Many people know the opening lyrics to "The Twelve Days of Christmas." But few know that behind the somewhat silly counting song is essential Christian doctrine.
The song was composed by Catholics in England during the 16th century, who were forbidden by law to practice their Catholic faith. The only legal church in England was the state church. To teach their children basic doctrine, they used nonsense songs that would not raise the suspicions of the non-Catholics around them, but would remind the children of their faith. The explanation of the twelve days is below.
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me
The first day of the Christmas celebration is counted from December 26, the day after Christmas, to January 6, the traditional day for celebrating the coming of the wise men to worship Jesus, also called the day of "Epiphany."
A partridge in a pear tree.
The mother partridge will lure enemies away from her nest of defenseless chicks in order to protect them. She will literally risk her life for her children. The partridge in this song is a hidden reference to Christ, who declared, "I lay down my life for the sheep" (John 10:14-15). Jesus himself uses a bird analogy in Matthew 23:37:
O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing.
The pear tree symbolizes the cross, a literary usage called metonymy, whereby a thing is signified by a part or a whole of that thing. Jesus was crucified on a "tree," Paul says (Gal. 3:13); that is, a cross made out of a tree.
Two turtle doves
The turtle doves stand both for the two testaments in the Bible (Old and New), but also, according to some traditions, the two turtle doves offered at Jesus' dedication in the Temple when he was twelve (Lev. 12:8; Luke 2:24). All of the temple sacrifices are symbolic of the one sacrifice Christ made by giving his life as a just payment for the sins of all (Heb. 10:1-10).
Three French Hens
French Hens were very expensive during the 16th century, and thus are symbolic of the three costly gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh given by the wise men (Matt. 2:10-11). An alternate significance is symbolism depicting the value of the three Christ virtues, faith, hope, and charity (sacrificial love) (1 Cor. 13:13). Other forms of the song use the French Hens to symbolize the three persons of the trinity.
Four Calling Birds
The Calling Birds stand for the four gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John (see John 20:30-31).
Five Golden Rings
The Rings stand for the first five books of the Old Testament, the "law of Moses" so often referenced in scripture, the "Torah" as they are called by Jews. The Torah tells the story of man's fall into sin and reconciliation through the Messiah (see Luke 24:25-27).
Six Geese A-laying
Eggs are an almost universal symbol of new life. The "laying" geese, therefore, stand for the six days of creation (Gen. 1:31-2:2).
Seven Swans a Swimming
The swans symbolize the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit listed in Romans 12:6-8:
We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously, if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.
Eight Maids A-milking
The maids who milked the cows were the least of the servants in a home. Their job symbolized Christ's faithfulness even to us who don't deserve his love (Rom. 5:1-5). The eight maids stand for the eight "beatitudes" or blessings listed in Matthew 5:3-10:
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is
the kingdom of heaven.
Nine Ladies Dancing
The nine ladies remind us of the nine "fruits of the Spirit" described in Galatians 5:22-23:
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
Ten Lords A-leaping
Lords established the law in their own jurisdictions. The Lords stand for the Ten Commandments (Ex. 20:3-17), which are holy and good, by which we should live, and by which we are justly condemned because of our sin (Gal. 3:10-28).
Eleven Pipers Piping
The Pipers remind us of the eleven original apostles who did not forsake the faith (Acts 1:13) as Judas did in betraying Christ (John 17:12); and through whom the good news of the gospel was preached "to the whole world" (Matt. 28:19; Rom. 10:18-21).
Twelve Drummers Drumming
The Apostles' Creed is one of the earliest "confessions" of faith that summarize the basic teachings of biblical Christian faith. Orthodox confessions are not meant to add to or replace scripture, but to summarize its teachings. They can be recited at will to remind us of the basics of the Christian faith. The Drummers "set the pace," reminders of what we believe by symbolizing the twelve doctrines summarized in the Apostles' Creed:
I believe in God the Father, maker of heaven and earth.
I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord,
Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary.
He suffered under Pontius Pilate, we crucified, died, and was buried.
He descended into hell; the third day he rose from the dead.
He ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of God,
the Father Almighty.
He shall return to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
The holy Christian church, the communion of saints,
The forgiveness of sins,
The resurrection of the body,
And life everlasting.
from INSPIRATIONS mail list
For more info / previous postings, visit http://www.inspirations.za.net
One Christmas we had an interesting experience that I would like to share. Halfway through December we were doing the regular evening things when there was a knock at the door. We opened it to find a small package with a beautiful ceramic lamb inside. We looked at the calendar and realized that the 12 days of Christmas were beginning! We waited excitedly for the next night's surprise and only then, with the gift of a matching shepherd, did we realized that the lamb was part of a nativity set.
Each night we grew more excited to see what piece we would receive. Each was exquisitely beautiful. The kids kept trying to catch the givers as we slowly built the scene at the manager and began to focus on Christ's birth.
On Christmas Eve, all the pieces were in place, but the baby Jesus. My 12 year-old son really wanted to catch our benefactors and began to devise all kinds of ways to trap them. He ate his dinner in the mini-van watching and waiting, but no one came.
Finally we called him in to go through our family's Christmas Eve traditions. But before the kids went to bed we checked the front step -- No Baby Jesus! We began to worry that my son had scared them off.
My husband suggested that maybe they dropped the Jesus and there wouldn't be anything coming. Somehow something was missing that Christmas Eve. There was a feeling that things weren't complete. The kids went to bed and I put out Christmas presents, but before I went to bed I again checked to see if the Jesus had come -- no, the doorstep was empty.
In our family the kids can open their stockings when they want to, but they have to wait to open any presents until Dad wakes up. So one by one they woke up very early and I also woke up to watch them. Even before they opened their stockings, each child checked to see if perhaps during the night the baby Jesus had come. Missing that piece of the set seemed to have an odd effect. At least it changed my focus. I knew there were presents under the tree for me and I was excited to watch the children open their gifts, but first on my mind was the feeling of waiting for the ceramic Christ Child.
We had opened just about all of the presents when one of the children found one more for me buried deep beneath the limbs of the tree. He handed me a small package from my former visiting teaching companion. This sister was somewhat less-active in the church. I had been her visiting teacher for a couple of years and then, when she was asked to be a visiting teacher, she requested to go with me. I had learned over time they didn't have much for Christmas, so that their focus was the children. It sounded like she didn't get many gifts to open, so I had always given her a small package--new dish towels, the next year's Relief Society lesson manual--not much, but something for her to open.
I was touched when at Church on the day before Christmas, she had given me this small package, saying it was just a token of her love and appreciation.
As I took off the bow, I remembered my friendship with her and was filled with gratitude for knowing her and for her kindness and sacrifice In this year giving me a gift. But as the paper fell away, I began to tremble and cry.
There in the small brown box was the baby Jesus. He had come! I realized on that Christmas Day that Christ will come into our lives in ways that we don't expect. The spirit of Christ comes into our hearts as we serve one another. We had waited and watched for him to come, expecting the dramatic "knock at the door and scurrying of feet" but he came in a small, simple package that represented service friendship, gratitude, and love.
This experience taught me that the beginning of the true spirit of Christmas comes as we open our hearts and actively focus on the Savior. But we will most likely find him in the small and simple acts of love, friendship and service that we give to each other. This Christmas I want to feel again the joy of knowing that Christ is in our home. I want to focus on loving and serving. More than that I want to open my heart to him all year that I may see him again.
---Unknown
from INSPIRATIONS mail list
For more info / previous postings, visit http://www.inspirations.za.net
Seasons Greetings!
I've had a bit of a problem lately finding "new" seasonal
stories to post on our web site and send out to you folks.
The old ones are making the rounds again and some are well
worth re-reading but I had hoped something new would surface
or I should say, find it's self in my e-mailbox.
The following letter came yesterday from my "big" brother who is a Presbyterian minister. (I think it's pretty cool that there is more than one Dr. Dobson in the world today doing Gods work.)
He is living and working in Thailand with his wife Michal and his daughter and her husband. While the stories don't necessarily have a Christmas theme they certainly are Christ centered. I pray they touch your hearts as they already have touched mine.
May God bless us and hold us all in the palm of His
hand during this Holy Day season!!
Peace! YBIC,
Dan Dobson
webservant for Louisville KY Emmaus and CornerStone Chrysalis
Date sent: Sat, 18 Dec 1999
From: Kenneth and Michal Dobson (dobson@loxinfo.co.th)
Subject: millennial greetings
A Millennial Christmas Greeting from Thailand
This is the week before Christmas, the last days of 1999. Although many are worried or excited about the end of the millennium (which is technically 12 months away, I know), I am convinced that the fact is that Christ has already returned and is with us. I offer in evidence, and as witness to God’s love these true stories from the past couple of years of ministry here in Thailand.
Blessings at Christmas and throughout the next millennium.
Kenneth Dobson
Chiang Mai, Thailand
Christmas 1999
Emmanuel, God with Us
"I knew it was Jesus"
Porntip sat on the front edge of her chair all the time she talked to us. Her life had hung in the balance, she said. She had no hope left. Her liver was failing and she was as yellow as a pumpkin and then her other organs began to fail, too. She was sent home by the doctors who pronounced her hopeless, without saying so. Their meaning was clear enough. And there she died, she implied without saying so. What she said was that she felt herself leaving her body. "I heard a voice calling to me," she told us. "I knew it was Jesus. The voice calmed me down and then told me the last thing I wanted to hear. "‘It is not time for you to come. I am sending you back. I have things for you yet.’ "Then I found myself back in the room. The folks had gathered around as I awoke. They did not know what to think of it. They were already making funeral arrangements. But I was not dead. In fact, I was cured. Within a short time my color returned to normal and the doctors were amazed that my liver was healthy. I am well. It is a miracle. Jesus came to cure me and I am well."
