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Last updated: 07/15/00 Note: There were so many precious stories, that More Precious Stories was added. Later, because so many precious stories were resumbitted to the mailing list, an index of first lines was created in the hopes it would make searching for those precious stories easier.Contents
The contents are listed in alphabetical order. The stories themselves
are in order of submission, starting with the most recent. Stories
that were submitted with no title are called "A Story About..."
All I Really Need to Know I Learned from Noah's Ark
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What I Most Need to Know
Date: Mon, 12 Oct 1998 09:13:59 -0700
In the stormy times wet and cold & no security at hand,
As sure as the clouds part to reveal the light after the storm,
No religion or figurehead taught me this easing truth,
No matter who you are or what you've done,
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A Heart-Warmer
Date: Mon, 12 Oct 1998 08:01:58 -0700
An eyewitness account from New York City, on a cold day in December many years
ago...
A little boy about 10 years old was standing before a shoe store on Broadway,
barefooted, peering through the window, and shivering with cold. A lady
approached the boy and said, "My little fellow, what are you looking at?"
"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 and 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 purchased him a pair of shoes, and put some extra pairs of
socks in a bag. She patted him on the head and said, "No doubt, my little
fellow, you will feel more comfortable now."
As she turned to go, the astonished boy caught her by the hand, and looking up
in her face, with tears in his eyes, and asked..."Are you God's wife?"
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Only One Childhood
From: Tina Aquiningoc <TinaA@medimpact.com>
I stopped to watch my little girl
I listened as she was speaking
She said, "Suzie's in the corner
In the corner I saw her baby doll
My daughter continued her "conversation,"
She whines whenever I have to work
She tries to help me with the dishes,
I have a lot of work to do
And that day I thought a lot about
I hadn't been paying enough attention
But now my attitude has changed,
So, let the cobwebs have the corners
I'm going to fill the house with memories
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Discouraged?
Date: Thu, 08 Oct 1998 15:04:39 -0700
As I was driving home from work one day, I stopped to watch a local Little
League baseball game that was being played in a park near my home. As I sat
down behind the bench on the first-baseline, I asked one of the boys what the
score was. "We're behind 14 to nothing," he answered with a smile. "Really," I
said. "I have to say you don't look very discouraged." "Discouraged?" the boy
asked with a puzzled look on his face. "Why should we be discouraged? We
haven't been up to bat yet."
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Barney
Date: Thu, 08 Oct 1998 15:04:39 -0700
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 heart beat, 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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The Most Caring Child
Date: Thu, 08 Oct 1998 15:04:39 -0700
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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A Story About a Box of Kisses
Date: Thu, 08 Oct 1998 15:04:39 -0700
To be looking everywhere for miracles is to me a sure sign of ignorance that
everything is miraculous. - Abraham Maslow
Some time ago, a friend of mine punished his 3-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 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 overreaction, 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 into the box. All for you, Daddy."
The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged
her 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 the love 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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The Night Before Jesus Came
Date: Thu, 8 Oct 1998 10:05:10 -0800
'Twas the night before Jesus came and all through the house
The children were dressing to crawl into bed,
When out of the East there arose such a clatter,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
The light of His face made me cover my head...
In the book of life which he held in His hand
The people whose names had been written with love
I fell to my knees, but it was too late;
In the words of this poem, the meaning is clear;
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Look What I've Learned
Date: Wed, 07 Oct 1998 10:43:04 -0700
Look What I've Learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
I've learned -
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Give This Moment!
Date: Tue, 06 Oct 1998 19:00:57 -0700
While waiting to pick up a friend at the airport in Portland, Oregon, I had one
of those life-changing experiences that you hear other people talk about - the
kind that sneaks up on you unexpectedly. This one occurred a mere two feet away
from me.
Straining to locate my friend among the passengers deplaning through the
jetway, I noticed a man coming toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped
right next to me to greet his family. First he motioned to his youngest son
(maybe six years old) as he laid down his bags. They gave each other a long,
loving hug. As they separated enough to look in each other's face, I heard the
father say, "It's so good to see you, son. I missed you so much!" His son
smiled somewhat shyly, averted his eyes and replied softly, "Me, too, Dad!"
Then the man stood up, gazed in the eyes of his oldest son (maybe nine or ten)
and while cupping his son's face in his hands said, "You're already quite the
young man. I love you very much, Zach!" They too hugged a most loving, tender
hug. While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one-and-a-half) was
squirming excitedly in her mother's arms, never once taking her little eyes off
the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man said, "Hi, baby girl!" as
he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her face all over
and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side to side. The
little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his shoulder,
motionless in pure contentment.
After several moments, he handed his daughter to his oldest son and declared,
"I've saved the best for last," and proceeded to give his wife the longest,
most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for several
seconds and then silently mouthed, "I love you so much!" They stared at each
other's eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding both hands. For
an instant, they reminded me of newlyweds, but I knew by the age of their kids
that they couldn't possibly be. I puzzled about it for a moment, then realized
how totally engrossed I was in the wonderful display of unconditional love not
more than an arm's length away from me.
I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I was invading something sacred, but was
amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask, "Wow! How long have you two been
married?" "Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of those," he
replied, without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife's face.
"Well, then, how long have you been away?" I asked the man finally turned and
looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile. "Two whole days!"
Two days? I was stunned. By the intensity of the greeting, I had assumed he'd
been gone for at least several weeks - if not months. I know my expression
betrayed me, I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with some
semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend), "I hope my
marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!"
The man suddenly stopped smiling.
He looked me straight in the eye, and with forcefulness that burned right into
my soul, he told me something that left me a different person. He told me,
"Don't hope, friend... decide!" Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again,
shook my hand and said, "God bless!"
With that, he and his family turned and strode away together. I was still
watching that exceptional man and his special family walk just out of sight
when my friend came up to me and asked, "What'cha looking at?" Without
hesitating, and with a curious sense of certainty, I replied, "My future!"
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All I Really Need to Know I Learned from Noah's Ark
Received from MIKEY'S FUNNIES.
1. Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the ark.
2. Stay fit. When you're 600 years old, someone might ask you to do something
REALLY big.
3. Don't listen to critics -- do what has to be done.
4. Build on high ground.
5. For safety's sake, travel in pairs.
6. Two heads are better than one.
7. Speed isn't always an advantage. The cheetahs were on board, but so were the
snails.
8. If you can't fight or flee -- float!
9. Take care of your animals as if they were the last ones on earth.
10. Don't forget that we're all in the same boat.
11. When the doo-doo gets really deep, don't sit there and complain --
shovel!!!
12. Stay below deck during the storm.
13. Remember that the ark was built by amateurs and the Titanic was built by
professionals.
14. If you have to start over, have a friend by your side.
15. Remember that the woodpeckers INSIDE are often a bigger threat than the
storm outside.
16. Don't miss the boat.
17. No matter how bleak it looks, there's always a rainbow on the other side.
18. "Stop what'ca doing, and do what God says!"
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The Wall of Life
Author Unknown
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There
were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index
card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or
subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to
ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different
headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that
read "Girls I Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I
quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each
one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room
with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written
the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't
match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I
began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and
sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look
over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next
to one marked "Friends I Betrayed."
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Read,"
"Lies I Told," "Comfort I Gave," "Jokes I Laughed At." Some were almost
hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I
couldn't laugh at: "Things I Did in Anger," "Things I Muttered Under My Breath
at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there
were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be
possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or
even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in
my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Listened To," I realized the files
grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after
two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not
so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew
that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my
body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and
drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that
such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must
ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!"
In an insane frenzy, I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had
to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding
it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and
pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my
forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw
it. The title bore "People I Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter
than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small
box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards
it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in
my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of
shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled
in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock
it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here.
Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and
read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I
could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He
seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with
pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head,
covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put
His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word.
He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the
room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on
each card.
"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I
pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it
was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine.
It was written with His blood.
He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the
cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the
next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my
side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There
were still cards to be written.
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We Have Two Choices
Date: Thu, 01 Oct 1998 09:49:57 -0700
Jerry was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good mood and
always had something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was
doing,
He would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!"
He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed him
around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Jerry was
because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having
a bad day, Jerry was there telling the employee how to look on the positive
side of the situation.
Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and
asked him. "I don't get it! You can't be a positive person all of the time.
How do you do it?"
Jerry replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, Jerry, you have two
choices today.
You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood.
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," Jerry 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 will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad
mood.
The bottom line: It's your choice how you live life."
I reflected on what Jerry said.
Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant industry 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 Jerry did something you are never supposed to
do in a restaurant business: He left the back door open one morning and was
held up at gunpoint by three armed robbers.
While trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped off
the combination.
The robbers panicked and shot him.
Luckily, Jerry was found relatively quickly and rushed to the local trauma
center.
After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jerry was released from
the hospital with fragments of the bullets still in his body.
I saw Jerry 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 did ask him what had gone through his mind as
the robbery took place.
"The first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the
back door," Jerry replied.
"Then, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I could
choose to live, or I could choose to die. I choose to live."
"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked.
Jerry continued, "The paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going
to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the emergency room 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," said Jerry.
"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, 'Bullets!'
Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I
am alive, not dead'.
Jerry 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.
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Just a Little Something to Think About
Date: Thu, 01 Oct 1998 09:07:53 -0700
One day a woman named Louise fell asleep in her bed, and dreamed a very fitful
dream. She dreamed that someone in Hell wrote a letter to her, and it was to be
delivered to her by a messenger.
The messenger passed between the lakes of burning fire and brimstone that
occupies Hell, and found his way to the door that would lead him to the outside
world. Louise dreamed that the messenger walked to her house, came inside, and
gently but firmly woke Louise up. He gave her the message, saying only that a
friend had wrote it to her from Hell. Louise, in her dream, with trembling
hands took the letter and read: My Friend,
I stand in Judgement now,
Though we lived together on the earth,
You taught me many things, that's true,
Yes I called you a "friend" in life,
I cannot, now, call you "My Friend."
Marsha
After reading the letter, Louise awoke. The dream was still so real in her
mind, and sweat dropped from her body in pools. She swore she could still smell
the acrid smell of brimstone and smoke from her room.
As she contemplated the meaning of her dream, she realized that as a Christian,
she has failed in her duty to "go out to all the world and preach the gospel."
As she thought of that, she promised herself that the next day, she would call
Marsha and invite her to church with her. The next morning she called Marsha
and this was the conversation:
Yes, Bill, Is Marsha there?
Louise, you don't know?
No, Bill, Know what?
Marsha WAS KILLED LAST NIGHT IN A CAR ACCIDENT. I thought you had known.
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"Dear Pastor" Letters
Date: Wed, 30 Sep 1998 10:02:40 -0700
Dear Pastor, I know God loves everybody but He never met my sister.
Dear Pastor, Please say in your sermon that Peter Peterson has been a good
boy all week. I am Peter Peterson.
Dear Pastor, My father should be a minister. Every day he gives us a sermon
about something.
Dear Pastor, I'm sorry I can't leave more money in the plate, but my father
didn't give me a raise in my allowance. Could you have a sermon about a raise
in my allowance?
Dear Pastor, My mother is very religious. She goes to play bingo at church
every week even if she has a cold.
Dear Pastor, I would like to go to heaven someday because I know my brother
won't be there.
Dear Pastor, I think a lot more people would come to your church if you moved
it to Disneyland.
Dear Pastor, I hope to go to heaven some day but later than sooner.
Dear Pastor, Please say a prayer for our Little League team. We need God's
help, or a new pitcher. Thank you.
Dear Pastor, My father says I should learn the Ten Commandments. But I don't
think I want to because we have enough rules already in my house.
-- Joshua. [age 10, South Pasadena]
Dear Pastor, Are there any devils on earth? I think there may be one in my
class.
-- Carla. [age 10, Salina]
Dear Pastor, How does God know the good people from the bad people? Do you
tell Him or does He read about it in the newspapers?
Dear Pastor, I liked your sermon on Sunday. Especially when it was finished.
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Diversity Message
Date: Tue, 29 Sep 1998 08:52:00 -0700
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was
allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid
from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window.
The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for
hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs,
their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.
And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he
would pass the time by describing to his room-mate all the things he could see
outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his
world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the
world outside. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans
played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers
walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old
trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen
in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the
other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by.
Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his mind's
eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Then
unexpectedly, a sinister thought entered his mind. Why should the other man
alone experience all the pleasures of seeing everything while he himself never
got to see anything? It didn't seem fair.
At first thought the man felt ashamed. But as the days passed and he missed
seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him sour.
He began to brood and he found himself unable to sleep. He should be by that
window - that thought, and only that thought now controlled his life. Late one
night as he lay staring at the ceiling, the man by the window began to cough.
He was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The other man watched in the dimly
lit room as the struggling man by the window groped for the button to call for
help. Listening from across the room he never moved, never pushed his own
button which would have brought the nurse running in. In less than five minutes
the coughing and choking stopped, along with that the sound of breathing. Now
there was only silence-deathly silence.
The following morning the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths.
When she found the lifeless body of the man by the window, she was saddened and
called the hospital attendants to take it away. As soon as it seemed
appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The
nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable,
she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to
take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of
seeing it all himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside
the bed. It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had
described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that
the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just
wanted to encourage you."
Epilogue. . . .
You can interpret the story in any way you like. But one moral stands out:
There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own
situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is
doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that
money can't buy.
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Kids Hear the Darndest Things
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 1998 09:22:01 -0700
Newly assigned officers to a Naval Air Station are quite often "adopted" by a
family. One such young officer, a Lieutenant Commander, kind-of became an Uncle
to the family's only 4 year old daughter. One Sunday, he asked her what she had
learned in Sunday School. She said she had learned all about the ten
commanders, and that they were always broke.
This same little girl, was told to draw her conception of the Hebrews flight
into Egypt. She came home with a picture of an airplane, the passengers all
with halos and one person up front without one. When asked about it, she
explained, "Oh, that's Pontius, the pilot."
The Lord's Prayer has always been easy for kids to misinterpret, either through
poor enunciators or from mumbling congregations. One little boy, always a
classic joke, said "Harold be Thy name." Two other lesser known prayers though
are a little girl saying: "Give us this day our jelly bread." Or the little
New York boy who petitioned God to "Lead us not into Penn Station."
After hearing the Christmas story, and singing "Silent Night" a Sunday School
Class in Sao Paulo was asked to draw what they thought the Nativity Scene might
have looked like. One boy did a good likeness of Joseph, Mary and the infant,
but off to the side was a roly-poly figure. The teacher, afraid that he had
somehow worked Santa Claus into the scene asked him who that was. She wasn't
sure whether she was relieved or even more worried when the boy responded,
"Oh, that's Round John Virgin."
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Here's a Great Story
Date: Wed, 23 Sep 1998 07:32:42 -0700
A story is told about a soldier who was finally coming home after having fought
in Vietnam. He called his parents from San Francisco. "Mom and Dad, I'm coming
home, but I've a favor to ask. I have a friend I'd like to bring home with me."
"Sure," they replied, "we'd love to meet him."
"There's something you should know the son continued, "he was hurt pretty badly
in the fighting. He stepped on a land mind and lost an arm and a leg. He has
nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us."
"I'm sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere to live."
"No, Mom and Dad, I want him to live with us." "Son," said the father, "you
don't know what you're asking. Someone with such a handicap would be a terrible
burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we can't let something like
this interfere with our lives. I think you should just come home and forget
about this guy. He'll find a way to live on his own."
At that point, the son hung up the phone. The parents heard nothing more from
him. A few days later, however, they received a call from the San Francisco
police. Their son had died after falling from a building, they were told.
