Stories

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:46:43

The Little Raggedy Girl
 
 
 
 There was once a little raggedy girl who lived with her widowed mother in what could only be charitably called a shack, just outside of town. She had few clothes to wear and those that she had were worn and patched in many places. She was clean and tidy. Her mother saw to that. But, her schoolmates could not see past her ragged clothing and they enjoyed making fun of her.
 
 The little raggedy girl bore the insults of the other children in silence. One little boy, in particular, liked to make fun of the coat she always wore. Like the rest of her clothes, the coat had seen much better days. It was an ugly green color with pulls and rawls all over it. Some places had dark stains that no amount of washing could ever remove. But the coat was warm and it was the only one she had, so the little raggedy girl wore it to school every day.
 
 Christmas was only a few days away now, and it was the last school day before the long vacation. On her way home that day, a wet snow was falling accompanied by a biting north wind. It was cold and miserable. She was happy about her old coat and the warmth it provided. Still she wanted to get home quickly to the warmth of her house.
 
 Several blocks from the school she saw three boys standing on the sidewalk. They seemed to be arguing, but she couldn't make out the words -- just a lot of shouting. Then one of the boys suddenly snatched the coat off one the other boy's back. The boy tried to hold onto his coat, but the other one was stronger. As soon as the coat was free, he and his friend ran off with it, laughing. The boy started to run after them but, in his haste, slipped and fell in the slushy snow, landing heavily on the sidewalk. The raggedy girl ran up to the boy on the ground. She was startled to find it was the very same boy who had always taunted her about her coat at school.
 
 "What happened?" she shouted.
 
 The boy on the ground was crying, tears streaming down his face. "They took my coat," he wailed. "Now I'll freeze to death."
 
 The little raggedy girl smiled. "I doubt that," she said, "but you're going to get mighty cold before you get home. You might catch a bad cold and that's no good around Christmas.
 
 Then the boy felt a gentle, soft hand wiping the tears from his cheek. "Don't cry," she said. "Here. Wear my coat until you get home."
 
 "But you'll freeze."
 
 "No I won't," the little raggedy girl answered as she took off the coat. "Mama always makes me wear this old sweater under my coat for extra protection. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. Now put on my coat and we'll walk over to your house. If we hurry, it won't be so bad."
 
 Ten minutes later, the pair arrived at the boy's house and stepped onto the porch. "Can you come in with me?" he asked. "You look positively frigid. Mom always has some hot chocolate and cookies for me when I get home on days like this."
 
 The little raggedy girl felt funny going into such a fine house, but before she knew it the little boy had taken her by the hand and was dragging her through the front door. Inside, the house looked just as nice as it had from the outside. Just as the boy was taking off the ragged coat to return to the girl, his mother met them in the vestibule. "Who is this?" she asked. "And just where is your coat, young man?"
 
 The little boy then told his mother all that had happened. When he finished, she smiled at the little raggedy girl and said, "You are welcome here. Come into the kitchen. I have some hot chocolate and fresh Toll House cookies. Eat with Mike and warm up before you go home. We'll worry about getting his coat back later."
 
 The little raggedy girl had never tasted anything so good as the cookies and cocoa in her life. Her mother was far too poor to buy such luxuries. Just before she finished, the mother walked into the kitchen with a huge box wrapped in shiny red ribbon. She placed the box in front of the little raggedy girl. "Go on and open it, honey," she said. "It's for you."
 
 The little raggedy girl opened the box. Her heart leaped into her throat. There, folded neatly inside, was a brand new coat. She looked up at the boy's mother. "Go on," the mother urged. "It's yours. Try it on. See if it fits."
 
 The little raggedy girl took the coat from the box and held it out in front of her. It was beautiful -- bright red with a warm liner and a thick, soft fur hood. And there wasn't a spot on it. She had never seen anything so beautiful in all her life. She looked up at the boy's mother. She was smiling broadly. "I had bought that coat for my niece for Christmas, but I think you deserve it much more," she said.
 
 Then the mother drove the little raggedy girl to her own front door. She thanked the woman, then ran into the house to show her Mama the new coat. After she had finished telling her story, she saw that her mother was crying. She put a small arm around her mother's thin shoulders.
 
 "I thought you would be happy, Mama," she said softly. "But if you want, I'll take the coat back. See? I still have my old one."
 
 The mother gathered her little daughter on her lap and hugged her. "I"m not unhappy, honey," she sniffed. "I'm overcome with joy. I knew that I would never be able to buy you a new coat for Christmas. Even used coats down at the mission cost too much for me. So I prayed to God that he would provide you with a new coat. And He did -- and a finer coat than I ever imagined."
 
 The mother kissed her daughter on the cheek. The little girl could feel the warm wetness of her mother's tears against her dry, cool skin. "You know," the little ragged girl said as she hugged her mother, "I really am so very rich to have a mother like you."
 
 
 
 "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
 (Romans 8:28 NIV)
 
 
 <img src="http://skywriting.net/images/pelicans2.jpg" border="0" onclick="javascript:window.open(this.src);" alt="" style="CURSOR: pointer" onload="javascript:if(this.width>screen.width-500)this.style.width=screen.width-500;" />
 
 Two Pelicans
 
 
 
 I watched as two pelicans were gliding just above the water out where the waves begin to break. There were only two, not the more typical five or six. Why only two? I have a theory.
 
 Perhaps there were two because this was a training flight. The lead pelican was the older, wiser, more experienced pelican. The second one was being trained in the fine art of pelicaning. I imagined the instructions going something like this: "Okay, Junior, you stick with me and I’ll show you how to do it," said the older pelican. In seconds they were airborne. "First, flap your wings like this. Not so fast. Slower. Smoother. Now, stop flapping and glide. Be sure to make it look effortless. That guy on the beach is taking notes. Now, here’s how you hover. Good! Now flap! Stop flapping! Flap! Stop flapping! Remember, smooth and leisurely. Excellent! Now let’s glide right down over the water where we can almost touch it, but not quite. Those humans go nuts when we do this. They wish they could do it. You’re doing great kid, but we’re not finished. This is our big moment. Ready? Stop! Drop! Splash! Up! We’re outta here! You’re doing great! Just keep doing what I do and you’ll be fine."
 
 Those two pelicans have gone on down the coast, but I see similar scenes everyday. There is the mother who sits with her daughter sharing her years of experience as a wife, a mother, and a lady. There’s the father showing his son how to hold a baseball bat and how to stand at the plate. An older mechanic patiently explains the strange noise under the hood to the new guy. An experienced teacher illustrates her technique of classroom discipline to the recent graduate. The long-time student of the Word explains a text to his disciple. Jesus when he asked Peter, "Do you love me?" People taking time to share their wisdom, explain their success, and reveal their failures. Both benefit from the experience. Many others will reap the fruit of their time together.
 
 A little later I saw the two pelicans on their way back down the coastline (I’m not absolutely sure it was the same two pelicans, but they looked like them.) This time they have switched places. I heard the older one say, "Okay, son. Your turn to lead. Take off!" Look around you. See any young pelicans wanting to learn to fly. There may be someone who needs the wisdom and experience you have. The new guy on the job, the new couple at church, that young mother who seems to have her hands full, or the young man who has just begun his walk with the Lord. You have the knowledge, you have the wisdom, and you have the gift they need. Don’t waste the opportunity! Take time and teach someone to fly!
 
 
 The Perfect Mistake
 
 
 
 My Mother's father worked as a carpenter. On this particular day, he was building some crates for the clothes his church was sending to orphanages in China. On his way home, he reached into his shirt pocket to find his glasses, but they were gone. When he mentally replayed his earlier actions, he realized what had happened; the glasses had slipped out of his pocket unnoticed and fallen into one of the crates, which he had nailed shut. His brand new glasses were heading for China!
 
 The Great Depression was at its height and Grandpa had six children. He had spent $20 for those glasses that very morning. He was really upset by the thought of having to buy another pair. "It's not fair," he told God as he drove home in frustration. "I've been very faithful in giving of my time and money to your work, and now this."
 
 Months later, the director of the orphanage was on furlough in the United States. He wanted to visit all the churches that supported him in China, so he came to speak one Sunday at my grandfather's small church in Chicago.
 
 The missionary began by thanking the people for their faithfulness in supporting the orphanage. "But most of all," he said, "I must thank you for the glasses you sent last year. You see, the Communists had just swept through the orphanage, destroying everything, including my glasses. I was desperate. Even if I had the money, there was simply no way of replacing those glasses. Along with not being able to see well, I experienced headaches every day, so my coworkers and I were much in prayer about this. Then your crates arrived. When my staff removed the covers, they found a pair of glasses wedged between two blankets.
 
 The missionary paused long enough to let his words sink in. Then, still gripped with the wonder of it all, he continued: "Folks, when I tried on the glasses, it was as though they had been custom made just for me! I want to thank you for being a part of that."
 
 The people listened, happy for the miraculous glasses. But the missionary surely must have confused their church with another, they thought. There were no glasses on their list of items to be sent overseas. But sitting quietly in the back, with tears streaming down his face, an ordinary carpenter realized the Master Carpenter had used him in an extraordinary way.
 
 There are times we want to blame God instead of thanking him! Perhaps it is something we ought to try more often, "Thank you, God, for not allowing my car to start this morning." He may have been saving your life from a car accident. "Lord Jesus, thank you for letting me lose my glasses; I'm sure they'll be put to good use or there is a lesson to be learned."
 
 I have to remember this in these times of trial with my own family.
 
 May GOD bless your week. Look for the perfect mistakes.
 
 God shall supply all your needs according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus. - Phil 4:19

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:48:27

"Mrs. Waterford"
 
 
 
 Everyone has a best friend in High School. It's as compulsory as taking maths. Well, my best friend was Alicia Waterford. We did the usual best-friend things: sat around talking about boys, learning to blow smoke-rings, visiting each other's houses.
 
 I loved visiting Alica. Alicia was the eldest of ten children. You would think that would make her house rather hectic. Well, it was. But it was such a nice hectic. I only had the one sister, so seeing so many siblings in the one house was like a new and different world.
 
 The best thing about the Waterford family was you could almost see the love in that house. You could certainly sense it. Until then, I thought families that really cared for each other only existed in American sitcoms. Here was the proof that they actually existed.
 