A Childhood of Darkness
Children of light, children of darkness: the categories seem so clear until you meet somebody like Em. It’s confounding that he is in seminary.
It is amazing he is still alive. His family, he insists convincingly, is part of the drug-running underground. His early memories are of Khun Sa, the world-renowned drug lord who has recently "retired" and threw his lot in with the Burma dictatorship to save his skin with the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency and the Thai secret police hot on his trail. About the time Em was in kindergarten with Khun Sa’s grandchildren the Shaw drug-lord fought it out with General Lao Lee of Chang Kai Sheck’s Kwuomantung Army and won. Em’s family were in Khun Sa’s "clan". When Em was older he was the only one in the family who had learned to drive, so it was his job to drive his mother. Em denies that he had any idea at the time that she was making drug deliveries. His father has gone into hiding … or he has disappeared. His older brother is ruining his life. But Em has come by a circuitous route to seminary. He is just at the beginning of finding out what this means. Religion, understandably, is not part of his background. A couple of summers ago, as it happens, he was assigned to another part of the dark underworld of which this country is far too heavily endowed. Em was sent to work in a Church service agency in the lower-class housing district of Pattaya, which is known around the world for its formerly pristine beaches and immense sex trade. The agency Em worked for over the two months was involved in rescuing children as young as 8 to 15 who are sold into sex slavery. Em has trouble with conceptualizing his thoughts into words, because he has spent so much of his life hiding his thoughts and suppressing his words. But he can be descriptive enough, if unsubtle, in suggesting what he thinks of old European men going out onto the long Pattaya pier and coming back with little boys to disappear into a dark ally. And Em can also tell you what he felt when he found one of the boys later defecating blood, clutching a banknote worth two dollars.
Em met God in a new way a while back. He had been taught Christian meditation, and it has put him in touch with the Lord in a direct way that has cleared and enlightened his mind. Almost in awe at the immense maturity I was finding in Em, I listened to him describe what he was seeing and hearing from the Lord while we were praying. "Thank you Jesus for being there for Em," I prayed. "Thank you for turning him from a child of darkness into a man of light." But how, now, will the Lord use Em’s experience of darkness?
A Clear Answer Directly from the Lord
Sompat slowed his dilapidated pick-up truck as he steered around a pot-hole in the road. It was as if we had stepped back in time. The houses were all of another era, small wooden buildings with leaf or thatch roofs, and with flowering vines winding their way up the posts and across the latticework. We stopped in front of one of the smaller houses and I noticed lively singing coming from the living area at the top of a precarious ladder that served as the front stairs. The porch and the platform beyond were filled with young people. Instantly, Sompat was in his element. His face was a light in the night. But as we crouched on the floor singing and listening to the kids talk about their plans for their youth group, I wondered what kept Sompat here in this dusty hamlet. What is he all about? Perhaps because I was the one who asked him, his story began with an event from his time in seminary ten years ago in which I played a role. "I left school over the week-end," he recalled, "because I was totally fed up with one teacher. I went back home. On Friday morning a friend and Acharn Ken came to the house." I remembered that he had greeted us with a sigh of resignation, "I knew you would come," Sompat had said. His bag had been packed and waiting on the porch I had noticed. "I actually left the seminary several times over the years, but my goal was always to serve the Lord. That has never changed." Nor has his resignation been diminished by his struggle with asthma. "Now I am allergic, too," he told me. "I was tested and they found out that I am allergic to thirteen different things like mildew, dust, smoke, pollen…thirteen things. The doctor was amazed. A lot of people are allergic to two or three things, even four or five things. But he had never seen anyone with a positive reaction to all thirteen tests. I have prayed, ‘Deliver me.’ But I got a clear answer directly from the Lord, ‘You won’t be delivered, but you will endure.’" This recitation was leading up to a promise, "I will stay at this church until my life is extinguished if I can." No more running away when things get tough. Sompat’s soul has taken root in this struggling church. "I will accept whatever they can pay. I will do what I can to support myself if the church can’t be fully self-supporting, but I will stay with this church." It is a small, very rural church gripped in poverty, exacerbated by the fact that most of the members have a history of illness. It is a "leprosy village."
A Man in White
Somsak feels that the Christian faith is not easy for people who are ethnically Lao Song, tied as they are to ancestor worship. People ask, "If we become Christian can we still ‘feed the spirits?’ If not who will feed our spirits when we die? And who will protect us when the spirits become hungry and angry that we are not feeding them?" There is hardly anything an evangelist can say about the love and power of God to ease the minds of the Lao Song about the spirits of the ancestors. The center of Somsak’s village is dominated by a shrine composed of three individual huts where the spirits manifest themselves to the people and receive their offerings.
But that is only the beginning. Every house has a spirit shrine inside, often with a dozen statues and portraits of the deceased. Nowadays the yards of every house also sprouts not one but two elaborate spirit shrines, one to appease the spirit of the land and the other for the spirit of the household. The calendar is accented with days of feasting and veneration. Somsak himself, had a terrible struggle on his way to Christ. His mother had dreamed that she met a man in white (Christ) who told her she would turn her infant son over to him. Instead, when the boy got sick the parents made a vow to the spirits of the ancestors to save his life. So Somsak felt stuck between his own spiritual call from the Lord and his having been dedicated to the demons. On the other hand, he has had two or three experiences of the Holy Spirit which have brought him great peace of mind. Furthermore, as a youth working in the tomato fields on Saturdays and Sundays he had consistently found himself walking to church on Sunday morning, almost against his own will, as if under some outside force. His mind had decided not to go, but his feet took him anyway, he remembers. Still, he refused to become a Christian until he was an older student. And he was not baptized right away. It was a new pastor who made the difference for him. Pastor Krisna brought him fully into the church, and then sent him to the seminary.
Somehow Surviving
As a boy, Josiah (which is his real Lahu name) hardly knew a home more specific than the hills of Burma. But the steep hills and green valleys are anything but peaceful. A war of independence has been going on all of Josiah’s life, and it surged over him and his family like the monsoon clouds of summer. "Someone would holler, ‘The soldiers are coming!’ and everyone would scatter to the woods," Josiah remembered. Sometimes the places of refuge were literally malarial swamps. As if describing a hideous picture in his mind Josiah recalls the time everyone in the whole village lay helpless on the floors of their huts. They could not move, even to tend to the dying and the dead. Josiah said, "I wanted to die, too." His sister did die. Most of the village eventually died. But Josiah survived. God wanted him there in the hills. "I came back that way once," Josiah told us. "There was a narrow flat alley tucked away in the steep mountains and it was filled with graves." The fate of the Lahu people in Burma grew more and more terrible as the war against the dictators floundered for lack of arms and money, and for lack of outside help even from those countries which proclaim dedication to freedom, or from the Churches which are spiritual brothers and sisters to the Lahu and Karen Christian freedom fighters. Eventually Josiah became a refugee boy in Thailand. And in due time became a student at the first Christian university in Thailand. During his third year disaster struck again. Word came that his father and mother were both dead. He was devastated. Now he was alone in the vast, vast world, not only a stateless refugee but an orphan. He felt he had nowhere to turn and no hope of ever paying his mounting college bills. In the confusion of his overwhelming grief he just walked away from the university. But God wasn’t through with him, even yet. Josiah does not credit God with piling all these disasters on him, as it were some bizarre lesson. Neither does Josiah wonder at God’s hard-heartiness. For the fact is that God is still there with Josiah, who is now back in seminary, the oldest man in his class by a decade. God has work for him to do. Hundreds of thousands of Lahu people are somehow still surviving high up in the green hills of Burma. "And when I graduate," Josiah insists, "I am going back to the hills of Burma to proclaim the Lord to them."
Mary's Dream
As Mary looked, fondly, down at her Son lying in the stable manger she
spoke to Joseph, her husband............
"I had a dream Joseph, and I don't understand it at all. It was about
a birthday celebration for our Son. It was a celebration taking place
years and years from now. The people had been preparing for it about six
weeks and they had decorated their house and bought many gifts, some very
elaborate.
They had wrapped the gifts in beautiful paper and tied them with lovely bows and ribbons and stacked them under a tree. Yes, Joseph, they had a tree in their house! They decorated the tree and the branches were full of bright and shiny things and they even had what looked like candles on the tree. There was a figure on top that looked something like....maybe and angel. Oh, it was a beautiful tree. Everyone was laughing and so happy. They were so excited about the gifts under the tree.
They gave the gifts to each other Joseph, but there wasn't any for our Son. I don't think they even knew who He was........they never mentioned His name. Doesn't it seem odd for people to go to all that trouble to celebrate someone's birthday if they don't know Him? I had the strangest feeling that if our Son had gone to the celebration, He would have been intruding! And He would, most likely, have been denied entry.
Everything was so beautiful Joseph, and everyone was so full of cheer and they were laughing and talking with each other and having such a good time.....but Joseph,.....in my dream, and in my heart, I wanted to cry. How very sad for Jesus. He wasn't even wanted at His own birthday celebration! How cruel can people be?"
And looking down at Jesus, she smiled the way only a mother can and
said,
"Joseph, I'm so glad it was only a dream. How terrible if it
had been real."
submitted by Woodweller@webtv.net (Donald Weller)
A young, new preacher was walking with an older, more seasoned preacher in the garden one day and feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do, he was inquiring of the older preacher. The older preacher walked up to a rosebush and handed the young preacher a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing off any petals.
The young preacher looked in disbelief at the older preacher and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the WILL OF GOD for his life and for his ministry. Because of his high respect for the older preacher, he proceeded to TRY to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal in tact...It wasn't long before he realized how it was impossible to do so.
Noticing the younger preacher's inability to unfold the rosebud while keeping it in tact, the older preacher began to tell the following poem...