The police believed it was suicide. The grief-stricken parents flew to San
Francisco and were taken to the city morgue to identify the body of their son.
They recognized him, but to their horror they also discovered something they
didn't know, their son had only one arm and one leg.
The parents in this story are like many of us. We find it easy to love those
who are good-looking or fun to have around, but we don't like people who
inconvenience us or make us feel uncomfortable. We would rather stay away from
people who aren't as healthy, beautiful, or smart as we are.
Thankfully, there's someone who won't treat us that way. Someone who loves us
with an unconditional love that welcomes us into the forever family, regardless
of how messed up we are.
Tonight, before you tuck yourself in for the night, say a little prayer that
God will give you the strength you need to accept people as they are, and to
help us all be more understanding of those who are different from us!!!
There's a miracle called Friendship
But you know the special lift
Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed.
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Our Thinking vs. God's Promises
From: "Gritton, Melody" <melodyg@gen-probe.com>
"It's impossible"
"I'm too tired"
"Nobody really loves me"
"I can't go on"
"I can't figure things out"
"I can't do it"
"I'm not able"
"It's not worth it"
"I can't forgive myself"
"I can't manage"
"I'm afraid"
"I'm always worried and frustrated"
"I don't have enough faith"
"I'm not smart enough"
"I feel all alone"
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A Story About a Nut Tree
Date: Fri, 04 Sep 1998 11:18:31 -0700
There was a huge nut tree by the cemetery fence. One day, two boys filled up a
bucketful of nuts and sat down by the tree, out of sight, and began dividing
the nuts. "One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me," said one boy. The
bucket was so full, several rolled out towards the fence.
Cycling down the road by the cemetery was a third boy. As he passed, he thought
he heard voices from inside the cemetery. He slowed down to investigate. Sure
enough, he heard, "One for you, one for me. One for you." He knew what it was.
"Oh my!" he shuddered, "It's Satan and St. Peter dividing the souls at the
cemetery!"
He cycled down the road and found an old man with a cane, hobbling along. "Come
quick!" he said, "You won't believe what I heard. Satan and St. Peter are down
at the cemetery dividing the souls." The man said, "Shoo, you brat! Can't you
see I'm finding it hard to walk as it is!"
After several pleas, the man hobbled to the cemetery and heard, "One for you,
one for me. One for you, one..." The old man whispered, "Boy, you've been
tellin' the truth! Let's see if we can see the Devil himself."
Shivering with fear, they edged toward the fence, still unable to see anything,
but they heard, "One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me. And one last
one for you. That's all. Let's go get those nuts by the fence, and we'll be
done."
They say the old guy made it to town 10 minutes before the boy!
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Risk
Date: Fri, 04 Sep 1998 10:28:51 -0700
. . . Who by faith conquered kingdoms, performed acts of righteousness,
obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire,
escaped the edge of the sword, from weakness were made strong (Hebrews 11:33, 34).
Is faith a risk? Of course. But failing to step out in faith is to risk missing
real life. I have been challenged by the following thought from an unknown
author.
To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out for another is to risk involvement.
To place our ideas, our dreams, before a crowd is to risk their loss.
To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To live is to risk dying.
To hope is to risk despair.
To try is to risk failure.
Risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing. The
person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing. He may avoid
suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn, feel, change, grow,
love . . . live. Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave; he has forfeited
freedom.
What a privilege for us to be able to walk by faith in God Himself, armed with
all the promises of His Word. I suppose we all desire the security of the solid
tree trunk, but the fruit is out on the limb. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
The timid soul asks, "What do I stand to lose if I do it?" The fruit-bearing
Christians asks, "What do I stand to lose if I don't do it?" Real life is lived
on the cutting edge.
Heavenly Father, help me stand up for what is right, to reach out and love
others, and to dare to believe.
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But Deliver Us From What?
Date: Fri, 28 Aug 1998 09:31:48 -0700
A mother was teaching her three-year-old daughter The Lord's Prayer. For
several evenings at bedtime, she repeated it after her mother. One night she
said she was ready to solo. The mother listened with pride, as she carefully
enunciated each word right up to the end.
"And lead us not into temptation", she prayed, "but deliver us some e-mail,
Amen."
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What If
Date: Fri, 14 Aug 1998 08:30:41 -0800
What if God couldn't take the time to bless us today because we couldn't take
the time to thank him yesterday?
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Angel Whispers
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 1998 09:25:01 -0700
As I sit silently with eyes closed, I listen for the sounds of my soul. I
inhale deeply hold my breath. I exhale slowly through my lips. Inhale the
breath of Angels, feel their stirring within: Exhale all air, pushing it from
my body with ease. As I breathe with the Angels, I feel their peace flow over
me. As I breathe with the Angels, I listen to the sounds of my soul.
A smile begins slowly from within, quite suddenly, it appears. Your eyes
reflect its warmth first, then it glides down to your mouth. Soon it makes your
entire being fill with delight! A smile can happen when you watch a loved one
sleep, be it a child, lover or pet. A smile can happen when you catch a cool
morning sunrise and become lost in a whirl of color. A smile can happen when
you watch a beautiful horse running free, or when you watch the sun slide
silently into the ocean, surrounding you with a soft glow.
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An Arm and a Leg
Date: Wed, 12 Aug 1998 09:12:24 -0700
Adam was walking around the Garden of Eden feeling very lonely, and he heard a
loud voice ask him, "What is wrong with you?" Adam said he didn't have anyone
to talk to. Then the loud voice said he was going to give him a companion and
it would be a woman.
He said "this person will cook for you and wash your clothes, she will always
agree with every decision you make. She will bear your children and never ask
you to get up in the middle of the night to take care of them. She will not nag
you, and will always be the first to admit she was wrong when you've had a
disagreement. She will never have a headache, and will freely give you love and
compassion whenever needed."
Adam asked "What would a woman like this cost me??"
The answer was "an arm and a leg."
Adam then asked "What can I get for just a rib???" The rest is history.
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Enoch
Date: Wed, 12 Aug 1998 08:24:08 -0700
Imagine yourself in a world filled with evil. For generations, no one has had a
fear of God. All around they use the name of God with mocking harsh language.
(Jude 15) The hearts of the world lust after evil continually. (Genesis 6:5)
Although people marry, nothing is sacred, polygamy is accepted. (Genesis 4:19)
Evil spiritual beings take for themselves the beautiful women and have
grotesque giant offspring. (Genesis 6:2-4) And I was probably not much
different from the rest. My name is Enoch and this was my world and this is my
testimony.
For 667 years, it had been this way. (Genesis 5:3-21) I lived 65 years when my
wife gave birth to Methuselah. It was then that the Lord spoke to me. I don't
know why He chose me for I was no better than the rest. I too was an ungodly
sinner. He said that when this son of yours is gone then he would send the
destruction, to execute judgment upon the whole world. I decided at once to
change my life. All of us are accountable to God for our lives. Since the Lord
was coming soon to execute this judgment, I decided to live a holy life,
trusting in the Lord God no matter what. This is why I named him, Methuselah,
which means, "When he is dead it will be sent."
I tried to warn them as the days went by. Each day my relationship with the
Lord grew stronger. When Methuselah gave birth to my grandson Lamech, I was 252
years old. (Genesis 5:21-26) Every so often I would look at Methuselah and
remember the promise the Lord gave me years earlier.
It was not easy. It was a bittersweet message. On the one hand, I knew that my
life and words were a stinging rebuke against those who rebelled against the
Lord. He was coming with ten thousand of His holy angels to execute judgment.
It made me tremble. On the other hand, I knew my life of faith was pleasing in
His sight. Each day my walk with Him grew stronger as he sustained me in His
love.
Then one day he took me home to be with Him, away from this godless world so
that I would not experience His wrath, for we are not destined for wrath, but
for obtaining salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ. (Genesis 5:24,
I Thessalonians 5:9)
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Love Letters to the Lord
Date: Fri, 07 Aug 1998 07:53:20 -0700
To the Lord above
You are Holy,
How can I be apart,
It is your Holy Spirit,
Let your love shine brightly,
I run real hard then stumble,
Through the dark of night,
Safely in your arms,
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Things That Bug Us
Date: Wed, 29 Jul 1998 16:42:20 -0700
"Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards. "King
Solomon (Song of Songs 2:15, NIV)
As the ditty goes, "It's the little things that bother us and put us on the
rack, you can sit upon a mountain but you can't sit on a tack."
And isn't that the truth? It's the little annoyances in life that get us tied
in a knot. A slight criticism, a driver who cuts us off on the freeway, a green
light that turns red before we get to it, a friend running late, and so on.
Somebody's frown may have more to do with them than us. A criticism may be
somebody projecting their unresolved issues onto us. Somebody failing to thank
us may indicate that they are having a "bad hair" day, and somebody cutting us
off on the freeway may be an indication of their impatience and ours! What
anybody does to us may or may not be a problem. How we react, or at least
overreact, is always our problem always our responsibility.
If we'd remember this: "What others think of us is none of our business," we
would at least learn to cope much better with many of life's little annoyances.
I know it's easier said than done, but it is a goal to work towards.
Suggested prayer: "Dear God, as it is your purpose for me, please help me to
grow through the circumstances of life that 'push my hot buttons.'"
There is a special place in life that needs my humble skill,
The time will be demanding, and the pay is not too good
There is a special place in life, a goal I must attain,
There is a mark that I must live, however small it seems to be.
There is a special place in life that only I may share,
There is a hand that I must hold, a word that I must say,
There is a special place in life that I was meant to fill.
There's always a tomorrow and the best is yet to be,
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The Football Game
Date: Wed, 29 Jul 1998 09:53:29 -0700
There was a skinny young boy who loved football with all his heart. Practice
after practice, he eagerly gave everything he had. But being half the size of
the boys, he got absolutely nowhere. At all the games this hopeful athlete sat
on the bench and hardly ever played. This teenager lived alone with his father,
and the two of them had a very special relationship. Even though the son was
always on the bench, his father was always in the stands cheering.
He never missed a game. This young man was still the smallest of the class when
he entered high school. But his father continued to encourage him but also made
it very clear that he did not have to play football if he didn't want to. But
the young man loved football and decided to hang in there.
He was determined to try his best at every practice, and perhaps he'd get to
play when he became a senior. All through high school he never missed a
practice nor a game but remained a bench-warmer all four years. His faithful
father was always in the stands, always with words of encouragement for him.
When the young man went to college, he decided to try out for the football team
as a "walk-in." Everyone was sure he could never make the cut, but he did. The
coach admitted that he kept him on the roster because he always puts his heart
and soul into every practice, and at the same time, provided the other members
with the spirit and hustle they badly needed. The news that he had survived the
cut thrilled him so much that he rushed to the nearest phone and called his
father. His father shared his excitement and was sent season tickets for all
the college games.
This persistent young athlete never missed practice during his four years at
college, but he never got to play in a game. It was the end of his senior
football season, and as he trotted onto the practice field shortly before the
big playoff game, the coach met him with a telegram. The young man read the
telegram and he became deathly silent. Swallowing hard, he mumbled to the
coach, "My father died this morning. Is it all right if I miss practice today?"
The coach put his arm gently around his shoulder and said, "Take the rest of
the week off, son. And don't even plan to come back to the game on Saturday."
Saturday arrived, and the game was not going well. In the third quarter, when
the team was ten points behind, a silent young man quietly slipped into the
empty locker room and put on his football gear. As he ran onto the sidelines,
the coach and his players were astounded to see their faithful teammate back so
soon.
"Coach, please let me play. I've just got to play today," said the young man.
The coach pretended not to hear him. There was no way he wanted his worst
player in this close playoff game. But the young man persisted, and finally
feeling sorry for the kid, the coach gave in.
"All right," he said. "You can go in." Before long, the coach, the players
and everyone in the stands could not believe their eyes. This little unknown,
who had never played before was doing everything right. The opposing team could
not stop him. He ran, he passed, blocked, and tackled like a star. His team
began to triumph. The score was soon tied. In the closing seconds of the game,
this kid intercepted a pass and ran all the way for the winning touchdown. The
fans broke loose. His teammates hoisted him onto their shoulders. Such cheering
you never heard.
Finally, after the stands had emptied and the team had showered and left the
locker room, the coach noticed that this young man was sitting quietly in the
corner all alone. The coach came to him and said, "Kid, I can't believe it.
You were fantastic! Tell me what got into you? How did you do it? He looked at
the coach, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Well, you knew my Dad died, but
did you know that my Dad was blind?" The young man swallowed hard and forced a
smile, "Dad came to all my games, but today was the first time he could see me
play, and I wanted to show him I could do it!"
Like the athlete's father, GOD is always there cheering for us. He's always
reminding us to go on. He's even offering us His hand for He knows what is
best, and is willing to give us what we need and not simply what we want. God
has never missed a single game.
What a joy to know that life is meaningful if lived for the Highest. Live for
Him for He's watching us in the game of life.
Amen.
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The Boy with a Bad Temper
No author given
There was a little boy with a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails
and told him that every time he lost his temper, to hammer a nail in the back
fence. The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Then it
gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to
drive those nails into the fence. Finally, the day came when the boy didn't
lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested
that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his
temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father
that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, "You
have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will
never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like
this one.
"You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won't matter how many times
you say 'I'm sorry', the wound is still there. A verbal wound is as bad as a
physical one. Friends are a very rare jewel, 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."
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Story of a Straying Lamb
Author unknown
The Shepherd loved His little lamb,
And as He sat by His grazing flock
The little lamb had a loving heart,
With His gentle voice the Shepherd called,
But still the lamb would soon forget
Until one day, the Shepherd kind
For with one sharp and well-aimed blow
Then the little lamb, with a cry of pain,
Then he saw the love in the Shepherd's eyes
Now he was utterly helpless,
Then day by day, 'till the lamb was healed
And the Shepherd would whisper gentle words
He felt the warmth of the Shepherd's arms
Every need of the little lamb
And as the broken bone was healed,
Thus at the Shepherd's side he walked
For the cords of love had bound it so
Could it be you are broken today,
He only seeks, by this painful thing,
So, look up into your Shepherd's eyes,
For as you are borne in His loving arms,
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A Wonderful Prayer
Date: Wed, 22 Jul 1998 10:08:27 -0700
Dear Lord,
So far today, God, I've done all right.
But in a few minutes, God,
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Information Please!
Anonymous
Never underestimate the impact a little of your time can have...
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our
neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The
shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the
telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to
it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing
person - her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not
know. "Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while
my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the
basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there
didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give
sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally
arriving at the stairway.
The telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing.
Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.
"Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click
or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough
now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question. "Nobody's home but me." I
blubbered. "Are you bleeding?" "No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the
hammer and it hurts." "Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could.
"Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the
voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help
with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my
math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day
before would eat fruits and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information
Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things
grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was un-consoled. I asked her, "Why is
it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only
to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always
remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow, I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was 9
years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very
much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I
somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table
in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never
really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the
serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient,
understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle.
I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the
phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was
doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, please".
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information."
I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how
to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger
must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you,' I said. "I wonder if you have any idea
how much you meant to me during that time."
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never
had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could
call her again when I came back to visit my sister. "Please do, she said, "Just
ask for Sally."
Three months later, I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered
"Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she said. "Yes, a very
old friend," I answered. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, she said. Sally
had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died
five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was
Paul?"
"Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let
me read it to you." The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds
to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
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The Three Little Trees
Angela Elwell Hunt
Once upon a mountain top, three little trees stood and dreamed of what they
wanted to become when they grew up.
The first little tree looked at the stars and said, "I want to hold treasure.
I want to be covered with gold and filled with precious stones. I will be the
most beautiful treasure chest in the world!"