 But their obvious love for each other didn't mean they didn't have time for strangers. On the contrary. I felt more welcome in that home than I had in any other house (including my Mum and Dad's). This was over ten years ago and even now I think back to that home with a touch of nostalgia. They didn't have big hi-fi systems. The place didn't look like it belonged in a home designer magazine. But it was special. If I had the choice of having love or spotless matching linen in my house, I know which one I'd choose.
 
 And then there was Mrs Waterford (Alicia's mum). Before I go any further, I should mention that the Waterfords were strict Catholics. (You may have guessed that around the time I said "ten children"). So when I met Mrs Waterford I expected a preachy judgmental woman who considered me a bad influence on her daughter. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the exact opposite applied. Mrs Waterford welcomed me into her home as if I were her own daughter. She was not only beautiful on the outside, but inside where it really counted.
 
 After I had known Alicia for a while, Alicia suggested I accompany her to Antioch (her youth church group). I readily agreed, partly because it sounded like fun, partly because there were boys involved, but mostly because I had an earnest desire to improve my relationship with God. Mrs Waterford was a living example of why I should do so. Speeches, flyers and door-knocks don't hold nearly as much power as knowing a Christian you greatly admire.
 
 So I went along, but unfortunately good intentions aren't always enough. Soon Alicia and I grew into the habit of missing mass completely and only turning up for the social event afterwards. Predictably enough, someone said something.
 
 As far as they were concerned, I was corrupting a good Catholic girl. I was a bad influence. They never actually said any of this to me. They said it all to Mrs Waterford. I imagine they sounded somewhat like that imaginary person I thought Mrs Waterford would be before I actually met her. Anyway, I can't say for certain how the conversation went but I do know how it ended. I was banned from Antioch.
 
 I wouldn't have blamed Mrs Waterford if she'd chosen that moment to turn on me. I had kept her daughter from church. I had even introduced her to smoking. I wouldn't have blamed her if she agreed with everything the church leaders said, gave me a lecture and insisted on no uncertain terms that I was never to speak to Alicia again. Did I mention strict catholic?
 
 I wouldn't have blamed her, but it didn't happen like that. Mrs Waterford stood up for me. As I said, I wasn't there, but I know the gist of the conversation. She said they shouldn't ban me, I know that. She also mentioned something about turning away someone who may finally be turning towards God. Words to that effect, anyway. She sided with a sinner.
 
 How did Mary Magdelene feel when Jesus sided with her? I don't know. I can't imagine it. But I do know how it feels when someone good is on your side, even though you're someone bad. It's amazing.
 
 I'd like to say the church leaders changed their mind. They didn't. I never went to Antioch again. I still remained friends with Alicia, but eventually, as many high-school friendships do, we lost contact. I never see Alicia anymore. I never see Mrs Waterford. I never see anyone from that wonderful Waterford family. But I think of them every day.
 
 Mrs Waterford, if you ever see this, I'd like to tell you something. I'd like to thank you for being such a wonderful person. I'd like to thank you for remaining on my side. But most of all, I'd like to thank you for showing me what true Christians are like. You are my hero.
 
 The Church The Bible Built
 
 
 
 Many years ago the Rev. Robert Burris, now 92 years of age, worked for four and one-half years as a missionary in South China. As part of his ministry he journeyed into the mountains carrying copies of the Scriptures in Chinese for distribution. In this way, although he could not speak fluent Chinese, the people were given God's word.
 
 Toward the end of his term Mr. Burris and three companions began a 180- mile journey with 4,000 copies of the Chinese New Testament. In the first ten days about half of these New Testaments had been distributed. Then, in the remote countryside, they were stopped by five armed bandits who took everything--money, clothing, shoes--- and the remaining 2,000 copies of the New Testament. Mr. Burris and friends limped home barefooted in their shirts and trousers, glad to be alive.
 
 Approximately 25 years later when Mr. Burris was the pastor of a church in Ohio, he and his wife attended a lecture with slides presented by a missionary to South China. Among the slides shown was a picture of the very place in which he had been robbed by the bandits."Now," the missionary said,"we come to the most important slide in my collection.
 
 I call it The Miracle Church." The picture on the screen showed a large rough empty building."This is The Miracle Church," the missionary continued,"Because no one knows who started it, or how, every Sunday, 400 people attend, each with a copy of The New Testament in Chinese.
 
 No one knows were they got these New Testaments. So far as is known, no missionary or distributor ever went into these mountains which are infested with bandits and robbers. Yet today, the church is there and the people have God's Word".
 
 Mr. Burris smiled in gratitude. God's Word, taken from him that day by bandits had been building it's own church in China for 25 years.
 
 
 Robby's Special Piano Recital For His Mother
 
 
 
 At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name is Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from DeMoines, Iowa.
 
 I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons-something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a prodigy though I have taught some talented students.
 
 However I've also had my share of what I call "musically challenged" pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I refer that students (especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student.
 
 Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn. Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, "My mom's going to hear me play some day." But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in. Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons.
 
 I thought about calling him but assumed, because of his lack of ability,that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching! Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mom had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing.
 
 "Miss Hondorf... I've just got to play!" he insisted. I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right. The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my "curtain closer."
 
 Well the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'run an egg-beater through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?" Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories.
 
 He went from pianissimo to fortissimo... from allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age. After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause.
 
 Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. "I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it?" Through the microphone Robby explained: "Well Miss Hondorf... remember I told you my mom was sick? Well actually she had cancer and passed away this morning. And well.... she was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special."
 
 There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil. No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a prodigy... of Robby's.
 
 He was the teacher and I was the pupil. For it was he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance on someone and you don't know why.
 
 This is especially meaningful to me since after serving in Desert Storm Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was reportedly.... playing the piano.
 
 
 We can all make a difference. We have thousands of opportunities a day to help realize God's plan. So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a spark of the Divine? Or do we pass up that opportunity, and leave the world a bit colder in the process? Please forward this story to the people you care about. Thank you for reading this....
 
 
 I am my neighbor's Bible
 He reads me when we meet....
 He may not even know my name,
 Yet he's reading me when we greet.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:49:21

Clover Alert
 
 
 
 Since childhood, I have had this special "gift" of finding four leaf clovers wherever they may be lurking.
 
 One sweet summer vacation day, several of my childhood friends and I were playing in a field filled with daisies, when I discovered a four leaf clover -- and then another, and another.
 
 The hunt was on.
 
 While my friends were unsuccessful, it wasn't long before I had bagged several four leaf clovers and a five leaf clover! Then I found a six leaf, then to my surprise and delight, a seven, an eight, and a nine.
 
 Many years later, upon opening my childhood Bible, dozens of dried, brittle memories of that day fell out bringing a smile to my face. I'd forgotten putting the clovers there for safe keeping.
 
 After marrying Roy, my second huS*and (another stroke of "luck") and moving to the house we live in now, he was working on his motorcycle in the front yard. When I took him out a glass of iced tea, I discovered he and the bike were practically rolling in a bed of four leaf clovers.
 
 Up to this point, Roy had never found a four leaf clover. Here was a prefect chance. How could he miss? Four leaf clovers were popping up everywhere. All he had to do was reach down and pick a clover, any clover. But try as he might, he couldn't see even one!
 
 Finally, I pointed my toe at the biggest one in the lot. At last, now he could say he'd at least picked one.
 
 Another time, while Roy and I were "flying" along the break down lane of Route 2 on our ten speed bikes, I squealed, "Hey, there's a four leaf clover!" He had the audacity to question my ability to recognize a four leaf clover while riding a bike.
 
 "As if you can see a four leaf clover doing forty miles an hour!"
 
 "Oh yeah, well let's turn around right now," I demanded and pedaled back to where I'd seen the clover.
 
 Standing there triumphantly, I crowed, "Here it is. Just like I said. Come see!"
 
 Looking down to where I held it between my fingers, Roy relented, "That's unbelievable!" He never questioned my unique talent after that.
 
 Last year, I spied a four leaf clover by the walkway as we carried groceries into the house.
 
 "Clover alert!" I chirped, and pointed in the general vicinity of where it was nestled among a host of threes. After staring at the ground for what seemed like an eternity, Roy finally "found" the four leaf clover.
 
 I am still hoping for the day when I can claim finding a ten leaf clover, and Roy finds a four leaf all on his own, without the assistance of the "lucky eye" he married.
 
 Do I believe in luck or coincidence? No way!
 
 Every good and perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights (James 1 :17).
 
 He puts the opportunity out there for us. It is up to the "lucky ones" to take advantage of this seeming serendipity.
 
 
 
 The Wedding Dress
 
 
 
 When a mother dreams of her daughter's wedding day she has visions of the flowing white gown and a beautiful bouquet. She pictures her huS*and, the father of the bride, walking their daughter down the aisle, arm in arm while tears of happiness blur her view.
 
 Never in those days of anticipating her daughter's Cinderella day did she once think about something equally important - the shopping for the wedding dress. But, as the mother of the bride soon learns there are many tedious steps that need to be taken before the glorious event of walking down the aisle.
 
 As a newcomer to the bridal scene I pretty much thought that if you've seen one white wedding dress you've pretty much seen them all. Did I not learn anything from the past experience of shopping for Prom gowns? This, I was to learn, would be an experience like no other. The hangers each held a variety of styles. There were the poofy-foo-foo dresses with yards and yards of material. There were A-lines, straight lines and mermaid styles for the slimmest of the slim. Organza, tulle, satin, silk and lace were just the tip of the fashion fabric iceberg.
 
 Patiently, I sat and watched as my darling daughter modeled a medley of gorgeous gowns, one prettier than the next. Any one of them could have been the perfect one. Whether fancy lace or simple satin - they all looked flawless on her petite size 6 frame. Fear of commitment seemed to be what spurned her on to visit other bridal salons.
 
 It wasn't too long ago I had been in a similar situation, but that was senior prom and I thought that was cause for an ultimate Tylenol moment! I can tell you now that shopping for a prom gown pales in comparison, and rightly so. This is a big day; one that will not only live on as a memory in our hearts but that will also live forever on the wall in the form of a framed photograph of this merry milestone in all our lives. So, it was, with minimal complaint from me, that we searched and searched some more.
 
