Stories

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:12:59

Josh's Angel
 
 My wife and I have been married for 48--nearly 49 years. We've been blessed with a good marriage, four wonderful children (two of each kind), ten beautiful grandchildren and a precious great grandson. They are all the joy of our live. The story I want to tell you is a true story about our grandson Joshua, who is 24 years old now. The incident happened when Josh was about two years old--maybe less, I'm not sure. But, it happened when he was at the age where he was just learning to walk.
 
 It was shortly after lunch that day. Our daughter, Theresa, was over and she brought Joshua with her. After lunch, as I most always did, I went upstairs to brush my teeth and shave before I went to work. I worked the second shift at that time. Directly at the top of our staircase there is a window, and setting next to the window at the top of the stairs, we kept a large heavy exhaust fan during the warm weather, which we used when we went to bed. Close by the fan is the door leading into the bathroom. The fan was not running at the time since we used it only during the night. When I went upstairs, I went into the bathroom and shut the door behind me as I always did. I did not realize it at the time, but when I closed the bathroom door, Joshua decided to crawl up the steps to see me. As I said--I had no idea that he was doing this. However, right after I shut the door, I brushed my teeth and was going to start shaving. I don't remember exactly how long, maybe a minute or two--I'm not sure. However, for some reason I just decided to open the door and look out into the hallway. I had no reasons to because I hadn't shaved yet and I never opened the door until I was finished shaving. However, for some reason I felt that I should open the door. I did not hear anything that would prompt me to open the door. There was no reason in my mind. I just felt that for some reason I should open the door--something I had to do. Now, I can't explain that feeling--but it was there.
 
 And so, I did open the door. I opened it just in time to see my little grandson, Joshua, on the next to the last step reaching for the fan to hang on to so that he could pull himself up to come and see his grandpa. As he grabbed hold of the fan, it started to tip towards him. I opened the door just in time to grab Josh with my right arm and the fan with my left arm--just in time to keep Josh from rolling down the steps with the big heavy fan on top of him. Had I been one second later--had I been a half-second later--I shudder to think what would have happened. Josh could no doubt have been crippled or perhaps it could have killed him. But I wasn't too late. I was just in time.
 
 In the years that have past, Josh has grown into a fine young man. And I still often rethink that moment. I try to remember what invoked me to open the door--I still can't explain it. No, I can't explain it--but I am certain that it was either God or one of his angels telling me that I had better get out there. Either way, it was God intervening. There is just no other explanation.
 
 I am well aware that anyone can make up a story such as this. It's easy to do and it sounds good. But let me assure you that if I were to make up a story, it certainly would not be about God and His angels.
 
 
 "For the Scriptures say, 'He orders his angels to protect and guard you'." Luke 4:10 NLT
 
 
 Rooftop Angel
 
 
 
 The last thing I wanted to see that night was some teenaged guy in a baseball cap. But there he was, standing by the exit door on the roof. I looked away, trying to give off a vibe: Do Not Disturb. What did he want anyway? Guys weren't interested in fat girls like me. He wasn't scary or anything. He just stood there, staring into space. I'd never seen him before. What was he doing on my roof?
 
 I often came to the top of the parking garage at night. It was quiet. I liked being alone up there, above everyone else, feeling the cold wind off Casco Bay blowing across my face. I felt safer, closer to the stars, closer to something better.
 
 Sometimes I'd pray. All I could ever think to say was, "Help me." But after so many mixed-up years of crash diets and food binges I was beyond help. I simply didn't have faith in myself or in anything else.
 
 That night I decided to jump from the roof. The unknown had to be better than anything I knew. I didn't have a future, and this was the only way to block out the past.
 
 I had been a chubby kid. My brothers laughed at me when we went to the beach. They'd yell, "Watch out for the beached whale!" I didn't make many friends. I mostly kept to myself. Food was my secret comfort. Food never yelled at me, hurt me or called me names. Food was always there for me, something I could rely on. I kept this belief, yet somehow I hoped it would change once I was grown up.
 
 I was grown up now, just out of college. Night after night on the roof I'd tell myself, "Rosemary, act your age." I knew I should take responsibility for my actions. No one forced the food down my throat. But I could not control my behavior. People wouldn't understand. "Come on," they'd say. "Get a life." But somehow I couldn't.
 
 I stared down into the darkness and then up at the stars. This was it. It would only take a second. I stepped up onto the roof ledge. "No, no!" I heard. The kid in the baseball cap was by my side in an instant. "It's going to be okay," he said. I stood still. Dumbfounded. Angry. Get out of my face! I thought.
 
 He reached out to me, but stopped. I didn't like to be touched and he seemed to know it. He shoved his hands in his pockets. His face showed kindness, concern. "Go home," he whispered. "It's going to be all right. Really, I promise."
 
 I hesitated, but he kept his eyes on me. I glanced at the exit door. "Go on," he said. I took a deep breath and stepped down from the ledge. I walked slowly toward the door. I felt a sense of surrender, not in defeat, but in letting go.
 
 I don't know if it was to take a last look at the stars or to thank the kid, but I turned back. I was alone on the roof. Where is he? There was nowhere he could have gone.
 
 I stood there, trying to understand what had just happened to me. I knew I hadn't imagined the guy in the baseball cap. He was as real as the wind off the bay. But something had changed. The wind was still cold, yet I felt warm, as if someone had wrapped a blanket around me. The guy's words had been like that, warm and kind. I started to believe him. Maybe it was going to be okay after all.
 
 The next day I went to Overeaters Anonymous and found people like myself struggling with food issues, body image and depression. Eventually I reduced my weight significantly. I've kept it down ever since. I didn't lose the weight, I let it go. It's gone, just like the past. I believe in the future now because of a stranger who helped me surrender to a faith I didn't know I had.
 
 
 A Letter To God
 
 
 
 
 
 Dear God,
 
 Never let it be said that I won't admit it when I'm wrong or that I never apologize to people when I should. And I have been wrong about you. I thought you'd made a terrible mistake when my child was born and I said some pretty rotten things to you and about you. It seemed so unfair though. I couldn't believe that you'd given me this child as part of "the plan." I was sure you'd made a horrendous mistake and I'm sure you got pretty tired of me begging for a miracle in one breath and then turning around and saying all those mean things about you in the next breath. I'm truly sorry.
 
 I thought my view of the whole situation was right and yours was wrong. I doubted your wisdom, and yes, I even cursed you for doing what you did. Inexcusable, I know. But you have to realize that when she was born, I wasn't nearly the person I am now and in those days you could have bet me a million dollars that I never would be capable of handling everything. (And even though I'm apologizing now, didn't you sometimes doubt your decision?) Anyway, you were right. This child has changed my life. She's made me be all that I'm capable of and more than I ever imagined I could be. She's made me see things would have overlooked before.
 
 Take this compassion thing. Yeah, I knew what the word meant and I really thought I was back then, but I turned away when I saw a person with a disability and sometimes I even stared when I thought no-one was watching. What a jerk I was. My brand of compassion was more like pity for all that they weren't and I never saw them for all that they were. But.... I thought I was being truly compassionate. Thanks for teaching me that.
 
 Then there was that tolerance thing. Sure I thought they should have equal rights and opportunities, but would I have gone out of my way to make sure that happened? Probably not. Now I live with a little person who I expect others to be tolerant of. Makes you realize how tolerant you really were before and helps you to understand where other people are coming from.
 
 And the minority thing. Coming from a middle class white background doesn't even begin to prepare you for all the prejudices and oppression at you face when you become a minority yourself, via your child. Talk about a learning experience! It makes you empathize with all minorities.
 
 Now I have to thank you for all the things you've taken away from me. Pettiness is one of them. When I think of all the things I used to worry about! What a waste of time and energy. But, I have to always remember how I was and how I am now. Those who haven't experienced what I've been through won't know the difference and with all I've learned, I have to remember how I used to feel when I deal with them and I have to remember to understand.
 
 Monetary things are the next. I recently listened to a speaker at a conference and one of the questions she asked was, "If given the choice, would you choose 30 million dollars or peace and happiness?" I was in a room with close to 30 parents who had children with disabilities and not a one of them raised their hand for the 30 million. (Although I briefly thought that 30 million would buy some quality child care and help further the cause for equality.) However, I did realize that it wouldn't make my daughter see, nor would it replace things many other children needed. Ten years ago I would have been convinced that the money was my answer to happiness. Now it's secondary to what is really important.
 
 I know now that all the times I accused you of deserting me, you were, in fact, carrying me just as the FOOTPRINTS poem says. I also know that the bad times are what helps me to grow, so I don't take them so personally now. But just so you'll realize that I'm still me and that I'm still going to need a little help, (and since I've apologized so nicely) could you give me a small miracle and make my little girl see? Well, if you can't, I guess I understand. Miracles might be in short supply today, but just for the record thanks again for letting me see. Amen.
 
 
 Pat Linkhorn is the mother of two daughters with disabilities. Kimberly is 17 and has Autism and Krystal is 15 and is blind due to prematurity. Pat works as a mentor to other parents who have children with disabilities, helping them navigate the educational system.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:27:58

My Special Valentine
 
 
 
 It wasn't until I heard Skipper's deep, guttural bark, Chrissie and Scruffy's excited yapping, and the three geese honking--triggering the disappearance of the three preschoolers out the door that I realized what time it was. Licking my fingers, then wiping my hands on my apron, I hustled the cake into the cupboard, and the dishes into the sink.
 
 "I wonder if Dean will keep our secret," I said to myself as I rinsed the evidence off the dishes. But I hadn't long to wonder as the children burst through the door, dropping their lunch kits onto the counter, all trying to talk at once.
 
 "I didn't tell, Mommy." I heard the piercing announcement through the din of eight other youthful voices. I smiled at the four-year-old, and stood watching the excitement of the children.
 
 "I got twenty-eight valentines," piped six-year-old Dennis. To him Valentine's Day was a new experience, and clutching them all in his hand at once, he came toward me.
 
 "And I got thirty," announced eight-year-old Dale.
 
 "Look!" I cut in, "Let's all get changed out of our school clothes; then we can all share the valentines. In fact, let's save them 'til after supper. I have a surprise for you."
 
