed the steps of the university and ran to join her classmates, who were joyfully hugging and congratulating each other.
     I cried tears of happiness as my mom crossed the stage and received her diploma.  She was beaming.  And for a moment I thought back to the broken-hearted woman who had arrived at the San Diego airpoet two years before.  But that woman was nowhere to be seen now.  There was only this confident, firm-stepping lady---my honored and beloved mother---descending from the stage, her black gown swirling, her face radiating delight, ready for the next adventure that life would bring.  She had left the only life she knew and found herself as a result.

Jennifer Harris

     Less than a year after my wife's funeral I was confronted with the most terrible realities of being a widower with five children.
     Notes from school.  Field-trip permission slips, PTA election ballots, Troll Book order forms, sports sign-ups, medical forms and innumerable academic progress reports --- an onslaught of paperwork courtesy of the educational bureaucracy.
     This "literature" has to be read and signed, or placed at the bottom of the birdcage.  Regardless of its destination it must be dealt with on a daily basis.
     One day, eight-year-old Rachel was helping me complete five (count 'em, five) emergency treatment forms for school.  She would fill in the generic information (name, address, phone number), and I would add the rest (insurance numbers, doctor's name, date, signature).  After signing the forms, I checked them for accuracy.  It was then that I noticed on each card, in the slot beside Mother's Business Phone, Rachel had written "1-800-HEAVEN."

Rob Loughran

     My grandfather, Stavros Economy, had come to America from Greece at the turn of the century seeking to make a better life for himself.  Rather than steeling on the East Coast, as so many other Greeks had done, Stavros heard that men were being hired to work on building the railroad network in the West.  So he headed off to the desolate, arid country around Rock Springs, Wyoming, to eke out a living through backbreaking labor.
    With money in the bank, the time finally came for Stavros to get out of Rock Springs and settle down.  He headed to Chicago and told relatives there that he was looking for a wife.  An arranged marriage was a common custom among immigrants, who learned to love each other later.  "What kind of woman do you want?", asked his cousin George.
     "A woman from a good Greek family," he said.  "And someone who is educated."    Stavros had taught himself how to read and write English.  He loved the opera and studied the great Greek poets and philosophers: Homer, Plato and Socrates.  He wanted a wife with whom he could share his love of learning.
     "I think I know just the woman", said George.  "She is the youngest daughter of the Mallieris family.  Her name is Stavroula.  She is very beautiful, and I am sure she is quite well-educated."  And so, a date was set to introduce the two.
     Stavroula sat in the chair in the parlor wearing her Sunday finest.  Her father was very anxious to marry her off.  After all, he had four daughters to support.  "Here," he said, handing her a newspaper.  "He wants and educated woman.  Read this when he comes through the door."
     "But Papa, you know I can't read!" Stavroula cried.
     "Don't worry," he said confidently, "God will take care of the situation."
     After the introductions with with Stavroula's parents, Stavros approached the parlor to meet his prospective fiancee'.  He stood up straight, twirled the ends of his large handlebar moustache, smoothed out the lapel of his pinstriped suit and walked purposefully into the room.
     The sight he beheld was more beautiful than he could have imagined.  There sat and angel.  Stavroula had a milky white complexion and delicate features.  Long, thin fingers, a perfect little nose and plump, full lips.  With her wavy blond hair, she almost didn't look Greek.  Blue eyes, like a clear summer sky, peered over the top of the newspaper at him.
     Completely mesmerized, Stavros knew he would have to look no further.  Stavroula would be his bride.  She was beautiful and educated.  They would marry, move to Colorado and start a family -- the first Greek family in Denver.
     He bowed to greet her, taking her small, soft hand in his.  He never noticed that the newspaper she held was upside-down.

Christine E. Belleris

     A friend of  mine had been suffering from a lack of self-confidence after a particularly difficult breakup.  He was a bit wary of returning to the dating world, worried that he had "lost his touch" with women.
     Unfortunately, soon after ending his previous relationship, he began to lose his hair, and he saw this as a sign from above that he was doomed to be alone forever.  "Who the heck is going to want to date some bald guy?" he said to me one night as we commiserated over large yummy cups of cappuccino.  The eternal wit, he was convinced that good hair was the ticket to a successful relationship.  "What will she run her fingers through now?" he exclaimed discouragingly.  "My scalp?"
   As he started asking women out, he only took them to locations where a baseball cap was acceptable -- playing Frisbee in the park, walking the dog, a baseball game or any other faintly sporty event where he could successfully hide his thinning top.  This worked out fine for a while, but there are only so many sporting events to got to, and only so many sunny days to toss the Frisbee and walk the dog.
     Also, one huge aspect of my friends, personality was that he absolutely loved going out for a nice dinner.  We had enjoyed many nights in college spending too much money on bottles of wine, hors d'oeuvers and warm chocolaty desserts at the most upscale restaurants.  Unfortunately, none of these restaurants would allow a baseball cap, no matter how nice it may be.  This started to discourage him and again his spirits dropped, until he received notification in the mail that he had won a free dinner for two at an exclusive restaurant downtown.
     "Congratulations!" the letter read.  "You and a guest have been chosen to sample and savor our elegant cuisine and ambiance.  Please find the enclosed gift certificate for fifty dollars!"  He was thrilled.  Jumping up and down with enthusiasm, he thought out loud about what to wear, what to order, when to go, and...uh oh...who to take.  He couldn't wear a hat into this new restaurant.  But who could he take who wouldn't be shocked by his barely covered head?  His brow furrowed in disappointment and he collapsed on the nearby couch.  after a few minutes of silence, he shouted out, "Aw, phooey.  I'm going."  Leaping from his seat, his face took on that all-too-familiar glow and he quickly breezed through his index of possible dates, finally landing on Sarah, the woman whom he had been admiring from afar for months.  He sat down in his favorite chair, dialed her number confidently and asked her to accompany him--and she gratefully accepted.  A few nights later, dressed to the nines and beautifully bare-headed, he and Sarah shared a perfect evening and have been wonderfully in love ever since.
     And I'll tell you this: That was the best fifty dollars I've spent in a long time.

Katie Mauro
(Chicken Soup for the Single's Soul)



Personal Note:  "Index of possible dates???  At least he had an index!

Hello Brothers and Sisters!
I am not prepared tonight with some "Chicken Soup" for you but let me share something of my own with you.

As many already know, I work at a women and children's mission is downtown Seattle.  Often I go home and feel that I could've done better and wonder if I am of any use at all.  Am I being the face of Christ to anyone at all.
Today, I came in and was sitting around waiting to go into a meeting when one of the clients passed by and then came back and said, "I have an overwhelming desire to give you a hug!"  Which she proceeded to do!

In Christ,
Grammyluv  ;D

Hello GrammyLuv,

I'm glad you had something personal tonight. That was neat and I enjoyed it. AMEN!

I appears that GOD gave you an answer to your question with a priceless moment.

Love In Christ,
Tom

Thanks Brother Tom!  When that happened, it really made my day!

(Found in Reader's Digest- Feb 2008)

This classified ad from the Sturgis (Michigan) Journal showcases a cat that thinks it's a lion.  "Free to good home: 2 adult female cats, 1 long-haired gray, 1 deluded calico."
Linda Meggison

My wife found this flyer taped to a neighborhood telephone pole: "Found, male yellow Lab, very friendly.  Loves to play with kids and eat Bubbles.  Bubbles is our cat.  Please come and get your dog."
Robert Chapman

Who could resist this dog after the sales pitch in the Athens (Ohio) News?  "Worst dog ever.  Free to a good home.  Not fixed.  Doesn't come when called.  Runs away.  Kills chickens and has foul smell."
Laura Calentine

Some years ago, on a hot summer day in south Florida, a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole that was behind his house.  In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went. He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the
lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore.

In the house, his mother was looking out the window. She saw the two as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear, she ran toward the water, yelling to her son as loudly as she could. Hearing her
voice, the little boy became alarmed, and made a U-turn to swim to his mother. It was too late.  Just as he reached her, the alligator reached him. From the dock, the mother grabbed her little boy by the arms, just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began a very incredible tug-of-war between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the mother, but the mother was much too passionate to let go.......A farmer happened to drive by, heard her screams, raced from his truck, took aim, and shot the alligator. Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. On his arms, there were deep scratches where his mother's fingernails dug into his flesh, in her effort to hang on to the son she loved.

The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma asked the boy if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. Then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, "But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my Mom wouldn't let go."

You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, but the scars of a painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly, and have caused us deep regret. But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go. In the midst of your struggle, He's been right there, holding on to you.

The Scripture teaches that God loves you. You are a child of God. He wants to protect you, and provide for you in every way. But, sometimes, we foolishly wade into dangerous situations, not knowing what lies ahead.  The swimming hole of life is filled with peril and we forget that the enemy is waiting to attack. That is when the tug-of-war begins. If you have the scars of His love on your arms, be very, very grateful. He will not ever let you go.

Never judge another person's scars, because you don't know how they got them.

The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited island.

He prayed feverishly for GOD to rescue him, and every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming.

Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect himself from the elements, and to store his few possessions.

One day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, with smoke rolling up to the sky.

The worst had happened, and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief, grief, and anger.

'GOD, how could you do this to me?' he cried.

 Early the next day he was awakened by the sound of a ship that was approaching the island.  It had come to rescue him.

'How did you know I was here?' Asked the weary man of his rescuers.

'We saw your smoke signal,' they replied.

It's easy to get discouraged when things are going bad, but we shouldn't lose heart, because GOD is at work in our lives, even in the midst of pain, and suffering.

Remember that, the next time your little hut seems to be burning to the ground. It just may be a smoke signal that summons the grace of GOD.

        I Believe:

        Birth Certificate shows that we were born
        A Death Certificate shows that we died
        Pictures show that we lived!
        Have a seat . . . Relax . . And read this slowly.

        I Believe...
        That just because two people argue,
        it doesn't mean they don't love each other.
        And just because they don't argue,
        it doesn't mean they do love each other.

        I Believe...
        That we don't have to change friends if
        we understand that friends change.

        I Believe...
        That no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt
        you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.

        I Believe...
        That true friendship continues to grow, even over
        the longest distance. Same goes for true love.

        I Believe...
        That you can do something in an instant
        that will give you heartache for life.

        I Believe...
        That it's taking me a long time
        to become the person I want to be.

        I Believe...
        That you should always leave loved ones with
        loving words. It may be the last time you see them.

        I Believe...
        That you can keep going long after you think you can't.

        I Believe...
        That we are responsible for what
        we do, no matter how we feel.

        I Believe...
        That either you control your attitude or it controls you.

        I Believe...
        That heroes are the people who do what has to be done
        when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.

        I Believe...
        That money is a lousy way of keeping score.

        I Believe...
        That my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have
        the best time.

        I Believe...
        That sometimes the people you expect to kick you
        when you're down, will be the ones to help you get back up.

        I Believe...
        That sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry,
        but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.

        I Believe...
        That maturity has more to do with what types of experiences
        you've had
        and what you've learned from them and less to do
        with how many birthdays you've celebrated.

        I Believe...
        That it isn't always enough, to be forgiven by others.
        sometimes, you have to learn to forgive yourself.

        I Believe...
        That no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't
        stop for your grief.

        I Believe...
        That our background and circumstances may have influenced who we
        are, but we are responsible for who we become.

        I Believe...
        That you shouldn't be so eager to find
        out a secret. It could change your life Forever.

        I Believe...
        Two people can look at the exact same
        thing and see something totally different.

        I Believe...
        That your life can be changed in a matter of
        hours by people who don't even know you.

        I Believe...
        That even when you think you have no more to give, when
        a friend cries out to you - you will find the strength to help.

        I Believe...
        That credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.

        I Believe...
        That the people you care about most in life are taken from you
        too soon.

        'The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of
        everything; they just make the most of everything.'
       


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The Blind Horse(anonymous)


Near my home is a field, with two horses in it.

From a distance, each horse looks like any other horse. But if you stop your car, or are walking by, you will notice something quite amazing....

Looking into the eyes of one horse will disclose that he is blind. His owner has chosen not to have him put down, but has made a good home for him.

This alone is amazing.

If you stand nearby and listen, you will hear the sound of a bell. Looking around for the source of the sound, you will see that it comes from the smaller horse in the field.

Attached to the horse's halter is a small bell. It lets the blind friend know where the other horse is, so he can follow.

As you stand and watch these two friends, you'll see that the horse with the bell is always checking on the blind horse, and that the blind horse will listen for the bell and then slowly walk to where the other horse is, trusting that he will not be led astray.

When the horse with the bell returns to the shelter of the barn each evening, it stops occasionally and looks back, making sure that the blind friend isn't too far behind to hear the bell.

Like the owners of these two horses, God does not throw us away just because we are not perfect or because we have problems or challenges.

He watches over us and even brings others into our lives to help us when we are in need.

