Print Page - New board

The Old Man and the Dog by Catherine Moore
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.

What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.

But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.

"He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.

"Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.

"You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.

We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services tog ether, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers."

"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...

Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. .his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly.
Live While You Are Alive. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every
opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.

A seminary professor was vacationing with his wife in Gatlinburg, TN. One morning, they were eating breakfast at a little restaurant, hoping to enjoy a quiet, family meal. While they were waiting for their food, they noticed a distinguished looking, white-haired man moving from table to table, visiting with the guests. The professor leaned over and whispered to his wife, 'I hope he doesn't come over here.' But sure enough, the man did come over to their table.

'Where are you folks from?' he asked in a friendly voice. 'Oklahoma,' they answered.

'Great to have you here in Tennessee,' the stranger said. ' What do you do for a living?'

'I teach at a seminary,' he replied.

'Oh, so you teach preachers how to preach, do you? Well, I've got a really great story for you.' And with that, the gentleman pulled up a chair and sat down at the table with the couple.

The professor groaned and thought to himself, 'Great . Just what I need ..another preacher story!'

The man started, 'See that mountain over there? (pointing out the restaurant window). Not far from the base of that mountain, there was a boy born to an unwed mother. He had a hard time growing up, because every place he went, he was always asked the same question, 'Hey boy, Who's your daddy?' Whether he was at school, in the grocery store or drug store, people would ask the same question, 'Who's your daddy?'

He would hide at recess and lunchtime from other students. He would avoid going into stores because that question hurt him so bad. 'When he was about 12 years old, a new preacher came to his church. He would always go in late and slip out early to avoid hearing the question, 'Who's your daddy?'

But one day, the new preacher said the benediction so fast that he got caught and had to walk out with the crowd.

Just about the time he got to the back door, the new preacher, not knowing anything about him, put his hand on his shoulder and asked him, 'Son, who's your daddy?'

The whole church got deathly quiet. He could feel every eye in the church looking at him. Now everyone would finally know the answer to the question, 'Who's your daddy?'

'This new preacher, though, sensed the situation around him and using discernment that only the Holy Spirit could give, said the following to that scared little boy. 'Wait a minute! I know who you are! I see the family resemblance now. You are a child of God.'
With that he patted the boy on his shoulder and said, 'Boy, you've got a great inheritance. Go and claim it.'

'With that, the boy smiled for the first time in a long time and walked out the door a changed person. He was never the same again. Whenever anybody asked him, 'Who's your Daddy?' he'd just tell them, '"I'm a Child of God.''

The distinguished gentleman got up from the table and said, 'Isn't that a great story?'

The professor responded that it really was a great story!
As the man turned to leave, he said, 'You know, if that new preacher hadn't told me that I was one of God's children, I probably never would have amounted to anything!' And he walked away.

The seminary professor and his wife were stunned. He called the waitress over and asked her, 'Do you know who that man was -- the one who just left that was sitting at our table?'

The waitress grinned and said, 'Of course, everybody here knows him. That's Ben Hooper. He's the former governor of Tennessee!'
Someone in your life today needs a reminder that they're one of God's children!

'The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of God stands forever.' ~~Isaiah

YOU'RE ONE OF GOD'S CHILDREN!!! HAVE A GREAT DAY!

A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell.. He painted a sign
> advertising the 4 pups. And set about nailing it to a post on the edge of
> his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on
> his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of little boy.
>
> "Mister," he said, "I want to buy one of your pu ppies."
>
> "Well," said the farmer,
> as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, "These puppies come from
> fine parents and cost a good deal of money."
>
> The boy dropped his head for a moment.
> Then reaching deep into his pocket,
> he pulled out a handful of change
> and held it up to the farmer.
>
> "I've got thirty-nine cents.
> Is that enough to take a look?"
>
> "Sure," said the farmer.
> And with that he let out a whistle.
> "Here, Dolly!" he called.
>
> Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran
>
>
>
> Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.
>
> The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes
> danced with delight.
> As the dogs made their way to the fence,
> the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse.
>
> Slowly another little ball appeared, this one noticeably smaller. Down the
> ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began
> hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up....
>
> "I want that one," the little boy said, pointing to the runt. The farmer
> knelt down at the boy's side and said, "Son, you don't want that puppy. He
> will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would."
>
> With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and
> began rolling up one leg of his trousers.
>
> In doing s o he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg
> attaching itself to a specially made shoe.
>
> Looking back up at the farmer, he said,
> "You see sir, I don't run too well myself,
> and he will need someone who understands."
>
> With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the little
> pup.
>
> Holding it carefully handed it to the little boy.
> "How much?" asked the little boy. "No charge," answered the farmer,
> "There's no charge for love."
>
> The world is full of people who need someone who understands .

A very good friend e-mailed this to me. Thought it would be nice to share.

A PENNY

You always hear the usual stories of pennies on the sidewalk being good luck, gifts from angels, etc. This is the first time I've ever heard this twist on the story. Gives you something to think about.

Several years ago, a friend of mine and her husband were invited to spend the weekend at the husband's employer's home. My friend, was nervous about the weekend. The boss was very wealthy, with a fine home on the waterway, and cars costing more than her house
The first day and evening went well, and my friend was delighted to have this rare glimpse into how the very wealthy live. The husband's employer was quite generous as a host, and took them to the finest restaurants. Arlene knew she would never have the opportunity to indulge in this kind of extravagance again, so was enjoying herself immensely.

As the three of them w ere about to enter an exclusive restaurant that evening, the boss was walking slightly ahead of my friend and her husband.

He stopped suddenly, looking down on the pavement for a long, silent moment.

My friend wondered if she was supposed to pass him. There was nothing on the ground except a single darkened penny that someone had dropped, and a few cigarette butts. Still silent, the man reached down and picked up the penny.

He held it up and smiled, then put it in his pocket as if he had found a great treasure. How absurd! What need did this man have for a single penny? Why would he even take the time to stop and pick it up?

Throughout dinner, the entire scene nagged at her. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She casually mentioned that her daughter once had a coin collection, and asked if the penny he had found had been of some value.

A smile crept across the man's face as he reached into his pocket for the penny and held it out for her to see. She had seen m any pennies before! What was t he point of this?

'Look at it.' He said. 'Read what it says.'
She read the words ' United States of America ' 'No, not that; read further.'
'One cent?' 'No, keep reading.'
'In God we Trust?'

'Yes!' 'And?'

'And if I trust in God, the name of God is holy, even on a coin Whenever I find a coin I see that inscription. It is written on every single United States coin, but we never seem to notice it! God drops a message right in front of me telling me t o trust Him? Who am I to pass it by? When I see a coin, I pray, I stop to see if my trust IS in God at that moment. I pick the coin up as a response to God; that I do trust in Him. For a short time, at least, I cher ish it as if it were gold. I think it is God's way of starting a conversation with me. Lucky for me, God is patient and pennies are plentiful!

When I was out shopping today, I found a penny on the sidewalk. I stopped and picked it up, and realized that I had been worrying and fretting in my mind abou t things I canno t change. I read the words, 'In God We Trust,' and had to laugh. Yes, God, I get the message.

It seems that I have been finding an inordinate number of pennies in the last few months, but then, pennies are plentiful! And, God is patient..

Thought for the Day:

If God had a refrigerator, your picture would be on it.

God didn't promise days without pain, laughter without sorrow, sun without rain, but He did promise strength for the day, comfort for the tears, and light for the way.

Read this line very slowly and let it sink in...

If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it.

JIM

Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month.The day after she died,
>> my 4 year old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how
>> much she missed Abbey. She asked if we could write a letter to God
>> so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her. I told
>> her that I thought we could so she dictated these words:
>>
>> Dear God,
>>
>> Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with
>> you in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me
>> have her as my dog even though she got sick.
>>
>> I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls and to
>> swim. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her. You will
>> know that she is my dog. I really miss her.
>>
>> Love , Meredith .
>>
>> We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and
>> Meredith hand addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address
>> on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the
>> envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the
>> letter all the way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into
>> the letter box at the post office. A few days later, she asked if
>> God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.
>>
>> Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front
>> porch addressed, 'To Meredith , 'in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith
>> opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, 'When a Pet
>> Dies.' Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had
>> written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the
>> picture of Abbey & Meredith and this note:
>>
>>
>> Dear Meredith ,
>>
>> Abbey arrived safely in heaven.
>>
>> Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away.
>>
>> Abbey isn't sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it
>> stays in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don't
>> need our bodies in heaven, I don't have any pockets to keep your
>> picture in, so I am sending it back to you in this little book for
>> you to keep and have something to remember Abbey by..
>>
>> Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for
>> helping you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother
>> you have. I picked her especially for you.
>>
>> I send my blessing s every day and remember that I love you very much.
>>
>> By the way, I'm easy to find, I am wherever there is love.
>>
>> Love,
>> God

THE
BRICK

A
young and successful executive was traveling down a neighborhood street,
going a bit too fast in his new Jaguar. He was watching for kids darting
out from between parked cars and slowed down when
he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no children appeared .
Instead, a brick smashed into the Jag's side door! He slammed on the
brakes and backed the Jag back to the spot where the brick had been
thrown. The angry driver then
jumped out of the car, grabbed the nearest kid and pushed him up against a
parked car shouting, 'What was that all about and who are you? Just what
the heck are you doing? That's a new car and that brick you threw is going
to cost a lot of money. Why did you do it?' The young boy was apologetic.
'Please, mister...please, I'm sorry but I didn't know what else to do,' He
pleaded. 'I threw the brick because no one else would stop...' With tears
dripping down his face and off his chin, the youth pointed to a spot just
around a parked car. 'It's my brother, 'he said. 'He rolled off the curb
and fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up.' Now
sobbing, the boy asked the stunned executive, 'Would you please help me
get him back into his wheelchair? He's hurt and he's too heavy for me.'
Moved
beyond words, the driver tried to swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his
throat. He hurriedly lifted the handicapped boy back into the wheelchair,
then took out a linen handkerchief and dabbed at the fresh scrapes and
cuts. A quick look told him everything was going to be okay. 'Thank you
and may God bless you,' the grateful child told the stranger. Too shook up
for words, the man simply watched the boy! push his wheelchair-bound
brother down the sidewalk toward their home. It
was a long, slow walk back to the Jaguar. The damage was very noticeable,
but the driver never bothered to repair the dented side door. He kept the
dent there to remind him of this message: 'Don't go through life so fast
that someone has to throw a brick at you to get your attention!' God
whispers in our souls and speaks to our hearts. Sometimes when we don't
have time to listen, He has to throw a brick at us. It's our choice to
listen or not.

Thought
for the Day:
If
God had a refrigerator, your picture would be on it.

If
He had a wallet, your photo would be in it.

He
sends you flowers every spring.

He
sends you a sunrise every morning. Face it, friend - He is crazy about you!

God
didn't promise days without pain, laughter without sorrow,sun without
rain, but He did promise strength for the day, comfort for the tears, and
light for the way.

Read
this line very slowly and let it sink in...
If
God brings you to it, He will bring you through it.

The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar . They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.
I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.
Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production . Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back.'
Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly 'These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me.'
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. 'When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again.' He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. 'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,' he said. 'But you'll get there; I'll see to that.'
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me. 'When you finish college, Son,' he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to.'
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. 'She probably needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
This truly touched my heart. I know it has yours as well. Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings.
Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.
God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for Good in others.
The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller
- Happy moments, praise God.
- Difficult moments, seek God.
- Quiet moments, worship God.
- Painful moments, trust God.
- Every moment, thank God.

You will never look at a cup of coffee the same way again.
A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how
things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make
it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It
seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose.

Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and
placed each on a high fire soon the pots came to boil. In the first she
placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she
placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil; without saying a
word

In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the
carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and
placed them in a bowl.

Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl. Turning to her
daughter, she asked, 'Tell me what you see.' 'Carrots, eggs, and
coffee,' she replied.

Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did
and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to
take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the
hard boiled egg.

Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter
smiled as she tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, 'What does
it mean, mother?'

Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same
adversity: boiling water. Each reacted differently. The carrot went in
strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the
boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile.
Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after
sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The
ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the
boiling water, they had changed the water.

'Which are you?' she asked her daughter. 'When adversity knocks on your
door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?

Think of this: Which am I? Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with
pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?

Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the
heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a
financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and
stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and
tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?

Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water,
the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it
releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things
are at their worst, you get better and change the situation a round you.

When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest, do you
elevate yourself to another level? How do you handle adversity? Are you
a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?

May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make
you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you
happy.

The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything;
they just make the most of everything that comes along their way. The
brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; you can't go
forward in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.

When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling.
Live your life so at the end, you're the one who is smiling and everyone
around you is crying.

You might want to send this message to those people who mean something
to you (I JUST DID); to those who have touched your life in one way or
another ; to those who make you smile when you really need it; to those
who ! make you see the brighter side of things when you are really down;
to those whose friendship you appreciate; to those who are so meaningful
in your life.

and
i did....
Bill

It's easier to build a child than repair an adult. This is so true.

May we all be COFFEE!!!

The Pink Dress
There was this little girl sitting by herself in the park.

Everyone passed by her and never stopped to see why she looked so sad.

Dressed in a worn pink dress, barefoot and dirty, the girl just sat and watched the people go by.

She never tried to speak.

She never said a word.

Many people passed by her, but no one would stop.

The next day I decided to go back to the park in curiosity to see If the little girl would still be there.

Yes, she was there, right in the very spot where she was yesterday, and still with the same sad look in her eyes.

Today I was to make my own move and walk over to the little girl.

For as we all know, a park full of strange people is not a place for young children to play alone.

As I got closer I could see the back of the little girl's dress.

It was grotesquely shaped.

I figured that was the reason people just passed by and made no effort to speak to her.

Deformities are a low blow to our society and, heaven forbid if you make a step toward assisting someone who is different.

As I got closer, the little girl lowered her eyes slightly to avoid my intent stare.

As I approached her, I could see the shape of her back more clearly.

She was grotesquely shaped in a humped over form.

I smiled to let her know it was OK; I was there to help, to talk.

I sat down beside her and opened with a simple, 'Hello.'

The little girl acted shocked, and stammered a 'Hi'; after a long Stare into my eyes.

I smiled and she shyly smiled back

We talked until darkness fell and the park was completely empty.

I asked the girl why she was so sad.

The little girl looked at me with a sad face said, 'Because, I'm Different.'

I immediately said, 'That you are!'; and smiled.

The little girl acted even sadder and said, 'I know.'

'Little girl,' I said, 'you remind me of an angel, sweet and innocent.'

She looked at me and smiled, then slowly she got to her feet and Said, 'Really?'
'Yes, you're like a little Guardian Angel sent to watch over all the people walking by.'

She nodded her head yes, and smiled.

With that she opened the back of her pink dress and
allowed her Wings to spread, then she said 'I am.'

'I'm your Guardian Angel,' with a twinkle in her eye.

I was speechless -- sure I was seeing things.

She said, 'For once you thought of someone other than yourself.
My job here is done'..

I got to my feet and said, 'Wait, why did no one stop to help an Angel?'

She looked at me, smiled, and said, 'You're the only one that could see me,' and then she was gone.

And with that, my life was changed dramatically.

So, when you think you're all you have, remember, your angel is Always watching over you

A man's daughter had asked the local minister to come and pray with her father.
When the minister arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows.
An empty chair sat beside his bed. The minister assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit.
'I guess you were expecting me, he said. 'No, who are you?' said the father. The minister told him his name And then remarked, '
I saw the empty chair And I figured You knew I was going to show up,'

'Oh yeah, the chair,' Said the bedridden man. 'Would you mind closing the door?'

Puzzled, The minister shut the door.
'I have never told anyone this, Not even my daughter,' Said the man. 'But all of my life I have never known how to pray. At church I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, But it went right over my head.'
I abandoned any attempt at prayer,' The old man continued, 'until one day four years ago, my best friend said to me,
my friend prayer is just a simple matter Of having a conversation with Jesus. Here is what I suggest.'

