A man's daughter had asked the local minister to come and pray with her father. When the minister arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows. An empty chair sat beside his bed.
The minister assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit. "I guess you were expecting me," he said. "No, who are you?" said the father.
The minister told him his name and then remarked, "I saw the empty chair and I figured you knew I was going to show up." "Oh yeah, the chair," said the bedridden man. "Would you mind closing the door?"
Puzzled, the minister shut the door. "I have never told anyone this, not even my daughter," said the man. "But all of my life I have never known how to pray. At church I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, but it went right over my head." I abandoned any attempt at prayer," the old man continued, "until one day four years ago my best friend said to me, "Johnny, prayer is just a simple matter of having a conversation with Jesus. Here is what I suggest."
"Sit down in a chair; place an empty chair in front of you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair. It's not spooky because he promised, 'I will be with you always'. "Then just speak to him in the same way you're doing with me right now."
"So, I tried it and I've liked it so much that I do it a couple of hours every day. I'm careful though. If my daughter saw me talking to an empty chair, she'd either have a nervous breakdown or send me off to the funny farm."
The minister was deeply moved by the story and encouraged the old man to continue on the journey. Then he prayed with him, anointed him with oil, and returned to the church.
Two nights later the daughter called to tell the minister that her daddy had died that afternoon.
"Did he die in peace?" he asked.
"Yes, when I left the house about two o'clock, he called me over to his bedside, told me he loved me and kissed me on the cheek. When I got back from the store an hour later, I found him dead. But there was something strange about his death. Apparently, just before Daddy died, he leaned over and rested his head on the chair beside the bed. What do you make of that?"
The minister wiped a tear from his eye and said, "I wish we could all go like that."
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Car Thief and Answer to Prayer
A woman received a phone call that her daughter was very sick with a fever. She left work and stopped by the pharmacy for some medication for her daughter. When returning to her car to find she had locked her keys inside. She had get home to her sick daughter, and didn't know what to do.
She called her home to the baby sitter, and was told her daughter was getting worse. She said, "You might find a coat hanger and use that to open the door." The woman found an old rusty coat hanger on the ground, as if someone else had locked their keys in their car. Then she looked at the hanger and said, "I don't know how to use this." She bowed her head and asked God for help.
An old rusty car pulled up, driven by a dirty, greasy, bearded man with a biker skull rag on his head. The woman thought, "Great God. This is what you sent to help me????" But she was desperate, and thankful. The man got out of his car and asked if he could help. She said "Yes, my daughter is very sick. I must get home to her. Please, can you use this hanger to unlock my car." He said, "SURE."
He walked over to the car and in seconds the car was opened. She hugged the man and through her tears she said, "THANK YOU SO MUCH..... You are a very nice man." The man replied, "Lady, I ain't a nice man. I just got out of prison for car theft." The woman hugged the man again and cried out loud.....
THANK YOU GOD FOR SENDING ME A PROFESSIONAL!"
She called her home to the baby sitter, and was told her daughter was getting worse. She said, "You might find a coat hanger and use that to open the door." The woman found an old rusty coat hanger on the ground, as if someone else had locked their keys in their car. Then she looked at the hanger and said, "I don't know how to use this." She bowed her head and asked God for help.
An old rusty car pulled up, driven by a dirty, greasy, bearded man with a biker skull rag on his head. The woman thought, "Great God. This is what you sent to help me????" But she was desperate, and thankful. The man got out of his car and asked if he could help. She said "Yes, my daughter is very sick. I must get home to her. Please, can you use this hanger to unlock my car." He said, "SURE."
He walked over to the car and in seconds the car was opened. She hugged the man and through her tears she said, "THANK YOU SO MUCH..... You are a very nice man." The man replied, "Lady, I ain't a nice man. I just got out of prison for car theft." The woman hugged the man again and cried out loud.....
THANK YOU GOD FOR SENDING ME A PROFESSIONAL!"
Friday, December 22, 2006
The Tablecloth
The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve.
They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and on Dec 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished. On Dec 19 a terrible tempest - a driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days.
On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high. The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in.
One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross-embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church.
By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later.
She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area.
Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. "Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?" The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria.
The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the Tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again.
The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home. That was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn't leaving. The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike?
He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years in between.
The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman's apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.
True Story - submitted by Pastor Rob Reid
They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and on Dec 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished. On Dec 19 a terrible tempest - a driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days.
On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high. The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in.
One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross-embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church.
By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later.
She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area.
Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. "Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?" The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria.
The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the Tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again.
The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home. That was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn't leaving. The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike?
He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years in between.
The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman's apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.
True Story - submitted by Pastor Rob Reid
Monday, December 18, 2006
But Why?
Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, "I think I'll squeeze these dangly things here, and drink whatever comes out?"
Who was the first person to say "See that chicken there....I'm gonna eat the next thing that comes outta it's butt."
Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a horrible crisp, which no decent human being would eat?
If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a song about him?
Can a hearse carrying a corpse drive in the carpool lane?
If the professor on Gilligan's Island can make a radio out of coconut, why can't he fix a hole in a boat?
Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours? They're both dogs!
What do you call male ballerinas?
If Wile E. Coyote had enough money to buy all that Acme crap, why didn't he just buy dinner?
If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?
If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, then what is baby oil made from?
Is Disney World the only people trap operated by a mouse?
Why do the Alphabet song and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star have the same tune?
Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him on a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?
Does pushing the elevator button more than once make it arrive faster?
Who was the first person to say "See that chicken there....I'm gonna eat the next thing that comes outta it's butt."
Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a horrible crisp, which no decent human being would eat?
If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a song about him?
Can a hearse carrying a corpse drive in the carpool lane?
If the professor on Gilligan's Island can make a radio out of coconut, why can't he fix a hole in a boat?
Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours? They're both dogs!
What do you call male ballerinas?
If Wile E. Coyote had enough money to buy all that Acme crap, why didn't he just buy dinner?
If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?
If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, then what is baby oil made from?
Is Disney World the only people trap operated by a mouse?
Why do the Alphabet song and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star have the same tune?
Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him on a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?
Does pushing the elevator button more than once make it arrive faster?
Friday, December 15, 2006
Be Careful and Watch
Watch your thoughts;
they become words.
Watch your words;
they become actions.
Watch your actions;
they become habits.
Watch your habits;
they become character.
Watch your character;
it becomes your destiny.
-Author Unknown-
they become words.
Watch your words;
they become actions.
Watch your actions;
they become habits.
Watch your habits;
they become character.
Watch your character;
it becomes your destiny.
-Author Unknown-
Thursday, December 07, 2006
12 Days of Christmas
People often think of The Twelve Days of Christmas as the days preceding the festival. Actually, Christmas is a season of the Christian Year that last for 12 days beginning December 25 and lasting until January 6 the Day of Epiphany when the church celebrates the revelation of Christ as the light of the world and recalls the journey of the Magi.
From 1558 until 1829 people in England were not allowed to practice their faith openly. During this era someone wrote 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' as a kind of secret catechism that could be sung in public without risk of persecution. The song has two levels of interpretation: the surface meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of the church. Each element in the carol is a code word for a religious reality.
From 1558 until 1829 people in England were not allowed to practice their faith openly. During this era someone wrote 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' as a kind of secret catechism that could be sung in public without risk of persecution. The song has two levels of interpretation: the surface meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of the church. Each element in the carol is a code word for a religious reality.
- The partridge in a pear tree is Jesus Christ.
- The two turtledoves are the Old and New Testaments.
- Three French hens stand for faith, hope and love.
- The four calling birds are the four Gospels.
- The five gold rings recall the torah (Law) the first five books of the Bible.
- The six geese a laying stand for the six days of creation.
- Seven swans a swimming represent the sevenfold gifts of the Spirit.
- The eight maids a milking are the eight beatitudes. (Matthew v, 3-12)
- Nine ladies dancing are the nine fruits of the spirit. (Gal.5).
- The ten lords a leaping are the Ten Commandments.
- Eleven pipers piping stand for the eleven faithful disciples.
- Twelve drummers drumming symbolize the 12 points of belief in the Apostles Creed.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
CEO Santa Resigns
The rumor is confirmed. The big guy, CEO of Santa, Inc., has resigned. He will Ho Ho Ho no more, at least, not in any official capacity. Undercover investigators have obtained a journalistic exclusive, a copy of Santa’s shocking resignation letter. Fans of the big elf, read it and weep. –
Editor.
Dear Jesus,
Effectively immediately, I have disbanded the Board of Directors and hereby resign as CEO of Santa, Inc. We are hereby dissolved.
Bluntly, I’ve been a fraud. While we both know December 25th isn’t really your birthday, it was still kind of cool that people took one special day a year to honor you with gifts like those Magi did so long ago. When we started, I simply wanted to honor you, too.
Sure, I started well enough. I just wanted in on the action, blessing kids and all. But you always got the attention. It was all about you! I froze my jolly tail off year after year being your glorified delivery boy and for what? A plate of stale cookies and fighting with cats for an occasional glass of sour milk? My unheated sled wasn’t even equipped with a golden parachute! You try bolting around this miserable little planet dodging jets, terrorist missiles, and slack-jawed hunters drooling the word, "venison!"
The Santa gig got old. Over time, I simply soured inside, and began devising a hostile takeover coup of Christmas. I can admit now. I wanted to be you. I don’t know where I ever picked up a copy of Judas’ bestseller, Religion Your Way but he was my inspiration, my guide for the journey to the dark side of Christmas.
Being CEO of Santa, Inc. was a dream job, at first anyway. I worked a whopping one day a year, did oodles of PR work schmoozing with celebrities, and headed my own private army of displaced mindless munchkins who did my bidding with no union interference. Bill Gates should do as well.
Somehow, I got jealous of all the attention you received. Manny Mammon stepped in and helped engineer our break with you, supplanting you with me as CEO. Funny thing, but for a while our holiday hijacking worked. My name was in lights. Kids read about me, idolized me, and wanted to be me. I was the star of my own Christmas Pageant! But conscience came calling.
One recent Christmas Eve, during the final moments of the pre-launch countdown, I was double-checking my Naughty and Nice lists. Hackers had tried to infiltrate our mainframe and play havoc with the gift list. Our new Anti-CyberTerrorism division intercepted their little ploy and responded with our new "Lump of Coal" hard drive-melting virus. Hey, an elf’s gotta do what an elf’s gotta do.
Anyway, I suddenly remembered that you have the original Master Naught and Nice lists. You really do know who is sleep and who is awake. While it’s part of my corporate vision statement, without your guidance, the truth is I was only guessing. In a moment of blinding clarity, I realized that I screwed the whole Christmas gig up for everyone. It’s not about you anymore. It’s not even about me. It’s about Mammon and Greed and promoting everything I once stood against. I have become what I hated.
I realized which of your lists I was on and began to weep.
I went incognito to the Mall of America and listened to my theme songs droning on and on over the intercom system. I was hoping to hear even one hymn, one song of worship; Silent Night even. Alas, nothing but jungles and reindeer drinking songs. I’m the guy who killed Christmas.
Jesus, I stabbed you in the back and have finally come to see I am not at all a jolly good fellow, but more of a Goodfellow. I’m just a red-suited, black-booted thug. I sinned. Please forgive me.
The reindeer were released back into the wild, which should make those tree-hugging buffoons at PETA rejoice. I’ve subcontracted the elves out to a multi-national conglomerate in Japan.
They rock at making PlayStations. Perhaps I’ll open an Elves Big & Tall Shoppe, or shave and do Sumo wrestling. I don’t know. Somehow, I have to stop the insanity of X-Mas. Any ideas? Is there any way to put Christ back in Christmas? I royally screwed up. Sorry.
Your broken-hearted pal,
Kriss Kringle, a.k.a. Santa Claus
Editor.
Dear Jesus,
Effectively immediately, I have disbanded the Board of Directors and hereby resign as CEO of Santa, Inc. We are hereby dissolved.
Bluntly, I’ve been a fraud. While we both know December 25th isn’t really your birthday, it was still kind of cool that people took one special day a year to honor you with gifts like those Magi did so long ago. When we started, I simply wanted to honor you, too.