 "Mommy's got a cake," piped up three-year-old Dougie. But his announcement fell on deaf ears as the excited children scrambled into their bedrooms to change their clothes.
 
 It was then I noticed David, also eight, standing still by the door, clutching a Valentine--a favorite, I presumed. His usually smiling, moon-shaped face had a peculiar look on it, but before I could question him, he walked by me to his bedroom to change. I didn't think any more about it until suppertime. I handed the children plastic bags to put their Valentines in.
 
 And now, as the children gathered at the table for the evening meal, the excited pitch of their voices had risen to a crescendo. Daddy wouldn't be home for this special supper, as he was on the bridge crew with the Department of Highways, and was away repairing a washed out bridge.
 
 With the meal cleared away, and all the children in their pyjamas and housecoats, a habit we adopted on chilly winter evenings, we all gathered around the large dining room table. I had told the children at supper that my surprise was: we were going to have a valentine party, and that we would save our dessert until then. The excited children clutched their plastic bags in their hands and assumed their usual mealtime places. I brought out some candy I had saved for the occasion, and set the large heart-shaped cake in the middle of the table.
 
 Now it was time for us all to share the valentines the kiddies had gotten from their friends at school. They pulled the cards from the plastic bags and set them on the table in front of them. It was then I noticed that David had only one card in front of him. My heart nearly broke, but now was not the time for questioning. There would be time for that later.
 
 When it was David's turn to share his valentine, that strange look reappeared on his face. He turned the card over, and his usual smile returned to his face as he read, "To David, My Special Valentine. From your Teacher, Miss Waters." The card was not anything out of the ordinary. It was just one of the run-of-the-mill valentine cards, but to David it was special. After he read it he hugged it to his heart. It was the only one he had received.
 
 There was nothing wrong with David. That is not why he did not have friends, nor why he did not receive any valentines. He was not shunned by his peers because he was a trouble-maker. He was not shunned because he was extra stupid or extra smart. It was not because of any obnoxious behaviour, nor because he was a smart alec. No. It was just because he was a **Native Indian. Our children were all foster children, and they were all mixed-blood, Native Indian children. All except for David. He was a pure Native Indian from the Indian reservation in Atlin, British Columbia.
 
 My heart was breaking just now, breaking for a sweet little boy who was shunned by his peers because he was different. I went over beside him, looked at his valentine, and said, "Oh David, that is SO special. Let's put it on the fridge so that we can look at it every day, for as long as you want."
 
 I decided that the best thing to do was to make a big thing out of what he had, rather than showing him pity because of how much less he had than the others. And the three little ones saved the day. In unison they said, "Let's have the cake now."
 
 Relieved that the crisis was over. I gave David a big hug, and told him that he could pass out the valentines we all had made for each other. And David was equal again. He was amongst his friends and his family, where there was no prejudice, just a lot of love.
 
 ** NOTE: This story happened in the sixties. The attitude toward Native Indians (or First Nations, as they have chosen to be called now), has changed in the past 30 years. Also, now there is a much more ethnical mixture in the present-day schools, than there was when this took place.
 
 
 Faith Is Everything
 
 
 
 Michael is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. He even has scripture memorized! When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would have already been raptured!"
 
 He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Michael was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation. And give him a bible verse.
 
 Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Michael and asked him, "I don't get it! You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?" Michael replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, Mike, 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. Then I memorize a bible verse.
 
 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 always choose the positive side of life. And then I give them a bible verse.
 
 "Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested. "Yes, it is," Michael, 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. And you choose whether God is a part of your life or not. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live life." I reflected on what Michael said.
 
 Soon thereafter, I left the Tower 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. And then I memorized a bible verse.
 
 Several years later, I heard that Michael was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower. After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Michael was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.
 
 I saw Michael about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied. "If I were any better, I would have already been raptured! Wanna see my scars?" And he recited a bible verse.
 
 I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place. "The first thing that went through my mind was the well being of my soon to be born daughter," Michael replied. "Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or I could choose to die. I chose to live. Then all these bible verses came to mind and comforted me.
 
 "Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked. Michael continued, "...the paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'he's a dead man.' I knew I needed to take action." "What did you do?" I asked. It was then I recited the Lord's Prayer out loud for all to hear.
 
 "Well, then there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me," said Michael. She asked if I was allergic to anything. "Yes, I replied." The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, "Gravity." Over their laughter, I told them, "I am choosing to live and my guardian angels are all around. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead".
 
 Michael lived thanks to God, the angels, skill of his doctors and also because of his determination and amazing faith. I learned from him that every day we have the choice how we live.
 
 Faith, after all, is everything!
 
 
 "He is my loving ally and my fortress, my tower of safety, my deliverer.
 He stands before me as a shield, and I take refuge in him."
 Psalm 144:2a (NLT)

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:31:21

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 Resurrection? Prove It to Me
 
 
 "Jesus raised from the dead? Sure. Right. And I have a bridge I'd like to sell you."
 
 That's how Thomas might have responded if he had lived in the year 2000. "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands, and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it."(1) He'd seen dead people before. And Jesus was dead. He sounds like sophisticated rationalists of the Twentieth Century. "It isn't plausible," they would contend. "It didn't happen."
 
 But what if it did happen?
 
 Thomas was convinced when Jesus appeared to him, reached out his hands to Thomas, and said, "Put your finger here."
 
 Thomas dropped to his knees. "My Lord and my God!"(2)
 
 It was self-hypnosis, you counter. The disciples wanted to believe that their Lord was not dead, so they just invented it out of whole cloth.
 
 Really? Let's look at some of the evidence.
 
 First, Jesus' body was missing. If the Jews could have found it, they could have stilled the preaching of Jesus' resurrection that filled Jerusalem. But they could not.
 
 Next, the body wasn't stolen. The Romans had no motive. The Jews had no motive. Ah-ha, you say, the disciples stole it. There is the matter of the Roman guards, and the disciples' initial diS*elief when the women brought them the news early that Easter morning. This brings me to my third point.
 
 If the disciples had stolen the body, you wouldn't expect them to risk their lives. People don't die for what they know is not true. But the disciples put their lives on the line, and nearly all were eventually martyred for their faith. They certainly believed it.
 
 Followers of Jesus in the city of Jerusalem grew from a few dozen to thousands upon thousands soon after Jesus' resurrection. They believed it was true.
 
 Even contemporary documents refer to the event. Thallus the Samaritan, Suetonius, Tacitus, Pliny contain references to Jesus. Jewish historian Josephus writes about Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection. They knew something had happened.
 
 Jesus' resurrection from the dead is actually more plausible than any other explanation. That's why we Christians make such a big deal about Easter. That's why we celebrate.
 
 Jesus' resurrection means that death is not the end. That though my body may lie mouldering in the ground, Jesus, whom the Father raised from the dead, gives me eternal life. Ultimately, we Christians believe, our bodies, too, will be raised from the dead.
 
 And since Jesus is not dead, people can encounter Him today. You can know Him through a personal relationship. I could point to lots of people who can testify what Jesus has done in their lives to bring them from the brink of disaster to peace and meaning and joy. He changes people for good.
 
 If you're not sure, and can't really say you've met this risen Jesus, this Easter Sunday why don't you slip into a church to seek Him. And perhaps in the midst of our celebration, you'll find Him for yourself. I hope so -- for your sake!
 
 He's alive, you know. HE'S RISEN! That's what Easter is all about!
 
 Reference -- (1) John 20:25 (NIV), and (2) John 20:27-28 (NIV).
 
 
 A Working Holiday
 
 
 
 The grocery store is common ground for most of us. The difference is the uncommon stories we carry in our hearts as we go about the business of shopping for our daily bread.
 
 On my last visit to the local grocer, an elderly lady said, "Excuse me," and asked if I knew where she could find the ground pork. As I helped her scout the meat cooler, she told me she needed the pork to make her annual meat pies.
 
 "I'm making them early this year. My two children and their families are going away for Christmas."
 
 Our search for the pork slowed down as our conversation progressed. Her huS*and, Jack, had passed away in the spring. The children wanted to cancel their holiday vacation and stay home, but she insisted they go, and made Christmas plans of her own.
 
 "I'm not having a tree or putting up decorations. I've had more good Christmases than any one person could ever hope for. This year, I'm giving back."
 
 The week before Christmas, she's going to help a couple of organizations distribute food and gift baskets to the needy. On Christmas Day, she's going to serve food at the Downtown Mission. Her eyes were firm and clear as she spoke. No sign of the sadness you'd expect to see in the eyes of a person about to spend their first Christmas alone after forty-one years of marriage. I soon found out why.
 
 "I'm giving my own self as a Christmas present this year," she announced, and promptly burst into laughter. The sound of it was contagious. I laughed with her.
 
 Then, making me privy to a delightful conspiracy, she whispered, " Everyone pats my hand and feels sorry for me. They think I'll be all alone, that Jack won't be with me."
 
 One look at the sparkle in her eyes, and I knew Jack had never left.
 
 "He's had it pretty easy these last six months," she explained, "While he's been resting on his laurels and shootin' the breeze, I've continued to work my way through the days. Look at me right now, trudging through the grocery store looking for pork."
 
 Another round of laughter ensued.
 
 "Fair's fair. I'm putting Jack to work over the Christmas holidays."
 
 We found the pork, eventually, and parted company.
 
 So much love, life and laughter in one little lady - the memory of our encounter will stay with me always.
 
 I thought of her huS*and as I stood in the check-out line, and stifled a sudden urge to laugh. "I hope you're getting plenty of rest Jack. You're definitely working this Christmas."

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:33:55

The Heart To Let Go
 
 
 
 It's seems like just yesterday those little notes signed, “(heart), your only daughter,” would pop up around the house for no special reason. I often wondered if she was trying to tell me something. Maybe I was giving more attention to her older brothers than to her, maybe she was feeling insecure about our relationship, or maybe she was just being the loving little girl that blessed my life everyday. Bottom line is this: I took her love for granted.
 