'Sit down in a chair; Place an empty chair in front of you, And in faith see Jesus on the chair.
It's not spooky because he promised, 'I will be with you always'. 'Then just speak to him in the same way You're doing with me right now.'
'So, I tried it and I've liked it so much that I do it A couple of hours every day. I'm careful though If my daughter saw me talking to an empty chair, She'd either have a nervous breakdown Or send me off to the funny farm.'
The minister was deeply moved by the story And encouraged the old man to continue on the journey.
Then he prayed with him, Anointed him with oil, And returned to the church. Two nights later the daughter called To tell the minister that her daddy had died that Afternoon.

Did he die in peace?' he asked. Yes, when I left the house about two o'clock, He called me over to his bedside, Told me he loved me And kissed me on the cheek. When I got back from the store an hour later, I found him dead.
But there was something strange about his death. Apparently, just before Daddy died, He leaned over and rested his head On the chair beside the bed.
What do you make of that?' The minister wiped a tear from his eye and said, 'I wish we could all go like that.'

You are in your car driving home. Thoughts wander to the game you want to see or meal you want to eat, when suddenly a sound unlike any you've ever heard fills the air. The sound is high above you. A trumpet? A choir? A choir of trumpets? You don't know, but you want to know.. So you pull over, get out of your car, and look up. As you do, you see you aren't the only curious one. The roadside has become a parking lot. Car doors are open, and people are

staring at the sky. Shoppers are racing out of the grocery store. The Little League baseball game across the street has come to a halt. Players and parents are searching the clouds. And what they see, and what you see, has never before been seen.

As if the sky were a curtain, the drapes of the atmosphere part. A brilliant light spills onto the earth. There are no shadows. None.

From every hue ever seen and a million more never seen. Riding on the flow is an endless fleet of angels. They pass through the curtains one myriad at a time, until they occupy every square inch of the sky.

North. South. East. West.

Thousands of silvery wings rise and fall in unison, and over the sound of the trumpets, you can hear the cherubim and seraphim chanting, Holy, holy, holy.. The final flank of angels is followed by twenty-four silver-bearded elders and a multitude of souls who join the angels in worship.

Presently the movement stops and the trumpets are silent, leaving only the triumphant triplet: Holy, holy, holy. Between each word is a pause. With each word, a profound reverence. You hear your voice join in the chorus. You don't know why you say the words, but you know you must.

Suddenly, the heavens are quiet. All is quiet. The angels turn, you turn, the entire world turns and there He is. Jesus.

Through waves of light you see the silhouetted figure of Christ the King. He is atop a great stallion, and the stallion is atop a billowing cloud. He opens his mouth, and you are surrounded by his declaration:

I am the Alpha and the Omega.

The angels bow their heads The elders remove their crowns. And before you is a Figure so consuming that you know, instantly you know: Nothing else matters. Forget stock markets and school reports. Sales meetings and football games. Nothing is newsworthy.. All that mattered, matters no more.... for Christ has come.

Please let me know the exact time you read this. It is mystical--honest.

This morning when the Lord opened a window to Heaven, he saw me, and he asked: My child, what is your greatest wish for today?

I responded: 'Lord please; take care of the person who is reading this message, their family and their special friends. They deserve it and I love them very much'.

The love of God is like the ocean, you can see its beginnings but not its end.

This message works on the day you receive it.

To some it may sound dumb, but the person who sent this to me was impressed with its timing. Let us see if it is true.

ANGELS EXIST, but sometimes, since they don't all have wings we call them FRIENDS, SUCH AS YOU.

Pass this on to your true friends.

Put the Date and Time in the 'Subject' area when you read it. Why? Who knows.

Aug, 17 8:35

This will give you the chills.......
> GOOD chills.
>
>
> A young man had been to Wednesday Night Bible Study.
>
>
>
> T he Pastor had shared about listening to God and obeying the Lord's
voice
>
>
>
> The young man couldn't help but wonder, 'Does God still speak to
people?'
>
>
>
> After service, he went out with some friends for coffee and pie and
they
> discussed the message.
> Several different ones talked about how God had led them in different
> ways.
>
>
>
> It was about ten o'clock when the young man started
> driving home. Sitting in his car, he just began to pray, 'God...If you

> still
> speak t o people, speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to
obey.'
>
>
>
> As he drove down the main stree t of his town, he had the strangest
thought
> to stop and buy a gallon of milk.
>
> He shook his head and said out loud, 'God is that you?' He didn't get
a
> reply and started on toward home.
>
> But again, the thought, buy a gallon of milk.
>
>
>
> The young man thought about Samuel and how he didn't recognize the
voice
> of
> God, and how little Samuel ran to Eli.
>
>
> 'Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk.' It didn't seem
like
> too hard a test of obedience. He could always use the milk. He stopped
and
> purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home.
>
>
> As he passed Seventh Street, he again felt the urge, 'Turn Down that
> street.'
>
>
>
> This is crazy he thought, and drove on past the inter section.
>
>
>
> Again, he felt that h e should turn down Seventh Street .
>
>
>
> At the next intersection, he turned back and headed down Seventh.
>
>
>
> Half jokingly, he said out loud,
>
>
>
> 'Okay, God, I will.'
>
>
>
>
> He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop He
> pulled over to the curb and looked around. He was in a semi-
commercial
> area
> of town. It wasn't the best but it wasn't the worst of neighborhoods
> either.
>
> The businesses we re closed and most of the houses looked dark like
the
> people were already in bed.
>
>
> Again, he sensed something, 'Go and give t he milk to the people in
the
> house across the street.' The young man looked at the house. It was
dark
> and
> it looked lik e the people were either gone or they were already
asleep. He
> started to open the door and then sat back in the car seat.
>
>
> 'Lord, this is insane. Those people are asleep and if I wake them up,
they
> are going
> to be mad and I will look stupid.' Again, he felt like he should go
and
> give
> the milk.
>
>
> Finally, he opened the door, 'Okay God, if this is you, I will go to
the
> door and I will give them the milk. If you want me to look like a
crazy
> person, okay. I want to be obedient. I guess that will count for some
> thing,
> but if they don't answer right away, I am out of here.'
>
>
> He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some
noise
> inside. A man's voice yelled
> out, 'Who is it? What d o you want?' Then the door opened before the
young
> man could get away.
> >
> The man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt . H e looked like
he
> just
> got out of bed. He had a strange look on his face and he didn't seem
too
> happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep. 'What is it?'
>
>
> The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, 'Here, I brought this to
> you.'
> The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway.
>
>
> Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the
kitchen.
> The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying. The man
had
> tears streaming down his face.
>
>
> The man began speaking and half crying, 'We were just praying. We had
> some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any
milk
> for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get
some
> milk.'
>
>
> His wif e in the kitchen yelled out, 'I ask him to send an Angel with
some.
> Are you an Angel?'
>
>
> The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he
had
> on
> him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back toward his
car
> and
> the tears were streaming down his face.
> He knew that God still answers prayers.
>

Carl's Garden

Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake.

Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.

Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us.

He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII.

Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.

He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened.

He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, 'Would you like a drink from the hose?'

The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, 'Yeah, sure,' with a malevolent little smile.

As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him.

Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop it.

'Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?' the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.

Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. 'Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday.'

His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.

Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, 'Carl, what are you doing?' 'I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately,' came the calm reply.

Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.

A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was

unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose

This time they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water.

When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done.

Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches.

As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack.

'Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time.'

The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.

'What's this?' Carl asked. 'It's your stuff,' the man explained. 'It's your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet.' 'I don't understand,' Carl said. 'Why would you help me now?'

The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. 'I learned something from you,' he said. 'I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate.'

He stopped for a moment. 'I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back.'

He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say. 'That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess.' And with that, he walked off down the street.

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather.

In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church.

The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life.

In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, 'Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden.'

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: 'Person needed to care for Carl's garden.'

The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister's office door.

Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. 'I believe this is my job, if you'll have me,' the young man said.

The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl.

He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, 'Yes, go take care of Carl's garden and honor him.'

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done.

During that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, 'My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday.'

'Well, congratulations!' said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. 'That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?'

'Carl,' he replied.

TO MEET SUCH A MAN

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 w ill 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 mad e some purchases at a store and got back in my car.

Deep with in 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.'

Then 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 store front 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.'& lt;/ B>

'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 hea ded?'

'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. < B>
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 certainly 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 are you headed from here?' I asked.

'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 from 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 s trangers, 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 the New Jerusalem.'

'I'll be there!' was my reply.

He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bedroll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, tu rned and said, 'When you see somet hing 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.

Then 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 p eople 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...

If this story touched you, forward it to a friend!

'I shall pass this way but once. Therefore, any good that I can do or any kindness that I can show, let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again.

In Phoenix , Arizona , a 26-year-old mother stared down at her 6 year old son, who was dying of terminal leukemia.

Although her heart was filled with sadness,she also had a strong feeling of determination.

Like any parent, she wanted her son to grow up & fulfill all his dreams.

Now that was no longer possible.

The leukemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son's dream to come true.

She took her son' s hand and asked,

'Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up?

Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?'

Mommy, 'I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up.'

Mom smiled back and said, 'Let's see if we can make your wish come true.'

Later that day she went to her local fire Department in Phoenix , Arizona , where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix

She explained her son's final wish and

Asked if it might be possible to give her 6 year-old son a ride around the block on a fire engine.

Fireman Bob said, 'Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary

Fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! And if you'll give us his sizes, we'll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat - not a toy --one-with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots.'

'They're all manufactured right here in Phoenix , so we can get them fast.'

Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy, dressed him in his uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck.

Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station.

He was in heaven.

There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Billy got to go out on all three calls.

He rode in the different fire engines, the Paramedic's' van, and even the fire chief's car.

He was also videotaped for the local news program.

Having his dream come true,with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy, that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible.

One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept - that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital.

Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a Fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would

be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition.

The chief replied, 'We can do better than that. We'll be there in five minutes.

Will you please do me a favor?

When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire?'

'It's the department coming to see one of its finest members one more time.

And will you open the window to his room?'

About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital and extended its ladder up to Billy's third floor open window--------

16 fire-fighters climbed up the ladder into Billy's room. With his mother's permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they LOVED him.

With his dying breath,

Billy looked up at the fire chief and said,

'Chief, am I really a fireman now?'

'Billy, you are, and the Head Chief,

Jesus, is holding your hand,' the chief said

With those words, Billy smiled and said,

'I know, He's been holding my hand all day, and

The angels have been singing..'

He closed his eyes one last time.

One day I had a date for lunch with friends. Mae, a little old 'blue hair' about 80 years old, came along with them---all in all, a pleasant bunch.
When the menus were presented,
We ordered salads, sandwiches, and soups, except for Mae who said, '
Ice Cream, please. Two scoops, chocolate.'

I wasn't sure my ears heard right,
And the others were aghast.

'Along with heated apple pie,'
Mae added, completely unabashed.

We tried to act quite nonchalant,
As if people did this all the time.

But when our orders were brought out,
I didn't enjoy mine.

I couldn't take my eyes off Mae
As her pie a-la-mode went down.

The other ladies showed dismay.
They ate their lunches silently and frowned.

The next time I went out to eat,
I called and invited Mae.

I lunched on white meat tuna.
She ordered a parfait.

I smiled. She asked if she amused me.
I answered, 'Yes, you do,
But also you confuse me.

How come you order rich desserts,
While I feel I must be sensible?She laughed and said, with wanton mirth, 'I'm tasting all that is Possible.

I try to eat the food I need,
And do the things I should.

But life's so short, my friend,
I hate missing out on something good.

This year I realized how old I was.
(She grinned) I haven't been this old before.''So, before I die, I've got to try
Those things that for years I had ignored.

I haven't smelled all the flowers yet.
There are too many books I haven't read. There's more fudge sundaes to wolf down and kites to be flown overhead.
There are many malls I haven't shopped.
I've not laughed at all the jokes.
I've missed a lot of Broadway hits
And potato chips and cokes.
I want to wade again in water
And feel ocean spray on my face.
I want to sit in a country church once more and thank God for His grace
I want peanut butter every day
Spread on my morning toast.
I want un-timed long distance calls
To the folks I love the most.

I haven't cried at all the movies yet,
Or walked in the morning rain.

I need to feel wind in my hair.
I want to fall in love again.

So, if I choose to have dessert,
Instead of having dinner,

Then should I die before night fall,
I'd say I died a winner,
Because I missed out on nothing.
I filled my heart's desire.

I had that final chocolate mousse
Before my life expired.'With that, I called the waitress over.. '
I've changed my mind, 'it seems,
I want what she is having,
Only add some more whipped cream!' This is my gift to you - We need an annual Friends Day! If you get this twice, then you have more than one friend. Live well, love much & laugh often - Be happy. SHARE THIS WITH YOUR FRIENDS including me if I'm lucky enough to be counted among them.Be mindful that happiness isn't based on possessions, power, or prestige, but on relationships with people we love and respect. Remember that while money talks, CHOCOLATE SINGS

Ruth went to her mail box & there was only one letter.

She picked it up & looked at it before opening, but then she looked at the envelope again.

There was no stamp, no postmark, only her name & address.

She read the letter:

Dear Ruth:

I`m going to be in your neighborhood Saturday afternoon & I'd like to stop by for a visit.

Love Always,

Jesus

Her hands were shaking as she placed the letter on the table. 'Why would the Lord want to visit me?

I'm nobody special. I don't have anything to offer.'

With that thought, Ruth remembered her empty kitchen cabinets.

'Oh my goodness, I really don't have anything to offer. I'll have to run down to the store & buy something for dinner.'

She reached for her purse & counted out its contents. Five dollars & forty cents.

Well, I can get some bread & cold cuts, at least.'

She threw on her coat & hurried out the door.

A loaf of French bread, a half-pound of sliced turkey, & a carton of milk...leaving Ruth with grand total twelve cents to last her until Monday..

Nonetheless, she felt good as she headed home, her meager offerings tucked under her arm.

'Hey lady, can you help us,lady?'

Ruth had been so absorbed in her dinner plans, she hadn't even noticed two figures huddled in the alleyway.

A man & a woman, both of them dressed in little more than rags.

'Look lady, I ain't got a job, you know, & my wife & I have been living out here on the street, and, well, now it's getting cold & we're getting kinda

Hungry &, well, if you could help us. Lady, we'd really appreciate it.'

Ruth looked at them both.

They were dirty, they smelled bad & frankly, she was certain that they could get some kind of work if they really wanted to.

'Sir, I'd like to help you, but I'm a poor woman myself. All I have is a few cold cuts & some bread, & I'm having an important guest for dinner tonight & I was planning on serving that to Him.'

'Yeah, well, okay lady, I understand. Thanks anyway.'

The man put his arm around the woman's

Shoulders, turned & headed back into the alley.

As she watched them leave, Ruth felt a familiar twinge in her heart.

'Sir, wait!'

The couple stopped & turned as she ran down the alley after them.

'Look, why don't you take this food. I'll figure out something else to serve my guest.'

She handed the man her grocery bag.

'Thank you lady. Thank you very much!'

'Yes, thank you!' It was the man's wife, & Ruth could see now that she was shivering

'You know, I've got another coat at home.

Here, why don't you take this one.'

Ruth unbuttoned her jacket & slipped it over the woman's shoulders.

Then smiling, she turned & walked back to the street...without her coat & with nothing to serve her guest.

'Thank you lady!

Thank you very much!'

Ruth was chilled by the time she reached her front

door, & worried too.

The Lord

was coming to visit & she didn't have anything to offer Him.

She fumbled through her purse for the door key. But as she did, she noticed another envelope in her mailbox.

'That's odd. The mailman doesn't usually come twice in one day.'

Dear Ruth:

It was so good to see you again.

Thank you for the lovely meal.

And thank you, too, for the beautiful coat.

Love Always,

Jesus

The air was still cold, but even without her coat, Ruth no longer noticed.