It is only a tiny rosebud,
A flower of GOD's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
GOD opens this flower so sweetly,
When in my hands they fade and die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of GOD's design,
Then how can I think I have wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So I'll trust in Him for His leading
Each moment of every day.
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only my heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose
from Emmaus mail list (emmaus@commerce.bmi.net)
It is the duty of nations as well as of men to won their dependence upon the overruling power of God; to confess their sins and transgressions in humble sorrow, yet with assured hope that genuine repentance will lead to mercy and pardon , and to recognize the sublime truth, announced in the Holy Scripture and proven by all history , that those nations are blessed whose God is the Lord.
We know that by His divine law, nations like individuals, are subjected to punishments and chastisements in this world. May we not justly fear that the awful calamity of civil war which now desolates the land may be punishment inflicted upon us for our presumptuous sins, to the needful end of our national reformation as a whole people?
We have been the recipients of the choisest bounties of heaven, we have been preserved these many years in peace and prosperity, we have grown in numbers , wealth and power as no other nation has ever grown.
But we have forgotten God. We have forgotten the gracious hand which preserved us in peace and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us, and we have vainly imagined, in the deceitfulness of our hearts, that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. Intoxicated with unbroken success, we have become too self- sufficient to feel the necessity of redeeming and preserving grace, too proud to pray the God that made us.
It has seemed to me fit and proper that God should be solemnly , reverently and gratefully acknowledged, as one with heart and one voice, by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November as a day of Thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens
A. Lincoln
October 3, 1863
from Emmaus list (emmaus@bmi.net)
Reprinted from the Columbia Marriage Encounter "Spirit" newsletter Spring edition, 1996
by Brent High
Friday morning I was reading the paper and noticed Darrell Scott father of Rachel Scott, a student who was killed at Columbine High School) was coming to speak Sunday afternoon at Two Rivers Baptist Church in Nashville.
I really wanted to go hear what Mr. Scott had to say but was a little apprehensive about announcing anything to my youth group about the event since it was going to be held at a Baptist church. I had a feeling someone would get offended if I promoted it. So, instead of any announcement in the main worship assembly, at the end of my Sunday school class I made mention of the event, told my high school kids I'd be going and invited anyone to ride with me who wanted to go.
I expected to take two or three kids in my truck. Instead I ended up having to fire up the White House Church of Christ van as 11 of us made the short trek to Two Rivers.
I wish I could have recorded the looks on the faces of everyone we passed in the parking lot at Two Rivers as our van, with all its Church of Christ lettering, motored to a resting place. Shock. Disbelief. Happiness. I'd be a rich man if I had a dime for every person I saw mouthing the words, "Church of Christ??????" as we passed.
I guess we broke traditional protocol, but we had a face-to-face meeting with God we would never have had if we hadn't.
The service was unbelievable. Just five short months after the April 20 tragedy, Mr. Scott shared the "untold" stories from Columbine, the stories the liberal media may never tell, the stories he has dedicated every waking moment of the rest of his life to sharing. He talked at length about the 12 students, including his daughter Rachel, who left this world on April 20.
Of the 12 students who died, eight professed to be Christians. As Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris (the two gunmen)came down the hill behind the school to begin their assault, their first target was Mark Taylor. At the very moment bullets pierced Mark's body, he was witnessing to two of his friends about his relationship with Jesus Christ.
They next turned their guns on Rachel. Three weeks earlier Rachel had witnessed to Dylan and Eric and warned them about the violent video games to which they seemed to be addicted. Their first shot hit Rachel in the leg. A second plowed through her backpack into her midsection, knocking her to the ground. One of the gunmen walked over to where Rachel lay face down, still alive. He pulled her up by the hair of her head and asked, "Do you still believe in God?"
"You know that I do," Rachel managed to reply.
Immediately after her reply a bullet entered her temple.
Mr. Scott shared the story of John Tomlin, another victim. John had been on mission trips to Mexico and was hungry to do more. During each school day he decided to do something small in hopes it might cause someone to think about spiritual things. He left his Bible open in the dash of his truck.
At 4 a.m. one morning after the tragedy, Mr. Scott looked around as he was beginning an interview with NBC's Maria Shriver and noticed a circle of people around John's truck, talking about the Bible in the dash.
Mr. Scott spoke of his son, Craig, who escaped death after looking down the barrel of a gun. He escaped because his friend crouched next to him in the library, Isaiah Shoels, was black and a more desirable target for the two gunmen who hurled numerous racial slurs and putdowns in his direction before killing him execution-style.
Cassie Bernall's story has received more national attention. She too answered the gunmen's question of "Do you believe in God?" in the affirmative, taking a bullet after her response. A national "She Said Yes" campaign has resulted from the statements she and Rachel made, looking down the barrel of a gun.
Rachel's funeral was broadcast in its entirety on CNN. Millions of viewers tuned in, making it the highest-rated broadcast in network history. With millions of eyes tuned to the broadcast, Bruce Porter brought the message, asking "Who will take the torch?" referring to the torch Rachel, Cassie, John, Mark and others had dropped.
At that very moment a young man in Texas had a gun to his head, ready to take his own life. As he listened to Porter's plea and thoughts that followed, he lowered the gun from his head, began to cry and prayed for forgiveness.
Not long ago he ran 1,000 miles from Little Rock, Arkansas to Washington, D.C. with a torch in his hand.
Needless to say, by the end of the service I had been on an emotional roller coaster. My shirt had a hefty salt deposit in it from the tears I had shed, but I left the service encouraged, excited and ready to share the "untold" stories with anyone I could.
We all climbed back in our van and headed back to White House. We were going to be just in time for Sunday night services. I kept thinking on the way back how much I would have loved to share with the congregation that night just a tiny bit of what we had experienced at Two Rivers that afternoon. I was a bit discouraged because I didn't know how long it would be before I was in the pulpit again and had a chance to share.
As I walked in the door, two minutes before services were to begin, one of our elders pulled me aside and asked, "Has anyone said anything to you about speaking tonight?"
"No," I said.
"Well Keith (our preacher) has a bad toothache. He's not going to be able to speak. I guess we'll just have a song service...."
"Please let me speak," I butted in. "Something happened to me this afternoon I've got to share."
"Okay, you're on," he said.
During the opening moments of the service I prayed fervently that God would use my words to help someone realize their need for Jesus.
As I began to share some of the stories previously mentioned in this email, I felt a peace and strength I have never felt before. It was not me talking up there. Even though I had zero preparation for this "sermon" my words seemed to flow like never before. Everything was coming together. In sports terms, I was "in the zone."
I pleaded with the young people who had never committed their lives to Jesus to do so. I told them they didn't have to know everything at first. That's what being born again is all about. Starting new. I encouraged those who had given their lives to Jesus before and didn't have him at the center of their lives to make it right.
As I stepped down from the pulpit with the words of "Just As I Am" resonating from the walls, I knew something special was about to happen.
A teenager came forward, then an 8-year old boy, then a mother, another teenager, and another, and on and on.....
Three came to commit their lives to Jesus for the first time and be baptized. Several others came to recommit their lives to Jesus. They came largely because of the stories associated with 12 young people from a tiny town in Colorado.
It only occurred to me about an hour later as I sat in Subway eating a sandwich there was something special about the number of people who had responded at church that night.
There were 12.
"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his
friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you
servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead I
have called you friends, for everything that I
learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but
I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit - fruit that will last.
Then the Father will give you
whatever you ask in my name.
This is my command: Love each other." - John15:13-17
In HIM,
Brent High, Youth Minister
White House Church of Christ
White House, TN
from Inspirations mailing list
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Each pulled on his pipe in silence.
Their minds were far away,
On a mountain they'd climbed together,
to watch the close of the day.
Alike were they as two brothers,
in all things excepting the mind.
One recalled the glorious sunset,
the other only the climb.
When they at last reached the summit,
the heart of one knew no thrill.
For he saw the mountains, just that, nothing more,
the other a creative will.
When up from the far horizon,
billowing clouds had come.
To one they cast welcome shadows ---
to the other they but hid the sun.
One saw in the storm's wild fury
a part of an infinite plan.
For he had the soul of the dreamer,
and the other was only a man.
To him life is a treadmill
with no beauty to lighten the pain.
He sees not the far horizon,
for he never looks up from the plain.
To the other life is a highway,
and his joy in it knows no end.
Each turn but hides greater beauty,
each person he meets is a friend.
Oh God let me be the dreamer,
with eyes to see deep in the day.
To look at a man and see more of the soul,
and less of the common clay.
That I might know joy in sorrow,
and in all things see the work of thy hand.
Yes, God let me be the dreamer,
and let someone else be the man.
from Inspirations mailing list
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The Day I Met Daniel it was an unusually cold day for the month of May. Spring had arrived and everything was alive with color. But a cold front from the north had brought winter's chill back to Indiana. I sat with two friends in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town square.
The food and the company were both especially good that day. As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying a well-worn sign that read, "I will work for food." My heart sank.
I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind.
We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car. Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: "Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once more around the square." And so, with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square's third corner, I saw him.
He was standing on the steps of the storefront church, going through his sack. I stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town's newest visitor.
"Looking for the pastor?" I asked.
"Not really," he replied, "Just resting."
"Have you eaten today?"
"Oh, I ate something early this morning."
"Would you like to have lunch with me?
"Do you have some work I could do for you?"
"No work," I replied."
I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch."
"Sure,"he replied with a smile.
As he began to gather his things. I asked some surface questions.
"Where you headed?"
"St. Louis."
"Where you from?"
"Oh, all over; mostly Florida."
"How long you been walking?"
"Fourteen years," came the reply.