 I was becoming quite good at going with the flow and I began to enjoy the outings. Oohing and ahhing became as natural as breathing as my daughter modeled these fantasy gowns before me. Finally she had it narrowed down to three. All were similar in style, all looked stunning and beautiful but still no commitment from the bride to be. I was now in the 'going with the flow' mode and knew she would eventually find what she was looking for.
 
 And, it did indeed happen, quite by chance. Browsing through a salon she chose a dress from the rack that I wouldn't have guessed she'd take a second look at. Her decision to try it on would change the course of our shopping adventures. It would also signal the beginning of the we ddingplanning. No sooner had she slipped into this creative vision of splendor and we both knew this was thee dress for her.
 
 There was my little girl, standing there in a white wedding gown; a white wedding veil with tiny sparkles of crystal and bugle beads trimming the edges that softly caressed her shoulders. The sight brought tears to my eyes.
 
 The message hit home as I watched her gracefully step in front of the long triple wide mirrors. My baby girl is getting married! There is no turning back only going forward, toward a new life with the man she loves.
 
 Time is flying by so fast! We've reserved the church, we have the reception hall, the DJ has been booked and the photographer has been hired. And as the date draws ever near I know the hardest part for me will be accepting that my little girl will be leaving home to make her own home and family with the man she will soon marry. For her, finding the perfect wedding dress signals the excitement of new beginnings. For me this a lesson in learning to let go, slowly and gracefully as the sound of wedding bells ring out in her not so distant future.
 
 
 
 A Lesson for a Lifetime
 
 
 
 When I arrived at 6 a.m. in the large hospital kitchen, Rose was already checking name tags on the trays against the patient roster. Stainless steel shelves held rows of breakfast trays which we would soon be serving.
 
 "Hi, I'm Janet." I tried to sound cheerful, although I already knew Rose's reputation for being impossible to work with. "I'm scheduled to work with you this week."
 
 Rose, a middle-aged woman with graying hair, stopped what she was doing and peered over her reading glasses. I could tell from her expression she wasn't pleased to see a student worker.
 
 "What do you want me to do? Start the coffee?"
 
 Rose sullenly nodded and went back to checking name tags.
 
 I filled the 40-cup pot with cold water and began making the coffee when Rose gruffly snapped, "That's not the way to make coffee." She stepped in and took over.
 
 "I was just doing it the way our supervisor showed us to do it," I said in astonishment.
 
 "The patients like the coffee better the way I do it," she replied curtly.
 
 Nothing I did pleased her. All morning her eagle eyes missed nothing and her sharp words stung. She literally trailed me around the kitchen.
 
 Later, after breakfast had been served and the dishes had been washed, I set up my share of trays for the next meal. Then I busied myself cleaning the sink. Certainly Rose couldn't criticize the way I did that.
 
 When I turned around, there stood Rose, rearranging all of the trays I had just set up!
 
 Totally exhausted, I trudged the six blocks home from the University of Minnesota Hospital late that June afternoon. As a third year university student working my way through school, I had never before encountered anyone like Rose.
 
 Fighting back tears, I wrestled with my dilemma alone in my room. "Lord, what do you want me to do? I can't take much more of Rose."
 
 I turned the possibilities over in my mind. Should I see if my supervisor would switch me to work with someone else? Scheduling was fairly flexible. On the other hand, I didn't want to be a quitter. I knew my older co-workers were watching to see if my actions matched my words.
 
 The answer to my prayer caught me completely by surprise -- I needed to love Rose.
 
 Love her? No way! Tolerate, yes, but loving her was impossible.
 
 "Lord, I can't love Rose. You'll have to do it through me."
 
 Working with Rose the next morning, I ignored the barbs thrown in my direction and did things Rose's way as much as possible to avoid friction. As I worked, I silently began to surround Rose with a warm blanket of prayers. "Lord, help me love Rose. Lord, bless Rose."
 
 Over the next few days an amazing thing began to happen. As I prayed for this irritating woman, my focus shifted from what she was doing to me, and I started seeing Rose as the hurting person she was. The icy tension began to melt away.
 
 Throughout the rest of the summer, we had numerous opportunities to work together. Each time she seemed genuinely happy to see me. As I worked with this lonely woman, I listened to her--something no one else had done.
 
 I learned that she was burdened by elderly parents who needed her care, her own health problems, and an alcoholic huS*and she was thinking of leaving.
 
 The days slipped by quickly as I finished the last several weeks of my summer job. Leaves were starting to turn yellow and red, and there was a cool, crispness in the air. I soon would be returning as a full-time university student.
 
 One day, while I was working alone in one of the hospital kitchens, Rose entered the room. Instead of her blue uniform, she was wearing street clothes.
 
 I looked at her in surprise. "Aren't you working today?"
 
 "I got me another job and won't be working here no more," she said as she walked over and gave me a quick hug. "I just came to say good-bye." Then she turned abruptly and walked out the door.
 
 Although I never saw Rose again, I still remember her vividly. That summer I learned a lesson I've never forgotten. The world is full of people like Rose--irritating, demanding, unlovable - yet hurting inside. I've found that love is the best way to turn an enemy into a friend.
 
 
 "Love your enemies! Do good to them! Lend to them! And don't be concerned that they might not repay. Then your reward from heaven will be very great, and you will truly be acting as children of the Most High, for he is kind to the unthankful and to those who are wicked."
 Luke 6:35 NLT

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:50:53

The Leaf and the Wind
 
 
 
 Leaf looked out across the broad, dawn-pink sky and down over the beautiful spring garden. The dewy breeze grazed it and left it shimmering, fluttering.
 
 As it moved, Leaf saw all the corners of the garden with its flowers, bushes, trees and animals. Leaf stretched to catch every sight and sound. It was a new leaf at the top of a very old tree.
 
 Leaf adored all the elements - wind, sun and rain. But it was in love with the wind.
 
 Wind gave it the freedom of motion. Without the breeze it would never have seen the world below or from side to side. Wind rocked Leaf to sleep and shook it awake. Wind made Leaf dance.
 
 Wind whistled haunting tunes through the branches, it whispered and sometimes it even sang.
 
 On many days, Wind told Leaf of the places it had been. "All across the Rivers and down to the sea have I been," whispered Wind. On that day, Leaf could even smell the scent of the water and salty places of which Wind spoke.
 
 "High up the mountain to the very door of Heaven today," Wind told, as the fresh clean smells settled down upon Leaf. "I have seen where the Blue-sky ends and birds cease to wing. I have heard the voice of Life itself and it is so beautiful."
 
 Leaf shuddered with the thought of having Life speak to it as it did to Wind. "When will life speak to me?" Leaf asked Wind.
 
 The breeze warmed as it blew over Leaf and Wind said softly, "You can Hear Life's voice in me."
 
 Whenever it blew past, be it a breeze or gale, the little green leaf waved a joyful greeting to Wind - like the hand of a happy child to a loved one.
 
 "I will love you for all time," Leaf whispered to the moving air around it. "I could not be happier."
 
 Hearing this promise Tree itself shook and emitted a deep chuckle. "I am glad you are happy now," the tree said. "Enjoy your youth and beauty while you can, for soon enough you will be withered and brown, dry as dust and blown away with by the same breeze that stirs your heart today."
 
 Leaf stiffened at these words. The other leaves said nothing. One or two fell like tears before their time, so stricken were they by the sadness.
 
 "That is not so!" Leaf cried.
 
 Tree shook again and said, "Oh but it is true. I have seen many, many leaves from many trees fall and crumble. Your time will come to curse the wind and the way of things. Wind is old and you are young. Ask Wind sometime."
 
 The tree said no more. Leaf tried not to think about what Tree had said. Of course it had heard the stories of how leaves grow old and die, but still it would never be hateful.
 
 That very day, Leaf made a decision. It shouted to the world, "I will Never hate Wind. I will not give in to fear or unhappiness."
 
 Still, the next time Wind came to call, Leaf could not help but ask. "When I become old, dry and brittle will you destroy me as Tree says," Leaf asked.
 
 Wind was silent for a long moment. "I will not destroy you my dear one," Wind said. "All Earthly things grow old and dry. That is not my doing."
 
 Leaf was shaking and Wind could see the fear beginning to overtake Leaf. Wind added, "Keep your promise not to give in to hate and sorrow and when the time comes for you to fall, I will be there to catch you. It will be a beginning and not and end for you."
 
 Again Leaf felt strong. "Tell me of your travels," Leaf said. Wind spoke well into the night.
 
 Time passed. Leaf grew and changed. At first it became very big and strong. Then, as the air grew chill, Leaf began to take on the most magnificent colors. First a yellow cast and then little patches of red and gold began to creep across it.
 
 "You are most beautiful today," whispered Wind. "I do not think that of all the leaves in the world there is one to match you."
 
 Leaf shook a bit, knowing full well that many of the others had also begun to change and take on different hues. Still, the words brought joy.
 
 "It is the beginning of the end for you and all your kind," Tree said. "Soon now, oh so soon, you will be nothing but a speck in the dirt."
 
 All the other leaves began to droop and some even tumbled from their homes early as the weight of that unhappy thought dragged them down to Earth.
 
 Not Leaf. "Words, words, words," Leaf laughed. "You cannot harm me with words. I choose to be happy with my fate. Others choose to be sad. The only one who will be sad when I am gone is you old tree for then who will you talk to?"
 
 Tree shook with frustration and anger. "You will see," Tree bellowed. "You will be dirt!"
 
 As days passed Leaf began to feel thin and tired. The bright colors that covered Leaf darkened to brown and Leaf knew its time grew short. Still it would not be sad because each day now Wind told Leaf of the wonderful adventures that were to come.
 
 Just seeing Leaf cling to happiness while all those around it fell made Tree angry. One day it could stand it no more and when Wind came to call, Tree shook for all it was worth and Leaf snapped away from its branch and began to fall.
 
 Tree watched and waited for Leaf to scream and cry, to realize what horror had just befallen it. Instead Tree heard the sound of laughter.
 
 One moment Leaf was held fast to Tree and the next it was falling, flipping end over end. "I am flying!" Leaf laughed in pure joy.
 
 "You are falling! Plunging," shouted Tree.
 
 "I am soaring like a little bird," Leaf sang out. "See how I go!"
 
