Stories
The ‘Little’ Things
As you might remember, the head of a company survived 9/11 because his son started kindergarten.
Another fellow was alive because it was his turn to bring donuts.
One woman was late because her alarm clock didn’t go off in time.
One was late because of being stuck on the NJ Turnpike because of an auto accident.
One of them missed his bus.
One spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change.
One’s car wouldn’t start.
One couldn’t get a taxi.
The one that struck me was the man who put on a new pair of shoes that morning, took the various means to get to work, but before he got there, he developed a blister on his foot. He stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid. That is why he is alive today…
Now when I am stuck in traffic, miss an elevator, turn back to answer a ringing telephone… all the little things that annoy me. I think to myself, this is exactly where God wants me to be at this very moment.
Next time your morning seems to be going wrong, you can’t seem to find the car keys, you hit every traffic light, don’t get mad or frustrated; It may be just that God is at work watching over you.
May God continue to bless you with all those annoying little things and may you remember their possible purpose.
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‘Meet Me In The Stairwell’
You say you will never forget where you were when you heard the news On September 11, 2001. Neither will I…
I was on the 110th floor in a smoke filled room with a man who called his wife to say ‘Good-Bye.’ I held his fingers steady as he dialed. I gave him the peace to say, ‘Honey, I am not going to make it, but it is OK..I am ready to go.’
I was with his wife when he called as she fed breakfast to their children. I held her up as she tried to understand his words and as she realized he wasn’t coming home that night.
I was in the stairwell of the 23rd floor when a woman cried out to Me for help. ‘I have been knocking on the door of your heart for 50 years!’ I said. ‘Of course I will show you the way home – only believe in Me now.’
I was at the base of the building with the Priest ministering to the injured and devastated souls. I took him home to tend to his Flock in Heaven. He heard my voice and answered.
I was on all four of those planes, in every seat, with every prayer. I was with the crew as they were overtaken. I was in the very hearts of the believers there, comforting and assuring them that their faith has saved them.
I was in Texas , Virginia , California , Michigan , Afghanistan . I was standing next to you when you heard the terrible news. Did you sense Me?
I want you to know that I saw every face. I knew every name – though not all knew Me
Some met Me for the first time on the 86th floor.
Some sought Me with their last breath.
Some couldn’t hear Me calling to them through the smoke and flames; ‘Come to Me… this way… take my hand.’ Some chose, for the final time, to ignore Me. But, I was there.
I did not place you in the Tower that day. You may not know why, but I do. However, if you were there in that explosive moment in time, would you have reached for Me?
Sept. 11, 2001, was not the end of the journey for you. But someday your journey will end. And I will be there for you as well. Seek Me now while I may be found. Then, at any moment, you know you are ‘ready to go.’ I will be in the stairwell of your final moments.
God
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Stop whatever you are doing, and take the next sixty seconds to appreciate God’s power in your life. You may want to recite this prayer. ‘Yes, I love my God. He is my fountain of Life and My Savior. He Keeps me going day and night. Without Him, I am no one. But with Him, I can do everything. Christ is my strength.’
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Tommy
Father John Powell, a professor at Loyola University in Chicago, writes about a student in his Theology of Faith class named Tommy:
Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith. That was the day I first saw Tommy. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches below his shoulders. It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that long. I guess it was just coming into fashion then. I know in my mind that it isn’t what’s on your head but what’s in it that counts; but on that day. I was unprepared and my emotions flipped. I immediately filed Tommy under “S” for strange… Very strange.
Tommy turned out to be the “atheist in residence” in my Theology of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at, or whined about the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father/God. We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the back pew.
When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final exam, he asked in a cynical tone, “Do you think I’ll ever find God?”
I decided instantly on a little shock therapy. “No!” I said very emphatically.
“Why not,” he responded, “I thought that was the product you were pushing.”
I let him get five steps from the classroom door and then I called out, “Tommy! I don’t think you’ll ever find Him, but I am absolutely certain that He will find you!” He shrugged a little and left my class and my life.
I felt slightly disappointed at the thought that he had missed my clever line — He will find you! At least I thought it was clever. Later I heard that Tommy had graduated, and I was duly grateful. Then a sad report came. I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer. Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into my office, his body was very badly wasted and the long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy. But his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first time, I believe.
“Tommy, I’ve thought about you so often; I hear you are sick,” I blurted out.
“Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It’s a matter of weeks.”
“Can you talk about it, Tom?” I asked.
“Sure, what would you like to know?” he replied.
“What’s it like to be only twenty-four and dying?
“Well, it could be worse.
“Like what?”
“Well, like being fifty and having no values or ideals, like being fifty and thinking that booze, seducing women, and making money are the real biggies in life.”
I began to look through my mental file cabinet under “S” where I had filed Tommy as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by classification, God sends back into my life to educate me.)
“But what I really came to see you about,” Tom said, “is something you said to me on the last day of class.” (He remembered!) He continued, “I asked you if you thought I would ever find God and you said, ‘No!’ which surprised me. Then you said, ‘But He will find you.’ I thought about that a lot, even though my search for God was hardly intense at that time. (My clever line. He thought about that a lot!) “But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me that it was malignant, that’s when I got serious about locating God. And when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven. But God did not come out. In fact, nothing happened. Did you ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with trying. And then you quit.
“Well, one day I woke up, and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there, I just quit. I decided that I didn’t really care about God, about an afterlife, or anything like that. I decided to spend what time I had left doing something more profitable. I thought about you and your class and I remembered something else you had said: ‘The essential sadness is to go through life without loving.’ But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them. “So, I began with the hardest one, my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him.
“Dad.”
“Yes, what?” he asked without lowering the newspaper.
“Dad, I would like to talk with you.”
“Well, talk.”
“I mean. It’s really important.”
The newspaper came down three slow inches. “What is it?”
“Dad, I love you, I just wanted you to know that.” Tom smiled at me and said it with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and secret joy flowing inside of him.
“The newspaper fluttered to the floor. Then my father did two things I could never remember him ever doing before. He cried and he hugged me. We talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next morning.”
“It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me.”
“It was easier with my mother and little brother. They cried with me, too, and we hugged each other, and started saying real nice things to each other. We shared the things we had been keeping secret for so many years. I was only sorry about one thing — that I had waited so long. Here I was, just beginning to open up to all the people I had actually been close to…”
“Then, one day I turned around and God was there. He didn’t come to me when I pleaded with Him. I guess I was like an animal trainer holding out a hoop, ‘C’mon, jump through. C’mon, I’ll give you three days, three weeks. Apparently God does things in His own way and at His own hour. But the important thing is that He was there. He found me! You were right. He found me even after I stopped looking for Him.”
“Tommy,” I practically gasped, “I think you are saying something very important and much more universal than you realize. To me, at least, you are saying that the surest way to find God is not to make Him a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant consolation in time of need, but rather by opening to love… You know, the Apostle John said that. He said: ‘God is love, and anyone who lives in love is living with God and God is living in him. “
“Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you in class you were a real pain. But (laughingly) you can make it all up to me now. Would you come into my present Theology of Faith course and tell them what you have just told me? If I told them the same thing it wouldn’t be half as effective as if you were to tell it..”
“Oooh.. I was ready for you, but I don’t know if I’m ready for your class.”
“Tom, think about it. If and when you are ready, give me a call.”
In a few days Tom called, said he was ready for the class, that he wanted to do that for God and for me. So we scheduled a date. However, he never made it. He had another appointment, far more important than the one with me and my class. Of course, his life was not really ended by his death, only changed.
He made the great step from faith into vision. He found a life far more beautiful than the eye of man has ever seen or the ear of man has ever heard or the mind of man has ever imagined. Before he died, we talked one last time.
“I’m not going to make it to your class,” he said.
“I know, Tom.”
“Will you tell them for me? Will you … tell the whole world for me?”
I will, Tom. I’ll tell them. I’ll do my best.”
So, to all of you who have been kind enough to read this simple story about God’s love, thank you for listening. And to you, Tommy, somewhere in the sunlit, verdant hills of heaven — I told them, Tommy, as best I could. If this story means anything to you, please pass it on to a friend or two. It is a true story and is not enhanced for publicity purposes.
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Marbles
The older I get, the more I enjoy Saturday mornings. Perhaps it’s the quiet solitude that comes with being the first to rise, or maybe it’s the unbounded joy of not having to be at work. Either way, the first few hours of a Saturday morning are most enjoyable.
A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the garage with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning turned into one of those Lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time. Let me tell you about it:
I turned the dial up into the phone portion of the band on my ham radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning swap net. Along the way, I came across an older sounding chap, with a tremendous signal and a golden voice. You know the kind, he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whom-ever he was talking with something about ‘a thousand marbles..’ I was intrigued and stopped to listen to what he had to say…
‘ Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you’re busy with your job. I’m sure they pay you well but it’s a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. It’s too bad you missed your daughter’s ‘dance recital’ he continued. ‘Let me tell you something that has helped me keep my own priorities.’ And that’s when he began to explain his theory of a ‘thousand marbles.’
‘You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years.
‘Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. Now, stick with me, Tom, I’m getting to the important part.