Sure, I started well enough. I just wanted in on the action, blessing kids and all. But you always got the attention. It was all about you! I froze my jolly tail off year after year being your glorified delivery boy and for what? A plate of stale cookies and fighting with cats for an occasional glass of sour milk? My unheated sled wasn’t even equipped with a golden parachute! You try bolting around this miserable little planet dodging jets, terrorist missiles, and slack-jawed hunters drooling the word, "venison!"
The Santa gig got old. Over time, I simply soured inside, and began devising a hostile takeover coup of Christmas. I can admit now. I wanted to be you. I don’t know where I ever picked up a copy of Judas’ bestseller, Religion Your Way but he was my inspiration, my guide for the journey to the dark side of Christmas.
Being CEO of Santa, Inc. was a dream job, at first anyway. I worked a whopping one day a year, did oodles of PR work schmoozing with celebrities, and headed my own private army of displaced mindless munchkins who did my bidding with no union interference. Bill Gates should do as well.
Somehow, I got jealous of all the attention you received. Manny Mammon stepped in and helped engineer our break with you, supplanting you with me as CEO. Funny thing, but for a while our holiday hijacking worked. My name was in lights. Kids read about me, idolized me, and wanted to be me. I was the star of my own Christmas Pageant! But conscience came calling.
One recent Christmas Eve, during the final moments of the pre-launch countdown, I was double-checking my Naughty and Nice lists. Hackers had tried to infiltrate our mainframe and play havoc with the gift list. Our new Anti-CyberTerrorism division intercepted their little ploy and responded with our new "Lump of Coal" hard drive-melting virus. Hey, an elf’s gotta do what an elf’s gotta do.
Anyway, I suddenly remembered that you have the original Master Naught and Nice lists. You really do know who is sleep and who is awake. While it’s part of my corporate vision statement, without your guidance, the truth is I was only guessing. In a moment of blinding clarity, I realized that I screwed the whole Christmas gig up for everyone. It’s not about you anymore. It’s not even about me. It’s about Mammon and Greed and promoting everything I once stood against. I have become what I hated.
I realized which of your lists I was on and began to weep.
I went incognito to the Mall of America and listened to my theme songs droning on and on over the intercom system. I was hoping to hear even one hymn, one song of worship; Silent Night even. Alas, nothing but jungles and reindeer drinking songs. I’m the guy who killed Christmas.
Jesus, I stabbed you in the back and have finally come to see I am not at all a jolly good fellow, but more of a Goodfellow. I’m just a red-suited, black-booted thug. I sinned. Please forgive me.
The reindeer were released back into the wild, which should make those tree-hugging buffoons at PETA rejoice. I’ve subcontracted the elves out to a multi-national conglomerate in Japan.
They rock at making PlayStations. Perhaps I’ll open an Elves Big & Tall Shoppe, or shave and do Sumo wrestling. I don’t know. Somehow, I have to stop the insanity of X-Mas. Any ideas? Is there any way to put Christ back in Christmas? I royally screwed up. Sorry.
Your broken-hearted pal,
Kriss Kringle, a.k.a. Santa Claus
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
You Choose How To Start Your Day
Michael is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!" He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Michael was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation. Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Michael and asked him, "I don't get it! You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?" Michael replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or ... you can choose to be in a bad mood. I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or...I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it.
Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or... I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life. "Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested. "Yes, it is," Michael said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live your life."
I reflected on what Michael said. Soon hereafter, I left the Tower Industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.
Several years later, I heard that Michael was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower.
After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Michael was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.
I saw Michael about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied. "If I were any better, I'd be a twin. Wanna see my scars?"
I declined to see his wounds, but I did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.
"The first thing that went through my mind was the well-being of my soon to be born daughter,
" Michael replied. "Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or ...I could choose to die. I chose to live."
"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked.
Michael continued, "...the paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read "he's a dead man. I knew I needed to take action."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me," said Michael. "She asked if I was allergic to anything.
"Yes, I replied." The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, "Gravity."
Over their laughter, I told them, "I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead."
Michael lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.
Attitude, after all, is everything.
Matthew 6:34, "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."
After all today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.
Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or... I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life. "Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested. "Yes, it is," Michael said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live your life."
I reflected on what Michael said. Soon hereafter, I left the Tower Industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.
Several years later, I heard that Michael was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower.
After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Michael was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.
I saw Michael about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied. "If I were any better, I'd be a twin. Wanna see my scars?"
I declined to see his wounds, but I did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.
"The first thing that went through my mind was the well-being of my soon to be born daughter,
" Michael replied. "Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or ...I could choose to die. I chose to live."
"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked.
Michael continued, "...the paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read "he's a dead man. I knew I needed to take action."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me," said Michael. "She asked if I was allergic to anything.
"Yes, I replied." The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, "Gravity."
Over their laughter, I told them, "I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead."
Michael lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.
Attitude, after all, is everything.
Matthew 6:34, "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."
After all today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Happy & Blessed Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving Blessings
I’ve lived a life of ups and downs.
Some years were sparse and lean.
Sickness, death, calamity
It seemed that God was mean.
Some years were sparse and lean.
Sickness, death, calamity
It seemed that God was mean.
But looking back I see His love
Has led me o’er the years
Through days of fun and laughter
Though some were full of tears..
Has led me o’er the years
Through days of fun and laughter
Though some were full of tears..
Today I pause to give Him thanks
My life from hell He raised
And gave me what all men desire
Children that give Him praise
My life from hell He raised
And gave me what all men desire
Children that give Him praise
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
A True Friend....
Accepts you as you are
Believes in "you"
Calls you just to say "HI"
Doesn't give up ! ! ! on you
Envisions the whole of you (even the unfinished parts)
Forgives your mistakes
Gives unconditionally
Helps you
Invites you over
Just "be" with you
Keeps you close at heart
Loves you for who you are
Makes a difference in your life
Never Judges
Offer support
Picks you up
Quiets your fears
Raises your spirits
Says nice things about you
Tells you the truth when you need to hear it
Understands you
Values you
Walks beside you
X-plains thing you don't understand
Yells when you won't listen and
Zaps you back to reality
Believes in "you"
Calls you just to say "HI"
Doesn't give up ! ! ! on you
Envisions the whole of you (even the unfinished parts)
Forgives your mistakes
Gives unconditionally
Helps you
Invites you over
Just "be" with you
Keeps you close at heart
Loves you for who you are
Makes a difference in your life
Never Judges
Offer support
Picks you up
Quiets your fears
Raises your spirits
Says nice things about you
Tells you the truth when you need to hear it
Understands you
Values you
Walks beside you
X-plains thing you don't understand
Yells when you won't listen and
Zaps you back to reality
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
A Child's Ten Commandments For Parents.
1. My hands are small; please don't expect perfection whenever I make a bed, draw a picture or throw a ball. My legs are short; please slow down so that I can keep up with you.2. My eyes have not seen the world as yours have; please let me explore safely. Don't restrict me unnecessarily.
3. Housework will always be there. I'm only little for a short time, please take time to explain things to me about this wonderful world and do so willingly.
4. My feelings are tender; please be sensitive to my needs. Don't nag me all day long. (You wouldn't want to be nagged for your inquisitiveness). Treat me as you would like to be treated.
5. I am a special gift from God; please treasure me as God intended you to do, holding me accountable for my actions, giving me guidelines to live by and disciplining me in a loving manner.
6. I need your encouragement to grow. Please go easy on the criticism; remember, you can criticize the things I do without criticizing me.
7. Please give me the freedom to make decisions concerning myself. Permit me to fail, so that I can learn from my mistakes. Then someday I'll be prepared to make the kinds of decisions that life requires of me.
8. Please don't do things over for me. Somehow that makes me feel that my efforts didn't quite measure up to your expectations. I know it's hard, but please don't try to compare me to my brother or sister.
9. Please don't be afraid to leave for a weekend together. Kids need vacations from parents, just as parents need vacations from kids. Besides, it's a great way to show us kids that your marriage is very special.
10. Please take me to church regularly, setting a good example for me to follow. I enjoy learning more about God.
Can't think of a better reason to "Keep Looking Up". This is a picture of my newest granddaughter born yesterday. Thank you Lord for a healthy little one. I have one who is already 4 years old and another one is due the first of December. As a grandfather my goal is to constantly "look up" for the wisdom to provide a godly example to my grandchildren.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
A Walk In The Rain
She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful brown haired, freckled-faced Image of innocence. Her Mom looked like someone from the Walton's or a moment captured by Norman Rockwell. Not that she was old-fashioned. Her brown hair was ear length with enough curl to appear natural. She had on a pair of tan shorts and light blue knit shirt. Her sneakers were white with a blue trim. She looked like a Mom. It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes over the tops of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the Earth it has no time to flow down the spout. Drains in the nearby parking lot were filled to capacity and some were blocked so that huge puddles made lakes around parked cars. We all stood there under the awning and just inside the door of the WalMart. We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature messed up their hurried day. I am always mesmerized by rain fall. I get lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories of running, splashing so carefree as a child come pouring in as a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day. Her voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in. "Mom, let's run through the rain," she said.
"What?" Mom asked.
"Let's run through the rain!" she repeated.
"No, honey. We'll wait until it slows down a bit," Mom replied.
This young child waited about another minute and repeated her statement.
"Mom. Let's run through the rain."
"We'll get soaked if we do," Mom said.
"No, we won't, Mom. That's not what you said this morning," the young girl said as she tugged at her Mom's arm.
"This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?"
"Don't you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said, "If God can get us through this, He can get us through anything!"
The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you couldn't hear anything but the rain. We all stood silently. No one came or left in the next few minutes. Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she would say.
Now some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child's life. A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith."
Honey, you are absolutely right. Let's run through the rain. If God lets us get wet, well maybe we just needed washing," Mom said. Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and yes through the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case. They got soaked. But they were followed by a few believers who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars. Perhaps inspired by their faith and trust. I want to believe that somewhere down the road in life, Mom will find herself reflecting back on moments they spent together, captured like pictures in the scrapbook of her cherished memories.
Maybe when she watches proudly as her daughter graduates. Or as her Daddy walks her down the aisle on her wedding day. She will laugh again. Her heart will beat a little faster. Her smile will tell the world they love each other.
But only two people will share that precious moment when they ran through the rain believing that God would get them through.
And Yes, I did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.
To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven." Ecclesiastes 3:1
-- Author Unknown
"What?" Mom asked.
"Let's run through the rain!" she repeated.
"No, honey. We'll wait until it slows down a bit," Mom replied.
This young child waited about another minute and repeated her statement.
"Mom. Let's run through the rain."
"We'll get soaked if we do," Mom said.
"No, we won't, Mom. That's not what you said this morning," the young girl said as she tugged at her Mom's arm.
"This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?"
"Don't you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said, "If God can get us through this, He can get us through anything!"
The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you couldn't hear anything but the rain. We all stood silently. No one came or left in the next few minutes. Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she would say.
Now some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child's life. A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith."
Honey, you are absolutely right. Let's run through the rain. If God lets us get wet, well maybe we just needed washing," Mom said. Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and yes through the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case. They got soaked. But they were followed by a few believers who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars. Perhaps inspired by their faith and trust. I want to believe that somewhere down the road in life, Mom will find herself reflecting back on moments they spent together, captured like pictures in the scrapbook of her cherished memories.
Maybe when she watches proudly as her daughter graduates. Or as her Daddy walks her down the aisle on her wedding day. She will laugh again. Her heart will beat a little faster. Her smile will tell the world they love each other.
But only two people will share that precious moment when they ran through the rain believing that God would get them through.
And Yes, I did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.
To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven." Ecclesiastes 3:1
-- Author Unknown
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Burning Desire!
A long time ago, a great warrior faced a situation, which made it necessary for him to make a decision that would ensure his success on the battlefield. He was about to send his armies against a powerful foe whose men outnumbered his own. He loaded his soldiers and equipment, then gave the order to burn the ships that had carried them.