Sometimes we are the blind horse being guided by the little ringing bell of those who God places in our lives. Other times we are the guide horse, helping others to find their way....


And remember... Be kinder than necessary - Everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

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Twinkies And Root Beer


A little boy wanted to meet God. He knew it was a long trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with Twinkies and a six-pack of Root Beer and he started his journey.

When he had gone about three blocks, he met an elderly man. The man was sitting in the park just feeding some pigeons. The boy sat down next to him and opened his suitcase. He was about to take a drink from his root beer when he noticed that the man looked hungry, so he offered him a Twinkie.

The man gratefully accepted it and smiled at boy. His smile was so pleasant that the boy wanted to see it again, so he offered him a root beer.

Again, the man smiled at him. The boy was delighted! They sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, but they never said a word. As it grew dark, the boy realized how tired he was and he got up to leave, but before he had gone more than a few steps, he turned around, ran back to the man, and gave him a hug. The man gave him his biggest smile ever.

When the boy opened the door to his own house a short time later, his mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face. She asked him, "What did you do today that made you so happy?

"He replied, "I had lunch with God." But before his mother could respond, he added, "You know what? God's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen!"

Meanwhile, the elderly man, also radiant with joy, returned to his home. His son was stunned by the look of peace on his face and he asked," Dad, what did you do today that made you so happy?"

He replied, "I ate Twinkies in the park with God." However, before his son responded, he added," You know, he's much younger than I expected."

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around. People come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Embrace all equally!

~author unknown~

A man's daughter had asked the local minister to come and pray with her father. When the minister arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows.

An empty chair sat beside his bed. The minister assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit. "I guess you were expecting me", he said.
"No, who are you?" said the father.
The minister told him his name and then remarked, "I saw the empty chair and I figured you knew I was going to show
up".

Oh yeah, the chair," said the bedridden man, "Would you mind closing the door?" Puzzled, the minister shut the door. "I have never told anyone this, not even my daughter," said the man. "But all of my life I have never known how to pray. At church I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, but it went right over my head."

I abandoned any attempt at prayer, "the old man continued, " until one day four years ago, my best friend said to me, "Johnny, prayer is just a simple matter of having a conversation with Jesus."

Here is what I suggest: "Sit down in a chair; place an empty chair in front of you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair. It's not spooky because he promised, 'I will be with you always'. "Then just speak to him in the same way you're doing with me right now."

"So, I tried it and I've liked it so much that I do it a couple of hours every day. I'm careful though If my daughter saw me talking to an empty chair, she'd either have a nervous breakdown or send me off to the funny farm."

The minister was deeply moved by the story and encouraged the old man to continue on the journey. Then he prayed with him, anointed him with oil, and returned to the church.

Two nights later the daughter called to tell the minister that her daddy had died that afternoon. Did he die in peace?" he asked. Yes, when I left the house about two o'clock, he called me over to his bedside, told me he loved me and kissed me on the cheek.

When I got back from the store an hour later, I found him But there was something strange about his death. Apparently, just before Daddy died, he leaned over and rested his head on the chair beside the bed. What do you make of that?"

The minister wiped a tear from his eye and said, "I wish we could all go like that."

This is one of the kindest things I've ever experienced. I have no way to know who sent it, but there is a beautiful soul working in the dead letter office of the US postal service.

Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died, my 4 year old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how much she missed Abbey.
She asked if we could write a letter to God so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her. I told her that I thought we could so she dictated these words:

Dear God, Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me have her as my dog even though she got sick. I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls and to swim. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her. You will know that she is my dog. I really miss her.

Love, Meredith.

We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven.

That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at the post office. A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.

Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed, 'To Meredith ,  in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith opened it.

Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, 'When a Pet Dies.' Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of Abbey & Meredith and this note:

Dear Meredith, Abbey arrived safely in heaven. Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away. Abbey isn't sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays in your heart.

Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don't need our bodies in heaven, I don't have any pockets to keep your picture in, so I am sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have something to remember Abbey by.

Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have. I picked her especially for you. I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much.

By the way, I'm easy to find, I am wherever there is love. Love, God

What a beautiful story!

I have my little old man sitting next to me. He's 16 years old and hasn't been more than a few inches away from me all day. He's been sad today because my wife is in St. Louis helping the kids. My daughter's husband in gone to a school, and she will help bring them all home for a visit. To make a long story short, our little dog is a basket case when either of us are out of pocket. He's a faithful little friend who gives love unconditionally, so it's easy to see why so many people love their pets. This is just a small example when comparing how much GOD loves us - even enough to die for us.

Love in Christ,
Tom

It Is Not The AGE It Is The ATTITUDE:

A 92-year-old, well-poised and proud man, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o'clock, with his hair fashionably coiffed and shaved perfectly, even though he is legally blind, moved to a nursing home today. His wife of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary.

After many hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, he smiled sweetly when told his room was ready. As he maneuvered his walker to the elevator, I provided a visual description of his tiny room, including the eyelet sheets that had been hung on his window.

"I love it," he stated with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy.

"Mr. Jones, you haven't seen the room; just wait."

"That doesn't have anything to do with it," he replied. "Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged ... it's how I arrange my mind. I already decided to love it." It's a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice; I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do.

Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open, I'll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I've stored away. Just for this time in my life. Old age is like a bank account. You withdraw from what you've put in. So, my advice to you would be to deposit a lot of happiness in the bank account of memories!

Thank you for your part in filling my memory bank. I am still depositing.

Remember the five simple rules to be happy:

1. Free your heart from hatred.
2. Free your mind from worries.
3. Live simply.
4. Give more.
5. Expect less.


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Amen!

J. Free your heart from hatred. Psa 51:10  Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit
                                                                    within me.
E. Free your mind from worries. Mat 11:29  Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and
                                                                      lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.

S. Live simply.  Mat 18:3  And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little
                                         children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.

U. Give more. Mat 5:42  Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn
                                        not thou away.

S. Expect less. Jas 4:3  Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it
                                      upon your lusts.

Wow!  Thanks Pastor Roger!  That is such a great addition!  And I thought only BEP stopped by here!   ;D

I'm full of surprises.  ;)

Hello Grammyluv,

Sister, this is one of my favorites, and I read everything posted here. If you look at the number of "Reads", you'll see that nearly 59,000 people have read in this thread. This is the magic of mass communication on the Internet. We have no idea how GOD will eventually use every post, but HE does, and we have HIS Promise that HIS WORD will never return void. It makes me feel good that people around the world can get good and Godly material to use. I know that it's even translated into other languages to use, and many missionaries use Christian materials to teach English. GOD is still working in many MIGHTY ways that we don't even know about, so this is just another reason to give Thanks to GOD. May HE receive all the GLORY!

Love In Christ,
Tom

Amen!

I'll give that another AMEN!

I walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry. The pain of losing my husband of 57 years was still too raw. And this grocery store held so many sweet memories.

He often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with the three yellow roses in his hands.

He knew I loved yellow roses. With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since he had passed on.

Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two.

Standing by the meat, I searched for the perfect small steak and remembered how he had loved his steak.

Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blonde, slim and lovely in a soft green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large package of T-bones, dropped them in her basket... hesitated, and then put them back. She turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks.

She saw me watching her and she smiled. 'My husband loves T-bones, but honestly, at these prices, I don't know.'

I swallowed the emotion down my throat and met her pale blue eyes.

'My husband passed away eight days ago,' I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice. 'Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you have together.'

She shook her head and I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled away.

I turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. A Quart, I finally decided and moved on to the ice cream. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream cone.

I placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the front. I saw first the green suit, then recognized the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried a package. On her face was the brightest smile! I had ever seen. I would swear a soft halo encircled her blonde hair as she kept walking toward me, her eyes holding mine.

As she came closer, I saw what she held and tears began misting in my eyes. 'These are for you,' she said and placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms. 'When you go through the line, they will know these are paid for.' She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then smiled again. I wanted to tell her what she'd done, what the roses meant, but still unable to speak, I watched as she walked away as tears clouded my vision.

I looked down at the beautiful roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal. How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear. I wasn't alone.

Oh, you haven't forgotten me, have you? I whispered, with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel.

(I totally had a lump in my throat when I read this one.  And wouldn't you know?  Yellow roses are my favorite too!)

I guarantee you will remember the tale of the Wooden Bowl tomorrow, a week from now, a month from now, a year from now.

A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered. The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth. The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. "We must do something about father," said the son. "I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor." So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner. Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl! When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.

The four-year-old watched it all in silence. One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, "What are you making?" Just as sweetly, the boy responded, "Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up.." The four-year-old smiled and went back to work .

The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.

On a positive note, I've learned that, no matter what happens, how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow.
I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles four things: a rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.
I've learned that, regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life.
I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance.
I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands. You need to be able to throw something back.
I've learned that if you pursue happiness, it will elude you. But if you focus on your family, your friends, the needs of others, your work and doing the very best you can, happiness will find you.
I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision.
I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one.
I've learned that every day, you should reach out and touch someone. People love that human touch -- holding hands, a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.
 I've learned that I still have a lot to learn.!

WHAT GOES AROUND...COMES AROUND !!!


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A young lady named Sally, relates an experience she had in a seminary class, given by her teacher, Dr. Smith. She says that Dr. Smith was known for his elaborate object lessons.

Sally walked into the seminary and knew they were in for a fun day. On the wall was a big target and on a nearby table were many darts. Dr. Smith told the students to draw a picture of someone that they disliked or someone who had made them angry, and he would allow them to throw darts at the person's picture.

Sally's friend drew a picture of who had stolen her boyfriend. Another friend drew a picture of his little brother. Sally drew a picture of a former friend, putting a great deal of detail into her drawing, even drawing pimples on the face. Sally was pleased with the overall effect she had achieved.

The class lined up and began throwing darts. Some of the students threw their darts with such force that their targets were ripping apart. Sally looked forward to her turn, and was filled with disappointment when Dr. Smith, because of time limits, asked the students to return to their seats.

As Sally sat thinking about how angry she was because she didn't have a chance to throw any darts at her target, Dr. Smith began removing the target from the wall. Underneath the target was a picture of Jesus. A hush fell over the room as each student viewed the mangled picture of Jesus; holes and jagged marks covered His face and His eyes were pierced.

Dr. Smith said only these words... "In as much as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me." Matthew 25:40.

No other words were necessary; the tears filled eyes of the students focused only on the picture of Christ. 

WOW!
Grammyluv

His name was Fleming, and he was a poor Scottish farmer. One day, while trying to make a living for his family, he heard a cry for help coming from a nearby bog. He dropped his tools and ran to the bog.

There, mired to his waist in black muck, was a terrified boy, screaming and struggling to free himself. Farmer Fleming saved the lad from what could have been a slow and terrifying death.

The next day, a fancy carriage pulled up to the Scotsman's sparse surroundings An elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced himself as the father of the boy Farmer Fleming had saved.

'I want to repay you,' said the nobleman. 'You saved my son's life.'

'No, I can't accept payment for what I did,' the Scottish farmer replied waving off the offer. At that moment, the farmer's own son came to the door of the family hovel.

'Is that your son?' the nobleman asked.

'Yes,' the farmer replied proudly.

'I'll make you a deal. Let me provide him with the level of education my own son will enjoy. If the lad is anything like his father, he'll no doubt grow to be a man we both will be proud of.' And that he did.

Farmer Fleming's son attended the very best schools and in time, graduated from St. Mary's Hospital Medical School in London, and went on to become known throughout the world as the noted Sir Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of Penicillin.

Years afterward, the same nobleman's son who was saved from the bog was stricken with pneumonia.

What saved his life this time? Penicillin.

The name of the nobleman? Lord Randolph Churchill. His son's name?

Sir Winston Churchill.

Someone once said: What goes around comes around.

Work like you don't need the money.

Love like you've never been hurt.

Dance like nobody's watching.

Sing like nobody's listening.

Live like it's Heaven on Earth.

May your purse always hold a coin or two;

May the sun always shine on your windowpane;

May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain;

May the hand of a friend always be near you;

May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

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A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. The conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life.

Offering his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups - porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain-looking, some expensive, and some exquisite - telling them to help themselves to the coffee.

After all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice looking expensive cups were taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is but normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress.

"Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases, it's just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups...and then began eyeing each other's cups.

"Now consider this: Life is the coffee, and the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain life, and the type of cup we have does not define nor change the quality of life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee God has provided us."

God brews the coffee, not the cups . . . enjoy your coffee.

“When we complain that we do not get what we deserve, we do not know how fortunate we are.”

A Lesson in Love

Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake.

Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.

Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us.

He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, h e just signed up.

He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened. He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, "Would you like a drink from the hose?"

The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent little smile.

As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him..

Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop it. "Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.

Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. "Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday." His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.

Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?"

"I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately," came the calm reply.

Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.

A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose.

This time they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water.

When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done.

Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches.

As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack.

"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time." The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.

"What's this?" Carl asked.

"It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff back, even the money in your wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help me now?"

The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. "I learned something from you," he said. "I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate." He stopped for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back." He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say.. "That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess." And with that, he walked off down the street.

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church.

The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden."

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: "Person needed to care for Carl's garden."

The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister's office door.

Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. "I believe this is my job, if you'll have me," the young man said.

The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl.

He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's garden and honor him."

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done.

In that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, "My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday."

"Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?"

"Carl," he replied.

That's the whole gospel message simply stated.

One of the most influential men in my life told me once, "I choose to be in a good mood."

"Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or... I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it."

"Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or... I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life."

"Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested.

"Yes, it is," he said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people affect your mood."

"You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live your life."

I reflected on what he said. Soon thereafter, I left the job where we met to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.

Several years later, I heard that he was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower.

After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, he was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.

I saw him about six months after the accident.

When I asked him how he was, he replied, "If I were any better, I'd be twins...Wanna see my scars?"

I declined to see his wounds, but I did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.

"The first thing that went through my mind was the well-being of my soon-to-be born daughter," he replied. "Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or... I could choose to die. I chose to live."

"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked.

He continued, "...the paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'he's a dead man'. I knew I needed to take action."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me," he said. "She asked if I was allergic to anything. 'Yes, I replied.' The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Gravity'."

Over their laughter, I told them, "I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead."

He lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.

Attitude, after all, is everything.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Matthew 6:34.

Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.

We had gathered and seated ourselves around my parents’ ancient oak table for another holiday dinner. Four generations at one table celebrating the passage of our lives together once again with traditions unique to our family.

After my father offered thanks for our many blessings, my nephew exclaimed “Thanks grandpa, now we can all eat.”

One of the great grandchildren replied “Why do you call him “grandpa?” We call him poppa.”

I surveyed my loved ones and realized that my Dad has many names: Three brothers and two sisters call him Dad; and we know he loves us. Mom calls him Clem or Dear, and we know he loves her. My Brother Michael’s 3 children call him Poppa and he loves them. Kathy’s kids call him G. P. and he loves them. My kids call him Grandpa and he loves them too. My cousins call him Uncle Clem, and he loves them too. His former students called him Mr. Wiedman and knew him as a good math teacher with a great sense of humor and they loved him. His buddies at church, in the coffee club and at physical therapy also call him Clem and he loves them too.

Now if you asked each of us to share our most treasured memories of time spent with him, most likely we would each have different stories. And if we did share such stories, probably each of us would find more reasons for loving him, discovering greater range and style than each of us experienced in our personal history of interaction.

He would not turn his back on any of us in a time of need nor would he hold a grudge against any of his grandchildren because they address him in their own style or against any of his loved ones because we don’t all share the same stock of meaningful experiences in our memories of him.

And I realized; “That’s how it must be with our heavenly Father.”

Old Age, I decided, is a gift.

The other day a young person asked me how I felt about being old. I was taken aback, for I do not think of myself as old. Upon seeing my reaction, he was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question, and I would ponder it, and let him know.

Old Age, I decided, is a gift. I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body ... the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And, often I am taken aback by that old person who lives in my mirror, but I don't agonize over those things for long.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to overeat, to be messy, to be extravagant. I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 am, and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 50's & 60's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love .. I will.

I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the bikini set. They, too, will get old. I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten and I eventually remember the important things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when a beloved pet is hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength, understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turn gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver. I can say "no," and mean it. I can say "yes." and mean it. As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day.

As I read this one this morning I was so happy to see that there was another that felt like I do.  At 51, I don't feel old either but I do feel freer than I have ever felt.  I too, will put on a suit and jump in the pool with my grandkids and not worry about a few buldges here and there.  And I have grown to like myself inspite of mistakes made in my past.  I also have loved and lost, but I also have many "laugh" winkles because I do enjoy humor!  I haven't decided about the gray hair yet.  I found my first one the day after I turned 30 and I have been coloring my hair ever since!  I'm sure I have a head full of it by now and maybe this will be the year that I decide to let it grow out just to see.  After all, at this age and stage of my life there are only 3 people that I feel the need to impress:  God, my grandson and me!  And the first two love me unconditionally!
In Christ,
Grammyluv  ;D

Some may have seen this before.  It's an oldie, but a goodie.



Thank God for Children Saying Grace...

Last week, I took my children to a restaurant. My six-year-old son asked if he could say grace. As we bowed our heads he said, "God is good, God is great. Thank you for the food, and I would even thank you more if Mom gets us ice cream for dessert. And Liberty and justice for all! Amen!"

Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby, we heard a woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't even know how to pray. Asking God for ice cream! Why, I never!"

Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?"

As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job, and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table.

He winked at my son and said, "I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer."

"Really?" my son asked.

"Cross my heart," the man replied.

Then, in a theatrical whisper, he added (indicating the woman whose remark had hurt my child's feelings), "Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."

Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal. My son stared at his for a moment, and then did something I will remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and, without a word, walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her, "Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes; and my soul is good already."

Family

I ran into a stranger as he passed by, "Oh excuse me please" was my reply.
He said, "Please excuse me too; I wasn't watching for you."
We were very polite, this stranger and I.
We went on our way and we said good-bye.
But at home a different story is told,
How we treat our loved ones, young and old.
Later that day, cooking the evening meal,
My son stood beside me very still.
When I turned, I nearly knocked him down.
"Move out of the way," I said with a frown.
He walked away, his little heart broken.
I didn't realize how harshly I'd spoken.
While I lay awake in bed,
God's still small voice came to me and said,
"While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use,
but the family you love, you seem to abuse.
Go and look on the kitchen floor,
You'll find some flowers there by the door.
Those are the flowers he brought for you.
He picked them himself: pink, yellow and blue.
He stood very quietly not to spoil the surprise,
you never saw the tears that filled his little eyes."
By this time, I felt very small,
And now my tears began to fall.
I quietly went and knelt by his bed;
"Wake up, little one, wake up," I said.
"Are these the flowers you picked for me?"
He smiled, "I found 'em, out by the tree.
I picked 'em because they're pretty like you.
I knew you'd like 'em, especially the blue."
I said, "Son, I'm very sorry for the way I acted today;
I shouldn't have yelled at you that way."
He said, "Oh, Mom, that's okay.
I love you anyway."
I said, "Son, I love you too,
and I do like the flowers, especially the blue."

(http://i181.photobucket.com/albums/x125/luvmarley_bucket/coffeecup.jpg)

This story was written by a doctor who worked in South Africa...

One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator). We also had no special feeding facilities.

Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle.

She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates). "And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.

"All right," I said, "put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm."

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle, and that the baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died.

During prayer time, one ten-year old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. "Please, God" she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead so please send it this afternoon."

While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added, "And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?"

As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen". I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything, the Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!

Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children.

Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box.

From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas - that would make a batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.....could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out - yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle. I cried.

I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly too!" Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted!

Looking up at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"

That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child - five months before, in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that afternoon."

"Before they call, I will answer" (Isaiah 65:24)

A Mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife opening a package. "What food might this contain?" He was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.

Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning. "There is a mousetrap in the house, there is a mousetrap in the house!"

The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said "Mr. Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it."

The mouse turned to the pig and told him, "There is a mousetrap in the house!"

The pig sympathized but said, "I am so very sorry Mr. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it but pray. Be assured that you are in my prayers."

The mouse turned to the cow who said, "Wow, Mr. Mouse. I'm sorry for you. But it's no skin off my nose."

So the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer's mousetrap alone. That very night a sound was heard throughout the house like the sound of a mousetrap catching its prey.

The farmer's wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness the wife did not see that it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught. The snake bit the farmer's wife.

The farmer rushed her to the hospital and she returned home with a fever. Now everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup's main ingredient.

But his wife's sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig.

The farmer's wife did not get well. She died; And so many people came for her funeral the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for all of them.

So next time you hear that someone is facing a problem and think that it doesn't concern you, remember that when one of us is threatened, we are all at risk.

We are all involved in this journey called life. We must keep an eye out for one another and be willing to make that extra effort to encourage one another.

When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the 2 cups of coffee...

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls.

He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of small pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls.

He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else.

He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous "yes."

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

"Now," said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things-your family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favorite passions -- things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car.

The sand is everything else -- the small stuff.

If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you.

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first -- the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented. The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend."

It was a typical hectic wet spring Saturday and I was driving to a local department store in search of a baby shower gift for my daughter, she was having my first Grandchild. I told my husband I would only be gone a short while cause I kind of knew what I wanted to buy. As most rainy spring Saturday’s would have it, the traffic was heavy and everyone seemed to be in a mad hurry.

As I was leaving BABIES ARE US, and scampered across the parking lot to my car, I noticed a large brown duck circling a sewer grid. As I approached the duck she came waddling up to me frantically quacking. As soon as she knew she had my attention, she turned and waddled back to the sewer grid. As I looked down into the sewer I counted eleven tiny yellow ducklings. I thought for a moment saying out loud that I was very late and very wet and there was nothing I could do. Besides, the sewer grid was much to heavy for me to move. Even out loud, no excuse sounded good enough, I knew I couldn't leave. This was a mother duck and her ducklings were in trouble and she came to me for help. As I stood there helpless, other people approached to see why I was standing in a parking lot talking to a duck. She circled me relentlessly quacking. It was quite the spectacle.

Just then a young man and his pregnant wife approached me and I began explaining the situation. Without coaxing, the young man took action. He carefully lifted off the grate and went in after the ducklings. One by one he lifted them to me. An employee from a nearby store came out with a box and we began filling the box with quackers. Seven ducklings filled the box and the young man assumed his rescue feat was completed. As he returned the sewer grid and turned to me he saw the sadness in my face, I knew in my heart I had counted eleven ducks, four were still lost...

By now a small crowd had gathered to watch the rescue. With seven ducklings in the box I set the box on the ground and moved away. The mother duck cautiously entered the box of quackers and quieted them down. A couple from the crowd volunteered to take the box to a nearby pond. When they tried to pick up the box the Mother duck flew from the box in noisy fright. Again, the employee from the near by store ran through the rain with a top for the box. As the Mother duck settled down the second time in the box of quackers I quickly placed the cover on top. Although, the Mother duck protested, the couple put the box in their car and set off for the pond. Everyone seemed happy, applauding everyone's efforts and then left. But I couldn't! There were four more baby ducks down there.

I stood quietly listening and worrying... they were baby ducks! A half hour had passed as I stood the rainy vigil with no sounds from the sewer, except the gushing water. Two new people came by to ask me why I was standing near the sewer staring down. I explained what happened and that four ducklings were still missing. The woman and her daughter then lifted the grate and suddenly we heard the low quacks of the ducklings calling for their Mother over the gushing water.

The man with his pregnant wife came to the rescue again, this time armed with a flash light. He smiled at me and said, "Four more huh!" He disappeared again into the sewer drain and was gone for several minutes. The rain had picked up and the sewer was again being filled with water. The pregnant young woman began to openly worry about her husband being in the sewer and how wet he would be. Suddenly, his head popped out of the sewer drain followed by a huge smile. In his jacket were 4 ducklings quacking their heads off.

We covered the sewer drain and got into our cars. He waited until we lined up to follow him in his truck to the nearby pond where the mother duck and the other ducklings had been released. With lights on high-beam and windshield wipers flapping, as though in a parade, we approached the pond. Standing near the water, the quacking of the four stragglers brought the mother duck and her brood to the shore line to be re-united. My heart was singing and everyone was smiling like we had all just won the million dollar lottery.

I didn't ask any of the rescuer's names or what made them want to get involved with saving eleven tiny ducklings on a very wet busy Saturday in spring, I only know I felt as though the mother duck and God were counting on us.

When I finally arrived home dripping wet my husband looked at me with some annoyance saying "where were you for so long." I just smiled and said, "Someone quite small reminded me just how precious life is and the love that bonds mothers and their offspring, so just stop your quacking! I'm going to be a GRANDMOTHER!"

I may have posted this one before but as I was reading it with familiarity, I got a big Awwww in my heart and thought you might too!


This was written by a Hospice of Metro Denver physician.

I was driving home from a meeting this evening about 5:00 PM, got stuck in traffic on Colorado Blvd., when the car started to choke and splutter and die - I barely managed to coast, cursing, into a gas station, glad only that I would not be blocking traffic and would have a somewhat warm spot to wait for the tow truck. The car wouldn't even turn over.

Before I could make the call for a tow, I saw a woman walking out of the "Quickie Mart" building, and it looked as though she had slipped on some ice and fell into a gas pump, so I got out to see if she was okay. When I got to her, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than that she had fallen; she was a young woman who looked really haggard with dark circles under her eyes. She dropped something as I helped her up, and I picked it up to give it to her. It was a nickel.