The second little tree looked out at the small stream trickling by on its way
to the ocean. "I want to be traveling mighty waters and carrying powerful
kings. I'll be the strongest ship in the world!"
The third little tree looked down into the valley below where busy men and
women worked in a busy town. "I don't want to leave the mountain top at all.
I want to grow so tall that when people look at me, they'll raise their eyes to
heaven and think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world!"
Years passed. The rains came, the sun shone and the three little trees grew
tall. One day three woodcutters climbed the mountain. The first woodcutter
looked at the first little tree and said, "This tree is beautiful. It is
perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining axe, the first tree fell.
"Now, I shall be made into a beautiful chest; I shall hold wonderful
treasures!", said the first little tree.
The second woodcutter looked at the second little tree and said, "This tree is
strong, it is perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining axe, the second tree
fell.
"Now I shall sail mighty waters," thought the second tree, "I shall be a strong
ship for mighty kings."
The third tree felt her heart sink when the last woodcutter looked at her. She
stood straight and tall and pointed bravely to heaven. But the woodcutter never
even looked up. "Any kind of tree will do for me," he muttered. With a swoop of
his shining axe, the third little tree fell.
The first tree rejoiced when the woodcutter brought her to the carpenter's
shop, but the carpenter fashioned her into a feedbox for animals. The once
beautiful tree was not covered with gold nor with treasure. She was coated in
sawdust and filled with hay for hungry farm animals.
The second tree smiled when the woodcutter took her to a shipyard, but no
mighty sailing ship was made that day. Instead, the once strong tree was
hammered and sawed into a simple fishing boat. She was too small and too weak
to sail an ocean, or even a river. Instead, she was taken to a little lake.
The third tree was confused when the woodcutter cut her into long, strong beams
and left her in a lumberyard. "What happened?" the once tall tree wondered.
"All I ever wanted was to stay on the mountain top and point to God."
Many, many days and nights passed. The three little trees nearly forgot their
dreams. But one night, golden starlight poured over the first little tree as a
woman placed her newborn baby in the feedbox.
"I wish I could make a cradle for him," her husband whispered.
The mother squeezed his hand and smiled as the starlight shone on the smooth
sturdy wood. "This manager is beautiful!" she said. And suddenly the first
little tree knew that he was holding the greatest treasure in the world!
One evening a tired traveler and his friends crowded into the simple fishing
boat. The traveler fell asleep as the second little tree sailed quietly into
the lake. Soon a thundering and thrashing storm arose. The little tree
shuddered, she knew she did not have the strength to carry so many passengers
safely through the wind and rain.
The tired man awakened. He stood up, stretched out his hand and said, "Peace."
The storm stopped as quickly as it had begun. And suddenly the second little
tree knew that she was carrying the King of Heaven and Earth."
Then, on a Friday morning, the third little tree was startled when her long
strong beams were yanked from the forgotten woodpile. She flinched as she was
carried through an angry jeering crowd. She shuddered when soldiers nailed a
man's hands to her. She felt ugly, harsh and cruel.
But on Sunday morning, when the sun rose and the earth trembled with joy
beneath her, and the third little tree knew that God's love had changed
everything. It made the third little tree tall and strong. And every time
people thought about the third little tree, they would think of God. That
was better than being the tallest tree in the world!
So the next time you feel down because you didn't get what you wanted, just sit
tight and be happy because God is thinking of something better to give you!!
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The Station
By Robert J. Hastings
Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We are traveling by
train - out the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of children waving at a
crossing, cattle grazing on a distant hillside, row upon row of corn and wheat,
flatlands and valleys, mountains and rolling hillsides and city skylines.
But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day, we will
pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving.
Once we get there, our dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will
fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. Restlessly we pace the aisles,
damning the minutes - waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.
"When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry.
Sooner or later, we realize there is no station, no one place to arrive. The
true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly
outdistances us.
"Relish the moment" is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24,
"This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it."
It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets over
yesterday and the fear of tomorrow.
Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today. So, stop pacing the
aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice
cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh
more, cry less. Life must be lived as we go along.
The station will come soon enough.
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You Know You're in the Wrong Church When...
Date: Mon, 20 Jul 1998 14:11:36 -0700
You know you're in the wrong church when...
10. The church bus has gun racks.
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Something for You
Date: Mon, 20 Jul 1998 13:33:38 -0700
Many people will walk in and out of your life,
To handle yourself, use your head;
Anger is only one letter short of danger.
If someone betrays you once, it's his fault;
Great minds discuss ideas;
God gives every bird its food,
He who loses money, loses much;
Beautiful young people are acts of nature,
Learn from the mistakes of others.
The tongue weighs practically nothing,
Friends, you and me....
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The Devils' Convention
Date: Mon, 20 Jul 1998 07:34:05 -0700
Satan called a worldwide convention. In his opening address to his evil angels,
he said, "We can't keep the Christians from going to church. We can't keep them
from reading their Bibles and knowing the truth. We can't even keep them from
conservative values. But we can Do something else. We can keep them from
forming an intimate, abiding relationship experience in Christ. If they gain
that connection with Jesus, our power over them is broken.
So, let them go to church, let them have their conservative lifestyles, but
steal their time, so they can't gain that experience in Jesus Christ. This is
what I want you to do, Angels. Distract them from gaining hold of their Savior
and maintaining that vital connection throughout their day!"
"How shall we do this?", shouted his angels.
"Keep them busy in the nonessentials of life and invent unnumbered schemes to
occupy their minds," he answered.
"Tempt them to spend, spend, spend, then, borrow, borrow, borrow. Convince the
wives to go to work for long hours and the husbands to Work 6 or 7 days a week,
10-12 hrs. a day, so they can afford their Lifestyles.
Keep them from spending time with their children. As their family fragments,
soon, their homes will offer no escape from the Pressures of work."
"Over stimulate their minds so that they cannot hear that still small Voice.
Entice them to play the radio or cassette player whenever they drive, to keep
the TV, VCR, CDs and their PCs going constantly in their homes. And see to it
that every store and restaurant in the world plays non-biblical music constantly.
This will jam their minds and break that union with Christ."
"Fill their coffee tables with magazines and newspapers. Pound their minds with
the news 24 hrs. a day. Invade their driving moments with billboards. Flood
their mailboxes with junk mail, sweepstakes, mail order catalogues, and every
kind of newsletter and promotional offering, free products, services, and false
hopes."
"Even in their recreation, let them be excessive. Have them return from their
recreation exhausted, disquieted and unprepared for the coming week.
Don't let them go out in nature to reflect on God's wonders. Send them to
amusement parks, sporting events, concerts and movies instead.
And when they meet for spiritual fellowship, involve them in gossip and small
talk so that they leave with troubled consciences and unsettled emotion."
"Let them be involved in soul-winning. But crowd their lives with so many good
causes they have no time to seek power from Christ. Soon they will be working
in their own strength, sacrificing their health and family unity for the good
of the cause."
It was quite a convention in the end. And the evil angels went eagerly to their
assignments causing Christians everywhere to get busy, busy, busy and rush here
and there.
Has the devil been successful at his scheme? You be the judge.
P.S. Once heard it said Busy is:
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They Wait, But No One Comes
by: Mary Waller
It was Christmas morning and Nellie woke up early. Everyone else was still
asleep in the small convalescent hospital. But Nellie wanted to get up and get
ready. Her son was coming to visit.
When you're 87 and your hands and arms are crippled with arthritis, it takes a
little longer to get dressed and fix yourself up. And she wanted to look
special for her son. She hadn't seen him for two years.
By 6:30 a. m. she was sitting on the edge of the bed and had fixed her gray
hair in a little topknot. She wanted to put a red ribbon around the topknot but
her arms and hands ached so she waited for the nurse who would make her rounds
at 7.
"My son's coming today," she told the nurse who was putting the red ribbon in
her hair. "He's all the family I have left."
She didn't want to wear her regular housecoat because it was faded, and
besides, it didn't match the bow in her hair. She had been saving a new red
housecoat trimmed in white lace that someone from the Salvation Army had given
her. It was a special house coat and this was a special occasion.
By 7:30 a. m. she had put powder on her face and brightened her cheeks with
rouge. The rouge hadn't blended in too well, but another patient fixed it for
her. Then she put on her lipstick and put on some perfume she had been saving.
By 8 o'clock, she was in her wheelchair sitting by the front door in the lobby
waiting. She didn't want to eat breakfast because she was afraid she'd miss her
son.
At 9 o'clock she was still sitting by the door -- waiting.
She fell asleep in her wheelchair around 11, but she woke up as a nurse was
wheeling her back to her room. She didn't want to go to her room. She wanted to
stay by the front door so she wouldn't miss her son.
At noon, she was too excited to eat lunch. Besides it would smear her lipstick
and she wanted to look nice for her son. He should be there anytime. A nurse
talked her into drinking a glass of milk.
At 2 o'clock, a man came through the door and Nellie brightened up and started
to wheel towards him. But it was someone else's visitor . . .someone else's
son.
At 4 o'clock visitors were coming and going through the door, but Nellie's son
hadn't arrived.
"He'll probably be here any time now," she told a nurse at 5:30, "The traffic
is bad today. I know he'll be here because he wrote me and said he would."
At 9:30 p.m. Nellie was still sitting by the front door staring out into the
darkness--waiting. He was still coming. She was sure of that.
Some high school children came by to sing Christmas carols at little after
9:30. Nellie started to sing "Silent Night" with them but her mouth began to
quiver and tears streaked her rouge. Strands of her silver hair had come loose
from her topknot but she didn't seem to notice.
At 10, she was still sitting in the lobby right by the front door, still
waiting. Then the nurse came and gently asked if she might like to go to bed.
She shook her head from side to side and the tears started once again. At
10:30, she was asleep in her wheelchair, still at the front door and two nurses
put her to bed.
The next day her son called. He told a nurse to tell his mother that he was
sorry he didn't make it but "things came up." He said, "Tell her I'll be there
next week."
But next week never came for Nellie. She died two days after Christmas.
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Josh and His Jag
By: Josh Ridker
About ten years ago a young and very successful executive named Josh was
traveling down a Chicago neighborhood street. He was going a bit too fast in
his sleek, black, 12 cylinder Jaguar XKE, which was only two months old. He was
watching for kids darting out from between parked cars and slowed down when he
thought he saw something. As his car passed, no child darted out, but a brick
sailed and--whump--it smashed into the Jag's shiny black side door!
Screech...!! Brakes slammed. Gears ground into reverse...and tires madly spun
the Jaguar back to the spot from where the brick had been thrown. Josh jumped
out of the car, grabbed the kid and pushed him up against a parked car. He
shouted at the kid, "What was that all about? And who are you...and just what
the heck are you doing? Building up a head of steam, he went on... "That's my
new Jag; that brick you threw is going to cost you a lot of money...why did you
throw it?"
"Please...please, mister, I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do," pleaded
the youngster. "I threw the brick because no one else would stop."
Tears were dripping down the boy's chin as he pointed around the parked car.
"It's my brother, mister," he said. "He rolled off the curb and fell out of his
wheelchair and I can't lift him up." Sobbing, the boy asked the executive,
"Would you please help me get him back into his wheelchair? He's hurt and he's
too heavy for me."
Moved beyond words, the young executive tried desperately to swallow the
rapidly swelling lump in his throat. Straining, he lifted the overweight young
man back into the wheelchair and took out his handkerchief and wiped the
scrapes and cuts, checking to see that everything was going to be o.k. He
watched the younger brother push him down the sidewalk toward their home.
It was a long, long walk back to the sleek, black, shining, twelve cylinder
Jaguar XKE---a long and slow walk.
Now, Josh never did fix the side door of his Jaguar. He kept the dent to remind
him not to go through life so fast...that someone has to throw a brick...at
him...to get his attention.
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Good News and Bad News for a Pastor
Date: Mon, 13 Jul 1998 07:41:32 -0700
Good News: You baptized seven people today in the river.
Good News: The Women's Guild voted to send you a get-well card.
Good News: The Elder Board accepted your job description the way you wrote it.
Good News: You finally found a choir director who approaches things exactly the
same way you do.
Good News: Mrs. Jones is wild about your sermons.
Good News: Your women's softball team finally won a game.
Good News: The trustees finally voted to add more church parking.
Good News: Church attendance rose dramatically the last three weeks.
Good News: Your deacons want to send you to the Holy Land.
Good News: Your biggest critic just left your church.
Good News: The youth in your church come to your house for a surprise visit.
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Be Encouraged
Date: Thu, 09 Jul 1998 09:45:44 -0700
A minister passing through his church in the middle of the day,
His shirt was kinda' shabby and his coat was worn and frayed.
Well, the minister's suspicions grew, with robbery a main fear,
"I stay only moments, see, 'cause the factory is so far away;
The minister feeling foolish, told Jim, that was fine.
Past noon one day, the minister noticed that old Jim hadn't come.
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Through His Eyes
Date: Mon, 06 Jul 1998 14:58:55 -0700
The day is over, you are driving home. You tune in your radio. You hear a
little blurb about a little village in India where some villagers have died
suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen before. It's not
influenza, but three or four fellows are dead, and it's kind of interesting,
and they're sending some doctors over there to investigate it.
You don't think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home from church, you hear
another radio spot. Only they say it's not three villagers, it's 30,000
villagers in the back hills of this particular area of India, and it's on TV
that night. CNN runs a little blurb; people are heading there from the disease
center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.
By Monday morning when you get up, it's the lead story. For it's not just
India; it's Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you're hearing
this story everywhere and they have coined it now as "the mystery flu." The
President has made some comment that he and everyone are praying and hoping
that all will go well over there. But everyone is wondering, "How are we going
to contain it?"
That's when the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe.
He is closing their borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the
countries where this thing has been seen.
And that's why that night you are watching a little bit of CNN before going to
bed. Your jaw hits your chest when a weeping woman is translated from a French
news program into English: "There's a man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of
the mystery flu." It has come to Europe. Panic strikes. As best, they can tell,
once you get it, you have it for a week and you don't know it. Then you have
four days of unbelievable symptoms. And then you die.
Britain closes its borders, but it's too late. South Hampton, Liverpool, North
Hampton, and it's Tuesday morning when the President of the United States makes
the following announcement: "Due to a national security risk, all flights to
and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones are overseas,
I'm sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for this thing."
Within four days, our nation has been plunged into an unbelievable fear. People
are selling little masks for your face. People are talking about what if it
comes to this country, and preachers on Tuesday are saying, "It's the scourge
of God."
It's Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs
in from the parking lot and says, "Turn on a radio, turn on a radio." And while
the church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to
it, the announcement is made. "Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital
dying from the mystery flu." Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps
across the country. People are working around the clock trying to find an
antidote. Nothing is working. California. Oregon. Arizona. Florida.
Massachusetts. It's as though it's just sweeping in from the borders.
And then, all of a sudden the news comes out. The code has been broken. A cure
can be found. A vaccine can be made. It's going to take the blood of somebody
who hasn't been infected, and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest,
through all those channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do
one simple thing: "Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken.
That's all we ask of you. And when you hear the sirens go off in your
neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the
hospitals."
Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late on that Friday night,
there is a long line, and they've got nurses and doctors coming out and
pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it. Your wife and your
kids are out there, and they take your blood type and they say, "Wait here in
the parking lot and if we call your name, you can be dismissed and go home."
You stand around scared with your neighbors, wondering what in the world is
going on, and that this is the end of the world. Suddenly a young man comes
running out of the hospital screaming. He's yelling a name and waving a
clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says,
"Daddy, that's me."
Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy. "Wait a minute, hold it!" And
they say, "It's okay, his blood is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make
sure he doesn't have the disease. We think he has got the right type." Five
tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses, crying and hugging one
another - some are even laughing.