Addressing his men before the first battle, he said, "you see the boats going up in smoke. That means we cannot leave these shores alive unless we win! We now have no choice - we win - or we perish." They WON!!!!
Every person who wins in any undertaking must be willing to burn his ships and cut all sources of retreat. Only by doing so can one be sure of maintaining that state of mind known as a burning desire to win, essential to success.
Addressing his men before the first battle, he said, "you see the boats going up in smoke. That means we cannot leave these shores alive unless we win! We now have no choice - we win - or we perish." They WON!!!!
Every person who wins in any undertaking must be willing to burn his ships and cut all sources of retreat. Only by doing so can one be sure of maintaining that state of mind known as a burning desire to win, essential to success.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Life Is The Coffee
A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. The conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life. Offering his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups - porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain-looking, some expensive, and some exquisite - telling them to help themselves to the coffee. After all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice looking expensive cups were taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is but normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress."
"Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases, it 's just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups...and then began eyeing each other's cups." " Now consider this: Life is the coffee, and the jobs, houses, cars, things, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain life, and the type of cup we have does not define nor change the quality of life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee God has provided us. God brews the coffee, not the cups ... enjoy your coffee.
"Being happy doesn't mean everything's perfect, It means you've decided to see beyond the imperfections"
Live in peace and peace will live in you
"Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases, it 's just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups...and then began eyeing each other's cups." " Now consider this: Life is the coffee, and the jobs, houses, cars, things, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain life, and the type of cup we have does not define nor change the quality of life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee God has provided us. God brews the coffee, not the cups ... enjoy your coffee.
"Being happy doesn't mean everything's perfect, It means you've decided to see beyond the imperfections"
Live in peace and peace will live in you
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Airflight Comments
All too rarely, airline attendants make an effort to make the in-flight "safety lecture" and their other announcements a bit more entertaining. Here are some real examples that have been heard or reported:
On a Continental Flight with a very "senior" flight attendant staff, The pilot said, "Ladies and
gentlemen, we've reached cruising altitude and I'll be turning down the cabin lights. This is for your comfort and to enhance the appearance of your flight attendants."
"Thank you for flying Delta Business Express. We hope you enjoyed giving us the business as much as we enjoyed taking you for a ride."
After a particularly rough landing during thunderstorms in Memphis, a flight attendant on a Northwest flight announced, "Please take care when opening the overhead compartments because, after a landing like that, sure as hell everything has shifted."
From a Southwest Airlines employee: "Welcome aboard Southwest Flight XXX to YYY. To operate your seat belt, insert the metal tab into the buckle, And pull tight. It works just like every other seat belt; and, if you don't know how to operate one, you probably shouldn't be out in public unsupervised."
"In the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, masks will descend From the ceiling. Stop screaming, grab the mask, and pull it over your face. If you have a small child traveling with you, secure your mask before assisting with theirs. If you are traveling with more than one small child, pick your favorite."
"The weather at our destination is 50 degrees with some broken clouds, but we'll try to have them fixed before we arrive. Thank you, and remember, nobody loves you, or your money, more than Southwest Airlines."
"Your seat cushions can be used for flotation; and in the event of an emergency water landing, please paddle to shore and take them with our compliments."
And from the pilot during his welcome message: "Delta Airlines is pleased to have some of the best flight attendants in the industry. Unfortunately, none of them are on this flight!"
On Southwest Airlines just after a very hard landing in Salt Lake City, the flight attendant came on the intercom and said, "That was quite a bump, and I know what ya'll are thinking. You're thinking that I'm here to tell you it wasn't the airline's fault, it wasn't the pilot's fault, it wasn't the flight attendant's fault ... it was the asphalt!"
Another flight attendant's comment on a less than perfect landing: "We ask you to please remain seated as Captain Kangaroo bounces us to the terminal."
An airline pilot had hammered his ship into the runway really hard. The airline had a policy which required him to stand at the door, smile, and give the passengers a "Thanks for flying XYZ airline," while they exited. In light of his bad landing, he had a hard time looking the passengers in the eye, thinking that someone would have a smart comment. Finally everyone had gotten off except for a little old lady walking with a cane. She said, "Sonny, mind if I ask you a question?" "Why no Ma'am," said the pilot. "What is it?" The little old lady said, "Did we land or were we shot down?"
After a real crusher of a landing in Phoenix, the Flight Attendant came on with, "Ladies and Gentlemen, please remain in your seats until Captain Crash and the crew have brought the aircraft to a screeching halt against the gate. And, once the tire smoke has cleared and the warning bells are silenced, we'll open the door and you can pick your way through the wreckage to the terminal."
Part of a flight attendant's arrival announcement: "We'd like to thankyou folks for flying with us today. And, the next time you get the insane urge to go blasting through the skies in a pressurized metal tube, we hope you'll think of US Airways."
A plane was taking off from Kennedy Airport. After it reached a comfortable cruising altitude, the captain made an announcement over the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Welcome to Flight Number 293, nonstop from New York to Los Angeles. The weather ahead is good and, therefore, we should have a smooth and uneventful flight. Now sit back and relax - OH, MY GOD!" Silence followed and after a few minutes, the captain came back on the intercom and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am so sorry if I scared you earlier; but, while I was talking, the flight attendant brought me a cup of coffee and spilled the hot coffee in my lap. You should see the front of my pants!" A passenger in Coach was heard to reply, " That's nothing. He should see the back of mine!"
On a Continental Flight with a very "senior" flight attendant staff, The pilot said, "Ladies and
gentlemen, we've reached cruising altitude and I'll be turning down the cabin lights. This is for your comfort and to enhance the appearance of your flight attendants."
"Thank you for flying Delta Business Express. We hope you enjoyed giving us the business as much as we enjoyed taking you for a ride."
After a particularly rough landing during thunderstorms in Memphis, a flight attendant on a Northwest flight announced, "Please take care when opening the overhead compartments because, after a landing like that, sure as hell everything has shifted."
From a Southwest Airlines employee: "Welcome aboard Southwest Flight XXX to YYY. To operate your seat belt, insert the metal tab into the buckle, And pull tight. It works just like every other seat belt; and, if you don't know how to operate one, you probably shouldn't be out in public unsupervised."
"In the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, masks will descend From the ceiling. Stop screaming, grab the mask, and pull it over your face. If you have a small child traveling with you, secure your mask before assisting with theirs. If you are traveling with more than one small child, pick your favorite."
"The weather at our destination is 50 degrees with some broken clouds, but we'll try to have them fixed before we arrive. Thank you, and remember, nobody loves you, or your money, more than Southwest Airlines."
"Your seat cushions can be used for flotation; and in the event of an emergency water landing, please paddle to shore and take them with our compliments."
And from the pilot during his welcome message: "Delta Airlines is pleased to have some of the best flight attendants in the industry. Unfortunately, none of them are on this flight!"
On Southwest Airlines just after a very hard landing in Salt Lake City, the flight attendant came on the intercom and said, "That was quite a bump, and I know what ya'll are thinking. You're thinking that I'm here to tell you it wasn't the airline's fault, it wasn't the pilot's fault, it wasn't the flight attendant's fault ... it was the asphalt!"
Another flight attendant's comment on a less than perfect landing: "We ask you to please remain seated as Captain Kangaroo bounces us to the terminal."
An airline pilot had hammered his ship into the runway really hard. The airline had a policy which required him to stand at the door, smile, and give the passengers a "Thanks for flying XYZ airline," while they exited. In light of his bad landing, he had a hard time looking the passengers in the eye, thinking that someone would have a smart comment. Finally everyone had gotten off except for a little old lady walking with a cane. She said, "Sonny, mind if I ask you a question?" "Why no Ma'am," said the pilot. "What is it?" The little old lady said, "Did we land or were we shot down?"
After a real crusher of a landing in Phoenix, the Flight Attendant came on with, "Ladies and Gentlemen, please remain in your seats until Captain Crash and the crew have brought the aircraft to a screeching halt against the gate. And, once the tire smoke has cleared and the warning bells are silenced, we'll open the door and you can pick your way through the wreckage to the terminal."
Part of a flight attendant's arrival announcement: "We'd like to thankyou folks for flying with us today. And, the next time you get the insane urge to go blasting through the skies in a pressurized metal tube, we hope you'll think of US Airways."
A plane was taking off from Kennedy Airport. After it reached a comfortable cruising altitude, the captain made an announcement over the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Welcome to Flight Number 293, nonstop from New York to Los Angeles. The weather ahead is good and, therefore, we should have a smooth and uneventful flight. Now sit back and relax - OH, MY GOD!" Silence followed and after a few minutes, the captain came back on the intercom and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am so sorry if I scared you earlier; but, while I was talking, the flight attendant brought me a cup of coffee and spilled the hot coffee in my lap. You should see the front of my pants!" A passenger in Coach was heard to reply, " That's nothing. He should see the back of mine!"
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Enjoy Life Today!
As we grow up,
we learn that even the one person
that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will.
You will have your heart broken
probably more than once
and it's harder every time.
You'll break hearts too,
so remember how it felt
when yours was broken.
You'll fight with your best friend.
You'll blame a new love
for things an old one did.
You'll cry because time is passing too fast,
and you'll eventually lose someone you love.
So take too many pictures,
laugh too much,
and love like you've never been hurt
because every sixty seconds you spend upset
is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.
Don't be afraid that your life will end,
be afraid that it will never begin.
~anonymous~
Monday, November 13, 2006
Did you know?
That Psalm 118 is the middle chapter of the entire Bible?
That before Psalm 118, Psalm 117 is the shortest chapter in the Bible?
That after Psalm 118, Psalm 119 is the longest chapter in the Bible?
That there are 594 chapters both before and following Psalm 118?
That if you add up all the chapters except Psalm 118, you get a total of 1188 chapters.
And that, incidentally, 1188 (or Psalm 118:8) also happens to be the middle verse in the entire Bible?
We would think, therefore, that the central verse in the Bible should have a significant message for us... and indeed it does!
"It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man". Psalm 118:8*
That before Psalm 118, Psalm 117 is the shortest chapter in the Bible?
That after Psalm 118, Psalm 119 is the longest chapter in the Bible?
That there are 594 chapters both before and following Psalm 118?
That if you add up all the chapters except Psalm 118, you get a total of 1188 chapters.
And that, incidentally, 1188 (or Psalm 118:8) also happens to be the middle verse in the entire Bible?
We would think, therefore, that the central verse in the Bible should have a significant message for us... and indeed it does!
"It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man". Psalm 118:8*
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Are There Any Questions?
"Are there any questions?" An offer that comes at the end of college lectures and long meetings. Said when an audience is not only overdosed with information, but when there is no time left anyhow. At times like that you mostly assuredly do have questions. Like, "Can we leave now?" and "What was this meeting scheduled for anyhow?" and "Where can I get a sandwich?" The gesture is supposed to indicate openness on the part of the speaker, I suppose, but if in fact you do ask a question, both the speaker and the audience will give you drop-dead looks. And some fool -- some earnest idiot -- always asks. And the speaker always answers. By repeating most of what he has already said. But if there was ever a little time left and there was a little silence in response to the invitation, I usually asked the most important question of all: "What is the meaning of life?"
You never know -- somebody may have the answer, and I'd really hate to miss it because I was too socially inhibited to ask. But when I asked, it's was usually taken as a kind of an absurdist move - people laughed and nodded and began to gather up their stuff and the meeting was dismissed on that ridiculous note.
Once, and only once, I asked the question and got a serious answer. One that is with me still. I went to an institute dedicated to Christian understanding and Biblical truth in rural Montana. At the last session on the last morning of a four-day seminar on Christian influence in American culture, led by intellectuals and experts in their fields, the man heading up the seminar, Dr. Alexander Lapagia rose from his chair at the back of the room and walked to the front, where he stood in the bright sunlight of an open window and looked out. We followed his gaze across the river to the iron cross marking a cemetery from the W.W.II era. He turned and made the ritual gesture: "Are there any questions?"