At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the ancient Suburban crammed full of stuff with 3 kids in the back (1 in a car seat), and the gas pump reading $4.95.

I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, and she just kept saying "I don't want my kids to see me crying," so we stood on the other side of the pump from her car. She explained that she was driving to California and that things were very hard for her right now.

So I asked, "And you were praying?" That made her back away from me a little but I assured her I was not a crazy person and said, "He heard you, and He sent me."

I took out my card and swiped it through the card reader on the pump so she could fill up her car completely, and while it was fueling walked to the McDonald's next door and bought two big bags of food, some gift certificates for more, and a big cup of coffee. She gave the food to the kids in the car who attacked it like wolves, and we stood by the pump eating fries and talking a little.

She told me her name, and said that she lived in Kansas City. Her boyfriend left two months ago and she had not been able to make ends meet. She knew she wouldn't have money to pay rent on Jan 1, and finally in desperation had called her parents who live in California. She had not spoken to them in about 5 years. They said she could come live with them and try to get on her feet there. So she packed up everything she owned in the car and told the kids they were going to California for Christmas, but not that they were going to live there.

I gave her my gloves, a little hug and said a quick prayer with her for safety on the road. As I was walking over to my car, she said, "So, are you like an angel or something?" This definitely made me cry. I said, "Sweetie, at this time of year angels are really busy, so sometimes God uses regular people."

It was so incredible to be a part of someone else's miracle. And of course, you guessed it, when I got in my car it started right away and got me home with no problem. I'll put it in the shop tomorrow to check, but I suspect the mechanic won't find anything wrong.

Sometimes the angels fly close enough to you that you can hear the flutter of their wings...

Psalms 55:22 "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved."

A young man learns what's most important in life from the guy next door. It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr.. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday."

Memories flashed through his mind l! ike an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

"Jack, did you hear me?"

"Oh sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.

"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you! were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his si de of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.

"I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.

"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.

"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important, Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old Belser house next door one more time. Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture.... Jack stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked.

"The box is gone," he said.

"What box?" Mom asked.

"There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most, '" Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.

"Mr. Harold Belser" it read.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.

"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.

Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser."

Jack thought to himself, "The thing he valued most was...my time."

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.

"I need some time to spend with my son," he said. "Oh, by the way, Janet, thanks for your time!"

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away,"

I heard very different. If a guest crumpled it, it meant he would come by again. If folded, he wouldn't. By folding the cloth, Jesus was saying that he wouldn't pass that way (death) again.

Actually it is neither one. While this is a beautiful story and one that is symbolic of the second coming there is no truth in the matter. There was no special custom in the Jewish religion regarding a napkin at mealtime. For one thing most of the Jews did not have a servant. There are indications that such a custom did exist but not with the Jews of Jesus' time or before but rather in early England with royalty.

What the folded napkin does indicate is that it was not removed by a grave robber and just hurriedly thrown aside. The Bible says that it was "wrapped together". The Greek word for this means to twist, to entwine, or to roll up not just folded flat as we would imagine. This is the fashion that napkins are placed at a place setting even today in fancier restaurants where the napkin is very carefully rolled up and the edge is tucked back inside of itself. This would show that it was meticulously done and with intent not by someone that was in a hurry to carry off with a body. John saw this and knew that it meant that Jesus had indeed risen.

Thank you for clearing that up.  :)

A sobbing little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned away because it was "too crowded."

"I can't go to Sunday School," she sobbed to the pastor as he walked by. Seeing her shabby, unkempt appearance, the pastor guessed the reason and, taking her by the hand, took her inside and found a place for her in the Sunday school class. The child was so happy that they found room for her, and she went to bed that night thinking of the children who have no place to worship Jesus.

Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement buildings. Her parents called for the kindhearted pastor who had befriended their daughter to handle the final arrangements.

As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled red purse was found which looked as if it had been rummaged from some trash dump. Inside was found 57 cents and a note, scribbled in childish handwriting, which read: "This is to help build the little church bigger so more children can go to Sunday School." For two years the little girl had saved for this offering of love.

When the pastor tearfully read that note, he knew instantly what he would do. Carrying the note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he told the story of her unselfish love and devotion. He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the larger building. But the story does not end there...

Soon afterwards, a newspaper learned of the story and published It. It was read by a wealthy realtor who offered the church a parcel of land worth many thousands of dollars. When told that the church could not pay much, he offered to sell it to the little church for 57 cents.

Soon church members were making large donations and checks came from far and wide. Within five years the little girl's gift had increased to $250,000.00, which was no small sum at the turn of the century. Her unselfish love had paid huge dividends.

When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church. It currently has a seating capacity of 3,300. Be sure to visit the Temple University, where thousands of students are educated. Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at the Sunday school building which houses hundreds of beautiful children, built so that no child in the area will ever need to be left outside during Sunday school again.

One of the rooms of the Sunday school building features the picture of the sweet face of the little girl whose 57 cents, so sacrificially saved, made such remarkable history. Alongside of it is a portrait of her kind pastor, Dr. Russel H. Conwell, author of the book, "Acres of Diamonds".

This story is true, and it goes to show exactly what God can do with just 57 cents.

THE YEAR WAS 1904
Just one hundred years ago.

Here are some of the U.S. statistics for 1904:

The average life expectancy in the U.S. was 47 years.

Only 14 percent of the homes in the U.S. had a bathtub.

Only 8 percent of the homes had a telephone.

A three-minute call from Denver to New York City cost eleven dollars.

There were only 8,000 cars in the U.S., and only 144 miles of paved roads.

The maximum speed limit in most cities was 10 mph.

Alabama, Mississippi, Iowa, and Tennessee were each more heavily populated than California. With a mere 1.4 million residents, California was only the 21st most populous state in the Union.

The tallest structure in the world was the Eiffel Tower.

The average wage in the U.S. was 22 cents an hour.

The average U.S. worker made between $200 and $400 per year.

A competent accountant could expect to earn $2000 per year, a dentist $2,500 per year, a veterinarian between $1,500 and $4,000 per year, and a mechanical engineer about $5,000 per year.

More than 95 percent of all births in the U.S. took place at home.

Ninety percent of all U.S. physicians had no college education. Instead, they attended medical schools, many of which were condemned in the press and by the government as "substandard."

Sugar cost 4 cents a pound. Eggs were 14 cents a dozen. Coffee was 15 cents a pound.

Most women only washed their hair once a month, and used borax or egg yolks for shampoo.

Canada passed a law prohibiting poor people from entering the country for any reason.

The five leading causes of death in the U.S were:
1. Pneumonia and influenza
2. Tuberculosis
3. Diarrhea
4. Heart disease
5. Stroke

The American flag had 45 stars. Arizona, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Hawaii, and Alaska hadn't been admitted to the Union yet.

The population of Las Vegas, Nevada, was 30 !

Crossword puzzles, canned beer, and iced tea hadn't been invented.

There was no Mother's Day or Father's Day.

Two of 10 U.S. adults couldn't read or write. Only 6 percent of all Americans had graduated high school.

Marijuana, heroin, and morphine were all available over the counter at corner drugstores. According to one pharmacist, "Heroin clears the complexion, gives buoyancy to the mind, regulates the stomach and bowels, and is, in fact, a perfect guardian of health."

Eighteen % of households in the U.S. had at least one full-time servant or domestic.

There were only about 230 reported murders in the entire U.S.


What a difference a century makes!

You might have missed it in the rush of news about terrorism, but it was actually reported that someone in Pakistan had published in a newspaper an offer of a reward to anyone who killed an American, any American.

An anonymous Australian wrote the following to let everyone know what an American is, so they would know one when they found one. (Good on ya, mate!!!!)

An American is English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian or Greek. An American may also be Canadian, Mexican, African, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Australian, Iranian, Asian, or Arab, or Pakistani, or Afghan. An American may also be a Cherokee, Osage, Blackfoot, Navaho, Apache, Seminole or one of the many other tribes known as native Americans.

An American is Christian, or he could be Jewish, or Buddhist, or Muslim. In fact, there are more Muslims in America than in Afghanistan. The only difference is that in America they are free to worship as each of them chooses. An American is also free to believe in no religion. For that he will answer only to God, not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming to speak for the government and for God.

An American is from the most prosperous land in the history of the world. The root of that prosperity can be found in the Declaration of Independence, which recognizes the God given right of each person the pursuit of happiness.

An American is generous. Americans have helped out just about every other nation in the world in their time of need. When Afghanistan was overrun by the Soviet army 20 years ago, Americans came with arms and supplies to enable the people to win back their country.!

As of the morning of September 11, Americans had given more than any other nation to the poor in Afghanistan.

Americans welcome the best, the best products, the best books, the best music, the best food, the best athletes. But they also welcome the least. The national symbol of America, The Statue of Liberty, welcomes your tired and your poor, the wretched refuse of your teeming shores, the homeless, tempest tossed. These in fact are the people who built America. Some of them were working in the Twin Towers the morning of September 11, 2001 earning a better life for their families. I've been told that the World Trade Center victims were from at least 30 other countries, cultures, and first languages, including those that aided and abetted the terrorists.

So you can try to kill an American if you must. Hitler did. So did General Tojo, and Stalin, and Mao Tse-Tung, and every bloodthirsty tyrant in the history of the world. But, in doing so you would just be killing yourself. Because Americans are not a particular people from a particular place. They are the embodiment of the human spirit of freedom. Everyone who holds to that spirit, everywhere, is an American.

Hello Grammyluv,

THANKS! I had to copy this one. I'll just say:

Sometimes we wonder, "What did I do to deserve this?" or "Why did God have to do this to me?" Here is a wonderful explanation!

A daughter was telling her Mother how everything was going wrong; she was failing algebra, her boyfriend broke up with her and her best friend was moving away.

Meanwhile, her Mother was baking a cake and asked her daughter if she would like a snack, and the daughter replied, "Absolutely Mom, I love your cake."

"Here, have some cooking oil," her Mother offers.

"Yuck" says her daughter.

"How about a couple raw eggs?"

"Gross, Mom!"

"Would you like some flour then? Or maybe baking soda?"

"Mom, those are all yucky!"

To which the mother replies: "Yes, all those things seem bad all by themselves. But when they are put together in the right way, they make a wonderfully delicious cake! God works the same way. Many times we wonder why He would let us go through such bad and difficult times. But God knows that when He puts these things together all in His order, they always work for good! We just have to trust Him and, eventually, all these ingredients of life will make something wonderful!

God is crazy about you. He sends you flowers every spring and a sunrise every morning. Whenever you want to talk, He listens. He can live anywhere in the universe yet He chose your heart in which to make his home.

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance."

The death of my father coming so quickly left my mother unprepared for what awaited in the weeks to come. As our family sat together to plan his funeral we slowly realized that there wasnt any way we could pay for all of the expenses.

My mother was very strong and she placed many calls inquiring about policies and insurances she remembered my father having in his name. Sadly, all of the policies had either been cancelled or cashed in.

We really didnt know what to do. My husband and I went with my mother to the funeral home with the hope of makeing some affordable arrangements. We were greeted at the door by the funeral director who directed us up a staircase to his office. The discussion was extremely hard and emotional and very difficult to understand given everything that had happened just one day before.

The director took my mother's hand and with a kindly look told her not to worry about a thing. He explained that Dad's funeral has been "taken care of." We just looked at each other in amazement. We were speechless. What could we say? My mother asked him to repeat what he had just said and he repeated kindly, "The bill has been taken care of."

We knew it had to be a heavenly gift. God was watching over us. There was just so much going on and we couldnt handle not knowing what to do. The cost of the funeral would have taken us years to pay back. With the surprise and the relief of knowing everything was going to be alright, we hugged that man's neck, shook his hand and thanked him from the bottom of our hearts!

It has been almost six months since my father died and we know the Lord has been taking care of my mother. She has been through so much over the past few months, struggling with trying to pay her bills and taking care of things that were left undone. But things are starting to fall into place for her now. I know that without the Lord and his angels my mother wouldn't be where she is today. Just the other night while talking on the phone she told me that she caught a glimpse an angel's wing going around the edge of her bed.

My mother knows in her heart that the Lord has great things in store for her and that he is not going to let her down. She has felt the love of God's helping hand and has caught a glimpse of his wonderful messenger. She's going to be just fine!

A group of students were asked to list what they thought were the present "Seven Wonders of the World." Though there were some disagreements, the following received the most votes:

1. Egypt's Great Pyramids
2. Taj Mahal
3. Grand Canyon
4. Panama Canal
5. Empire State Building
6. St. Peter's Basilica
7. China's Great Wall

While gathering the votes, the teacher noted that one student had not finished her paper yet. So she asked the girl if she was having trouble with her list. The girl replied, "Yes, a little. I couldn't quite make up my mind because there were so many."

The teacher said, "Well, tell us what you have, and maybe we can help."