 As the teen years rolled around, I looked upon my budding blossom, with her modest attire, her quiet reserve, her many academic achievements, and her compliant behavior; and I could not imagine that she and I would ever be “at odds with each other.” She talked to me about everything, and she looked up to me. I went to every soccer game, track meet or special event. She and I teamed up to decorate for family birthdays, give each other pedicures, laugh and cry while watching movies with one another. We baked goodies in the kitchen, as I tried to instill in her how important it was to serve others and extend hospitality. We went shopping for clothes, and we always seemed to see eye to eye about everything. She was a “good girl” and I was a proud mama. She told me that many of her schoolmates “were either promiscuous, pregnant, drinking heavily, or worse,” adding, “You don't know how bad other parents have it, Mom.” I just assumed that she would never fall into any of those ! traps, because I was “always there;” the devoted “stay-at-home Mom,” with great kids and the badge to show for it.
 
 Then one day, it all began to fall apart, right before my eyes.
 
 I was shocked to find that our car was missing one morning, when her father got up for work. We checked our daughter's room, only to find her missing as well. Frantic, we began making phone calls; to her cell phone, her friend's homes, etc. No response. Then finally she answered, and confessed that she was “on the freeway, coming back from a party.” She had defied our rules, sneaked out of the house, took the car, and we were flabbergasted! As she entered the house that morning, the tears began to flow. She explained that she "was tired of being the good girl.” All of her friends were at that party, and she was never allowed to go, so she just decided to rebel. I remember looking at her with my mouth open, speechless for a moment. We had never had to discipline our youngest child, really. She never needed more than “a look” from either of us, to teach her right from wrong. For the first time in her young life, she was grounded.
 
 The little “heart” notes began to dwindle from sight. The times we spent in the kitchen became few and far between. Her clothing choices became more revealing and our “talks” turned into “20 questions,” as the gap between me and my daughter grew wider and wider.
 
 It was Christmas Eve, and I was busy preparing the meal, and appetizers, when I urged the kids to help out. Although our two sons were included, I always expected more out of my daughter. After all, she WAS a female!
 
 In the midst of my complaining to her, she burst out with an emotional, “Mom, I am NOT like you ... I don't like domestic duties... I am going to be a “career woman” with a maid and a cook! I don't have the same interests as you! I'm not just going to stay at home; I am going to be more than that!" Well, the lump in my throat was obvious as I responded back, in self-defense. I reminded her of the jobs I held outside the home during her childhood, working graveyard shift, so that I could be home when she and her brothers needed me. Through uncontrolled tears, I pointed out the sacrifices I’d made, and the reasons for doing so; to ensure that she would have all the necessary teaching and training I could give. How dare she make me feel like my life “was a waste” and not worth emulating. I was hurt, deeply hurt.
 
 In the days and months that followed, it was made clear to me that my counsel was “old fashioned” and my morals were “outdated,” as was my taste in clothes. My daughter no longer wanted me to shop with her, talk with her, or anything. I was losing her.
 
 My closest friends tried to console me and remind me that “this too will pass.” They confirmed that we had raised our kids in the way they should go, and God's promise to us was that “when they were older they would not depart …” But my heart was heavy, as I worried about her going too far, possibly hurting herself.
 
 When my huS*and and I were planning on moving to a new city, my daughter, who was now in college, informed us that she would not be going with us, but would be moving out on her own … with a friend. It was hard enough when my two sons ventured out into the world, but it was devastating for me to think about our little girl, our baby, doing the same. I wasn't ready for her to go; I wasn't ready for the “empty nest;” There was so much more to teach her, to give her, to prepare her, I thought. I cried to her father, “Why doesn't she need us anymore?” “How are we going to protect her?”
 
 The day we packed up her belongings and set her up in her own apartment was a painful phase for me. I must have called her cell phone five times in the first fifteen minutes after heading for home. She never answered. I sat in the middle of her empty room, once filled with pink frills, trophies, and collector dolls, and cried my eyes out.
 
 It wasn't long before her father and I learned that her “roommate” was her boyfriend. Although she had lied to us (to avoid the parental confrontation), the truth had finally come out when she called for help with her car. My huS*and was just as upset as I was. The blow of his daughter's “new roommate” was evident as he shared with me how he felt robbed of that precious experience of watching her go out on a date, with the boy coming to our home, seeking her father's approval. Sure he had “met the boy” but he definitely wasn't ready for this!
 
 Again and again, my family and friends would reassure us that our daughter was just trying to “find herself,” “to be her own person,” and “stretch her wings.” I, for one, would often wonder “what did I do wrong?” And I would pray for her safety, her life, and her heart.
 
 Then one day she announced that she was going to become an egg donor. At 20 years of age, how could she make a decision such as this? I thought. I tried to discourage her, but she was adamant about it. I made my opinion known, as I had about her living arrangements, but it seemed to matter little to her. She went ahead with the process. Not once, not twice, but three times in one year!
 
 The pivotal place for me was when she asked me to come along with her, to be there during each procedure. I knew I could have stood my ground, insisting on having NO part in this decision, with hopes that she would see things my way, and wait till she had her own children first. But I didn't. The bottom line, I decided, was that she was my daughter, and I would love and support her no matter what she did in life, or who she lived with, or how different she was from me. I began to let go.
 
 Over a year and a half has passed since that Christmas Eve when I lost connection with my youngest child; my baby girl. During that time, I observed how she called and chatted with her father about many things; career choices, vehicle maintenance, job ethics, investments, and education. He never brought up the life choices that she knew we disagreed with, but just continued to keep the door open for her. Often, the call ended without so much as a “let me talk to Mom” comment. I was hurt, but I understood, since most of our conversations always led back to “what she was doing wrong.” I realized that my reminding her of what I thought she should be doing was only pushing her away.
 
 I guess you could say it was a turning point for me. Having felt like a failure as a parent, as a role model, as a Christian woman, a heavy cloud had formed over my head. It affected every aspect of my life. I even stopped writing, assuming that there was nothing to write about since there was “no happy ending.” There were, also, other family crises that contributed to my ongoing depression, as well. I knew that God was in control, and not me, but I was angry at Him for allowing things to go the way they did.
 
 Sometimes, we just have to learn the hard way, don't we?
 
 Now, my parental plight could have been worse, and pales in comparison to others, but the concept is still the same. Accepting the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can and the wisdom to know the difference is the key. My daughter's situation remains the same; however, the phone rings now, almost every day, with her need to “just talk,” or a “quick question,” or a “how ya doing?” She may call me for a family recipe, advice about personal issues, or with a plan for the two of us to go to a play or shopping or an amusement park together, just us girls. I smile inside. It spreads to my face as I listen to her, and see her with new eyes.
 
 We are enjoying womanhood together, and although I am still her Mom, she considers me “her best friend” as well. Our relationship has flourished and she knows I want only the best for her. I thought I had lost her, but when I learned to let go, I found her heart again. When I gave up trying to control her life, I found my own peace. It's not the completed “happy ending” I was hoping for, but I trust God to take care of the rest. The empty nest is a tough transition, no doubt, but there really is life after it happens. I may not always agree with what our kids do, but I agree with who they are. Doesn’t God feel the same way about all of us?
 
 Recently, a card came in the mail from my baby girl, thanking.
 
 
 The Compassionate Stranger
 
 
 
 The stranger entered the church and took a seat near the front of the church. At first, people only noticed that his clothes did not measure up to those of the rest of the congregation, but then finally someone began to count and realized that he had chosen Mrs. Oddbody's pew.
 
 No one had sat in Mrs. Oddbody's pew in years. No one except Mrs. Oddbody, of course. No one else dared. Neighbors whispered to one another, daring to speculate about what Mrs. Oddbody would do when she made her grand entrance.
 
 They would not have long to wait for soon Mrs. Oddbody arrived at the back of the church and began her trek down the aisle without a clue as to what awaited her. As she neared the front of the church she began to count as she always did. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. When she got to eight she saw someone sitting there, so she began to count again only to come up with the same conclusion.
 
 She inched forward to where the stranger could see her, hoping he would understand and beat a hasty retreat. The stranger looked at her and smiled, but she did not return his smile.
 
 When it was obvious he had found his final resting place, at this as far as this service was concerned, she let out an indignant "Excuse me" and pushed past him into the pew.
 
 As the service began the stranger could not help but notice she was more concerned with him occupying part of her pew than she was getting anything from the service.
 
 They came to a point in the service where the pastor invited everyone to come to the altar and pray. The stranger arose and went forward. There was no need for him to hurry, because this did not seem to be a part of anyone else's exercise program that morning.
 
 He fell to his knees and began in earnest prayer. He prayed for quite some time until it seemed like someone had tapped him on the shoulder. Someone had. He raised up only to be asked by a man if he could return to his seat so the pastor could get on with the sermon.
 
 He complied and arose to return to his seat. As he arrived back at row eight he noticed that the lady had scooted over to occupy the aisle seat once occupied by him. This time she smiled a triumphant smile.
 
 He said, "Excuse me" as he moved past her into the pew. She had hoped that her sitting forward in the pew would discourage him from trying this, but her hopes were soon dashed. As he sat down he turned and to return her smile, he found out her smile had already gotten tired and had been replaced by a bad case of persimmons.
 
 The service continued and concluded at the expected hour in order to keep the congregation there as long as the pastor. Besides, this pastor had heard what happened to his predecessor. He once ran into the kickoff of a big football game and nothing hurts a congregation more than a pastor who runs into the kickoff. Of course, no pastor has done such a dastardly thing twice without being sent to a cannibalistic country as a missionary.
 
 Before the lady could leave, the stranger turned to her and reached out his hand to shake hers. Taken by surprise the stranger had managed to clasp her hand before she could pull it away.
 
 As his nail-scarred hand took hers it was as if scales fell from her eyes and for the first time she realized who this stranger was. Her tears did not flow, they gushed. He embraced her as they began to talk and after a few moments they headed toward the altar to pray. No one had noticed any of this as they were all too busy beating a hasty retreat.
 
 The next Sunday people were immersed in typical pre-service conversation when a hush fell over the crowd as Mrs. Oddbody arrived. Not only was she accompanied by the stranger, but she had stopped by the orphanage and picked up a carload of boys which she instructed into the pew ahead of her. Anyone could have heard a hymnal drop as Mrs. Oddbody looked up and everyone could see the glow on her face. She looked twenty years younger.
 