It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail’, he went on, ‘and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays.’ ‘I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy. So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round up 1000 marbles I took them home and put them inside a large, clear plastic container right here in the shack next to my gear.’
‘Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away. I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life.
There’s nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight .’
‘Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure that if I make it until next Saturday then I have been given a little extra time.. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time.’
‘It was nice to meet you Tom, I hope you spend more time with your family, and I hope to meet you again here on the band. This is a 75 Year old Man, K9NZQ, clear and going QRT, good morning!
You could have heard a pin drop on the band when this fellow signed off. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to work on the antenna that morning, and then I was going to meet up with a few hams to work on the next club newsletter.
Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss. ‘C’mon honey, I’m taking you and the kids to breakfast.’ ‘What brought this on?’ she asked with a smile. ‘Oh, nothing special, it’s just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids. And hey, can we stop at a toy store while we’re out? I need to buy some marbles.
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Puppy Size
‘Danielle keeps repeating it over and over again. We’ve been back to this animal shelter at least five times. It has been weeks now since we started all of this,’ the mother told the volunteer.
What is it she keeps asking for?’ the volunteer asked.
‘Puppy size!’ replied the mother .’
‘Well, we have plenty of puppies, if that’s what she’s looking for..’
‘I know….. We have seen most of them, ‘ the mom said in frustration…
Just then Danielle came walking into the office.
‘Well, did you find one?’ asked her mom.
‘No, not this time,’ Danielle said with sadness in her voice. ‘Can we come back on the weekend?’
The two women looked at each other, shook their heads and laughed.
‘You never know when we will get more dogs. Unfortunately, there’s always a supply,’ the volunteer said.
Danielle took her mother by the hand and headed to the door.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll find one this weekend,’ she said.
Over the next few days both Mom and Dad had long conversations with her. They both felt she was being too particular. ‘It’s this weekend or we’re not looking any more,’ Dad finally said in frustration.
‘We don’t want to hear anything more about puppy size, either,’ Mom added.
Sure enough, they were the first ones in the shelter on Saturday morning . By now Danielle knew her way around, so she ran right for the section that housed the smaller dogs.
Tired of the routine, mom sat in the small waiting room at the end of the first row of cages. There was an observation window so you could see the animals during times when visitors weren’t permitted.
Danielle walked slowly from cage to cage, kneeling periodically to take a closer look. One by one the dogs were brought out and she held each one. One by one she said, ‘Sorry, but you’re not the one.’
It was the last cage on this last day in search of the perfect pup. The volunteer opened the cage door and the child carefully picked up the dog and held it closely. This time she took a little longer.
‘Mom, that’s it! I found the right puppy! He’s the one! I know it!’ She screamed with joy. ‘It’s the puppy size!’
‘But it’s the same size as all the other puppies you held over the last few weeks,’ Mom said.
‘No not size… The sighs. When I held him in my arms, he sighed,’ she said. ‘Don’t you remember? When I asked you one day what love is, you told me love depends on the sighs of your heart. The more you love, the bigger the sigh!’
The two women looked at each other for a moment. Mom didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As she stooped down to hug the child, she did a little of both.
‘Mom, every time you hold me, I sigh. When you and Daddy come home from work and hug each other, you both sigh. I knew I would find the right puppy if it sighed when I held it in my arms,’ she said. Then, holding the puppy up close to her face, she said, ‘Mom, he loves me. I heard the sighs of his heart!’
Close your eyes for a moment and think about the love that makes you sigh. I not only find it in the arms of my loved ones, but in the caress of a sunset, the kiss of the moonlight and the gentle brush of cool air on a hot day.. These are the sighs of God. Take the time to stop and listen; you will be surprised at what you hear. ‘Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take Our breath away.’
I hope your life is filled with Sighs.
Appreciate every single thing you have, especially your friends. Life is too short and friends are too few.
Life is too short to wake up with regrets.
Love the people who treat you right and forget about the ones who don’t.
The Law of the Garbage Truck
One day I hopped in a taxi and we took off for the airport. We were driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded, and missed the other car by just inches!
The driver of the other car whipped his head around and started yelling at us. My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean, he was really friendly.
So I asked, ‘Why did you just do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital’
This is when my taxi driver taught me what I now call, ‘The Law of the Garbage Truck.’ He explained that many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes they’ll dump it on you. Don’t take it personally. Just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. Don’t take their garbage and spread it to other people at work, at home, or on the streets. The bottom line is that successful people do not let garbage trucks take over their day. Life’s too short to wake up in the morning with regrets, so …
Love the people who treat you right.
Pray for the ones who don’t.
Life is ten percent what you make it and ninety percent how you take it!
Have a garbage-free day!
Faith is not believing God can, it is knowing that God will.
92 Year Old Preacher
While watching a little TV on Sunday instead of going to church, I watched a church in Atlanta honoring one of its senior pastors who had been retired for many years. He was 92 at that time and I wondered why the church even bothered to ask the old gentleman to preach at that age.
After a warm welcome, introduction of this speaker, and as the applause quieted down, he rose from his high back chair and walked slowly, with great effort and a sliding gait to the podium. Without a note or written paper of any kind he placed both hands on the pulpit to steady himself and then quietly and slowly he began to speak….
“When I was asked to come here today and talk to you, your pastor asked me to tell you what was the greatest lesson ever learned in my 50-odd years of preaching. I thought about it for a few days and boiled it down to just one thing that made the most difference in my life and sustained me through all my trials… The one thing that I could always rely on when tears and heartbreak and pain and fear and sorrow paralyzed me…the only thing that would comfort was this verse……..
“Jesus loves me this I know.
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong,
we are weak but He is strong…..
Yes, Jesus loves me….
The Bible tells me so.”
The old pastor stated, “I always noticed that it was the adults who chose the children’s hymn ‘Jesus Loves Me’ (for the children of course) during a hymn sing, and it was the adults who sang the loudest because I could see they knew it the best.”
“Here for you now is a Senior version of Jesus Loves Me”:
Jesus Loves Me
Jesus loves me, this I know,
Though my hair is white as snow
Though my sight is growing dim,
Still He bids me trust in Him.
Yes, Jesus loves me.. Yes, Jesus loves me..
Yes, Jesus loves me, for the bible tells me so.
Though my steps are oh, so slow,
With my hand in His I’ll go
On through life, let come what may,
He’ll be there to lead the way.
Yes, Jesus loves me.. Yes, Jesus loves me..
Yes, Jesus loves me, for the bible tells me so.
When the nights are dark and long,
In my heart He puts a song..
Telling me in words so clear,
“Have no fear, for I am near.”
Yes, Jesus loves me.. Yes, Jesus loves me..
Yes, Jesus loves me, for the bible tells me so.
When my work on earth is done,
And life’s victories have been won.
He will take me home above,
Then I’ll understand His love.
Yes, Jesus loves me.. Yes, Jesus loves me..
Yes, Jesus loves me, for the bible tells me so.
I love Jesus, does He know?
Have I ever told Him so?
Jesus loves to hear me say,
That I love Him every day.
Yes, Jesus loves me.. Yes, Jesus loves me..
Yes, Jesus loves me, for the bible tells me so.
Sand Or Stone
Two friends were walking through the desert. During some point of the journey, they had an argument, and one friend slapped the other one in the face. The one who got slapped was hurt, but without saying anything, wrote in the sand: ‘Today, my best friend slapped me in the face.’
They kept on walking until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath. The one who had been slapped got stuck in the mire and started drowning, but the friend saved him. After he recovered from the near drowning, he wrote on a stone: ‘Today my best friend saved my life.’
The friend who had slapped and saved his best friend asked him: ‘After I hurt you, you wrote in the sand, and now, you write on a stone, Why?’
The friend replied: ‘When someone hurts us we should write it down in sand, where the winds of forgiveness can erase it away, but when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone, where no wind can ever erase it.’
Learn to write your hurts in the sand and to care your benefits in stone. They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but an entire life to forget them. Take the time to live! Do not value the things you have in your life, but value who you have known in your life!
When Your Hut’s On Fire
The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him. Every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming.
Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect himself from the elements, and to store his few possessions.
One day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, with smoke rolling up to the sky. He felt the worst had happened, and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief, grief, and anger. He cried out, ‘God! How could you do this to me?’
Early the next day, he was awakened by the sound of a ship approaching the island! It had come to rescue him!
‘How did you know I was here?’ asked the weary man of his rescuers.
‘We saw your smoke signal,’ they replied.
The Moral of This Story: It’s easy to get discouraged when things are going bad, but we shouldn’t lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of our pain and suffering. Remember that the next time your little hut seems to be burning to the ground. It just may be a smoke signal that summons the Grace of God.
The Table Cloth
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 a lot of 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 December 18 were well ahead of schedule and just about finished. On December 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. 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. He was captured, sent to prison and she never saw him nor 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. The pastor wondered why he wasn’t leaving.
The man asked him where he had gotten the tablecloth on the front wall. It was identical to one that his wife had made years ago, before the war, when they lived in Austria. 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 how he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put into a prison. In the 35 years since, he hadn’t seen his wife nor his home again.
The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a ride. They drove to Staten Island, to the same house where, three days before, the pastor had taken the woman.