The girl hesitated, then read, "I think the 'Seven Wonders of the World' are:

1. To See
2. To Hear
3. To Touch
4. To Taste
5. To Feel
6. To Laugh
7. And to Love."

The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

The things we overlook as simple and ordinary and that we take for granted are truly wondrous!

A gentle reminder:
The most precious things in life cannot be built by hand or bought by man.

GOD IS LIKE.........

A fifth grade teacher in a Christian school asked her class to look at TV commercials and see if they could use them in some way to communicate ideas about God. Here are some of the results:

BAYER ASPIRIN
He works miracles.

A FORD
He's got a better idea.

COKE
He's the real thing.

HALLMARK CARDS
He cares enough to send His very best.

TIDE
He gets the stains out that others leave behind.

GENERAL ELECTRIC
He brings good things to life.

SEARS
He has everything.

ALKA-SELTZER
Try him, you'll like Him.

SCOTCH TAPE
You can't see him, but you know He's there.

DELTA
He's ready when you are.

ALLSTATE
You're in good hands with Him.

VO-5 Hair Spray
He holds through all kinds of weather.

DIAL SOAP
Aren't you glad you have Him.
Don't you wish everybody did.

The U.S. POST OFFICE
Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet nor ice will keep Him from His appointed destination.



(http://i181.photobucket.com/albums/x125/luvmarley_bucket/coffeecup.jpg)

While taking a class in photography at the University of Cincinnati a Christian became acquainted with a young man named Charles Murray who also was a student at the school and training for the summer olympics as a high diver.

Charles was very patient, listening to him for hours about how Jesus had saved him. Charles was not raised in a home that attended any kind of chruch, so all that was told to him was a fascination. He even began to ask questions about the forgiveness of sins.

Finally the day came that the question was put to him, "have you realised your need of a redeemer, and are you ready to trust Christ as you saviour?" His countenance fell and the guilt was in his face. But his reply was a strong "No."

In the days that followed, he was quiet and often avoided the believer until one day Charles decided to call him. He wanted to know where to look in the New Testament for some verses about salvation! He declined to meet but thanked the christian for the Scripture references. he was greatly troubled but was not ready to receive help.

Because he was trainging for the Olympic games, Charles had special priveleges at the University pool facilities. Some time between 10:30 and 11:00 that evening, he decided to go swim and practise a few dives. It was a clear night in October and the moon was big and bright. The university pool was housed under a ceiling of glass panes, so the moon shone bright across the top of the wall in the pool area.

Charles climbed to the highest platform to take his first dive. At that moment the Spirit of God began to convict him of his sins. All the scripture he had read, all the occasions of witnessing to him about Christ flooded his mind.

He stood on the platform backwards to make his dive, spread his arms to gather his balance, looked up to the wall and saw his own shadow, caused by the light of the moon. It was in the shape of a cross. He could bear the burden of his sins no longer, HIs heart broke, and he sat down on the platform. He trusted Jesus Christ some twenty-some feet in the air.

Suddenly the lights in the pool area came on. The attendant had come in to check the pool. As Charles looked down from his platform he saw an empty pool, which had been drained for repairs. He had almost plummeted to his death, but the cross had stopped him from disaster.

Andy Rooney

DID YOU KNOW?

As you walk up the steps to the building which houses the U.S Supreme Court you can see near the top of the building a row of the world's law givers and each one is facing one in the middle who is facing forward with a full frontal view .. it is Moses and he is holding the Ten Commandments!

DID YOU KNOW?

As you enter the Supreme Court courtroom, the two huge oak doors have the Ten Commandments engraved on each lower portion of each door.

DID YOU KNOW?

As you sit inside the courtroom, you can see the wall,
right above where the Supreme Court judges sit,
a display of the Ten Commandments!

DID YOU KNOW?

There are Bible verses etched in stone all over the Federal Buildings and Monuments in Washington , D.C.

DID YOU KNOW?

James Madison, the fourth president, known as "The Father of Our Constitution" made the following statement:

" We have staked the whole of all our political institutions upon the capacity of mankind for self-government, upon the capacity of each and all of us to govern ourselves, to control ourselves, to sustain ourselves according to the Ten Commandments of God."

DID YOU KNOW?

Patrick Henry, that patriot and Founding Father of our country said:

"It cannot be emphasized too strongly or too often that this great nation was founded not by religionists but by Christians, not on religions but on the Gospel of Jesus Christ".

DID YOU KNOW?

Every session of Congress begins with a prayer by a paid preacher, whose salary has been paid by the taxpayer since 1777.

DID YOU KNOW?

Fifty-two of the 55 founders of the Constitution were members of the established orthodox churches in the colonies

DID YOU KNOW?

Thomas Jefferson worried that the Courts would overstep their authority and instead of interpreting the law would begin making law .

DID YOU KNOW?

The very first Supreme Court Justice, John Jay, said:

"Americans should select and prefer Christians as their rulers."

How, then, have we gotten to the point that everything we have done for 220 years in this country is now suddenly wrong and unconstitutional?

Lets put it around the world and let the world see and remember what this great country was built on.

It is said that 86% of Americans believe in God. Therefore, it is very hard to understand why there is such a mess about having the Ten Commandments on display or "In God We Trust" on our money and having God in the Pledge of Allegiance.

Why don't we just tell the other 14% to Sit Down and SHUT UP!!!

His name is Bill. He has wild hair, wears a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans, and no shoes. This was literally his wardrobe for his entire four years of college. He is brilliant, kind of esoteric and very, very bright.

He became a Christian while attending college. Across the street from the campus is a well-dressed, very conservative church. They want to develop a ministry to the students, but are not sure how to go about it.

One day Bill decides to go there. He walks in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt, and wild hair… The service has already started and so Bill starts down the aisle looking for a seat. The church is completely packed and he can't find a seat. By now, people are really looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one says anything. Bill gets closer and closer and closer to the pulpit, and when he realizes there are no seats, he just squats down right on the carpet. (Although perfectly acceptable behavior at a college fellowship, trust me, this had never happened in this church before!)

By now the people are really uptight, and the tension in the air is thick. About this time, the minister realizes that from way at the back of the church, a deacon is slowly making his way toward Bill. Now, the deacon is in his eighties, and has silver-gray hair, and wears a three-piece suit. He is a godly man, very elegant, very dignified and very courtly. He walks with a cane and, as he starts walking toward this boy, everyone is thinking that you can't blame him for what he's going to do. How can you expect a man of his age and of his background to understand some college kid on the floor? It takes a long time for the man to reach the boy. The church is utterly silent except for the clicking of the man's cane. All eyes are focused on him. You can't even hear anyone breathing. The minister can't even preach the sermon until the deacon does what he has to do.

And now they see this elderly man drop his cane on the floor. With great difficulty, he lowers himself and sits down next to Bill and worships with him so he won't be alone. Everyone chokes up with emotion. When the minister gains control, he says, "What I'm about to preach, you will never remember. What you have just seen, you will never forget."

Be careful how you live. You may be the only 'Bible' some people will ever read.

And may those that read this never forget. We are all ambassadors for Christ and it does matter how we treat others. Keep in mind that John the Baptist was a man dressed in a simple camels hair garment that most of the Jews would not have touched. Would we have turned him away?


2Co 5:20  Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God.

Just for this morning, I am going to step over the laundry, and pick you up and take you to the park to play.

Just for this morning, I will leave the dishes in the sink, and let you teach me how to put that puzzle, of yours together.

Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the telephone and keep the computer off, and sit with you in the backyard and blow bubbles.

Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once, not even a tiny grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck, and I will buy you one if he comes by.

Just for this afternoon, I won't worry about what you are going to be when you grow up, or second guess every decision I have made where you are concerned.

Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me bake cookies, and I won't stand over you trying to fix them.

Just for this evening, I will hold you in my arms and tell you a story about how you were born and how much I love you.

Just for this evening, I will let you splash in the tub and not get angry.

Just for this evening, I will let you stay up late while we sit on the porch and count all the stars.

Just for this evening, I will snuggle beside you for hours,and miss my favorite TV shows.

Just for this evening when I run my finger through your hair as you pray, I will simply be grateful that God has given me the greatest gift ever given.

I will think about the mothers and fathers who are searching for their missing children,the mothers and fathers who are visiting their children's graves instead of their bedrooms, and mothers and fathers who are in hospital rooms watching their children suffer senselessly, and screaming inside that they can't handle it anymore.

And when I kiss you good night I will hold you a little tighter, a little longer. It is then, that I will thank God for you, and ask him for nothing, except one more day.............

If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you." Winnie the Pooh *****

"True friendship is like sound health; the value of it is seldom known until it be lost." Charles Caleb Colton *****

"A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out." Unknown *****

"Friendship is one mind in two bodies." Mencius *****

"Friends are God's way of taking care of us." Unknown *****

"If you should die before me, ask if you could bring a friend." Stone Temple Pilots *****

"I'll lean on you and you lean on me and we'll be okay." Dave Matthews Band *****

"If all my friends were to jump off a bridge, I wouldn't jump with them, I'd be at the bottom to catch them." Unknown *****

"Everyone hears what you say. Friends listen to what you say. Best friends listen to what you don't say." Unknown *****

"We all take different paths in life, but no matter where we go, we take a little of each other everywhere." Tim McGraw *****

"My father always used to say that when you die, if you've got five real friends, then you've had a great life." Lee Iacocca *****

"Hold a true friend with both your hands." Nigerian Proverb *****

"A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words." Unknown

At an airport, I overheard a father and his daughter in their last moments together. They had announced her plane's departure and standing near the door she said, "Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough too, Daddy."

They kissed good-bye and she left. He walked over towards the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, "Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?"

"Yes, I have," I replied. Saying that brought back memories I had of expressing my love and appreciation for all my Dad had done for me. Recognizing that his days were limited, I took the time to tell him face to face how much he meant to me. So I knew what this man was experiencing.

"Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?" I asked. "I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is, her next trip back will be for my funeral," he said.

"When you were saying good-bye I heard you say, 'I wish you enough, may I ask what that means?"

He began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone."

He paused for a moment and looking up as if trying to remember it in detail, he smiled even more. "When we said, 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with enough good things to sustain them"

He continued and then, turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory:
I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough "Hellos" to get you through the final "Good-bye."

He then began to sob and walked away.
They say, "It takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but an entire lifetime to forget them"

Realization

To realize
The value of a sister
ask someone who doesn't have one.

To realize
The value of ten years:
Ask a newly divorced couple.

To realize
The value of four years:
Ask a graduate.

To realize
The value of one year:
Ask a student who has failed a final exam.

To realize
The value of nine months:
Ask a mother who gave birth to a stillborn.

To realize
The value of one month:
Ask a mother who has given birth to a premature baby.

To realize
The value of one week:
Ask an editor of a weekly newspaper.

To realize
The value of one hour:
Ask two lovers who are waiting to meet.

To realize
The value of one minute:
Ask a person who has missed a train, bus or plane.

To realize
The value of one-second:
Ask a person who has survived an accident.

To realize
The value of one millisecond:
Ask the person who won a silver medal in the Olympics.

To realize the value of a friend:
Lose one

Time waits for no one, treasure every moment you have.



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THIS was written by an 8 year old from Chula Vista, CA, for his third grade homework assignment. The assignment was to explain God:

One of God's main jobs is making people. He makes them to replace the ones that die, so there will be enough people to take care of things on earth.

He doesn't make grown-ups, just babies. I think because they are smaller and easier to make. That way He doesn’t have to take up His valuable time teaching them to talk and walk. He can just leave that to mothers and fathers. God's second most important job is listening to prayers. An awful lot of this goes on, since some people, like preachers and things, pray at times beside bedtime. God doesn't have time to listen to the radio or TV because of this.

Because He hears everything, there must be a terrible lot of noise in His ears, unless He has thought of a way to turn it off." God sees everything and hears everything and is everywhere, which keeps Him pretty busy. So you shouldn't go wasting His time by going over your mom and dad's head asking for something they said you couldn't have."

Atheists are people who don't believe in God. I don't think there are any in Chula Vista. At least there aren't any who come to our church."

"Jesus is God's Son. He used to do all the hard work like walking on water and performing miracles and trying to teach the people who didn't want to learn about God. They finally got tired of Him preaching to them and they crucified Him. But He was good and kind, like His Father and He told His Father that they didn't know what they were doing and to forgive them and God said O.K." "His Dad (God) appreciated everything that He had done and all His hard work on earth so He told Him He didn't have to go out on the road anymore. He could stay in heaven. So He did. And now He helps His Dad out by listening to prayers and seeing things which are important for God to take care of and which ones He can take care of Himself without having to bother God. Like a secretary, only more important."

"You can pray anytime you want and they are sure to help you because they got it worked out so one of them is on duty all the time."

"You should always go to church on Sunday because it makes God happy, and if there's anybody you want to make happy, it's God. Don't skip church to do something you think will be more fun like going to the beach. This is wrong. And besides the sun doesn't come out at the beach until noon anyway."

