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Words that moved us...
AND ON THE 8TH DAY, GOD CREATED THE MILITARY SPOUSE
Author unknown to webmaster
**I have to give an intro for this one. This particular story was submitted to me by over 10 visitors, and it was requested by 23 individuals who visited the site. So…for all of you who wanted to see it and all of you who asked me to post it…here it is**
When the good Lord was creating military spouses, He was into His sixth day of overtime. An angel appeared and said, "You're having a lot of trouble on this one. What's wrong with the standard model?" The Lord replied,"Have you seen the regulations? It has to be completely independent, must be sponsored to get on base, have the qualities of both mother and father during deployments; Be a perfect hostess to four or 40, handle emergencies without military orders, cope with the flu and move around the world, have a kiss that cures anything from a child's torn valentine to a soldier's weary day, have the patience of a saint when waiting for the unit to return stateside, and have six pairs of soft hands." The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands? No way!" And the Lord answered, "Don't worry. We'll make other military spouses to help. Besides, it's not the hands that are causing the problem-it's the heart. "It must swell with pride, sustain the ache of separation, beat soundly when it's too tired to do so, be large enough to say 'I understand' when it doesn't, and say 'I love you', regardless." "Lord," said the angel, touching His sleeve gently, "go to bed. You can finish that tomorrow." "I can't," said the Lord. "I"m so close to creating something unique Already, I have one who can heal itself when sick, feed unexpected guests who are stuck in the area due to bad weather, and wave goodbye to its spouse from a pier or runway and understand it's important to the country that the spouse leave." The angel circled the model of the military spouse very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed. "But tough," the Lord said excitedly. "You cannot imagine what this being can do or endure!" "Can it think?" the angel asked. "Can it think? It can convert 1400 to 2 p.m.!" the Lord said. Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek. "There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model." "It's not a leak," said the Lord. "It's a tear." "What's it for?" asked the angel. "It's for joy, sadness, pain, loneliness, and pride," the Lord said. "You're a genius," said the angel.
The Lord looked somber and said, "I didn't put it there."
TWO BABES IN A MANGER
Author unknown by webmaster
Submitted 12/31/98 by John Lockyear – My darling husband asked me to post this. I can’t refuse him. *smile*
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, 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 this 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. I've learned that it's not what you have in your life, but who you have in your life that counts.
"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."
I Thessalonians, 5:16-18
TINY AND THE OAK TREEBy Dr. Dennis K. McIntosh - from Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover's Soul
Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Marty Becker and Carol Kline
He was scary-looking. Standing about 6 foot 6 inches tall, he had shoulders the width of my dining room table. His hair hung to his shoulders, a full beard obscured half of his face; his massive arms and chest were covered with tattoos. He was wearing greasy blue jeans and a jean jacket with the sleeves cut out. Chains clanked on his motorcycle boots and on the key ring hanging from his wide leather belt. He held out a hand the size of a pie plate, in which lay a tiny, misshapen kitten.
"What's wrong with Tiny, Doc?" he asked in a gruff voice.
My exam revealed a birth defect. Tiny's spine had never grown together, and he was paralyzed in his back legs. No amount of surgery, medicine, or prayer was going to fix him - I felt helpless.
The only thing I could tell this big, hairy giant was that his little friend was going to die. I was ashamed of my prejudice but I felt a little nervous anticipating the biker's reaction. Being the bearer of bad news is never pleasant, but with a rough-looking character like the man in front of me, I didn't know what to expect.
I tried to be as tactful as possible, explaining Tiny's problem and what we could expect, which was a slow, lingering death. I braced myself for his response.
But the big fella only looked at me with eyes that I could barely see through the hair on his face and said sadly, "I guess we gotta do him, huh, Doc?"
I agreed that, yes, the best way to help Tiny was to give him the injection that would end his poor pain-filled life. So with his owner holding Tiny, we ended the little kitten's pain.
When it was over, I was surprised to see this macho guy, the size of an oak tree, just standing there holding Tiny, with tears running down his beard. He never apologized for crying, but he managed a choked " Thanks, Doc," as he carried his little friend's body home to bury him.
Although ending a patient's life is never pleasant, my staff and I all agreed that we were glad that we could stop the sick kitten's pain. Weeks passed, and the incident faded.
Then one day the oak-sized biker appeared in the clinic again. It looked ominously like we were about to repeat the earlier scenario. The huge man was wearing the same clothes and carrying another kitten in his pie plate hand. But I was enormously relieved upon examining "Tiny Two" to find he was absolutely, perfectly, wonderfully normal and healthy.
I started Tiny Two's vaccinations, tested him for worms and discussed his care, diet, and future needs with his deceptively tough-looking owner. By now, it was obvious that Mr. Oak Tree had a heart that matched his size.
I wonder now how many other Hell's Angel-types are really closet marshmallows. In fact, whenever I see a pack of scary-looking bikers roaring past me on the road, I crane my neck to see if I can catch a glimpse of some tiny little kitten poking its head up out of a sleek chrome side-car or maybe even peeking out from inside the front of a black leather jacket.