Quiet quilted the room. These four days had generated enough questions for a lifetime, but for now there was only silence. "No questions?" Lapagia swept the room with his eyes. So, I asked. "Dr. Lapagia, what is the meaning of life?" The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go. Lapagia held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his eyes if I was serious, and seeing from my eyes that I was.
"I will answer your question." Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into his leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter. And what he said went like this: "When I was a small child in Italy during World War II, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place. I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone, I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine -- into deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find. I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, however, I grew to understand that this was not just a child's game, but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of the light. But the light of Jesus -- truth, love, understanding, knowledge -- is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it. I was once a broken shard of mirror whom Christ has shaped into a better tool for shining light. I am a fragment of His mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know.
Nevertheless, with what I have, I can reflect light into the dark places of this world -- into the black places in the hearts of men -- and Jesus can use me to change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life." And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the desk.
Much of what I experienced in the way of information that summer is gone from memory. But in the wallet of my mind I carry a small round mirror still. I can now "reflect" upon what I learned on the meaning of life.
Are there any questions????
You never know -- somebody may have the answer, and I'd really hate to miss it because I was too socially inhibited to ask. But when I asked, it's was usually taken as a kind of an absurdist move - people laughed and nodded and began to gather up their stuff and the meeting was dismissed on that ridiculous note.
Once, and only once, I asked the question and got a serious answer. One that is with me still. I went to an institute dedicated to Christian understanding and Biblical truth in rural Montana. At the last session on the last morning of a four-day seminar on Christian influence in American culture, led by intellectuals and experts in their fields, the man heading up the seminar, Dr. Alexander Lapagia rose from his chair at the back of the room and walked to the front, where he stood in the bright sunlight of an open window and looked out. We followed his gaze across the river to the iron cross marking a cemetery from the W.W.II era. He turned and made the ritual gesture: "Are there any questions?"
Quiet quilted the room. These four days had generated enough questions for a lifetime, but for now there was only silence. "No questions?" Lapagia swept the room with his eyes. So, I asked. "Dr. Lapagia, what is the meaning of life?" The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go. Lapagia held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his eyes if I was serious, and seeing from my eyes that I was.
"I will answer your question." Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into his leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter. And what he said went like this: "When I was a small child in Italy during World War II, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place. I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone, I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine -- into deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find. I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, however, I grew to understand that this was not just a child's game, but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of the light. But the light of Jesus -- truth, love, understanding, knowledge -- is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it. I was once a broken shard of mirror whom Christ has shaped into a better tool for shining light. I am a fragment of His mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know.
Nevertheless, with what I have, I can reflect light into the dark places of this world -- into the black places in the hearts of men -- and Jesus can use me to change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life." And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the desk.
Much of what I experienced in the way of information that summer is gone from memory. But in the wallet of my mind I carry a small round mirror still. I can now "reflect" upon what I learned on the meaning of life.
Are there any questions????
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Dear Abby's Top Ten
10. Dear Abby: A couple of women moved in across the hall from me. One is a middle-aged gym teacher, and the other is a social worker in her mid-twenties. These two women go everywhere together, and I've never seen a man go into their apartment or come out. Do you think they could be Lebanese?
9. Dear Abby: What can I do about all the sex, nudity, language and violence on my VCR?
8. Dear Abby: I have a man I never could trust. He cheats so much I'm not even sure this baby I'm carrying is his. What should I do?
7. Dear Abby: I am a twenty-three-year-old liberated woman who has been on the pill for two years. It's getting expensive, and I think my boyfriend should share half the cost, but I don't know him well enough to discuss money with him. Should I just keep paying, or do you think he should help share the expense?
6. Dear Abby: I suspected that my husband had been fooling around, and when I confronted him with the evidence, he denied everything and said it would never happen again. What do you think? Can I trust him?
5. Dear Abby: Our son writes that he is taking Judo. Why would a boy who was raised in a good Christian home turn against his own?
4. Dear Abby: My forty-year-old son has been paying a psychiatrist $100 an hour every week for two-and-a-half years. He must be crazy. Should I tell him so, or keep it to myself?
3. Dear Abby: Do you think it would be all right if I gave my doctor a little gift? I tried for years to get pregnant and couldn't, and he did it!
2. Dear Abby: My mother is mean and short-tempered. I think she is going through her mental pause. How should I handle this?
And the #1 All Time Toughest Question:
Dear Abby: You told some woman whose husband had lost all interest in sex to send him to a doctor. Well, my husband lost all interest in sex years ago, and he is a doctor. What should I do?
9. Dear Abby: What can I do about all the sex, nudity, language and violence on my VCR?
8. Dear Abby: I have a man I never could trust. He cheats so much I'm not even sure this baby I'm carrying is his. What should I do?
7. Dear Abby: I am a twenty-three-year-old liberated woman who has been on the pill for two years. It's getting expensive, and I think my boyfriend should share half the cost, but I don't know him well enough to discuss money with him. Should I just keep paying, or do you think he should help share the expense?
6. Dear Abby: I suspected that my husband had been fooling around, and when I confronted him with the evidence, he denied everything and said it would never happen again. What do you think? Can I trust him?
5. Dear Abby: Our son writes that he is taking Judo. Why would a boy who was raised in a good Christian home turn against his own?
4. Dear Abby: My forty-year-old son has been paying a psychiatrist $100 an hour every week for two-and-a-half years. He must be crazy. Should I tell him so, or keep it to myself?
3. Dear Abby: Do you think it would be all right if I gave my doctor a little gift? I tried for years to get pregnant and couldn't, and he did it!
2. Dear Abby: My mother is mean and short-tempered. I think she is going through her mental pause. How should I handle this?
And the #1 All Time Toughest Question:
Dear Abby: You told some woman whose husband had lost all interest in sex to send him to a doctor. Well, my husband lost all interest in sex years ago, and he is a doctor. What should I do?
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
10 Things It Took Me 50 Years To Learn
- Never under any circumstances take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.
- If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be "meetings."
- There is a very fine line between "hobby" and "mental illness."
- You should not confuse your career with your life.
- No matter what happens, somebody will find a way to take it too seriously.
- Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.
- Never lick a steak knife.
- The most powerful force in the universe is gossip.
- A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person.
- Your friends love you, anyway.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
57 Cents
A sobbing little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned away because it "was too crowded." "I can't go to Sunday School," she sobbed to the pastor as he walked by. Seeing her shabby, unkempt appearance, the pastor guessed the reason and, taking her by the hand, took her inside and found a place for her in the Sunday school class. The child was so touched that she went to bed that night thinking of the children who have no place to worship Jesus.
Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement buildings and the parents called for the kind-hearted pastor, who had befriended their daughter, to handle the final arrangements. As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled purse was found which seemed to have been rummaged from some trash dump. Inside was found 57 cents and a note scribbled in childish handwriting that read, "This is to help build the little church bigger so more children can go to Sunday School." For two years she had saved for this offering of love.
When the pastor tearfully read that note, he knew instantly what he would do. Carrying this note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he told the story of her unselfish love and devotion. He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the larger building.
But the story does not end there!
A newspaper learned of the story and published it. It was read by a Realtor who offered them a parcel of land worth many thousands. When told that the church could not pay so much, he offered it for 57 cents. Church members made large donations. Checks came from far and wide. Within five years the little girl's gift had increased to $250,000.00--a huge sum for that time (near the turn of the century). Her unselfish love had paid large dividend.
When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church, with a seating capacity of 3,300 and Temple University, where hundreds of students are trained. Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday School building which houses hundreds of Sunday Schoolers, so that no child in the area will ever need to be left outside during Sunday school time.
In one of the rooms of this building may be seen the picture of the sweet face of the little girl whose 57 cents, so sacrificially saved, made such remarkable history. Alongside of it is a portrait of her kind pastor, Dr. Russel H. Conwell, author of the book, "Acres of Diamonds."
A true story, which goes to show WHAT GOD, CAN DO WITH 57 cents. If God can do that with a poor little girl and 57 cents, I’m sure He can work miracles in your life as well. Keep looking up.
Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement buildings and the parents called for the kind-hearted pastor, who had befriended their daughter, to handle the final arrangements. As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled purse was found which seemed to have been rummaged from some trash dump. Inside was found 57 cents and a note scribbled in childish handwriting that read, "This is to help build the little church bigger so more children can go to Sunday School." For two years she had saved for this offering of love.
When the pastor tearfully read that note, he knew instantly what he would do. Carrying this note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he told the story of her unselfish love and devotion. He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the larger building.
But the story does not end there!
A newspaper learned of the story and published it. It was read by a Realtor who offered them a parcel of land worth many thousands. When told that the church could not pay so much, he offered it for 57 cents. Church members made large donations. Checks came from far and wide. Within five years the little girl's gift had increased to $250,000.00--a huge sum for that time (near the turn of the century). Her unselfish love had paid large dividend.
When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church, with a seating capacity of 3,300 and Temple University, where hundreds of students are trained. Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday School building which houses hundreds of Sunday Schoolers, so that no child in the area will ever need to be left outside during Sunday school time.
In one of the rooms of this building may be seen the picture of the sweet face of the little girl whose 57 cents, so sacrificially saved, made such remarkable history. Alongside of it is a portrait of her kind pastor, Dr. Russel H. Conwell, author of the book, "Acres of Diamonds."
A true story, which goes to show WHAT GOD, CAN DO WITH 57 cents. If God can do that with a poor little girl and 57 cents, I’m sure He can work miracles in your life as well. Keep looking up.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Every Breath a Gift of God
This was written by an 83-year-old woman to her friend.
Dear,
I'm reading more and dusting less. I'm sitting in the yard and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time working. Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experiences to savor, not to endure. I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.
I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, or the first Amaryllis blossom. I wear my good blazer to the market. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries.
I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties, but wearing it for clerks in the hardware store and tellers at the bank. "Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now.
I'm not sure what others would've done had they known they wouldn't be here for the tomorrow that we all take for granted. I think they would have called family members and a few close friends. They might have called a few former friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to think they would have gone out for a Chinese dinner or for whatever they’re favorite food was. I'm guessing; I'll never know.
It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew my hours were limited. Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that I intended to write one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my family and friends often enough how much I truly love them. I'm trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God.
Dear,
I'm reading more and dusting less. I'm sitting in the yard and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time working. Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experiences to savor, not to endure. I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.
I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, or the first Amaryllis blossom. I wear my good blazer to the market. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries.
I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties, but wearing it for clerks in the hardware store and tellers at the bank. "Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now.
I'm not sure what others would've done had they known they wouldn't be here for the tomorrow that we all take for granted. I think they would have called family members and a few close friends. They might have called a few former friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to think they would have gone out for a Chinese dinner or for whatever they’re favorite food was. I'm guessing; I'll never know.
It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew my hours were limited. Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that I intended to write one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my family and friends often enough how much I truly love them. I'm trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
A Tribute To The United States
This, from a Canadian newspaper, is worth sharing. America: The Good Neighbor. Widespread but only partial news coverage was given recently to a remarkable editorial broadcast from Toronto by Gordon Sinclair, a Canadian television commentator. What follows is the full text of his trenchant remarks as printed in the Congressional Record:
"This Canadian thinks it is time to speak up for the Americans as the most generous and possibly the least appreciated people on all the earth.
Germany, Japan and, to a lesser extent, Britain and Italy were lifted out of the debris of war by the Americans who poured in billions of dollars and forgave other billions in debts. None of these countries is today paying even the interest on its remaining debts to the United States.
When France was in danger of collapsing in 1956, it was the Americans who propped it up, and their reward was to be insulted and swindled on the streets of Paris. I was there. I saw it.
When earthquakes hit distant cities, it is the United States that hurries in to help. This spring, 59 American communities were flattened by tornadoes. Nobody helped.
The Marshall Plan and the Truman Policy pumped billions of dollars! into discouraged countries. Now newspapers in those countries are writing about the decadent, warmongering Americans.
I'd like to see just one of those countries that is gloating over the erosion of the United States dollar build its own airplane. Does any other country in the world have a plane to equal the Boeing Jumbo Jet, the Lockheed Tri-Star, or the Douglas DC10? If so, why don't they fly them?