It's the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor
walks up to you and says, "Thank you, sir. Your son's blood type is perfect.
It's clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine." As the word begins to
spread all across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and
praying and laughing and crying.
But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and you wife aside and says, "May we
see you for a moment? We didn't realize that the donor would be a minor and we
need . . . we need you to sign a consent form." You begin to sign and then you
see that the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty.
"H-h-h-how many pints?" And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he
says, "We had no idea it would be a little child. We weren't prepared. We need
it all!"
"But - but..."
"You don't understand. We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We -
we need it all - we need it all!"
"But can't you give him a transfusion?"
"If we had clean blood we would. Can you sign? Would you sign?" In numb silence
you do.
Then they say, "Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?"
Can you walk back? Can you walk back to that room where he sits on a table
saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?" Can you take his hands and say, "Son,
your mommy and I love you, and we would never ever let anything happen to you
that didn't just have to be. Do you understand that?"
And when that old doctor comes back in and says, "I'm sorry, we've - we've got
to get started. People all over the world are dying."
Can you leave? Can you walk out while he is saying, "Dad? Mom? Dad? Why - why
have you forsaken me?"
And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, and some
folks sleep through it, and some folks don't even come because they go to the
lake, and some folks come with a pretentious smile and just pretend to care.
Would you want to jump up and say, "MY SON DIED! DON'T YOU CARE?
Is that what He wants to say? "MY SON DIED. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?"
"Father, seeing it from your eyes breaks our hearts. Maybe now we can begin to
comprehend the great love you have for us. Amen."
The original is from the Netherlands.
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Friendship
Date: Wed, 01 Jul 1998 11:04:40 -0700
Mark was walking home from school one day when he noticed the boy ahead of him
had tripped and dropped all of the books he was carrying, along with two
sweaters, a baseball bat, a glove and a small tape recorder. Mark knelt down
and helped the boy pick up the scattered articles. Since they were going the
same way, he helped to carry part of the burden. As they walked Mark discovered
the boy's name was Bill, that he loved video games, baseball and history, and
that he was having lots of trouble with his other subjects and that he had just
broken up with his girlfriend.
They arrived at Bill's home first and Mark was invited in for a Coke and to
watch some television. The afternoon passed pleasantly with a few laughs and
some shared small talk, then Mark went home. They continued to see each other
around school, had lunch together once or twice, then both graduated from
junior high school. They ended up in the same high school where they had brief
contacts over the years.
Finally the long-awaited senior year came and three weeks before graduation,
Bill asked Mark if they could talk. Bill reminded him of the day years ago
when they had first met. "Did you ever wonder why I was carrying so many things
home that day?" asked Bill. "You see, I cleaned out my locker because I didn't
want to leave a mess for anyone else. I had stored away some of my mothers
sleeping pills and I was going home to commit suicide. But after we spent some
time together talking and laughing, I realized that if I had killed myself, I
would have missed that time and so many others that might follow. So you see,
Mark, when you picked up those books that day, you did a lot more, you saved my
life."
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Honoring the American Flag
Condensed from a speech by Leo K. Thorsness, recipient of the Congressional
Medal of Honor
You've probably seen the bumper sticker somewhere along the road. It depicts an
American Flag, accompanied by the words "These colors don't run." I'm always
glad to see this, because it reminds me of an incident from my confinement in
North Vietnam at the Hao Lo POW Camp, or the "Hanoi Hilton," as it became
known. Then a Major in the U.S. Air Force, I had been captured and imprisoned
from 1967-1973. Our treatment had been frequently brutal. After three years,
however, the beatings and torture became less frequent.
During the last year, we were allowed outside most days for a couple of minutes
to bathe. We showered by drawing water from a concrete tank with a homemade
bucket.
One day as we all stood by the tank, stripped of our clothes, a young Naval
pilot named Mike Christian found the remnants of a handkerchief in a gutter
that ran under the prison wall. Mike managed to sneak the grimy rag into our
cell and began fashioning it into a flag.
Over time we all loaned him a little soap, and he spent days cleaning the
material. We helped by scrounging and stealing bits and pieces of anything he
could use.
At night, under his mosquito net, Mike worked on the flag. He made red and blue
from ground-up roof tiles and tiny amounts of ink and painted the colors onto
the cloth with watery rice glue. Using thread from his own blanket and a
homemade bamboo needle, he sewed on the stars.
Early in the morning a few days later, when the guards were not alert, he
whispered loudly from the back of our cell, "Hey gang, look here." He proudly
held up this tattered piece of cloth, waving it as if in a breeze. If you used
your imagination, you could tell it was supposed to be an American flag.
When he raised that smudgy fabric, we automatically stood straight and saluted,
our chests puffing out, and more than a few eyes had tears.
About once a week the guards would strip us, run us outside and go through our
clothing. During one of those shakedowns, they found Mike's flag. We all knew
what would happen. That night they came for him.
Night interrogations were always the worst. They opened the cell door and
pulled Mike out. We could hear the beginning of the torture before they even
had him in the torture cell. They beat him most of the night.
About daylight, they pushed what was left of him back through the cell door.
He was badly broken; even his voice was gone. Within two weeks, despite the
danger, Mike scrounged another piece of cloth and began another flag. The
Stars and Stripes, our national symbol, was worth the sacrifice to him.
Now whenever I see the flag, I think of Mike and the morning he first waved
that tattered emblem of a nation. It was then, thousands of miles from home in
a lonely prison cell, that he showed us what it is to be truly free.
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A Story About the Grapevine
Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998 14:46:46 -0700
Here's one my daughter said at about the same age:
We were just coming down I5 out of the mountains into Grapevine on our way
north for the Christmas holidays. My then 3-year-old daughter was just getting
over a cold. The conversation went something like this:
Brianna: Daddy?
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A Story About an Advantage
Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998 13:35:15 -0800
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." Ahh. 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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Roles and How We Play Them
Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998 13:35:15 -0800
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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What It Means to be Adopted
Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998 13:35:15 -0800
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 named
Jocelynn Jay said, "I know all about adoptions because I was adopted." "What
does it mean to be adopted?" asked another child. "It means," said Jocelynn,
"that you grew in your mommy's heart instead of her tummy."
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A Story About the "P" Word
Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998 14:01:04 -0700
Yesterday we had a big family reunion at my house. One of the 3-year-old
nephews had an interesting conversation with the uncle that went like this:
Nephew: Pour me a glass of soda, Uncle.
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A Story About a Smile
Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998 13:55:38 -0700
She smiled at a sorrowful stranger.
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God's Embroidery
Date: Wed, 24 Jun 1998 11:37:29 -0700
When I was a little boy, my mother used to embroider a great deal. I would sit
at her knee and look up from the floor and ask what she was doing. She informed
me that she was embroidering. I told her that it looked like a mess from where
I was. As from the underside I watched her work within the boundaries of the
little round hoop that she held in her hand, I complained to her that it sure
looked messy from where I sat.
She would smile at me, look down and gently say, "My son, you go about your
playing for a while, and when I am finished with my embroidering, I will put
you on my knee and let you see it from my side."
I would wonder why she was using some dark threads along with the bright ones
and why they seemed so jumbled from my view. A few minutes would pass and then
I would hear Mother's voice say, "Son, come and sit on my knee." This I did
only to be surprised and thrilled to see a beautiful flower or a sunset. I
could not believe it, because from underneath it looked so messy.
Then Mother would say to me, "My son, from underneath it did look messy and
jumbled, but you did not realize that there was a pre-drawn plan on the top.
It was a design. I was only following it. Now look at it from my side and you
will see what I was doing."
Many times through the years I have looked up to my Heavenly Father and said,
"Father, what are You doing?" He has answered, "I am embroidering your life."
I say, "But it looks like a mess to me. It seems so jumbled. The threads seem
so dark. Why can't they all be bright?"
The Father seems to tell me, "My child, you go about your business of doing
My business, and one day I will bring you to Heaven and put you on My knee and
you will see the plan from My side."
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Words of Wisdom
Date: Tue, 23 Jun 1998 07:16:51 -0800
A while back, I was reading about an expert on subject of time management. One
day this expert was speaking to a group of business students and, to drive home
a point, used an illustration those students will never forget.
As this man stood in front of the group of high-powered overachievers he said,
"Okay, time for a quiz."
Then he pulled out a one-gallon, wide-mouthed mason jar and set it on a table
in front of him. Then he produced about a dozen fist-sized rocks and carefully
placed them, one at a time, into the jar.
When the jar was filled to the top and no more rocks would fit inside, he
asked, "Is this jar full?" Everyone in the class said, "Yes." Then he said,
"Really?" He reached under the table and pulled out a bucket of gravel. Then he
dumped some gravel in and shook the jar causing pieces of gravel to work
themselves down into the spaces between the big rocks.
Then he asked the group once more, "Is the jar full?" By this time, the class
was onto him. "Probably not," one of them answered.
"Good!" he replied. He reached under the table and brought out a bucket of
sand. He started dumping the sand in and it went into all the spaces left
between the rocks and the gravel. Once more, he asked the question, "Is this
jar full?"
"No!" the class shouted.
Once again, he said, "Good!" Then he grabbed a pitcher of water and began to
pour it in until the jar was filled to the brim. Then he looked up at the class
and asked, "What is the point of this illustration?"
One eager beaver raised his hand and said, "The point is, no matter how full
your schedule is, if you try really hard, you can always fit some more things
into it!"
"No," the speaker replied, "that's not the point. The truth this illustration
teaches us is: If you don't put the big rocks in first, you'll never get them
in at all."
What are the 'big rocks' in your life? A project that YOU want to accomplish?
Time with your loved ones? Your faith, your education, your finances? A cause?
Teaching or mentoring others? Remember to put these BIG ROCKS in first or
you'll never get them in at all.
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Daddy, May I Borrow $10?
Author Unknown(sent by Debbie Neal)
A man came home from work late again, tired and irritated, to find his
5-year-old son waiting for him at the door. "Daddy, may I ask you a question?"
"Yeah, sure, what is it?" replied the man.
"Daddy, how much money do you make an hour?"
"That's none of your business! What makes you ask such a thing?" the man said
angrily.
"I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?" pleaded
the little boy.
"If you must know, I make $20.00 an hour.
"Oh," the little boy replied, head bowed. Looking up, he said, "Daddy, may I
borrow $10.00 please?"
The father was furious. "If the only reason you wanted to know how much money
I make is just so you can borrow some to buy a silly toy or some other
nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think
about why you're being so selfish. I work long, hard hours everyday and don't
have time for such childish games."
The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door. The man sat down and
started to get even madder about the little boy's questioning. How dare he ask
such questions only to get some money.
After an hour or so, the man had calmed down, and started to think he may have
been a little hard on his son. Maybe there was something he really needed to
buy with that $10.00, and he really didn't ask for money very often.
The man went to the door of the little boy's room and opened the door. "Are you
asleep son?" he asked.
"No daddy, I'm awake," replied the boy.
"I've been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier," said the man. "It's
been a long day and I took my aggravation out on you. Here's that $10.00 you
asked for."
The little boy sat straight up, beaming. "Oh, thank you daddy!" he yelled.
Then, reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some more crumpled up bills.
The man, seeing that the boy already had money, started to get angry again.
The little boy slowly counted out his money, then looked up at the man. "Why
did you want more money if you already had some?" the father grumbled.
"Because I didn't have enough, but now I do," the little boy replied. "Daddy,
I have $20.00 now. Can I buy an hour of your time?"
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Bible by a College Student
Date: Wed, 17 Jun 1998 07:43:41 -0700
The top ten ways the Bible would have been different if it had been written by
college students:
10. The Last Supper would have been eaten the next morning--cold.
9. The Ten Commandments are actually only five, double-spaced, and written
in a large font.
8. New edition every two years in order to limit reselling.
7. Forbidden fruit would have been eaten because it wasn't cafeteria food.
6. Paul's letter to the Romans becomes Paul's e-mail to abuse@romans.gov.
5. Reason Cain killed Abel: They were roommates.
4. The place where the end of the world occurs: Finals, not Armageddon.
3. Out go the mules, in come the mountain bikes.
2. Reason why Moses and followers walked in the desert for 40 years: They
didn't want to ask directions and look like freshmen.
1. Instead of God creating the world in six days and resting on the seventh,
He would have put it off until the night before it was due and then pulled an
all-nighter.
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The Most Beautiful Flower
Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1998 13:47:57 -0700
The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read
And if that weren't enough to ruin my day,
In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
The weed before me was dying or dead.
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun
I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
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An Awesome True Story
Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1998 13:37:21 -0700
Brenda was a young woman that wanted to learn to go rock climbing. So although
she was scared to death, she went with a group and they faced this tremendous
cliff of rock, practically perpendicular. In spite of her fear, she put on the
gear, she took a hold of the rope, and she started up the face of that rock.
Well, she got to a ledge where she could take a breather. As she was hanging on
there, whoever was holding the rope up at the top of the cliff made a mistake
and snapped the rope. They pulled it too suddenly and jerked it in some way, so
that the rope snapped against Brenda's eye and knocked out her contact lens.
You know how tiny contact lenses are and how almost impossible they are to
find. Well, here she is on a rock ledge, with who knows how many hundreds of
feet behind and hundreds of feet above her. Of course, she looked and looked
and looked, hoping that she would be able to find that contact lens. Here she
was, very far from home. Her sight was now blurry. She was very upset by the
fact that she wouldn't be anywhere near a place where she could get a new
contact lens. And she prayed that the Lord would help her to find it.
Well, her last hope was that perhaps when she got to the top of the cliff, one
of the girls that was up there on the top might be able to find her contact
lens in the corner of her eye. So when she got to the top, a friend examined
her eye. There was no contact lens to be found. So she sat down with the rest
of the party, waiting for the rest of them to come 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
single stone and leaf that's on those mountains and You know exactly where my
contact lens is.
Finally, the time came when it was time to go down. So they walked down the
trail to the bottom. Just as they got there, there was a new party of rock
climbers coming along. As one of them started up the face of the cliff, she
shouted out, "Hey, you guys! Anybody lose a contact lens?" Well, that would be
startling enough, wouldn't it? She had found the contact lens! But you know why
she saw it? An ant was carrying that contact lens so that it was moving slowly
across the face of the rock. What does that tell you about the God of the
universe? Is He in charge of the tiniest things? Do ants matter to Him? Of
course they do. He made them. He designed them. Brenda told me that her father
is a cartoonist. So when she told him this incredible story, he drew a picture
of that ant lugging that contact lens (as you see in the comics with a balloon
with words in it over his head) 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."
That is a true story. If God is in charge of the ants, don't you think He cares
about you and me?
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The Dash
Source Unknown
I read of a man who stood to speak
He noted that first came the date of her birth
For that dash represents all the time
For it matters not, how much we own;
So think about this long and hard,
If we could just slow down enough to consider
And...be less quick to anger,
If we treat each other with respect,
So, when your eulogy is being read
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An Angel to Watch Over You
Date: Wed, 10 Jun 1998 11:29:09 -0700
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The Lie
Date: Fri, 5 Jun 1998 09:35:36 -0800
One day Satan held a meeting with the demons to discuss the ongoing problem of
people turning to Christ. Satan asked the demons for their input so that a plan
of action could be started against these insipid humans. One demon stepped
forward and said, "Yes, your huge ugliness, I think we should tell the humans
there is no God!" Some other demons cheered, but Satan slapped the slimy
creature and said, "You idiot! Of course, they know there is a God! Creation
screams to them that there is a God!!" So that demon slithered away somehow
smaller than when he had stepped forward. It took a few minutes, but soon
another demon undulated forward. Shakily he began, "Yes, your incredible
wickedness, I think we should tell the humans there is no heaven." This stupid
remark didn't make Satan quite so mad, but he said, "No, they know if there is
a God, that there is a heaven, too." This demon slithered back into the crowd
feeling deflated. Another demon yelled from where he was slithering, "How 'bout
if we tell 'em there's no hell!?"