 Leaf felt something lift it up. It was Wind come to keep its promise. "I cannot take you far right now, just to rest on the ground. No matter what happens, do not be afraid. I will return for you."
 
 Wind carried Leaf ever so gently to the ground and allowed it to rest there. Leaf could feel the rumble of the roots from Tree as it laughed and said," You see? Now you are ready to become like all the others. It is all just as I said. Just give up now."
 
 Leaf was not stirred to sadness by Tree's words. It did not answer, but lay quietly looking up at the world. It all looked so different now. After a time, Leaf nodded off to sleep and a long time passed before it woke.
 
 Instead of feeling old, stiff and papery, Leaf felt suddenly free to move about. It could hear wind singing softly through the trees and felt itself being lifted and spun higher and higher.
 
 "Did I not promise all would be well," crooned Wind. "You have become the dust of the Earth, so light and so fine that I can carry you anywhere with me."
 
 And so Wind did carry the dust of Leaf and scattered it over fields, onto the backs of birds that flew to mountains and into streams that led to oceans. Finally Wind seeded the clouds with the last few tiny grains that were once Leaf and Leaf came back to Earth with rains and snows.
 
 Everywhere it fell the remains of Leaf brought a grain of pure joy, a drop Of hope and touch of love for wind and life.
 
 One day in springtime Wind rustled past Tree and heard Tree telling all the young leaves about the Leaf that had loved the Wind and perished in the dirt.
 
 Wind came back through Tree singing a breezy tune, "Listen my children, but not to those who tell you that your fate is in the dirt. Listen to me instead. I will tell the tale of how you will become Heaven's Dust. Believe and you will never dread."
 
 If ever you wonder which leaves listen to Wind and not Tree, look up on a stormy day and see, which ones wave, a joyous greeting and which fall down in sorrow.
 
 
 Life Inside the Womb
 
 
 
 Once upon a time, twin boys were conceived in the womb. Seconds, minutes, hours passed as the two embryonic lives developed. The spark of life grew and each tiny brain began to take shape and form. With the development of their brain came feeling, and with feeling, perception -- a perception of surroundings, of each other, and their own lives. They discovered that life was good and they laughed and rejoiced in their hearts.
 
 One said to the other, "We are sure lucky to have been conceived and to have this wonderful world."
 
 The other chimed in, "Yes, blessed be our mother who gave us life and each other."
 
 Each of the twins continued to grow and soon their arms and fingers, legs and toes began to take shape. They stretched their bodies and churned and turned in their little world. They explored it and found the life cord which gave them life from their mother's blood. They were grateful for this new discovery and sang, "How great is the love of our mother -- that she shares all she has with us!"
 
 Weeks passed into months and with the advent of each new month, they noticed a change in each other and in themselves.
 
 "We are changing," one said. "What can it mean?"
 
 "It means," said the other, "that we are drawing near to birth."
 
 An unsettling chill crept over the two. They were afraid of birth, for they knew that it meant leaving their wonderful world behind.
 
 Said the one, "Were it up to me, I would live here forever."
 
 "But we must be born," said the other. "It has happened to all the others."
 
 Indeed, there was evidence inside the womb that the mother had carried life before theirs. "And I believe that there is life after birth, don't you?"
 
 "How can there be life after birth?" cried the one. "Do we not shed our life cord and also the blood tissue when we are born? And have you ever talked to anyone that has been born? Has anyone ever re-entered the womb after birth to describe what birth is like? NO!" As he spoke, he fell into despair, and in his despair he moaned, "If the purpose of conception and our growth inside the womb is to end in birth, then truly our life is senseless." He clutched his precious life cord to his breast and said, "And if this is so, and life is absurd, then there really can be no mothers!"
 
 "But there is a mother," protested the other. "Who else gave us nourishment? Who else created this world for us?"
 
 "We get our nourishment from this cord -- and our world has always been here?" said the one. "And if there is a mother -- where is she? Have you ever seen her? Does she ever talk to you? No! We invented the mother when we were young because it satisfied a need in us. It made us feel secure and happy."
 
 Thus, while the one raved and despaired, the other resign himself to birth and placed his trust in the hands of his mother. Hours turned into days, and days into weeks. And soon it was time. They both knew their birth was at hand, and they both feared what they did not know. As the one was first to be conceived, so he was the first to be born, the other following.
 
 They cried as they were born into the light. The coughed out fluid and gasped the dry air. And when they were sure they had been born, they opened their eyes -- seeing life after birth for the very first time. What they saw was the beautiful eyes of their mother, as they were cradled lovingly in her arms. They were home.
 
 "No eye has seen, no ear had heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him" (1 Corinthians 2:9).
 
 
 
 White Rose Wreath
 
 
 
 Vernal rebirth to our small coastal island seemed to come much later than any where else in the state of Maine.
 
 By Memorial Day, April showers had not yet kept its promise of May flowers.
 
 Due to this annual shortage, ingenious island women made up this deficit by spending days with scissors in hand, crafting miles of crepe paper into floral facsimiles fit to grace cemetery lots of their deceased loved ones.
 
 Grammie was master of this art form.
 
 She would cut stacks of pink, red, yellow, and white petal shapes. With her nimble fingers, she pulled and puffed them into lush fullness. With a rolling motion of the scissors, she fluted the petals' tips. By attaching and overlapping those petals to green paper wrapped wire stems, roses magically burst into full bloom. Or sometimes, small buds.
 
 My favorites though were the single petaled white flowers with the long yellow stamen. Grammie told me they were calla lilies. Years later, I saw my first real calla in a florist's shop and recognized it immediately. I still marvel over their simple elegance. Several of these exotic beauties have a home in my garden window.
 
 Patiently, Grammie taught me the fine art of petal arranging. My first attempts weren't very professional, but when mine were combined with hers in vases, they became breathtaking bouquets.
 
 After the flowers were completed, Grammie dipped them in melted paraffin. Instantly, they were transformed into translucent splendor that rivaled the real thing. With a bit of imagination one could almost smell their fragrant scent. I'm not so sure that Grammie didn't drop a bit of her Evening in Paris perfume from the cobalt bottle into the melted wax.
 
 As Memorial Day approached, our teachers explained its significance as a special time to honor and show appreciation to fallen American soldiers. In the mid 50s, WWII was still a haunting memory to many.
 
 To commemorate Memorial Day, students and teachers marched from school to the nearest wharf. One of the teachers offered a prayer of thankfulness for soldiers who willingly paid the ultimate sacrifice for their country. After singing God Bless America, a student solemnly tossed the wreath of white roses onto the waters of the Atlantic Ocean in honor of those buried or lost at sea.
 
 Seeing those white flowers floating on the cold, dark ocean waters left me with an indelible memory and a feeling of sadness for parents who'd never be able to welcome their loved ones home. In profound silence, we returned to school to be excused.
 
 Island women no longer painstakingly make their paper roses. Plastic Memorial flowers became a much easier alternative. The school's tradition of tossing the white wreath into the ocean ended as well. I do not know why.
 
 But I do know how my entire being filled with awe, knowing I was part of a small band of children and teachers to remember and honor the brave men who gave their lives to keep America a place where freedom rings.
 
 May they never be forgotten.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:51:53

<img src="http://skywriting.net/images/Jesuscomfort.jpg" border="0" onclick="javascript:window.open(this.src);" alt="" style="CURSOR: pointer" onload="javascript:if(this.width>screen.width-500)this.style.width=screen.width-500;" />
 
 
 My Child . . . .
 
 
 
 
 You may not know me, but I know everything about you... Psalm 139:1
 
 
 I know when you sit down and when you rise up... Psalm 139:2
 
 
 I am familiar with all your ways... Psalm 139:3
 
 
 Even the very hairs on your head are numbered... Matthew 10:29-31
 
 
 For you were made in my image... Genesis 1:27
 
 
 In me you live and move and have your being... Acts 17:28
 
 
 For you are my offspring... Acts 17:28
 
 
 I knew you even before you were conceived... Jeremiah 1:4-5
 
 
 I chose you when I planned creation... Ephesians 1:11-12
 
 
 You were not a mistake, for all your days are written in my book... Psalm 139:15-16
 
 
 I determined the exact time of your birth and where you would live... Acts 17:26
 
 
 You are fearfully and wonderfully made... Psalm 139:14
 
 
 I knit you together in your mother's womb... Psalm 139:13
 
 
 And brought you forth on the day you were born... Psalm 71:6
 
 
 I have been misrepresented by those who don't know me... John 8:41-44
 
 
 I am not distant and angry, but am the complete expression of love... 1 John 4:16
 
 
 And it is my desire to lavish my love on you... 1 John 3:1
 
 
 Simply because you are my child and I am your father... 1 John 3:1
 
 
 I offer you more than your earthly father ever could... Matthew 7:11
 
 
 For I am the perfect father... Matthew 5:48
 
 
 Every good gift that you receive comes from my hand... James 1:17
 
 
 For I am your provider and I meet all your needs... Matthew 6:31-33
 
 
 My plan for your future has always been filled with hope... Jeremiah 29:11
 
 
 Because I love you with an everlasting love... Jeremiah 31:3
 
 
 My thoughts toward you are countless as the sand on the seashore... Psalm 139:17-18
 
 
 And I rejoice over you with singing... Zephaniah 3:17
 
 
 I will never stop doing good to you... Jeremiah 32:40
 
 
 For you are my treasured possession... Exodus 19:5
 
 
 I desire to establish you with all my heart and all my soul... Jeremiah 32:41
 
 
 And I want to show you great and marvelous things... Jeremiah 33:3
 
 
 If you seek me with all your heart, you will find me... Deuteronomy 4:29
 
 
 Delight in me and I will give you the desires of your heart... Psalm 37:4
 
 
 For it is I who gave you those desires... Philippians 2:13
 
 
 I am able to do more for you than you could possibly imagine... Ephesians 3:20
 
 
 For I am your greatest encourager... 2 Thessalonians 2:16-17
 
 
 I am also the Father who comforts you in all your troubles... 2 Corinthians 1:3-4
 
 
 When you are brokenhearted, I am close to you... Psalm 34:18
 
 
 As a shepherd carries a lamb, I have carried you close to my heart... Isaiah 40:11
 
 
 One day I will wipe away every tear from your eyes... Revelation 21:3-4
 
 
 And I'll take away all the pain you have suffered on this earth... Revelation 21:3-4
 
 
 I am your Father, and I love you even as I love my son, Jesus... John 17:23
 
 
 For in Jesus, my love for you is revealed... John 17:26
 
 
 He is the exact representation of my being... Hebrews 1:3
 
 
 He came to demonstrate that I am for you, not against you... Romans 8:31
 
 
 And to tell you that I am not counting your sins... 2 Corinthians 5:18-19
 
 
 Jesus died so that you and I could be reconciled... 2 Corinthians 5:18-19
 
 
 His death was the ultimate expression of my love for you... 1 John 4:10
 
 
 I gave up everything I loved that I might gain your love... Romans 8:31-32
 
 
 If you receive the gift of my son Jesus, you receive me... 1 John 2:23
 
 
 And nothing will ever separate you from my love again... Romans 8:38-39
 
 
 Come home and I'll throw the biggest party heaven has ever seen... Luke 15:7
 
 
 I have always been Father, and will always be Father... Ephesians 3:14-15
 
 
 My question is... Will you be my child?... John 1:12-13
 
 
 I am waiting for you... Luke 15:11-32
 
 
 Love,
 
 Your father - God!