Why do all the International lines except Russia fly American Planes?
Why does no other land on earth even consider putting a man or woman on the moon? You talk about Japanese technocracy, and you get radios. You talk about German technocracy, and you get automobiles.
You talk about American technocracy, and you find men on the moon! - not once, but several times - and safely home again.
You talk about scandals, and the Americans put theirs right in the store window for everybody to look at. Even their draft-dodgers are not pursued and hounded. They are here on our streets, and most of them, unless they are breaking Canadian laws, are getting American dollars from ma and pa at home to spend here.
When the railways of France, Germany and India were breaking down through age, it was the Americans who rebuilt them. When the Pennsylvania Railroad and the New York Central went broke, nobody loaned them an old caboose. Both are still broke.
I can name you 5000 times when the Americans raced to the help of other people in trouble. Can you name me even one time when someone else raced to the Americans in trouble? I don't think there was outside help even during the San Francisco earthquake.
Our neighbors have faced it alone, and I'm one Canadian who is damned tired of hearing them get kicked around. They will come out of this thing with their flag high. And when they do, they are entitled to thumb their nose at the lands that are gloating over their present troubles. I hope Canada is not one of those."
Stand proud, America!
"This Canadian thinks it is time to speak up for the Americans as the most generous and possibly the least appreciated people on all the earth.
Germany, Japan and, to a lesser extent, Britain and Italy were lifted out of the debris of war by the Americans who poured in billions of dollars and forgave other billions in debts. None of these countries is today paying even the interest on its remaining debts to the United States.
When France was in danger of collapsing in 1956, it was the Americans who propped it up, and their reward was to be insulted and swindled on the streets of Paris. I was there. I saw it.
When earthquakes hit distant cities, it is the United States that hurries in to help. This spring, 59 American communities were flattened by tornadoes. Nobody helped.
The Marshall Plan and the Truman Policy pumped billions of dollars! into discouraged countries. Now newspapers in those countries are writing about the decadent, warmongering Americans.
I'd like to see just one of those countries that is gloating over the erosion of the United States dollar build its own airplane. Does any other country in the world have a plane to equal the Boeing Jumbo Jet, the Lockheed Tri-Star, or the Douglas DC10? If so, why don't they fly them?
Why do all the International lines except Russia fly American Planes?
Why does no other land on earth even consider putting a man or woman on the moon? You talk about Japanese technocracy, and you get radios. You talk about German technocracy, and you get automobiles.
You talk about American technocracy, and you find men on the moon! - not once, but several times - and safely home again.
You talk about scandals, and the Americans put theirs right in the store window for everybody to look at. Even their draft-dodgers are not pursued and hounded. They are here on our streets, and most of them, unless they are breaking Canadian laws, are getting American dollars from ma and pa at home to spend here.
When the railways of France, Germany and India were breaking down through age, it was the Americans who rebuilt them. When the Pennsylvania Railroad and the New York Central went broke, nobody loaned them an old caboose. Both are still broke.
I can name you 5000 times when the Americans raced to the help of other people in trouble. Can you name me even one time when someone else raced to the Americans in trouble? I don't think there was outside help even during the San Francisco earthquake.
Our neighbors have faced it alone, and I'm one Canadian who is damned tired of hearing them get kicked around. They will come out of this thing with their flag high. And when they do, they are entitled to thumb their nose at the lands that are gloating over their present troubles. I hope Canada is not one of those."
Stand proud, America!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
36 Ways To Reduce Stress
- Pray
- Go to bed on time.
- Get up on time so you can start the day unrushed.
- Say No, to projects that won't fit into your time schedule, or that will compromise your mental health.
- Delegate tasks to capable others.
- Simplify and unclutter your life.
- Less is more. (Although one is often not enough, two are often too many.)
- Allow extra time to do things and to get to places.
- Pace yourself. Spread out big changes and difficult projects over time; don't lump the hard things all together.
- Take one day at a time.
- Separate worries from concerns. If a situation is a concern, find out what God would have you to do and let go of the anxiety. If you can't do anything about a situation, forget it.
- Live within your budget; don't use credit cards for ordinary purchases.
- Have backups; an extra car key in your wallet, an extra house key buried in the garden, extra stamps, etc.
- K.M.S. (Keep Mouth Shut). This single piece of advice can prevent an enormous amount of trouble.
- Do something for the Kid in You everyday.
- Carry a Bible with you to read while waiting in line..
- Get enough exercise.
- Eat right.
- Get organized so everything has its place.
- Listen to a tape while driving that can help improve your quality of life.
- Write thoughts and inspirations down.
- Every day, find time to be alone.
- Having problems? Talk to God on the spot. Try to nip small problems in the bud. Don't wait until it's time to go to bed to try and pray.
- Make friends with Godly people..
- Keep a folder of favorite scriptures on hand.
- Remember that the shortest bridge between despair and hope is often a good "Thank you, Jesus!"
- Laugh.
- Laugh some more!
- Take your work seriously, but yourself not at all.
- Develop a forgiving attitude (most people are doing the best they can).
- Be kind to unkind people (they probably need it the most).
- Sit on your ego.
- Talk less; listen more.
- Slow down.
- Remind yourself that you are not the general manager of the Universe.
- Every night before bed, think of one thing you're grateful for that you've never been grateful for before.
GOD HAS A WAY OF TURNING THINGS AROUND FOR YOU "If God is for us, who can be against us?" (Romans 8:31)
Monday, October 09, 2006
A Message From Beyond
A man from Norfolk, VA called a local radio station to share this on Sept 11th, 2003. His Name was Robert Matthews. These are his words:
"A few weeks before Sept 11th, my wife and I found out we were going to have our first child. She planned a trip out to California to visit her sister. On our way to the airport, we prayed that God would grant my wife a safe trip and be with her. Shortly after I said 'amen' we both heard a loud pop and the car shook violently. We had blown out a tire. I replaced the tire as quickly as I could, but we still missed her flight. Both very upset, we drove home.
I received a call from my father who was retired FDNY. He asked what my wife's flight number was, but explained that we missed the flight. My father informed me that her flight was the one that crashed into the southern tower. I was too shocked to speak. My father also had more news for me; he was going to help. 'This is not something I can just sit by for, I have to do something.' I was concerned for his safety, of course, but more because he had never given his life to Christ. After a brief debate, I knew his mind was made up. Before he got off of the phone, he said, 'take good care of my grandchild.' Those were the last words I ever heard my father say; he died while helping in the rescue effort.
My joy that my prayer of safety for my wife had been answered quickly became anger. Anger at God, at my father, and at myself. I had gone for nearly 2 years blaming God for taking my father away. My son would never know his grandfather, my father had never accepted Christ and I never got to say good-bye. Then something happened.
About 2 months ago, I was sitting at home with my wife and my son, when there was a knock on the door. I looked at my wife, but I could tell she wasn't expecting anyone. I opened the door to a couple with a small child. The man looked at me and asked if my father's name was Jake Matthews. I told him it was. He quickly grabbed my hand and said, 'I never got the chance to meet your father, but it is an honor to meet his son.' He explained to me that his wife had worked in the World Trade Center and had been caught inside after the attack. She was pregnant and had been caught under debris.
He then explained that my father had been the one to find his wife and free her. My eyes welled up with tears as I thought of my father giving his life for people like this. He then said, 'there is something else you need to know,' his wife then told me that as my father worked to free her, she talked to him and lead him to Christ. I began sobbing at the news. Now I know that when I get to heaven, my father will be standing beside Jesus to welcome me and that this family would be able to thank him themselves. When their baby boy was born, they named him Jacob Matthew in honor of the man who gave his life so mother and baby could live.
This story should help us to realize two things:
Please take time to share this amazing story with those you love. You may never know the impact it may have on someone
"A few weeks before Sept 11th, my wife and I found out we were going to have our first child. She planned a trip out to California to visit her sister. On our way to the airport, we prayed that God would grant my wife a safe trip and be with her. Shortly after I said 'amen' we both heard a loud pop and the car shook violently. We had blown out a tire. I replaced the tire as quickly as I could, but we still missed her flight. Both very upset, we drove home.
I received a call from my father who was retired FDNY. He asked what my wife's flight number was, but explained that we missed the flight. My father informed me that her flight was the one that crashed into the southern tower. I was too shocked to speak. My father also had more news for me; he was going to help. 'This is not something I can just sit by for, I have to do something.' I was concerned for his safety, of course, but more because he had never given his life to Christ. After a brief debate, I knew his mind was made up. Before he got off of the phone, he said, 'take good care of my grandchild.' Those were the last words I ever heard my father say; he died while helping in the rescue effort.
My joy that my prayer of safety for my wife had been answered quickly became anger. Anger at God, at my father, and at myself. I had gone for nearly 2 years blaming God for taking my father away. My son would never know his grandfather, my father had never accepted Christ and I never got to say good-bye. Then something happened.
About 2 months ago, I was sitting at home with my wife and my son, when there was a knock on the door. I looked at my wife, but I could tell she wasn't expecting anyone. I opened the door to a couple with a small child. The man looked at me and asked if my father's name was Jake Matthews. I told him it was. He quickly grabbed my hand and said, 'I never got the chance to meet your father, but it is an honor to meet his son.' He explained to me that his wife had worked in the World Trade Center and had been caught inside after the attack. She was pregnant and had been caught under debris.
He then explained that my father had been the one to find his wife and free her. My eyes welled up with tears as I thought of my father giving his life for people like this. He then said, 'there is something else you need to know,' his wife then told me that as my father worked to free her, she talked to him and lead him to Christ. I began sobbing at the news. Now I know that when I get to heaven, my father will be standing beside Jesus to welcome me and that this family would be able to thank him themselves. When their baby boy was born, they named him Jacob Matthew in honor of the man who gave his life so mother and baby could live.
This story should help us to realize two things:
- First, that though it has been some years since the attacks, we should never let it become a mere tragic memory.
- And second, but most important, God is always in control. We may not see the reason behind things, and we may never know this side of heaven, but God is ALWAYS in control.
Please take time to share this amazing story with those you love. You may never know the impact it may have on someone
Friday, October 06, 2006
Aging Gracefully
I'm really struggling with the whole process of getting old. The body just can't do the things it used to do and that bothers me. After I read the following list I realize it must bother alot of folks. So even old age is something that I don't have to go through alone. There are alot of others who have gone through ahead of me and did just fine. I guess there is hope for me also.
- Long ago when men cursed and beat the ground with sticks, it was called witchcraft. Today, it's called golf.
- Eventually you will reach a point when you stop lying about your age and start bragging about it.
- The older we get, the fewer things seem worth waiting in line for.
- Some people try to turn back their odometers. Not me, I want people to know "why" I look this way. I've traveled a long way and some of the roads weren't paved.
- How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?
- When you are dissatisfied and would like to go back to youth, think of Algebra.
- You know you are getting old when everything either dries up or leaks.
- One of the many things no one tells you about aging is that it is such a nice change from being young.
- One must wait until evening to see how splendid the day has been.
- Ah, being young is beautiful, but being old is comfortable.
- Old age is when former classmates are so gray and wrinkled and bald, they don't recognize you.
- If you don't learn to laugh at trouble, you won't have anything to laugh at when you are old.
- First you forget names, then you forget faces. Then you forget to pull up your zipper, then ..... you forget to pull your zipper down!
- If you jog in a jogging suit, lounge in lounging pajamas, and smoke in a smoking jacket, WHY would anyone want to wear a windbreaker??
- I don't know how I got over the hill without getting to the top.
- Middle age is when broadness of the mind and narrowness of the waist change places.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Choose To Be Happy Today
We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we are frustrated that the kids aren't old enough and we'll be more content when they are.
After that, we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We will certainly be happy when they are out of that stage. We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, are able to go on a nice vacation, or when we retire.
The truth is, there's no better time to be happy than right now. If not now, when? Your life will always be filled with challenges. It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time with...and remember that time waits for no one.
So, stop waiting
--until your car or home is paid off
--until you get a new car or home
--until your kids leave the house
--until you go back to school
--until you lose ten pounds
--until you gain ten pounds
--until you finish school
--until you get a divorce
--until you get married
--until you have kids
--until you retire
--until summer
--until spring
--until winter
--until fall
--until you die
There is no better time than right now to be happy.