I had no Christmas spirit when I breathed a weary sigh,
and looked across the table where the bills were piled too high.
The laundry wasn't finished and the car I had to fix,
My stocks were down another point, the Dolphins lost by six.

And so with only minutes till my son got home from school
I gave up on the drudgery and grabbed a wooden stool.
The burdens that I carried were about all I could take,
and so I flipped the TV on to catch a little break.

I came upon a desert scene in shades of tan and rust,
No snowflakes hung upon the wind, just clouds of swirling dust.
And where the reindeer should have stood before a laden sleigh,
eight hummers ran a column right behind an M1A.

A group of boys walked past the tank, not one was past his teens,
Their eyes were hard as polished flint, their faces drawn and lean.
They walked the street in armor with their rifles shouldered tight,
their dearest wish for Christmas, just to have a silent night.

Other soldiers gathered, hunkered down against the wind,
To share a scrap of mail and dreams of going home again.
There wasn't much at all to put their lonely hearts at ease,
They had no Christmas turkey, just a pack of MREs.

They didn't have a garland or a stocking I could see,
They didn't need an ornament-- they lacked a Christmas Tree.
They didn’t have a present even though it was tradition,
the only boxes I could see were labled "ammunition."

I felt a little tug and found my son now by my side,
He asked me what it was I feared, and why it was I cried.
I swept him up into my arms and held him oh so near
and kissed him on the forehead as I whispered in his ear.

There’s nothing wrong my little son, for safe we sleep tonight,
our heroes stand on foreign land to give us all the right,
to worry on the things in life that mean nothing at all,
instead of wondering if we will be the next to fall.

He looked at me as children do and said its always right,
to thank the ones who help us and perhaps that we should write.
And so we pushed aside the bills and sat to draft a note,
to thank the many far from home, and this is what we wrote:

God Bless You all and keep you safe, and speed your way back home.
Remember that we love you so, and that you’re not alone.
The gift you give you share with all, a present every day,
You give the gift of liberty and that we can’t repay.

http://www.quickinspirations.com/index.cfm?action=view&id=1047&scid=9862

A story sent to me from a friend:

Merry Christmas!

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns.. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted.... "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my Second World-famous cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything.
As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."

The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going." I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were, ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care.
And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!

WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND

One day a man saw an old lady, stranded on the side of the road, but even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.
Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the past hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe; he looked poor and hungry.

He could see that she was fr ighten ed, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you.

He said, 'I'm here to help you, ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson.'

Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt.

As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid.

Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. The lady asked how much she owed him. Any amount would h ave be en all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped.
Bryan never thought twice about being paid.
This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty, who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.

He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed, and Bryan added, ?And think of me.?
He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.

A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let th e strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan .

After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a hundred dollar bill. The waitress quickly went to get change, but the old lady had slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be. Then she noticed something written on the napkin.

There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: 'You don't owe me anything. I have
been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you.'

Under the napkin were four more $100 bills. ;

Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard.

She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, 'Everything's going to be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.'

Louise Redden, a poorly dressed lady with a look of defeat on her face, walked into a grocery store.

She approached the owner of the store in a most humble manner and asked if he would let her charge a few groceries.

She softly explained that her husband was very ill and unable to work, they had seven children and they needed food.

John Longhouse, the grocer, scoffed at her and requested that she leave his store at once.

Visualizing the family needs, she said: 'Please, sir! I will bring you the money just as soon as I can.'

John told her he could not give her credit, since she did not have a charge account at his store.

Standing beside the counter was a customer who overheard the conversation between the two. The customer walked forward and told the grocer that he would stand good for whatever she needed for her family. The grocer said in a very reluctant voice, 'Do you have a grocery list?'

Louise replied, 'Yes sir.' 'O.K' he said, 'put your grocery list on the scales and whatever your grocery list weighs, I will give you that amount in groceries.'

Louise hesitated a moment with a bowed head, then she reached into her purse and took out a piece of paper and scribbled something on it. She then laid the piece of paper on the scale carefully with her head still bowed.

The eyes of the grocer and the customer showed amazement when the scales went down and stayed down.

The grocer, staring at the scales, turned slowly to the customer and said begrudgingly, 'I can't believe it.'

The customer smiled and the grocer started putting t he groceries on the other side of the scales. The scale did not balance so he continued to put more and more groceries on them until the scales would hold no more.

The grocer stood there in utter disgust. Finally, he grabbed the piece of paper from the scales and looked at it with greater amazement.

It was not a grocery list, it was a prayer, which said:

'Dear Lord, you know my needs and I am leaving this in your hands.'

The grocer gave her the groceries that he had
gathered and stood in stunned silence.

Louise thanked him and left the store. The other customer handed a fifty-dollar bill to the grocer and said; 'It was worth every penny of it. Only God Knows how much a prayer weighs.'

THE POWER: When you receive this, say a prayer. That's all you have to do.

Just stop right now, and say a prayer of thanks for your own good fortune. Then please send this to all your friends and relatives.

I believe if you will send this testimony out with prayer in faith, you will receive what you need God to do in your and your families' life .

So dear heart, trust God to heal the sick, provide food for the hungry, clothes and shelter for those that don't have as we do. Amen & Amen

Mayonnaise Jar & Two Beers...

When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the 2 Beers.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him.

When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls.

He then asked the students if the jar was full.

They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar He shook the jar lightly.

The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls.

He then asked the students again if the jar was full.

They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar.

Of course, the sand filled up everything else.

He asked once more if the jar was full.

The students responded with a unanimous 'yes.'

The professor then produced two Beers from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand.

The students laughed..

'Now,' said the professor as the laughter subsided, 'I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life.

The golf balls are the important things---your family, your children, your health, your friends and your favorite passions---and if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car.

The sand is everything else---the small stuff.

'If you put the sand into the jar first,' he continued, 'there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls.

The same goes for life.

If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff you will never have room for the things that are important to you.

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness.

Spend time with your children.

Spend time with your parents.

Visit with grandparents.

Take time to get medical checkups.

Take your spouse out to dinner.

Play another 18.

There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal.

Take care of the golf balls first---the things that really matter.

Set your priorities.

The rest is just sand.

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the Beer represented.

The professor smiled and said, 'I'm glad you asked.'

The Beer just shows you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of Beers with a friend.

Please share this with someone you care about. I JUST DID!

LIFE ISN'T ABOUT WAITING FOR THE STORM TO PASS...

...IT'S LEARNING HOW TO DANCE IN THE RAIN !

There was a little boy visiting his grandparents on their
> farm.
>
> He was given a slingshot to play with out in the
> woods. He practiced in the woods, but he could never hit the
> target.
>
> Getting a little discouraged, he headed back for
> dinner. As he was walking back he saw Grandma's pet
> duck.
>
> Just out of impulse, he let the slingshot fly, hit
> the duck square in the head and killed it. He was shocked
> and grieved!
>
> In a panic, he hid the dead duck in the wood pile,
> only to see his sister watching! Sally had seen it all, but
> she said nothing.
>
> After lunch the next day, Grandma said, "Sally,
> let's wash the dishes."
>
> But Sally said, "Grandma, Johnny told me he
> wanted to help in the kitchen."
>
> Then she whispered to him, "Remember the
> duck?"
>
> So Johnny did the dishes.
>
> Later that day, Grandpa asked if the children wanted
> to go fishing and Grandma said, "I'm sorry but I
> need Sally to help make supper."
>
> Sally just smiled and said, "Well that's all
> right because Johnny told me he wanted to help."
>
> She whispered again, "Remember the duck?"
>
> So Sally went fishing and Johnny stayed to help.
>
> After several days of Johnny doing both his chores
> and Sally's, he finally couldn't stand it any
> longer.
>
> He went to Grandma and confessed that he had killed
> the duck.
>
> Grandma knelt down, gave him a hug and said,
> "Sweetheart, I know. You see, I was standing at the
> window and I saw the whole thing, but because I love you, I
> forgave you. I was just wondering how long you would let
> Sally make a slave of you."
>
> Thought for the day and every day thereafter:
> Whatever is in your past, whatever you have done ...
> and the devil keeps throwing it up in your face (lying,
> cheating, debt, fear, bad habits, hatred, anger, bitterness,
> etc.) ... whatever it is, you need to know that God was
> standing at the window and He saw the whole thing.
>
> He has seen your whole life. He wants you to know
> that He loves you and that you are forgiven. He's just
> wondering how long you will let the devil make a slave of
> you.
>
> The great thing about God is that when you ask for
> forgiveness He not only forgives you, but He forgets. It is
> by God's grace and mercy that we are saved. Go ahead and
> make the difference in someone's life today. Share this
> with a friend and always remember: God is at the window!
>
> When Jesus died on the cross; he was thinking of you!
>

I walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry. The pain of losing my husband of 57 years was still too raw. And this grocery store held so many sweet memories.

He often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with the three yellow roses in his hands.

He knew I loved yellow roses. With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since he had passed on.

Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two.

Standing by the meat counter, I searched for the perfect small steak and remembered how he had loved his steak.

Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blonde, slim and lovely in a soft green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large package of T-bones, dropped them in her basket.. Hesitated, and then put them back. She turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks.

She saw me watching her and she smiled. 'My husband loves T-bones, but honestly, at these prices, I don't know.'

I swallowed the emotion down my throat and met her pale blue eyes.

'My husband passed away eight days ago,' I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice.. 'Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you have together.'

She shook her head and I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled away.

I turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. A Quart, I finally decided and moved on to the ice cream. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream cone.

I placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the front. I saw first the green suit, then recognized the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried a package. On her face was the brightest smile! I had ever seen. I would swear a soft halo encircled her blonde hair as she kept walking toward me, her eyes holding mine.

As she came closer, I saw what she held and tears began misting in my eyes. 'These are for you,' she said and placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms.. 'When you go through the line, they will know these are paid for.' She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then smiled again. I wanted to tell her what she'd done, what the roses meant, but still unable to speak, I watched as she walked away as tears clouded my vision.

I looked down at the beautiful roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal. How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear. I wasn't alone.

Oh, you haven't forgotten me, have you? I whispered, with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel.

Every day be thankful for what you have and who you are.
(Please read all of this, it is really nice)

This is a simple request. If you appreciate life, send this to your friends, including the person that sent it to you.

Even though I clutch my blanket and growl when the alarm rings.. Thank you, Lord, that I can hear. There are many who are deaf.

Even though I keep my eyes closed against the morning light as long as possible. Thank you, Lord , that I can see. Many are blind.

Even though I huddle in my bed and put off rising.. Thank you, Lord, that I have the strength to rise.. There are many who are bedridden.

Even though the first hour of my day is hectic, when socks are lost, toast is burned, tempers are short, and my children are so loud.

Thank you, Lord, for my family. There are many who are lonely.

Even though our breakfast table never looks like the picture in magazines and the menu is at times unbalanced.
Thank you, Lord, for the food we have. There are many who are hungry.

Even though the routine of my job often is monotonous. Thank you, Lord, for the opportunity to work. There are many who have no job.

Even though I grumble and bemoan my fate from day to day and wish my circumstances were not so modest. Thank you, Lord, for life.

Pass this on to the friends you know. It might help a bit to make this world a better place to live, right? A friend is someone we turn to when our spirits need a lift. A friend is someone to treasure.

For friendship is a gift. A friend is someone who fills our lives with Beauty, Joy and Grace and makes the world we live in a better and happier place.

YOU ARE MY FRIEND!

I Believe....

That just because two people argue,

doesn't mean they don't love each other.
And just because they don't argue,
doesn't mean they do love each other..

I Believe...
That sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry,
but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.

I Believe....
That we don't have to change friends if
we understand that friends change.

I Believe...
That no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.

I Believe....
That true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance..

Same goes for true love.

I Believe...
That you can do something in an instant
that will give you heartache for life.

I Believe...
That it's taking me a long time
to become the person I want to be..

I Believe...
That you should always leave loved ones with
loving words. It may be the last time you see them.

I Believe...
That you can keep going long after you think you can't.

I Believe...
That we are responsible for what
we do, no matter how we feel.

I Believe..
That either you control your attitude or it controls you.

I Believe...
That heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.

I Believe...
That money is a lousy way of keeping score.

I Believe...
That my best friend and I can do anything, or nothing, and have the best time.

I Believe...
That sometimes the people you expect to kick you When you're down, will be the ones to help you get back up.

I Believe....
That maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had, and what you've learned from them.....and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.

I Believe...
That it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others.

Sometimes, you have to learn to forgive yourself.

I Believe....
That no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.

I Believe...
That our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are,
but we are responsible for who we become.

I Believe...
That you shouldn't be so eager to find
out a secret. It could change your life Forever.

I Believe...
Two people can look at the exact same
thing and see something totally different.

I Believe...
That your life can be changed in a matter of
hours by people who don't even know you.

I Believe...
That even when you think you have no more to give, if
a friend cries out to you........you will find the strength to help.

I Believe...
That credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.

I Believe....
That the people you care about most in life are taken from you too soon.

I Believe....
That you should send this to all of the people that you believe in. I just did.

The happiest of people don't necessarily

have the best of everything;
They just make the most of everything.

Thank you God for all the wonderful people

who help us throughout the journey of life..

A
frail old man went to live with his son,
daughter-in-law, and
four-year-old
grandson.

The
old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was
blurred, and his step faltered

The
family ate together at the table. But the
elderly grandfather's shaky hands
and

Failing
sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his
spoon onto the
floor.

When
he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the
tablecloth.

The son and
daughter-in-law became irritated with the
mess.

'We must do something about
father,' said the
son.

'I've
had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating,
and food on the floor.'

So the
husband and wife set a small table in the
corner.

There,
Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the
family enjoyed
dinner.

Since
Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food
was served in a wooden bowl.

When
the family glanced in Grandfather's direction,
sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat
alone.

Still,
the only words the couple had for him were sharp
admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled
food.

The four-year-old watched it
all in
silence.

One
evening before supper, the father noticed his
son playing with wood scraps on the
floor.

He
asked the child sweetly, 'What are you making?'
Just as sweetly, the boy
responded,

'Oh,
I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to
eat your food in when I grow up.

' The
four-year-old smiled and went back to
work.

The words so struck the
parents so that they were speechless. Then tears
started to stream down their cheeks. Though no
word was spoken, both knew what must be
done.

That evening the husband took
Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to
the family
table.

For
the remainder of his days he ate every meal with
the family. And for some reason,

Neither
husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when
a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the
tablecloth soiled.

On a positive
note, I've learned that, no matter what happens,
how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it
will be better tomorrow.

I've
learned that you can tell a lot about a person
by the way he/she handles four things:

A
rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and
tangled Christmas tree
lights.

I've
learned that making a 'living' is not the same
thing as making a
'life..'

I've
learned that life sometimes gives you a second
chance.

I've learned that you
shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt
on both hands.You nee d to be able to
throw something
back sometimes.

I've
learned that if you pursue happiness, it will
elude you

But,
if you focus on your family, your friends, the
needs of others,

Your
work and doing the very best you can, happiness
will find you

I've learned that
whenever I decide something with an open heart,
I usually make the right
decision.

I've learned that even
when I have pains, I don't have to be
one.

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.

I've
learned that I still have a lot to
learn.

*A little girl went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet.

She poured the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes.

Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way 6 blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief sign above the door..
She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention, but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise.. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!

'And what do you want?' the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages,' he said without waiting for a reply to his question.
'Well, I want to talk to you about my brother,' Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. 'He's really, really sick...and I want to buy a miracle..'
'I beg your pardon?' said the pharmacist.
'His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?'
'We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry but I can't help you,' the pharmacist said, softening a little.

'Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If i t isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me ho w much it costs.'
The pharmacist's brother was a well dressed man He stooped down and asked the little girl, 'What kind of a miracle does your brother need?'
' I don't know,' Tess replied with her eyes welling up. I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money.'