 After Mrs. Oddbody and all the boys were seated the stranger turned away and went to take a seat next to the man who had tapped him on the shoulder the week before. The puffed-up man had no idea he was about to make a newfound friend.
 
 Just as Jesus planned to do with this church, why not begin today to change the people of your church. A good place to start is with the first person in your church who reads this story. Then forward it on to the person in your church who needs to change the least. They will be more likely to read it, apply it, and forward it on to the next person.
 
 
 Addendum -- Matthew 5:44 (NKJ) "But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you."

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:36:15

Pearls
 
 
 
 Jenny was a bright-eyed, pretty five-year-old girl. One day when she and her mother were checking out at the grocery store, Jenny saw a plastic pearl necklace priced at $2.50. How she wanted that necklace, and when she asked her mother if she would buy it for her, her mother said, "Well, it is a pretty necklace, but it costs an awful lot of money. I'll tell you what. I'll buy you the necklace, and when we get home we can make up a list of chores that you can do to pay for the necklace. And don't forget that for your birthday Grandma just might give you a whole dollar bill, too. Okay?"
 
 Jenny agreed, and her mother bought the pearl necklace for her. Jenny worked on her chores very hard every day, and sure enough, her grandma gave her a brand new dollar bill for her birthday. Soon Jenny had paid off the pearls.
 
 How Jenny loved those pearls. She wore them everywhere-to kindergarten, bed and when she went out with her mother to run errands. The only time she didn't wear them was in the shower-her mother had told her that they would turn her neck green!
 
 Now Jenny had a very loving daddy. When Jenny went to bed, he would get up from his favorite chair every night and read Jenny her favorite story.
 
 One night when he finished the story, he said, "Jenny, do you love me?"
 
 "Oh yes, Daddy, you know I love you," the little girl said.
 
 "Well, then, give me your pearls."
 
 "Oh! Daddy, not my pearls!" Jenny said. "But you can have Rosie, my favorite doll. Remember her? You gave her to me last year for my birthday. And you can have her tea party outfit, too. Okay?"
 
 "Oh no, darling, that's okay." Her father brushed her cheek with a kiss. "Good night, little one."
 
 A week later, her father once again asked Jenny after her story, "Do you love me?"
 
 "Oh yes, Daddy, you know I love you."
 
 "Well, then, give me your pearls."
 
 "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls! But you can have Ribbons, my toy horse. Do you remember her? She's my favorite. Her hair is so soft, and you can play with it and braid it and everything. You can have Ribbons if you want her, Daddy," the little girl said to her father.
 
 "No, that's okay," her father said and brushed her cheek again with a kiss. "God bless you, little one. Sweet dreams."
 
 Several days later, when Jenny's father came in to read her a story, Jenny was sitting on her bed and her lip was trembling. "Here, Daddy," she said, and held out her hand. She opened it and her beloved pearl necklace was inside. She let it slip into her father's hand.
 
 With one hand her father held the plastic pearls and with the other he pulled out of his pocket a blue velvet box. Inside of the box were real, genuine, beautiful pearls.
 
 He had them all along. He was waiting for Jenny to give up the cheap stuff so he could give her the real thing.
 
 So it is with our Heavenly Father. He is waiting for us to give up the cheap things in our lives so that he can give us beautiful treasure.
 
 Are you holding onto things which Lord wants you to let go of? Are you holding on to harmful or unnecessary partners, relationships, habits and activities which you have come so attached to that it seems impossible to let go? Sometimes, it is so hard to see what is in the other hand but do believe this one thing....
 
 The Lord will never take away something without giving you something better in its place.
 
 
 The Angel Project
 
 
 
 I held onto the hand of my shivering granddaughter as we waited our turn to get into the huge barn-like building. We couldn't see inside because of the length of the line up and so we passed our time watching the outside lineups.
 
 Volunteers were busily placing frozen turkeys into bags at the head of one line up and in the other, families and individuals were receiving milk.
 
 The parking lot was filled with trucks and cars and still more were waiting to get onto the lot. Strangely, though vehicles were blocked, no one honked nor appeared impatient. It seemed surreal as though everyone had been touched by something magical.
 
 Finally we could see into the building and I was overcome with emotion as my eyes took in hundreds of overflowing boxes. Each box filled with care represented not only hours of time on the part of volunteers, but the generosity and caring of hundreds of people. The boxes were filled with food for empty stomachs. Some boxes sported brand new toys, gifts from anonymous individuals throughout the town and area, toys for children who might otherwise go without.
 
 I suddenly felt self-conscious, aware that tears were flowing freely down my cheeks. I was touched by the display of kindness. I turned away from the crowds of people to wipe away the tears, and just as I did I was to see everything in a kind of mist and glow-like appearance. How fitting to see the "Angel Project" in this way.
 
 It was four days before Christmas and today marked the climax of the Angel Project. This was the day that families in need could pick up food hampers and toys. Everything was donated through the generosity of strangers.
 
 Finally it was our turn at the table and I found it difficult to speak past the lump in my throat. I was overwhelmed by all that was happening around me. Every box in that massive room represented the love of others. Every toy had been carefully selected, to be given away, yet the receiver and the sender would never meet.
 
 Instead of Christmas shopping or cleaning, instead of baking cookies or decorating a tree, these people had dropped everything to sort, label and number boxes, and to hand out delivery addresses to volunteers to drop off boxes for those who had no transportation.
 
 I could feel something extraordinary there in that building. It wasn't tangible nor quite definable but there was something special, beyond friendliness and I felt privileged to be there and be a part of it all.
 
 People helped us pack the trunk and back seat of my car with food and toys for the first family and we set off to locate the address. As we drove along I felt blessed to have a tank full of gas and the opportunity to be among the delivery people in the "Angel Project."
 
 I was not prepared for the greeting we were about to receive. I located a basement suite and when no one answered after ringing the bell I ventured down a set of steps and began calling out. "Hello, is anyone home?" A lady opened a door and as soon as I mentioned who I was and why I was there the woman began to shout. She was overjoyed and was calling out to some unseen person that we were there. Next she ran ahead of me up the stairs calling out to a neighbor, "they're here, they're here, the Angel people are here."
 
 She ran up to the car, out there in the snow with only socks on her feet and began thanking us. She continued to thank us with each box we unpacked and though we gently reminded her that we were only the delivery people, she could not contain her joy and she continued thanking us again and again.
 
 At the second house there were young children and when we introduced ourselves and explained why we were there, the children were sent upstairs and were admonished not to peek. I knew then that what we were about to unload might very well be the total sum of their Christmas presents.
 
 Jani carried in the teddy bears, the huge craft set and the two other toys, all of which had been specifically chosen by Angel Project volunteers for these children. The mother helped me with the heavier food boxes and I knew this abundant supply would last a number of days.
 
 As we left we exchanged "Merry Christmas" greetings. The woman paused just before the door closed. She looked directly at me and her eyes looked misty as she said "thank you, so much."
 
 I shut my car door, fighting tears and a choked up feeling. This giant surge of emotion burst inside of me as I pictured those children on Christmas morning opening the wonderful gifts chosen by strangers. I could imagine tummies filled and good meals throughout the season. All this, because generous individuals opened their hearts and purse strings for people they did not know.
 
 For Jani and I, we got to spend a special day together being a part of something beautiful and unforgettable. And though we were delivery people that day, I drove away feeling as though I was the one who had received the gift.
 
 
 The Cross Room
 
 
 The young man was at the end of his rope.
 Seeing no way out, he dropped to his knees in prayer.
 "Lord, I can't go on," he said.
 "I have too heavy a cross to bear."
 The Lord replied,
 "My son, if you can't bear it's weight,
 just place your cross inside this room.
 Then open another door and pick any cross you wish."
 The man was filled with relief.
 "Thank you, Lord,"
 he sighed, and did as he was told.
 As he looked around the room he saw many different crosses;
 some so large the tops were not visible.
 Then he spotted a tiny cross leaning against a far wall.
 "I'd like that one, Lord,"
 he whispered. And the Lord replied,
 "My son, that's the cross you brought in."

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:38:15

Life's Struggles
 
 
 
 One day a man found the cocoon of a butterfly, with a small opening just starting to appear. So, he sat down to watch as the butterfly struggled for several hours to force its body through the hole. Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared to the man that it had gotten as far as it could.
 
 Then the man decided to help the butterfly, so he took a pair of scissors and snipped the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small shriveled wings. The man continued to watch the butterfly because he expected, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and the body would contract, so it could fly -- but neither happened. Sadly, the butterfly spent the rest of it's life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings. It was never able to fly, or be a truly beautiful butterfly.
 
 What the man in his well meaning kindness and haste did not understand, was that the restricting cocoon, and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening, was God's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly, into its wings, so that it would be ready for flight once it got out of the cocoon.
 
 Sometimes, like the butterfly, the struggles we go through in life are necessary, although we usually don't understand why. If God allowed us to go through life without any obstacles, it could hurt our growth. Then we would not be as strong as we should be -- and it could keep us from soaring to the wonderful heights that HE has planned for you and me.
 
 
 Addendum -- Hebrews 12:11 (NIV) "No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it."
 
 Teacup Story
 
 
 
 There was a couple who took a trip to England to shop in a beautiful antique store to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. They both liked antiques and pottery, and especially teacups. ?Spotting an exceptional cup, they asked "May we see that? ?We've never seen a cup quite so beautiful."
 
 As the lady handed it to them, suddenly the teacup spoke, "You don't understand. ?I have not always been a teacup. ?There was a time when I was just a lump of red clay. ?My master took me and rolled me pounded and patted me over and over and I yelled out, 'Don't do that. I don't like it! Let me alone.' But he only smiled, and gently said; 'Not yet!'" "Then. WHAM! ?I was placed on a spinning wheel and suddenly I was spun around and around and around. ?'Stop it! ?I'm getting so dizzy! ?I'm going to be sick,' I screamed. ?But the master only nodded and said, quietly; 'Not yet.'
 
 "He spun me and poked and prodded and bent me out of shape to suit himself and then? Then he put me in the oven. ?I never felt such heat. I yelled and knocked and pounded at the door. Help! ?Get me out of here! I could see him through the opening and I could read his lips as he shook his head from side to side, 'Not yet'."
 