I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across
from each other in the same restaurant I had left
earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his
38 years. His eyes were dark yet clear,and he spoke
with an eloquence and articulation that was startling.
He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt
that said, "Jesus is The Never Ending Story."
Then Daniel's story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God.
"Nothing's been the same since", he said, "I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now."
"Ever think of stopping?" I asked.
"Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me. But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads." I sat amazed.
My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a
mission and lived this way by choice. The question
burned inside for a moment and then I asked:
"What's it like?"
"What?"
"To walk into a town carrying all your things on your
back and to show your sign?"
"Oh, it was humiliating
at first. People would stare and make comments.
Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and
made a gesture that sure didn't make me feel welcome.
But then it became humbling to realize that God was
using me to touch lives and change people's concepts
of other folks like me." My concept was changing, too.
We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just
outside the door, he paused. He turned to me and said,
"Come ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom
I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave
me food,when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger
and you took me in." I felt as if we were on holy ground.
"Could you use another Bible?" I asked.
He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well
and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite.
"I've read through it 14 times,"he said. "I'm not sure we've
got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see." I
was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well,
and he seemed very grateful.
"Where you headed from here?"
"Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon."
"Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?"
"No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone
under that star right there needs a Bible, so that's where
I'm going next." He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit
radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him back to
the town square where we'd met two hours earlier, and
as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded
his things.
"Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked.
"I like to keep messages from folks I meet."I wrote in his little
book that his commitment to his calling had touched my
life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a
verse of scripture, in Jeremiah,
"I know the plans I have for you," declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not
to harm you. Plans to give you a future and a hope."
"Thanks, man," he said.
"I know we just met and we're really just strangers, but I love you."
"I know," I said, "I love you, too." "The Lord is good."
"Yes. He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?" I asked.
"A long time," he replied.
And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my
new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I
had been changed. He put his things on his back, smiled
his winning smile and said,
"See you in New Jerusalem."
"I'll be there!" was my reply.
He began his journey again. He headed away with his
sign dangling from his bed roll and pack of Bibles. He
stopped, turned and said,
"When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
"You bet," I shouted back, "God bless."
"God bless."
And that was the last I saw of him.
Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them....a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them. I remembered his words: "If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help
me to see the world and its people in a new way, and
they help me remember those two hours with my unique
friend and to pray for his ministry.
"See you in the New Jerusalem," he said.
Yes, Daniel, I know I will....
submitted by Doris White" (djw1937@otherside.com)
A woman came out of her house and saw 3 old men with long white
beards sitting in her front yard. She did not recognize them.
She said
"I don't think I know you, but you must be hungry.
Please come in and have something to eat."
"Is the man of the house home?", they asked.
"No", she said. "He's out."
"Then we cannot come in", they replied.
In the evening when her husband came home, she told him what had
happened.
"Go tell them I am home and invite them in!"
The woman went out and invited the men in.
"We do not go into a House together," they replied.
"Why is that?" she wanted to know.
One of the old men explained:
"His name is Wealth,"
he said pointing to one of his friends,
and said pointing to another one,
"He is Success, and I am Love."
Then he added, "Now go in and discuss with your
husband which one of us you want in your home."
The woman went in and told her husband what was
said.
Her husband was overjoyed. "How nice!!", he said.
"Since that is the case, let us invite Wealth.
Let him come and fill our home with wealth!"
His wife disagreed. "My dear, why don't we invite Success?"
Their daughter-in-law was listening from the other corner of the house.
She jumped in with her own suggestion:"Would it not be better to invite
Love?
Our home will then be filled with love!"
"Let us heed our daughter-in-law's advice," said the husband to his wife.
"Go out and invite Love to be our guest."
The woman went out and asked the 3 old men, "Which one of you is
Love? Please come in and be our guest."
Love got up and started walking toward the house.
The other 2 also got up and followed him.
Surprised, the lady asked Wealth and Success:
"I only invited Love, Why
are you coming in?"
The old men replied together: "If you had invited Wealth or Success,
the other two of us would've stayed out, but since you invited Love,
wherever, He goes, we go with him. Wherever there is Love, there is also
Wealth and Success!!!!!!"
OUR WISH FOR YOU... Where there is pain, we wish you peace and mercy.
Where there are self-doubts, we wish you a renewed confidence in your ability to work through them.
Where there is tiredness, or exhaustion, we wish you understanding, patience, and renewed strength.
Where there is fear, we wish you love, and courage.
submitted by Jan & Lee Lucien (janlee@win.net)
One year there was a terrible flood that deluged a small midwestern town located in a valley between two rivers. Both rivers had overflowed their banks and the rains continued to fall day and night. There was no relief in sight as the town slowly but surely was being flooded. Everyone evacuated, except for one old man who refused to leave his house--which would soon become completely submerged.
"I have faith that God will save me," the old man shouted at everyone who implored him to leave and flee to higher ground. The man believed in the power of prayer, and he trusted that God would somehow save him.
As the water covered the roads, making them impassable for cars, a man in a four-wheel drive truck stopped at the old man's house and banged on the door. "Hurry," he cried out. "Come with me and I'll drive you to safety! You haven't much time!" But the old man continued to pray. He would not leave his house.
Within hours, the water had risen several feet, completely flooding his home. The rain continued. The old man climbed up on the kitchen table and continued to pray. As the water was lapping at his heels, a man in a rowboat paddled up to the old man's kitchen window and shouted, "Sir, get in my boat! I'll take you to safety!"
"No," the old man shouted back. "God will deliver me from this flood!" The water got deeper and soon the old man had no choice but to climb up on his roof. The torrential rains persisted. While he was praying, he heard the chop-chop-chop of a helicopter in the sky. He looked up and saw the helicopter hovering over his house. A ladder had been lowered for him to climb.
"Go away," yelled the man at the helicopter. "You will blow me off my roof! God is going to save me! You go save someone else!"
Having already refused help from a truck and the rowboat, the old man was now waving away the helicopter that came to rescue him from the flood. The old man then continued praying, confident that God would save him.
The helicopter couldn't wait forever, so it left the old man on his rooftop, still praying. Eventually, the water engulfed the house and the old man perished in the flood.
When the old man arrived at the gates of heaven, he asked Saint Peter if he could have a talk with God. Peter took him to the throne of grace.
"Oh Lord, I prayed earnestly for the rains to stop and for your deliverance from the flood. But you left me there to drown. I don't understand!"
"My child, I heard your prayers. I sent you a four-wheel-drive truck, a rowboat, and a helicopter. Why did you send them away?"
God doesn't always answer our prayers in the way we expect. But he does answer. To have faith and trust in God means that we recognize his activity in our circumstances, regardless of how hopeless they seem. In our eyes, things may look like they are getting worse and that God has abandoned us. But God sees the big picture and we can trust that he will never leave us nor forsake us. He is at work, even when we don't realize it. "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose? (Romans 8:28).
We also need to remember that God works through ordinary people like you and me. Just like the rescuers in the story, when we offer help or an act of kindness to someone else, we may very well be an answer to their prayers.
I've learned that I like my teacher because she cries when we sing
"Silent Night"
Age 6
I've learned that our dog doesn't want to eat my broccoli either.
Age 7
I've learned that when I wave to people in the country, they stop what
they are doing and wave back.
Age 9
I've learned that just when I get my room the way I like it, Mom makes me
clean it up again.
Age 12
I've learned that if you want to cheer yourself up, you should try
cheering someone else up.
Age 14
I've learned that although it's hard to admit it, I'm secretly glad my
parents are strict with me.
Age 15
I've learned that silent company is often more healing than words of
advice.
Age 24
I've learned that brushing my child's hair is one of life's great
pleasures.
Age 26
I've learned that wherever I go, the world's worst drivers have followed
me there.
Age 29
I've learned that if someone says something unkind about me, I must live
so that no one will believe it.
Age 39
I've learned that there are people who love you dearly but just don't
know how to show it.
Age 42
I've learned that you can make some one's day by simply sending them a
little note.
Age 44
I've learned that the greater a person's sense of guilt, the greater his
or her need to cast blame on others.
Age 46
I've learned that children and grandparents are natural allies.
Age 47
I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life
does go on, and it will be better tomorrow.
Age 48
'I've learned that singing "Amazing Grace" can lift my spirits for hours.
Age 49
I've learned that motel mattresses are better on the side away from the
phone.
Age 50
I've learned that you can tell a lot about a man by the way he handles
these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas
tree lights.
Age 52
I've learned that keeping a vegetable garden is worth a medicine cabinet
full of pills.
Age 52
I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you
miss them terribly after they die.
Age 53
I've learned that making a living is not the same thing as making a life.
Age 58
I've learned that if you want to do something positive for your children,
work to improve your marriage.
Age 61
I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance.
Age 62
I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catchers mitt on
both hands. You need to be able to throw something back.
Age 64
I've learned that if you pursue happiness, it will elude you. But if you
focus on your family, the needs of others, your work, meeting new
people, and doing the very best you can, happiness will find you.
Age 65
I've learned that whenever I decide something with kindness, I usually
make the right decision.
Age 66
I've learned that when I have a tough decision to make, all I have to do
is remember what my Mom always said "do your best and the reward will
justify"
Age 67
I've learned that everyone can use a prayer.
Age 72
I've learned that it pays to believe in miracles. And to tell the truth,
I've seen several.
Age 75
I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one.
Age 82
I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone.
People love that human touch - holding hands, a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.
Age 85
I've learned that I still have a lot to learn.
Age 92
I've learned that you should pass this on to someone you care about.
Sometimes they just need a little something to make them smile.
from Inspirations mail list
One day a group of scientists got together and decided that man had
come a long way and no longer needed God. So they picked one scientist to go and tell Him that they were done with Him. The scientist walked up to God
and said,
"God, we've decided that we no longer need you. We're to the
point that we can clone people and do many miraculous things, so why don't
you just go on and get lost."