He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs. He knocked on the door and witnessed the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever have imagined.
This is a true Story, submitted by Pastor Rob Reid, Who says: “God does work in mysterious ways.”
Magnolias
By Edna Ellison
I spent the week before my daughter’s June wedding running last-minute trips to the caterer, florist, tuxedo shop, and the Church about forty miles away. As happy as I was that Patsy was marrying a good Christian young man, I felt laden with responsibilities as I watched my budget dwindle … So many details, so many bills, and so little time. My son Jack was away at college, but he said he would be there to walk his younger sister down the aisle, taking the place of his dad who had died a few years before. He teased Patsy, saying he’d wanted to give her away since she was about three years old!
To save money, I gathered blossoms from several friends who had large magnolia trees. Their luscious, creamy-white blooms and slick green leaves would make beautiful arrangements against the rich dark wood inside the church. After the rehearsal dinner, the night before the wedding, we banked the podium area and choir loft with magnolias. As we left, just before midnight, I felt tired but satisfied this would be the best wedding any bride had ever had! The music, the ceremony, the reception – and especially the flowers – would be remembered for years.
The big day arrived – the busiest day of my life. While her bridesmaids helped Patsy dress, her fiancee Tim walked with me to the sanctuary to do a final check. When we opened the door and felt a rush of hot air, I almost fainted; and then I saw them – all the beautiful white flowers were black. Funeral black. An electrical storm during the night had knocked out the air conditioning system, and on that hot summer day, the flowers had wilted and died. I panicked, knowing I didn’t have time to drive back to our hometown, gather more flowers, and return in time for the wedding.
Tim turned to me. ‘Edna, can you get more flowers? Throw away these dead ones and put fresh flowers in these arrangements.’
I mumbled, ‘Sure,’ as he be-bopped down the hall to put on his cuff links.
Alone in the large sanctuary, I looked up at the dark wooden beams in the arched ceiling. ‘Lord,’ I prayed, ‘please help me. I don’t know anyone in this town. Help me find someone willing to give me flowers – in a hurry!’ I scurried out praying for four things: the blessing of white magnolias, courage to find them in an unfamiliar yard, safety from any dog that may bite my leg, and a nice person who would not get out a shotgun when I asked to cut his tree to shreds.
As I left the church, I saw magnolia trees in the distance. I approached a house…No dog in sight. I knocked on the door and an older man answered. No shotgun…So far so good.
When I stated my plea the man beamed, ‘I’d be happy to!’ He climbed a stepladder and cut large boughs and handed them down to me.
Minutes later, as I lifted the last armload into my car trunk, I said, ‘Sir, you’ve made the mother of a bride very happy today.’
‘No, Ma’am,’ he said. ‘You don’t understand what’s happening here.’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘You see, my wife of sixty-seven years died on Monday. On Tuesday I received friends at the funeral home, and on Wednesday . . . He paused. I saw tears welling up in his eyes. ‘On Wednesday I buried her.’ He! looked away. ‘On Thursday most of my out-of-town relatives went back home, and on Friday -yesterday -my children left..’
I nodded.
‘This morning,’ he continued, ‘I was sitting in my den crying out loud. I miss her so much. For the last sixteen years, as her health got worse, she needed me. But now nobody needs me. This morning I cried, ‘Who needs an eighty-six-year-old worn-out man? Nobody!’ I began to cry louder. ‘Nobody needs me!’ About that time, you knocked, and said, ‘Sir, I need you.’
I stood with my mouth open.
He asked, ‘Are you an angel? The way the light shone around your head into my dark living room…’
I assured him I was no angel.
He smiled. ‘Do you know what I was thinking when I handed you those magnolias?’
‘No.’
‘I decided I’m needed. My flowers are needed. Why, I might have a flower ministry! I could give them to everyone! Some caskets at the funeral home have no flowers. People need flowers at times like that and I have lots of them.
They’re all over the backyard! I can give them to hospitals, churches – all sorts of places. You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to serve the Lord until the day He calls me home!’
I drove back to the church, filled with wonder. On Patsy’s wedding day, if anyone had asked me to encourage someone who was hurting, I would have said, ‘Forget it! It’s my only daughter’s wedding, for goodness’ sake! There is no way I can minister to anyone today.’ But God found a way. Through dead flowers.
Life is not the way it’s supposed to be. It’s the way it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference. If you have missed knowing me, you have missed nothing. If you have missed some of my emails, you may have missed a laugh. But, if you have missed knowing my LORD and SAVIOR, JESUS CHRIST, you have missed everything in the world.
Being needed is so uplifting to each one of us. God knows all of our hearts especially the ones that are hurting. May God’s blessings be upon you.
An Important Appointment
It was a busy morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman, in his 80′s, arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He said he was in a hurry as he had another appointment at 9:00 am.
The nurse took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would be able to see him. She saw him looking at his watch and decided, since she was not busy with another patient, she would evaluate his wound. On examination, it was well healed, so she talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound. While taking care of his wound, the nurse asked him if he had another doctor’s appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry.
The gentleman told her no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.
He told her that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer’s Disease.
As they talked, the nurse asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late.
He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.
The nurse was surprised, and asked him, ‘And you still go every morning, even though she doesn’t know who you are?’
He smiled as he patted her hand and said, ‘She doesn’t know me, but I still know who she is.’
The nurse had to hold back tears as he left, she had goose bumps on her arm, and thought, ‘That is the kind of love I want in my life.’
True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.
The happiest people don’t necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the best of everything they have. ‘Life isn’t about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain.’
God’s Life Line
After a few of the usual Sunday evening hymns, the Church’s Pastor slowly stood up, walked over to the pulpit and, before he gave his sermon for the evening, introduced a guest minister who was at the service that evening.
In the introduction, the Pastor told the congregation that the guest minister was one of his dearest childhood friends and that he wanted him to have a few moments to greet the Church and share whatever he felt would be appropriate for the service.
With that, an elderly man stepped up to the pulpit and began to speak. ‘A father, his son, and a friend of his son, were sailing off the Pacific coast,’ he began. ‘When a fast approaching storm blocked any chance of their getting back to shore. The waves were so high, that even though the father was an experienced sailor, he could not keep the boat upright and the three were swept into the ocean as the boat capsized.
The old man hesitated for a moment, making eye contact with two teenagers who were, for the first time since the service began, looking somewhat interested in his story.
The aged minister continued with his story, ‘Grabbing a rescue line, the father had to make the most excruciating decision of his life. To which boy would he throw the other end of the life line.’
‘He only had seconds to make the decision. The father knew that his son was a Christian and he also knew, that his son’s friend was not. The agony of his decision could not be matched by the torrent of the waves.’
‘As the father yelled out, ‘I love you son!’ he threw out the life line to his son’s friend. By the time the father had pulled the friend back to the capsized boat, his son had disappeared beneath the raging swells into the black of night. His body was never recovered.’
By this time, the two teenagers were sitting up straight in the pew, anxiously waiting for the next words to come out of the old minister’s mouth.
‘The father,’ he continued, ‘knew his son would step into eternity with Jesus and he could not bear the thought of his son’s friend stepping into an eternity without Jesus.. Therefore, he sacrificed his son to save the son’s friend.’
‘How great is the love of God that He should do the same for us. Our Heavenly Father sacrificed His only begotten Son that we could be saved. I urge you to accept His offer to rescue you and take a hold of the life line He is throwing out to you in this service.’
With that, the old man turned and sat back down in his chair as silence filled the room.
The Pastor walked slowly to the pulpit and delivered a brief sermon with an invitation at the end. No one, however, responded to the appeal.
Within minutes after the service ended, the two teenagers were at the old man’s side.
‘That was a nice story,’ politely stated one of them, ‘but I don’t think it was very realistic for a father to give up his only son’s life in hopes that the other boy would become a Christian.’
‘Well, you’ve got a point there,’ the old man replied, glancing down at his worn Bible. A big smile broadened his narrow face. He once again looked up at the boys and said, ‘It sure isn’t very realistic, is it? but, I’m standing here today to tell you that story gives me a glimpse of what it must have been life for God to give up His Son for me. You see…I was that father and your Pastor is my son’s friend.’
Under God’s Wings
After a forest fire in Yellowstone National Park, forest rangers began their trek up a mountain to assess the inferno’s damage.
One ranger found a bird literally petrified in ashes, perched statuesquely on the ground at the base of a tree. Somewhat sickened by the eerie sight, he knocked over the bird with a stick.
When he gently struck it, three tiny chicks scurried from under their dead mother’s wings.
The loving mother, keenly aware of impending disaster, had carried her offspring to the base of the tree and had gathered them under her wings, instinctively knowing that the toxic smoke would rise.
She could have flown to safety but had refused to abandon her babies. Then the blaze had arrived and the heat had scorched her small body, the mother had remained steadfast. Because she had been willing to die, so those under the cover of her wings would live.
‘He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge.’ (Psalm 91:4)
Being loved this much should make a difference in your life. Remember the One who loves you, and then be different because of it.
The Cost Of A Miracle
A little girl went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet.
She poured the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes.
Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way 6 blocks to Rexall’s Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief sign above the door.
