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.
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