God listened very patiently and kindly to the man and after the
scientist was done talking, God said,
"Very well, how about this, let's say we have a man making contest."
To which the scientist replied, "OK, great!"
But God added, "Now, we're going to do this just like I did back in the old days with Adam."
The scientist said, "Sure, no problem" and bent down and grabbed himself a handful of dirt.
God just looked at him and said, "No, no, no. You go get your own dirt!"
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from Emmaus mail list
The sound of Martha's voice on the other end of the telephone
always brought a smile to Brother Jim's face. She was not only one of the oldest
members of the congregation, but one of the most faithful. Aunt Martie, as all of
the children called her, just seemed to ooze faith, hope, and love wherever
she went. This time, however, there seemed to be an unusual tone to her
words.
"Preacher, could you stop by this afternoon? I need to talk with you."
"Of course, I'll be there around three. Is that ok?"
It didn't take long for Jim to discover the reason for what he
had only sensed in her voice before. As they sat facing each other in the quiet
of her small living room. Martha shared the news that her doctor had just
discovered a previously undetected tumor.
"He says I probably have six months to live".
Martha's words were naturally serious, yet there was a definite calm
about her.
"I'm so sorry to ..." but before Jim could finish, Martha interrupted.
"Don't be. The Lord has been good. I have lived a long life. I'm ready to go. You know that."
"I know," Jim whispered with a reassuring nod.
"But I do want to talk with you about my funeral. I have been thinking about it, and there are things that I know I want."
The two talked quietly for a long time. They talked about Martha's favorite hymns, the passages of Scripture that had meant so much to her through the years, and the many memories they shared from the five years Jim had been with Central Church. When it seemed that they had covered just about everything, Aunt Martie paused, looked up at Jim with a twinkle in her eye, and then added,
"One more thing, preacher. When they bury me, I want my old Bible in one hand and a fork in the other".
"A fork?" Jim was sure he had heard everything, but this caught him by surprise.
"Why do you want to be buried with a fork?"
"I have been thinking about all of the church dinners
and banquets that I attended through the years," she explained,
"I couldn't begin to count them all. But one thing sticks in my mind,
"At those really nice get-togethers, when the meal was almost finished, a server or maybe the hostess would come by to collect the dirty dishes. I can hear the words now.
Sometimes, at the best ones, somebody would lean over my shoulder and
whisper,
'You can keep your fork.'
And do you know what that meant? Dessert was coming!
"It didn't mean a cup of Jell-O or pudding or even a dish of ice
cream. You don't need a fork for that. It meant the good stuff, like
chocolate cake or cherry pie! When they told me I could keep my fork, I
knew the best was yet to come!
"That's exactly what I want people to talk about at my funeral.
Oh, they can talk about all the good times we had together.
That would be nice.
"But when they walk by my casket and look at my pretty blue dress, I
want them to turn to one another and say, 'Why the fork'?
"That's what I want you to say, I want you to tell them, that I kept my fork
because the best is yet to come!"
While waiting to pick up a friend at the airport in Portland, Oregon, I had one of those life changing experiences that you hear other people talk about -- the kind that sneaks up on you unexpectedly. This one occurred a mere two feet away from me. Straining to locate my friend among the passenger deplaning through the jetway, I noticed a man coming toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped right next to me to greet his family.
First he motioned to his youngest son (maybe six years old) as he laid down his bags. They gave each other a long, loving hug. As they separated enough to look in each other's face, I heard the father say,
"It's so good to see you, son. I missed you so much!" His son smiled somewhat shyly, averted his eyes and replied softly, "Me, too, Dad!"
Then the man stood up, gazed in the eyes of his oldest son (maybe nine or ten) and while cupping his son's face in his hands said, "You're already quite the young man. I love you very much, Zach!" They too hugged a most loving, tender hug.
While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one-and-a-half) was squirming excitedly in her mother's arms, never once taking her little eyes off the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man said, "Hi, baby girl!" as he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her face all over and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side to side. The little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his shoulder, motionless in pure contentment.
After several moments, he handed his daughter to his oldest son and declared, "I've saved the best for last!" and proceeded to give his wife the longest, most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for several seconds and then silently mouthed. "I love you so much!" They stared at each other's eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding both hands. For an instant they reminded me of newlyweds, but I knew by the age of their kids that they couldn't possibly be. I puzzled about it for a moment then realized how totally engrossed I was in the wonderful display of unconditional love not more than an arm's length away from me.
I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I was invading something sacred, but
was amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask,
"Wow! How long have you two been married?
"Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of
those." he replied, without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife's face.
"Well then, how long have you been away?" I asked.
The man finally turned and looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile.
"Two whole days!"
Two days? I was stunned. By the intensity of the greeting, I had assumed he'd
been gone for at least several weeks - if not months. I know my expression
betrayed me. I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with
some semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend),
"I hope my marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!"
The man suddenly stopped smiling. He looked me straight in the eye, and
with forcefulness that burned right into my soul, he told me something
that left me a different person. He told me,
"Don't hope, friend...decide!" Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again,
shook my hand and said,
"God bless!" With that, he and his family turned and strode away together.
I was still watching that exceptional man and his special family walk just
out of sight when my friend came up to me and asked,
"What'cha looking at?" Without hesitating, and with a curious sense of certainty, I
replied,
"My future!"
© Copyright 1997 by Michael D. Hargrove and Bottom Line Underwriters, Inc.
All rights reserved. Used with permission.
Michael's website is www.bluinc.com
Many parents are hard pressed to explain to their youth why some music, movies, books, and magazines are not acceptable material for them to bring into the home or to listen to or see.
One parent came up with an original idea that is hard to refute. The father listened to all the reasons his children gave for wanting to see a particular PG-13 movie. It had their favourite actors. Everyone else was seeing it. Even church members said it was great. It was only rated PG-13 because of the suggestion of sex--they never really showed it. The language was pretty good--the Lord's name was only used in vain three times in the whole movie. Even if there were a few minor things, the special effects were fabulous and the plot was action packed.
However, even with all the justifications the teens made for the '13' rating, the father still wouldn't give in. He didn't even give his children a satisfactory explanation for saying, "No." He just said, "No!"
A little later on that evening the father asked his teens if they would like some brownies he had baked. He explained that he'd taken the family's favourite recipe and added a little something new. The children asked what it was.
The father calmly replied that he had added dog poop. However, he quickly assured them, it was only a little bit. All other ingredients were gourmet quality and he had taken great care to bake the brownies at the precise temperature for the exact time. He was sure the brownies would be superb.
Even with their father's promise that the brownies were of almost perfect quality, the teens would not take any. The father acted surprised. After all, it was only one small part that was causing them to be so stubborn. He was certain they would hardly notice it. Still the teens held firm and would not try the brownies.
The father then told his children how the movie they wanted to see was just like the brownies. We are tricked into believing that just a little bit of evil won't matter. But, the truth is even a little bit of poop makes the difference between a great treat and something disgusting and totally unacceptable.
The father went on to explain that even though the movie industry would have us believe that most of today's movies are acceptable fare for adults and youth, they are not.
Now, when this father's children want to see something that is of questionable material, the father merely asks them if they would like some of his special dog poop brownies. That closes the subject.
The only survivor of a shipwreck washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him, and 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 him from the elements, and to store his few possessions.
But then one day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, the smoke rolling up to the sky. The worst had happened; everything was lost. He was stung with grief and anger. "God, how could you do this to me!" he cried.
Early the next day, however, he was awakened by the sound of a ship
that was 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.
It is 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 pain and suffering. Paul wrote, "...I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want" (Philippians 4:12). Paul had confidence that good would come out of everything (Romans 8:28), so he learned to be thankful, not bitter, even when he was suffering. Who knows? Remember next time your little hut is burning to the ground - - it just may be a smoke signal that summons the grace of God.
Today upon a bus, I saw
A lovely maid with golden hair;
I envied her -- she seemed so gay-
And oh, I wished I were so fair.
When suddenly she rose to leave,
I saw her hobble down the aisle.
She had one foot and used a crutch,
But as she passed, a smile.
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine;
I have two feet -- the world is mine!
And when I stopped to buy some sweets,
The lad who served me had such charm;
He seemed to radiate good cheer,
His manner was so kind and warm.
I said, "It's nice to deal with you,
Such courtesy I seldom find."
He turned and said, "Oh, thank you, sir!"
And I saw that he was blind.
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine;
I have two eyes -- the world is mine!!
Then, when walking down the street,
I saw a child with eyes of blue.
He stood and watched the others play;
It seemed he knew not what to do.
I stopped a moment, then I said,
"Why don't you join the others, dear?"
He looked ahead without a word,
And then I knew; He could not hear.
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine.
I have two ears -- the world is mine!
With feet to take me where I go,
With eyes to see the sunset's glow,
With ears to hear what I should know.
I'm blessed indeed. The world is mine!!
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine
Mothers father worked as a carpenter. On this particular day, he was building some crates for the clothes his church was sending to some orphanage in China. On his way home, he reached into his shirt pocket to find his glasses, but they were gone. When he mentally replayed his earlier actions, he realized what happened; the glasses had slipped out of his pocket unnoticed and fallen into one of the crates, which he had nailed shut. His brand new glasses were heading for China!
The Great Depression was at it's height and Grandpa had six children. He had spent $20 for those glasses that very morning. He was upset by the thought of having to buy another pair. "It's not fair," he told God as he drove home in frustration. "I've been very faithful in giving of my time and money to your work, and now this."