She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention, but he was too busy at this moment.
Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good… Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!
‘And what do you want?’ the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. I’m talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven’t seen in ages,’ he said without waiting for a reply to his question.
‘Well, I want to talk to you about my brother,’ Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. ‘He’s really, really sick … and I want to buy a miracle.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said the pharmacist.
‘His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?’
‘We don’t sell miracles here, little girl. I’m sorry but I can’t help you,’ the pharmacist said, softening a little.
‘Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn’t enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs.’
The pharmacist’s brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, ‘What kind of a miracle does your brother need?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tess replied with her eyes welling up. I just know he’s really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation, but my Daddy can’t pay for it, so I want to use my money.’
‘How much do you have?’ asked the man from Chicago.
‘One dollar and eleven cents,’ Tess answered barely audibly, ‘and it’s all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to.’
‘Well, what a coincidence,’ smiled the man. ‘ A dollar and eleven cents is the exact price of a miracle for little brothers.’
He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said, ‘Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let’s see if I have the miracle you need.’
That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neuro-surgery. The operation was completed free of charge and it wasn’t long until Andrew was home again and doing well.
Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place. ‘That surgery,’ her Mom whispered, ‘was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?’
Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost..one dollar and eleven cents….plus the faith of a little child.
In our lives, we never know how many miracles we will need. A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a higher law.
Twinkies And Root Beer
A little boy wanted to meet God. He knew it was a long trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with Twinkies and a six-pack of Root Beer and he started his journey.
When he had gone about three blocks, he met an elderly man. The man was sitting in the park just feeding some pigeons.
The boy sat down next to him and opened his suitcase. He was about to take a drink from his root beer when he noticed that the man looked hungry, so he offered him a Twinkie.
The man gratefully accepted it and smiled at boy. His smile was so pleasant that the boy wanted to see it again, so he offered him a root beer.
Again, the man smiled at him. The boy was delighted! They sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, but they never said a word.
As it grew dark, the boy realized how tired he was and he got up to leave, but before he had gone more than a few steps, he turned around, ran back to the man, and gave him a hug. The man gave him his biggest smile ever.
When the boy opened the door to his own house a short time later, his mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face. She asked him, “What did you do today that made you so happy?
“He replied, “I had lunch with God.” But before his mother could respond, he added, “You know what? God’s got the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen!”
Meanwhile, the elderly man, also radiant with joy, returned to his home. His son was stunned by the look of peace on his face and he asked,” Dad, what did you do today that made you so happy?”
He replied, “I ate Twinkies in the park with God.” However, before his son responded, he added,” You know, he’s much younger than I expected.”
Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around. People come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Embrace all equally!
The Old Fisherman
Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the Clinic.
One summer evening as I was preparing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. ‘Why, he’s hardly taller than my eight-year-old,’ I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body.
But the appalling thing was his face, lopsided from swelling, red and raw; yet his voice was pleasant as he said, ‘Good evening. I’ve come to see if you’ve a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there’s no bus ’till morning.’
He told me he’d been hunting for a room since noon but with no success; no one seemed to have a room. ‘I guess it’s my face. I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments….’
For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me. ‘I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning.’
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us.
‘No thank you, I have plenty,’ and he held up a brown paper bag.
When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes.
It didn’t take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.
He didn’t tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was prefaced with thanks to God for a blessing He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children’s room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded, and the little man was out on the porch.
He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, ‘Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won’t put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair.’ He paused a moment and then added, ‘Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don’t seem to mind.’
I told him he was welcome to come again.
On his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they’d be nice and fresh.
I knew his bus left at 4 a.m., and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.
In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden.
Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.
Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning.
‘Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!’
Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice but, oh if only they could have known him, perhaps their illness would have been easier to bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.
Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.
I thought to myself, ‘If this were my plant, I’d put it in the loveliest container I had!’
My friend changed my mind. ‘I ran short of pots,’ she explained, ‘and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn’t mind starting out in this old pail. It’s just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden.’
She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven. ‘There’s an especially beautiful one,’ God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. ‘He won’t mind starting in this small body.’
All this happened long ago — and now, in God’s garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.
The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.
God Lives Under The Bed
I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At least that’s what I heard him say one night. He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen, ‘Are you there, God?’ he said. ‘Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed.’
I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin’s unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.
He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he’s 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.
He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.
I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life? Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.
The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.
He does not seem dissatisfied. He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work. He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day’s laundry chores.
And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That’s the day my Dad takes Kev into the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside. ‘That one’s going to Chi-car-go!’ Kevin shouts as he claps his hands. His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.
And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips. He doesn’t know what it means to be discontent. His life is simple. He will never know the entanglements of wealth or power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.
His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it. He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax. He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others His heart is pure.
He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue. Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere.
And he trusts God. Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God – to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an ‘educated’ person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion.
My moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith. It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions. It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap, I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances – they all become disabilities when I do not trust them to God’s care.
Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God. And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I’ll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed. Kevin won’t be surprised at all!
Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.
I Believe
A Birth Certificate shows that we were born. A Death Certificate shows that we died. Pictures show that we lived.
I Believe… That just because two people argue, it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other. And just because they don’t argue, it doesn’t mean they do love each other.
I Believe… That we don’t have to change friends if we understand that friends change.
I Believe… That no matter how good a friend is, they’re going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
I Believe… That true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.
I Believe… That you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.
I Believe… That it’s taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I Believe… That you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.
I Believe… That you can keep going long after you think you can’t.
I Believe… That we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I Believe… That either you control your attitude or it controls you.
I Believe… That money is a lousy way of keeping score.
I Believe… That my best friend and I, can do anything, or nothing and have the best time.
I Believe… That sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you’re down, will be the ones to help you get back up.
I Believe… That maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you’ve had and what you’ve learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you’ve celebrated.
I Believe… That it isn’t always enough, to be forgiven by others; sometimes, you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I Believe… That no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn’t stop for your grief.
I Believe… That our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but, we are responsible for who we become.
I Believe… Two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.
I Believe… That your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don’t even know you.
I Believe… That even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you – you will find the strength to help.
I Believe… That credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.
I Believe… That the happiest of people don’t necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything.
Fifty-Seven Cents
A 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 happy that they found room for her, and 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. Her parents called for the kindhearted pastor who had befriended their daughter to handle the final arrangements.
As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled red 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, which 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 wealthy realtor who offered them a parcel of land worth many thousands. When told that the church could not pay so much, he offered to sell it to the little church 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 dividends.
When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church, with a seating capacity of 3,300. And be sure to visit Temple University, where thousands of students are educated. Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday School building which houses hundreds of beautiful children, built 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. Russell H. Conwell, author of the book, “Acres of Diamonds”.
This is a true story, which goes to show what God can do with fifty-seven cents.
Which Are You?
Once upon a time a daughter complained to her father that her life was miserable and that she didn’t know how she was going to make it. She was tired of fighting and struggling all the time. It seemed just as one problem was solved, another one soon followed.
Her father, a chef, took her to the kitchen. He filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Once the three pots began to boil, he placed potatoes in one pot, eggs in the second pot, and ground coffee beans in the third pot. He then let them sit and boil, without saying a word to his daughter. The daughter, moaned and impatiently waited, wondering what he was doing. After twenty minutes he turned off the burners. He took the potatoes out of the pot and placed them in a bowl. He pulled the eggs out and placed them a bowl. He then ladled the coffee out and placed it in a cup.
Turning to her he asked. “Daughter, what do you see?”
“Potatoes, eggs, and coffee,” she hastily replied.
“Look closer,” he said “and touch the potatoes.”
She did and noted that they were soft.
He then asked her to take an egg and break it.
After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard-boiled egg.
Finally, he asked her to sip the coffee.
Its rich aroma brought a smile to her face.”Father, what does this mean?” she asked.
He explained that the potatoes, the eggs and coffee beans had each faced the same adversity – the boiling water. However, each one reacted differently.
The potato went in strong, hard, and unrelenting, but in boiling water, it became soft and weak.
The egg was fragile, with the thin outer shell protecting its liquid interior until it was put in the boiling water. Then the inside of the egg became hard.
However, the ground coffee beans were unique. After they were exposed to the boiling water, they changed the water and created something new.
“Which are you,” he asked his daughter.
When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a potato, an egg, or a coffee bean?
In life, things happen around us, things happen to us, but the only thing that truly matters is what happens with-in us. Which one are you?
Daddy’s Empty Chair
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.”
Footprints, A New Version
(by Mark Littleton)
Imagine you and the Lord Jesus walking down the road together.
For much of the way, the Lord’s footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace.
But your prints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnarounds, circles, departures and returns.
For much of the way it seems to go like this. But gradually, your footprints come more in line with the Lord’s, soon paralleling His consistently. You and Jesus are walking as true friends.
This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: your footprints that once etched the sand next to the Master’s are now walking precisely in His steps. Inside His larger footprints is the small ‘sand print’, safely enclosed.
You and Jesus are becoming one.
This goes on for many miles. But gradually you notice another change. The footprint inside the larger footprint seems to grow larger. Eventually it disappears altogether. There is only one set of footprints. They have become one.