Happiness is a journey, not a destination.
So -- work like you don't need money,
Love like you've never been hurt,
And dance like no one's watching.
After that, we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We will certainly be happy when they are out of that stage. We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, are able to go on a nice vacation, or when we retire.
The truth is, there's no better time to be happy than right now. If not now, when? Your life will always be filled with challenges. It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time with...and remember that time waits for no one.
So, stop waiting
--until your car or home is paid off
--until you get a new car or home
--until your kids leave the house
--until you go back to school
--until you lose ten pounds
--until you gain ten pounds
--until you finish school
--until you get a divorce
--until you get married
--until you have kids
--until you retire
--until summer
--until spring
--until winter
--until fall
--until you die
There is no better time than right now to be happy.
Happiness is a journey, not a destination.
So -- work like you don't need money,
Love like you've never been hurt,
And dance like no one's watching.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Just Brush His Hair
The following story is told by someone learning to be led of the Lord. Remember, someone elses blessing, maybe even your own, could depend on you personally obeying the Lord. Think about it.
Waiting to board the plane, I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I'd had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because I want to tell you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego.
I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped over in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins and bones. The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy gray hair hung well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails were long, clean but strangely out of place on an old man.
I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my face. As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found myself wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I remembered that he was dead. So this man in the airport... an impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us somewhere?
There I sat, trying to concentrate on the Word to keep from being concerned about a thin slice of humanity served on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while my heart was growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him.
Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern, and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking old man.
I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall. I've learned that when I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen. And it may be embarrassing. I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my spirit and I started arguing with God in my mind.
"Oh, no, God, please, no." I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it into heaven and said, "Don't make me witness to this man. Not right here and now. Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same plane, but don't make me get up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking audience. Please, Lord!"
There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, "Please don't make me witness to this man, not now. I'll do it on the plane."
Then I heard it... "I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to brush his hair."
The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair? No-brainer. I looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, "God, as I live and breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I'm on this Lord. I'm you're girl! You've never seen a woman witness to a man faster in your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is not redeemed? I am going to witness to this man."
Again as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word, God seemed to write this statement across the wall of my mind. "That is not what I said, Beth. I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush his hair."
I looked up at God and quipped, "I don't have a hairbrush. It's in my suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair without a hairbrush?"
God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk toward him as these thoughts came to me from God's word: "I will thoroughly furnish you unto all good works." (2 Timothy 3:17) I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself.
Even as I retell this story my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies.
I knelt down in front of the man and asked as demurely as possible, "Sir, may I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"
He looked back at me and said, "What did you say?"
"May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?" To which he responded in volume ten, "Little lady, if you expect me to hear you, you're going to have to talk louder than that." At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, "SIR, MAY I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?"
At which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room looking more peculiar than old Mr. Longlocks. Face crimson and forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on his face, and say, "If you really want to."
Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God didn't seem interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my heart until I could utter the words, "Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But I have one little problem. I don't have a hairbrush."
"I have one in my bag," he responded.
I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly believing what I was doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man's hair. It was perfectly clean, but it was tangled and matted. I don't do many things well, but must admit I've had notable experience untangling knotted hair mothering two little girls, like I'd done with my own girls in this condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of the strands, remembering to take my time not to pull.
A miraculous thing happened to me as I started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody else in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments except that old man and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until every tangle was out of that hair.
I know this sounds so strange, but I've never felt that kind of love for another soul in my entire life. I believe with all my heart, I – for that few minutes - felt a portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart for a little while like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for a short while. The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be God's.
His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant's. I slipped the brush back in the bag, went around the chair to face him. I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knees, and said, "Sir, do you know my Jesus?"
He said, "Yes, I do." Well, that figures, I thought. He explained, "I've known Him since I married my bride. She wouldn't marry me until I got to know the Savior." He said, "You see, the problem is, I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had open-heart surgery, and she's been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride."
Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment when we're completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other hand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll never forget it.
Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was deeply ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so proud to have accompanied him on that aircraft.
I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She said, "That old man's sitting on the plane, sobbing. Why did you do that? What made you do that?"
I said, "Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!" And we got to share. I learned something about God that day. He knows if you're exhausted because you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to move on, but you feel too responsible to budge.
He knows if you're hurting or feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning under a wave of temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you as an individual. Tell Him your need!
I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how many opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way... all because I didn't want people to think I was strange. God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.
John 1:14 "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth."
Life shouldn't be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather, to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly shouting, "Wow! What a ride! Thank You, Lord!"
Waiting to board the plane, I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I'd had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because I want to tell you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego.
I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped over in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins and bones. The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy gray hair hung well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails were long, clean but strangely out of place on an old man.
I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my face. As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found myself wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I remembered that he was dead. So this man in the airport... an impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us somewhere?
There I sat, trying to concentrate on the Word to keep from being concerned about a thin slice of humanity served on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while my heart was growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him.
Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern, and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking old man.
I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall. I've learned that when I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen. And it may be embarrassing. I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my spirit and I started arguing with God in my mind.
"Oh, no, God, please, no." I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it into heaven and said, "Don't make me witness to this man. Not right here and now. Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same plane, but don't make me get up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking audience. Please, Lord!"
There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, "Please don't make me witness to this man, not now. I'll do it on the plane."
Then I heard it... "I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to brush his hair."
The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair? No-brainer. I looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, "God, as I live and breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I'm on this Lord. I'm you're girl! You've never seen a woman witness to a man faster in your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is not redeemed? I am going to witness to this man."
Again as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word, God seemed to write this statement across the wall of my mind. "That is not what I said, Beth. I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush his hair."
I looked up at God and quipped, "I don't have a hairbrush. It's in my suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair without a hairbrush?"
God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk toward him as these thoughts came to me from God's word: "I will thoroughly furnish you unto all good works." (2 Timothy 3:17) I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself.
Even as I retell this story my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies.
I knelt down in front of the man and asked as demurely as possible, "Sir, may I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"
He looked back at me and said, "What did you say?"
"May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?" To which he responded in volume ten, "Little lady, if you expect me to hear you, you're going to have to talk louder than that." At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, "SIR, MAY I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?"
At which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room looking more peculiar than old Mr. Longlocks. Face crimson and forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on his face, and say, "If you really want to."
Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God didn't seem interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my heart until I could utter the words, "Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But I have one little problem. I don't have a hairbrush."
"I have one in my bag," he responded.
I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly believing what I was doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man's hair. It was perfectly clean, but it was tangled and matted. I don't do many things well, but must admit I've had notable experience untangling knotted hair mothering two little girls, like I'd done with my own girls in this condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of the strands, remembering to take my time not to pull.
A miraculous thing happened to me as I started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody else in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments except that old man and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until every tangle was out of that hair.
I know this sounds so strange, but I've never felt that kind of love for another soul in my entire life. I believe with all my heart, I – for that few minutes - felt a portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart for a little while like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for a short while. The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be God's.
His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant's. I slipped the brush back in the bag, went around the chair to face him. I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knees, and said, "Sir, do you know my Jesus?"
He said, "Yes, I do." Well, that figures, I thought. He explained, "I've known Him since I married my bride. She wouldn't marry me until I got to know the Savior." He said, "You see, the problem is, I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had open-heart surgery, and she's been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride."
Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment when we're completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other hand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll never forget it.
Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was deeply ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so proud to have accompanied him on that aircraft.
I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She said, "That old man's sitting on the plane, sobbing. Why did you do that? What made you do that?"
I said, "Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!" And we got to share. I learned something about God that day. He knows if you're exhausted because you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to move on, but you feel too responsible to budge.
He knows if you're hurting or feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning under a wave of temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you as an individual. Tell Him your need!
I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how many opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way... all because I didn't want people to think I was strange. God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.
John 1:14 "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth."
Life shouldn't be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather, to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly shouting, "Wow! What a ride! Thank You, Lord!"
Monday, September 25, 2006
Butch O'Hare & Easy Eddie
World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Butch O'Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to an aircraft carrier in the South Pacific.
One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold. A squadron of Japanese Zeroes was speeding its way toward the American fleet. The American fighters were gone on a sortie and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor, could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger.
There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet. Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes.
Wing-mounted 50 caliber's blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch weaved in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until finally all his ammunition was spent. Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the Zeroes, trying to at least clip off a wing or tail, in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible and rendering them unfit to fly. He was desperate to do anything he could to keep them from reaching the American ships. Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction.
Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet. He was recognized as a hero and given one of the nation's highest military honors. And today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.
Story number two:
Some years earlier there was a man in Chicago called Easy Eddie. At that time, Al Capone virtually owned the city. Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic. His exploits were anything but praiseworthy. He was, however, notorious for enmeshing the city of Chicago in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.
Easy Eddie was Capone's lawyer and for a good reason. He was very good! In fact, his skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big; Eddie got special dividends. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago city block. Yes, Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him. Eddy did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddy saw to it that his young son had the best of everything; clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object. And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Yes, Eddie tried to teach his son to rise above his own sordid life. He wanted him to be a better man than he was. Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things that Eddie couldn't give his son. Two things that Eddie sacrificed to the Capone mob that he could not pass on to his beloved son: a good name and a good example.
One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Offering his son a good name was far more important than all the riches he could lavish on him. He had to rectify all the wrong that he had done. He would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Scar-face Al Capone. He would try to clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this he must testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. But more than anything, he wanted to be an example to his son. He wanted to do his best to make restoration and hopefully have a good name to leave his son.
So, he testified. Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago street. He had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer at the greatest price he would ever pay.
I know what you're thinking. What do these two stories have to do with one another? Well, you see, Butch O'Hare was Easy Eddie's son.
One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold. A squadron of Japanese Zeroes was speeding its way toward the American fleet. The American fighters were gone on a sortie and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor, could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger.
There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet. Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes.
Wing-mounted 50 caliber's blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch weaved in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until finally all his ammunition was spent. Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the Zeroes, trying to at least clip off a wing or tail, in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible and rendering them unfit to fly. He was desperate to do anything he could to keep them from reaching the American ships. Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction.
Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet. He was recognized as a hero and given one of the nation's highest military honors. And today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.
Story number two:
Some years earlier there was a man in Chicago called Easy Eddie. At that time, Al Capone virtually owned the city. Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic. His exploits were anything but praiseworthy. He was, however, notorious for enmeshing the city of Chicago in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.
Easy Eddie was Capone's lawyer and for a good reason. He was very good! In fact, his skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big; Eddie got special dividends. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago city block. Yes, Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him. Eddy did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddy saw to it that his young son had the best of everything; clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object. And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Yes, Eddie tried to teach his son to rise above his own sordid life. He wanted him to be a better man than he was. Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things that Eddie couldn't give his son. Two things that Eddie sacrificed to the Capone mob that he could not pass on to his beloved son: a good name and a good example.
One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Offering his son a good name was far more important than all the riches he could lavish on him. He had to rectify all the wrong that he had done. He would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Scar-face Al Capone. He would try to clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this he must testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. But more than anything, he wanted to be an example to his son. He wanted to do his best to make restoration and hopefully have a good name to leave his son.
So, he testified. Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago street. He had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer at the greatest price he would ever pay.
I know what you're thinking. What do these two stories have to do with one another? Well, you see, Butch O'Hare was Easy Eddie's son.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Do what you can
This Story Will Give You Chills - Makes You Stop And Think: God has a way of allowing us to be in the right place at the right time.
I was walking down a dimly lit street late one evening when I heard muffled screams coming from behind a clump of bushes. Alarmed, I slowed down to listen and panicked when I realized that what I was hearing were the unmistakable sounds of a struggle: heavy grunting, frantic scuffling and tearing of fabric. Only yards from where I stood, a woman was being attacked.
Should I get involved? I was frightened for my own safety and cursed myself for having suddenly decided to take a new route home that night. What if I became another statistic? Shouldn't I just run to the nearest phone and call the police?