'How much do you have?' asked the man from Chicago
'One dollar and eleven cents,' Tess answered barely audibly.
'And it's all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to.'
'Well, what a coincidence,' smiled the man.. 'A dollar and eleven cents---the exact price of a miracle for little brothers. '
He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said 'Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let's see if I have the miracle you need.'
That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neuro-surgery. The operation was completed free of charge and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well.
Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.

'That surgery,' her Mom whispered.. 'was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?'
Tess smiled.. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost..one dollar and eleven cents....plus the faith of a little child.

In our lives, we never know how many miracles we will need.
A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a higher law. I know you'll keep the ball moving!
Here it goes. Throw it back to someone who means something to you!

A ball is a circle, no beginning, no end. It keeps us together like our Circle of Friends. But the treasure inside for you to see is the treasure of friendship you've granted to me.
Today I pass the friendship ball to you.
Pass it on to someone who is a friend to you.

MY OATH TO YOU...
When you are sad.......I will dry your tears.
When you are scared.....I will comfort your fears.
When you are worried......I will give you hope.
When you are confused......I will help you cope.
And when you are lost...And can't see the light,*

*I shall be your beacon....Shining ever so bright.
This is my oath.....I pledge till the end..
Why you may ask?....Because you're my friend.

Signed: GOD

A Woman and a Fork

There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things 'in order,' she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.

She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.

Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.

'There's one more thing,' she said excitedly.

'What's that?' came the Pastor's reply.

'This is very important,' the young woman continued. 'I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand.'

The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.

That surprises you, doesn't it?' the young woman asked.

'Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request,' said the Pastor.

The young woman explained. 'My grandmother once told me this story, and from that time on I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement. In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance!'

So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: 'Keep your fork, the best is yet to come.'

The Pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, 'What's with the fork?' And over and over he smiled.

During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.

He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork let it remind you, ever so gently, that the best is yet to come. Great friends are a very rare jewel, indeed, they make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us.

Show your friends how much you care. Remember to always be there for them, even when you need them more. For you never know when it may be their time to 'Keep your fork.'

Cherish the time you have , and the memories you share ...
Being friends with someone is not an opportunity but a sweet responsibility.

A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell He painted a sign advertising the 4 pups and
set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the
post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of little boy.

"Mister," he said, "I want to buy one of your puppies."

"Well," said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, "These puppies come
from fine parents and cost a good deal of money."

The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a
handful of change and held it up to the farmer.

"I've got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?"

"Sure," said the farmer. And with that he let out a whistle. "Here, Dolly!" he called.

Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.

The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight. As the
dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse.

Slowly another little ball appeared, this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat
awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up...

"I want that one," the little boy said, pointing to the runt. The farmer knelt down at the boy's side and said,
"Son, you don't want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would." With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down and began rolling up one leg of his trousers.

In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe.

Looking back up at the farmer, he said, "You see sir, I don't run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands."

With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the little pup.
Holding it carefully he handed it to the little boy.

"How much?" asked the little boy. "No charge," replied the farmer, "There's no charge for love."

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art.. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.

When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.

About a month later, just before Christmas,

here was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.

He said, 'Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.' The young man held out this package. 'I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.'

The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. 'Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift.'

The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.

On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. 'We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?'

There was silence.
Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, 'We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.'

But the auctioneer persisted. 'Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?'

Another voice angrily. 'We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Gogh's, the Rembrandts. Get on with the
real bids!'

But still the auctioneer continued. 'The son! The son! Who'll take the son?'
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. 'I'll give $10 for the painting..' Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.

'We have $10, who will bid $20?'
Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters.'

The crowd was becoming angry.. They didn't want the picture of the son.
They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.

The auctioneer pounded the gavel. 'Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!'

A man sitting on the second row shouted, 'Now let's get on with the collection!'

The auctioneer laid down his gavel. 'I'm sorry, the auction is over.'

'What about the paintings?'

'I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.

The man who took the son gets everything!'

God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: 'The son, the son, who'll take the son?'

Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.

FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON, WHO SO EVER BELIEVETH, SHALL HAVE ETERNAL LIFE...THAT'S LOVE

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.
One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs.
His bed was next to the room's only window.
The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.
The men talked for hours on end.
They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation..

Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake.

Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite details, the man on the other side of the room would cl ose his eyes and imagine this picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by.

Although the other man could not hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days, weeks and months passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep.

She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside.
He strained to slowly turn to look out the window besides the be d.

It faced a blank wall.

The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.

She said, 'Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.'

Epilogue:

There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations.

Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled.

If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy.

'Today is a gift, that is why it is called The Present .'

A Different Christmas Poem

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.

The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,

Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.

Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..

To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.

No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ' Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ' Nam ',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.

I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."

" So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN
30th Naval Construction Regiment
OIC, Logistics Cell One
Al Taqqadum, Iraq

THE SIMPLE WHITE ENVELOPE

It's just a small white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas --oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it -- the overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma --the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't

think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties, and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended.

Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against another team sponsored by an inner-city church.

These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.

Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat...

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids -- all kids -- and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball, and lacrosse.

That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree,the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition --one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas . It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the

tree for their dad.. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope.

Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.

May we all remember Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the true Christmas spirit this year and always.

God Bless! -- pass this along to those friends and loved ones who you know are the givers who understand the true meaning of Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Can you say "I love you" any better?

What Love means to a 4-8 year old . . Slow down for three minutes to read this. It is so worth it.

Touching words from the mouth of babes.

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, 'What does love mean?' The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined. See what you think:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore.
So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.'

Rebecca- age 8

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different.
You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.'

Billy - age 4
---------------------------------------------------
'Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.'

Karl - age 5

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.'

Chrissy - age 6

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.'

Terri - age 4

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.'

Danny - age 7

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.
My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss'

Emily - age 8

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.'

Bobby - age 7 (Wow!)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,'

Nikka - age 6
(we need a few million more Nikka's on this planet)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.'

Noelle - age 7

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.'

Tommy - age 6

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling.

He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.'

Cindy - age 8

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'My mommy loves me more than anybody
You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.'

Clare - age 6

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken..'

Elaine-age 5

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.'

Chris - age 7

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.'

Mary Ann - age 4

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.'

Lauren - age 4

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.' (what an image)

Karen - age 7

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross.'

Mark - age 6

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.'

Jessica - age 8

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And the final one -- Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge.

The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child.

The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.

Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.

When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said,

'Nothing, I just helped him cry'

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When there is nothing left but God, that is when you find out that God is all you need. Take 60 seconds and give this a shot! All you do is simply say the following small prayer for the person who sent you this.

Heavenly Father, please bless all my friends in whatever it is that You know they may be needing this day! And may their life be full of Your peace, prosperity and power as he/she seeks to have a closer relationship with You Amen.

Paul Harvey Writes:

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 meat loaf sandwiches. I really would.

I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated.
I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car.
And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen.

It will be good if at least one time you can see puppies 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/sister. 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 movie and your little brother/sister wants to tag along, I hope you'll let him/her.
I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely.

On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don't ask your driver 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 computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.

I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush on a boy\girl, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what ivory soap tastes like.

I don't care if you try a 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 Grandma/Grandpa and go fishing with them.

May you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.

I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through your neighbor's window and that she hugs you and kisses you at Christmas time when you give her a plaster mold of your hand.

These things I wish for you - tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it's the only way to appreciate life.

Written with a pen. Sealed with a kiss. I'm here for you. And if I die before you do, I'll go to heaven and wait for you.

We secure our friends, not by accepting favors, but by doing them.

Paul Harvey RIDDLE:

When asked this riddle, 80% of kindergarten kids got the answer, compared to 17% of Stanford University seniors.

What is greater than God, More evil than the devil, The poor have it, The rich need it, And if you eat it, you'll die?

Good morning said a woman as she walked up to the man sitting on ground.

The man slowly looked up.

This was a woman clearly accustomed to the finer things of life. Her coat was new.. She looked like she had never missed a meal in her life.

His first thought was that she wanted to make fun of him, like so many others had done before.. "Leave me alone," he growled....

To his amazement, the woman continued standing.

She was smiling -- her even white teeth displayed in dazzling rows. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"No," he answered sarcastically. "I've just come from dining with the president. Now go away."

The woman's smile became even broader. Suddenly the man felt a gentle hand under his arm.

"What are you doing, lady?" the man asked angrily. "I said to leave me alone.

Just then a policeman came up. "Is there any problem, ma'am?" he asked..

"No problem here, officer," the woman answered. "I'm just trying to get this man to his feet. Will you help me?"

The officer scratched his head. "That's old Jack. He's been a fixture around here for a couple of years. What do you want with him?"

"See that cafeteria over there?" she asked. "I'm going to get him something to eat and get him out of the cold for awhile."

"Are you crazy, lady?" the homeless man resisted. "I don't want to go in there!" Then he felt strong hands grab his other arm and lift him up. "Let me go, officer. I didn't do anything."

" This is a good deal for you, Jack" the officer answered. "Don't blow it."

Finally, and with some difficulty, the woman and the police officer got Jack into the cafeteria and sat him at a table in a remote corner. It was the middle of the morning, so most of the breakfast crowd had already left and the lunch bunch had not yet arrived...

The manager strode across the cafeteria and stood by his table. "What's going on here, officer?" he asked. "What is all this, is this man in trouble?"

"This lady brought this man in here to be fed," the policeman answered.

"Not in here!" the manager replied angrily. "Having a person like that here is bad for business.."

Old Jack smiled a toothless grin. "See, lady. I told you so. Now if you'll let me go. I didn't want to come here in the first place."

The woman turned to the cafeteria manager and smiled... "Sir, are you familiar with Eddy and Associates, the banking firm down the street?"

"Of course I am," the manager answered impatiently. "They hold their weekly meetings in one of my banquet rooms."

"And do you make a goodly amount of money providing food at these weekly meetings?"

"What business is that of yours?"

I, sir, am Penelope Eddy, president and CEO of the company."

"Oh."

The woman smiled again. "I thought that might make a difference." She glanced at the cop who was busy stifling a giggle. "Would you like to join us in a cup of coffee and a meal, officer?"

"No thanks, ma'am," the officer replied. "I'm on duty."

"Then, perhaps, a cup of coffee to go?"

"Yes, mam. That would be very nice."

The cafeteria manager turned on his heel, "I'll get your coffee for you right away, officer."

The officer watched him walk away. "You certainly put him in his place," he said.

"That was not my intent. Believe it or not, I have a reason for all this."

She sat down at the table across from her amazed dinner guest. She stared at him intently.. "Jack, do you remember me?"

Old Jack searched her face with his old, rheumy eyes. "I think so -- I mean you do look familiar."

"I'm a little older perhaps," she said. "Maybe I've even filled out more than in my younger days when you worked here, and I came through that very door, cold and hungry."

"Ma'am?" the officer said questioningly. He couldn't believe that such a magnificently turned out woman could ever have been hungry.

"I was just out of college," the woman began. "I had come to the city looking for a job, but I couldn't find anything. Finally I was down to my last few cents and had been kicked out of my apartment. I walked the streets for days. It was February and I was cold and nearly starving. I saw this place and walked in on the off chance that I could get something to eat."

Jack lit up with a smile. "Now I remember," he said.. "I was behind the serving counter. You came up and asked me if you could work for something to eat. I said that it was against company policy."

"I know," the woman continued. "Then you made me the biggest roast beef sandwich that I had ever seen, gave me a cup of coffee, and told me to go over to a corner table and enjoy it.. I was afraid that you would get into trouble... Then, when I looked over and saw you put the price of my food in the cash register, I knew then that everything would be all right."

"So you started your own business?" Old Jack said.

"I got a job that very afternoon. I worked my way up. Eventually I started my own business that, with the help of God, prospered." She opened her purse and pulled out a business card.. "When you are finished here, I want you to pay a visit to a Mr. Lyons...He's the personnel director of my company. I'll go talk to him now and I'm certain he'll find something for you to do around the office." She smiled. "I think he might even find the funds to give you a little advance so that you can buy some clothes and get a place to live until you get on your feet... If you ever need anything, my door is always opened to you."

There were tears in the old man's eyes. "How can I ever thank you?" he said.

"Don't thank me," the woman answered. "To God goes the glory. Thank Jesus... He led me to you."

Outside the cafeteria, the officer and the woman paused at the entrance before going their separate ways....

"Thank you for all your help, officer," she said.

"On the contrary, Ms. Eddy," he answered. "Thank you. I saw a miracle today, something that I will never forget. And..And thank you for the coffee."

Have a Wonderful Day. May God Bless You Always and don't forget that when you "cast your bread upon the waters," you never know how it will be returned to you..

God is so big He can cover the whole world with his Love and so small He can curl up inside your heart..

When God leads you to the edge of the cliff, trust Him fully and let go.
Only 1 of 2 things will happen, either He'll catch you when you fall, or He'll teach you how to fly!

The power of one sentence!

God is going to shift things around for you today and let things work in your favor.

God closes doors no man can open & God opens doors no man can close..
If you need God to open some doors for you...send this on.

Have a blessed day and remember to be a blessing...

LIVE WELL, LOVE MUCH, LAUGH OFTEN

=

Once

> upon a time there was a girl who had four boyfriends.

>

>

>

> She

> loved the fourth boyfriend the most and adorned him with

> rich robes and treated

> him to the finest of delicacies. She gave him nothing

> but the best.

>

>

> She

> also loved the third boyfriend very much and was always

> showing him off to

> neighboring kingdoms. However, she feared that one day he

> would leave her for

> another..

>

>

> She

> also loved her second boyfriend. He was her confidant and

> was always kind,

> considerate and patient with her. Whenever this girl faced

> a problem, she could

> confide in him, and he would help her get through the

> difficult times.

>

>

> The

> girl's first boyfriend was a very loyal partner and had

> made great contributions

> in maintaining her wealth and kingdom. However, she did not

> love the first

> boyfriend Although he loved

> her

> deeply, she hardly took notice of him!

>

> One

> day, the girl fell ill and she knew her time was

> short. She thought of her

> luxurious life and wondered, 'I now have four

> boyfriends with me, but when I

> die, will I be a alone.'

>

>

> Thus,

> she asked the fourth boyfriend, 'I loved you the most,

> endowed you with the

> finest clothing and showered great care over you. Now that

> I'm dying, will you

> follow me and keep me company?

>

> 'No

> way!', replied the fourth boyfriend, and he walked away

> without another word.

>

>

>

> His

> answer cut like a sharp knife right into her heart.

>

>

> The sad

> girl then asked the third boyfriend, 'I loved you all

> my life. Now

> that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me

> company?'

>

>

> 'No!',

> replied the third boyfriend.

> 'Life

> is too good!

> When

> you die, I'm going to marry someone else!'

>

>

>

> Her

> heart sank and turned cold.

>

> She

> then asked the second boyfriend, 'I have always turned

> to you for help and

> you've always been there for me. When I die, will you

> follow me and keep me

> company?'

>

>

> 'I'm

> sorry, I can't help you out this time!', replied

> the second boyfriend. 'At

> the very most, I can only walk with you to your grave.'

>

>

> His

> answer struck her like a bolt of lightning, and the girl

> was devastated.

>

>

> Then a

> voice called out: 'I'll go with you. I'll

> follow you no matter where you go.'

> The girl looked up, and there was her first

> boyfriend. He was very skinny

> as he suffered from malnutrition and neglect.

>

> Greatly

> grieved, the girl said, 'I should have taken much

> better care of you when I had

> the chance!'

>

> In

> truth, you have four boyfriends in your lives:

>

>

> Your

> fourth boyfriend is your body. No matter how much

>

> time

> and effort you lavish in making it look good, it will leave

> you when you die.

>

>

> Your

> third boyfriend is your possessions, status and wealth.

> When you die, it will

> all go to others.

>

> Your

> second boyfriend is your family and friends. No matter how

> much they have been

> there for you, the furthest they can stay by you is up to

> the grave.

>

>

> And

> your first boyfriend is your spirit. Often neglected in

> pursuit of wealth, power

> and pleasures of the world.

>

>

> However,

> your spirit is the only thing that will follow you where

> ever you go. Cultivate,

> strengthen and cherish it now, for it is the only part of

> you that will

> follow you to the throne of God and continue with you

> throughout Eternity.