Again, this goes on for a long time. But then something awful happens. The second set of footprints is back. And this time it seems even worse. Zigzags all over the place. Stops. Starts. Deep gashes in the sand. A veritable mess of prints. You’re amazed and shocked. But this is the end of your dream.
Now you speak. “Lord, I understand the first scene with the zigzags and fits and starts and so on. I was a new Christian, just learning. But You walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with you.”
“That is correct.”
“Yes, and when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps. I followed You very closely.”
“Very good. You have understood everything so far.”
“Then the smaller footprints grew and eventually filled in with Yours. I suppose that I was actually growing so much that I was becoming like you in every way.”
“Precisely.”
“But this is my question. Lord.. Was there a regression or something? The footprints went back to two, and this time it was worse than the first.”
The Lord smiles, then laughs. “You didn’t know?” He says. “That was when we danced.”
My hope and prayer is to dance with my Dad again … I love you Dad, and miss you so very much.
Love After Death
The letter sat by itself on my dad’s dresser. One day while home alone, curiosity got to me, and I simply wanted to see what my mom had written to my dad.
It said.. “Sweetheart.. I’m so sorry.. even with the mastectomies.. and the chemotherapy, the Doctors all are saying the cancer has spread throughout my body and that my chances of survival are slim…”.
After reading that, I cried and prayed very much that day, and vowed to love forever. She lived for about 7 more years after that.
To this day.. I continue to love and cherish all of the precious experiences I’ve had. The tears still come even now, as I am writing this (40 years after reading that letter).
If you choose to truly share your love with others, the pleasure of that love will remain with you forever.
The Last ‘I Love You’
Carol’s husband was killed in an accident last year. Jim, only fifty-two years old, was driving home from work. The other driver was a teenager with a very high blood-alcohol level. Jim died instantly. The teenager was in the emergency room for less than two hours.
There were other ironic twists: It was Carol’s fiftieth birthday, and Jim had two plane tickets to Hawaii in his pocket. He was going to surprise her. Instead, he was killed by a drunk driver.
“How have you survived this?” I finally asked Carol, a year later.
Her eyes welled up with tears. I thought I had said the wrong thing, but she gently took my hand and said, “It’s all right; I want to tell you. The day I married Jim, I promised I would never let him leave the house in the morning without telling him I loved him. He made the same promise. It got to be a joke between us, and as babies came along, it got to be a hard promise to keep. I remember running down the driveway, saying ‘I love you’ though clenched teeth when I was mad, or driving to the office to put a note in his car. It was a funny challenge.
“We made a lot of memories trying to say ‘I love you’ before noon every day of our married life.
“The morning Jim died, he left a birthday card in the kitchen and slipped out to the car. I heard the engine starting. Oh, no, you don’t buster, I thought. I raced out and banged on the car window until he rolled it down.
“Here on my fiftieth birthday, as your wife I want to go on record as saying I love you!”
“That’s how I’ve survived. Knowing that the last words I said to Jim were ‘I love you.’”
Mom
After having lost my son to an aortic dissection when he was only 28 years old, I was just beside myself.
I grew up in a large family and have witnessed the deaths of my parents and half of my siblings, (most of them were younger than 45 years old at the time of their death. My friends often make comments about how my family must be cursed.
On January 17, 2003, I received that phone call that most parents never expect or wish to hear. My son was on his honeymoon and his new mother-in-law had called me and told me to get to the Conroe hospital because Anthony, my son was not breathing and had been rushed to the hospital.
I went to the emergency room which is only a mile away and found him lying on a table – I didn’t know at the time he as gone. I just thought he was sleeping. I walked up to him and laid my head on his chest and realized he wasn’t breathing and his face was cold.
In May of that year, I drove over to the cemetery on Mother’s day. I asked God to show me some sort of sign that Anthony was with him. Out of a clear blue sky, raindrops as I refer to now as “tear drops” came down.
I realized then that my Anthony was home at last with our God. I love my son more than anyone will ever know and I pray to God that no child should ever be taken from their mother, again.
Nursing Home Grandma
I worked at a nursing home when I was pregnant and met a lady named Wilma. At first, she was bossy and I could never figure out why. When, I started talking with her I found out her story. We became good friends.
I was told that she was telling the staff that I was like a granddaughter to her and that she couldn’t wait until I had my little one.
The time came for me to have my daughter and I had to quit work, but I still went to visit Wilma. We played cards and got the other residents involved.
One Halloween, when Jackie, my daughter, was 2 or 3, she told Wilma that she loved her and she couldn’t wait until her next visit. Wilma told Jackie to call her grandma.
That’s how Wilma became her nursing home grandma.
Thank heaven for old people and thank God for babies.
Too Late
I keep thinking that I should be visiting others who are worse off than I or our family, but things get in the way and the visiting get pushed back in the corner of brain. Then when someone dies that you have been friends with, you start thinking about the “should have” “could have” and “need to” visit.
Hopefully after this death recently, I will motivate myself to get stuff done in early a.m. and then take time to go visit those who are in need of any kind of friendship – maybe just sitting with them for awhile. There are many persons who have no one, or their families live far away.
At this season it is especially present in my heart. After my health problems and those of my family and husband, I think of those whom I have not visited. I think I will just burden them. But I know that God will help me and tell me what to say.
I am going to start to visit others now. I can’t wait until the new year. I promise to continue to do so throughout the year. Even once a month would be encouraging to others.
Thanks for letting me say what I have longed to say. Everyone needs someone! God Bless Everyone!
The Greatest Gift
A young man learns what’s most important in life from the guy next door.
It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.
Over the phone, his mother told him, “Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday.” Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days. “Jack, did you hear me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It’s been so long since I thought of him. I’m sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago,” Jack said.
“Well, he didn’t forget you. Every time I saw him he’d ask how you were doing. He’d reminisce about the many days you spent over ‘his side of the fence’ as he put it,” Mom told him.
“I loved that old house he lived in,” Jack said.
“You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man’s influence in your life,” she said.
“He’s the one who taught me carpentry,” he said. “I wouldn’t be in this business if it weren’t for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important… Mom, I’ll be there for the funeral,” Jack said.
As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser’s funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away. The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.
Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture… Jack stopped suddenly.
“What’s wrong, Jack?” his Mom asked.
“The box is gone,” he said.
“What box?” Mom asked.
“There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside.
All he’d ever tell me was ‘the thing I value most,’” Jack said.
It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it. “Now I’ll never know what was so valuable to him,” Jack said. “I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom.”
It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. “Signature required on a package, no one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days,” the note read.
Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention. “Mr. Harold Belser” it read. Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package.
There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack’s hands shook as he read the note inside. “Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It’s the thing I valued most in my life.”
A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved: “Jack Thanks for your time! – Harold Belser.”
“The thing he valued most… was… my time.” Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days.
“Why?” Janet, his assistant asked.
“I need some time to spend with my son,” he said. “Oh, by the way, Janet… thanks for your time!”
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away.
You may not realize it, but it’s 100% true:
At least 2 people in this world love you so much they would die for you.
At least 15 people in this world love you in some way.
A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don’t like you.
Every night, someone thinks about you before they go to sleep.
You mean the world to someone. If not for you, someone may not be living.
You are special and unique.
When you think you have no chance of getting what you want, you probably won’t get it, but if you trust God to do what’s best, and wait on His time, sooner or later, you will get it or something better.
When you make the biggest mistake ever, something good can still come from it.
When you think the world has turned its back on you, take a look, you most likely turned your back on the world.
Someone that you don’t even know exists loves you.
Always remember the compliments you received. Forget about the rude remarks.
Always tell someone how you feel about them; you will feel much better when they know and you’ll both be happy.
If you have a great friend, take the time to let them know that they are great.
The House Of 1000 Mirrors
Japanese Folklore
Long ago in a small, far away village, there was a place known as the House of 1000 Mirrors. A small, happy little dog learned of this place and decided to visit.
When he arrived, he bounced happily up the stairs to the doorway of the house. He looked through the doorway with his ears lifted high and his tail wagging as fast as it could.
To his great surprise, he found himself staring at 1000 other happy little dogs with their tails wagging just as fast as his. He smiled a great smile, and was answered with 1000 great smiles just as warm and friendly.
As he left the house, he thought to himself, “This is a wonderful place. I will come back and visit it often.”
In this same village, another little dog, who was not quite as happy as the first one, decided to visit the house.
He slowly climbed the stairs and hung his head low as he looked into the door. When he saw the 1000 unfriendly looking dogs staring back at him, he growled at them and was horrified to see 1000 little dogs growling back at him.
As he left, he thought to himself, “That is a horrible place, and I will never go back there again.”
All the faces in the world are mirrors. What kind of reflections do you see in the faces of the people you meet?
Three Red Marbles
I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes.
I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprizing a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes, but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas.
I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.
‘Hello Barry, how are you today?’
‘H’lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus’ admirin’ them peas. They sure look good.’
‘They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?’
‘Fine. Gittin’ stronger alla’ time.’
‘Good. Anything I can help you with?’
‘No, Sir. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.’
‘Would you like take some home?’ asked Mr. Miller.
‘No, Sir. Got nuthin’ to pay for ‘em with.’