Satan screamed, "Idiots!! THINK!! If there is a heaven, there is a hell! Humans
are not completely stupid!!"
Finally, after a very long and quite uncomfortable silence, a particularly
large and slimy demon slid his way forward, and slobbered, "Perhaps we should
just tell them... there's no hurry."
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A Love Story
Author: Unknown
One day, I woke early in the morning to watch the sunrise. Ah the beauty of
God's creation is beyond description. As I watched, I praised God for His
beautiful work. As I sat there, I felt the Lord's presence with me.
He asked me, "Do you love me?"
I answered, "Of course, God! You are my Lord and Saviour!"
Then He asked, "If you were physically handicapped, would you still love me?"
I was perplexed. I looked down upon my arms, legs and the rest of my body and
wondered how many things I wouldn't; be able to do, the things that I took for
granted.
And I answered, "It would be tough Lord, but I would still love You."
Then the Lord said, "If you were blind, would you still love my creation?"
How could I love something without being able to see it? Then I thought of all
the blind people in the world and how many of them still loved God and His
creation.
So I answered, "It's hard to think of it, but I would still love you."
The Lord then asked me, "If you were deaf, would you still listen to my word?"
How could I listen to anything being deaf? Then I understood. Listening to
God's Word is not merely using our ears, but our hearts. I answered, "It would
be tough, but I would still listen to Your word."
The Lord then asked, "If you were mute, would you still praise My Name?"
How could I praise without a voice?
Then it occurred to me: God wants us to sing from our very heart and soul. It
never matters what we sound like. And praising God is not always with a song,
but when we are persecuted, we give God praise with our words of thanks. So I
answered, "Though I could not physically sing, I would still praise Your Name."
And the Lord asked, "Do you really love Me?"
With courage and a strong conviction, I answered boldly, "Yes Lord! I love You
because You are the one and true God!" I thought I had answered well, but...
God asked, "THEN WHY DO YOU SIN?"
I answered, "Because I am only human. I am not perfect."
"THEN WHY IN TIMES OF PEACE DO YOU STRAY THE FURTHEST? WHY ONLY IN TIMES OF
TROUBLE DO YOU PRAY THE EARNEST?"
No answers. Only tears.
The Lord continued: "Why only sing at fellowships and retreats? Why seek Me
only in times of worship? Why ask things so selfishly? Why ask things so
unfaithfully?"
The tears continued to roll down my cheeks.
"Why are you ashamed of Me? Why are you not spreading the good news? Why in
times of persecution, you cry to others when I offer My shoulder to cry on?
Why make excuses when I give you opportunities to serve in My Name?"
I tried to answer, but there was no answer to give.
"You are blessed with life. I made you not to throw this gift away. I have
blessed you with talents to serve Me, but you continue to turn away. I have
revealed My Word to you, but you do not gain in knowledge. I have spoken to you
but your ears were closed. I have shown My blessings to you, but your eyes were
turned away. I have sent servants, but you sat idly by as they were pushed away.
I have heard prayers and I have answered them all."
"DO YOU TRULY LOVE ME?"
I could not answer. How could I? I was embarrassed beyond belief. I had no
excuse. What could I say to this? When I my heart had cried out and the tears
had flowed, I said, " Please forgive me Lord. I am unworthy to be Your child."
The Lord answered, "That is My Grace, My child."
I asked, " Then why do you continue to forgive me? Why do You love me so?"
The Lord answered, "Because you are My creation. You are my child. I will never
abandon you. When you cry, I will have compassion and cry with you. When you
shout with joy, I will laugh with you. When you are down, I will encourage you.
When you fall, I will raise you up. When you are tired, I will carry you. I
will be with you till the end of days, and I will love you forever."
Never had I cried so hard before. How could I have been so cold? How could I
have hurt God as I had done? I asked God, "How much do You love me?"
The Lord stretched out His arms, and I saw His nail-pierced hands.
I bowed down at the feet of Christ, my Saviour. And for the first time, I truly
prayed.
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What Was in Jeremy's Egg?
Date: Mon, 13 Apr 1998 10:09:05 -0800
Jeremy was born with a twisted body, a slow mind and a chronic,
terminal illness that had been slowly killing him all his young
life. Still, his parents had tried to give him as normal a life as
possible and had sent him to St. Theresa's Elementary School.
At the age of 12, Jeremy was only in second grade, seemingly unable
to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with
him. He would squirm in his seat, drool and make grunting noises.
At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of
light had penetrated the darkness of his brain. Most of the time,
however, Jeremy irritated his teacher.
One day, she called his parents and asked them to come to St.
Teresa's for a consultation.
As the Forresters sat quietly in the empty classroom, Doris said to
them, "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to
him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems.
Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other
students!"
Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue while her husband spoke.
"Miss Miller," he said, "there is no school of that kind nearby. It
would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of
this school. We know he really likes it here."
Doris sat for a long time after they left, staring at the snow
outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She
wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all, their only
child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him in her
class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy was a
distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read and write.
Why waste any more time trying?
As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. "Oh God," she
said aloud, "here I am complaining when my problems are nothing
compared with that poor family! Please help me to be more patient
with Jeremy."
From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his
blank stares. Then one day he limped to her desk, dragging his bad
leg behind him.
"I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loud enough for the whole
class to hear. The other students snickered, and Doris's face turned
red. She stammered, "Wh-why, that's very nice, Jeremy. Now please
take your seat."
Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of
Easter. Doris told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the
idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a
large plastic egg.
"Now," she said to them, "I want you to take this home and bring it
back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you
understand?"
"Yes, Miss Miller!" the children responded enthusiastically -- all
except for Jeremy. He just listened intently, his eyes never left her
face. He did not even make his usual noises.
Had he understood what she had said about Jesus's death and
resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps she should
call his parents and explain the project to them.
That evening, Doris's kitchen sink stopped up. She called the
landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After
that, she still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse and prepare
a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about
phoning Jeremy's parents.
The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as
they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller's
desk. After they completed their math lesson, it was time to open the
eggs.
In the first egg, Doris found a flower. "Oh yes, a flower is
certainly a sign of new life," she said. "When plants peek through
the ground, we know that spring is here." A small girl in the first
row waved her arms. "That's my egg, Miss Miller," she called out.
The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real.
Doris held it up. "We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows
into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that is new life, too." Little Judy
smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one is mine!"
Next, Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that moss,
too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom,
"My daddy helped me!" he beamed.
Then, Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty!
Surely it must be Jeremy's, she thought, and, of course, he did not
understand her instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone
his parents. Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly
set the egg aside and reached for another.
Suddenly Jeremy spoke up. "Miss Miller, aren't you going to talk
about my egg?"
Flustered, Doris replied, "But Jeremy--your egg is empty!" He looked
into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus's tomb was empty too!"
Time stopped. When she could speak again, Doris asked him, "Do you
know why the tomb was empty?"
"Oh, yes!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Jesus was killed and put in there. Then
his Father raised him up!"
The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the
schoolyard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away.
Three months later, Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the
mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of
them empty.
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And God Said "NO"
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 16:16:45 -0800
I asked God to take away my pride and God said "No."
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Explain God
Written by Danny Dutton, age 8, from Chula Vista, California, for
his third grade homework assignment to "Explain God."
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 15:34:21 -0800
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 besides 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, "OK."
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 hear you because
they got it worked out so one of them is on duty all the times.
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 very good 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.
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The Obstacle in Our Path
Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 11:41:21 -0800
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 lying 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.
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Two Nickels and Five Pennies
Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 11:41:21 -0800
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.
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Giving Blood
Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 11:41:21 -0800
Giving blood many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at
Stanford Hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liza who was
suffering from a disease and needed a blood transfusion from her
five-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 Liza."
As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and
smiled, as we all 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 her all his blood.
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A Story About the Woman in the Rain
Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 11:41:21 -0800
One night, at 11:30 pm, an older African-American woman was standing
on the side of a Alabama highway trying to endure a lashing rain
storm. 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 taxi cab. 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 combination console color TV and stereo record
player were delivered to his home. A special note was attached.
The note read:
Dear Mr. James,
Sincerely, Mrs. Nat King Cole.
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Say a Prayer
Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 11:41:21 -0800
I was taking my usual morning walk when a garbage truck pulled up
beside me. I thought the driver was going to ask for directions.
Instead, he showed me a picture of a cute little five-year-old boy.
"This is my grandson, Jeremiah," he said. "He's on a life-support
system at a Phoenix hospital." Thinking he would next ask for a
contribution to his hospital bills, I reached for my wallet. But he
wanted something more than money. He said, "I'm asking everybody I
can to say a prayer for him. Would you say one for him, please?"
I did. And my problems didn't seem like much that day.
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Pushing Against the Rock
Date: Mon, 16 Mar 1998 12:59:34 -0800
There was a man who was asleep one night in his cabin when suddenly
his room filled with light and the Savior appeared. The Lord told the
man He had a work for him to do, and showed him a large rock in front
of his cabin. The Lord explained that the man was to push against the
rock with all his might. This the man did, day after day.
For many years he toiled from sun up to sun down, his shoulders set
squarely against the cold, massive surface of the unmoving rock
pushing with all his might. Each night the man returned to his cabin
sore and worn out, feeling that his whole day had been spent in vain.
Seeing that the man was showing signs of discouragement, Satan
decided to enter the picture placing thoughts into the man's mind
such as: "You have been pushing against that rock for a long time
and it hasn't budged. Why kill yourself over this? You are never
going to move it? etc." Thus, giving the man the impression that
the task was impossible and that he was a failure.
These thoughts discouraged and disheartened the man even more. "Why
kill myself over this?" he thought. "I'll just put in my time, giving
just the minimum of effort and that will be good enough." And that
he planned to do until one day he decided to make it a matter of
prayer and take his troubled thoughts to the Lord. "Lord" he said,
"I have labored long and hard in your service, putting all my
strength to do that which you have asked. Yet, after all this time,
I have not even budged that rock a half a millimeter. What is wrong?
Why am I failing?"
To this the Lord responded compassionately, "My friend, when long
ago I asked you to serve me and you accepted, I told you that your
task was to push against the rock with all your strength, which you
have done.
Never once did I mention to you that I expected you to move it. Your
task was to push. And now, you come to me, your strength spent,
thinking that you have failed. But, is that really so? Look at
yourself. Your arms are strong and muscled, your back sinewed and
brown, your hands are callused from constant pressure, and your legs
have become massive and hard.
Through opposition you have grown much and your abilities now
surpass that which you used to have. Yet you haven't moved the
rock. But your calling was to be obedient and to push and to exercise
your faith and trust in My wisdom.
This you have done. I, my friend, will now move the rock."
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His Name is John
Author Unknown
His name is John. 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. Kinda 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 John decides to go there.
He walks in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt, and wild hair. The
service has already started and so John starts down the aisle looking
for a seat. The church is completely packed and he can't find a seat.
By now people are looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one says anything.
John 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 John. Now the
deacon is in his eighties, has silver-gray hair, a three-piece suit,
and a pocket watch. A godly man, very elegant, very dignified, very
courtly. He walks with a cane and as he starts walking toward this
boy, everyone is saying to themselves, "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 people
are thinking, "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 John 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."
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The Burden
Date: Thu, 26 Feb 1998 15:49:25 -0800
"Why was my burden so heavy?" I slammed the bedroom door and leaned against it.
"Is there no rest from this life?" I wondered. I stumbled to my bed and dropped
onto it, pressing my pillow around my ears to shut out the noise of my existence.
"Oh God," I cried, "let me sleep. Let me sleep forever and never wake up!"
With a deep sob I tried to will myself into oblivion, then welcomed the
blackness that came over me.
Light surrounded me as I regained consciousness. I focused on its source:
The figure of a man standing before a cross.
"My child," the person asked, "why did you want to come to Me before I am ready
to call you?"
"Lord, I'm sorry. It's just that ... I can't go on. You see how hard it is for
me. Look at this awful burden on my back. I simply can't carry it anymore."
"But haven't I told you to cast all of your burdens upon Me, because I care for
you? My yoke is easy, and My burden is light."
"I knew You would say that. But why does mine have to be so heavy?"
"My child, everyone in the world has a burden. Perhaps you would like to try a
different one?"
"I can do that?"
He pointed to several burdens lying at His feet. "You may try any of these."
All of them seemed to be of equal size. But each was labeled with a name.
"There's Joan's," I said. Joan was married to a wealthy businessman. She lived
in a sprawling estate and dressed her three daughters in the prettiest
designer clothes. Sometimes she drove me to church in her Cadillac when my
car was broken. "Let me try that one." How difficult could her burden be? I
thought.
The Lord removed my burden and placed Joan's on my shoulders. I sank to my
knees beneath its weight.
"Take it off!" I said. "What makes it so heavy?"
"Look inside."
I untied the straps and opened the top. Inside was a figure of her
Mother-in-law, and when I lifted it out, it began to speak. "Joan, you'll
never be good enough for my son," it began. "He never should have married
you. You're a terrible mother to my grandchildren..." I quickly placed the
figure back in the pack and withdrew another. It was Donna's, Joan's youngest
daughter. Her head was bandaged from the surgery that had failed to resolve
her epilepsy. A third figure was Joan's brother. Addicted to drugs, he had
been convicted of killing a police officer.
"I see why her burden is so heavy, Lord. But she's always smiling and helping
others. I didn't realize..."
"Would you like to try another?" He asked quietly.
I tested several. Paula's felt heavy: She was raising four small boys without
a father. Debra's did too: A childhood of sexual abuse and a marriage of
emotional abuse. When I Came to Ruth's burden, I didn't even try. I knew that
inside I would find arthritis, old age, a demanding full-time job, and a
beloved husband in a nursing home.
"They're all too heavy, Lord" I said. "Give back my own."
As I lifted the familiar load once again, It seemed much lighter than the
others.
"Let's look inside," He said.
I turned away, holding it close. "That's not a good idea," I said.
"Why?"
"There's a lot of junk in there."
"Let Me see."
The gentle thunder of His voice compelled me. I opened my burden. He pulled
out a brick. "Tell me about this one."
"Lord, You know. It's money. I know we don't suffer like people in some
countries or even the homeless here in America. But we have no insurance,
and when the kids get sick, we can't always take them to the doctor. They've
never been to a dentist. And I'm tired of dressing them in hand-me-downs."
"My child, I will supply all of your needs ... and your children's. I've
given them healthy bodies. I will teach them that expensive clothing doesn't
make a person valuable in My sight."
Then He lifted out the figure of a small boy. "And this?" He asked.
"Andrew..." I hung my head, ashamed to call my son a burden. "But, Lord, he's
hyperactive. He's not quiet like the other two. He makes me so tired. He's
always getting hurt, and someone is bound to think I abuse him. I yell at him
all the time. Someday I may really hurt him...."
"My child," He said, "If you trust Me, I will renew your strength, if you
allow Me to fill you with My Spirit, I will give you patience."
Then He took some pebbles from my burden.
"Yes, Lord," I said with a sigh. "Those are small. But they're important. I
hate my hair. It's thin, and I can't make it look nice. I can't afford to go
to the beauty shop. I'm overweight and can't stay on a diet. I hate all my
clothes. I hate the way I look!"
"My child, people look at your outward appearance, but I look at your heart.
By My Spirit, you can gain self-control to lose weight. But your beauty should
not come from outward appearance. Instead, it should come from your inner self,
the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in
My sight."