If you don't believe in God, besides being an atheist, you will be very lonely, because your parents can't go everywhere with you, like to camp, but God can. It is good to know He's around you when you're scared in the dark or when you can't swim and you get thrown into real deep water by big kids."

But...you shouldn't just always think of what God can do for you. I figure God put me here and He can take me back anytime He pleases. And that's why I believe in God."

As I faced my Maker at the last judgment, I knelt before the Lord along with all the other souls.

Before each of us laid our lives like the squares of a quilt in many piles. An Angel sat before each of us sewing our quilt squares together into a tapestry that is our life.

But as my angel took each piece of cloth off the pile, I noticed how ragged and empty each of my squares was. They were filled with giant holes. Each square was labeled with a part of my life that had been difficult, the challenges and temptations I was faced with in everyday life. I saw hardships that I endured, which were the largest holes of all.

I glanced around me. Nobody else had such squares. Other than a tiny hole here and there, the other tapestries were filled with rich color and the bright hues of worldly fortune. I gazed upon my own life and was disheartened.

My angel was sewing the ragged pieces of cloth together, threadbare and empty, like binding air.

Finally the time came when each life was to be displayed, held up to the light, the scrutiny of truth. The others rose, each in turn, holding up their tapestries. So filled their lives had been. My angel looked upon me, and nodded for me to rise.

My gaze dropped to the ground in shame. I hadn't had all the earthly fortunes. I had love in my life, and laughter. But there had also been trials of illness, and death, and false accusations that took from me my world, as I knew it. I had to start over many times. I often struggled with the temptation to quit, only to somehow muster the strength to pick up and begin again. I spent many nights on my knees in prayer, asking for help and guidance in my life. I had often been held up to ridicule, which I endured painfully, each time offering it up to the Father in hopes that I would not melt within my skin beneath the judgmental gaze of those who unfairly judged me.

And now, I had to face the truth. My life was what it was, and I had to accept it for what it was.

I rose and slowly lifted the combined squares of my life to the light. An awe-filled gasp filled the air. I gazed around at the others who stared at me with wide eyes.

Then, I looked upon the tapestry before me. Light flooded the many holes, creating an image, the face of Christ. Then our Lord stood before me, with warmth and love in His eyes. He said, "Every time you gave over your life to Me, it became My life, My hardships, and My struggles. Each point of light in your life is when you stepped aside and let Me shine through, until there was more of Me than there was of you."

May all our quilts be threadbare and worn, allowing Christ to shine through.

There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things "in order" she contacted her Priest and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.

Everything was in order and the Priest was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.

"There's one more thing," she said excitedly.

"What' that?" came the Priest's reply.

"This is very important," the young woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand,"

The Priest stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.

That surprises you, doesn't it?" the young woman asked.

"Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the Priest.

The young woman explained. "In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them, 'Keep your fork...the best is yet to come.'

The Priest's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She knew that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Priest heard them question, "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled. During his message, the Priest told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right.

The next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you ever so gently, that the best is yet to come. Friends are very rare jewels, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us. Show your friends how much you care. Cherish the time you have, and the memories you share. After all, being friends with someone is a sweet responsibility. And above all, don't forget to keep your fork.

Hello Grammyluv,

Sister, this really is a beautiful illustration that applies to all Christians, and it's the complete TRUTH. As Christians, we should know that GOD didn't promise that anything in this short life would be easy or pleasant. In fact, the opposite is promised, but this is not our HOME, and this is NOT the life we were designed for. The Promised Land and Kingdom for Israel is another good and completely true example. As Christians, our Promises from GOD are better than the Promises GOD made to Israel. This short life will most certainly involve trials, illness, sorrow, and eventually physical death. As Christians, we already have our blessed HOPE, JESUS CHRIST, our LORD and SAVIOUR FOREVER. HE'S already our KING, and HE'S gone on before us to prepare a place for us. Our HOME is in Heaven with JESUS CHRIST for Eternity. Our REAL HOME will be an Eternity of Joy and Peace.  YES - much better is yet to come.

Love In Christ,
Tom

Amen to that Brother Tom!

It all happened at a time in my life when I was homeless and 19 years old. My grandfather had passed away that week and I was with someone that I didn't love. I was lying awake in a homeless shelter, feeling alone and like I had lost everything. I cried myself to sleep.

I awoke standing on top of a very giant rock surrounded by water and a beautiful sky with all kinds of colors and with a cool ocean breeze. Then suddenly, I began to lose my balance and I fell. I managed to hold on to the edge of the cliff. I looked down and I could see the water hundreds of feet below me and I became dizzy.

Holding on for dear life I felt my hands losing their grip and that breeze had turned into a nasty heavy wind. Then for some reason, I looked up and at the edge of the cliff I saw an 8 ft cross. It was very transparent but I could still make out what it was. On this cross, hanging over the beam, was a rope. It wasn't tied to the cross, just hanging over it. Then I heard someone say, "Grab the rope." I thought, "Yeah, and then I'd fall. No way!" Then again, the voice said; "Grab the rope." So, closing my eyes real tight I quickly grabbed the rope.

When I opened my eyes I was back on the rock, safe. I couldn't believe it! I was shaking so bad, but I was so relieved that I just sat down and cried. At that moment I felt someone holding me and rocking as if I was a child. Then I felt a hand brush my hair aside and wipe my tears away. I looked up to see who was holding me when I noticed the hands. They were pierced, then I knew who it was. He said, "Shh, it's okay. I told you I'm always here."

Then I woke up. It was only a dream. Or was it?

Computer Users Prayer

Dear Lord:

Every single evening
As I'm lying here in bed
This tiny little prayer
Keeps running through my head.

God bless all my family
Wherever they may be,
Keep them warm and safe from harm
For they're so close to me.

And God, there is one more thing
I wish that you could do.
Hope you don't mind me asking,
Bless my computer too.

Now I know that it's not normal
To bless a mother board,
But listen just a second
While I explain to you 'My Lord.'

You see, that little metal box
Holds more than odds & ends
Inside those small compartments
Rest so many of my FRIENDS.

I know so much about them
By the kindness that they give
And this little scrap of metal
Takes me in to where they live.

By faith is how I know them
Much the same as you
We share in what life brings us
And from that our friendship grew.

Please, take an extra minute
From your duties up above
To bless those in my address book
That's filled with so much love!

Wherever else this prayer may reach
To each and every friend,
bless each e-mail Inbox
And the person who hits Send.

When you update your heavenly list
On your own CD-ROM
Remember each who've said this prayer
Sent up to God.com.
Amen.

(http://i181.photobucket.com/albums/x125/luvmarley_bucket/coffeecup.jpg)

Brenda was a young woman who was invited to go rock climbing. Although she was scared to death, she went with her group to a tremendous granite cliff. In spite of her fear, she put on the gear, took a hold on the rope, and started up the face of the rock.

Well, she got to a ledge where she could take a breather and as she was hanging on there, the safety rope snapped against Brenda's eye and knocked out her contact lens. Here she was on a rock ledge, with hundreds of feet of cliff below her and hundreds of feet above her. She looked and looked and looked, hoping it had landed on the ledge, but it just wasn't there. As she hung on a sheer rock cliff, her sight now blurry, she was justifiably upset, so she prayed to the Lord to help her to find the lens.

When she got to the top, a friend examined her eye and her clothing for the lens, but there was no contact lens to be found. She sat down, despondent, with some of the climbers, waiting for the rest of the group to make it up the face of the cliff. She looked out across range after range of mountains thinking of that Bible verse that says, "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth." She thought, "Lord, you can see all these mountains. You know every stone and leaf, and you know exactly where my contact lens is. Please help me."

Finally, they walked down the trail to the bottom. At the bottom there was a new party of climbers just starting up the face of the cliff. One of them shouted out, "Hey, you guys! Anybody lose a contact lens?" That alone would be startling enough, but she was astonished to learn how the other climber found it? It seems an ant was moving slowly cross the face of the rock, carrying the lens!

Brenda told her father (a cartoonist) the incredible story of the ant, the prayer, and the contact lens. He drew her a picture of an ant lugging that contact lens with the words, "Lord, I don't know why you want me to carry this thing. I can't eat it, and it's awfully heavy. But if this is what you want me to do, I'll carry it for you."

It would probably do most of us good to occasionally say, "God, I don't know why you want me to carry this load. I can see no earthly good in it and it's awfully heavy. But, if you want me to carry it, I will."

"God doesn't call the qualified, He qualifies the called."

Like any good mom, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling.

They found out that the new baby was going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to his sister in Mommy's tummy. He was building a bond of love with his little sister before he even met her.

The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen. In time, the labor pains came. Soon it was every five minutes, every three ...every minute. But serious complications arose during delivery and Karen found herself in hours of labor. Would a C-section be required? Finally, after a long struggle, Michael's little sister was born. But she was in very serious condition.

With a siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit St. Mary's Hospital, Knoxville Tennessee. The days inched by. The little girl got worse. The pediatrician had to tell the parents "There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst.”

Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special room in their house for their new baby but now they found themselves having to plan for a funeral. Michael, however, kept begging his parents to let him see his sister. "I want to sing to her," he kept saying.

Week two in intensive care looked as if a funeral would come before the week was over. Michael kept nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care. Karen made up her mind, though. She would take Michael whether they liked it or not! If he didn't see his sister right then, he may never see her alive. She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket. But the head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed, "Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed."

The mother rose up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glared steel-eyed right into the head nurse's face, her lips a firm line. "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!"

Karen towed Michael to his sister's bedside. He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. After a moment, he began to sing. In the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sang: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray---"

Instantly the baby girl seemed to respond. The pulse rate began to calm down and become steady.

"Keep on singing, Michael," encouraged Karen with tears in her eyes.

"You never know, dear, how much I love you, Please don't take my sunshine away-"

As Michael sang to his sister, the baby's ragged, strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr.

"Keep on singing sweetheart!!!"

"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms..." Michael's little sister began to relax as rest, healing rest, seemed to sweep over her.

"Keep on singing, Michael." Tears had now conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glowed.

"You are my sunshine, my only Sunshine. Please don't, take my sunshine away..."

The next, day...the very next day...the little girl was well enough to go home! Woman's Day Magazine called it "The Miracle of a Brother's Song." The medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of God's love!

I read this a few years ago and it also had the song playing on the site

Written by: Sister Helen P. Mirosla

He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million.

Very neat in appearance, he had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful. Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving - "Thank you for correcting me, Sister!"

I didn't know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice teacher's mistake. I looked at Mark and said, "If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"

It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck (Mark’s friend) blurted out, "Mark is talking again."

I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it. I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room.

As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me. That did it!! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders.

His first words were, "Thank you for correcting me, Sister."

At the end of the year, I was asked to teach junior-high math. The year flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to my instruction in the "new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in third.

One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled. Mark said, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend."

That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual.

On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. "Really?" I heard whispered. "I never knew that meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't know others liked me so much."

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again. That group of students moved on.

Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip - the weather, my experiences in general. There was a lull in the conversation. Mother gave Dad a sideways glance and simply said, "Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important. "The Eklunds called last night," he began. "Really?" I said. "I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is." Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said. "The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend."

To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark. I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, "Mark I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me."

The church was packed with Mark's friends. Chuck's sister sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to me. "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. "Mark talked about you a lot," he said.

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to Chuck's farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.

"Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it." Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home."

Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album." "I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary."

Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group.

"I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an eyelash. "I think we all saved our lists."

That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again. The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that day will be.

So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late.

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, "Hi there." He pounded his fat baby hands on the high-chair tray. His eyes were wide with excitement and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled with merriment. I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man with a tattered rag of a coat; dirty, greasy and worn. His pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. "Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy I see ya, buster," the man said to Erik.

My husband and I exchanged looks, "What do we do?" Erik continued to laugh and answer, "Hi, hi there." Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, "Do ya know patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo." Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments. We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between the door and me. "Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik," I prayed.

As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to side step him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's "pick-me-up" position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man's. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love relationship.

Erik in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder. The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor - gently, so gently, cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, "You take care of this baby."

Somehow I managed, "I will," from a throat that contained a stone. He pried Erik from his chest - unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, "God bless you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift."

I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, "My God, my God, forgive me."

I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment, a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking - "Are you willing to share your son for a moment?" -- when He shared His for all eternity.

The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, "To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children."

Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child.

The winner was a four-year-old child whose next-door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his mother asked him what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry."

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Teacher Debbie Moon's first graders were discussing a picture of a family. One little boy in the picture had a different color hair than the other family members. One child suggested that he was adopted and a little girl said, "I know all about adoptions because I was adopted."

"What does it mean to be adopted?" asked another child. "It means," said the girl, "that you grew in your mommy's heart instead of her tummy."