A stranger came by the other day with an offer that set me to thinking.

He wanted to buy the old barn that sits out by the highway.
I told him right off he was crazy..

He was a city type, you could tell by his clothes, his car,
His hands, and the way he talked..

He said he was driving by and saw that beautiful barn
Sitting out in the tall grass and wanted to know if it was for sale.

I told him he had a funny idea of beauty.
Sure, it was a handsome building in its day. But then, there's
Been a lot of winters pass with their snow and ice and howling wind.
The summer sun's beat down on that old barn till all the paint's
Gone, and the wood has turned silver gray.

Now the old building leans a good deal, looking kind of tired.
Yet, that fellow called it beautiful..

That set me to thinking. I walked out to the field and just stood there,
Gazing at that old barn.

The stranger said he planned to use the lumber to line the walls
Of his den in a new country home he's building down the road.

He said you couldn't get paint that beautiful.
Only years of standing in the weather, bearing the storms and
Scorching sun, only that can produce beautiful barn wood.

It came to me then.. We're a lot like that, you and I.
Only it's on the inside that the beauty grows with us.

Sure we turn silver gray too.... And lean a bit more than
We did when we were young and full of sap.

But the Good Lord knows what He's doing.
And as the years pass He's busy using the hard weather of our lives,

The dry spells and the stormy seasons to do a job of beautifying
Our souls that nothing else can produce.

And to think how often folks holler because they want life easy!

They took the old barn down today and hauled it away
To beautify a rich man's house.

And I reckon someday you and I'll be hauled off
To Heaven to take on whatever chores the Good Lord
Has for us on the Great Sky Ranch.
And I suspect we'll be more beautiful
Then for the seasons we've been through here...
And just maybe even add a bit of beauty to our Father's house.
And I do sincerely Thank God for my wonderful friends and
Family who care about me even though I show signs of weathering!

T he Pastor had shared about listening to God and obeying the Lord's voice

The young man couldn't help but wonder, 'Does God still speak to people?'

After service, he went out with some friends for coffee and pie and they discussed the message.
Several different ones talked about how God had led them in different ways.

It was about ten o'clock when the young man started
driving home. Sitting in his car, he just began to pray, 'God...If you still speak to people, speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey.'

As he drove down the main street of his town, he had the strangest thought to stop and buy a gallon of milk.

He shook his head and said out loud, 'God is that you?' He didn't get a reply and started on toward home.

But again, the thought, buy a gallon of milk.

The young man thought about Samuel and how he didn't recognize the voice of God, and how little Samuel ran to Eli.

'Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk.' It didn't seem like too hard a test of obedience. He could always use the milk. He stopped and purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home.

As he passed Seventh Street , he again felt the urge, 'Turn Down that street.'

This is crazy he thought, and drove on past the intersection.

Again, he felt that he should turn down Seventh Street ...

At the next intersection, he turned back and headed down Seventh.

Half jokingly, he said out loud,

'Okay, God, I will.'

He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop He pulled over to the curb and looked around. He was in a semi- commercial area of town.. It wasn't the best but it wasn't the worst of neighborhoods either.
The businesses were closed and most of the houses looked dark like the people were already in bed.

Again, he sensed something, 'Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street.' The young man looked at the house. It was dark and it looked like the people were either gone or they were already asleep. He started to open the door and then sat back in the car seat.

'Lord, this is insane. Those people are asleep and if I wake them up, they are going
to be mad and I will look stupid.' Again, he felt like he should go and give the milk.

Finally, he opened the door, 'Okay God, if this is you, I will go to the door and I will give them the milk If you want me to look like a crazy person, okay. I want to be obedient. I guess that will count for some thing, but if they don't answer right away, I am out of here.'

He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man's voice yelled
out, 'Who is it? What do you want?' Then the door opened before the young man could get away.

The man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt.... He looked like he just got out of bed. He had a strange look on his face and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep. 'What is it?'

The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, 'Here, I brought this to you.' The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway..

Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying.. The man had tears streaming down his face.

The man began speaking and half crying, 'We were just praying .. We had
some big bills this month and we ran out of money.. We didn't have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk.'

His wife in the kitchen yelled out, 'I ask him to send an Angel with some.. Are you an Angel?'

The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had on him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back toward his car and the tears were streaming down his face.
He knew that God still answers prayers.

Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . When you're looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . . . ... With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food . . . . . And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . . . .. The things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not . . . . . Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? . .. . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . You're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am. . . . .. . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . As I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . . . . .. With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . . . .. Who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen . . . . With wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . A lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . My heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . . That I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . . And a secure happy home...
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . . With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons . .. . . . Have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me . . . . . To see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . . My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . .. Shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . .. . .. . Young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . . .. And the love that I've known..

I'm now an old man . .. . .. . And nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . .. . Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . Grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . .. . . Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass .. . . . . A young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . .. . . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . .. . . Life over again.

I think of the years, all too few . . . . .. Gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . ... . . That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . .. . . . Open and see.
Not a crabby old man . . . Look closer . . . See ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet

An older person who you might brush aside

Without looking at the young soul within.

The Sack Lunches

I put my carry-on in the luggage compartment and sat down in my assigned seat. It was going to be a long flight. 'I'm glad I have a good book to read. Perhaps I will get a short nap,' I thought.

Just before take-off, a line of soldiers came down the aisle and filled all the vacant seats, totally surrounding me. I decided to start a conversation.

'Where are you headed?' I asked the soldier seated nearest to me.
'Petawawa. We'll be there for two weeks for special training, and then we're being deployed to Afghanistan

After flying for about an hour, an announcement was made that sack lunches were available for five dollars. It would be several hours before we reached the east, and I quickly decided a lunch would help pass the time...

As I reached for my wallet, I overheard a soldier ask his buddy if he planned to buy lunch. 'No, that seems like a lot of money for just a sack lunch. Probably wouldn't be worth five bucks. I'll wait till we get to base.'

His friend agreed.

I looked around at the other soldiers. None were buying lunch. I walked to the back of the plane and handed the flight attendant a fifty dollar bill. 'Take a lunch to all those soldiers.' She grabbed my arms and squeezed tightly.. Her eyes wet with tears, she thanked me. 'My son was a soldier in Iraq ; it's almost like you are doing it for him.'

Picking up ten sacks, she headed up the aisle to where the soldiers were seated. She stopped at my seat and asked, 'Which do you like best - beef or chicken?'
'Chicken,' I replied, wondering why she asked. She turned and went to the front of plane, returning a minute later with a dinner plate from first class.

'This is your thanks..'

After we finished eating, I went again to the back of the plane, heading for the rest room.
A man stopped me. 'I saw what you did. I want to be part of it. Here, take this.' He handed me twenty-five dollars.

Soon after I returned to my seat, I saw the Flight Captain coming down the aisle, looking at the aisle numbers as he walked, I hoped he was not looking for me, but noticed he was looking at the numbers only on my side of the plane. When he got to my row he stopped, smiled, held out his hand and said, 'I want to shake your hand.' Quickly unfastening my seatbelt I stood and took the Captain's hand. With a booming voice he said, 'I was a soldier and I was a military pilot. Once, someone bought me a lunch. It was an act of kindness I never forgot.' I was embarrassed when applause was heard from all of the passengers.

Later I walked to the front of the plane so I could stretch my legs. A man who was seated about six rows in front of me reached out his hand, wanting to shake mine. He left another twenty-five dollars in my palm.

When we landed I gathered my belongings and started to deplane. Waiting just inside the airplane door was a man who stopped me, put something in my shirt pocket, turned, and walked away without saying a word. Another twenty-five dollars!

Upon entering the terminal, I saw the soldiers gathering for their trip to the base.
I walked over to them and handed them seventy-five dollars. 'It will take you some time to reach the base.. It will be about time for a sandwich.
God Bless You.'

Ten young men left that flight feeling the love and respect of their fellow travelers.

As I walked briskly to my car, I whispered a prayer for their safe return. These soldiers were giving their all for our country. I could only give them a couple of meals. It seemed so little...

A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America ' for an amount of 'up to and including my life.'

That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.'

May God give you the strength and courage to pass this along to everyone on your email buddy list....

I JUST DID

We all know or knew someone like this!!

One day, when I was a freshman in high school,

I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school.

His name was Kyle.

It looked like he was carrying all of his books.

I thought to myself, 'Why would anyonebring home all his books on a Friday?

He must really be a nerd.'

I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.

As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him.

They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt.

His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him...

He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes

My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye.

As I handed him his glasses, I said, 'Those guys are jerks.'

They really should get lives.

' He looked at me and said, 'Hey thanks!'

There was a big smile on his face.

It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived..

As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before..

He said he had gone to private school before now.

I would have never hung out with a private school kid before.

We talked all the way home, and I carried some of his books.

He turned out to be a pretty cool kid.

I asked him if he wanted to play a little football
with my friends

He said yes..

We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my friends thought the same of him.

Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again.

I stopped him and said, 'Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!

' He just laughed and handed me half the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends...

When we were seniors we began to think about college.

Kyle decided on Georgetown and I was going to Duke.

I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would neverbe a problem.

He was going to be a doctor and I was going for business on a football scholarship..

Kyle was valedictorian of our class.

I teased him all the time about being a nerd.

He had to prepare a speech for graduation.

I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak

Graduation day, I saw Kyle.

He looked great.

He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school.

He filled out and actually looked good in glasses.

He had more dates than I had and all the girls loved him.

Boy, sometimes I was jealous!

Today was one of those days.

I could see that he was nervous about his speech.

So, I smacked him on the back and said, 'Hey, big guy, you'll be great!'

He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled.

' Thanks,' he said.

As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began

'Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years.

Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach...but mostly your friends.....

I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them.

I am going to tell you a story.'

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the
first day we met.

He had planned to kill himself over the weekend.

He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home.

He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile.

'Thankfully, I was saved..

My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable..'

I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment.

I saw his Mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile.

Not until that moment did I realize it's depth.

Never underestimate the power of your actions..

With one small gesture you can change a person's life..

For better or for worse.....

God puts us all in each others lives to impact one another in some way.

Jack took a long look at his speedometer
Before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone.
Fourth time in as many months..
How could a guy get caught so often?

When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour,
Jack pulled over, but only partially.
Let the cop worry about the potential traffic hazard.
Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror.
The cop was stepping out of his car,
The big pad in hand..

Bob? Bob from Church?
Jack sunk farther into his trench coat.
This was worse than the coming ticket.
A cop catching a guy from his own church.
A guy who happened to be a little eager
To get home after a long day at the office...
A guy he was about to play golf with tomorrow..

Jumping out of the car,
He approached a man he saw every Sunday,
A man he'd never seen in uniform.

'Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this.'

'Hello, Jack..' No smile.

'Guess you caught me red-handed
In a rush to see my wife and kids.'

'Yeah, I guess.' Bob seemed uncertain.
Good.

'I've seen some long days at the office lately.
I'm afraid I bent the rules a bit -just this once.'

Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement.
'Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes tonight.
Know what I mean?'

'I know what you mean.
I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct .'
Ouch.
This was not going in the right direction.
Time to change tactics...

'What'd you clock me at?'

'Seventy. Would you sit back in your car please?'

'Now wait a minute here, Bob.
I checked as soon as I saw you.
I was barely nudging 65.'
The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket.

'Please, Jack, in the car'

Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard..
He was in no rush to open the window.

The minutes ticked by.
Bob scribbled away on the pad....

Why hadn't he asked for a driver's license?

Whatever the reason,
It would be a month of Sundays
Before Jack ever sat near this cop again.

A tap on the door jerked his head to the left
There was Bob, a folded paper in hand
Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches,
Just enough room for Bob to pass him the slip.

'Thanks..'
Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice.

Bob returned to his police car without a word.
Jack watched his retreat in the mirror.
Jack unfolded the sheet of paper.
How much was this one going to cost?

Wait a minute.
What was this? Some kind of joke?

Certainly not a ticket. Jack began to read:

'Dear Jack, Once upon a time I had a daughter..
She was six when killed by a car.
You guessed it - a speeding driver.
A fine and three months in jail, and the man was free.
Free to hug his daughters, all three of them.
I only had one, and I'm going to have to wait until Heaven
Before I can ever hug her again.

A thousand times I've tried to forgive that man.
A thousand times I thought I had.
Maybe I did, but I need to do it again.
Even now..
Pray for me.
And be careful, Jack,
my son is all I have left.'

'Bob'

Jack turned around in time to see Bob's car
pull away and head down the road.
Jack watched until it disappeared.
A full 15 minutes later, he too,
pulled away and drove slowly home,
praying for forgiveness and
hugging a surprised wife and kids when he arrived...

Life is precious.
Handle with care.

Heaven as written by a 17 Year Old Boy
This is excellent and really gets you thinking about what will happen in Heaven.

17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class.. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce. It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote.." It also was the last.
Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teays Valley High School in Pickaway County

Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near them, notes from classmates and teachers, and his homework. Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's life. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their son had described his view of heaven.
It makes such an impact that people want to share it.. "You feel like you are there," Mr... Moore said. Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.

The Moore 's framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. "I'm happy for Brian.... I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him.

Here is Brian's essay entitled
"The Room."
Page 1
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards.. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at."

Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents Often there were many more cards than expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived...

Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting.. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me.

One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards.
But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused.. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand..
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes..... No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him..

No, please not Him... Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response... And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes.
Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room.. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, and so alive.
The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16

The Old Man and the Dog
>
> "Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father
> yelled at me.
>
> "Can't you do anything right?"
>
> Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward
> the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to
> challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my
> eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
>
> "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm
> driving."
>
> My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than
> I really felt.
>
> Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At
> home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside
> to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air
> with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed
> to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
>
> Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had
> enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his
> strength against the forces of nature. He had entered
> grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often.
>
> The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that
> attested to his prowess.
>
> The years marched on relentlessly.. The first time he
> couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that
> same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He
> became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his
> advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done
> as a younger man.
>
> Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart
> attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a
> paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen
> flowing.
>
> At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He
> was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His
> zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow
> doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned
> aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors
> thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left
> alone.
>
> My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on
> our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere
> would help him adjust.
>
> Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the
> invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He
> criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody.
> Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to
> bicker and argue.
>
> Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the
> situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling
> appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed,
> asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.
>
> But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to
> be done and it was up to me to do it.
>
> The next day I sat down with the phone book and
> methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed
> in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the
> sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
>
> Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly
> exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let
> me go get the article."
>
> I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable
> study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under
> treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had
> improved dramatically when they were given responsibility
> for a dog.
>
> I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I
> filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to
> the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I
> moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven
> dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs,
> spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied
> each one but rejected one after the other for various
> reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the
> last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to
> his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It
> was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this
> was a caricature of the breed.
>
> Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray.
> His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was
> his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear,
> they beheld me unwaveringly.
>
> I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?"
>
> The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.
> "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front
> of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be
> right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've
> heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured
> helplessly.
>
> As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You
> mean you're going to kill him?"
>
> "Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have
> room for every unclaimed dog."
>
> I looked at the pointer again.. The calm brown eyes awaited
> my decision. "I'll take him," I said.
>
> I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me..
> When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was
> helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the
> front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said
> excitedly.
>
> Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had
> wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have
> picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep
> it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned
> back toward the house.
>
> Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat
> muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used
> to him, Dad. He's staying!"
>
> Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.
>
> At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at
> his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
>
> We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly
> the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my
> dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he
> raised his paw.
>
> Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw.
> Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited
> patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
>
> It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad
> named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne
> explored the community. They spent long hours walking down
> dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of
> streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to
> attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and
> Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
>
> Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three
> years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many
> friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel
> Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He
> had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke
> Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay
> in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly
> sometime during the night.
>
> Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I
> discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped
> his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I
> buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked
> the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's
> peace of mind.
>
> The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary.
> This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked
> down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was
> surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made
> filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a
> tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.
> And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect
> to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have
> entertained angels without knowing it."
>
> "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
>
> For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle
> that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had
> just read the right article...
>
> Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. .
> ..his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. .
> and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I
> understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after
> all.
>
> Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh
> hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are
> Alive. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get
> a second time.