‘Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?’
‘All I got’s my prize marble here.’
‘Is that right? Let me see it’ said Miller.
‘Here ’tis. She’s a dandy.’
‘I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?’ the store owner asked.
‘Not zackley but almost.’
‘Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble’, Mr. Miller told the boy.
‘Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.’
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile said, ‘There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.
When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.’
I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man.
A short time later I moved to Colorado, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.
Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died.
They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.
Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men.
One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts…all very professional looking.
They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband’s casket.
Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.
Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.
Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband’s bartering for marbles.
With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.
‘Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim ‘traded’ them.
Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size….they came to pay their debt.’
‘We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,’ she confided, ‘but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ‘.
With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.
The Moral : We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.
Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A fresh pot of coffee you didn’t make yourself. An unexpected phone call from an old friend. Green stoplights on your way to work. The fastest line at the grocery store. A good sing-along song on the radio. Your keys found right where you left them.
It’s not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind of life you have lived! People may not remember exactly what you did or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.
The Cab Ride
So I walked to the door and knocked. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90′s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated’.
‘Oh, you’re such a good boy’, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’ ‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly. ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice’.
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued. ‘The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go now’
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked, reaching into her purse.
‘Nothing,’ I said
‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.
‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don’t think that I had done anything more important in my life.
We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.
A Girl With An Apple
by Herman Rosenblat
The sky was gloomy that August morning, in 1942, as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow’s Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated.
‘Whatever you do,’ Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me,’ don’t tell them your age. Say you’re sixteen.’ I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker.
An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, then asked my age. ‘Sixteen,’ I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.
My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, ‘Why?’ He didn’t answer. I ran to Mama’s side and said I wanted to stay with her. ‘No,’ she said sternly. ‘Get away. Don’t be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.’
She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany . We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers. ‘Don’t call me Herman anymore.’ I said to my brothers. ‘Call me 94983.’
I was put to work in the camp’s crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.
Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald’s sub-camps near Berlin. One morning I thought I heard my mother’s voice, ‘Son,’ she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel.’ Then I woke up.
Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work – and hunger – and fear.
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German. ‘Do you have something to eat?’ She didn’t understand. I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life.
She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat – a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn’t dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both. I didn’t know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia. ‘Don’t return,’ I told the girl that day. ‘We’re leaving.’ I turned toward the barracks and didn’t look back, didn’t even say good-bye to the little girl whose name I’d never learned, the girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM. In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I’d survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.
But at 8 a.m. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I’m not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person’s goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I’d opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.
One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. ‘I’ve got a date. She’s got a Polish friend. Let’s double date.’ A blind date? Nah, that wasn’t for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn’t so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.
The four of us drove out to Coney Island. Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn’t remember having a better time.
We piled back into Sid’s car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, ‘Where were you,’ she asked softly, ‘during the war?’
‘The camps?’ I said, the terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.
She nodded. ‘My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin ,’ she told me. ‘My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.’
I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were, both survivors, in a new world. ‘There was a camp next to the farm.’ Roma continued. ‘I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day.’
What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy.
‘What did he look like? I asked. ‘He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months.’
My heart was racing. I couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be. ‘Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?’
Roma looked at me in amazement. ‘Yes!’
‘That was me! ‘ I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn’t believe it! My angel. ‘I’m not letting you go.’ I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn’t want to wait.
‘You’re crazy!’ she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week. There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I’d found her again, I could never let her go.
That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.
This is a true story. You can find out more by Googling Herman Rosenblat. He was Bar Mitzvahed at age 75. This story is being made into a movie called The Fence.
I Wish You Enough
Recently I overheard a mother and daughter in their last moments together at the airport. They had announced the departure.
Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the mother said, ‘I love you and I wish you enough’.
The daughter replied, ‘Mom, our life together has been more than enough.. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Mom’.
They kissed and the daughter left. The mother walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see she wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on her privacy but she welcomed me in by asking, ‘Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?’.
Yes, I have,’ I replied. ‘Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?’.
‘I am old and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is – the next trip back will be for my funeral,’ she said.
‘When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, ‘I wish you enough’. May I ask what that means?’.
She began to smile. ‘That’s a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone’. She paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail and she smiled even more..?’
When we said , ‘I wish you enough’, we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them’. Then turning toward me, she shared the following as if she were reciting it from memory.
I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.
I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.
She then began to cry and walked away.
They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them but then an entire life to forget them.
Take time to live…..
The Quilt Of Holes
As I faced my Maker at the last judgment, I knelt before the Lord along with all the other souls.
Before each of us laid our lives like the squares of a quilt in many piles; an angel sat before each of us sewing our quilt squares together into a tapestry that is our life.
But as my angel took each piece of cloth off the pile, I noticed how ragged and empty each of my squares was. They were filled with giant holes. Each square was labeled with a part of my life that had been difficult, the challenges and temptations I was faced with in every day life. I saw hardships that I endured, which were the largest holes of all.
I glanced around me. Nobody else had such squares. Other than a tiny hole here and there, the other tapestries were filled with rich color and the bright hues of worldly fortune. I gazed upon my own life and was disheartened.
My angel was sewing the ragged pieces of cloth together, threadbare and empty, like binding air.
Finally the time came when each life was to be displayed, held up to the light, the scrutiny of truth. The others rose; each in turn, holding up their tapestries. So filled their lives had been. My angel looked upon me, and nodded for me to rise.
My gaze dropped to the ground in shame. I hadn’t had all the earthly fortunes. I had love in my life, and laughter. But there had also been trials of illness, and wealth, and false accusations that took from me my world, as I knew it. I had to start over many times. I often struggled with the temptation to quit, only to somehow muster the strength to pick up and begin again. I spent many nights on my knees in prayer, asking for help and guidance in my life. I had often been held up to ridicule, which I endured painfully, each time offering it up to the Father in hopes that I would not melt within my skin beneath the judgmental gaze of those who unfairly judged me.
And now, I had to face the truth. My life was what it was, and I had to accept it for what it was.
I rose and slowly lifted the combined squares of my life to the light.
An awe-filled gasp filled the air. I gazed around at the others who stared at me with wide eyes.
Then, I looked upon the tapestry before me. Light flooded the many holes, creating an image, the face of Christ. Then our Lord stood before me, with warmth and love in His eyes. He said, ‘Every time you gave over your life to Me, it became My life, My hardships, and My struggles.
Each point of light in your life is when you stepped aside and let Me shine through, until there was more of Me than there was of you.’
May all our quilts be threadbare and worn, allowing Christ to shine through!
Breakfast At McDonald’s
I am a mother of three (ages 14, 12, 3) and have recently completed my college degree. The last class I had to take was Sociology. The teacher was absolutely inspiring with the qualities that I wish every human being had been graced with.
Her last project of the term was called, ‘Smile.’ The class was asked to go out and smile at three people and document their reactions. I am a very friendly person and always smile at everyone and say hello anyway. So, I thought this would be a piece of cake, literally.
Soon after we were assigned the project, my husband, youngest son, and I went out to McDonald’s one crisp March morning. It was just our way of sharing special playtime with our son. We were standing in line, waiting to be served, when all of a sudden everyone around us began to back away, and then even my husband did.
I did not move an inch… an overwhelming feeling of panic welled up inside of me as I turned to see why they had moved. As I turned around I smelled a horrible ‘dirty body’ smell, and there standing behind me were two poor homeless men.
As I looked down at the short gentleman, close to me, he was ‘smiling’ His beautiful sky blue eyes were full of God’s Light as he searched for acceptance. He said, ‘Good day’ as he counted the few coins he had been clutching.
The second man fumbled with his hands as he stood behind his friend. I realized the second man was mentally challenged and the blue-eyed gentleman was his salvation. I held my tears as I stood there with them.
The young lady at the counter asked him what they wanted.
He said, ‘Coffee is all Miss,’ because that was all they could afford. (If they wanted to sit in the restaurant and warm up, they had to buy something. He just wanted to be warm).
Then I really felt it – the compulsion was so great I almost reached out and embraced the little man with the blue eyes. That is when I noticed all eyes in the restaurant were set on me, judging my every action.
I smiled and asked the young lady behind the counter to give me two more breakfast meals on a separate tray. I then walked around the corner to the table that the men had chosen as a resting spot. I put the tray on the table and laid my hand on the blue-eyed gentleman’s cold hand.
He looked up at me, with tears in his eyes, and said, ‘Thank you.’
I leaned over, began to pat his hand and said, ‘I did not do this for you. God is here working through me to give you hope.’
I started to cry as I walked away to join my husband and son. When I sat down my husband smiled at me and said, ‘That is why God gave you to me, Honey, to give me ;hope..’
We held hands for a moment and at that time, we knew that only because of the Grace that we had been given were we able to give.
We are not church goers, but we are believers. That day showed me the pure Light of God’s sweet love.
I returned to college, on the last evening of class, with this story in hand. I turned in ‘my project’ and the instructor read it.
Then she looked up at me and said, ‘Can I share this?’