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:54:19

The Harvest
 
 
 
 There was once a spider who lived in a cornfield. He was a big spider and he had spun a beautiful web between the corn stalks. He got fat eating all the bugs that would get caught in his web. He liked his home and planned to stay there for the rest of his life.
 
 One day the spider caught a little bug in his web, and just as the spider was about to eat him, the bug said, "If you let me go I will tell you something important that will save your life." The spider paused for a moment and listened because he was amused. "You better get out of this cornfield," the little bug said, "The harvest is coming!"
 
 The spider smiled and said, "What is this harvest you are talking about? I think you are just telling me a story." But the little bug said, "Oh no, it is true. The owner of this field is coming to harvest it soon. All the stalks will be knocked down and the corn will be gathered up. You will be killed by the giant machines if you stay here."
 
 The spider said, "I don't believe in harvests and giant machines that knock down corn stalks. How can you prove this?" The little bug continued, "Just look at the corn. See how it is planted in rows? It proves this field was created by an intelligent designer." The spider laughed and mockingly said, "This field has evolved and has nothing to do with a creator. Corn always grows that way." The bug went on to explain, "Oh no. This field belongs to the owner who planted it, and the harvest is coming soon." The spider grinned and said to the little bug, "I don't believe you," and then the spider ate the little bug for lunch.
 
 A few days later, the spider was laughing about the story the little bug had told him. He thought to himself, "A harvest! What a silly idea. I have lived here all of my life and nothing has ever disturbed me. I have been here since these stalks were just a foot off the ground, and I'll be here for the rest of my life, because nothing is ever going to change in this field. Life is good, and I have it made."
 
 The next day was a beautiful sunny day in the cornfield. The sky above was clear and there was no wind at all. That afternoon as the spider was about to take a nap, he noticed some thick dusty clouds moving toward him. He could hear the roar of a great engine and he said to himself, "I wonder what that could be?"
 
 
 "In the last days mockers will come, following their own lusts, and saying, 'Where is the promise of His coming?'"
 2 Peter 3:3-4
 
 
 "The Lord is not slow concerning His promise, as some count slowness, but He is patient toward you, not wanting anyone to perish, but for all to come to repentance."
 2 Peter 3:9
 
 
 Frank Riddick's Bicycles
 
 
 
 Clinton, KY -- When Frank Riddick was growing up on a farm in western Tennessee, having a bicycle seemed as remote a possibility as owning a new car. One of six children, he always had plenty to eat and wear, but there wasn't much left for luxuries.
 
 Remembering those childhood longings, two years ago he decided to provide bicycles to youngsters whose families couldn't afford to buy them one for Christmas.
 
 To initiate the effort, he turned to the county mission house. Supported by various churches, the Clinton-based ministry provides food and clothing to low-income residents of the area.
 
 In October, he posted a sign there reading, "If your child doesn't have a bike and wants one, see me or Lula Bell (Puckett, the director)."
 
 "I gave a few bikes away and told children if it broke down or they had a flat to call me," said Riddick, who retired from farming in 1995. "I didn't dream anything like this would happen."
 
 What happened is a Christmas tale to touch the hardest of Scrooges. After buying 40 new bicycles and placing a classified ad seeking used ones, word quickly circulated. Donations of bikes started pouring in to his farm three miles north of town.
 
 To date he has given away nearly 200 and has 100 more in his workshop. Each carries a license plate reading, "Jesus Loves You."
 
 But he didn't stop with free bikes. Riddick gave the children his heart.
 
 Although he had built a 1.5-acre playground on his farm for his grandchildren, three of the five now live out of state. After getting acquainted with youngsters in the community, he invited them out to the homemade attraction.
 
 It includes a cable ride the length of a football field, with capacity for four riders; a 50-foot-high tree swing and a 61-foot slide. The latter is more than four times the length of conventional slides.
 
 Among other features is a merry-go-round-like device that holds three small children. A group of high school seniors took pictures of the cable ride for their photo albums and some children have said they enjoy it as much as the old Opryland amusement park.
 
 "It's a joy to know the Lord had in mind for these needy kids to come out," he said. "A lot of these children I'm dealing with are below poverty level. They live in bad environments, some are mistreated and, without the mission house, most would be without clothes.
 
 "I'm sure every community has children like this, but I didn't know how bad it was until I started doing this," he noted.
 
 Riddick's involvement also led him to buy a 15-passenger van. Though he uses it to shuttle children to Team Kid, he primarily got it to bring them to the playground.
 
 Looking back, the member of First Baptist Church of Clinton appreciates how God spared his life three times. In the past decade he survived a bout with kidney cancer, getting electrocuted by a 7,200-volt power line, and a brain tumor that doctors thought was cancerous but turned out to be stress-related.
 
 Still, he doesn't want any acclaim for what he does, saying the glory belongs to God.
 
 "I cannot say I had a vision to do this," he said. "I had a longing in my heart. I constantly feel a need to help the needy in our community. I can look back and see how everything happening was directed by God. I just didn't have enough spiritual knowledge to know it."
 
 
 Jeremy's Egg
 
 
 
 Jeremy was born with a twisted body, a slow mind and a chronic, terminal illness that had been slowly killing him all his young life. Still his parents had tried to give him as normal a life as possible and had sent him to St. Theresa's Elementary School.
 
 At the age of 12, Jeremy was only in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat, drool and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy irritated his teacher.
 
 One day, she called his parents and asked them to come to St. Theresa's for a consultation. As the Forresters sat quietly in the empty classroom, Doris said to them, "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students!"
 
 Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue while her huS*and spoke. "Miss Miller," he said, "there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here."
 
 Doris sat for a long time after they left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read or write. Why waste any more time trying?
 
 As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. "Oh God," she said aloud, "here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared with that poor family! Please help me to be more patient with Jeremy."
 
 From that day on, she tried to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank stares. Then one day he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him. "I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed loudly enough for the whole class to hear. The other children snickered, and Doris's face turned red. She stammered, "Wh-Why, that's very nice, Jeremy. Now please take your seat."
 
 Spring came, and the chidden talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Doris told them of the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. "Now," she said to them, "I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?"
 
 "Yes, Miss Miller!" the children responded enthusiastically - all except for Jeremy. He just listened intently, his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about Jesus' death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them.
 
 That evening, Doris's kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents.
 
 The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller's desk. After they completed their Math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In the first egg, Doris found a flower. "Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground we know that spring is here." A small girl in the first row waved her arms. "That's my egg, Miss Miller," she called out.
 
 The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up, "We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes that is new life, too." Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one is mine."
 
 Next, Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that the moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom. "My Daddy helped me!" he beamed.
 
 Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty! Surely it must be Jeremy's she thought, and of course, he did not understand her instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone his parents. Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another. Suddenly Jeremy spoke up.
 
 "Miss Miller, aren't you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Doris replied, "but Jeremy - your egg is empty!" He looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus' tomb was empty too!"
 
 Time stopped. When she could speak again, Doris asked him, "Do you know why the tomb was empty?" "Oh yes!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Jesus was killed and put in there. Then His Father raised Him up!"
 
 The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away.
 
 Three months later Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them empty.
 
 
 The Visitor
 
 
 
 One day, a man went to visit a church. He arrived early, parked his car, and got out. Another car pulled up near him, and the driver told him, "I always park there. You took my place!"
 
 The visitor went inside for Sunday School, found an empty seat, and sat down. A young lady from the church approached him and stated, "That's my seat! You took my place!"
 
 The visitor was somewhat distressed by this rude welcome, but said nothing. After Sunday School, the visitor went into the church sanctuary and sat down. Another member walked up to him and said, "That's where I always sit. You took my place!"
 
 The visitor was even more troubled by this treatment, but still said nothing. Later, as the congregation was praying for Christ to dwell among them, the visitor stood, and his appearance began to change. Horrible scars became visible on his hands and on his sandaled feet.
 
 Someone from the congregation noticed him and called out, "What happened to you?" The visitor replied, "I took your place."
 
 
 Addendum -- "Christ himself carried our sins in His body to the cross, so that we might die to sin and live for righteousness. It is by His wounds that you have been healed."

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:56:46

Fallen Angel
 
 A fallen angel came to Satan and asked him for an assignment. Satan asked what kind of angel he was and he said "I am destruction, I teach foul language, anger, and indifference. I cause strife among people, especially believers, which is my specialty."
 
 "I can get them fighting over all kinds of different beliefs and idea's. I have many, many people walking around with hate in their hearts who once loved."
 
 "It is really easy, I can get them angry over money, positions, knowledge. It is almost like they are ready to get upset over how someone else lives or believes."
 
 "Just yesterday I had 2 men who are neighbors and are Christians fighting over healing and prayer. You should have seen them, I had God crying over those two. I am really glad I came when I did because one of the men's boys got to see the argument and he was really close to asking Jesus into his life, that was a close one."
 
 "Then the other day {I should get a medal for this} this 'fella Jack took one of his friends at work to church with him. This man almost decided to ask Jesus into his heart, BOY, what a struggle I had and I hate being in church. Well, this man pondered all 'nite about Jesus, but the next day while at work when Jack was near him I got another man to get into an argument with him, and man did Jack lose it, well needless to say I got his friend back, another close call."
 