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.

"Your son is here," she said to the old man.

She had to repeat the words several times before the patient's eyes opened.

Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man's limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.

The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed.All through the night the young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man's hand and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile.

He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital - the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.

Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night.

Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had to do, he waited.

Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.

"Who was that man?" he asked.

The nurse was startled, "He was your father," she answered.

"No, he wasn't," the Marine replied. "I never saw him before in my life."

"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"

"I knew right away there had been a mistake,

but I also knew he needed his son, and his

son just wasn't here.

When I realized that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how much he needed me, I stayed."

I came here tonight to

find a Mr. William Grey.

His Son was Killed in Iraq

today, and I was sent to

inform him. What was this

Gentleman's Name?

The Nurse with Tears in

Her Eyes Answered,

Mr. William Grey.............

The next time someone needs you .... just be there. Stay.

**************

'Let me explain the problem science has with religion.'

The atheist professor of philosophy pauses before his class and then asks one of his new students to stand.

'You're a Christian, aren't you, son?'

'Yes sir,' the student says.

'So you believe in God?'

'Absolutely. '

'Is God good?'

'Sure! God's good.'

'Is God all-powerful? Can God do anything?'

'Yes'

'Are you good or evil?'

'The Bible says I'm evil.'

The professor grins knowingly. 'Aha! The Bible! He considers for a moment. 'Here's one for you. Let's say there's a sick person over here and you can cure him. You can do it. Would you help him? Would you try?'

'Yes sir, I would.'

'So you're good...!'

'I wouldn't say that.'

'But why not say that? You'd help a sick and maimed person if you could. Most of us would if we could. But God doesn't.'

The student does not answer, so the professor continues. 'He doesn't, does he? My brother was a Christian who died of cancer, even though he prayed to Jesus to heal him. How is this Jesus good? Can you answer that one?'

The student remains silent. 'No, you can't, can you?' the professor says. He takes a sip of water from a glass on his desk to give the student time to relax 'Let's start again, young fella. Is God good?'

'Er..yes,' the student says.

'Is Satan good?'

The student doesn't hesitate on this one. 'No.'

'Then where does Satan come from?'

The student falters. 'From God'

'That's right. God made Satan, didn't he? Tell me, son. Is there evil in this world?'

'Yes, sir..'

'Evil's everywhere, isn't it? And God did make everything, correct?'

'Yes'

'So who created evil?' The professor continued, 'If God created everything, then God created evil, since evil exists, and according to the principle that our works define who we are, then God is evil.'

Again, the student has no answer. 'Is there sickness? Immorality? Hatred? Ugliness? All these terrible things, do they exist in this world?'

The student squirms on his feet. 'Yes.'

'So who created them?'

The student does not answer again, so the professor repeats his question. 'Who created them?' There is still no answer. Suddenly the lecturer breaks away to pace in front of the classroom. The class is mesmerized. 'Tell me,' he continues onto another student. 'Do you believe in Jesus Christ, son?'

The student's voice betrays him and cracks. 'Yes, professor, I do.'

The old man stops pacing. 'Science says you have five senses you use to identify and observe the world around you. Have you ever seen Jesus?'

'No sir. I've never seen Him.'

'Then tell us if you've ever heard your Jesus?'

'No, sir, I have not..'

'Have you ever felt your Jesus, tasted your Jesus or smelt your Jesus? Have you ever had any sensory perception of Jesus Christ, or God for that matter?'

'No, sir, I'm afraid I haven't.'

'Yet you still believe in him?'

'Yes'

'According to the rules of empirical, testable, demonstrable protocol, science says your God doesn't exist... What do you say to that, son?'

'Nothing,' the student replies.. 'I only have my faith.'

'Yes, faith,' the professor repeats. 'And that is the problem science has with God. There is no evidence, only faith.'

The student stands quietly for a moment, before asking a question of His own. 'Professor, is there such thing as heat? '

' Yes.

'And is there such a thing as cold?'

'Yes, son, there's cold too.'

'No sir, there isn't.'

The professor turns to face the student, obviously interested. The room suddenly becomes very quiet. The student begins to explain. 'You can have lots of heat, even more heat, super-heat, mega-heat, unlimited heat, white heat, a little heat or no heat, but we don't have anything called 'cold'. We can hit d own to 458 degrees below zero, which is no heat, but we can't go any further after that. There is no such thing as cold; otherwise we would be able to go colder than the lowest -458 degrees. Every body or object is susceptible to study when it has or transmits energy, and heat is what makes a body or matter have or transmit energy. Absolute zero (-458 F) is the total absence of heat. You see, sir, cold is only a word we use to describe the absence of heat. We cannot measure cold. Heat we can measure in thermal units because heat is energy. Cold is not the opposite of heat, sir, just the absence of it.'

Silence across the room. A pen drops somewhere in the classroom, sounding like a hammer.

'What about darkness, professor. Is there such a thing as darkness?'

'Yes,' the professor replies without hesitation.. 'What is night if it isn't darkness?'

'You're wrong again, sir. Darkness is not something; it is the absence of something. You can have low light, normal light, bright light, flashing light, but if you have no light constantly you have nothing and it's called darkness, isn't it? That's the meaning we use to define the word. In reality, darkness isn't. If it were, you would be able to make darkness darker, wouldn't you?'

The professor begins to smile at the student in front of him. This will be a good semester. 'So what point are you making, young man?'

'Yes, professor. My point is, your philosophical premise is flawed to start with, and so your conclusion must also be flawed.'

The professor's face cannot hide his surprise this time. 'Flawed? Can you explain how?'

'You are working on the premise of duality,' the student explains.. 'You argue that there is life and then there's death; a good God and a bad God. You are viewing the concept of God as something finite, something we can measure. Sir, science can't even explain a thought.' 'It uses electricity and magnetism, but has never seen, much less fully understood either one. To view death as the opposite of life is to be ignorant of the fact that death cannot exist as a substantive thing. Death is not the opposite of life, just the absence of it.' 'Now tell me, professor.. Do you teach your students that they evolved from a monkey?'

'If you are referring to the natural evolutionary process, young man, yes, of course I do.'

'Have you ever observed evolution with your own eyes, sir?'

The professor begins to shake his head, still smiling, as he realizes where the argument is going. A very good semester, indeed.

'Since no one has ever observed the process of evolution at work and cannot even prove that this process is an on-going endeavor, are you not teaching your opinion, sir? Are you now not a scientist, but a preacher?'

The class is in uproar. The student remains silent until the commotion has subsided. 'To continue the point you were making earlier to the other student, let me give you an example of what I mean.' The student looks around the room. 'Is there anyone in the class who has ever seen the professor's brain?' The class breaks out into laughter. 'Is there anyone here who has ever heard the professor's brain, felt the professor's brain, touched or smelt the professor's brain? No one appears to have done so. So, according to the established rules of empirical, stable, demonstrable protocol, science says that you have no brain, with all due respect, sir.' 'So if science says you have no brain, how can we trust your lectures, sir?'

Now the room is silent. The professor just stares at the student, his face unreadable. Finally, after what seems an eternity, the old man answers. 'I Guess you'll have to take them on faith.'

'Now, you accept that there is faith, and, in fact, faith exists with life,' the student continues. 'Now, sir, is there such a thing as evil?' Now uncertain, the professor responds, 'Of course, there is. We see it Everyday. It is in the daily example of man's inhumanity to man. It is in The multitude of crime and violence everywhere in the world. These manifestations are nothing else but evil.'

To this the student replied, 'Evil does not exist sir, or at least it does not exist unto itself. Evil is simply the absence of God. It is just like darkness and cold, a word that man has created to describe the absence of God. God did not create evil. Evil is the result of what happens when man does not have God's love present in his heart. It's like the cold that comes when there is no heat or the darkness that comes when there is no light.'

The professor sat down.

A carrot, an egg, and a cup of coffee...You will never look at a cup
of coffeethe same way again.
A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up, She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose. Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans.. She let them sit and boil; without saying a word. In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in
a bowl. Turning to her daughter, she asked, ' Tell me what you see.'
'Carrots, eggs, and coffee,' she replied.
Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg.
Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, 'What does it mean, mother?'
Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity: boiling water. Each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.
'Which are you?' she asked her daughter. 'When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffeebean?
Think of this: Which am I? Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?
Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?
Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you. When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest do you elevate yourself to another level? How do you handle adversity? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?
May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy.
The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way. The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; you can't go forward in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.
When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling.
Live your life so at the end, you're the one who is smiling and everyone around you is crying.

Mary and her husband Jim had a dog named 'Lucky.'

Lucky was a real character. Whenever Mary and Jim had company come for a weekend visit they would warn their friends to not leave their luggage open because Lucky would help himself to whatever struck his fancy. Inevitably, someone would forget and something would come up missing.

Mary or Jim would go to Lucky's toy box in the basement and there the treasure would be, amid all of Lucky's other favorite toys Lucky always stashed his finds in his toy box and he was very particular that his toys stay in the box..

It happened that Mary found out she had breast cancer. Something told her she was going to die of this disease....in fact; she was just sure it was fatal.

She scheduled the double mastectomy, fear riding her shoulders. The night before she was to go to the hospital she cuddled with Lucky. A thought struck her...what would happen to Lucky? Although the three-year-old dog liked Jim, he was Mary's dog through and through. If I die, Lucky will be abandoned, Mary thought. He won't understand that I didn't want to leave him! The thought made her sadder than thinking of her own death.

The double mastectomy was harder on Mary than her doctors had anticipated and Mary was hospitalized for over two weeks. Jim took Lucky for his evening walk faithfully, but the little dog just drooped, whining and miserable.

Finally the day came for Mary to leave the hospital. When she arrived home, Mary was so exhausted she couldn't even make it up the steps to her bedroom. Jim made his wife comfortable on the couch and left her to nap.

Lucky stood watching Mary but he didn't come to her when she called. It made Mary sad but sleep soon overcame her and she dozed.

When Mary woke for a second she couldn't understand what was wrong. She couldn't move her head and her body f felt heavy and hot. But panic soon gave way to laughter when Mary realized the problem. She was covered, literally blanketed, with every treasure Lucky owned! While she had slept, the sorrowing dog had made trip after trip to the basement bringing his beloved mistress all his favorite things in life.
He had covered her with his love.
Mary forgot about dying. Instead she and Lucky began living again, walking further and further together every day. It's been 12 years now and Mary is still cancer-free. Lucky He still steals treasures and stashes them in his toy box but Mary remains his greatest treasure.

Remember....live every day to the fullest. Each minute is a blessing from God. And never forget....the people who make a difference in our lives are not the ones with the most Credentials, the most money, or the most awards. They are the ones that care for us.

If you see someone without a smile today give them one of yours! Live simply. Love seriously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Leave the rest to God

cold March wind danced around the dead of night in Dallas as the doctor walked into the small hospital room of Diana Blessing. She was still groggy from surgery.

Her husband, David, held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news.
That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24-weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency Cesarean to deliver couple's new daughter, Dana Lu Blessing.

At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature.

Still, the doctor's soft words dropped like bombs.

'I don't think she's going to make it,' he said, as kindly as he could.

'There's only a 10-percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one'

Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Dana would likely face if she survived.

She would never walk, she would never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation, and on and on.

'No! No!' was all Diana could say.

She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four.

Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away.

But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because Dana 's underdeveloped nervous system was essentially 'raw', the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn't even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love.
All they could do, as Dana struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl.

There was never a moment when Dana suddenly grew stronger.

But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there.

At last, when Dana turned two months old. her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time.

And two months later, though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero, Dana went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.

Five years later, when Dana was a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life.

She showed no signs whatsoever of any mental or physical impairment. Simply, she was everything a little girl can be and more. But that happy ending is far from the end of her story.

One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving , Texas , Dana was sitting in her mother's lap in the bleachers of a local ball park where her brother Dustin's baseball team was practicing.

As always, Dana was chattering nonstop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby, when she suddenly fell silent. Hugging her arms across her chest, little Dana asked, 'Do you smell that?'

Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, 'Yes, it smells like rain.'

Dana closed her eyes and again asked, 'Do you smell that?'

Once again, her mother replied, 'Yes, I think we're about to get wet. It smells like rain.'

Still caught in the moment, Dana shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced,
'No, it smells like Him.

It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest.'

Tears blurred Diana's eyes as Dana happily hopped down to play with the other children.

Before the rains came, her daughter's words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along.

During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Dana on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.

Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual..

On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. 'Really?' she heard whispered. 'I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!' and, 'I didn't know others liked me so much,' were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another.. That group of students moved on.

Several years later, one of the students was killed in VietNam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature.

The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.

As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her. 'Were you Mark's math teacher?' he asked. She nodded: 'yes.' Then he said: 'Mark talked about you a lot.'
After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.

'We want to show you something,' his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket 'They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.'

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.

'Thank you so much for doing that,' Mark's mother said. 'As you can see, Mark treasured it.'

All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, 'I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home.'

Chuck's wife said, 'Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.'
'I have mine too,' Marilyn said. 'It's in my diary'

Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. 'I carry this with me at all times,' Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: 'I think we all saved our lists'

That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be.

So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important.. Tell them, before it is too late.

MOM'S EMPTY CHAIR

A woman's daughter had asked the local minister

to come and pray with her mother.

When the minister arrived,

he found the woman lying in bed with her head

propped up on two pillows.

An empty chair sat beside her bed.

The minister assumed that the woman

had been informed of his visit...

'I guess you were expe cting me, he said.

'No, who are you?' said the mother.

The minister told her his name and then remarked,

'I saw the empty chair and I figured you knew

I was going to show up..'

'Oh yeah, the chair,' said the bedridden woman

'Would you mind closing the door?'

Puzzled, the minister shut the door.

'I have never told anyone this,

not even my daughter,' said the woman.

'But all of my life I have never

known how to pray.

At church I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer,

but it went right over my head...'

I abandoned any attempt at prayer,'

the old woman continued, '

until one day four years ago, my best friend said to me,

' Prayer is just a simple matter

of having a conversation with Jesus.

Here is what I suggest..

'Sit down in a chair;

place an empty chair in front of you,

and in faith see Jesus on the chair.

It's not spooky because he promised,

'I will be with you always'..

'Then just speak to him in the same way

you're doing with me right now...'

'So, I tried it and I've liked it so much

that I do it a couple of hours every day.

I'm careful though. If my daughter saw me talking

to an empty chair, she'd either have a nervous breakdown

or send me off to the funny farm.'

The minister was deeply moved by the story and

encouraged the old woman to continue on the journey.

Then he prayed with her, anointed her with oil,

and returned to the church.

Two nights later the daughter called

to tell the minister that her mama

had died that afternoon.

Did she die in peace?' he asked.

Yes, when I left the house about two o'clock,

she called me over to her bedside,

told me she loved me and kissed me on the cheek.

When I got back from the store an hour later,

I found her .

But there was something strange about her death.

Apparently, just before Mom died,

she leaned over and rested her head on the chair

beside the bed. What do you make of that?'

The minister wiped a tear from his eye and said,

'I wish we could all go like that.'

Just send this to four people or more,

and do not break this, please.

Prayer is one of the best free gifts we receive.

I asked God for water, He gave me an ocean.*

I asked God for a flower, He gave me a garden.*

I asked God for a friend, He gave me all of YOU...

If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it.

Happy moments, praise God.

Difficult moments, seek God.

Quiet moments, worship God

Painful moments, trust God.

Every moment, thank God.

It had been some
time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got
in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams.

There, in the rush
of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time
to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could
stop him.

Over the phone,
his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night The funeral is Wednesday." Memories
flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his
childhood days.

"Jack, did you
hear me?"

"Oh, sorry, Mom.
Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly
thought he died years ago," Jack said.