Several months later, the director of the orphanage was on furlough in the United States. He wanted to visit all the churches that supported him in China, so he came to speak one Sunday at my grandfather's small church in Chicago. The missionary began by thanking the people for their faithfulness in supporting the orphanage. "But most of all," he said, "I must thank you for the glasses you sent last year. You see, the Communists had just swept through the orphanage, destroying everything, including my glasses. I was desperate. Even if I had the money, there was simply no way of replacing those glasses. Along with not being able to see well, I experienced headaches every day, so my coworkers and I were much in prayer about this. Then your crates arrived. When my staff removed the covers, they found a pair of glasses lying on top.
The missionary paused long enough to let his words sink in. Then, still gripped with the wonder of it all, he continued: "Folks, when I tried on the glasses, it was as though they had been custom-made just for me! I want to thank you for being a part of that."
The people listened, happy for the miraculous glasses. But the missionary surely must have confused their church with another, they thought. There were no glasses on their list of items to be sent overseas.
But sitting quietly in the back, with tears streaming down his face, an ordinary carpenter realized the Master Carpenter had used him in an extraordinary way.
Brenda was a young woman that wanted to learn to go rock climbing. Although she was scared to death she went with a group and they faced this tremendous cliff of rock. Practically perpendicular. In spite of her fear, she put on the gear and she took a hold of the rope and she started up the face of that rock.
Well, she got to a ledge where she could take a breather. As she was hanging on there, whoever was holding the rope up at the top of the cliff made a mistake and snapped the rope against Brenda's eye and knocked out her contact lens. You know how tiny contact lenses are and how almost impossible to find.
Well, here she is on a rock ledge, with who knows how many hundreds of feet behind and hundreds of feet above her. Of course, she looked and looked and looked, hoping that she would be able to find that contact lens. Here she was, very far from home.
Her sight was now blurry. She was very upset by the fact that she wouldn't be anywhere near a place where she could get a new contact lens. And she prayed that the Lord would help her to find it. Well, her last hope was that perhaps when she got to the top of the cliff, one of the girls that was up there on the top might be able to find her contact lens in the corner of her eye.
When she got to the top, a friend examined her eye. There was no contact lens to be found. She sat down with the rest of the party, waiting for the rest of them to come up the face of the cliff.
She looked out across range after range of mountains, thinking of that Bible verse that says, "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth". She thought, "Lord, You can see all these mountains. You know every single stone and leaf that's on those mountains and You know exactly where my contact lens is."
Finally, the time came when it was time to go down. They walked down the trail to the bottom. Just as they got there, there was a new party of rock climbers coming along. As one of them started up the face of the cliff, she shouted out, "Hey, you guys! anybody lose a contact lens?"
Well, that would be startling enough, wouldn't it? She had found the contact lens! But you know why she saw it? An ant was carrying that contact lens so that it was moving slowly across the face of the rock.
What does that tell you about the God of the universe? Is He in charge of the tiniest things? Do ants matter to Him? Of course they do. He made them. He designed them.
Brenda told me that her father is a cartoonist. When she told him this incredible story, he drew a picture of that ant lugging that contact lens with the words "Lord, I don't know why You want me to carry this thing. I can't eat it and it's awfully heavy. But if this is what You want me to do, I'll carry it for You."
If God is in charge of the ants, don't you think He cares about you and me? I guess Solomon was right. One could learn a valuable lesson from that ant - trust in God.
We could probably all say a little more often, "God, I don't know why you want me to carry this load. I see no good in it and it's awfully heavy. Still, if you want me to, I'll carry it for You."
Copied from a very inspirational Website
http://mrmom.amaonline.com/stories/storyroom.htm
submitted by Doris White
We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I'd like better. I'd really like for them to know about hand-me down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meatloaf sandwiches. I really would.
My cherished grandson, I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated. I hope you learn to make your bed and mow the lawn and wash the car. And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen. I hope you have a job by then. It will be good if at least one time you can see a baby calf born and your old dog put to sleep. I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in. I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother. And it's all right if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when he wants to crawl under the covers with you because he's scared, I hope you let him. When you want to see a Disney movie and your little brother wants to tag along, I hope you'll let him. I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where it you can do it safely. On rainy days when you have to catch a ride I hope your driver doesn't have to drop you two blocks away so you won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as your mom. If you want a slingshot, I hope your dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one. I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books. When you learn to use those newfangled computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head. I hope you get razzed by your friends when you have your first crush on a girl, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what Ivory soap tastes like.
May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn you hand on stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole. I hope you get sick when someone blows cigar smoke in your face. I don't care if you try beer once, but I hope you don't like it. And if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend. I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your grandpa and go fishing with your uncle. May you feel sorrow at a funeral and the joy of holidays. I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through a neighbor's window and that she hugs you and kisses you at Christmas time when you give her a plaster of Paris mold of your hand.
These things I wish for you - tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness.
Written with a pen.
Sealed with a kiss.
1. Your thumb is nearest to you, so begin your prayers by praying for those closest to you. They are the easiest ones to remember. To pray for our loved ones is, as C.S. Lewis once said, a "sweet duty."
2. The next finger is the pointing finger. Pray for those who teach, instruct and heal. This includes teachers, doctors, and ministers. They need support and wisdom for pointing others in the right direction. Keep them in your prayers.
3. The next finger is the tallest finger. It reminds us of our leaders. Pray for the President, leaders in business and industry, and administrators. These people shape our nation and guide public opinion. They need God's guidance.
4. The fourth finger is our ring finger. Surprising to many is the fact that this is our weakest finger, as any piano teacher will testify. It should remind us to pray for those who are weak, in trouble or in pain. They need your prayers day and night. You cannot pray too much for them.
5. And, lastly, comes our little finger; the smallest finger of all. Which is where we should place ourselves in relation to God and others. As the Bible says, "The least shall be the greatest among you." Your pinkie should remind you to pray for yourself.
By the time you have prayed for the other four groups, your own needs will be put into proper perspective and you will be able to pray for yourself more effectively.
There was a little old cleaning woman that went to the local church. When the invitation was given at the end of the service, she went forward wanting to become a member. The pastor listened as she told him how she had accepted Jesus and wanted to be baptized and become a member of the church.
The pastor thought to himself, "oh my, she is so unkempt, even smells a little, and her fingernails are not clean. She picks up garbage, cleans toilets - what would the members think of her." He told her that she needed to go home and pray about it and then decide.
The following week, here she came again. She told the pastor that she had prayed about it and still wanted to become baptized.
"I have passed this church for so long. It is so beautiful, and I truly want to be a member."
Again the pastor told her to go home and pray some more.
A few weeks later while out eating at the restaurant, the pastor saw the little old lady. He did not want her to think that he was ignoring her so he approached her and said, "I have not seen you for a while. Is everything all right?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "I talked with Jesus, and he told me not to worry about becoming a member of your church."
"He did?" said the pastor.
"Oh, yes" she replied. "He said even He hasn't been able to get into your church yet, and He's been trying for years."
webservant note: you can substitute the word "member" for "pastor" in this parable and it hits even closer to home.
by Lucille Britt
Memorial Day was over now,
All had left and I was alone.
I began to read the names and dates
Chiseled there on every stone.
The dates which showed whether it
was Mom or Dad or daughter or baby son.
The dates were different but the amount the same,
There were two on every one.
It was then I noticed something,
It was but a simple line;
It was the dash between the dates
Placed there it stood for time.
All at once it dawned on me
How important that little line.
The dates placed there belonged to God
But that line is yours and mine.
It's God who gives this precious life
And God who takes away;
But that line He gives to us
To do with what we may.
We know God's written the first date down
Of each and every one,
And we know those hands will write again,
For the last date has to come.
We know He'll write the last date down,
And soon, we know, for some,
But upon the line between my dates
I hope He'll write "Well done!".
I saw Jesus last week.
He was wearing blue jeans and an old shirt.
He was up at the church building;
He was alone and working hard.
For just a minute he looked a little like one of our members.
But it was Jesus,
I could tell by his smile.
I saw Jesus last Sunday.
He was teaching a Bible class.
He didn't talk real loud or use long words,
But you could tell he believed what he said.
For just a minute, he looked like my Sunday School teacher.
But it was Jesus,
I could tell by his loving voice.
I saw Jesus yesterday.
He was at the hospital visiting a friend who was sick.
They prayed together quietly.
For just a minute he looked like Brother Jones.
But it was Jesus,
I could tell by the tears in his eyes.
I saw Jesus this morning.
He was in my kitchen making my breakfast and fixing me a special lunch.
For just a minute he looked like my mom.
But it was Jesus,
I could feel the love from his heart.
I see Jesus everywhere,
Taking food to the sick,
Welcoming others to his home,
Being friendly to a newcomer and for just a minute
I think he's someone I know.
But it's always Jesus,
I can tell by the way he serves.
May someone see Jesus in you today!
A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.
"I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."
"Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"
"I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.
The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."
Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.
The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side?
That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them.
For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."
Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But if we will allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father's table.
In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste.
So as we seek ways to minister together, and as God calls you to the tasks He has appointed for you, don't be afraid of your flaws.
Acknowledge them, and allow Him to take advantage of them, and you, too, can be the cause of beauty in His pathway.
Go out boldly, knowing that in our weakness we find His strength.
Author Unknown (sigh....)
An article in National Geographic several years ago provided a penetrating picture of 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 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. When the blaze had arrived and the heat had scorched her small body, the mother had remained steadfast. Because she had been willing to die, 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.
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Whenever your kids are out of control, you can take comfort from the
thought that even God's omnipotence did not extend to his kids. After
creating heaven and earth, God created Adam and Eve. And the first thing
God said to them was: "Don't."
"Don't what?" Adam asked.
"Don't eat the forbidden fruit," said God.
"Forbidden fruit? Really? Where is it?" Adam and Eve asked, jumping up and down excitedly.