 "I did lose one though, this lady just would not give up on her boy, I had him into drugs and drinking and living it up, but she just wouldn't get off her knees for him and one of God's angels got another kid to talk to him and he got saved."
 
 "Get this, that other kid loved that boy so much he even was crying with him. How do you fight someone like that? Maybe I can make his life miserable and get him back. Well, I got years to work on him. I just can't believe how easy it is to cause people to fall away from God now days. It used to be maybe 1 of every 15, today I am getting over half to be lukewarm. It is just awesome how I can cause them to lose their love, that love that would get them to die even for an enemy if it would save them."
 
 "We are winning, Satan, because even though they talk about loving one another, they don't live it!"
 
 "I am amazed at how God thinks these people would care about others like the first church did -- those people are long gone, thanks to us." As he and Satan walked away he said, "I need a real challenge -- you got anybody who thinks they are really strong?"
 
 
 
 
 Luther's Lumber
 
 
 Luther had been home from the war nearly four months, now, and worked at the Carnation Milk plant in Mt. Vernon where his wife, Jenny, worked.
 
 This morning he was in the little Miller cafe next door to the post office waiting for the mail to be "put up". Sitting across from him in the booth was his old friend, Fred Hill. They were discussing the war which was still going on in the Pacific Theatre. Recruitment posters still lined the walls of the little cafe.
 
 Fred had not been in the service, because when the war started in 1941, his parents had been in very poor health; his father with a bad heart, and his mother with cancer. He was needed at home to care for them and operate the farm. His parents had since died, and the farm was now his -- his and Maggie's.
 
 When Luther, Fred's best friend since childhood, had flown over Miller in the B-17, and when the bodies of the Hobbs boys and Billie Martin had been shipped home, and when Perry came home with hooks where his hands should have been, Fred felt guilty. He felt he had not done his part for the war effort, and in his own eyes, he was diminished.
 
 But today, it was Luther who seemed depressed. Fred asked him what was bothering him. "You seem down in the dumps, today, Luther," he said. "I can't see what could be botherin' you. You came through the war without a scratch, you got a beautiful wife and a baby on the way, you got a good job, what's the problem?"
 
 "Jenny's mother is in bad shape," said Luther. "We're going to have to take her in, and with the baby coming we don't have the room."
 
 "Can't build a room on?" asked Fred.
 
 "No lumber available," said Luther. "I've tried here, Mt. Vernon, Springfield, Joplin, and there won't be any more shipments for the duration. Who knows how long that will be?"
 
 "Tried Will's sawmill?"
 
 "Yeah, but he just saws oak, and it's green. The baby'll be here in August, and we can't wait for the lumber to dry. Besides, you can't build a whole room out of oak, anyway."
 
 "Wouldn't want to," said Fred. "Reckon the mail's up?"
 
 "Probably."
 
 The two young men left the cafe and went into the post office next door. Buford Patten, the postmaster, had raised the door to the service window, signaling that the mail was in the boxes. Luther and Fred retrieved their mail and left -- Luther to work at Mt. Vernon, and Fred back to the farm.
 
 That evening, Fred finished the milking and sat on the front porch with Maggie. "Days are gettin' longer," he said. "Man could get half a day's work done after five o'clock."
 
 "Better put your Pa's car up," said Maggie. "Radio says rain tonight."
 
 Fred's father had bought a new 1941 Ford just before his first heart attack, and the car was now Fred's. He had built a new garage for it just before Christmas, and tonight he congratulated himself on getting it built before the lumber ran out. He didn't even know it had, until Luther told him this morning.
 
 Fred drove the car into the new garage and latched the door. He walked back around the house to the front porch. Something was nagging at his mind, but he couldn't define it. He shook it off and sat on the porch with Maggie until darkness fell. They could see heat lightning in the West, and the wind started to rise. They went in the house to listen to the news of the war on the radio, and shortly went to bed.
 
 The next morning, Fred again drove his pickup into Miller for the mail. The air was fresh and clear now, the rain having washed it clean. The sun was shining, and he felt good. When he reached the cafe, Luther was there ahead of him.
 
 "Still haven't found any lumber, I guess?"
 
 "No, I asked everybody at work, and nobody knows of any. I don't know what we'll do."
 
 Now the nagging in Fred's mind defined itself. "I found the lumber for you," he said.
 
 "You did? Where?" Luther was delighted.
 
 "Fella I know. He'll let you have it free, you bein' a veteran and all. He doesn't seem to want you to know who he is, so I'll have to haul it in for you. It's good lumber, fir and pine, cut different lengths and got nails in it, but that's no problem. Tell you what, you get your foundation poured, and I'll bring you a pickup load everyday and help you build it. We'll have it done before the baby gets here."
 
 "That's a friend for you," Luther said to himself, as he drove to Mt. Vernon. That evening he came home with sacks of cement in his pickup.
 
 Luther dug and poured the foundation, and when it was ready for the footings, he told Fred.
 
 "Fine," said Fred, "I'll bring the first load over and be there when you get home from work."
 
 Fred appeared every evening with a load of lumber, and the two men worked until it was too dark to see. Sometimes Maggie came too, and the women sat in the house listening to the radio or talking about babies or Jenny's ailing mother, their sentences punctuated by the sound of the hammers outside.
 
 Over the next few weeks the new room took shape and was finished and roofed. "Where did you get the shingles?" asked Luther.
 
 "Same fella," answered Fred. "He's got all kinds of stuff."
 
 Luther didn't push. Lots of older folks liked to help out the young veterans anonymously. It was common.
 
 It was done! The women fixed the room up inside, and moved Jenny's mother in. The men went back about their business.
 
 At supper one evening, Luther told Jenny he would like to do something nice for Fred and Maggie, since they had been so helpful with the new room. "I know," said Jenny, brightly. "Maggie likes those big wooden lawn chairs like Aunt Birdie has on her lawn. Why not get them a couple of those?"
 
 "Good idea," agreed Luther, and the next Saturday he bought a couple at Callison's hardware and loaded them into his pickup.
 
 When he got out to Fred's farm, there was no one home, Fred and Maggie having gone into Springfield, shopping. "That's ok," Luther thought, "I'll just put them in the garage in case it rains."
 
 He drove around the house and into the driveway that led to Fred's new garage.
 
 The garage was gone. Only the foundation remained to show where it had been.
 
 Luther put the chairs on the front porch and drove home, tears in his eyes.
 
 The two men are now in their mid-seventies, and are still the best of friends. They never spoke of the incident. How could they?
 
 There was nothing to say.
 
 
 
 A Tug
 
 
 In some circles it is not "politically correct" to be considered a "bloody" Christian who believes in eternal salvation, but I am guilty of believing that once saved, always saved. I have been cleansed by and washed in the blood of Jesus. Knowing this, gives me a peace of God and peace with God to pillow my head every night knowing that whether I go or whether I stay, I'm a winner either way.
 
 Because I don't deserve His salvation and did not do anything to earn it, sometimes, though, I wake up not feeling saved and wondering why God it would please God to bruise His Son for me. When I do, I am reminded of a young boy, an older man, and an out-of-sight kite.
 
 The story goes of a young boy flying a kite in the park one windy afternoon. The kite was so small and so high that an elderly man sitting on a bench watching him could not see the kite high in the heavens. After watching him a few minutes, he walked over asking the young boy what he was doing.
 
 "Flying my kite." he replied.
 
 "Are you sure. I don't see anything in the sky? Perhaps, the string broke and the kite is gone."
 
 "Nope." the boy said. "I still feel a tug."
 
 That is the way it is with me. Those mornings when I wake up questioning my salvation, I feel a Heavenly tug in my heart assuring me God's Spirit has removed all condemnation and made me to sit in Heavenly places.
 
 As long as I feel that Heavenly tug, He assures me I am His and He is mine.
 
 
 
 Teddy Bear's Call
 
 
 I was on the outskirts of a little Southern town, trying to reach my destination before the sun went down. The old CB was blaring away on channel 1-9, when there came a little boy's voice on the radio line. He said, "Breaker 1-9, is anyone there? Come on back, truckers, and talk to Teddy Bear."
 
 I keyed the mike and said, "You got it, Teddy Bear."
 
 The little boy's voice came back on the air, appreciate the break. "Who we got on the other end?"
 
 I told him my handle and then he began.
 
 "Now I'm not supposed to bother you guys out there. Mom says you're busy and for me to stay off the air. But you see, I get lonely and it helps to talk cause that's about all I can do. I'm crippled and cannot walk."
 
 I came back and told him to fire up that mike, I'd talk to him as long as he'd like.
 
 "This was my dad's radio," the little boy said, "but I guess it's mine and Mom's now cause my daddy's dead. Dad had a wreck about a month ago. He was trying to get home in a blinding snow. Mom has to work now to make ends meet. I'm not much help with my crippled feet. She says not to worry that she'll make it all right. But I hear her crying sometimes late at night.
 
 "You know, there's one thing I want more than anything else to see. Ah, I know you guys are too busy to bother with me. But, you see, my dad used to take me for rides when he was home. But I guess that's all over now since my daddy's gone."
 
 Not one breaker came in on that CB as that little crippled boy talked to me. I tried hard to swallow the lump, it just would not stay down as I thought about my boy at home in my hometown.
 
 He continued, "Dad was going to take Mom and me with him later on this year. I remember him saying, 'Someday this old truck will be yours, Teddy Bear.' But I know I will never get to ride in an 18-wheeler again. But this old base will keep me in touch with all my trucker friends. Teddy Bear's going to back out now and leave you alone, 'cause it's almost time for Mom to come home. But you give me a shout when you're passing through and I'll be happy to come back to you."
 
 Well I came back and said, "Before you 10-10, what's your home 20, little CB friend?"
 
 He gave me his home address and I didn't hesitate one second because this hot load of freight was just 'gonna have to wait. I turned that truck around on a dime and headed for Jackson Street 229.
 