My burden now seemed lighter than before. "I guess I can handle it now," I
said.
"There is more," He said. "Hand Me that last brick."
"Oh, You don't have to take that. I can handle it."
"My child, give it to Me." Again His voice compelled me. He reached out His
hand, and for the first time I saw the ugly wound.
"But, Lord, this brick is so awful, so nasty, so ..... Lord! What happened to
your hands? They're so scarred!"
No longer focused on my burden, I looked for the first time into His face. In
His brow were ragged scars-as though someone had pressed thorns into His
flesh.
"Lord," I whispered. "What happened to You?"
His loving eyes reached into my soul.
"My child, you know. Hand Me the brick. It belongs to Me. I bought it."
"How?"
"With My blood."
"But why, Lord?"
"Because I have loved you with and everlasting love. Give it to Me."
I placed the filthy brick into His wounded palm. It contained all the dirt
and evil of my life: my pride, my selfishness, the depression that constantly
tormented me. He turned to the cross and hurled my brick into the pool of blood
at its base. It hardly made a ripple.
"Now, My child, you need to go back. I will be with you always. When you are
troubled, call to Me and I will help you and show you things you cannot
imagine now."
"Yes, Lord, I will call on You." I reached to pick up my burden.
"You may leave that here if you wish. You see all these burdens? They are the
ones that others have left at My feet. Joan's, Paula's, Debra's, Ruth's.....
When you leave your burden here, I carry it with you. Remember, My yoke is
easy and My burden is light."
As I placed my burden with Him, the light began to fade. Yet I heard Him
whisper, "I will never leave you, nor forsake you."
A peace flooded my soul.
(Matthew 11:28)
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An Object Lesson -- Teddy
Corus
Jean Thompson stood in front of her fifth-grade class on the very first day of
school in the fall and told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked
at her pupils and said that she loved them all the same, that she would treat
them all alike. And that was impossible because there in front of her, slumped
in his seat on the third row, was a little black boy named Teddy Stoddard.
Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed he didn't play well
with the other children, that his clothes were unkempt and that he constantly
needed a bath. And Teddy was unpleasant. It got to the point during the first
few months that she would actually take delight in marking his papers with a
broad red pen, making bold X's and then marking the F at the top of the paper
biggest of all. Because Teddy was a sullen little boy, no one else seemed to
enjoy him, either.
At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each
child's records and put Teddy's off until last. When she opened his file, she
was in for a surprise. His first-grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright,
inquisitive child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good
manners...he is a joy to be around." His second-grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is
an excellent student well-liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because
his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle." His
third-grade teacher wrote, "Teddy continues to work hard but his mother's
death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn't
show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't
taken." Teddy's fourth-grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't
show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and sometimes
sleeps in class. He is tardy and could become a problem."
By now Mrs.Thompson realized the problem, but Christmas was coming fast. It
was all she could do, with the school play and all, until the day before the
holidays began and she was suddenly forced to focus on Teddy Stoddard. Her
children brought her presents, all in beautiful ribbon and bright paper,
except for Teddy's, which was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper of
a scissored grocery bag. Mrs.Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of
the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a
rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was
one-quarter full of cologne. She stifled the children's laughter when she
exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the
perfume behind the other wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed behind just long enough
to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my mom used to." After
the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit
teaching reading, and writing, and speaking.
Instead, she began to teach children.
Jean Thompson paid particular attention to one they all called "Teddy." As she
worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him,
the faster he responded. On days there would be an important test, Mrs.
Thompson would remember that cologne. By the end of the year he had become one
of the smartest children in the class and ... well, he had also become the
"pet" of the teacher who had once vowed to love all of her children exactly the
same.
A year later she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that of
all the teachers he'd had in elementary school, she was his favorite. Six years
went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had
finished high school, third in his class, and she was still his favorite
teacher of all time. Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that
while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it,
and would graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs.
Thompson she was still his favorite teacher. Then four more years passed and
yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his
bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained
that she was still his favorite teacher but that now his name was a little
longer. The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.
The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet another letter that
Spring. Teddy said he'd met this girl and was to be married. He explained that
his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering ... well, if
Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the pew usually reserved for the mother
of the groom. And guess what, she wore that bracelet, the one with several
rhinestones missing. And I bet on that special day, Jean Thompson smelled just
like ... well, just like the way Teddy remembered his mother smelling on
their last Christmas together.
THE MORAL: You never can tell what type of impact you may make on another's
life by your actions or lack of action. Consider this fact in your Christian
walk.
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Fork in Hand.... The Very Best
Corus
The sound of Martha's voice on the other end of the telephone always brought a
smile to Brother Jim's face. She was not only one of the oldest members of the
congregation, but one of the most faithful. Aunt Martie, as all of the
children called her, just seemed to ooze faith, hope, and love wherever she
went. This time, however, there seemed to be an unusual tone to her words.
"Preacher, could you stop by this afternoon? I need to talk with you."
"Of course, I'll be there around three. Is that OK?"
It didn't take long for Jim to discover the reason for what he had only sensed
in her voice before. As they sat facing each other in the quiet of her small
living room. Martha shared the news that her doctor had just discovered a
previously undetected tumor.
"He says I probably have six months to live." Martha's words were naturally
serious, yet there was a definite calm about her. "I'm so sorry to ..." but
before Jim could finish, Martha interrupted. "Don't be. The Lord has been
good. I have lived a long life. I'm ready to go. You know that."
"I know," Jim whispered with a reassuring nod.
"But I do want to talk with you about my funeral. I have been thinking about
it, and there are things that I know I want."
The two talked quietly for a long time. They talked about Martha's favorite
hymns, the passages of Scripture that had meant so much to her through the
years, and the many memories they shared from the five years Jim had been with
Central Church. When it seemed that they had covered just about everything,
Aunt Martie paused, looked up at Jim with a twinkle in her eye, and then
added, "One more thing, preacher. When they bury me, I want my old Bible in
one hand and a fork in the other."
"A fork?" Jim was sure he had heard everything, but this caught him by
surprise. "Why do you want to be buried with a fork?"
"I have been thinking about all of the church dinners and banquets that I
attended through the years," she explained, "I couldn't begin to count them
all. But one thing sticks in my mind. At those really nice get-togethers, when
the meal was almost finished, a server or maybe the hostess would come by to
collect the dirty dishes. I can hear the words now. Sometimes, at the best
ones, somebody would lean over my shoulder and whisper, 'You can keep your
fork.' And do you know what that meant? Dessert was coming! It didn't mean a
cup of Jell-O or pudding or even a dish of ice cream. You don't need a fork
for that. It meant the good stuff, like chocolate cake or cherry pie! When
they told me I could keep my fork, I knew the best was yet to come! That's
exactly what I want people to talk about at my funeral. Oh, they can talk
about all the good times we had together. That would be nice.
"But when they walk by my casket and look at my pretty blue dress, I want them
to turn to one another and say, 'Why the fork?' That's what I want you to say,
I want you to tell them, that I kept my fork because the best is yet to come!"
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Valentine's Story
Date: Fri, 06 Feb 1998 11:23:09 -0800
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and
studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station.
He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl
with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a
Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not
with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The
soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind.
In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis
Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York
City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to
correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.
During the next year and one-month, the two grew to know each other through the
mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was
budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he
really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their
first meeting -- 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll
recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So
at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but
whose face he'd never seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman was coming toward
me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her
delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle
firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I
started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a
rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way,
sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and
then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A
woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more
than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the
green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so
keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman
whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray
eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the
small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This
would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even
better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even
though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm
Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could
meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is
about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went
by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to
ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in
the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!"
It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true
nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.
"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."
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The Name "Jehovah"
Date: Wed, 04 Feb 1998 14:55:10 -0800
Do you remember how Peter Barnes from the Thursday Bible Study taught us that
the name Jehovah doesn't exist in the Bible? Instead, the word JeHoVaH was
created by mixing the consonants of YHVH and the vowels of Adonai by a German
Scribe...
Anyway, this site has a good explanation about the Name of God, including the
explanation of JeHoVaH.
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Funny
Date: Fri, 30 Jan 1998 14:32:58 -0800
* Over the massive front doors of church, these words were inscribed:
"The Gate of Heaven." Below that was a small cardboard sign which read:
"Please use other entrance."
* Rev. Warren J. Keating, Pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Yuma AZ,
says that the best prayer he ever heard was: "Lord, please make me the kind of
person my dog thinks I am."
* A woman went to the Post Office to buy stamps for her Christmas cards.
"What Denomination?" Asked the clerk. "Oh, good heavens! Have we come to this?"
said the woman. "Well give me 50 Baptist and 50 Catholic ones."
* On a very cold, snowy Sunday in February, only the pastor and one farmer
arrived at the village church. The pastor said, "Well, I guess we won't have a
service today." The farmer replied: "Heck, if even only one cow shows up at
feeding time, I feed it."
* During a children's sermon, Rev. Larry Eisenberg asked the children what
"Amen" means. A little boy raised his hand and said: "It means tattoo-that's
all folks!' "
* A student was asked to list the 10 Commandments in any order. His answer?
"3, 6, 1, 8, 4, 5, 9, 2, 10, 7".
* I was at the beach with my children when my four-year-old son ran up to me,
grabbed my hand, and led me to the shore, where a sea gull lay dead in the
sand. "Mommy, what happened to him?" the little boy asked. "He died and went to
Heaven," I replied. My son thought a moment and then said, "And God threw him
back down?"
* Bill Keane, creator of the Family Circus cartoon strip tells of a time when
he was penciling one of his cartoons and his son Jeffy said, "Daddy, how do you
know what to draw?" I said, "God tells me." Jeffy said, "Then why do you keep
erasing parts of it?"
* After the church service, a little boy told the pastor: "When I grow up, I'm
going to give you some money." "Well, thank you," the pastor replied, "but
why?" "Because my daddy says you're one of the poorest preachers we've ever
had."
* My wife invited some people to dinner. At the table, she turned to our
six-year-old daughter and said, "Would you like to say the blessing?"
I wouldn't know what to say," she replied. "Just say what you hear Mommy say,"
my wife said. Our daughter bowed her head and said: "Dear Lord, why on earth
did I invite all these people to dinner?"
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A Touching Christmas Story
Date: Fri, 19 Dec 1997 12:00:12 -0800
"In 1994, two Americans answered an invitation from the Russian Department of
Education to teach morals and ethics (based on biblical principles) in the
public schools. They were invited to teach at prisons, businesses, the fire and
police departments and a large orphanage. About 100 boys and girls who had been
abandoned, abused, and left in the care of a government-run program were in the
orphanage. They relate the following story in their own words:
"It was nearing the holiday season, 1994, time for our orphans to hear --for
the first time-- the traditional story of Christmas. We told them about Mary
and Joseph arriving in Bethlehem. Finding no room in the inn, the couple went
to a stable, where the baby Jesus was born and placed in a manger.
Throughout the story, the children and orphanage staff sat in amazement as they
listened. Some sat on the edges of their stools, trying to grasp every word.
Completing the story, we gave the children three small pieces of cardboard to
make a crude manger. Each child was given a small paper square, cut from
yellow napkins I had brought with me. No colored paper was available in the
city. Following instructions, the children tore the paper and carefully laid
strips in the manger for straw. Small squares of flannel, cut from a worn-out
nightgown an American lady was throwing away as she left Russia, were used for
the baby's blanket. A doll-like baby was cut from tan felt we had brought from
the United States. The orphans were busy assembling their manger as I walked
among them to see if they needed any help.
All went well until I got to one table where little Misha sat -- he looked to
be about 6 years old and had finished his project. As I looked at the little
boy's manger, I was startled to see not one, but two babies in the manger.
Quickly, I called for the translator to ask the lad why there were two babies
in the manger. Crossing his arms in front of him and looking at his completed
manger scene, the child began to repeat the story very seriously. For such a
young boy, who had only heard the Christmas story once, he related the
happenings accurately--until he came to the part where Mary put the baby Jesus
in the manger.
Then Misha started to ad lib. He made up his own ending to the story as he
said, "And when Maria laid the baby in the manger, Jesus looked at me and asked
me if I had a place to stay. I told him I have no mamma and I have no papa, so
I don't have any place to stay. Then Jesus told me I could stay with him. But
I told him I couldn't, because I didn't have a gift to give him like everybody
else did.
"But I wanted to stay with Jesus so much, so I thought about what I had that
maybe I could use for a gift. I thought maybe if I kept him warm, that would be
a good gift. So I asked Jesus, "If I keep you warm, will that be a good enough
gift?"
"And Jesus told me, "If you keep me warm, that will be the best gift anybody
ever gave me." So I got into the manger, and then Jesus looked at me and he
told me I could stay with him---for always." "As little Misha finished his
story, his eyes brimmed full of tears that splashed down his little cheeks.
Putting his hand over his face, his head dropped to the table and his shoulders
shook as he sobbed and sobbed. The little orphan had found someone who would
never abandon nor abuse him, someone who would stay with him--FOR ALWAYS."
The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, shining ever
brighter till the full light of day. Pv. 4:18
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Wealthy Man
Date: Thu, 18 Dec 1997 12:23:36 -0800
Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son,
shared a passion for art collecting. Together they traveled around the world,
adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by
Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the family estate.
The widowed elder man looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an
experienced art collector. The son's trained eye and sharp business mind caused
his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world.
As winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve
his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His
beloved son was missing in action.
The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his
son again. Within days, his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while
rushing a fellow soldier to a medic.
Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with
anguish and sadness. The joy of the season - a season that he and his son had
so looked forward to-would visit his house no longer.
On Christmas morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he
walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that
his son was not coming home.
As he opened the door, he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his
hand. He introduced himself to the man by saying, "I was a friend of your son.
I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments?
I have something to show you." As the two began to talk, the solider told of
how the man's son had told everyone of his --not to mention his father's-- love
of fine art. "I'm an artist," said the soldier, "and I want to give you this."
As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait
of the man's son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a
genius, the painting featured the young man's face in striking detail.
Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the solider, promising to hang the
picture above the fireplace.
A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his
task. True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside
thousands of dollars of paintings. And then the man sat in his chair and spent
Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given.
During the days and weeks that followed, the man realized that even though his
son was no longer with him, the boy's life would live on because of those he
had touched. He would soon learn that his son had rescued dozens of wounded
soldiers before a bullet stilled his caring heart. As the stories of his son's
gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease
the grief. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far
eclipsing any interest in the pieces for which museums around the world clamored.
He told his neighbors it was the greatest gift he had ever received.
The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was
in anticipation. With the collector's passing, and his only son dead, those
paintings would be sold at an auction. According to the will of the old man,
all of the art works would be auctioned on Christmas day, the day he had
received his greatest gift.
The day soon arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid
on some of the world's most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled
this day; greatness would be achieved as many would claim, "I have the greatest
collection."
The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum's list. It was the
painting of the man's son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid. The room
was silent. "Who will open the bidding with $100?" he asked. Minutes passed.
No one spoke. From the back of the room came, "Who cares about that painting?
It's just a picture of his son. Let's forget it and go on to the good stuff."
More voices echoed in agreement.
"No, we have to sell this one first," replied the auctioneer. "Now, who will
take the son?" Finally, a friend of the old man spoke. "Will you take ten
dollars for the painting? That's all I have. I knew the boy, so I'd like to
have it."
"I have ten dollars. Will anyone go higher?" called the auctioneer. After more
silence, the auctioneer said, "Going once, going twice. Gone." The gavel fell.
Cheers filled the room and someone exclaimed, "Now we can get on with it and we
can bid on these treasures!"
The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced the auction was over.