 "When I thought I couldn't bear it another minute, the door opened. ?He carefully took me out and put me on the shelf, and I began to cool. ?Oh, that felt so good! ?Ah, this is much better, I thought. ?But, after I cooled he picked me up and he brushed and painted me all over. ?The fumes were horrible. ?I thought I would gag. ?'Oh, please; Stop it, Stop it!' I cried. ?He only shook his head and said. 'Not yet!'."
 
 "Then suddenly he put me back in to the oven. ?Only it was not like the first one. ?This was twice as hot and I just knew I would suffocate. ?I begged. ?I pleaded. ?I screamed. ?I cried. ?I was convinced I would never make it. ?I was ready to give up. ?Just then the door opened and he took me out and again placed me on the shelf, where I cooled and waited ------- and waited, wondering "What's he going to do to me next? ? An hour later he handed me a mirror and said 'Look at yourself.'" "And I did. I said, 'That's not me; that couldn't be me. ?It's beautiful. I'm beautiful!'
 
 Quietly he spoke: 'I want you to remember, then,' he said, 'I know it hurt to be rolled and pounded and patted, but had I just left you alone, you'd have dried up. ?I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled. ?I know it hurt and it was hot and disagreeable in the oven, but if I hadn't put you there, you would have cracked. ?I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over, but if I hadn't done that, you never would have hardened. You would not have had any color in your life. ?If I hadn't put you back in that second oven, you wouldn't have survived for long because the hardness would not have held. ?Now you are a finished product. ?Now you are what I had in mind when I first began with you."
 
 The moral of this story is this: God knows what He's doing for each of us. He is the potter, and we are His clay. ?He will mold us and make us, and expose us to just enough pressures of just the right kinds that we may be made into a flawless piece of work to fulfill His good, pleasing and perfect will.
 
 So when life seems hard, and you are being pounded and patted and pushed almost beyond endurance; when your world seems to be spinning out of control; when you feel like you are in a fiery furnace of trials; when life seems to "stink", try this....
 
 Brew a cup of your favorite tea in your prettiest teacup, sit down and think on this story and then, have a little talk with the Potter.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:39:28

Just Keep Planting
 
 
 
 When Paul was a boy growing up in Utah, he happened to live near an old copper smelter, and the sulfur dioxide that poured out of the refinery had made a desolate wasteland out of what used to be a beautiful forest. Paul vowed that some day he would bring back the life to this land.
 
 Many years later Paul was in the area, and he went to the smelter office. He asked if they had any plans to bring the trees back. The answer was "No." He asked them if they would let him try to bring the trees back. Again, the answer was "No." They didn't want him on their land. After praying about the matter, Paul realized he needed to become more knowledgeable before anyone would listen to him, so he went to college to study botany.
 
 At the college he met a professor who was an expert in Utah's ecology. Unfortunately, Paul was told that the wasteland he wanted to bring back was beyond hope. He was told that his goal was foolish because even if he planted trees, and even if they grew, the wind would only blow the seeds forty feet per year, and that's all you'd get because there weren't any birds or squirrels to spread the seeds, and the seeds from those trees would need another thirty years before they started producing seeds of their own. Therefore, it would take approximately twenty thousand years to revegitate that six-square-mile piece of earth. His teachers told him it would be a waste of his life to try to do it. It just could not be done.
 
 So he tried to go on with his life. He got a job operating heavy equipment, got married, and had some kids. However, as a good Christian, he knew that "faith by itself, if not accompanied by action, is dead" (James 2:17). So, he kept studying about the subject, and prayed for guidance on the matter. Then one night he felt led to take action by faith alone. He would do what he could, and trust God to do the rest. This was an important turning point.
 
 Samuel Johnson wrote, "It is common to overlook what is near by keeping the eye fixed on something remote. In the same manner, present opportunities are neglected and attainable good is slighted by minds busied in extensive ranges." Paul stopped busying his mind in extensive ranges and looked at what opportunities for attainable good were right in front of him. Who among us hasn't wondered what God wants us to do in our life here on earth? Under the cover of darkness, Paul sneaked out into the wasteland with a backpack of seedlings and started planting. For seven hours he planted seedlings.
 
 He did it again a week later. And every week, he made his secret journey into the wasteland and planted trees and shrubs and grass. But most of it died. Like so many of our hopes and dreams. However, Paul had faith, and kept planting.
 
 For fifteen years he did this. When a whole valley of his fir seedlings burned to the ground because of a careless sheep-herder, Paul broke down and wept. Have any of you had this kind of set-back in your life? I sure have! But Paul got up, and kept planting.
 
 Freezing winds and blistering heat, landslides and floods and fires destroyed his work time and time again. But he kept planting. One night he found a highway crew had come and taken tons of dirt for a road grade, and all the plants he painstakingly planted in that area were gone. I don't know about you, but this sounds like the way things have gone in my life. Time for some major prayers. Then Paul kept planting.
 
 Week after week, year after year he kept at it, against the opinion of the authorities, against the trespassing laws, against the devastation of road crews, against the wind and rain and heat... even against plain common sense. He just kept planting.
 
 Slowly, very slowly, things began to take root. Then gophers appeared. Then rabbits. Then porcupines. The copper smelter eventually gave him permission, and later, as times were changing and there was political pressure to clean up the environment, the company actually hired Paul to do what he was already doing. They even provided him with machinery and crews to work with. Progress accelerated.
 
 Now the place is fourteen thousand acres of trees, grass, bushes, as well as all kinds of wildlife. Paul has now received almost every environmental award Utah has. He says, "I thought that if I got this started, when I was dead and gone people would come and see it. I never thought I'd live to see it myself!"
 
 It took him until his hair turned white, but he managed to keep that impossible vow he made to himself as a child.
 
 What was/is it you want to do, that you think is impossible? Paul's story sure gives a perspective on things, doesn't it?
 
 The way you get something accomplished in this world is to trust God for guidance, and just keep planting. He will show you the way if you have faith, and keep working. Just keep plugging away at it one day at a time for a long time, no matter who criticizes or laughs at you, no matter how long it takes, no matter how many times you fall. Get back up again, keep trusting God, and just keep planting.
 
 
 Addendum -- Mark 9:23 "Jesus said to him, 'If you can believe, all things are possible to him who believes'."
 
 
 
 
 
 Philosophy 101
 
 
 
 A freshman in college started his first day of philosophy class. His professor was clearly an atheist, and started the class by saying the following:
 
 "Students, is there anyone here who can see God? If so, raise your hand. If anyone can hear God, raise your hand." If anyone here can smell God, raise your hand."
 
 After a short pause, with no response from any of the students, he concluded, "Since no one can see, hear, or smell God -- there is no God.
 
 A student then raised his hand and asked to address the class. The student then asked, "Students, can anyone here see the professor's brain? Can anyone here hear the professor's brain? Can anyone here smell the professor's brain?"
 
 After a short pause, he concluded, "Since no one can see, hear, or smell the professor's brain -- it appears he has no brain!"
 
 
 Grace On The Tracks
 
 
 
 Once again, at the age of twelve, I had run away from the orphanage.
 
 It had not even entered my head that tomorrow was going to be Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving Day just happened to be one of the few days that we kids got to eat all that we wanted.
 
 I was headed out of Jacksonville, Florida, and I think I was westward bound -- whatever that direction was. All I knew was that someone had told me that I was born somewhere in California, and I had a mother and father out there somewhere.
 
 It was November so it was getting a little cold as the sun went down. I knew from past experience that I could not stay on the main road as the police would be looking for me. They would return me to the Duval County Juvenile Hall or worse, back to "The Orphanage".
 
 As I walked along, I came across some railroad tracks which I thought I would follow in hopes they might lead me to my mother somewhere in California. After about an hour or two of walking the tracks, I came across a large bonfire. There were several men standing around in a circle trying to stay warm.
 
 "Where you headed kid?" yelled one of the men.
 
 "Going to California to find my mom and dad," I hollered back at him.
 
 "Going the wrong way kid," he said, cupping his hands over his mouth like a bull-horn.
 
 Slowly I walked over to where the men were standing and I asked if I might get warm by the fire.
 
 "Get that empty can over there and I'll give you a cup of hot beans," said one of the men who was sitting on an old stack of tires.
 
 They sure were good beans too! I think I ate two whole cans. Sure was nice of them to give me some of their food.
 
 "Might as well stay here for the night," said the man with the sling on his arm. I know my eyes got real big and I got a little scared when he put his good arm around me.
 
 "It's gonna be ok kid. I'll look after you," said the man who had given me the beans.
 
 I slept pretty good considering how cold it was out there by the tracks. There were a few old army blankets that smelled real bad, but they sure were warm and itchy.
 
 The next morning we had beans once again for breakfast. That was the first time I ever had coffee and it was real good tasting. Made you feel real warm inside. After breakfast we cleaned up our mess and burned it all in the fire and then we poured water over the fire and made it go out.
 
 For most of the day we walked down the railroad tracks. Once in a while, we would sneak over a fence and steal some fruit to eat. I didn't like stealing but that fruit sure tasted awfully good.
 
 Right before dark one of the men went into a small store and asked if he could do some work for a loaf of white bread and some meat, but the store man told him "No." Later on, I went back into the store and when the man wasn't looking I stole that loaf of bread and two packs of meat which had bad tasting pickles in it.
 
 That night we had fruit, pickle meat sandwiches, and beans for Thanksgiving Dinner. I called it "Supper".
 
 I never knew that poor people like hobos ever said grace before they ate, especially after stealing food. But they did, and they really meant it too, because I could tell it in their voices when they all said "Amen".
 
 "How come you people always say grace when you eat. You're like me. You ain't got nothing to be thankful for," I said.
 
 "Ain't you got two arms and two legs kid?" asked one of the men.
 
 "Course I got two arms and two legs," I told him.
 
 "Then you got something to be thankful for," said the man, as he raised his pants leg and showed me his fake leg.
 
 "Did the big war do that to you?" I asked him. The man did not answer me. He just got up from his seat on the ground and walked away off into the darkness.
 
 "It's OK kid. He just takes the war harder than the rest of us. We were all in the war," said his friend.
 
 "You was in the war too?" I asked.
 