"It's over there," said God, wondering why he hadn't stopped after making the elephants.
A few minutes
later God saw the kids having an apple break and he was very angry.
"Didn't I tell you not to eat that fruit?" the First Parent asked.
"Uh huh," Adam replied.
"Then why did you do it?" God asked exasperatedly.
"I dunno," Adam answered.
God's punishment was that Adam and Eve should have children of their own.
Thus the pattern was set and it has never changed. But there is a reassurance in this story. If you have persistently and lovingly tried to give your children wisdom and they haven't taken it, don't be so hard on yourself. If God had trouble handling his children, what makes you think it should be a piece of cake for you?
From: "Richard L. Kuhn, Jr." (dockuhn@mindspring.com)
"Charles Plumb, a Naval Academy graduate and fighter pilot in Vietnam, flew 75 combat missions and then had his plane destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. He ejected and parachuted into enemy hands, was captured and spent 6 years in a Communist prison. He survived the ordeal and now lectures about lessons learned from that experience. One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came up and said, "You're Plumb! You flew fighters in Vietnam from the Kitty Hawk and you were shot down!" "How in the world did you know that?" asked Plumb. "I packed your parachute," the man replied. Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude. The man pumped his hand and said, "I guess it worked!" Plumb assured him, "It sure did. If your chute hadn't worked, I wouldn't be here today."
Plumb couldn't sleep that night, thinking about that man. Plumb says, "I kept wondering what he might have looked like in a Navy uniform - a Dixie cup hat, a bib in the back, and bell bottom trousers. I wondered how Many times I might have passed him on the Kitty Hawk. I wondered how many times I might have seen him and not even said 'Good morning, how are you,' because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor." Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent at a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship carefully weaving the shrouds andfolding the silks of each chute, each time holding in his hands the fate of someone who didn't even know who he was.
Now, Plumb asks his audience, "Who's packing your parachute?
Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through The day." Plumb also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes When his plane was shot down over enemy territory - he needed a physical parachute, a mental parachute, an emotional parachute, and a spiritual parachute. He called on them all before reaching safety. He was indebted to more people than he could name for helping to prepare him for the most challenging test of his life.
SUGGESTION: Recognize and be gracious to the people who pack your parachute. There are probably many more of them than you have recognized.
From: Renné M Dismore (rennediz@juno.com)
A man was sleeping at night in his cabin when suddenly his room filled with light and the Savior appeared. The Lord told the man he had work for him to do, and showed him a large rock in front of his cabin. The Lord explained that the man was to push against the rock with all his might. This the man did, day after day. For many years he toiled from sun up to sun down, his shoulders set squarely against the cold, massive surface of the unmoving rock, pushing with all his might.
Each night the man
returned to his cabin sore, and worn out,feeling that his whole day had
been spent in vain. Seeing that the man was showing signs of
discouragement, Satan decided to enter the picture by placing thoughts
into the man's mind:
"You have been pushing against that rock for a long
time, and it hasn't budged. Why kill yourself over this? You are never
going to move it."
Thus giving the man the impression that the task was
impossible and that he was a failure, these thoughts discouraged and
disheartened the man.
"Why kill myself over this?" he thought. "I'll just
put in my time, giving just the minimum effort and that will be good
enough." And that he planned to do until one day he decided to make it a
matter of prayer and take his troubled thoughts to the Lord.
"Lord," he
said,"I have labored long and hard in your service, putting all my
strength to do that which you have asked. Yet, after all this time, I have
not even budged that rock by half a millimeter. What is wrong? Why am I
failing?"
The Lord responded compassionately, "My friend, when I asked
you to serve me and you accepted, I told you that your task was to push
against the rock with all your strength, which you have done. Never once
did I mention to you that I expected you to move it. Your task was to
push. And now you come to me, with your strength spent, thinking that you
have failed.
But, is that really so? "Look at yourself. Your arms are strong and muscled, your back sinewed and brown, your hands are callused from constant pressure, and your legs have become massive and hard. Through opposition you have grown much and your abilities now surpass that which you used to have. Yet you haven't moved the rock. But your calling was to be obedient and to push and to exercise your faith and trust in My wisdom. This you have done. I, my friend, will now move the rock."
At times when we hear a word from God, we tend to use our own intellect to decipher what He wants, when actually what God wants is just simple obedience and faith in Him.......By all means, exercise the faith that move mountains, but it is still God who moves the mountains
My grandparents were married for over half a century and played their own special game from the time they had met each other.
The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more.
They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet.
There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture.
It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love - one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky to experience.
Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em." Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.
But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: my grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.
Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a, while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.
"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby.
Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.
S-h-m-i-l-y: See How Much I Love You.
Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, for letting me see.
If you are feeling defeated, and think that God must just be tired of you, read on and gather the courage and love to push the restart button and try again.
I was watching some little kids play soccer. These kids were only five or six years old, but they were playing a real game - - a serious game_ two teams, complete with coaches, uniforms, and parents. I didn't know any of them, so I was able to enjoy the game without the distraction of being anxious about winning or losing - I wished the parents and coaches could have done the same.
The teams were pretty evenly matched. I will just call them Team One and Team Two. Nobody scored in the first period. The kids were hilarious. They were clumsy and terribly inefficient. They fell over their own feet, they stumbled over the ball, they kicked at the ball and missed it but they didn't seem to care. They were having fun.
In the second quarter, the Team One coach pulled out what must have been his first team and put in the scrubs, except for his best player who now guarded the goal.
The game took a dramatic turn. I guess winning is important even when you're five years old --because the Team Two coach left his best players in, and the Team One scrubs were no match for them. Team Two swarmed around the little guy who was now the Team One goalie. He was an outstanding athlete, but he was no match for three or four who were also very good. Team Two began to score. The lone goalie gave it everything he had, recklessly throwing his body in front of incoming balls, trying valiantly to stop them.
Team Two scored two goals in quick succession. It infuriated the young boy. He became a raging maniac -- shouting, running, diving. With all the stamina he could muster, he covered the boy who now had the ball, but that boy kicked it to another boy twenty feet away, and by the time he repositioned himself, it was too late -- they scored a third goal.
I soon learned who the goalie's parents were. They were nice, decent-looking people. I could tell that his dad had just come from the office -- he still had his suit and tie on. They yelled encouragement to their son. I became totally absorbed, watching the boy on the field and his parents on the sidelines. After the third goal, the little kid changed. He could see it was no use; he couldn't stop them.
He didn't quit, but he became quietly desperate, futility was written all over him. His father changed too. He had been urging his son to try harder - yelling advice and encouragement. But then he changed. He became anxious. He tried to say that it was okay - to hang in there. He grieved for the pain his son was feeling.
After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen. I've seen it before. The little boy needed help so badly, and there was no help to be had. He retrieved the ball from the net and handed to the referee - and then he cried. He just stood there while huge tears rolled down both cheeks. He went to his knees and put his fists to his eyes - and he cried the tears of the helpless and brokenhearted.
When the boy went to his knees, I saw the father start onto the field. His wife clutched his arm and said, "Jim, don't. You'll embarrass him." But he tore loose from her and ran onto the field. He wasn't supposed to - the game was still in progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes, and all - he charged onto the field, and he picked up his son so everybody would know that this was his boy, and he hugged him and held him and cried with him. I've never been so proud of a man in my life.
He carried him off the field, and when he got close to the sidelines I heard him say, "Scotty, I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son." "Daddy," the boy sobbed, "I couldn't stop them. I tried, Daddy, I tried and tried, and they scored on me." "Scotty, it doesn't matter how many times they scored on you. You're my son, and I'm proud of you. I want you to go back out there and finish the game. I know you want to quit, but you can't. And, son, you're going to get scored on again, but it doesn't matter. Go on, now." It made a difference - I could tell it did.
When you're all alone, and you're getting scored on - and you can't stop them - it means a lot to know that it doesn't matter to those who love you. The little guy ran back on to the field - and they scored two more times - but it was okay.
I get scored on every day. I try so hard. I recklessly throw my body in every direction. I fume and rage. I struggle with temptation and sin with every ounce of my being - and Satan laughs. And he scores again, and the tears come, and I go to my knees - sinful, convicted, helpless. And my Father - my Father rushes right out on the field - right in front of the whole crowd - the whole jeering, laughing world - and he picks me up, and he hugs me and he says, "Child, I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my kid, and because I control the outcome of this game, I declare you -- The Winner."
"Be still and know that I am God." ~Psalm 46:10
God made
Adam bit
Noah arked
Abraham split
Joseph ruled
Jacob fooled
Bush talked
Moses balked
Pharaoh plagued
People walked
Sea divided
Tablets guided
Promise landed
Saul freaked
David peeked
Prophets warned
Jesus born
God walked
Love talked
Anger crucified
Hope died
Love rose
Spirit flamed
Word spread
God remained.
author unknown (sigh)
This puts a different spin on a familiar text. Try this contemporary
version of 1 Corinthians 13
What might Paul have said in 1999?
If I speak with the confidence of Rush Limbaugh and sing with the ease of Celine Dion but don't have love, my words are like scraping fingernails on a frozen windshield.
If I can program NASA's mainframe computer and outsmart my chemistry
professor,
if I can memorize the Psalms and read Leviticus without dozing,
or if I can even predict the future but have not love,
my value is equal to a pitcher of warm spit.
If I give my Tommy Hilfiger wardrobe to Goodwill
and let my little sister rummage through my closet,
if I go to the stake and fry as a martyr,
or if I donate a gallon of blood every hour but don't have love,
my offerings are useless.
Love is Patient--even if it means skipping a trip to 31 Flavors in order to tutor an immigrant.
Love is Kind--it doesn't stoop to Polish jokes, Whitey jibes, slanty-eye stories, or jokes about Jews.