Stunned disbelief quieted the room. Someone spoke up and asked, "What do you
mean it's over? We didn't come here for a picture of some old guy's son. What
about all of these paintings? There are millions of dollars of art here! I
demand that you explain what's going on here!"
The auctioneer replied, "It's very simple. According to the will of the father,
whoever takes the son..gets it all."
Puts things into perspective, doesn't it? Just as those art collectors
discovered on that Christmas day, the message is still the same --the love of a
Father-- a Father whose greatest joy came from his son who went away and gave
his life rescuing others. And because of that Father's love ... whoever takes
the Son, gets it all.
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The Story of the Candy Cane
from the sermon: "The Christ of Christmas"
There was a time, during the latter part of the 18th century in England, when
all religious symbols were banned from display. No longer could Christian
brothers and sisters recognize one another in public by the crosses they wore
on their clothing, or as jewelry.
During this time, it is told, there was a dedicated Christian candy maker who
set out to find some way for members of the Christian family to identify each
other, in spite of the ban. He began with a piece of pure white candy to
signify the purity and holiness of Jesus Christ. Next, he fashioned the candy
into the shape of a shepherd's staff as a reminder that our Heavenly Father is
the Good Shepherd. Then he placed three small red stripes around the candy to
represent the encompassing power and presence of the Trinity--the Father, the
Son, and the Holy Spirit. Finally, he placed a single, bold red stripe through
the candy to demonstrate the redeeming power of the blood that Christ shed upon
the Cross for each of us, and the forgiveness of our sins.
I hope and pray that each time you see a candy cane during the holiday season,
you will be reminded of the love God has for you, and the price Christ paid for
your salvation. And, I hope that you will use this story of the candy cane to
tell others what Christ has done in your life. Doesn't it seem strange that
something we often see as unimportant and insignificant can be turned into
something so vibrant, so important, simply by knowing the story of its origin?
And yet, the real MIRACLE is that God can take each of us, no matter how
unimportant or insignificant we may feel, and through His work, turn us into
something of incredible worth, value, and significance!!
A few years ago a slogan appeared saying "put Christ back into Christmas." In
response, many rejected the word X-Mas, feeling that it was a way of removing
Christ. This was much to the chagrin of theologians as "X" is a long honored
and sacred symbol for Jesus Christ. Without explanation, the meaning gets lost.
Let us explain Christmas so the meaning is not lost.
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Struggles in Our Lives
Date: Tue, 16 Dec 1997 8:34
A man found a cocoon of an emperor moth. He took it home so that he could
watch the moth come out of the cocoon. On the day a small opening appeared, he
sat and watched the moth for several hours as the moth struggled to force its
body through that little hole. Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It
appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and it could go no farther.
It just seemed to be stuck. Then the man, in his kindness, decided to help the
moth, so he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the
cocoon. The moth then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small,
shriveled wings. The man continued to watch the moth because he expected that,
at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the
body, which would contract in time. Neither happened! In fact, the little moth
spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled
wings. It never was able to fly.
What the man in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the
restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the moth to get through the
tiny opening were God's way of forcing fluid from the body of the moth into its
wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from
the cocoon. Freedom and flight would only come after the struggle. By depriving
the moth of a struggle, he deprived the moth of health.
Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life. If God allowed us to
go through our life without any obstacles, He would cripple us. We would not be
as strong as what we could have been.
How true this is! How many times have we wanted to take the quick way out of
struggles and difficulties, to take those scissors and snip off the remaining
bits in an attempt to be free? We need to remember that our loving Father will
never give us more than we can bear and through our trials and struggles we are
strengthened as gold is refined in the fire.
"May we never let the things we can't have, or don't have, or shouldn't have,
spoil our enjoyment of the things we do have and can have?" Don't focus on the
things you DON'T have, enjoy each moment of every day God has given you.
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Ice Cream
Date: Mon, 08 Dec 1997 08:33:52 -0800
Last week I took my children to a restaurant. My 6 year old 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. With liberty and justice for all. Amen."
Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby, I heard a woman
remark, "That's what wrong with this country. Kids don't even know how to
pray. Asking God for ice cream! Why I never!!" Hearing this, my son burst into
tears. "Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?" As I held him and assured him
that he had done nothing wrong and that God wasn't mad at him, an elderly
gentleman approached the table. He winked at my son and said, "I happen to
know that God thought that it was a great prayer." "Really?" my son asked.
"Cross my heart." Then, in a theatrical whisper he added (indicating the woman
whose remark started all of this), "Too bad she never asked God for ice
cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."
Naturally, after dinner, I bought my son some ice cream. My son stared at it
for a moment and then did something that I will remember for 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 already good."
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Abraham Lincoln's 1863 Thanksgiving Proclamation
Both the North and South maintained the
tradition of independent state Thanksgivings into the Civil War
period. The Confederate Congress declared a Sunday thanksgiving
service for July 28, 1861 after their victory at Bull Run, and
another for Thursday, September 18, 1862, for the Second Battle
at Bull Run. The first national Thanksgiving holiday to
be declared by the U.S. government since 1815 occurred in 1862
when President Lincoln declared a Thanksgiving holiday for
Sunday, April 13, following the Union victory at Shiloh. Lincoln
declared another national Thanksgiving for August 6, 1863, in
recognition of the victory at Gettysburg.
On October 3, 1863, President Lincoln
declared a second national Thanksgiving that year for the last
Thursday in November which followed the Yankee practice of a
general November holiday giving thanks for "general
causes" rather than "special providences" such as
wartime victories. This Thanksgiving became the first in the
unbroken series of our modern holiday tradition. Lincoln declared
a national Thanksgiving for the last Thursday in November, 1864.
Andrew Johnson followed with a Thanksgiving on December 7, 1865
(celebrating the Union victory), and each President since then
has declared an annual national Thanksgiving.
It might also be noted that none of the presidential
declarations of Thansgiving mention the Plymouth Pilgrims or the
"First Thanksgiving" until Herbert Hoover's
proclamation of 1931 (with the possible exception of Roosevelt's
1905 mention of the colonial custom).
Lincoln's November 1863 Thanksgiving Proclamation The year that is drawing toward its
close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields
and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so
constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source
from which they come, others have been added which are of so
extraordinary a nature that they can not fail to penetrate
and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to
the ever-watchful providence of Almighty God.
In the midst of a civil war of
unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed
to foreign states to invite and to provoke their aggression,
peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been
maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and
harmony has prevailed everywhere, except in the theater of
military conflict, while that theater has been greatly
contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union.
Needful diversions of wealth and of
strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national
defense have not arrested the plow, the shuttle, or the ship;
the ax has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the
mines, as well as the iron and coal as of our precious
metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore.
Population has steadily increased notwithstanding the waste
that has been made in the camp, the siege, and the
battlefield, and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness
of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect
continuance of years with large increase of freedom.
No human counsel hath devised nor
hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are
the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing
with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered
mercy.
It has seemed to me fit and proper
that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully
acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole
American people. I do therefore invite my fellow-citizens in
every part of the United States, and also those who are in
foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of
November next as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our
beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens. And I
recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions
justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and
blessings they do also, with humble penitence for our
national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender
care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners, or
sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are
unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the imposition of
the Almighty hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to
restore it, as soon as may be consistent with the divine
purpose, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony,
tranquillity, and union.
In testimony whereof I have hereunto
set my hand and caused the seal of the United States to be
affixed.
Done at the city of Washington, this
3d day of October, A. D. 1863, and of the Independence of the
United States the eighty-eighth.
Abraham Lincoln
By the President: |
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Our Master's Rose Garden
Date: Mon, 24 Nov 1997 13:20:56 -0800
"The Master Gardener, from heaven above
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Emergency Phone Numbers
Date: Sat, 22 Nov 1997 10:13:46 -0700
For a great invention/opportunity, call Isaiah 55
IMPORTANT EMERGENCY INFORMATION:
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Pastor Search Committee Report
Date: Thu, 13 Nov 1997 09:27:48 -0800
In our search for a suitable pastor, the following scratch sheet was developed
for your perusal. Of the candidates investigated by the committee, only one was
found to have the necessary qualities. The list contains the names of the
candidates and comments on each, should you be interested in investigating them
further for future pastoral placements.
Noah: He has 120 years of preaching experience, but no converts.
Moses: He stutters; and his former congregation says he loses his temper over
trivial things.
Abraham: He took off to Egypt during hard times. We heard that he got into
trouble with the authorities and then tried to lie his way out.
David: He is an unacceptable moral character. He might have been considered for
minister of music had he not 'fallen.'
Solomon: He has a reputation for wisdom but fails to practice what he preaches.
Elijah: He proved to be inconsistent, and is known to fold under pressure.
Hosea: His family life is in a shambles. Divorced, and remarried to a
prostitute.
Jeremiah: He is too emotional, alarmist; some say a real 'pain in the neck.'
Amos: Comes from a farming background. Better off picking figs.
John: He says he is a Baptist but lacks tact and dresses like a hippie. Would
not feel comfortable at a church potluck supper.
Peter: Has a bad temper, and was heard to have even denied Christ publicly.
Paul: We found him to lack tact. He is too harsh, his appearance is
contemptible, and he preaches far too long.
Timothy: He has potential, but is much too young for the position.
Jesus: He tends to offend church members with his preaching, especially Bible
scholars. He is also too controversial. He even offended the search committee
with his pointed questions.
Judas: He seemed to be very practical, co-operative, good with money, cares for
the poor, and dresses well. We all agreed that he is just the man we are
looking for to fill the vacancy as our Senior Pastor.
Thank you for all you have done in assisting us with our pastoral search.
Sincerely,
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What Happens When You Pray
Author Unknown
Our Father who art in Heaven....
Yes?
Don't interrupt me. I'm praying....
But you called Me.
Called you? I didn't call you. I'm praying. Our Father who art in Heaven...
There, you did it again.
Did what?
Called Me. You said, "Our Father who art in Heaven..." Here I am. What's on
your mind?"
But I didn't mean anything by it. I was, you know, just saying my prayers for
the day. I always say the Lord's Prayer. It makes me feel good, kind of like
getting my duty done.
All right. Go on.
Hallowed be Thy name.
Hold it. What do you mean by that?
By what?
By "Hallowed be Thy name."
It means....it means....good grief, I don't know what it means. How should I
know? It's just part of the prayer. By the way, what does it mean?
It means "honored," "Holy," "Wonderful."
Hey, that makes sense. I never thought about what "Hallowed" meant before. Thy
Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.
Do you really mean that?
Sure, why not?
What are you going to do about it?
Do? Nothing, I guess. I just think it would be neat if You got control of
everything down here like You have up there.
Have I got control of you?
Well, I go to church.
That isn't what I asked you. What about that habit of lust you have? And your
bad temper? You've really got a problem there, you know. And then there's the
way you spend your money...... all on yourself. And what about the kinds of
books you read?
Stop picking on me! I'm just as good as some of the rest of those phonies at
the church.
Excuse me.... I thought you were praying for My will to be done. If that is to
happen, it will have to start with the ones who are praying for it. Like you,
for example.
Oh, all right! I guess I do have some hang-ups. Now that You mention it, I
could probably name some others.
So could I.
I haven't thought about it until now, but I really would like to cut out some
of those things. I'd like to, you know, be really free.
Good, now we're getting somewhere. We'll work together.... you and I, some
victories can truly be won. I love you, you know.
Look Lord, I need to finish up here. This is taking a lot longer than it
usually does.... Give us this day our daily bread.
You need to cut down on the bread, too... You're overweight as it is.
Hey, wait a minute! What is this, "Criticize Me Day?" Here I was doing my
religious duty, and all of a sudden you break in and remind me of all my
hang-ups.
Praying is a dangerous thing. You could wind up changed, you know. That's what
I'm trying to get across to you. You called Me, and here I am. It's too late to
stop now. Keep on praying. I'm interested in the next part of your prayer...
Well, go on.
I'm scared to.
Scared? Of what?
I know what you'll say.
Try Me and see.
Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.
What about Mary?
See I knew it! I knew You would bring her up! Why she's told lies about me,
cheated me out of money... She never paid back that debt she owes me. I've
sworn to get even.
But your prayer...... What about your prayer?
I didn't mean it.
Well, at least you're honest. But it's not much fun carrying the load of
bitterness around inside, is it?
No, but I'll feel better as soon as I get even. Boy, have I made some plans for
ol' Mary! She'll wish she never did me any harm.
You won't feel any better. You'll feel worse. Revenge isn't sweet. Think of
how unhappy you are already. But I can change all that.
You can? How?
Forgive Mary. Then I'll forgive you. Then the hate and sin will be Mary's
problem and not yours... You may lose the money, but you will have settled your
heart.
But Lord, I can't forgive Mary.
Then I can't forgive you.
Oh, You're right! You always are. And more than I want revenge on Mary, I want
to be right with You... All right! I forgive her. Help her to find the right
road in life, Lord. She's bound to be awfully miserable, now that I think about
it. Some way, some how, show her the right way.
There now! How do you feel?
Hmmm.... not bad. Not bad at all, in fact I feel pretty great. You know, I
don't think I'll have to go to bed uptight tonight for the first time since I
can't remember. Maybe I won't be so tired from now on because I'm not getting
enough rest.
You're not through with your prayer..... Go on.
Oh, all right..... And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
Good...good. I'll do that. Just don't put yourself in a place where you can be
tempted.
What do You mean by that?
Quit hanging around the wrong places, watching inappropriate movies and
television, listening to sinful conversations; hanging around the places where
Playboy and Playgirl are sold. Change some of your friendships. Some of your
so-called friends are beginning to get to you. They'll have you completely
involved in wrong things before long, don't be fooled. They advertise they're
having fun, but for you it would be ruin. Don't use Me for an escape hatch.
I don't understand.
Sure you do, you've done it..... lots of times. You get caught in a bad
situation, you get into trouble, and then you come running to Me. "Lord, help
me out of this mess, and I promise you I'll never do it again." You remember
some of those bargains you tried to make with me?
Yes, and I'm ashamed Lord. I really am.
Which bargains are you remembering?
Well, when the woman next door saw me backing away from the neighborhood
bar.... I'd told my husband I was going to the store.... I remember telling
you, "Lord don't let her tell my husband where I've been. I promise I'll be in
church every Sunday."
She didn't tell your husband, but you didn't keep your promise, did you?
I'm sorry Lord, I really am. Up until now I thought if I just prayed the Lord's
prayer everyday, then I could do what I liked. I didn't expect anything to
happen like it did.
Go ahead. Finish your prayer.
Oh yes.... For Thine is the kingdom and the power, and the glory forever and
ever. Amen.
Do you know what would bring Me glory? What would make Me really happy?
No, but I'd like to know. I want to please You. I can see what a mess I've made
out of my life, and I can see how great it would be to really be one of Your
followers.
You just answered the question.
I did?
Yes, the one thing that would bring Me glory is to have people like you truly
love Me. And I can see that happening between us. Now that some of these old
sins are exposed and out of the way.... well, there's no telling what we can do
together.
Lord, let's see what we can make of me, OK?
Yes, let's see......
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The Bible
Author Unknown
This book contains the mind of God, the state of man, the way of salvation, the
doom of sinners, and the happiness of believers. Its doctrines are holy, its
precepts are binding, its histories are true, and its decisions are immutable.
Read it to be wise, believe it to be safe, and practice it to be holy. It
contains light to direct you, food to support you, and comfort to cheer you.