 He looked down at the ground without answering my question. Then he broke into tears and covered his face. I sat there not knowing what to say. I just sipped on my warm coffee and tried to stay warm. The next thing I remember it was morning time.
 
 The four men all told me goodbye, except the one who could not talk -- he spoke with his hands and fingers. Then they jumped on the slow moving train and left me standing all alone beside the railroad tracks.
 
 I took my two good arms and my two good legs and I walked back to the orphanage. When I saw the head matron, Mrs. Winters, I told her, with my mouth that could speak words, that I was very sorry I had run away and that I was very ashamed for not being thankful for all that God had given me.
 
 
 The Golden Chain Of Kindness
 
 
 
 Writer and philosopher Johann Wolfgang von Goethe said, "Kindness is the golden chain by which society is bound together." But I was not thinking about the golden chain of kindness one day when a dilapidated automobile, possibly held together with glue and wire, parked in front of my house. During those years, we lived in a small town just across the street from the church I served, and travelers in need constantly found their way to our home.
 
 I was growing weary of helping the numerous people who stopped by almost daily. I was frequently awakened in the middle of an otherwise good night's sleep, to get out in the cold and help someone passing through. Once our property was vandalized; once I drove through a blizzard in order to get two people to safety; many times I felt taken for granted by penniless motorists or hitchhikers who did not thank me for help they received and complained that I didn't do more. I hadn't felt a part of a "golden chain of kindness" for awhile and, though I still offered assistance where I could, sometimes I inwardly wished they would just go away.
 
 But on this day, a young man with a week-old beard climbed from the broken-down automobile. He had no money and no food. He asked if I could give him some work and I offered him gasoline and a meal. I told him that if he wanted to work, we'd be pleased if he'd cut the grass, but work wasn't necessary.
 
 Though sweaty and hungry, he worked hard. Because of the afternoon heat, I expected him to give up before the job was completed. But he persisted and, after a long while, he sat wearily down in the shade. I thanked him for his work and gave him the money he needed. Then I offered him a little extra money for a task particularly well done, but he refused. "No sank you," he said in heavily accented speech. I insisted that he take the money but he stood up and once again said, "No sank you. I want to work. Joo keep the money." I tried again and for a third time he protested, shaking his head as he walked away.
 
 I never saw him again. I'm sure I never will. And interestingly, he probably thinks I helped him out that day. But that is not the way it was. I didn't help him, he helped me. He helped me to believe in people again. He helped me to once again WANT to do something for those who are in need. I wish I could thank him for restoring some of my faith in the basic goodness of others and for giving me back a little of the optimism I had lost somewhere along the way. Because of him I once again felt part of a golden chain of kindness that binds us to one another.
 
 I may have fed his body that day. But he fed my soul.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:41:29

One Minute Can Change A Life
 
 
 
 He almost killed somebody, but one min璾te changed his life. The beautiful story comes from Sherman Rogers' old book, FOREMEN: LEADERS OR DRIVERS? In his true-life story, Rogers illus璽rates the importance of effective relationships.
 
 During his college years, Rogers spent a summer in an Idaho logging camp. When the super璱ntendent had to leave for a few days, he put Rogers in charge.
 
 "What if the men refuse to follow my or璬ers?" Rogers asked. He thought of Tony, an im璵igrant worker who grumbled and growled all day, giving the other men a hard time.
 
 "Fire them," the superintendent said. Then, as if reading Rogers' mind, he added, "I suppose you think you are going to fire Tony if you get the chance. I'd feel badly about that. I have been logging for 40 years. Tony is the most reliable worker I've ever had. I know he is a grouch and that he hates everybody and everything. But he comes in first and leaves last. There has not been an accident for eight years on the hill where he works."
 
 Rogers took over the next day. He went to Tony and spoke to him. "Tony, do you know I'm in charge here today?" Tony grunted. "I was going to fire you the first time we tangled, but I want you to know I'm not," he told Tony, adding what the superintendent had said.
 
 When he finished, Tony dropped the shovelful of sand he had held and tears streamed down his face. "Why he no tell me dat eight years ago?"
 
 That day Tony worked harder than ever be璮ore -- and he smiled! He later said to Rogers, "I told Maria you first foreman in deese country who ever say, 'Good work, Tony,' and it make Maria feel like Christmas."
 
 Rogers went back to school after that sum璵er. Twelve years later he met Tony again. He was superintendent for railroad construction for one of the largest logging companies in the West. Rogers asked him how he came to Califor璶ia and happened to have such success.
 
 Tony replied, "If it not be for the one mi璶ute you talk to me back in Idaho, I keel some璪ody someday. One minute, she change my whole life."
 
 Effective managers know the importance of taking a moment to point out what a worker is doing well. But what a difference a minute of af璮irmation can make in any relationship!
 
 One minute. Have you got one minute to thank someone? A minute to tell someone what you sincerely like or appre璫i璦te about her? A mi璶ute to elaborate on some璽hing he did well? One minute. It can make a difference for a lifetime.
 
 
 The Diploma (achieving a goal)
 
 
 
 PROLOG (SkyWriting.Net editor): The title of this story (The Diploma) doesn't do it justice, in my opinion. Achieving a goal is much more difficult for some than others. Try to put yourself in this persons shoes, for the goals you have gone after, and the struggles you have endured in your own life to achieve a goal. Enjoy . . .
 
 
 I was exhausted from working my two jobs over the weekend and was not looking forward to the graduation ceremony. I have been to many graduation ceremonies and I know how boring they are for most people. To top everything off, my wife and I had our two kids under the age of three with us. Both of my kids were squirming and whining, and I knew it was going to be a long afternoon. Our sole comedic relief came when Caleb, my three year old patted, and rubbed the head of a bald man we did not know in front of us. But as the ceremony dragged on I kept thinking of all the places I would rather be, and made up my mind that I wasn't going to enjoy myself....
 
 It was your ordinary graduation ceremony. A hot, sweaty auditorium filled with people fanning themselves with their programs, speech upon boring speech, and the endless calling of names as each matriculator walked across the stage to grab this piece of paper that symbolized their academic accomplishment. It was getting harder and harder to pay attention. Just as my attitude started to go sour, they began calling out the graduate's names. The classmates formed a single file line and made their way up towards the podium.
 
 That's when I caught my first close-up glimpse of Kim. She looked up at us and was trying in vain to hold back the tears. She was not doing a good job of it. Believe me, holding back emotions is not something that Kim does very well. There she was, standing in line, about to receive her diploma, and she was probably thinking about a number of things. Maybe her Dad who passed away a few years ago and didn't get to see her reach her goal, or her grandmother, who also passed away recently, and who had always wanted to attend college but her family didn't have the money....
 
 For me it was like something from a movie. You know, the dramatic slow motion scene where all the crowd noise grows quiet, and the camera slowly moves up on her face as the tears begin to fall. She was a good distance away from us, but to me it was as if she was standing in front of me. That simple act of looking up at those loved ones who had come to watch her graduate, and gently rubbing the tears of joy, accomplishment, and pride out of her eyes really got through to me. The selfishness in me melted away and I realized why I was there and not somewhere else.
 
 "KIMBERLY ANNE CONWAY, GRADUATING MAGNA CUM LAUDE" came booming over the auditoriums sound system and she walked gracefully across the huge stage and received this piece of paper that symbolized so many things to her. Then just before she walked off the stage, she turned around towards those who had come to share the day with her, and with the brightest smile on her face, waved and grinned at us like a little girl getting on the school bus for the first time....
 
 I glanced at my wife, and saw the salty drops roll gently down as the love she had for her sister manifested itself on her face....
 
 You see, Kim is not your ordinary college graduate. She is 38 years old, and has stuck with her goal of graduating from college for the past twenty years. It's not like she is going to look back on that part of her life, sigh, and say, "College.... the best twenty years of my life!"
 
 She attended college while working full time, and she studied extremely hard, especially the past couple of years as she pushed toward her goal of a college degree. Many times she felt like quitting, and if it wasn't for her support group of other nontraditional students that cared for her, she would have given up on her goal. Many times she would call one of the other students she knew and tell them she wanted to quit, and would be talked out of it. Then a while later this student would call her and say she wanted to quit and Kim would talk her out of it.... (Luckily, they both didn't want to quit at the same time!)
 
 I have the utmost respect for Kim. It takes a special person to stick with a goal as long as she has. I attended college for three years when I got out of high school, but I stopped when I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life. Many times I have looked back and wished that I had stuck with it and went on to be a high school teacher. But if for no other reason, I wish I had finished something that I had started.
 
 I know what it feels like to walk out of that last final exam of the semester, breathe in the fresh air just outside the doors of the university, and feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders for at least a little while. I can't even begin to imagine what it felt like for Kim after so many years....
 
 I love you, Kim, and I want you to know that I admire you for that symbolic piece of paper that will soon adorn a wall in your house.
 
 In the words of Caleb, my three year old: "HAPPY 'GRADULATION AUNT KIMMY!"
 
 
 Paid In Full
 
 
 
 A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted.
 
 As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation, his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautifully wrapped gift box. Curious, and somewhat disappointed, the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible, with the young man's name embossed in gold.
 
 Angry, he shouted at his father and said "with all your money, you give me a Bible?" and stormed out of the house.
 
 Many years passed and the young man had become very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his father now was getting old, and thought perhaps he should go see him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things.
 
 When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father's important papers and saw the still gift-wrapped Bible, just as he had left it years ago. With tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. His father had carefully underlined a verse, Matt.7:11, "And if ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Heavenly Father which is in Heaven, give to those who ask Him?"
 
 As he read those words, a car key dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had wanted. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words PAID IN FULL.
 
 How many times do we miss God's blessings because we can't see past our own desires?

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:43:34

The Heart To Let Go
 
 
 
 It's seems like just yesterday those little notes signed, “(heart), your only daughter,” would pop up around the house for no special reason. I often wondered if she was trying to tell me something. Maybe I was giving more attention to her older brothers than to her, maybe she was feeling insecure about our relationship, or maybe she was just being the loving little girl that blessed my life everyday. Bottom line is this: I took her love for granted.
 