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A four-year-old was at the pediatrician for a check up. As the doctor looked down her ears with an otoscope, he asked, "Do you think I'll find Big Bird in here?" The little girl stayed silent. Next, the doctor took a tongue depressor and looked down her throat. He asked, "Do you think I'll find the Cookie Monster down there?" Again, the little girl was silent. Then the doctor put a stethoscope to her chest. As he listened to her heartbeat, he asked, "Do you think I'll hear Barney in there?"

"Oh, no!" the little girl replied. "Jesus is in my heart. Barney's on my underpants."

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Whenever I'm disappointed with my spot in my life, I stop and think about little Jamie Scott. Jamie was trying out for a part in a school play. His mother told me that he'd set his heart on being in it, though she feared he would not be chosen. On the day the parts were awarded, I went with her to collect him after school. Jamie rushed up to her, eyes shining with pride and excitement. "Guess what Mom," he shouted, and then said those words that will remain a lesson to me: "I've been chosen to clap and cheer."

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A lesson in heart is my little 10-year-old daughter, Sarah, who was born with a muscle missing in her foot and wears a brace all the time. She came home one beautiful spring day to tell me she had competed in "Field Day" - that's where they have lots of races and other competitive events. Because of her leg support, my mind raced as I tried to think of encouragement for my Sarah, things I could say to her about not letting this get her down - but before I could get a word out, she said, "Daddy, I won two of the races!" I couldn't believe it! And then Sarah said, "I had an advantage." Ah. I knew it. I thought she must have been given a head start … some kind of physical advantage. But again, before I could say anything, she said, "Daddy, I didn't get a head start. My advantage was I had to try harder!"

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An Eye Witness Account from New York City, on a cold day in December: A little boy about 10 years old was standing before a shoe store on the roadway, barefooted, peering through the window, and shivering with cold. A lady approached the boy and said, "My little fellow, why are you looking so earnestly in that window?"

"I was asking God to give me a pair of shoes," was the boy’s reply. The lady took him by the hand and went into the store and asked the clerk to get half a dozen pairs of socks for the boy. She then asked if he could give her a basin of water and a towel. He quickly brought them to her. She took the little fellow to the back part of the store and, removing her gloves, knelt down, washed his little feet, and dried them with a towel. By this time the clerk had returned with the socks. Placing a pair upon the boy's feet, she bought him a pair of shoes. She tied up the remaining pairs of socks and gave them to him. She patted him on the head and said, "No doubt, my little fellow, you feel more comfortable now?" As she turned to go, the astonished lad caught her by the hand, and looking up in her face, with tears in his eyes, answered the question with these words, "Are you God's Wife?"

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn't already know.

I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.

She said, "Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I'm eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?" I laughed and enthusiastically responded, "Of course you may!" and she gave me a giant squeeze.

"Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?" I asked. She jokingly replied, "I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married, have a couple of children, and then retire and travel."

No seriously," I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age. I always dreamed of having a college education and now I'm getting one!" she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this "time machine" as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor.

Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, "I'm sorry I'm so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I'll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know." As we laughed she cleared her throat and began:

"We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success, and they are:

1. You have to laugh and find humor every day.

2. You've got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and don't even know it!"

3. There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don't do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding the opportunity in change."

4. Have no regrets. The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets."

She concluded her speech by courageously singing "The Rose." She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.

At the years end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.

Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it's never too late to be all you can possibly be.

Number One: The Most Important Question

During my second month of nursing school, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions, until I read the last one: "What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?" Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired, and in her 50s, but how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank.

Before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade. "Absolutely," said the professor. "In your careers you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say 'hello.'"

I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy.

Number Two: Pickup in the Rain

One night, at 11:30 PM, an older African American woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway trying to endure a lashing rainstorm. Her car had broken down and she desperately needed a ride. Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car. A young white man stopped to help her - generally unheard of in those conflict-filled 1960s. The man took her to safety, helped her get assistance, and put her into a taxicab. She seemed to be in a big hurry! She wrote down his address, thanked him, and drove away.

Seven days went by and a knock came on the man's door. To his surprise, a giant console color TV was delivered to his home. A special note was attached. It read:

"Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway the other night. The rain had drenched not only my clothes, but also my spirits. Then you came along. Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying husband's bedside just before he passed away. God bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving others. Sincerely, Mrs. Nat King Cole."

Number Three: Always Remember Those Who Serve

In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him. "How much is an ice cream sundae?" "Fifty cents," replied the waitress. The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied a number of coins in it. "How much is a dish of plain ice cream?" he inquired. Some people were now waiting for a table and the waitress was a bit impatient. "Thirty-five cents," she said brusquely. The little boy again counted the coins. "I'll have the plain ice cream," he said. The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table, and walked away.

The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier, and departed. When the waitress came back, she began wiping down the table and then swallowed hard at what she saw. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies, her tip.

Number Four: The Obstacle in Our Path

In ancient times, a king had a boulder placed on a roadway. Then he hid himself and watched to see if anyone would remove the huge rock. Some of the king's wealthiest merchants and courtiers came by and simply walked around it. Many loudly blamed the king for not keeping the roads clear, but none did anything about getting the big stone out of the way.

Then a peasant came along carrying a load of vegetables. On approaching the boulder, the peasant laid down his burden and tried to move the stone to the side of the road. After much pushing and straining, he finally succeeded. As the peasant picked up his load of vegetables, he noticed a purse in the road where the boulder had been. The purse contained many gold coins and a note from the king indicating that the gold was for the person who removed the boulder from the roadway.

The peasant learned what many others never understand. Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve one's condition.

Number Five: Giving Blood

Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at Stanford Hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare and serious disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease, and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness.

The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister. I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, "Yes, I'll do it if it will save Liz."

As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as all present did, seeing the color returning to her cheeks. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away?"

Being young, the boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister all of his blood.

The last one is really beautiful. He was willing to die for her. Jesus died for us.

In Brooklyn, New York, Chush is a school that caters to learning disabled children. Some children remain in Chush for their entire school career, while others can be mainstreamed into conventional schools. At a Chush fund-raising dinner, the father of a Chush child delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended.

After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he cried out, "Where is the perfection in my son Shaya? Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God's perfection?"

The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father's anguish, and stilled by the piercing query. "I believe," the father answered, "that when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that he seeks is in the way people react to this child." He then told the following story about his son Shaya:

One afternoon Shaya and his father walked past a park where some boys Shaya knew were playing baseball. Shaya asked, "Do you think they will let me play?" Shaya's father knew that his son was not at all athletic, and that most boys would not want him on their team. But Shaya's father understood that if his son were chosen to play it would give him a comfortable sense of belonging. Shaya's father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shaya could play.

The boy looked around for guidance from his teammates. Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said, "We are losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning."

Shaya's father was ecstatic as Shaya smiled broadly. Shaya was told to put on a glove and go out to play short center field. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shaya's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shaya's team scored again and now with two outs and the bases loaded with the potential winning run on base, Shaya was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let Shaya bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shaya was given the bat. Everyone knew that it was all but impossible because Shaya didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, let alone hit with it. However, when Shaya stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shaya should at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came in and Shaya swung clumsily and missed.

One of Shaya's teammates came up to Shaya and together held the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the next pitch. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shaya. As the pitch came in, Shaya and his teammate swung at the bat and together they hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shaya would have been out and that would have ended the game. Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman. Everyone started yelling, "Shaya, run to first. Run to first!"

Never in his life had Shaya run to first. He scampered down the baseline wide-eyed and startled. By the time he reached first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman to tag out Shaya, who was still running. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions were, so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman's head. Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second!"

Shaya ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home. As Shaya reached second base, the opposing shortstop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base and shouted, "Run to third." As Shaya rounded third, the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming, "Shaya, run home!" Shaya ran home, stepped on home plate, and all 18 boys lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero, as he had just hit a "grand slam" and won the game for his team.

"That day," said the father softly, with tears now rolling down his face, "those 18 boys reached their level of God's perfection."

This story brings back a memory of mine. I was at a Christian summer camp with family. One day we played baseball and I used a tee. At a lucky best, I could hit a single. One time however, they let me hit a home run  ;D

Life is like a game in which you are juggling five balls in the air.

One ball is Work, one Family, one Health, one Friendship, and one Spirit. It is surely no easy task to keep them all in the air.

Work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls - family, health, friends and spirit are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they may be scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged or even shattered. They may never be the same.

In order to be successful as a juggler, it is important to strive for balance in life. The following tips can help.

1. Remember your unique value and celebrate it by not comparing yourself with others. It is because we are different that each of us is special.

2. Set your goal by what you know is best for you and not by what other people deem is important.

3. Hold dear the things closest to your heart. Cling to them as you would your life, for without them, life is meaningless.

4. Live life fully in this moment, it can slip through your fingers by living in the past or for the future. By living your life one day at a time, you live ALL the days of your life.

5. Keep going, you will always have something to give. Nothing is really over until the moment you stop trying.

6. Be yourself, even if you are less than perfect. Imperfection is a fragile thread that binds us together.

7. Be courageous, it may be necessary to encounter risks. It is by taking chances that we learn how to be brave.

8. Have faith, find love by believing it is possible to find. The quickest way to receive love is to give it; the fastest way to lose love is to hold it too tightly; and the best way to keep love is to give the freedom to be generously shared.

9. Slow down, walk peacefully through life so as not to forget where you've been, and also where you are going.

10. Be grateful, forget not that a person's greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated.

11. Love to learn. Knowledge is weightless, a treasure you can always carry easily.

12. Use time and words wisely. Neither can be retrieved.

13. Cherish life, for it is not a race, but a journey to be savored each step of the way.

1. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.
2. Memorize your favorite poem.
3. Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.
4. When you say, "I love you", mean it.
5. When you say, "I'm sorry", look the person in the eye.
6. Be engaged at least six months before you get married.
7. Believe in love at first sight.
8. Never laugh at anyone's dreams. People who don't have dreams don't have much.
9. Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt but it's the only way to live life completely.
10. In disagreements, fight fairly. No name calling.
11. Don't judge people by their relatives.
12. Talk slowly but think quickly.
13. When someone asks you a question you don't want to answer, smile and ask, "Why do you want to know?"
14. Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk.
15. Call your Mom.
16. Say "bless you" when you hear someone sneeze.
17. When you lose, don't lose the lesson.
18. Remember the three R's: Respect for self; Respect for others; Responsibility for all your actions.
19. Don't let a little dispute injure a great friendship.
20. When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.
21. Smile when picking up the phone. The caller will hear it in your voice.
22. Marry a man/woman you love to talk to. As you get older, their conversational skills will be as important as any other.
23. Spend some time alone.
24. Open your arms to change, but don't let go of your values.
25. Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.
26. Read more books and watch less TV.
27. Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back you'll get to enjoy it a second time.
28. Trust in God but lock your car.
29. A loving atmosphere in your home is so important. Do all you can to create a tranquil harmonious home.
30. In disagreements with loved ones, deal with the current situation. Don't bring up the past.
31. Read between the lines.
32. Share your knowledge. It's a way to achieve immortality.
33. Be gentle with the earth.
34. Pray. There's immeasurable power in it.
35. Never interrupt when you are being flattered.
36. Mind your own business.
37. Don't trust a man/woman who doesn't close his/her eyes when you kiss.
38. Once a year, go someplace you've never been before.
39. If you make a lot of money, put it to use helping others while you are living. That is wealth's greatest satisfaction.
40. Remember; not getting what you want may be just what you need.
41. Learn the rules then break some.
42. Remember that the best relationship is one where your love for each other is greater than your need for each other.
43. Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.
44. Remember that your character is your destiny.
45. Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon.

I've learned:

That the best classroom in the world is at the feet of an elderly person.
That when you're in love, it shows.
That just one person saying to me, "You've made my day!" makes my day.
That having a child fall asleep in your arms is one of the most peaceful feelings in the world.
That being kind is more important than being right.
That you should never say no to a gift from a child.
That I can always pray for someone when I don't have the strength to help him in some other way.
That no matter how serious your life requires you to be, everyone needs a friend to act goofy with.
That sometimes all a person needs is a hand to hold and a heart to understand.
That simple walks with my father around the block on summer nights when I was a child did wonders for me as an adult.
That life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes.
That we should be glad God doesn't give us everything we ask for.
That money doesn't buy class.
That it's those small daily happenings that make life so spectacular.
That under everyone's hard shell is someone who wants to be appreciated and loved.
That the Lord didn't do it all in one day. What makes me think I can?
That to ignore the facts does not change the facts.
That when you plan to get even with someone, you are only letting that person continue to hurt you.
That love, not time, heals all wounds.
That the easiest way for me to grow as a person is to surround myself with people smarter than I am.
That everyone you meet deserves to be greeted with a smile.
That there's nothing sweeter than sleeping with your babies and feeling their breath on your cheek.
That no one is perfect until you fall in love with them.
That life is tough, but I'm tougher.
That opportunities are never lost; someone will take the ones you miss.
That when you harbor bitterness, happiness will dock elsewhere.
That I wish I could have told my Mom that I love her one more time before she passed away.
That one should keep his words both soft and tender, because tomorrow he may have to eat them.
That a smile is an inexpensive way to improve you looks.
That I can't choose how I feel, but I can choose what I do about it.
That when your newly born grandchild holds your little finger in his little fist, that you're hooked for life.
That everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it.
That it is best to give advice in only two circumstances; when it is requested and when it is a life-threatening situation.
That the less time I have to work with, the more things I get done.