It is the traveler's map, the pilgrim's staff, the pilot's compass, the
soldier's sword, and the Christian's charter. Here paradise is restored, heaven
opened, and the gates of hell disclosed. Christ is it's grand object, our good
its design, and the glory of God its end. It should fill the memory, rule the
heart, and guide the feet. Read it slowly, frequently, and prayerfully. It is a
mine of wealth, a paradise of glory, and a river of pleasure. It is given to
you in life, will be opened in the judgement, and be remembered forever. It
involves the highest responsibility, will reward the greatest labor, and will
condemn all who trifle with its sacred contents.
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A Case of Mistaken Identity
Date: Mon, 20 Oct 1997 12:00:16 -0700
Little River Community Church was located just down the street from First
Memorial Church. Since they were located on the same street in the same town,
the two youth groups from the two churches were often competing with each
other. They participated in the same softball league, the same basketball
league, and had become intense rivals. Little River Community was always trying
to outdo First Memorial and vice versa.
One Sunday, following a Bible study on serving others, the youth group at
Little River Community Church decided to go out into their community and put
their faith into action. The youth pastor organized the kids into "ministry
teams" and challenged them go out and to serve others. They could do
anything--but they needed to remember: "Do what Jesus would do."
So the youth group from Little River Community Church fanned out into the
neighborhood and starting serving. One group washed cars for people up and down
the street. Another group pumped gas for free at a self-service gas station.
Another group went to a convalescent home and sang songs to the shut-ins who
lived there.
After the time was up, all the ministry teams returned to the church and
reported what they had done. Each group had stories to tell, as they shared
what they learned and how it made them feel.
One of the groups told of how they had gone to serve a woman who lived close to
First Memorial Church. When First Memorial, their rival, was mentioned,
everyone groaned. "We mowed grass, raked leaves and did yard work for her,"
said one of the students. "She was real nice. And after we were through, she
invited us in and prayed for us. And then she said, 'You young people from
First Memorial Church are always doing such nice things for us old folks.'"
"Oh no!" said the youth pastor. "She thought you were from First Memorial?
Well I hope you set her straight. Did you tell her that you weren't from First
Memorial but from Little River Community?"
"Well...no we didn't," said the student, surprised by the youth pastor's
question. "You told us to do what Jesus would do, didn't you? We decided that
Jesus would just keep his mouth shut."
This true story (the names have been changed) is remarkable because most of us
would probably have been quick to let the woman know she was wrong to credit
someone else for the work we had done. But the way of Jesus is not concerned
with who gets the credit. In fact, the way of Jesus is to actually rejoice in
the good fortune of others. It is to put others first, ourselves last.
When we serve, we should not be concerned with getting credit for it, but with
glorifying God. He is the one who should receive praise and thanks. The object
of service is not to make ourselves look good, but to direct people's attention
to God.
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What Matters Most...
Written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosia
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, but 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 him and said, "If you say
one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"
It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck 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 years 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
instructions in the "new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he
had in the 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 the 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 light lull in
the conversation. Mother gave Dad a side-ways 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 had 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 this 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 purpose of this letter, is to encourage everyone to compliment the people
you love and care about. We often tend to forget the importance of showing our
affections and love. Sometimes the smallest of things, could mean the most to
another.
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The Visitor
By: John Grant
Ruth looked at the envelope again. There was no stamp, no postmark, only her
name and address. She read the letter one more time...
Dear Ruth,
I'm going to be in your neighborhood Saturday afternoon and I'd like to stop by
for a visit.
Love Always,
Her hands were shaking as she placed the letter on the table. "Why would the
Lord want to visit me? I'm nobody special. I don't have anything to offer."
With that thought, Ruth remembered her empty kitchen cabinets. "Oh my goodness,
I really don't have anything to offer. I'll have to run down to the store and
buy something for dinner."
She reached for her purse and counted out its contents. Five dollars and forty
cents. "Well, I can get some bread and cold cuts, at least." She threw on her
coat and hurried out the door.
A loaf of french bread, a half-pound of sliced turkey, and a carton of
milk...leaving Ruth with a grand total of twelve cents to last her until Monday.
Nonetheless, she felt satisfied as she headed home, her meager offerings tucked
under her arm.
"Hey lady, can you help us, lady?" Ruth had been so absorbed in her dinner
plans, she hadn't even noticed two figures huddled in the alleyway. A man and
a woman, both of them dressed in little more than rags.
"Look lady, I ain't got a job, ya know, and my wife and I have been living out
here on the street, and, well, now it's getting cold and we're getting kinda
hungry and, well, if you could help us, lady, we'd really appreciate it."
Ruth looked at them both. They were dirty, they smelled bad and, frankly, she
was certain that they could get some kind of work if they really wanted to.
"Sir, I'd like to help you, but I'm a poor woman myself. All I have is a few
cold cuts and some bread, and I'm having an important guest for dinner tonight
and I was planning on serving that to Him."
"Yeah, well, OK lady, I understand. Thanks anyway." The man put his arm around
the woman's shoulders, turned and headed back into the alley.
As she watched them leave, Ruth felt a familiar twinge in her heart.
"Sir, wait!" The couple stopped and turned as she ran down the alley after
them. "Look, why don't you take this food. I'll figure out something else to
serve my guest." She handed the man her grocery bag.
"Thank you lady. Thank you very much!" "Yes, thank you!" It was the man's wife,
and Ruth could see now that she was shivering.
"You know, I've got another coat at home. Here, why don't you take this one."
Ruth unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it over the woman's shoulders.
Then smiling, she turned and walked back to the street...without her coat and
with nothing to serve her guest. "Thank you lady! Thank you very much!"
Ruth was chilled by the time she reached her front door, and worried too. The
Lord was coming to visit and she didn't have anything to offer Him.
She fumbled through her purse for the door key. But as she did, she noticed
another envelope in her mailbox. "That's odd. The mailman doesn't usually come
twice in one day." She took the envelope out of the box and opened it.
Dear Ruth,
It was so good to see you again. Thank you for the lovely meal. And thank you
too, for the beautiful coat.
Love Always,
The air was still cold, but even without her coat, Ruth no longer noticed.
"....I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these
brothers of mine, you did for me." -Matthew 25:40
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Gambling vs. Investing
Date: Mon, 15 Sep 1997 15:47:28 -0700
"Good Stewardship" is the main issue, followed by the ease of getting "hooked"
into gambling. Any activity that takes our focus and energy away from God's
priorities is wrong, whether it be drugs, alcohol, sports, gambling, or even
"work."
On a related issue that I studied a few years ago, it's interesting to note the
difference between a "gamble" and an "investment." Some investments are just
as risky as playing blackjack and can be just as financial devastating, or even
worse.
So, why would "investing" be ok with God, and gambling isn't? (In fact, in the
parable of the men with one, five, and ten talents, the man with one talent
lost everything because he DIDN'T invest).
A fundamental characteristic that might be used to differentiate between
gambling and investing is that with gambling someone has to lose in order that
someone else can win. It's essentially a "zero sum" transaction. With
investments it is possible (and hopeful) that everyone will increase their
investment value. This gets complicated when you consider investments like
puts&call options (which is really more like a bet than an investment), but it
might help as a differentiating measure.
Of course, you can get as "hooked" on investing in various things (stocks,
options, real estate, chinchilla farms, etc.) to where this is even wrong in
Him. Several years ago I spent a LOT of my free time watching stocks in order
to invest heavily in puts and call options. I did well with the investments,
but God spoke to me in prayer and told me I was giving too much of my time and
emotion into these efforts for worldly gain, so I backed off. That doesn't mean
that this is wrong for anybody else, it was just a "personal lesson" that I had
to learn from God.
So, may we all be good stewards of the resources He gives us (our money, time,
love, etc.) and invest them wisely!
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Did Jesus Use a Modem at the Sermon on the Mount?
Contributed by Ellis Bush
Did Jesus use a modem,
Did Paul use a Laptop,
Did Moses use a joystick,
Did Jesus really die for us,
Have the wonders of this modern age,
If in your life, the voice of God,
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A Love Letter from God
Date: Fri, 29 Aug 1997 09:57:24 -0700
Thought everyone would enjoy this! It will definitely make you happy! A friend
in Florida received it from a pastor who used all Bible verses to put it
together.
You are my "beloved" and on you my favor rests. I have called you by name, from
the very beginning. All of the days ordained for you were written in my book
before one of them came to be. I have created your inmost being and knitted you
together in your mother's womb. My eyes saw your unformed body. Long before any
human-being saw you, my loving eyes saw you. Long before any person spoke to
you in this world, I spoke to you with my voice of eternal love. You are mine
and I am yours. You are unique and very special. You are precious to me. You
have great worth because I have created you. I am your Father and you belong to
me. You know me as your own and I know you as my own. Nothing will ever
separate us. We are one.
I know you completely. I have carved you in the palms of my hands and hidden
you in the shadow of my embrace. I have counted every hair on your head. If you
were to count the times I think of you, they would outnumber the grains of
sand. I look at you with infinite tenderness. I care for you with a care more
intimate than that of a mother for her child.
I am your Good Shepherd. I love to embrace you and carry you as my lamb close
to my heart. I will provide for your needs. I will give you spiritual food that
will satisfy all your hunger and drink that will quench all your thirst.
Wherever you go, I go with you. Wherever you rest, I keep watch. I have
commanded my angels concerning you to guard you in all of your ways. I will be
your hiding place, your safe place. I go before you and will be with you. I hem
you in behind and before; I have laid my hand upon you. I uphold you with my
righteous and victorious right hand. No one can snatch you out of my hand. I am
your refuge and your strength, an ever-present help in times of trouble. I will
bind up your wounds and heal your hurts. I will turn your darkness into light
before you and guide you at every step. I will make the rough places smooth.
Do not fear, for I am your peace.
I am always with you. I am the best friend you can ever have. I will always
stand by you no matter what. I will not hide my face from you. Even though the
world may reject you, I will never forsake you. I do not look at the things
the world looks at. The world looks at the outward appearance, but I look at
your heart. I have plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you
hope and a future. When you call upon me and pray to me, I will listen to you.
I will fulfill my purpose for you. I came that you may have life to the
fullest. I believe in you. I began a good work in you and will carry it to
completion. I am faithful to my promises and I remember my covenant forever.
I have shown my love for you. I have loved you with an everlasting love. I have
drawn you with loving kindness. I, God your Father, have loved you so much that
I gave my one and only Son, that if you believe in Him, you will not perish.
We can be together for all eternity in paradise. I did not send my Son into the
world to condemn you, but to save you through Him. I long to be gracious to
you. I wait on high to have compassion for you. If you receive me and believe
in my name, I give you the right to become my child. Jesus laid his life down
for you on the cross so you can have life in our presence forever. If you hear
my message and believe me, you have eternal life and will not be condemned; you
have crossed over from death to life. I am the WAY, the TRUTH, and the LIFE.
As you draw near to me, I will draw near to you. Be quiet and still, listen, and
know that I am God and that you will always be my "beloved".
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Let Your Light Shine
Author: Henry Matthew Ward
When I got mad and hit my child
When interrupted by the phone
I told the tax man what I made
I smugly copied a cassette
Today I cursed another race
And now I know that this dear youth
I clasp within a warm embrace
Some day my child must face alone
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Footprints
Date: Mon, 21 Jul 1997 13:51:28 -0700
One night a man had a dream....
He dreamt he was walking along the beach with God. Across the gorgeous sky
flashed scenes from his life. For each scene he noticed two sets of footprints
in the sand; one belonging to him, one belonging to God.
When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the
footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life
there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that this happened at the
very lowest, saddest times in his life.
This really bothered him and he asked God about it. "Lord, you said that once I
decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way. But I've noticed that
during the most painful, troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of
footprints. Lord, I don't understand why you would leave me when I needed you
most."
God smiled and replied "My child, I love you and would never leave you. During
your times of pain and suffering when you see only one set of footprints, it
was then that I carried you."
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The Choice
Author: Max Lucado
It's quiet. It's early. My coffee is hot. The sky is still black.
The world is asleep. The day is coming. In a few moments the day will arrive.
It will roar down the track with the rising of the sun. The stillness of the
dawn will be exchanged for the noise of the day. The calm of solitude will be
replaced by the pounding pace of the human race. The refuge of the early
morning will be invaded by decisions to be made and deadlines to be met.
For the next twelve hours I will be exposed to the day's demands. It is now
that I must make a choice. Because of Calvary, I am free to choose.
I choose love. . .
I choose joy. . .
I choose peace. . .
I choose patience. . .
I choose kindness. . .
I choose goodness. . .
I choose faithfulness. . .
I choose gentleness. . .
I choose self-control. . .
Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and
self-control. To these I commit my day. If I succeed, I will give thanks. If I
fail, I will seek His grace. And then, when this day is done, I will place my
head on my pillow and rest.
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Heaven's Grocery Store!
Date: Mon, 21 Apr 1997 06:03:17 -0700
I was walking down life's highway,
I saw a whole host of Angels,
First, I got some Understanding,
I stopped to get some Strength and Courage
I headed for the counter
Peace and Joy were plentiful,
Again, I smiled at her and said,
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A Sandpiper to Bring You Joy
by Mary Sherman Hilbert
Several years ago, a neighbor related to me an experience that
happened to her one winter on a beach in Washington State. The incident
stuck in my mind and I took note of what she said. Later, at a writers'
conference, the conversation came back to me and I felt I had to set it
down. Here is her story, as haunting to me now as when I first heard it:
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I
live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles,
whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sand
castle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
"Hello," she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to
bother with a small child.
"I'm building," She said.
"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not caring.
"Oh, I don't know. I just like the feel of the sand."
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper
glided by.
"That's a joy," the child said.
"It's what?"
"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."
The bird went glissading down the beach. "Good-bye joy," I muttered
to myself, "hello pain," and turned to walk on. I was depressed; my
life seemed completely out of balance.
"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.
"Ruth," I answered. "I'm Ruth Patterson."
"Mine's Windy." It sounded like Windy. "And I'm six."
"Hi, Windy."
She giggled. "You're funny," she said. In spite of my gloom I laughed
too and walked on.
Her musical giggle followed me. "Come again, Mrs. P," she called.
"We'll have another happy day."
The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of
unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, an ailing mother.
The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwasher.
"I need a sandpiper," I said to myself, gathering up my coat.
The never-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was
chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared.
"Hello Mrs. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
"I don't know. You say."
"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.
The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."
"Then let's just walk." Looking at her, I noticed the delicate
fairness of her face.
"Where do you live?" I asked.
"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages. Strange,
I thought, in winter.
"Where do you go to school?"
"I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation." She chattered
little-girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other
things. When I left for home, Windy said it had been a happy day.
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to the beach in a state of near panic. I
was in no mood even to greet Windy. I thought I saw her mother on the
porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.
"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Windy caught up with me,
"I'd rather be alone today." She seemed unusually pale and out of
breath.
"Why?" she asked.
I turned on her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought,
my God, why was I saying this to a little child?
"Did it hurt?"
"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.
"When she died?"
"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in
myself. I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't
there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her,
I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A
drawn-looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.
"Hello," I said. "I'm Ruth Patterson. I missed your little girl today
and wondered where she was."
"Oh yes, Mrs. Patterson, please come in."
"Wendy talked of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you.
If she was a nuisance, please accept my apologies."
"Not at all, she's a delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing
that I meant it. "Where is she?"
"Wendy died last week, Mrs. Patterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she
didn't tell you."
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. My breath caught. "She loved this
beach; so when asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much
better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last
few weeks she declined rapidly?" Her voice faltered.
"She left something for you... if only I can find it. Could you wait
a moment while I find it?"
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to
this lovely young woman.
She handed me a smeared envelope, with MRS. P printed in bold,
childish letters.
Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach, a blue
sea, a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten how to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I muttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words -- one for each year of her life -- that speak to me of inner harmony, courage, undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand -- who taught me the gift of love. |