Although it seemed an eternity, the deliberations in my head had taken only seconds, but already the cries were growing weaker. I knew I had to act fast. How could I walk away from this? No, I finally resolved, I could not turn my back on the fate of this unknown woman, even if it meant risking my own life. I am not a brave man, nor am I athletic. I don't know where I found the moral courage and physical strength-but once I had finally resolved to help the girl, I became strangely transformed. I ran behind the bushes and pulled the assailant off the woman. Grappling, we fell to the ground, where we wrestled for a few minutes until the attacker jumped up and escaped.
Panting hard, I scrambled upright and approached the girl, who was crouched behind a tree, sobbing. In the darkness, I could barely see her outline, but I could certainly sense her trembling shock. Not wanting to frighten her further, I at first spoke to her from a distance. "It's OK," I said soothingly. "The man ran away. You're safe now."
There was a long pause and then I heard the words, uttered in wonder, in amazement. "Dad, is that you?" And then, from behind the tree, stepped my youngest daughter, Katherine.
****************************
Do all the good you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as you ever can.
I was walking down a dimly lit street late one evening when I heard muffled screams coming from behind a clump of bushes. Alarmed, I slowed down to listen and panicked when I realized that what I was hearing were the unmistakable sounds of a struggle: heavy grunting, frantic scuffling and tearing of fabric. Only yards from where I stood, a woman was being attacked.
Should I get involved? I was frightened for my own safety and cursed myself for having suddenly decided to take a new route home that night. What if I became another statistic? Shouldn't I just run to the nearest phone and call the police?
Although it seemed an eternity, the deliberations in my head had taken only seconds, but already the cries were growing weaker. I knew I had to act fast. How could I walk away from this? No, I finally resolved, I could not turn my back on the fate of this unknown woman, even if it meant risking my own life. I am not a brave man, nor am I athletic. I don't know where I found the moral courage and physical strength-but once I had finally resolved to help the girl, I became strangely transformed. I ran behind the bushes and pulled the assailant off the woman. Grappling, we fell to the ground, where we wrestled for a few minutes until the attacker jumped up and escaped.
Panting hard, I scrambled upright and approached the girl, who was crouched behind a tree, sobbing. In the darkness, I could barely see her outline, but I could certainly sense her trembling shock. Not wanting to frighten her further, I at first spoke to her from a distance. "It's OK," I said soothingly. "The man ran away. You're safe now."
There was a long pause and then I heard the words, uttered in wonder, in amazement. "Dad, is that you?" And then, from behind the tree, stepped my youngest daughter, Katherine.
****************************
Do all the good you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as you ever can.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Hole in One
As a young man, Norton was an exceptional golfer. At the age of 26, however, he decided to become a priest, and joined a rather peculiar Order. He took the usual vows of poverty, chastity, but his Order also required that he quit golf and never play again. This was particularly difficult for Norton, but he agreed and was finally ordained a priest.
One Sunday morning, the Reverend Father Norton woke up and realizing it was an exceptionally beautiful and sunny early spring day, decided he just had to play golf. So... he told the Associate Pastor that he was feeling sick and convinced him to say Mass for him that day. As soon as the Associate Pastor left the room, Father Norton headed out of town to a golf course about forty miles away. This way he knew he wouldn’t accidentally meet anyone he knew from his parish.
Setting up on the first tee, he was alone. After all, it was Sunday morning and everyone else was in church! At about this time, Saint Peter leaned over to the Lord while looking down from the heavens and exclaimed, "You’re not going to let him get away with this, are you?" The Lord sighed, and said, "No, I guess not."
Just then Father Norton hit the ball and it shot straight towards the pin, dropping just short of it, rolled up and fell into the hole. It WAS A 420 YARD HOLE IN ONE! St. Peter was astonished. He looked at the Lord and asked, "Why did you let him do that?" The Lord smiled and replied,
"Who’s he going to tell?"
One Sunday morning, the Reverend Father Norton woke up and realizing it was an exceptionally beautiful and sunny early spring day, decided he just had to play golf. So... he told the Associate Pastor that he was feeling sick and convinced him to say Mass for him that day. As soon as the Associate Pastor left the room, Father Norton headed out of town to a golf course about forty miles away. This way he knew he wouldn’t accidentally meet anyone he knew from his parish.
Setting up on the first tee, he was alone. After all, it was Sunday morning and everyone else was in church! At about this time, Saint Peter leaned over to the Lord while looking down from the heavens and exclaimed, "You’re not going to let him get away with this, are you?" The Lord sighed, and said, "No, I guess not."
Just then Father Norton hit the ball and it shot straight towards the pin, dropping just short of it, rolled up and fell into the hole. It WAS A 420 YARD HOLE IN ONE! St. Peter was astonished. He looked at the Lord and asked, "Why did you let him do that?" The Lord smiled and replied,
"Who’s he going to tell?"
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
A Wonderful Story
It was an unusually cold day for the month of May. Spring had arrived andeverything was alive with color. But a cold front from the North had broughtwinter's chill back to Indiana. I sat with two friends in the picture windowof a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town square.
The food andthe company were both especially good that day.
As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street.There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all hisworldly goods on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read, "Iwill work for food." My heart sank. I brought him to the attention of myfriends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him.
Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with ourmeal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went ourseparate ways.
I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced towardthe town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor.
I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call some response. Idrove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a storeand got back in my car. Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking tome: "Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once morearound the square." And so, with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. AsI turned the square's third corner. I saw him.
He was standing on the steps of the storefront church, going through hissack. I stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak to him, yetwanting to drive on.
The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: aninvitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town's newestvisitor.
"Looking for the pastor?" I asked.
"Not really," he replied, "just resting."
"Have you eaten today?"
"Oh, I ate something early this morning."
"Would you like to have lunch with me?"
"Do you have some work I could do for you?"
"No work," I replied. "I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch."
"Sure," he replied with a smile.
As he began to gather his things. I asked some surface questions.
"Where you headed?"
"St. Louis."
"Where you from?"
"Oh, all over; mostly Florida."
"How long you been walking?"
"Fourteen years," came the reply.
I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the samerestaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence andarticulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a brightred T-shirt that said, "Jesus is The Never Ending Story."
Then Daniel's story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life.He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences.
Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were puttingup a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. He was hired,but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in thoseservices he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God.
"Nothing'sbeen the same since," he said, "I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking,and so I did, some 14 years now." "Ever think of stopping?" I asked.
"Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me.
But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in mysack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spiritleads."
I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission andlived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then Iasked: "What's it like?" "What?" "To walk into a town carrying all yourthings on your back and to show your sign?"
"Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments.Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture thatcertainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling torealize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts ofother folks like me."
My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered histhings. Just outside the door, he paused. He turned to me and said, "Comeye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. Forwhen I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, astranger and you took me in."
I felt as if we were on holy ground.
"Could you use another Bible?" I asked.
He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not tooheavy. It was also his personal favorite. "I've read through it 14 times," he said.
"I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see."I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemedvery grateful.
"Where you headed from here?"
"Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon."
"No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star rightthere needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next." He smiled, and thewarmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him backto the town square where we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, itstarted raining. We parked and unloaded his things.
"Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked.
"I like to keep messages from folks I meet."
I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched mylife. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse ofscripture from Jeremiah, "I know the plans I have for you," declared theLord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you.Plans to give you a future and a hope."
"Thanks, man," he said. "I know we just met and we're really just strangers,but I love you."
"I know," I said, "I love you, too."
"The Lord is good." "Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone huggedyou?" I asked.
"A long time," he replied.
And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and Iembraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed.
He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, "See you inthe New Jerusalem."
"I'll be there!" was my reply.
He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from hisbed roll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned and said, "When you seesomething that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
"You bet," I shouted back, "God bless."
"God bless."
And that was the last I saw of him. Late that evening as I left my office,the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town.
I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for theemergency brake, I saw them... a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatlylaid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of myfriend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them. Iremembered his words:
"If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the worldand its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours withmy unique friend and to pray for his ministry. "See you in the NewJerusalem," he said. Yes, Daniel, I know I will...
If this story touched you, forward it to a friend! "I shall pass this waybut once. Therefore, any good that I can do or any kindness that I can show,let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again."
The food andthe company were both especially good that day.
As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street.There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all hisworldly goods on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read, "Iwill work for food." My heart sank. I brought him to the attention of myfriends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him.
Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with ourmeal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went ourseparate ways.
I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced towardthe town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor.
I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call some response. Idrove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a storeand got back in my car. Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking tome: "Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once morearound the square." And so, with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. AsI turned the square's third corner. I saw him.
He was standing on the steps of the storefront church, going through hissack. I stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak to him, yetwanting to drive on.
The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: aninvitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town's newestvisitor.
"Looking for the pastor?" I asked.
"Not really," he replied, "just resting."
"Have you eaten today?"
"Oh, I ate something early this morning."
"Would you like to have lunch with me?"
"Do you have some work I could do for you?"
"No work," I replied. "I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch."
"Sure," he replied with a smile.
As he began to gather his things. I asked some surface questions.
"Where you headed?"
"St. Louis."
"Where you from?"
"Oh, all over; mostly Florida."
"How long you been walking?"
"Fourteen years," came the reply.
I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the samerestaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence andarticulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a brightred T-shirt that said, "Jesus is The Never Ending Story."
Then Daniel's story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life.He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences.
Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were puttingup a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. He was hired,but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in thoseservices he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God.
"Nothing'sbeen the same since," he said, "I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking,and so I did, some 14 years now." "Ever think of stopping?" I asked.
"Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me.
But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in mysack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spiritleads."
I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission andlived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then Iasked: "What's it like?" "What?" "To walk into a town carrying all yourthings on your back and to show your sign?"
"Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments.Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture thatcertainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling torealize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts ofother folks like me."
My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered histhings. Just outside the door, he paused. He turned to me and said, "Comeye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. Forwhen I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, astranger and you took me in."
I felt as if we were on holy ground.
"Could you use another Bible?" I asked.
He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not tooheavy. It was also his personal favorite. "I've read through it 14 times," he said.
"I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see."I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemedvery grateful.
"Where you headed from here?"
"Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon."
"No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star rightthere needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next." He smiled, and thewarmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him backto the town square where we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, itstarted raining. We parked and unloaded his things.
"Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked.
"I like to keep messages from folks I meet."
I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched mylife. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse ofscripture from Jeremiah, "I know the plans I have for you," declared theLord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you.Plans to give you a future and a hope."
"Thanks, man," he said. "I know we just met and we're really just strangers,but I love you."
"I know," I said, "I love you, too."
"The Lord is good." "Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone huggedyou?" I asked.
"A long time," he replied.
And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and Iembraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed.
He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, "See you inthe New Jerusalem."
"I'll be there!" was my reply.
He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from hisbed roll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned and said, "When you seesomething that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
"You bet," I shouted back, "God bless."
"God bless."
And that was the last I saw of him. Late that evening as I left my office,the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town.
I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for theemergency brake, I saw them... a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatlylaid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of myfriend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them. Iremembered his words:
"If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the worldand its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours withmy unique friend and to pray for his ministry. "See you in the NewJerusalem," he said. Yes, Daniel, I know I will...
If this story touched you, forward it to a friend! "I shall pass this waybut once. Therefore, any good that I can do or any kindness that I can show,let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again."
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Rocks in Our Life
A little boy was spending his Saturday morning playing in his sandbox. He had with him his box of cars and trucks, his plastic pail, and a shiny, red plastic shovel. In the process of creating roads and tunnels in the soft sand, he discovered a large rock in the middle of the sandbox.
The boy dug around the rock, managing to dislodge it from the dirt. With a little bit of struggle, he pushed and nudged the rock across the sandbox by using his feet. (He was a very small boy, and the rock was very large.)
When the boy got the rock to the edge of the sandbox however, he found that he couldn't roll it up and over the little wall. Determined, the little boy shoved, pushed, and pried, but every time he thought he had made some progress, the rock tipped and then fell back into the sandbox.