"Well, he didn't
forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about
the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.

"I loved that old
house he lived in," Jack said.

"You know, Jack,
after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence
in your life," she said

"He's the one who
taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for
him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important...Mom,
I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.

As busy as he was,
he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral
was small and uneventful He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives
had passed away.

The night before
he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next
door one more time.

Standing in the
doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension,
a leap through space and time The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step
held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong,
Jack?" his Mom asked..

"The box is gone,"
he said

"What box?" Mom
asked.

"There was a small
gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk I must have asked him a thousand
times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack
said.
It was gone. Everything
about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box.. He figured
someone from the Belser family had taken it.

"Now I'll never
know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an
early flight home, Mom."

It had been about
two weeks since Mr. Belser died Returning home from work one day Jack discovered
a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please
stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.
Early the next
day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been
mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return
address caught his attention. "Mr. Harold Belser" it read. Jack took the box out
to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope.
Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.

"Upon my death,
please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I
valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing,
as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found
a beautiful gold pocket watch.

Running his fingers
slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these
words engraved:

"Jack, Thanks for
your time! -Harold Belser."

"The thing he valued
most was...my time"

Jack held the watch
for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next
two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.

"I need some time
to spend with my son," he said.

"Oh, by the way,
Janet, thanks for your time!"

"Life is not measured
by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away,"

"IT'S WHAT YOU SCATTER

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes... I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.

Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.

'Hello Barry, how are you today?'

'H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure look good.'
'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?'
'Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time.'
'Good. Anything I can help you with?'
'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.'
Would you like to take some home?' Asked Mr. Miller.

'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.'

'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?'

'All I got's my prize marble here.'

'Is that right? Let me see it' said Miller.

'Here 'tis. She's a dandy.'

'I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store owner asked.

'Not zackley but almost.'

'Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble'. Mr. Miller told the boy.

'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.'

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.

With a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.

When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket.

Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and
moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one; each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.

They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to pay their debt.'

'We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ..'

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral:
We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself...

An unexpected phone call from an old friend.... Green stoplights on your way to work....

The fastest line at the grocery store....

A good sing-along song on the radio...

Your keys found right where you left them.

Send this to the people you'll never forget. I just did...

If you don't send it to anyone, it means you are in way too much of a hurry to even notice the ordinary miracles when they occur.

IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER THAT TELLS WHAT KIND OF LIFE YOU HAVE LIVED

Written By Regina Brett, 90 years old, of The
Plain Dealer, Cleveland , Ohio

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.
8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.
12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.
16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.
18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.
19.. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
24. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
25. Frame every so-called disaster with these words ''In five years, will this matter?".
26. Always choose life.
27. Forgive everyone everything.
28. What other people think of you is none of your business.
29. Time heals almost everything. Give time, time.
30. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
31. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
32. Believe in miracles.
33. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
34. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
35. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.
36. Your children get only one childhood.
37. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
38. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
39. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.
40. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
41. The best is yet to come.
42. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
43. Yield.
44. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift.

Imagine that you had won the following prize in a contest:

Each morning your bank would deposit $86,400 in your private bank account for your own use. However, this prize has rules, just as any game has certain rules.

The first set of rules would be:

1) Everything that you didn't spend during each day would be taken away from you.

2) You may not simply transfer money into some other account. You may only spend it.

3) Each morning upon awakening, the bank opens your account with another $86,400.00 for that day.

The second set of rules:

1) The bank can end the game without warning; at any time it can say,"It's over, the game is over!"

2) It can close the account in an instant and you will not receive a new one.

What would you personally do? You would buy anything and everything you wanted, right? Not only for yourself, but for all the people in your life, right? Maybe even for people you don't know, because you couldn't possibly spend it all on yourself and the people in your life, right? You would try to spend every single cent, and use it all up every day, right?

Actually, this game is a reality, but not with money!

Each of us is in possession of such a magical bank. We just don't seem to see it.

The MAGICAL BANK is TIME!

Each morning we awaken and receive 86,400 seconds as a gift of life, and when the day is done, any remaining time is gone and NOT credited to us. What we haven't lived up to that day is lost forever. Yesterday is forever gone.

Each morning the account is refilled, but the magical bank can dissolve our account at any time...WITHOUT WARNING.

SO, what will YOU do with your 86,400 seconds? Think about that, and always think of this: Enjoy every second of your life, because time races by so much quicker than we think. Take good care of yourself, and enjoy life. Live each day to the fullest, be kind to one another, and be forgiving. Harbor a positive attitude and always be the first to smile.

Here's wishing you a wonderful, beautiful day, each and every day!!!

Wes Anderson

Recently I overheard a Father and daughter in their last moments together at the airport. They had announced the departure.

Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the Father said, 'I love you, and I wish you enough.'

The daughter replied, 'Dad, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Dad.'

They kissed and the daughter left. The Father walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, 'Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?'

'Yes, I have,' I replied. 'Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?'..

'I am old, and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is - the next trip back will be for my funeral,' he said.

'When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, 'I wish you enough.' May I ask what that means?'

He began to smile. 'That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone...' He paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail, and he smiled even more. 'When we said, 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them.' Then turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.
I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.

He then began to cry and walked away.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them; but then an entire life to forget them.

A successful business man was growing old and knew it was time to choose a successor to take over the business.

Instead of choosing one of his Directors or his children, he decided to do something different. He called all the young executives in his company together.

He said, "It is time for me to step down and choose the next CEO. I have decided to choose one of you."

The young executives were shocked, but the boss continued. "I am going to give each one of you a SEEDtoday - one very special SEED.

I want you to plant the seed, water it, and come back here one year from today with what you have grown from the seed I have given you. I will then judge the plants that you bring, and the one I choose will be the next CEO."

One man, named Jim, was there that day and he, like the others, received a seed. He went home and excitedly, told his wife the story.. She helped him get a pot, soil and compost and he planted the seed.

Everyday, he would water it and watch to see if it had grown.. After about three weeks, some of the other executives began to talk about their seeds and the plants that were beginning to grow.

Jim kept checking his seed, but nothing ever grew. Three weeks, four weeks, five weeks went by, still nothing. By now, others were talking about their plants, but Jim didn't have a plant and he felt like a failure.

Six months went by -- still nothing in Jim's pot. He just knew he had killed his seed. Everyone else had trees and tall plants, but he had nothing. Jim didn't say anything to his colleagues, however. He just kept watering and fertilizing the soil - He so wanted the seed to grow.

A year finally went by and all the young executives of the company brought their plants to the CEO for inspection. Jim told his wife that he wasn't going to take an empty pot.. But she asked him to be honest about what happened. Jim felt sick to his stomach, it was going to be the most embarrassing moment of his life, but he knew his wife was right. He took his empty pot to the board room. When Jim arrived, he was amazed at the variety of plants grown by the other executives. They were beautiful -- in all shapes and sizes.
Jim put his empty pot on the floor and many of his colleagues laughed, a few felt sorry for him!

When the CEO arrived, he surveyed the room and greeted his young executives.

Jim just tried to hide in the back. "My, what great plants, trees, and flowers you have grown," said the CEO. "Today one of you will be appointed the next CEO!"

All of a sudden, the CEO spotted Jim at the back of the room with his empty pot. He ordered the Financial Director to bring him to the front. Jim was terrified. He thought, "The CEO knows I'm a failure! Maybe he will have me fired!"

When Jim got to the front, the CEO asked him what had happened to his seed - Jim told him the story.

The CEO asked everyone to sit down except Jim. He looked at Jim, and then announced to the young executives, "Behold your next Chief Executive Officer! His name is Jim!"
Jim couldn't believe it. Jim couldn't even grow his seed.

"How could he be the new CEO?" the others said.

Then the CEO said, "One year ago today, I gave everyone in this room a seed. I told you to take the seed, plant it, water it, and bring it back to me today. But I gave you all boiled seeds; they were dead - it was not possible for them to grow.

All of you, except Jim, have brought me trees and plants and flowers. When you found that the seed would not grow, you substituted another seed for the one I gave you. Jim was the only one with the courage and honesty to bring me a pot with my seed in it. Therefore, he is the one who will be the new Chief Executive Officer!"

* If you plant honesty, you will reap trust

* If you plant goodness, you will reap friends

* If you plant humility, you will reap greatness

* If you plant perseverance, you will reap contentment

* If you plant consideration, you will reap perspective

* If you plant hard work, you will reap success

* If you plant forgiveness, you will reap reconciliation

* If you plant faith in God, you will reap a harvest

So, be careful what you plant now; it will determine what you will reap later.
"Whatever You Give To Life, Life Will Give Back To You."

A brother and sister had made their usual hurried, obligatory
> > pre-Christmas visit to the little farm where dwelt their elderly
> > parents with their small herd of horses. The farm was where they had
> > grown up and had been named Lone Pine Farm because of the huge pine,
> > which topped the hill behind the farm. Through the years the tree had
> > become a talisman to the old man and his wife, and a landmark in the
> > countryside. The young siblings had fond memories of their childhood
> > here, but the city hustle and bustle added more excitement to their
> > lives, and called them away to a different life.
> >
> > The old folks no longer showed their horses, for the years had taken
> > their toll, and getting out to the barn on those frosty mornings was
> > getting harder, but it gave them a reason to get up in the mornings and
> > a reason to live. They sold a few foals each year, and the horses were
> > their reason for joy in the morning and contentment at day's end.
> >
> > Angry, as they prepared to leave, the young couple confronted the old
> > folks "Why do you not at least dispose of The Old One." She is no
> > longer of use to you. It's been years since you've had foals from her.
> > You should cut corners and save so you can have more for yourselves.
> > How can this old worn out horse bring you anything but expense and
> > work? Why do you keep her anyway?"
> >
> > The old man looked down at his worn boots, holes in the toes, scuffed
> > at the barn floor and replied, " Yes, I could use a pair of new boots.
> > His arm slid defensively about the Old One's neck as he drew her near
> > with gentle caressing he rubbed her softly behind her ears. He replied
> > softly, "We keep her because of love. Nothing else, just love."
> >
> > Baffled and irritated, the young folks wished the old man and his wife
> > a Merry Christmas and headed back toward the city as darkness stole
> > through the valley. The old couple shook their heads in sorrow that it
> > had not been a happy visit. A tear fell upon their cheeks. How is it
> > that these young folks do not understand the peace of the love that
> > filled their hearts?
> >
> > So it was, that because of the unhappy leave-taking, no one noticed the
> > insulation smoldering on the frayed wires in the old barn. None saw the
> > first spark fall. None but the "Old One".
> >
> > In a matter of minutes, the whole barn was ablaze and the hungry flames
> > were licking at the loft full of hay. With a cry of horror and despair,
> > the old man shouted to his wife to call for help as he raced to the
> > barn to save their beloved horses. But the flames were roaring now, and
> > the blazing heat drove him back. He sank sobbing to the ground,
> > helpless before the fire's fury. His wife back from calling for help
> > cradled him in her arms, clinging to each other, they wept at their
> > loss.
> >
> > By the time the fire department arrived, only smoking, glowing ruins
> > were left, and the old man and his wife, exhausted from their grief,
> > huddled together before the barn. They were speechless as they rose
> > from the cold snow covered ground. They nodded thanks to the firemen as
> > there was nothing anyone could do now. The old man turned to his wife,
> > resting her white head upon his shoulders as his shaking old hands
> > clumsily dried her tears with a frayed red bandana. Brokenly he
> > whispered, "We have lost much, but God has spared our home on this eve
> > of Christmas. Let us gather strength and climb the hill to the old pine
> > where we have sought comfort in times of despair. We will look down
> > upon our home and give thanks to God that it has been spared and pray
> > for our beloved most precious gifts that have been taken from us.
> >
> > And so, he took her by the hand and slowly helped her up the snowy hill
> > as he brushed aside his own tears with the back of his old and withered
> > hand.
> >
> > The journey up the hill was hard for their old bodies in the steep
> > snow. As they stepped over the little knoll at the crest of the hill,
> > they paused to rest, looking up to the top of the hill the old couple
> > gasped and fell to their knees in amazement at the incredible beauty
> > before them.
> >
> > Seemingly, every glorious, brilliant star in the heavens was caught up
> > in the glittering, snow-frosted branches of their beloved pine, and it
> > was aglow with heavenly candles. And poised on its top most bough, a
> > crystal crescent moon glistened like spun glass. Never had a mere
> > mortal created a Christmas tree such as this. They were breathless as
> > the old man held his wife tighter in his arms.
> >
> > Suddenly, the old man gave a cry of wonder and incredible joy. Amazed
> > and mystified, he took his wife by the hand and pulled her forward.
> > There, beneath the tree, in resplendent glory, a mist hovering over and
> > glowing in the darkness was their Christmas gift. Shadows glistening in
> > the night light.
> >
> > Bedded down about the "Old One" close to the trunk of the tree, was the
> > entire herd, safe.
> >
> > At the first hint of smoke, she had pushed the door ajar with her
> > muzzle and had led the horses through it. Slowly and with great
> > dignity, never looking back, she had led them up the hill, stepping
> > cautiously through the snow. The foals were frightened and dashed
> > about. The skittish yearlings looked back at the crackling, hungry
> > flames, and tucked their tails under them as they licked their lips and
> > hopped like rabbits. The mares that were in foal with a new years crop
> > of babies, pressed uneasily against the "Old One" as she moved calmly
> > up the hill and to safety beneath the pine. And now, she lay among them
> > and gazed at the faces of the old man and his wife. Those she loved she
> > had not disappointed. Her body was brittle with years, tired from the
> > climb, but the golden eyes were filled with devotion as she offered her
> > gift---
> >
> > Because of love. Only Because of love. Tears flowed as the old couple
> > shouted their praise and joy... And again the peace of love filled
> > their hearts.
> >
> > This is a true story.
> >
> > Willy Eagle

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her. On the way, my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted .... "Ridiculous! Don't believe it! That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.

For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat.

I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."

The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.

Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care...And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!

A Father, a Daughter and a Dog - story by Catherine Moore

"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad . Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.."

My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts.... dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.

At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone..

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.

Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.

Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad 's troubled mind.

But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.

Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.."

I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon.. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied

each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.

Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hip bones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror.. "You mean you're going to kill him?"

"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me.. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad !" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad . He's staying!"

Dad ignored me.. "Did you hear me, Dad ?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw..

Dad 's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at is feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years.. Dad 's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night.. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad 's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad 's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad 's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.

And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it."

"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article... Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . ..his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Life is too short for drama or petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. It was just another day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to celebrate. He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through.

Instead of throwing the man out, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up. "Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger. "I see you're busy, I'll just go."

"Not without something hot in your belly." George said.

He turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. "It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew ... Made it myself. When you're done, there's coffee and it's fresh."

Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell. "Excuse me, be right back," George said. There in the driveway was an old '53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked. "Mister can you help me!" said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. "My wife is with child and my car is broken." George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold, the car was dead.

"You ain't going in this thing," George said as he turned away.

"But Mister, please help ..." The door of the office closed behind George as he went inside. He went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building, opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting. "Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good."

George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night. He turned and walked back inside the office. "Glad I gave 'em the truck, their tires were shot too. That 'ol truck has brand new .." George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The Thermos was on the desk, empty, with a used coffee cup beside it. "Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought.

George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered the the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. "Well, shoot, I can fix this," he said to
himself. So he put a new one on.

"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either." He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln . They were like new and he wasn't going to drive the car anyway.

As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Please help me."

George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. "Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound. "Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease.

"Something for pain," George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. "These ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills. "You hang in there, I'm going to get you an ambulance."

The phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your car." He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio.

He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. "Thanks," said the officer. "You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area."

George sat down beside him, "I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right as rain."

George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?" he asked.

"None for me," said the officer.

"Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain't got no donuts." The officer laughed and winced at the same time.

The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. "Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before.

"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.

"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George, "You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt."

The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!"

The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing away," George said to the cop, "we got one too many in here now."