 As the teen years rolled around, I looked upon my budding blossom, with her modest attire, her quiet reserve, her many academic achievements, and her compliant behavior; and I could not imagine that she and I would ever be “at odds with each other.” She talked to me about everything, and she looked up to me. I went to every soccer game, track meet or special event. She and I teamed up to decorate for family birthdays, give each other pedicures, laugh and cry while watching movies with one another. We baked goodies in the kitchen, as I tried to instill in her how important it was to serve others and extend hospitality. We went shopping for clothes, and we always seemed to see eye to eye about everything. She was a “good girl” and I was a proud mama. She told me that many of her schoolmates “were either promiscuous, pregnant, drinking heavily, or worse,” adding, “You don't know how bad other parents have it, Mom.” I just assumed that she would never fall into any of those ! traps, because I was “always there;” the devoted “stay-at-home Mom,” with great kids and the badge to show for it.
 
 Then one day, it all began to fall apart, right before my eyes.
 
 I was shocked to find that our car was missing one morning, when her father got up for work. We checked our daughter's room, only to find her missing as well. Frantic, we began making phone calls; to her cell phone, her friend's homes, etc. No response. Then finally she answered, and confessed that she was “on the freeway, coming back from a party.” She had defied our rules, sneaked out of the house, took the car, and we were flabbergasted! As she entered the house that morning, the tears began to flow. She explained that she "was tired of being the good girl.” All of her friends were at that party, and she was never allowed to go, so she just decided to rebel. I remember looking at her with my mouth open, speechless for a moment. We had never had to discipline our youngest child, really. She never needed more than “a look” from either of us, to teach her right from wrong. For the first time in her young life, she was grounded.
 
 The little “heart” notes began to dwindle from sight. The times we spent in the kitchen became few and far between. Her clothing choices became more revealing and our “talks” turned into “20 questions,” as the gap between me and my daughter grew wider and wider.
 
 It was Christmas Eve, and I was busy preparing the meal, and appetizers, when I urged the kids to help out. Although our two sons were included, I always expected more out of my daughter. After all, she WAS a female!
 
 In the midst of my complaining to her, she burst out with an emotional, “Mom, I am NOT like you ... I don't like domestic duties... I am going to be a “career woman” with a maid and a cook! I don't have the same interests as you! I'm not just going to stay at home; I am going to be more than that!" Well, the lump in my throat was obvious as I responded back, in self-defense. I reminded her of the jobs I held outside the home during her childhood, working graveyard shift, so that I could be home when she and her brothers needed me. Through uncontrolled tears, I pointed out the sacrifices I’d made, and the reasons for doing so; to ensure that she would have all the necessary teaching and training I could give. How dare she make me feel like my life “was a waste” and not worth emulating. I was hurt, deeply hurt.
 
 In the days and months that followed, it was made clear to me that my counsel was “old fashioned” and my morals were “outdated,” as was my taste in clothes. My daughter no longer wanted me to shop with her, talk with her, or anything. I was losing her.
 
 My closest friends tried to console me and remind me that “this too will pass.” They confirmed that we had raised our kids in the way they should go, and God's promise to us was that “when they were older they would not depart …” But my heart was heavy, as I worried about her going too far, possibly hurting herself.
 
 When my huS*and and I were planning on moving to a new city, my daughter, who was now in college, informed us that she would not be going with us, but would be moving out on her own … with a friend. It was hard enough when my two sons ventured out into the world, but it was devastating for me to think about our little girl, our baby, doing the same. I wasn't ready for her to go; I wasn't ready for the “empty nest;” There was so much more to teach her, to give her, to prepare her, I thought. I cried to her father, “Why doesn't she need us anymore?” “How are we going to protect her?”
 
 The day we packed up her belongings and set her up in her own apartment was a painful phase for me. I must have called her cell phone five times in the first fifteen minutes after heading for home. She never answered. I sat in the middle of her empty room, once filled with pink frills, trophies, and collector dolls, and cried my eyes out.
 
 It wasn't long before her father and I learned that her “roommate” was her boyfriend. Although she had lied to us (to avoid the parental confrontation), the truth had finally come out when she called for help with her car. My huS*and was just as upset as I was. The blow of his daughter's “new roommate” was evident as he shared with me how he felt robbed of that precious experience of watching her go out on a date, with the boy coming to our home, seeking her father's approval. Sure he had “met the boy” but he definitely wasn't ready for this!
 
 Again and again, my family and friends would reassure us that our daughter was just trying to “find herself,” “to be her own person,” and “stretch her wings.” I, for one, would often wonder “what did I do wrong?” And I would pray for her safety, her life, and her heart.
 
 Then one day she announced that she was going to become an egg donor. At 20 years of age, how could she make a decision such as this? I thought. I tried to discourage her, but she was adamant about it. I made my opinion known, as I had about her living arrangements, but it seemed to matter little to her. She went ahead with the process. Not once, not twice, but three times in one year!
 
 The pivotal place for me was when she asked me to come along with her, to be there during each procedure. I knew I could have stood my ground, insisting on having NO part in this decision, with hopes that she would see things my way, and wait till she had her own children first. But I didn't. The bottom line, I decided, was that she was my daughter, and I would love and support her no matter what she did in life, or who she lived with, or how different she was from me. I began to let go.
 
 Over a year and a half has passed since that Christmas Eve when I lost connection with my youngest child; my baby girl. During that time, I observed how she called and chatted with her father about many things; career choices, vehicle maintenance, job ethics, investments, and education. He never brought up the life choices that she knew we disagreed with, but just continued to keep the door open for her. Often, the call ended without so much as a “let me talk to Mom” comment. I was hurt, but I understood, since most of our conversations always led back to “what she was doing wrong.” I realized that my reminding her of what I thought she should be doing was only pushing her away.
 
 I guess you could say it was a turning point for me. Having felt like a failure as a parent, as a role model, as a Christian woman, a heavy cloud had formed over my head. It affected every aspect of my life. I even stopped writing, assuming that there was nothing to write about since there was “no happy ending.” There were, also, other family crises that contributed to my ongoing depression, as well. I knew that God was in control, and not me, but I was angry at Him for allowing things to go the way they did.
 
 Sometimes, we just have to learn the hard way, don't we?
 
 Now, my parental plight could have been worse, and pales in comparison to others, but the concept is still the same. Accepting the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can and the wisdom to know the difference is the key. My daughter's situation remains the same; however, the phone rings now, almost every day, with her need to “just talk,” or a “quick question,” or a “how ya doing?” She may call me for a family recipe, advice about personal issues, or with a plan for the two of us to go to a play or shopping or an amusement park together, just us girls. I smile inside. It spreads to my face as I listen to her, and see her with new eyes.
 
 We are enjoying womanhood together, and although I am still her Mom, she considers me “her best friend” as well. Our relationship has flourished and she knows I want only the best for her. I thought I had lost her, but when I learned to let go, I found her heart again. When I gave up trying to control her life, I found my own peace. It's not the completed “happy ending” I was hoping for, but I trust God to take care of the rest. The empty nest is a tough transition, no doubt, but there really is life after it happens. I may not always agree with what our kids do, but I agree with who they are. Doesn’t God feel the same way about all of us?
 
 Recently, a card came in the mail from my baby girl, thanking me “for always being there for her.” She added, “You raised me into a woman, a reflection of you. I cherish the times when people say, ‘you're so much like your Mom,’ yet I know I still have much to learn from you ... Thank you for being so patient … I love you.”
 
 And it was signed, (heart), your only daughter.
 
 
 Wanna Borrow A Jack?
 
 
 
 One day I went to a lawyer friend for advice.
 
 "I'm in real trouble" I said. "My neighbors across the road are going on vacation for a month; and instead of boarding their dogs they are going to keep them locked up and a woman is coming to feed them, if she doesn't forget. Meanwhile they'll be lonely and bark all day and howl all night, and I won't be able to sleep. I'll either have to call the SPCA to haul them away or I'll go berserk and go over there and shoot them and then when my neighbors return, they'll go berserk and come over and shoot me.
 
 My lawyer patted back a delicate yawn. "Let me tell you a story," he said. "And don't stop me if you've heard it because it will do you good to hear it again."
 
 "A fellow was speeding down a country road late at night and BANG! went a tire. He got out and looked but he had no jack.
 
 "Then he said to himself. 'Well, I'll just walk to the nearest farmhouse and borrow a jack.' He saw a light in the distance and said, 'Well, I'm in luck; the farmer's up. I'll just knock on the door and say I'm in trouble, would you please lend me a jack? And he'll say, why sure, neighbor, help yourself, but bring it back.'
 
 "He walked on a little farther and the light went out so he said to himself, 'Now he's gone to bed, and he'll be annoyed because I'm bothering him so he'll probably want some money for his jack. And I'll say, all right, it isn't very neighborly but I'll give you a quarter.
 
 And he'll say, do you think you can get me out of bed in the middle of the night and then offer me a quarter? Give me a dollar or get yourself a jack somewhere else.'
 
 "By the time he got to the farmhouse the fellow had worked himself into a lather. He turned into the gate and muttered. 'A dollar! All right, I'll give you a dollar. But not a cent more! A poor devil has an accident and all he needs is a jack. You probably won't let me have one no matter what I give you. That's the kind of guy you are.'
 
 "Which brought him to the door and he knocked angrily, loudly. The farmer stuck his head out the window above the door and hollered down, 'Who's there? What do you want?' The fellow stopped pounding on the door and yelled up, 'You and your stupid jack! You know what you can do with it!'"
 
 When I stopped laughing, I started thinking, and I said, "Is that what I've been doing?"
 
 "Right," he said, "and you'd be surprised how many people come to a lawyer for advice, and instead of calmly stating the facts, start building up a big imaginary fight; what he'll say to his partner, what she'll say to her huS*and, or how they'll tell the Old Man off about his will. So I tell them the story about the jack and they cool off.
 
 "The next time I hear from them, one tells me that the partner was glad to meet him halfway; the gal says she can't understand it, her huS*and was so reasonable she thought she must have gotten somebody else on the phone; the relatives found out the Old Man had already been asking a lawyer how he could give everything to them before he died, to save them inheritance tax."
 
 I thought, "How true! Most of us go through life bumping into obstacles we could easily bypass; spoiling for a fight and lashing out in blind rages at fancied wrongs and imaginary foes.
 