The little boy grunted, struggled, pushed, & shoved; but his only reward was to have the rock roll back, smashing his chubby fingers.
Finally he burst into tears of frustration. All this time the boy's father watched from his living room window as the drama unfolded.
At the moment the tears fell, a large shadow fell across the boy and the sandbox. It was the boy's father. Gently but firmly he said, "Son, why didn't you use all the strength that you had available?"
Defeated, the boy sobbed back, "But I did, Daddy, I did! I used all the strength that I had!"
"No, son," corrected the father kindly. "You didn't use all the strength you had. You didn't ask me."
With that the father reached down, picked up the rock and removed it from the sandbox.
Do you have "rocks" in your life that need to be removed? Are you discovering that you don't have what it takes to lift them? There is One who is always available to us and willing to give us the strength we need.
Isn't it funny how we try so hard to do things ourselves. Sadly, many adults who have been religious for years are trying to do everything themselves and only turning to God as a last resort. God wants to be your first resort. Let Him help you with your trials, tribulations and temperament. God loves you. Let Him help.
The boy dug around the rock, managing to dislodge it from the dirt. With a little bit of struggle, he pushed and nudged the rock across the sandbox by using his feet. (He was a very small boy, and the rock was very large.)
When the boy got the rock to the edge of the sandbox however, he found that he couldn't roll it up and over the little wall. Determined, the little boy shoved, pushed, and pried, but every time he thought he had made some progress, the rock tipped and then fell back into the sandbox.
The little boy grunted, struggled, pushed, & shoved; but his only reward was to have the rock roll back, smashing his chubby fingers.
Finally he burst into tears of frustration. All this time the boy's father watched from his living room window as the drama unfolded.
At the moment the tears fell, a large shadow fell across the boy and the sandbox. It was the boy's father. Gently but firmly he said, "Son, why didn't you use all the strength that you had available?"
Defeated, the boy sobbed back, "But I did, Daddy, I did! I used all the strength that I had!"
"No, son," corrected the father kindly. "You didn't use all the strength you had. You didn't ask me."
With that the father reached down, picked up the rock and removed it from the sandbox.
Do you have "rocks" in your life that need to be removed? Are you discovering that you don't have what it takes to lift them? There is One who is always available to us and willing to give us the strength we need.
Isn't it funny how we try so hard to do things ourselves. Sadly, many adults who have been religious for years are trying to do everything themselves and only turning to God as a last resort. God wants to be your first resort. Let Him help you with your trials, tribulations and temperament. God loves you. Let Him help.
Monday, September 18, 2006
What Are You Worth?
A well-known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a $20.00 bill. In the room of 200, he asked, "Who would like this $20 bill?"
Hands started going up.
He said, "I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first, let me do this.
He proceeded to crumple up the $20 dollar bill. He then asked, "Who still wants it?" Still the hands were up in the air.
Well, he replied, "What if I do this?" And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe.
He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty.
"Now, who still wants it?" Still the hands went into the air. My friends, we have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20.
Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way.
We feel as though we are worthless. But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value. dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who DO LOVE you.
The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or who we know, but by WHO WE ARE and WHOSE WE ARE.
You are special- Don't EVER forget it."
Hands started going up.
He said, "I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first, let me do this.
He proceeded to crumple up the $20 dollar bill. He then asked, "Who still wants it?" Still the hands were up in the air.
Well, he replied, "What if I do this?" And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe.
He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty.
"Now, who still wants it?" Still the hands went into the air. My friends, we have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20.
Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way.
We feel as though we are worthless. But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value. dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who DO LOVE you.
The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or who we know, but by WHO WE ARE and WHOSE WE ARE.
You are special- Don't EVER forget it."
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
1901 versus 2001
Now that the 21st century has finally arrived, it might be fun to look back at the beginning of the last century and see what it was like. The contrast is awesome. Read on!
- The average life expectancy in the United States was 47.
- Only 14% of the homes in the United States had a bathtub.
- Only 8% of the homes had a telephone. A 3 minute call from Denver to New York City cost $11.
- There were only 8,000 cars in the US and 144 miles of paved roads. The maximum speed limit in most cities was 10 mph.
- Alabama, Mississippi, Iowa, and Tennessee were each more heavily populated than California. With a mere 1.4 million residents, California was only the twenty first most populous state in the Union.
- The tallest structure in the world was the Eiffel Tower.
- The average wage in the US was twenty-two cents an hour. The average US worker made between $200 and $400 per year. A competent accountant could expect to earn $2000 per year, a dentist $2500 per year, a veterinarian between $1500 and $4000 per year and a mechanical engineer about $5000 per year.
- More than 95% of all births in the United States took place at home.
- Ninety percent of all US physicians had no college education. Instead, they attended medical schools, many of which were condemned in the press and by the government as "substandard."
- Sugar cost four cents a pound. Eggs were fourteen cents a dozen. Coffee cost fifteen cents a pound.
- Most women only washed their hair once a month and used borax or egg yolks for shampoo.
- Canada passed a law prohibiting poor people from entering the country for any reason, either as travelers or immigrants.
- The five leading causes of death in the US were
1. Pneumonia and influenza
2. Tuberculosis
3. Diarrhea
4. Heart disease
5. Stroke - The American flag had 45 stars. Arizona, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Hawaii and Alaska hadn't been admitted to the Union yet.
- Drive-by shootings -- in which teenage boys on horseback galloped down the street, andomly shooting at houses, carriages, and anything else that caught their fancy -- were an ongoing problem in Denver and other cities in the west.
- The population of Las Vegas, Nevada, was thirty. The remote desert community was inhabited by only a handful of ranchers and their families.
- Plutonium, insulin, and antibiotics hadn't been discovered yet.
- Scotch tape, crossword puzzles, canned beer and iced tea hadn't been invented.
- There was no Mother's Day or Father's Day.
- One in ten US adults couldn't read or write. Only 6% of all Americans had graduated from high school.
- Marijuana, heroin, and morphine were all available over the counter at corner drugstores.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Don’t Lose Hope!
When the great explorer Shackleton was on his quest for the South Pole, he was at one time driven back, and was compelled to leave some of his men on Elephant Island, though he promised that he would return for them.
But when he endeavored to get back, he found a sea of ice between him and the island. What should he do? He had promised, and he must keep his word.
He tried to reach them, but failed. He tried again and again, but without success. Beyond the ice were his trusting companions, who had every confidence in him. They had only a few supplies with them. At that time of the year it seemed folly to hope for any favorable change in the weather, and he was told that there was absolutely no hope of getting his little boat, the "Yalcho," through the great ice barrier to Elephant Island.
He could not be inactive. He must reach his men; so at the risk of losing his boat and the lives of his crew, he pushed in nearer to the island; and unexpectedly there came an opening in the ice. He hurried in, rescued his men, and in an hour was back again with all on board. Had they been delayed only a few minutes, their frail vessel would have been destroyed by the crashing of the ice as it closed in.
When they were sure they were beyond danger and the nervous tension was over, Shackleton said to one of the rescued companions, "Well, you were packed and ready, weren't you?"
"Yes," came back the reply, "we never lost hope. We believed you would come for us, even though circumstances were unfavorable. You had promised, and we expected you; so each morning we rolled up our sleeping bags and packed all our equipment, that we might be ready." And now they were all safe and homeward bound, happy that they had been prepared daily.
Before Jesus departed from this world, He left a definite promise in John 14:1-4. The Lord is not slack concerning His promises.
By Charles L. Paddock
But when he endeavored to get back, he found a sea of ice between him and the island. What should he do? He had promised, and he must keep his word.
He tried to reach them, but failed. He tried again and again, but without success. Beyond the ice were his trusting companions, who had every confidence in him. They had only a few supplies with them. At that time of the year it seemed folly to hope for any favorable change in the weather, and he was told that there was absolutely no hope of getting his little boat, the "Yalcho," through the great ice barrier to Elephant Island.
He could not be inactive. He must reach his men; so at the risk of losing his boat and the lives of his crew, he pushed in nearer to the island; and unexpectedly there came an opening in the ice. He hurried in, rescued his men, and in an hour was back again with all on board. Had they been delayed only a few minutes, their frail vessel would have been destroyed by the crashing of the ice as it closed in.
When they were sure they were beyond danger and the nervous tension was over, Shackleton said to one of the rescued companions, "Well, you were packed and ready, weren't you?"
"Yes," came back the reply, "we never lost hope. We believed you would come for us, even though circumstances were unfavorable. You had promised, and we expected you; so each morning we rolled up our sleeping bags and packed all our equipment, that we might be ready." And now they were all safe and homeward bound, happy that they had been prepared daily.
Before Jesus departed from this world, He left a definite promise in John 14:1-4. The Lord is not slack concerning His promises.
By Charles L. Paddock
Monday, August 14, 2006
Proud To Be An American
This is an editorial written a year or two ago by an American citizen, published in a Tampa newspaper. I think he did quite a job!
IMMIGRANTS, NOT AMERICANS, MUST ADAPT.
I am tired of this nation worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture. Since the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, we have experienced a surge in patriotism by the majority of Americans. However...... the dust from the attacks had barely settled when the "politically correct! " crowd began complaining about the possibility that our patriotism was offending others.
I am not against immigration, nor do I hold a grudge against anyone who is seeking a better life by coming to America. Our population is almost entirely made up of descendants of immigrants. However, there are a few things that those who have recently come to our country, and apparently some born here, need to understand. This idea of America being a multicultural community has served only to dilute our sovereignty and our national identity.
As Americans.....we have our own culture, our own society, our own language and our own lifestyle. This culture has been developed over centuries of struggles, trials, and victories by millions of men and women who have sought freedom.
We speak ENGLISH, not Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society, learn the language!
"In God We Trust" is our national motto. This is not some Christian, right wing, political slogan. We adopted this motto because Christian men and women.......on Christian principles............. founded this nation..... and this is clearly documented. It is certainly appropriate to display it on the walls of our schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you consider another part of the world as your new home.........because God is part of our culture.
If Stars and Stripes offend you, or you don't like Uncle Sam, then you should seriously consider a move to another part of this planet We are happy with our culture and have no desire to change, and we really don't care how you did things where you came from. This is OUR COUNTRY, our land, and our lifestyle. Our First Amendment gives every citizen the right to express his opinion and we will allow you every opportunity to do so! But once you are done complaining....... whining...... and griping.......about our flag......our pledge......our national motto.......or our way of life...I highly encourage you to take advantage of one other Great American Freedom....
THE RIGHT TO LEAVE.
IMMIGRANTS, NOT AMERICANS, MUST ADAPT.
I am tired of this nation worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture. Since the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, we have experienced a surge in patriotism by the majority of Americans. However...... the dust from the attacks had barely settled when the "politically correct! " crowd began complaining about the possibility that our patriotism was offending others.
I am not against immigration, nor do I hold a grudge against anyone who is seeking a better life by coming to America. Our population is almost entirely made up of descendants of immigrants. However, there are a few things that those who have recently come to our country, and apparently some born here, need to understand. This idea of America being a multicultural community has served only to dilute our sovereignty and our national identity.
As Americans.....we have our own culture, our own society, our own language and our own lifestyle. This culture has been developed over centuries of struggles, trials, and victories by millions of men and women who have sought freedom.
We speak ENGLISH, not Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society, learn the language!
"In God We Trust" is our national motto. This is not some Christian, right wing, political slogan. We adopted this motto because Christian men and women.......on Christian principles............. founded this nation..... and this is clearly documented. It is certainly appropriate to display it on the walls of our schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you consider another part of the world as your new home.........because God is part of our culture.
If Stars and Stripes offend you, or you don't like Uncle Sam, then you should seriously consider a move to another part of this planet We are happy with our culture and have no desire to change, and we really don't care how you did things where you came from. This is OUR COUNTRY, our land, and our lifestyle. Our First Amendment gives every citizen the right to express his opinion and we will allow you every opportunity to do so! But once you are done complaining....... whining...... and griping.......about our flag......our pledge......our national motto.......or our way of life...I highly encourage you to take advantage of one other Great American Freedom....
THE RIGHT TO LEAVE.
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