I slowly nodded as she got the attention of the class. She began to read and that is when I knew that we as human beings and being part of God share this need to heal people and to be healed. In my own way I had touched the people at McDonald’s, my son, the instructor, and every soul that shared the classroom on the last night I spent as a college student. I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever learn: unconditional acceptance.
Twenty Dollars
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 who’s we are.’
Passing It On
The man slowly looked up. This was a woman clearly accustomed to the finer things of life. Her coat was new. She looked like she had never missed a meal in her life. His first thought was that she wanted to make fun of him, like so many others had done before.
“Leave me alone,” he growled.
To his amazement, the woman continued standing. She was smiling — her even white teeth displayed in dazzling rows. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
“No,” he answered sarcastically. “I’ve just come from dining with the president. Now go away.”
The woman’s smile became even broader. Suddenly the man felt a gentle hand under his arm.
“What are you doing, lady?” the man asked angrily. “I said to leave me alone.”
Just then a policeman came up. “Is there any problem, ma’am?” he asked.
“No problem here, officer,” the woman answered. “I’m just trying to get this man to his feet. Will you help me?”
The officer scratched his head. “That’s old Jack. He’s been a fixture around here for a couple of years. What do you want with him?”
“See that cafeteria over there?” she asked. “I’m going to get him something to eat and get him out of the cold for awhile.”
“Are you crazy, lady?” the homeless man resisted. “I don’t want to go in there!” Then he felt strong hands grab his other arm and lift him up.
“Let me go, officer. I didn’t do anything.”
“This is a good deal for you, Jack,” the officer answered. “Don’t blow it.”
Finally, and with some difficulty, the woman and the police officer got Jack into the cafeteria and sat him at a table in a remote corner. It was the middle of the morning, so most of the breakfast crowd had already left and the lunch bunch had not yet arrived. The manager strode across the cafeteria and stood by his table.
“What’s going on here, officer?” he asked. “What is all this. Is this man in trouble?”
“This lady brought this man in here to be fed,” the policeman answered.
“Not in here!” the manager replied angrily. “Having a person like that here is bad for business.”
Old Jack smiled a toothless grin. “See, lady. I told you so. Now if you’ll let me go. I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”
The woman turned to the cafeteria manager and smiled. “Sir, are you familiar with Eddy and Associates, the banking firm down the street?”
“Of course I am,” the manager answered impatiently. “They hold their weekly meetings in one of my banquet rooms.”
“And do you make a goodly amount of money providing food at these weekly meetings?”
“What business is that of yours?”
“I, sir, am Penelope Eddy, president and CEO of the company.”
“Oh.”
The woman smiled again. “I thought that might make a difference.” She glanced at the cop who was busy stifling a giggle. “Would you like to join us in a cup of coffee and a meal, officer?”
“No thanks, ma’am,” the officer replied. “I’m on duty.”
“Then, perhaps, a cup of coffee to go?”
“Yes, ma’am. That would be very nice.”
The cafeteria manager turned on his heel, “I’ll get your coffee for you right away, officer.”
The officer watched him walk away. “You certainly put him in his place,” he said.
“That was not my intent Believe it or not, I have a reason for all this.” She sat down at the table across from her amazed dinner guest She stared at him intently. “Jack, do you remember me?”
Old Jack searched her face with his old, rheumy eyes “I think so — I mean you do look familiar.”
“I’m a little older perhaps,” she said. “Maybe I’ve even filled out more than in my younger days when you worked here, and I came through that very door, cold and hungry.”
“Ma’am?” the officer said questioningly. He couldn’t believe that such a magnificently turned out woman could ever have been hungry.
“I was just out of college,” the woman began. “I had come to the city looking for a job, but I couldn’t find anything. Finally I was down to my last few cents and had been kicked out of my apartment. I walked the streets for days. It was February and I was cold and nearly starving. I saw this place and walked in on the off chance that I could get something to eat.”
Jack lit up with a smile. “Now I remember,” he said. “I was behind the serving counter. You came up and asked me if you could work for something to eat. I said that it was against company policy.”
“I know,” the woman continued. “Then you made me the biggest roast beef sandwich that I had ever seen, gave me a cup of coffee, and told me to go over to a corner table and enjoy it. I was afraid that you would get into trouble.
Then, when I looked over, I saw you put the price of my food into the cash register. I knew then that everything would be all right.”
“So you started your own business?” Old Jack said.
“I got a job that very afternoon. I worked my way up. Eventually I started my own business, that, with the help of God, prospered.” She opened her purse and pulled out a business card. “When you are finished here, I want you to pay a visit to a Mr. Lyons. He’s the personnel director of my company. I’ll go talk to him now and he might even find the funds to give you a little advance so that you can buy some clothes and get a place to live until you get on your feet. If you ever need anything, my door is always opened to you.”
There were tears in the old man’s eyes. “How can I ever thank you? ” he said.
“Don’t thank me,” the woman answered. “To God goes the glory. Thank Jesus… He led me to you.”
Outside the cafeteria, the officer and the woman paused at the entrance before going their separate ways. “Thank you for all your help, officer,” she said.
“On the contrary, Ms. Eddy,” he answered. “Thank you. I saw a miracle today, something that I will never forget. And…thank you for the coffee.”
Buzzards, Bats & Bumblebees
THE BUZZARD: If you put a buzzard in a pen that is 6 feet by 8 feet and is entirely open at the top, the bird, in spite of its ability to fly, will be an absolute prisoner. The reason is that a buzzard always begins a flight from the ground with a run of 10 to 12 feet. Without space to run, as is its habit, it will not even attempt to fly, but will remain a prisoner for life in a small jail with no top.
THE BAT: The ordinary bat that flies around at night, a remarkable nimble creature in the air, cannot take off from a level place. If it is placed on the floor or flat ground, all it can do is shuffle about helplessly and, no doubt, painfully, until it reaches some slight elevation from which it can throw itself into the air. Then, at once, it takes off like a flash.
THE BUMBLEBEE: A bumblebee, if dropped into an open tumbler, will be there until it dies, unless it is taken out. It never sees the means of escape at the top, but persists in trying to find some way out through the sides near the bottom. It will seek a way where none exists, until it completely destroys itself.
PEOPLE: In many ways, we are like the buzzard, the bat, and the bumblebee. We struggle about with all our problems and frustrations, never realizing that all we have to do is look up! Sorrow looks back, Worry looks around, But faith looks up! Live simply, love generously, care deeply, speak kindly and trust in our Creator who loves us.
Just Stay
A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside. ‘Your son is here,’ she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words several times before the patient’s eyes opened.
Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man’s limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.
The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed. All through the night the young Marine sat there, in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man’s hand and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile.
He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital – the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.
Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night. Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had to do, he waited. Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.
‘Who was that man?’ he asked.
The nurse was startled, ‘He was your father,’ she answered.
‘No, he wasn’t,’ the Marine replied. ‘I never saw him before in my life.’
‘Then why didn’t you say something when I took you to him?’
‘I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew he needed his son, and his son just wasn’t here. When I realized that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how much he needed me, I stayed’.
The next time someone needs you … just be there. Stay. We are not human beings going through a temporary spiritual experience, we are spiritual beings going through a temporary human experience.
Not What They Seem
Two traveling angels stopped to spend the night in the home of a wealthy family. The family was rude and refused to let the angels stay in the mansion’s guest room. Instead the angels were given a small space in the cold basement.
As they made their bed on the hard floor, the older angel saw a hole in the wall and repaired it.
When the younger angel asked why, the older angel replied, ‘Things aren’t always what they seem.’
The next night the pair came to rest at the house of a very poor, but very hospitable farmer and his wife. After sharing what little food they had the couple let the angels sleep in their bed where they could have a good night’s rest.
When the sun came up the next morning the angels found the farmer and his wife in tears. Their only cow, whose milk had been their sole income, lay dead in the field.
The younger angel was infuriated and asked the older angel how could you have let this happen? The first man had everything, yet you helped him, she accused. The second family had little but was willing to share everything, and you let the cow die.
‘Things aren’t always what they seem,’ the older angel replied. ‘When we stayed in the basement of the mansion, I noticed there was gold stored in that hole in the wall. Since the owner was so obsessed with greed and unwilling to share his good fortune, I sealed the wall so he wouldn’t find it. Then last night as we slept in the farmers bed, the angel of death came for his wife. I gave him the cow instead. Things aren’t always what they seem.’
Sometimes that is exactly what happens when things don’t turn out the way they should. If you have faith, you just need to trust that every outcome is always to your advantage. You just might not know it until sometime later.
Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some people become friends and stay awhile, leaving beautiful footprints on our hearts and we are never quite the same because we have made a good friend!
Yesterday is history. Tomorrow a mystery. Today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present! I think this is special…live and savor every moment… This is not a dress rehearsal!
Puppies For Sale
A farmer had some puppies he wanted to sell. He painted a sign advertising the 4 pups. And set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down into the eye of a little boy.
‘Mister,’ he said, ‘I want to buy one of your puppies.’
‘Well,’ said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, ‘These puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money.’
The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer. ‘I’ve got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?’
‘Sure,’ said the farmer. And with that he let out a whistle. ‘Here, Dolly!’ he called. Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.
The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight. As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse. Slowly another little ball appeared this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up.