 As I rounded the corner, I got one heck of a shock, 18-wheelers lined up for three city blocks. I guess every trucker from miles around had caught Teddy Bear's call, and that little boy was having a ball. For as fast as one driver would carry him in, another would carry him to his truck and they'd take off again. Well you better believe I took my turn at riding Teddy Bear. And then I carried him back in and put him down in his chair. Buddy, if I never live to see happiness again, I want you to know I saw it that day in the face of that little man. We took up a collection before his mom came home. Each driver said goodbye and then they were gone. He shook my hand with a mile-long grin and said, "So long trucker, I'll catch you again."
 
 I hit that interstate with tears in my eyes. I turned on my radio and got another surprise. "Breaker 1-9," came a voice on the air, "just one word of thanks from Mom Teddy Bear. We wish each and every one a special prayer for you, 'cause you just made my little boy's dream come true."
 
 I'll sign off now before I start to cry. "May God ride with you; 10-4 and goodbye."

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:58:39

<img src="http://skywriting.net/images/white-rose.gif" border="0" onclick="javascript:window.open(this.src);" alt="" style="CURSOR: pointer" onload="javascript:if(this.width>screen.width-500)this.style.width=screen.width-500;" />
 
 
 The Doll and a White Rose
 
 (Love and Sadness)
 
 
 
 I hurried into the local department store to grab some last minute Christmas gifts. I looked at all the people and grumbled to myself. I would be in here forever and I just had so much to do. Christmas was beginning to become such a drag. I kind of wished that I could just sleep through Christmas. But I hurried the best I could through all the people to the toy department. Once again I kind of mumbled to myself at the prices of all these toys.
 
 And wondered if the grand-kids would even play with them. I found myself in the doll aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy about 5 holding a lovely doll. He kept touching her hair and he held her so gently. I could not seem to help myself. I just kept looking over at the little boy and wondered who the doll was for. I watched him turn to a woman and he called his aunt by name and said, "Are you sure I don't have enough money?". She replied a bit impatiently, "You know that you don't have enough money for it."
 
 The aunt told the little boy not to go anywhere, that she had to go get some other things and would be back in a few minutes. And then she left the aisle. The boy continued to hold the doll. After a bit I asked the boy who the doll was for. He said, "It is the doll my sister wanted so badly for Christmas. She just knew that Santa would bring it". I told him that maybe Santa was going to bring it. He said, "No, Santa can't go where my sister is...I have to give the doll to my Mamma to take to her". I asked him where his sister was. He looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, "She has gone to be with Jesus.
 
 My Daddy says that Mamma is going to have to go be with her." My heart nearly stopped beating. Then the boy looked at me again and said, "I told my Daddy to tell Mamma not to go yet. I told him to tell her to wait till I got back from the store." Then he asked me if I wanted to see his picture. I told him I would love to. He pulled out some pictures he'd had taken at the front of the store.
 
 He said, "I want my Mamma to take this with her so she won't ever forget me. I love my Mamma so very much and I wish she did not have to leave me. But Daddy says she will need to be with my sister." I saw that the little boy had lowered his head and had grown so very quiet.
 
 While he was not looking I reached into my purse and pulled out a handful of bills. I asked the little boy, "Shall we count that money one more time?". He grew excited and said, "Yes, I just know it has to be enough." So I slipped my money in with his and we began to count it. Of course it was plenty for the doll. He softly said, "Thank you Jesus for giving me enough money." Then the boy said, "I just asked Jesus to give me enough money to buy this doll so Mamma can take it with her to give to my sister. And he heard my prayer. I wanted to ask him for enough to buy my Mamma a white rose, but I didn't ask him, but he gave me enough to buy the doll and a rose for my Mamma.
 
 She loves white roses so very, very much." In a few minutes the aunt came back and I wheeled my cart away. I could not keep from thinking about he little boy as I finished my shopping In a totally different spirit than when I had started. And I kept remembering a story I had seen in the newspaper several days earlier about a drunk driver hitting a car and killing a little girl and the Mother was in serious condition. The family was deciding on whether to remove the life support. Now surely this little boy did not belong with that story.
 
 Two days later I read in the paper that the family had disconnected the life support and the young woman had died. I could not forget the little boy and just kept wondering if the two were somehow connected. Later that day, I could not help myself and I went out and bought some white roses and took them to the funeral home where the young mother was.
 
 And there she was holding a lovely white rose, the beautiful doll, and the picture of the little boy in the store. I left there in tears, my life changed forever. The love that little boy had for his little sister and his mother was overwhelming. And in a split second a drunk driver had ripped the life of that little boy to pieces.
 
 
 
 Thank God For Pain
 
 
 
 
 
 Sometimes a very unexpected blessing can come out of pain - if we only look for it and see it for what it is. Thank you to Besty for this reminder!
 
 
 Thank God for pain. I have thanked God for many, many blessings throughout my lifetime, but never for pain. Until now.
 
 This particular pain began in February 2000. It was sharp, constant, on my left side, and the left side of my back. Little did I know it would be the life I would know for over two years.
 
 I went to doctors, who did many tests and never found the true problem. Then, just a few months later, that pain would be accompanied by a high fever, nausea, vomiting two to three times a week, and would last for 3 months. More tests. Again, nothing was found, so one doctor decided it was all in my head. (I have found out that some doctors like to say that to a patient when they cannot figure out what is wrong).
 
 Eventually, after 2 rounds of antibiotics that I had to practically beg, borrow and steal from this same skeptical doctor, I had no more pain, fever or nausea. For two more months, I would remain pain, fever and nausea free. Then it returned.
 
 By this time, however, my huS*and, Dale, had developed more problems with one of his two blood diseases, eventually having to have chemotherapy (I have written for 2TheHeart about Dale's story) in 2001. My concentration remained focused on my huS*and's health, all the while, my sharp pain, occasional fever and nausea were ever present. Despite that, for the next several months, God, Dale's doctors and I would all work together to get him successfully into remission.
 
 Still having pain this time last year, I had made a promise to Dale once he was in remission, that I would finally go back to the doctor. This time, a new doctor, who not only believed the problems I had were real, he immediately set me up with a local gastroenterologist. A colonoscopy was done, revealing Diverticulosis (the cause of the sharp pain, nausea, fever and vomiting, as it had become infected and turned into Diverticulitis). Having the mystery of the few years of intense pain and all other symptoms cleared up was a HUGE relief. However...
 
 I had this colonoscopy for another reason...a reason that I could not have possibly known about, nor, until the procedure was done, could the doctor have known. For there amidst the Diverticulosis, were several polyps. The doctor was very surprised to find so many of them in someone my age (I was 37 at the time of the exam last year). The doctor removed and biopsied one large polyp and burned the rest. The biopsy revealed that the polyps were PRE-CANCEROUS. A follow-up appointment with the gastroenterologist confirmed that it was quite possible that in a year...approximately now...I could have indeed had full blown colon cancer. Had I not had the pain, I would not have had the immediate need for a colonoscopy. Had I not had the colonoscopy when I did, the pre-cancer would not have been found soon enough.
 
 God works in mysterious ways, and I truly DO thank God for pain.
 
 
 
 Three Cows
 
 
 
 It was a year I will never forget! 1988 would see my family move back to the States after spending eight of the most rewarding years of our lives in the mission field of Thailand. Our departure was more sudden than we had anticipated, as there were problems in our home congregation and the money just was not there. Paula and I prayed for wisdom, and the answer came loud and clear. Yet, we had made so many friends; and it was difficult to pack up eight years into shipping crates and footlockers, get on a train which would take us to an airplane, and just leave!
 
 But we did!
 
 However, before we left, we spent several weeks traveling all over the country saying good bye to those we loved so much. It was a difficult assignment, but God provided the grace we all needed.
 
 I remember one particular good bye that will stay with me forever, or I hope it does. His name was Paw Phim. Paw in the Thai language is a term of respect and endearment for older men. It is equivalent to our "Father."
 
 Paw Phim had become like a second father to me, for it was in his village that I preached my first sermon in Thai. On that particular day, I knew no one understood, but Paw Phim took my hand after the sermon and told me it was one of the finest sermons he had ever heard.
 
 Years later I would ask Paw Phim if he really understood what I said, and he told me, "Of course not, but what your face and heart said on that day spoke much louder than what came out of your mouth. I knew then that you loved the Thai people, and it was then I became to love you like a son."
 
 WOW! Aren't I a lucky man?
 
 Paw Phim was the last stop on my circuit of "good byes." It was the most difficult. I didn't usually bring food when I went to visit him because it offended him. But I was tired of seeing him get up at 4:00 in the morning and walk over a mile on those swollen, beaten up knees, to go to a small pond to seine a few little fish for me to have in my soup and rice for breakfast. I was tired of seeing his family do without so I could have a little meat with my rice and vegetables at the evening meal. For my last visit, I brought two chickens and a bag full of vegetables and fruit. He didn't like it one bit and accepted it begrudgingly.
 
 However, I was not to outdo Paw Phim! At our last meal, we had roasted beef along with a host of other delicacies. It was unbelievable! We never had beef -- there just wasn't any to be had -- water buffalo, yes, but not real beef from a cow! Yet there it was.
 
 I asked him where he got it and he told me not to worry about it. I was to eat it and enjoy it for this was the least he could do for me before we had to say our good byes. I kept digging, because I wanted to know what he had just done for me. It was then that my heart began to break, for I found out that Paw Phim had slaughtered his only cow, which gave milk to his grand-kids, so I could have beef at our last meal.
 
 I gently rebuked him and offered to give him money to buy another cow. It was then that these words poured out of his weather-beaten face, "Joe, I didn't give my cow to you, I gave it to God. Do you think I would do that for you?"
 
 Again, WOW! How does God make people like this? I don't know, but everyone should have a Paw Phim in his or her life!
 
 This story came to its powerful conclusion three years later. I went back to visit my second home in Thailand. Of course I went to see Paw Phim. His health was bad, but his mind and heart were the same. He asked me if I remembered that cow he had slaughtered, and I said that I had. He then took my hand and led me to the back of his house. Standing there were three beautiful cows!
 
 I asked Paw Phim where he got them, and his answer? "Where do you think I got them, Joe? God delivered them to me three weeks after you left!" No, I didn't buy those cows, but someone did! How God provided those three cows I'll never know, but I don't need to know!
 
