Chicken Soup

[HisDaughter]

Found Money

     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

[HisDaughter]

Water Closet

     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

[nChrist]

Water Closet

     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

                 ROFL! - This one's a HOOT!

[HisDaughter]

                 ROFL! - This one's a HOOT!

[HisDaughter]

No Excuse Sunday

     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

[HisDaughter]

The Voice of an Angel

     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

[HisDaughter]

Hands

Thank you Lord for dirty hands
That touch my stove and fridge;
For sticky little fingers that
Try to build a bridge.

For careless hands that go astray
In search of something new;
For hands to hold and show the way
As mothers often do.

For precious little hands in which
Great faith so abounds;
For silly little hands that reach
To touch a mother's frown.

And thank you for your guiding hand
That leads me to the light;
That lifts me when I stumble
And points me to the right.

As little hands reach out to me
To show them what to do,
I'm steadied, reassured and loved
As I reach up to you.

Judith Peitsch

[HisDaughter]

Leave The Light On

Lord, I'll leave the light on, that illuminates my heart,
For it is Your Holy Spirit, that brightens every part,
May I always follow Truth, as my being ever yearns,
To be a vessel for Your Kingdom...until Your sweet return.

Lord, may others see You only, when they look into my eyes,
That they will feel Your love, not my own futile tries.
Fill me with Your Spirit, that I may be salt and light,
a city on a hill, that is not hidden from their sight.

Father, I surrender, that my own ways will decrease,
Conforming to Your will, so that You are the increase.
Let me be a servant, that can reach out to the lost,
To tell them of Your love, no matter what the cost.

More than anything on earth, I set my heart on You,
To think on whatsoever things are honest, pure, and true.
May I walk by faith not sight, trusting in Your Word,
Leading others to Salvation, in confidence assured.

Yes, I'll leave the Light on, that illuminates my heart,
For it is Your Holy spirit, that brightens every part.
May I always follow Truth, as my being ever yearns,
To be a vessel for Your kingdom...Until Your sweet return.

[HisDaughter]

Helen's Story

I will never leave you or forsake you.
Heb 13:5

     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.

[HisDaughter]

The Love of a Father

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."

[nChrist]

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

Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable GIFT, Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour Forever!

[HisDaughter]

Irreverent Manipulation

     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:

Dear God, I've been a very good boy...

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

Dear God, most of the time I've been a good boy...

     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:

Dear God, if you ever want to see your mother again...

From Moments for Mothers

[HisDaughter]

Perfect Freedom

      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

[HisDaughter]

In His Mother's Footsteps

     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

[HisDaughter]

Why My Wife Bought Handcuffs

     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