 "And we don't even realize what we are doing until someone startles us one day with a vivid word like a lightning flash on a dark night."
 
 Well, the other night I was driving home from the city. I was late for dinner and I hadn't phoned my wife. As I crawled along in a line of cars, I became more and more frustrated and angry. I'll tell her I was caught in the heavy weekend traffic and she'll say, "Why didn't you phone me before you left town?"
 
 Then I'll say, "What difference does it make anyway, I'm here!" And she'll say, "Yes, and I'm here, too, and I've been here all day waiting to hear from you!" And I'll say, "I suppose I haven't anything else to do but call you up every hour on the hour and make like a lovebird!" And she'll say, "You mean like a wolf, but you wouldn't be calling me!"
 
 By this time I am turning into the drive and I am plenty steamed up.
 
 As I jumped out and slammed the car door, my wife flung open the window upstairs.
 
 "All right!" I shouted up to her, "Say it!"
 
 "I will," she cooed softly. "Wanna borrow a jack?"
 
 
 The Wolves Within
 
 
 
 
 
 An old Grandfather, whose grandson came to him with anger at a schoolmate who had done him an injustice, said, "Let me tell you a story. I too, at times, have felt a great hate for those that have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do. But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times."
 
 He continued, "It is as if there are two wolves inside me; one is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way."
 
 "But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit."
 
 The boy looked intently into his Grandfather's eyes and asked, "Which one wins, Grandfather?"
 
 The Grandfather solemnly said, "The one I feed."

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:45:35

The Flat Tire
 
 
 
 My tire had a staple in it. Of all times for this to happen -- a flat tire. But when is a good time for a flat tire? Not when you are wearing a suit and you have been traveling for nearly five hours and, adding to this bleak picture, nightfall is approaching.
 
 Wait; did I mention that I was on a country road? Okay, now you have the picture. There was only one thing to do: call AAA. Yeah, right. The cell phone I bought for security and protection in moments like this isn't in range to call anyone. "No Service" it says. No kidding!
 
 I sat for a few minutes moaning and complaining. It's a male thing. Then I began emptying my trunk so that I could get at the tire and tools needed to get the job done. I carry a large plastic container filled with what I call "just-in-case-stuff." When I am training or speaking, I love to have props with me. I hate leaving anything home so I bring everything ...just in case.
 
 Cars buzz by me. A few beep sarcastically. I hear the horn saying "ha ha!" I say, "You'll get yours!" Darkness begins to settle in. It's becoming a bit difficult to see. The tire is on the passenger side, thank God, away from all the traffic, but making it difficult to benefit from the headlights of passing cars.
 
 Suddenly a car pulls off the road behind me. In the blinding light I see a male figure approaching me. "Hey, do you need any help?" "Well, it certainly isn't easy doing this with a white dress shirt and suit on," I said. Then he steps into the light. I literally was frightened.
 
 This young guy was dressed in black. Nearly everything imaginable was pierced and tattooed. His hair was cropped and poorly cut. He had leather bracelets with spikes on each wrist. "How about I give you a hand?" he said. "Well, I don't know . . . I think I can . . . " "Come on, it will only take me a few minutes." He took right over. While watching him I happened to look back at his car and noticed for the first time someone sitting in the passenger seat. That concerned me.
 
 I suddenly felt outnumbered. Thoughts of car-jackings and robberies flashed through my mind. I really just wanted to get this over and survive it.
 
 Then, without warning, it began to pour. The night sky had hidden the approaching clouds. It hit like a waterfall and made it impossible to finish the tire change. "Look, my friend, just stop what you're doing. I appreciate all your help. You better get going. I'll finish after the rain stops," I said.
 
 "Let me help you put your stuff back in the trunk. It will get ruined," he insisted. "Then get in my car. We'll wait with you," he insisted. "No, really. I'll take care of everything," I said.
 
 "You can't get in your car with the jack up like that. It will fall. Come on. Get in," he said as he grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the car. Crack! Boom! Lightning and thunder roared like a freight train. I literally jumped in his car. "Oh, God, protect me!" I thought to myself.
 
 Wet and tired I settled into the back seat. Suddenly a small frail voice came from the front seat of the car. "Are you all right?" she said as she turned around to face me. "Yes, I am," I replied with much relief seeing the old woman there. It must be his Mom.
 
 "My name is Beatrice and this is my neighbor Jeff," she said. "He insisted on stopping when he saw you struggling with the tire." "I am grateful for his help," I said. "Me, too!" she said with a laugh. "Jeff takes me to visit my huS*and. We had to place him in a nursing home and it's about 30 minutes away from where we live. So, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, we have a date." She laughed and shook her head.
 
 "We're the remake of the Odd Couple," Jeff said as he joined in laughing."
 
 "Jeff, that's incredible what you do for her. I would never have guessed, well, ah, you know I . . ." I stumbled with the words.
 
 "I know. People who look like me don't do nice things," he said. Silence. I really felt uncomfortable. I never believed that I judged people by the way they dressed. I was angry with myself for being so stupid.
 
 "Jeff is a great kid. I'm not the only one he helps. He's a volunteer at our church. He also works with the kids in the learning center at the low income housing unit in our town," said Beatrice.
 
 "I'm a tutor" Jeff said quietly as he stared at my car. Silence again played a part now in a moment of reflection rather than the uncomfortable feeling that I had insulted someone. He was right. What he wore on the outside was a reflection of the world as he saw it. What he wore on the inside was the spirit of giving, caring and loving the world he wanted to see.
 
 The rain stopped and Jeff and I changed the tire. I tried to offer him money and of course he refused it. As we shook hands I began to apologize for my stupidity.
 
 He said, "I experience that same reaction often. I actually thought about changing the way I look. But then I saw this as an opportunity to make a point. So I'll leave you with the same question I ask everyone who takes time to know me. If Jesus returned tomorrow and walked among us again, would you recognize Him by what He wore or by what He did?
 
 
 1 Samuel 16:7 "But the LORD said to Samuel, 'Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have refused him. For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart'."
 
 
 Information Please
 
 
 
 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."
 
 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, and she told me my pet chipmunk I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts. And there was the time that 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 unconsoled. Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up 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. Then 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 hall table. Yet 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, and 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 again the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information." I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you tell me please how-to spell fix?" There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess that 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, just ask for Sally."
 
 Just three months later I was back in Seattle. . . A different voice answered Information, and I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" "Yes, a very old friend." "Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." But 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. Here it is I'll read it. '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 did know what Sally meant.
 
 
 Blind Bus Passenger
 
 
 
 The passengers on the bus watched sympathetically as the attractive young woman with the white cane made her way carefully up the steps. She paid the driver and, using her hands to feel the location of the seats, walked down the aisle and found the seat he'd told her was empty. Then she settled in, placed her briefcase on her lap and rested her cane against her leg. It had been a year since Susan, thirty-four, became blind.
 
 Due to a medical misdiagnosis she had been rendered sightless, and she was suddenly thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity. Once a fiercely independent woman, Susan now felt condemned by this terrible twist of fate to become a powerless, helpless burden on everyone around her. "How could this have happened to me?" she would plead, her heart knotted with anger. But no matter how much she cried or ranted or prayed, she knew the painful truth that her sight was never going to return. A cloud of depression hung over Susan's once optimistic spirit. Just getting through each day was an exercise in frustration and exhaustion. And all she had to cling to was her huS*and Mark.
 
 Mark was an Air Force officer and he loved Susan with all of his heart. When she first lost her sight, he watched her sink into despair and was determined to help his wife gain the strength and confidence she needed to become independent again. Mark's military background had trained him well to deal with sensitive situations, and yet he knew this was the most difficult battle he would ever face. Finally, Susan felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get there? She used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get around the city by herself. Mark volunteered to drive her to work each day, even though they worked at opposite ends of the city.
 
 At first, this comforted Susan and fulfilled Mark's need to protect his sightless wife who was so insecure about performing the slightest task. Soon, however, Mark realized that this arrangement wasn't working - it was hectic and costly. Susan is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted to himself. But just the thought of mentioning it to her made him cringe. She was still so fragile, so angry. How would she react?
 
 Just as Mark predicted, Susan was horrified at the idea of taking the bus again. "I'm blind!" she responded bitterly. "How am I supposed to know where I'm going? I feel like you're abandoning me." Mark's heart broke to hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. He promised Susan that each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her, for as long as it took, until she got the hang of it. And that is exactly what happened. For two solid weeks, Mark, military uniform and all, accompanied Susan to and from work each day. He taught her how to rely on her other senses, specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and how to adapt to her new environment. He helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out for her, and save her a seat. He made her laugh, even on those not-so-good days when she would trip exiting the bus, or drop her briefcase. Each morning they made the journey together, and Mark would take a cab back to his office. Although this routine was even more costly and exhausting than the previous one, Mark knew it was only a matter of time before Susan would be able to ride the bus on her own. He believed in her, in the Susan he used to know before she'd lost her sight, who wasn't afraid of any challenge and who would never, ever quit.
 
 Finally, Susan decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own. Monday morning arrived, and before she left, she threw her arms around Mark, her temporary bus riding companion, her huS*and, and her best friend. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, his love. She said good-bye, and for the first time, they went their separate ways.
 
 Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday... Each day on her own went perfectly, and Susan never felt better. She was doing it! She was going to work all by herself! On Friday morning, Susan took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying for her fare to exit the bus, the driver said, "Boy, I sure envy you." Susan wasn't sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the courage to live for the past year?
 
 Curious, she asked the driver,"Why do you say that you envy me?"
 
 The driver answered, "You know, every morning for the past week, a fine looking gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the corner watching you when you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely and he watches you until you enter your office building. Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little salute and walks away. You are one lucky lady."
 
 Tears of happiness poured down Susan's cheeks. For, although she couldn't physically see him, she had always felt Mark's presence. She was lucky, so lucky, for he had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift she didn't need to see to believe -- the gift of love that can bring light where there had been darkness.
 
 God watches over us in just the same way. We may not know He is present. We may not be able to see His face, but He is there nonetheless. Be blessed in this thought: "God Loves You -- even when you are not looking."
 
 
 Addendum -- Matthew 28:20 (NKJ) "... I am with you always, even to the end of the age." Amen

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