 The point of this story is not about the cows, but about the faith and trust of a Thai Christian named Paw Phim who lives on the other side of the world, yet still teaches us that faith and trust will always win the day! Thank you Paw Phim! I'll see you soon.
 ~ By: Joe Bagby ~
 
 
 Now I want to tell you, dear brothers and sisters, what God in his kindness has done for the churches in Macedonia. Though they have been going through much trouble and hard times, their wonderful joy and deep poverty have overflowed in rich generosity. For I can testify that they gave not only what they could afford but far more. And they did it of their own free will. They begged us again and again for the gracious privilege of sharing ... (2 Corinthians 8:1-4).

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-24 23:59:28

Yard Sale Salvation
 
 
 
 I learned something new yesterday -- yes, it occasionally happens!
 
 Want to know what I learned? I learned that yard sales are a world unto themselves, a veritable counterculture of deal-seeking bargain hunters. Yep, it's a yard-eat-yard world out there, where unsuspecting amateurs have nary a chance!
 
 Yesterday we had a yard sale as a fund raiser for our youth group. What a wonderful experience! We met some great people! Some of them were obviously part of the yard scene. Others were curious tourists -- mere dabblers in the sport of yardery. The hardened yardalists were easy to spot in the crowd. They showed up out of nowhere, a half an hour before the sale was scheduled to start. Like locusts off the dry prairie, they descended upon the tables to pick and plunder. When they were done, all that was left were the carcasses of a few nondescript nicknacks and a pile of clothes destined for that great rag shop in the sky.
 
 And what were they looking for? It can be summed up in one word -- BARGAINS! They were after the rare, the treasured, the missing piece to a set. Some specialized in clothes, others on records, still more on books. Bottom line, people have only so much money and yard sales can be a great place to find what you're looking for at the price you want to pay.
 
 So, what's the spiritual bargain in this deal? One person's junk is another's treasure. One person's clutter is another's collectible. Let me state it this way -- the value we place on something is subjective. I no longer value something enough to keep it around; you on the other hand value it enough to pay for it -- that's the law of the yard sale.
 
 So the question is: What about you? What are you worth? Again, the answer's going to be subjective, isn't it? You might be worth a lot to your family, but zip to the neighbor across the street who doesn't like the dandelion count on your lawn. You may be worth lots to a car salesman until you sign on the dotted line. Then . . . You may have been worth something to your employer, but then in this day of cutbacks and downsizing: "I'm sorry, I'm afraid your position has been deemed obsolete. In this crazy world that values baby seals more than human lives, there's nothing that can guarantee our desirability or worth.
 
 But in God's Kingdom, things are different. 1 Corinthians 6:20 says, "you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body." We were bought at a price. What price? The price of God's own Son. The price of blood shed on a cross. Let's face it. You and I were on display at the cosmic yard sale, gathering dust because our sin, our weakness, our rebellion had left us so tarnished that no one would consider us valuable. No one that is, except God. He valued us enough to send His Son to pay our price. Amazing!
 
 The next time your neighbor, your family, your employer, the world in general, or your own heart tells you that you're worthless, just look up. Look up and thank God for once and for all determining your eternal worth to be far greater than the life or comfort of His own Son. Now, you tell me, who got the better end of this bargain?
 
 
 Four Seasons of a Tree
 
 
 
 Don't judge a life by one difficult season.
 
 There was a man who had four sons. He wanted his sons to learn to not judge things too quickly. So he sent them each on a quest, in turn, to go and look at a pear tree that was a great distance away.
 
 The first son went in the winter, the second in the spring, the third in summer, and the youngest son in the fall.
 
 When they had all gone and come back, he called them together to describe what they had seen.
 
 The first son said that the tree was ugly, bent, and twisted. The second son said no - it was covered with green buds and full of promise.
 
 The third son disagreed, he said it was laden with blossoms that smelled so sweet and looked so beautiful, it was the most graceful thing he had ever seen.
 
 The last son disagreed with all of them; he said it was ripe and drooping with fruit, full of life and fulfillment.
 
 The man then explained to his sons that they were all right, because they had each seen but one season in the tree's life.
 
 He told them that you cannot judge a tree, or a person, by only one season, and that the essence of who they are - and the pleasure, joy, and love that come from that life - can only be measured at the end, when all the seasons are up.
 
 If you give up when it's winter, you will miss the promise of your spring, the beauty of your summer, fulfillment of your fall. Don't let the pain of one season destroy the joy of all the rest.
 
 
 
 Parable Of The Pencil
 
 
 
 The Pencil Maker took the pencil aside, just before putting him into the box. "There are 5 things you need to know," he told the pencil, "Before I send you out into the world. Always remember them and never forget, and you will become the best pencil you can be."
 
 "One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in Someone's hand."
 
 "Two: You will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, but you'll need it to become a better pencil."
 
 "Three: You will be able to correct any mistakes you might make."
 
 "Four: The most important part of you will always be what's inside."
 
 "And Five: On every surface you are used on, you must leave your mark. No matter what the condition, you must continue to write."
 
 The pencil understood and promised to remember, and went into the box with purpose in its heart.
 
 
 Now replacing the place of the pencil with you. Always remember them and never forget, and you will become the best person you can be.
 
 One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in God's hand. And allow other human beings to access you for the many gifts you possess.
 
 Two: You will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, by going through various problems, but you'll need it to become a stronger person.
 
 Three: You will be able to correct any mistakes you might make.
 
 Four: The most important part of you will always be what's on the inside.
 
 And Five: On every surface you walk through, you must leave your mark. No matter what the situation, you must continue to do your duties.
 
 By understanding and remembering, let us proceed with our life on this earth having a meaningful purpose in our heart.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 00:01:04

<img src="http://skywriting.net/images/sun-clouds2.jpg" border="0" onclick="javascript:window.open(this.src);" alt="" style="CURSOR: pointer" onload="javascript:if(this.width>screen.width-500)this.style.width=screen.width-500;" />
 
 A Day at Work
 
 
 
 Some folks have a tendency to believe a bad day fishing is better than a good day at work. Then along comes a day like today. The two inch snow that was predicted had turned in to a six incher, and more in some of the drifts. And at three AM, it made for a pretty interesting trip to work. A half-hour later, I had the windshield cleared and backed up to the door to load. By five, the bread was loaded and ready to roll.
 
 Everything went pretty well, considering the parking lots were far from being cleared. Everything that was taken in was either packed or dragged. Around seven o'clock, it started getting light. I was headed down a two-lane highway, going to the "country" part of the route, and just starting to see the beauty of the first snowfall. Just a few more stops, then I'd turn and head North, to the top end of the route.
 
 Just a few miles out of town, the countryside starts changing. The rolling hills and valleys are considered to be the foothills of the Ozarks. With the snowfall fresh on the landscape, it was a quite a sight. The hilltops were capped with snow, and the valleys were blanked with a deep white layer, drifting sometimes even deeper. The trees were laden with snow, their limbs drooping under the weight. As I topped the highpoint, I stopped the truck just to look out over the landscape. The winter scene spread out before me like a giant painting. With the white trees, and everything covered, and the gray sky background, it gave everything a quiet and peaceful setting.
 
 I was surprised to see a beam of sunshine break through the clouds, and shine in to the crystals of ice and snow. The light broke into thousands of tiny rainbows from the natural prisms. A small stream wound it's way down and around the hills, it's crystal water bubbling over the stones and gravel, and ran by close to the road. Just down and off to the right, a deer had stopped for a drink from the stream, and was staring, unafraid. The whole scene was like a moment suspended in time, not moving, just there to be appreciated, savored.
 
 At that particular moment, it was easy to feel very small, almost insignificant. And I realized that all of this, no matter how large or small, is Gods creation. And that nothing he created is insignificant or unimportant to him. Everything has its space and reason for being, a purpose. Everything. A snowflake, an ice crystal, a rainbow that dances like the laughter of a child. Everything . . .
 
 
 
 <img src="http://skywriting.net/images/hug-me-bear2.jpg" border="0" onclick="javascript:window.open(this.src);" alt="" style="CURSOR: pointer" onload="javascript:if(this.width>screen.width-500)this.style.width=screen.width-500;" />
 
 
 It was there waiting for me. I knew the moment I walked up to it, that I had to connect.
 
 "Hug me!" the small sign read on the teddy bear, so I did.
 
 Music played. A wonderful melody unlike any other I've ever heard before.
 
 "I didn't think that worked anymore," someone said.
 
 She startled me.
 
 "I didn't think anyone was around," I said smiling. I felt foolish standing there hugging a bear.
 
 "That's been sitting there for years. I don't know why we don't throw it out," she said.
 
 "I'm guessing that's because there's still music left inside. What a waste that would be. To throw something away that still had music left inside."
 
 I knew the moment I said that, there was a point to be made here.
 
 The year is coming to a close and I was searching for a message to share with you.
 
 How'd you do? I mean, really, how did you do?
 
 Isn't it that time to reflect back over the past year and think about all the good, bad and indifferent?
 
 In the wee small hours of the evening on that last day of the year, we begin to think about all we accomplished or all we didn't accomplish.
 
 We listen to the sirens, horns, and noisemakers of the people around the world celebrating the coming of the new year. We've come far enough in life to wonder what it will bring this time.
 
 Permit me to remind you that one year ago, I was sitting in my living room scared out of my mind.
 
 Marianne had just found out she had breast cancer and 2005 was frightening.
 
 Now look how far we've come. The year I feared turned out to be a year of hope, faith and love.
 
 Hope for the future, strengthened by faith and encouraged by the love of thousands of friends I've never met. You.
 
 I can also remember all too many new years when I saw nothing but emptiness ahead. I was hopeless and lost.
 
 I thought there was no music left in me.
 
 But God knew better. He always sent someone into my life who sensed that need to connect. Pausing for a moment on their own journey, their kind words, loving concern and gentle touch brought me to life.
 
 They brought out the music in my soul.
 
 It was as though I had a sign on me that said..."Hug me."
 
 I am a hugger, you know.
 
 I believe that there is music left inside of you that needs to play again.
 
 There is a song, your song, unlike any other. It was written just for you. It cannot be played by anyone else, at any other time in the history of the world.
 
 You are sitting there tonight waiting for someone to remind you.
 
 Here I am. God sent me with these words.
 
 2006. Your music. The world needs your music.
 
 I see a sign in front of you that says, "Hug me!"
 
 Consider yourself hugged! Now listen to the music.

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