Love does not envy the basketball team captain, the National Merit finalist, the class president, or even the blonde who sports the most even tan.
Love doesn't get a swelled head over straight A's or a scholarship to Princeton.
Love isn't snooty about a new Corvette or a season pass to the
world's premiere ski resort.
Love never jeers at the fat kid who hangs out
of his/her T-shirt in PE.
Love smiles when getting cut off on the interstate.
Love submits an honest tax return.
Love doesn't whine about the referee's bad call.
Love believes that God always provides the best stuff in life.
Love hangs on to hope when the family is splitting apart.
Love does not change like hemlines and hairdos.
Love is like the Energizer bunny.
It lasts and lasts and keeps on going.
In the end only three things will remain: faith, hope, and love.
But the greatest of these is love.
A parable is told of a farmer who owned an old mule. The mule fell into the farmer's well. The farmer heard the mule 'braying' - or - whatever mules do when they fall into wells. After carefully assessing the situation, the farmer sympathized with the mule, but decided that neither the mule nor the well was worth the trouble of saving. Instead, he called his neighbors together and told them what had happened...and enlisted them to help haul dirt to bury the old mule in the well and put him out of his misery.
Initially, the old mule was hysterical! But as the farmer and his neighbors continued shoveling and the dirt hit his back...a thought struck him. It suddenly dawned on him that every time a shovel load of dirt landed on his back...HE SHOULD SHAKE IT OFF AND STEP UP! This he did, blow after blow.
"Shake it off and step up...shake it off and step up...shake it off and step up!" he repeated to encourage himself. No matter how painful the blows, or distressing the situation seemed the old mule fought "panic" and just kept right on SHAKING IT OFF AND STEPPING UP!
It wasn't long before the old mule, battered and exhausted, STEPPED TRIUMPHANTLY OVER THE WALL OF THAT WELL! What seemed like it would bury him, actually blessed him...all because of the manner in which he handled his adversity.
THAT'S LIFE! If we face our problems and respond to them positively, and refuse to give in to panic, bitterness, or self-pity...THE ADVERSITIES THAT COME ALONG TO BURY US USUALLY HAVE WITHIN THEM THE POTENTIAL TO BENEFIT AND BLESS US! Remember that FORGIVENESS-FAITH-PRAYER- PRAISE and HOPE...all are excellent ways to "SHAKE IT OFF AND STEP UP" out of the wells in which we find ourselves!
I said, "God, I cry a lot."
And God said,
"That is why I gave you tears."
I said, "God, I am so depressed."
And God said,
"That is why I gave you Sunshine."
I said, "God, life is so hard."
And God said,
"That is why I gave you loved ones."
I said, "God, my loved one died."
And God said, "So did mine."
I said, "God, it is such a loss."
And God said,
"I saw mine nailed to a cross."
I said, "God, but your loved one lives."
And God said, "So does yours."
I said, "God, where are they now?"
And God said, "Mine is on My right and
yours is in the Light."
I said, "God, it hurts."
And God said, "I know."
Posted on the wall at the Oklahoma City bombing site by K. C. and Myke Kuzmic Stockton, CA
( An Autobiography In 5 Short Chapters By Porsche Nelson )
Chapter 1 I walk down the street and there's a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am lost. I am helpless. It isn't my fault. It takes me forever to find my way out.
Chapter 2 I walk down the same street and there's a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don't see it. I fall in again. I can't believe that I'm in the same place but it isn't my fault. It takes a long time to get out.
Chapter 3 I walk down the same street and there's a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see that it is there. I still fall in, it's a habit, my eyes are open, I know it's my fault. I get out immediately.
Chapter 4 I walk down the same street and there's a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it.
Chapter 5 I walk down another street.
( Thanks to Eric for this one )
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Lord, sometimes I wish I was the one who always had the stage,
that people thought I was wonderful and always gave me praise.
I'd love to get the glory. I'd love to steal the show.
I'd love to watch them standing when I look into the rows.
But what if tonight when I walked on stage I found I was alone,
And all the seats were empty and everyone else was home?
Can I honestly say that I would stay and do my best for You-
If no one else was there to notice all of the things I do?
It makes me wonder....
Would I give it my all if I were always standing on an empty stage?
Would I still go the distance if no one gave me praise?
Would I want to shine so brightly if I was only in Heavenly light?
Lord, would I care to share if it was just You here tonight?
What motivates my actions in everything I do?
Am I really just serving me while pretending I'm serivng You?
Lord, You know how much I need to hear that everyone knows my name.
But if they don't know Yours, how much have I really gained?
So if I should ever stand on stage and listen to the cheers,
Remind me that it's just noise unless Yours are the claps I hear.
Whatever I do in this life, may I always long for Your praise.
Whenever I look to the world for esteem, may Your blood humble me back
into place.
And if I should ever get angry for not receiving the credit I'm due,
Lord, remind me that instead of a pat on the back, they gave a cross to
You.
The story of Valentine's Day begins in the third century with an oppressive Roman emperor and a humble Christian martyr. The emperor was Claudius II. The Christian was Valentinus.
Claudius had ordered all Romans to worship twelve gods and he had made it a crime punishable by death to assoicate with Christians. But Valentinus was dedicated to the ideals of Christ and not even the threat of death could keep him from practicing his beliefs. He was arrested and imprisoned.
During the last weeks of Valentinus' life, a remarkable thing happened. Seeing that he was a man of learning, the jailer asked whether his daughter, Julia, might be brought to Valentinus for lessons. She had been blind since birth.
Julia was a pretty young girl with a quick mind. Valentinus read stories of Rome's history to her. He described the world of nature to her. He taught her arithmetic and told her about God. She saw the world through his eyes, trusted in his wisdom and found comfort in his quiet strength.
"Valentinus, does God really hear our prayers?" Julia asked one day.
"Yes, my child, He hears each one," he replied.
"Do you know what I pray for every morning and every night? I pray that
I might see. I want so much to see everything you've told me about!"
"God does what is best for us if we will only believe in Him," Valentinus said.
"Oh, Valentinus, I do believe," Julia said intensely. I do."
She knelt and grasped his hand. Then they prayed together.
Suddenly there was a brilliant light in the prison cell. Radiant, Julia
cried, "Valentinus, I can see! I can see!"
"Praise be to God!" Valentinus exclaimed.
On the eve of his death, Valentinus wrote a last note to Julia, urging her to stay close to God and he signed it "From your Valentine."
His sentence was carried out the next day, February 14, 270 A.D. near a gate that was later named Porta Valentini in his memory. He was buried at what is now the Church of Praxedes in Rome.
It is said that Julia herself planted a pink-blossomed almond tree near his grave. Today, the almond tree remains a symbol of abiding love and friendship.
On each February 14, St. Valentine's Day, messages of affection, love and devotion are exchanged around the world..
This story is from the Inspirations mail list
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When everything seems to go wrong, just push.
When the job gets you down, just push.
When people don't react the way you think they should, just push.
When your money looks funny and the bills are due, just push.
When you want to tell them off for whatever the reason, just push.
When you ask the question, when is my ship coming in? (as I often do), just push.
When people just don't understand you, just push.
Instead of continuing with when, when, when, etc., let me tell you what it stands for.
Sharon Saddoris
Telecom Coordinator
Covenant Health System
this item is from the Emmaus mail list
From: SueJones1@aol.com
The following is a quote from a fictional book called "The Promised Land"
by Ruhama Veltfort (October 1998, Milkweed Editions.)
In a little town near Cracow lived a man who was very pious, a leader in the community. He had become wealthy and built a new study house (A place to study the Torah) and made many donations to charity. He paid the school fees of all the orphans and gave dowries to poor girls, and on his birthday one year even ordered from Vilna a gorgeous new Torah cover of ornately carved silver, such as no one in this little village had ever imagined.
There also lived in the same village, as there always is, a man of no account whatsoever. He had a large family which he could never support; every venture he began ended in disaster, and one trouble after another fell on his household. He had quarreled with the rabbi years before, and would not go to services except on the holiest of days. He was often heard in the streets of the town raising his fist to the sky and arguing loudly with God, berating the Holy One for causing whatever fresh misfortune had fallen on his head.
Well, time passed; a cholera swept through the town one summer and both the rich, pious man and the poor heretic were carried away. The pious man stood before the gate of heaven.
"What are you doing here?" asked the Messiah.
"What is he doing here?" countered the pious man, pointing his finger at the ragged poor man, who he could see inside, seated on a throne discoursing with the patriarchs.
"He spoke with me every day!" Thundered the voice of the Lord, the Holy One, Blessed be He.
"Every day! And you, only when you wanted to be admired!"
Yitzhak looked into the fire. "And so," he said softly. "So it is that fortune can be a misfortune, and what seems a misfortune, the greatest blessing of all. The prayer of our father Moses was "Lord, I am in need of Thee."
The way of Moses is the way of hopelessness and need, the only way to God.
There is a tribe in South America that requires all young boys to have a test before being accepted as men in the tribe. They must go out into the jungle and spend the night ALONE, with only a knife for protection. The stay awake throughout the night. They hear the sounds of the jungle, their hearts pounding in anticipation for the attack of a jaguar, or some poisonous snake to slither up to warm itself and then bite them when startled. But as the first light of morning grows stronger, they are overcome with joy and relief. For close by, they found their own father standing ready with a bow and arrow to protect their son from any danger.
And so it is in our own lives. God sends us into seemingly terrifying
tests, new jobs, crumbling marriages, losing loved ones, huge debts, and
the rest, and yet He is there covering us with His grace, as He always
has. But, we forget so easily, the past tests and His presence.
LORD,
please help your frightened children to remember all you have done in
their lives and give them the assurance that you will always be there
for them, even when they, like the young boys, feel so alone.
Fu