‘I want that one,’ the little boy said, pointing to the runt.
The farmer knelt down at the boy’s side and said, ‘Son, you don’t want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would.’
With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers. In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe…
Looking back up at the farmer, he said, ‘You see sir, I don’t run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands.’
With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the little pup. Holding it carefully handed it to the little boy.
‘How much?’ asked the little boy.
‘No charge,’ answered the farmer, ‘There’s no charge for love.’
The world is full of people who need someone who understand.
How To Treat People
First Important Lesson – The Cleaning Lady. During my second month of college, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions until I read the last one: ‘What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?’
Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50′s, but how would I know her name?
I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank. Just before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade.
‘Absolutely, ‘ said the professor. ‘In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say ‘hello.’
I’ve never forgotten that lesson. I also learned that her name was Dorothy.
Second Important Lesson – A Pickup in the Rain. One night, about 11:30 p.m., an older African American woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway trying to endure a lashing rain storm. Her car had broken down and she desperately needed a ride.
Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car. A young white man stopped to help her, generally unheard of in those conflict-filled 1960′s. The man took her to safety, helped her get assistance and put her into a taxicab.
She seemed to be in a big hurry, but wrote down his address and thanked him.
Seven days went by and a knock came on the man’s door. To his surprise, a giant console color TV was delivered to his home. A special note was attached. It read:
‘Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway the other night. The rain drenched not only my clothes, but also my spirits. Then you came along. Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying husband’s bedside just before he passed away… God bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving others.’
Sincerely,
Mrs. Nat King Cole
Third Important Lesson – Always remember those who serve. In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him.
‘How much is an ice cream sundae?’ he asked.
‘Fifty cents,’ replied the waitress.
The little boy pulled is hand out of his pocket and studied the coins in it. ‘Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?’ he inquired.
By now more people were waiting for a table and the waitress was growing impatient. ‘Thirty-five cents,’ she brusquely replied.
The little boy again counted his coins. ‘I’ll have the plain ice cream,’ he said.
The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and left. When the waitress came back, she began to cry as she wiped! down the table. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies. You see, he couldn’t have the sundae, because he had to have enough left to leave her a tip.
Fourth Important Lesson – The obstacles in Our Path. In ancient times, a King had a boulder placed on a roadway. Then he hid himself and watched to see if anyone would remove the huge rock. Some of the king’s wealthiest merchants and courtiers came by and simply walked around it. Many loudly blamed the King for not keeping the roads clear, but none did anything about getting the stone out of the way.
Then a peasant came along carrying a load of vegetables. Upon approaching the boulder, the peasant laid down his burden and tried to move the stone to the side of the road. After much pushing and straining, he finally succeeded. After the peasant picked up his load of vegetables, he noticed a purse lying in the road where the boulder had been. The purse contained many gold coins and a note from the King indicating that the gold was for the person who removed the boulder from the roadway. The peasant learned what many of us never understand! Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve our condition.
Fifth Important Lesson – Giving When it Counts. Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a hospital, I got to know a little girl, named Liz, who was suffering from a rare & serious disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness.
The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the little boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister.
I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, ‘Yes I’ll do it if it will save her.’
As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheek. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded.
He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, ‘Will I start to die right away.’
Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister all of his blood in order to save her.
Saying Nice Things
Each year, on the first day of the fall term, the teacher asked her eighth grade students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.
That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.
On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. ‘Really?’ she heard whispered. ‘I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!’ and, ‘I didn’t know others liked me so much,’ were most of the comments.
No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn’t matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another. That group of students moved on.
Several years later, one of the students was killed in Viet Nam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature.
The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.
As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her. ‘Were you Mark’s math teacher?’ he asked.
She nodded: ‘yes.’
Then he said: ‘Mark talked about you a lot.’
After the funeral, most of Mark’s former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark’s mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.
We want to show you something,’ his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket ‘They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.’
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark’s classmates had said about him.
‘Thank you so much for doing that,’ Mark’s mother said. ‘As you can see, Mark treasured it.’
All of Mark’s former classmates started to gather around.
Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, ‘I still have my list. It’s in the top drawer of my desk at home.’
Chuck’s wife said, ‘Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.’
‘I have mine too,’ Marilyn said. ‘It’s in my diary’.
Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. ‘I carry this with me at all times,’ Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: ‘I think we all saved our lists.’
That’s when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.
The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don’t know when that one day will be. So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late.
Things To Remember
Right Now -
somebody is thinking of you.
somebody is caring about you.
somebody misses you
somebody wants to talk to you.
somebody wants to be with you.
somebody hopes you aren’t in trouble.
somebody is thankful for the support you have provided.
somebody wants to hold your hand.
somebody hopes everything turns out all right.
somebody wants you to be happy.
somebody wants you to find him/her.
somebody is celebrating your successes.
somebody wants to give you a gift.
somebody thinks that you are a gift.
somebody loves you.
somebody admires your strength.
somebody is thinking of you and smiling.
somebody wants to be your shoulder to cry on.
More Things To Remember
There are at least two people in this world that you would die for.
At least 15 people in this world love you in some way. The only reason anyone would ever have you is because they want to be just like you.
A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don’t like you.
Every night, someone thinks about you before they go to sleep.
You mean the world to someone.
You are special and unique.
Someone that you don’t even know exists loves you.
When you make the biggest mistake ever, something good comes from it.
When you think the world has turned its back on you, take another look.
Always remember the compliments you received. Forget about the rude remarks.
If life hands you Lemons, ask for sugar and make lemonade.
Good friends are like stars. You don’t always see them, but you know they are always there.
Whenever God closes one door He always opens another.
My Rules For Life
- Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.
- Marry a man/woman you love to talk to. As you get older, their conversational skills will be as important as any other.
- Don’t believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.
- When you say, ‘I love you,’ mean it.
- When you say, ‘I’m sorry,’ look the person in the eye.
- Be engaged at least six months before you get married.
- Believe in love at first sight.
- Never laugh at anyone’s dream. People who don’t have dreams don’t have much.
- Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt but it’s the only way to live life completely.
- In disagreements, fight fairly.. No name calling.
- Don’t judge people by their relatives.
- Talk slowly but think quickly.
- When someone asks you a question you don’t want to answer, smile and ask, ‘Why do you want to know?’
- Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk.
- Say ‘bless you’ when you hear someone sneeze.
- When you lose, don’t lose the lesson.
- Remember the three R’s: Respect for self; Respect for others; and responsibility for all your actions.
- Don’t let a little dispute injure a great friendship.
- When you realize you’ve made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.
- Smile when picking up the phone. The caller will hear it in your voice.
- Spend some time alone.
Insights From 90 Years Of Living
- Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.
- When in doubt, just take the next small step.
- Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
- Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.
- Pay off your credit cards every month.
- You don’t have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
- Cry with someone. It’s more healing than crying alone.
- It’s OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
- Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
- When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
- Make peace with your past so it won’t screw up the present.
- It’s OK to let your children see you cry.
- Don’t compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
- If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn’t be in it.
- Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don’t worry; God never blinks.
- Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
- Get rid of anything that isn’t useful, beautiful or joyful.
- Whatever doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger.
- It’s never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
- When it comes to going after what you love in life, don’t take no for an answer.
- Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don’t save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
- Over prepare, then go with the flow.
- Be eccentric now. Don’t wait for old age to wear purple.
- The most important sex organ is the brain.
- No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
- Frame every so-called disaster with these words:’In five years, will this matter?’
- Always choose life.
- Forgive everyone everything.
- What other people think of you is none of your business.
- Time heals almost everything. Give time time.
- However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
- Don’t take yourself so seriously, no one else does.
- Believe in miracles.
- God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn’t do.
- Don’t audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
- Growing old beats the alternative — dying young.
- Your children get only one childhood.
- All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
- Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
- If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab ours back.
- Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
- The best is yet to come.
- No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
- Yield.
- Life isn’t tied with a bow, but it’s still a gift.”
Dancing With God
When I meditated on the word Guidance, I kept seeing ‘dance’ at the end of the word. I remember reading that doing God’s will is a lot like dancing. When two people try to lead, nothing feels right. The movement doesn’t flow with the music, and everything is quite uncomfortable and jerky.
When one person realizes that, and lets the other lead, both bodies begin to flow with the music. One gives gentle cues, perhaps with a nudge to the back or by pressing lightly in one direction or another. It’s as if two become one body, moving beautifully. Dancing takes surrender, willingness, attentiveness, gentle guidance and skill.
My eyes drew back to the word Guidance. When I saw ‘G’: I thought of God, followed by ‘U’, ‘I’ and ‘dance’. ‘God’, ‘U’ and ‘I’ ‘dance’. God, you, and I dance.
As I lowered my head, I became willing to trust that I would get guidance about my life. Once again, I became willing to let God lead.
My prayer for you today is that God’s blessings and mercies are upon you on this day and everyday. May you abide in God, as God abides in you. Dance together with God, trusting God to lead and to guide you through each season of your life.
This prayer is powerful and there is nothing attached. If God has done anything for you in your life, please share this message with someone else. Interceding in prayer is one of the best gifts we give can receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards; So let’s continue to pray for one another, and I Hope You Dance.
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