1) THE GIFT OF LISTENING...
But you must REALLY listen. No interrupting, no daydreaming, no planning your response. Just listening.

2) THE GIFT OF AFFECTION...
Be generous with appropriate hugs, kisses, pats on the back and handholds. Let these small actions demonstrate the love you have for family and friends.

3) THE GIFT OF LAUGHTER...
Clip cartoons. Share articles and funny stories. Your gift will say, "I love to laugh with you."

4) THE GIFT OF A WRITTEN NOTE...
It can be a simple "Thanks for the help" note or a full sonnet. A brief, handwritten note may be remembered for a lifetime, and may even change a life.

5) THE GIFT OF A COMPLIMENT...
A simple and sincere, "You look great in red," "You did a super job" or "That was a wonderful meal” can make someone's day.

6) THE GIFT OF A FAVOR...
Every day, go out of your way to do something kind.

7) THE GIFT OF SOLITUDE...
There are times when we want nothing better than to be left alone. Be sensitive to those times and give the gift of solitude to others.

8. THE GIFT OF A CHEERFUL DISPOSITION...
The easiest way to feel good is to extend a kind word to someone, really it's not that hard to say, Hello or Thank You.

With all her big brothers and sisters off to school, our ranch became a lonely place for our three-year-old daughter, Becky. She longed for playmates. Cattle and horses were too big to cuddle and farm machinery dangerous for a child so small. We promised to buy her a puppy but in the meantime, "Pretend" puppies popped up nearly every day.

I had just finished washing the lunch dishes when the screen door slammed and Becky rushed in, cheeks flushed with excitement. "Mama!" she cried, "Come see my new doggy! "I gave him water two times already. He's so thirsty!"

I sighed, another of Becky's imaginary dogs.

"Please come, Mama." She tugged at my jeans, her brown eyes pleading, "He's crying -- and he can't walk!"

"Can't walk?" Now that was a twist. All her previous make-believe dogs could do marvelous things. One balanced a ball on the end of its nose. Another dug a hole that went all the way through the earth and fell out on a star on the other side. Still another danced on a tightrope. Why suddenly a dog that couldn't walk?

"All right, honey," I said. By the time I tried to follow her, Becky had already disappeared into the mesquite.

"Where are you?" I called.

"Over here by the oak stump. Hurry, Mama!"

I parted the thorny branches and raised my hand against the glare of the Arizona sun. A numbing chill gripped me. There she was, sitting on her heels, toes dug firmly in the sand, and cradled in her lap was the unmistakable head of a wolf! Beyond its head rose massive black shoulders. The rest of the body lay completely hidden inside the hollow stump of a fallen oak.

"Becky," My mouth felt dry. "Don't move." I stepped closer. Pale-yellow eyes narrowed. Black lips tightened, exposing double sets of two-inch fangs. Suddenly the wolf trembled. Its teeth clacked, and a piteous whine rose from its throat.

"It's all right, boy," Becky crooned. "Don't be afraid. That's my mama, and she loves you, too."

Then the unbelievable happened. As her tiny hands stroked the great shaggy head, I heard the gentle thump, thump, thumping of the wolf's tail from deep inside the stump. What was wrong with the animal? I wondered. Why couldn't he get up? I couldn't tell. Nor did I dare to step any closer.

I glanced at the empty water bowl. My memory flashed back to the five skunks that last week had torn the burlap from a leaking pipe in a frenzied effort to reach water during the final agonies of rabies. Of course! Rabies! Warning signs had been posted all over the county, and hadn't Becky said, "He's so thirsty?" I had to get Becky away.

"Honey." My throat tightened. "Put his head down and come to Mama. We'll go find help."

Reluctantly, Becky got up and kissed the wolf on the nose before she walked slowly into my outstretched arms. Sad yellow eyes followed her. Then the wolf's head sank to the ground. With Becky safe in my arms, I ran to the barns where Brian, one of our cowhands, was saddling up to check heifers in the North pasture. "Brian! Come quickly. Becky found a wolf in the oak stump near the wash! I think it has rabies!"

"I'll be there in a jiffy," he said as I hurried back to the house, eager to put Becky down for her nap. I didn't want her to see Brian come out of the bunkhouse. I knew he'd have a gun.

"But I want to give my doggy his water," she cried. I kissed her and gave her some stuffed animals to play with.

"Honey, let Mom and Brian take care of him for now," I said. Moments later, I reached the oak stump.

Brian stood looking down at the beast. "It's a Mexican lobo, all right." He said, " And a big one!"

The wolf whined. Then we both caught the smell of gangrene. "Whew! It's not rabies," Brian said. "But he's sure hurt real bad. Don't you think it's best I put him out of his misery?"

The word "yes" was on my lips, when Becky emerged from the bushes. "Is Brian going to make him well, Mama?" She hauled the animal's head onto her lap once more, and buried her face in the coarse, dark fur. This time I wasn't the only one who heard the thumping of the lobo's tail.

That afternoon my husband, Bill, and our veterinarian came to see the wolf. Observing the trust the animal had in our child, Doc said to me, "Suppose you let Becky and me tend to this fella together." Minutes later, as child and vet reassured the stricken beast, the hypodermic found its mark. The yellow eyes closed.

"He's asleep now," said the vet. "Give me a hand here, Bill." They hauled the massive body out of the stump. The animal must have been over five feet long and well over a hundred pounds. Bullets had mutilated the wolf’s hip and leg. Doc did what he had to in order to clean the wound and then gave the patient a dose of penicillin. Next day he returned and inserted a metal rod to replace the missing bone.

"Well, it looks like you've got yourselves a Mexican lobo," Doc said. "He looks to be about three years old, and even as pups, they don't tame real easy. I’m amazed at the way this big fella took to your little gal. But often there's something that goes on between children and animals that we grownups don't understand."

Becky named the wolf Ralph and carried food and water to the stump every day. Ralph's recovery was not easy. For three months he dragged his injured hindquarters by clawing the earth with his front paws. From the way he lowered his eyelids when we massaged the atrophied limbs, we knew he endured excruciating pain, but not once did he ever try to bite the hands of those who cared for him.

Four months to the day, Ralph finally stood unaided. His huge frame shook as long- unused muscles were activated. Bill and I patted and praised him. But it was Becky to whom he turned for a gentle word, a kiss or a smile. He responded to these gestures of love by swinging his busy tail like a pendulum. As his strength grew, Ralph followed Becky all over the ranch.

Together they roamed the desert pastures, the golden-haired child often stooping low, sharing with the great lame wolf whispered secrets of nature's wonders. When evening came, he returned like a silent shadow to his hollow stump that had surely become his special place.

As time went on, although he lived primarily in the brush, the habits of this timid creature endeared him more and more to all of us. His reaction to people other than our family was yet another story. Strangers terrified him, yet his affection for and protectiveness of Becky brought him out of the desert and fields at the sight of every unknown pickup or car. Occasionally he'd approach, lips taut, exposing a nervous smile full of chattering teeth.

More often he'd simply pace and finally skulk off to his tree stump, perhaps to worry alone.

Becky's first day of school was sad for Ralph. After the bus left, he refused to return to the yard. Instead, he lay by the side of the road and waited.

When Becky returned, he limped and tottered in wild, joyous circles around her. This welcoming ritual persisted throughout her school years.

Although Ralph seemed happy on the ranch, he disappeared into the surrounding deserts and mountains for several weeks during the spring mating season, leaving us to worry about his safety. This was calving season, and fellow ranchers watched for coyotes, cougars, wild dogs and, of course, the lone wolf. But Ralph was lucky.

During Ralph's twelve years on our ranch, his habits remained unchanged. Always keeping his distance, he tolerated other pets and endured the activities of our busy family, but his love for Becky never wavered.

Then the spring came when our neighbor told us he'd shot and killed a she-wolf and grazed her mate, who had been running with her. Sure enough, Ralph returned home with another bullet wound. Becky, nearly fifteen years old now, sat with Ralph's head resting on her lap. He, too, must have been about fifteen and was gray with age. As Bill removed the bullet, my memory raced back through the years. Once again I saw a chubby three-year-old girl stroking the head of a huge black wolf and heard a small voice murmuring, "It's all right, boy. Don't be afraid. That's my mama, and she loves you, too."

Although the wound wasn't serious, this time Ralph didn't get well. Precious pounds fell away. The once luxurious fur turned dull and dry, and his trips to the yard in search of Becky's companionship ceased. All day long he rested quietly. But when night fell, old and stiff as he was, he disappeared into the desert and surrounding hills. By dawn his food was gone. The morning came when we found him dead. The yellow eyes were closed.

Stretched out in front of the oak stump, he appeared but a shadow of the proud beast he once had been. A lump in my throat choked me as I watched Becky stroke his shaggy neck, tears streaming down her face. "I'll miss him so," she cried.

Then as I covered him with a blanket a strange rustling sound from inside the stump startled us. Becky looked inside. Two tiny yellow eyes peered back and puppy fangs glinted in the semidarkness. Ralph's pup!

Had a dying instinct told him his motherless offspring would be safe here, as he had been, with those who loved him? Hot tears spilled on baby fur as Becky gathered the trembling bundle in her arms.

"It's all right, little . . . Ralphie," she murmured. "Don't be afraid. That's my mom, and she loves you, too."

A young man had been to Wednesday night Bible Study. The Pastor had talked about listening to God and obeying the Lord's voice. The young man couldn't help but wonder, "Does God still speak to people?"

After service he went out with some friends for coffee and pie and they discussed the message. Several different ones talked about how God had led them in different ways. It was about ten o'clock when the young man started driving home.

Sitting in his car, he just began to pray, "God. If you still speak to people, speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey."

As he drove down the main street of his town, he had the strangest thought, to stop and buy a gallon of milk. He shook his head and said out loud, "God, is that you?" He didn't get a reply and started on toward home. But again he had the thought to buy a gallon of milk. The young man thought about Samuel and how he didn't recognize the voice of God, and how little Samuel ran to Eli. "Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk." It didn't seem like too hard a test of obedience. He could always use the milk. He stopped and purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home.

As he passed Seventh Street, he again felt the urge, turn down that street. "This is crazy," he thought and drove on past the intersection. Again, he felt that he should turn down Seventh Street. At the next intersection, he turned back and headed down Seventh.

Half jokingly, he said out loud, "Okay, God, I will."

He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. He pulled over to the curb and looked around. He was in a semi-commercial area of town. It wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst of neighborhoods either. The businesses were closed and most of the houses looked dark like the people were already in bed.

Again, he sensed something, "Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street." The young man looked at the house. It was dark and it looked like the people were either gone or they were already asleep. He started to open the door and then sat back in the car seat. "Lord, this is insane. Those people are asleep and if I wake them up, they are going to be mad and I will look stupid." Again, he felt like he should go give them the milk.

Finally, he opened the door, "Okay God, if this is you, I will go to the door and I will give them the milk. If you want me to look like a crazy person, okay. I want to be obedient. I guess that will count for something but if they don't answer right away, I am out of here."

He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man's voice yelled out, "Who is it? What do you want?" Then the door opened before the young man could get away. The man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt. He looked like he just got out of bed. He had a strange look on his face and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep. "What is it?

The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, "Here, I brought this to you."

The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway speaking loudly in Spanish. Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby.

The baby was crying. The man had tears streaming down his face. He began speaking and half crying, "We were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk." His wife, in the kitchen, yelled out, "I asked him to send an Angel with some milk. Are you an Angel?"

The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had on him and put it in the man's hand. He turned and walked back toward his car with tears streaming down his face. He knew that God still talks to us and still answers prayers.

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I have a personal friend who was praying one day.  While praying God spoke to him and told him that he wanted my friend to buy a jar of mayonnaise for a woman that God would show him.  He said okay and pretty much forgot about it.  Later that day, his wife sent him to the store for some odds and ends and as he rounded yet another aisle, there stood a woman holding a mayonnaise jar.  She was just turning it and looking at it.  My friend realized that this was the woman that God had spoken to him about.  He also realized that he didn't bring enough money for both his purchases and the mayonnaise, so he hurriedly went all the way back home, got the extra money and returned to the store.  He rounded the aisle where he had seen the woman looking at the mayonnaise and there she was, still holding the jar and turning it in her hands!  I don't remember what he said happened next, if he bought it for her at the check out or just gave her the money right there.  But it goes to show you that YES, God still speaks to us today!
Grammyluv