He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve. If you need money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got. Now put that pea shooter away."

George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. "I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last week."

George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can."

He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things." George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Bein' stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this thing out."

The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. "Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."

"Shut up and drink your coffee " the cop said.

George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn. "Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.

"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"

"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man.

Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran."

George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.

"That guy work here?" the wounded cop continued.

"Yep," George said, "just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job."

The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, "Why?"

Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas boy ... and you too, George, and thanks for everything."

"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your problems."

George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. "Here you go, something for the little woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day."

The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young man. "It means something to you."

"And now it means something to you," replied George. "I got my memories. That's all I need."

George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. "Here's something for that little man of yours."

The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier.

"And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too," George said. "Now git home to your family."

The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. "I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good."

"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the day after."

George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. "Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"

"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger. "You say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?"

"Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn't see what all the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by myself and besides I was gettin' a little chubby."

The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor.

The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and not take any for himself. "That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man."

George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how do you know all this?" asked the old man.

"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha again."

The stranger moved toward the door. "If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned."

George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room.

"You see, George ... it's My birthday. Merry Christmas."

George fell to his knees and replied, "Happy Birthday, Lord Jesus."

Merry Christmas!!!

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND GOD BLESS!

A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package.
"What food might this contain?" The
Mouse wondered. He was devastated
To discover it was a mousetrap.

Retreating to the farmyard,
The mouse proclaimed this warning :
"There is a mousetrap in the house!
There is a mousetrap in the house!"

The chicken clucked and scratched,
Raised her head and said, "Mr. Mouse,
I can tell this is a grave concern to you,
But it is of no consequence to me.
I cannot be bothered by it."

The mouse turned to the pig and told him,
"There is a mousetrap in the house!
There is a mousetrap in the house!"
The pig sympathized, but said,
"I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse,
But there is nothing I can do about
It but pray..
Be assured you are in my prayers."
The cow said, "Wow, Mr. Mouse. I'm sorry for you, but it's no skin off my nose.."

So, the mouse returned to the house,
Head down and dejected,
To face the farmer's mousetrap
. . ...... Alone.. . ....

That very night
A sound was heard throughout the house
-- the sound Of a mousetrap catching its prey.

The farmer's wife rushed to see what was caught.
In the darkness, she did not see it.
It was a venomous snake
Whose tail was caught in the trap.

The snake bit the farmer's wife...

The mouse turned to the cow and said,
"There is a mousetrap in the house!
There is a mousetrap in the house!"

The farmer rushed her to the hospital.

When she returned home she still had a fever.
Everyone knows you treat a fever
With fresh chicken soup.
So the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard
For the soup's main ingredient:

But his wife's sickness continued.
Friends and neighbors
Came to sit with her
Around the clock.
To feed them,
The farmer butchered the pig.

But, alas,
The farmer's wife did not get well...
She died.

So many people came for her funeral
That the farmer had the cow slaughtered
To provide enough meat for all of them
For the funeral luncheon.

And the mouse looked upon it all
From his crack in the wall
With great sadness.

So, the next time you hear
Someone is facing a problem
And you think it doesn't concern you,
Remember ---

When one of us is threatened, we are all at risk.
We are all involved in this journey called life.
We must keep an eye out for one another
And make an extra effort
To encourage one another.

- REMEMBER -

EACH OF US IS A VITAL THREAD
IN ANOTHER PERSON'S TAPESTRY.

Several years ago, a friend of mine and her husband were invited to spend the weekend at the home of her husband's employer.
My friend, Arlene, was nervous about the weekend. The boss was very wealthy, with a fine home on the waterway, and cars costing more than her house.

The first day and evening went well, and Arlene was delighted to have this rare glimpse into how the very wealthy live. Her husband's employer was quite

generous as a host, and took them to the finest restaurants. Arlene knew she would never have the opportunity to indulge in this kind of extravagance again, so was enjoying herself immensely.

As the three of them were about to enter an exclusive restaurant one evening, the boss was walking slightly ahead of Arlene and her husband.
He stopped suddenly, looking down on the pavement for a long, silent moment.
Arlene wondered if she was supposed

to pass him. There was nothing on the ground except a single darkened penny that someone had dropped, and a few cigarette butts. Still silent, the man reached down and picked up the penny.
He held it up and smiled, then put it in his pocket as if he had found a great treasure.
How absurd! What need did this man have for a single penny? Why would he even take the time to stop and pick it up?

Throughout dinner, the entire scene nagged at her Finally, she could stand it no longer. She casually mentioned that her daughter once had a coin collection , and asked if the penny he had found had been of some value.

A

smile crept across the man's face as he reached into his pocket for the penny and held it out for her to see. She had seen many pennies before! What was the point of this?

"Look at it," he said. "Read what it says."
She read the words, " United States of America .."

"No, not that. Read further."

"One cent?"
"No, keep reading."

"In God we Trust?"
"Yes!"
"And?. . .."

"And if I trust in God , the name of God is holy, even on a coin. Whenever I find a coin, I see that inscription. It is written on every single United States coin, but we never seem to

notice it! God drops a message right in front of me telling me to trust Him. Who am I to pass it by? When I see a coin, I pray. I stop to see if my trust IS in God at that moment. I pick the coin up as a response to God; that I do trust in Him. For a short time, at least, I cherish it as if it were gold. I think it is God's way of starting a conversation with me. Lucky for me, God is patient and pennies are plentiful!"

When I was out shopping today, I found a penny on the sidewalk. I stopped and picked it up, and realized that I had been worrying and fretting in my mind about things I cannot change. I read the words, "In God We Trust ," and had to laugh. "Yes, God, I get the message!"

It seems that I have been finding an inordinate number of pennies in the last few months, but then, pennies are plentiful! And, God is patient

Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once
Talked about a contest he was asked to judge.
The purpose of the
Contest was to find the most caring child.

The winner was:

A four-year-old child, whose next door
neighbor was an elderly gentleman, who had recently lost his
wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old
Gentleman's' yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.
When his mother asked him what he had
said to the neighbor, the little boy just said, 'Nothing, I just
Helped him cry.'

*********************************************

Teacher Debbie Moon's first graders were
discussing a picture of a family. One little boy in the picture
had a different hair color than the other members... One of her
students suggested that he was adopted.
A little girl said, 'I know all about
Adoption, I was adopted..'

'What does it mean to be adopted?', asked
another child.

'It means', said the girl, 'that you grew
in your mommy's heart instead of her tummy!'

*********************************************

On my way home one day, I stopped to
watch a Little League baseball game that was being played in a
park near my home. As I sat down behind the bench on the first-
base line, I asked one of the boys what the score was
'We're behind 14 to nothing,' he answered
With a smile.

'Really,' I said... 'I have to say you
don't look very discouraged.'

'Discouraged?', the boy asked with a
Puzzled look on his face...

'Why should we be discouraged? We haven't
Been up to bat yet.'

*********************************************

Whenever I'm disappointed with my spot
in life, I stop and think about little Jamie Scott.

Jamie was trying out for a part in the
school play. His mother told me that he'd set his heart on being
in it, though she feared he would not be chosen.

On the day the parts were awarded, I went
with her to collect him after school. Jamie rushed up to her,
eyes shining with pride and excitement.. 'Guess what, Mom ,' he
shouted, and then said those words that will remain a lesson to
me.... 'I've been chosen to clap and cheer.'

*********************************************

An eye witness account from New York
City, on a cold day in December,
some years ago: A little boy,
about 10-years-old, was standing before a shoe store on the
roadway, barefooted, peering through the window, and shivering
With cold.

A lady approached the young boy and said,
'My, but you're in such deep thought staring in that window!'

'I was asking God to give me a pair of
shoes,'was the boy's reply.

The lady took him by the hand, went into
the store, and asked the clerk to get half a dozen pairs of socks
for the boy. She then asked if he could give her a basin of water
and a towel. He quickly brought them to her.

She took the little fellow to the back
part of the store and, removing her gloves, knelt down, washed
his little feet, and dried them with the towel.

By this time, the clerk had returned with
the socks.. Placing a pair upon the boy's feet, she purchased him
a pair of shoes..

She tied up the remaining pairs of socks
and gave them to him.. She patted him on the head and said, 'No
doubt, you will be more comfortable now.'

As she turned to go, the astonished kid
caught her by the hand, and looking up into her face, with tears
in his eyes, asked her.

'Are you God's wife?'

GOD LIVES UNDER THE BED

I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one night.

He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen, 'Are you there, God?' he said. 'Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed....'

I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor.. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.

He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?

Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.

The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.

He does not seem dissatisfied.

He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work.

He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.

And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside. 'That one's goin' to Chi-car-go!' Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.

His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.

He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.

His life is simple.

He will never know the entanglements of wealth or power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.

His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it.
He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.

He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. His heart is pure.

He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.

Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts God.

Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an 'educated' person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.

It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions

It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap . I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not trust them to God's care

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God.

And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.

Kevin won't be surprised at all!

When you receive this, say a prayer. That's all you have to do. There is nothing attached. This is powerful.

During the second month of college, our professor

Gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student

And had breezed through the questions until I read

The last one:

"What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?"

Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the

Cleaning woman several times. She was tall,

Dark-haired and in her 50's, but how would I know her name?

I handed in my paper, leaving the last question

Blank. Just before class ended, one student asked if

The last question would count toward our quiz grade.

"Absolutely, " said the professor.. "In your careers,

You will meet many people. All are significant.. They

Deserve your attention and care, even if all you do

Is smile and say "hello.."

I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her

Name was Dorothy.

2. - Second Important Lesson - Pickup in the Rain

One night, at 11:30 p.m., an older African American

Woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway

Trying to endure a lashing rain storm. Her car had

Broken down and she desperately needed a ride.

Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car.

A young white man stopped to help her, generally

Unheard of in those conflict-filled 1960's. The man

Took her to safety, helped her get assistance and

Put her into a taxicab.

She seemed to be in a big hurry, but wrote down his

Address and thanked him. Seven days went by and a

Knock came on the man's door. To his surprise, a

Giant console color TV was delivered to his home. A

Special note was attached.

It read:

"Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway

The other night. The rain drenched not only my

Clothes, but also my spirits. Then you came along.

Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying

Husband's' bedside just before he passed away... God

Bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving

Others."

Sincerely,

Mrs. Nat King Cole.

3 - Third Important Lesson - Always remember those

Who serve.

In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less,

A 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and

Sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in

Front of him.

"How much is an ice cream sundae?" he asked.

"Fifty cents," replied the waitress.

The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and

Studied the coins in it.

"Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?" he inquired.

By now more people were waiting for a table and the

Waitress was growing impatient..

"Thirty-five cents," she brusquely replied.

The little boy again counted his coins.

"I'll have the plain ice cream," he said.

The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on

The table and walked away The boy finished the ice

Cream, paid the cashier and left.. When the waitress

Came back, she began to cry as she wiped down the

Table. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish,

Were two nickels and five pennies..

You see, he couldn't have the sundae, because he had

To have enough left to leave her a tip.

4 - Fourth Important Lesson. - The obstacle in Our Path.

In ancient times, a King had a boulder placed on a

Roadway. Then he hid himself and watched to see if

Anyone would remove the huge rock. Some of the

King's' wealthiest merchants and courtiers came by

And simply walked around it.. Many loudly blamed the

King for not keeping the roads clear, but none did

Anything about getting the stone out of the way.

Then a peasant came along carrying a load of

Vegetables. Upon approaching the boulder, the

peasant laid down his burden and tried to move the

stone to the side of the road. After much pushing

and straining, he finally succeeded. After the

peasant picked up his load of vegetables, he noticed

a purse lying in the road where the boulder had

been. The purse contained many gold coins and a note

from the King indicating that the gold was for the

person who removed the boulder from the roadway. The

peasant learned what many of us never understand!

Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve

our condition.

5 - Fifth Important Lesson - Giving When it Counts...

Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a

hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who

was suffering from a rare & serious disease. Her only

chance of recovery appeared to be a blood

transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had

miraculously survived the same disease and had

developed the antibodies needed to combat the

illness. The doctor explained the situation to her

little brother, and asked the little boy if he would

be willing to give his blood to his sister.

I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a

deep breath and saying, "Yes I'll do it if it will save

her." As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed

next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing

the color returning to her cheek. Then his face

grew pale and his smile faded.

He looked up at the doctor and asked with a

trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away".

Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the

doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his

sister all of his blood in order to save her.

When I was a kid, my mom liked to make breakfast food for dinner every now and then.
And I remember one night in particular when she had made breakfast after a long,
hard day at work. On that evening so long ago, my Mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage,
and extremely burned biscuits in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone
noticed! Yet all my dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my mom and ask me
how my day was at school.
I don't remember what I told him that night, but I do remember watching him smear
butter and jelly on that biscuit and eat every bite! When I got up from the table
that evening, I remember hearing my mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits.
And I'll never forget what he said: "Honey, I love burned biscuits."
Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if he really liked
his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, "Your Momma put in a hard
day at work today and she's real tired. And besides - a little burnt biscuit never
hurt anyone!"
You know, life is full of imperfect things . . . and imperfect people. I'm not the
best at hardly anything, and I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like everyone
else. What I've learned over the years is that learning to accept each otherâ€™s faults
- and choosing to celebrate each otherâ€™s differences - is one of the most important
keys to creating a healthy, growing, and lasting relationship.
That's my prayer for you today... That you will learn to take the good, the bad,
and the difficult parts of your life and lay them at the feet of God because in the
end, He's the only one who will be able to give you a relationship where a burned
biscuit isn't a deal-breaker! We could extend this to any relationship. In fact,
understanding is the base of any relationship, be it a husband-wife or parent-child
or
friendship!
So . . . please pass me a biscuit, and yes, the burned one will do just fine! And
please pass this along to someone who has enriched your life . . .

The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on
>
> the floor beside the dresser in my parents'
>
> bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty
>
> his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
>
>
>
> As a small boy, I was always fascinated at the sounds
>
> the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They
>
> landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost
>
> empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud
>
> as the jar was filled.
>
>
>
> I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar to admire
>
> the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's
>
> treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom
>
> window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the
>
> kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to
>
> the bank.
>
>
>
> Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production
>
> Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were
>
> placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
>
>
>
> Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would
>
> look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going to keep you
>
> out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than
>
> me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back.'
>
>
>
> Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled
>
> coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier,
>
> he would grin proudly. 'These are for my son's college
>
> fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me'
>
>
>
> We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping
>
> for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad
>
> always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream
>
> parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the
>
> few coins nestled in his palm. 'When we get home,
>
> we'll start filling the jar again.' He always let me drop
>
> the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around
>
> with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other..
>
> 'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and
>
> quarters,' he said. 'But you'll get there; I'll see to that.'
>
>
>
> No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued
>
> to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer
>
> when Dad got laid off from the mill,and Mama had to
>
> serve dried beans several times a week, not a single
>
> dime was taken from the jar.
>
>
>
> To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me,
>
> pouring catsup over my beans to make them more
>
> palatable, he became more determined than ever to
>
> make a way out for me 'When you finish college, Son,'
>
> he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll never have to
>
> eat beans again - unless you want to.'
>
>
>
> The years passed, and I finished college and took a
>
> job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents,
>
> I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that
>
> the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose
>
> and had been removed.
>
>
>
> A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside
>
> the dresser where the jar had always stood.. My dad
>
> was a man of few words: he never lectured me on the
>
> values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The
>
> pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more
>
> eloquently than the most flowery of words could have
>
> done. When I married, I told my wife Susan about the
>
> significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my
>
> life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than
>
> anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
>
>
>
> The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born,
>
> we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom
>
> and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns
>
> cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper
>
> softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. 'She probably
>
> needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my
>
> parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back
>
> into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
>
>
>
> She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand
>
> and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly, her
>
> eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser.
>
> To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed,
>
> stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with
>
> coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my
>
> pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of
>
> emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I
>
> looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped
>
> quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was
>
> feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could
>
> speak.
>
>
>
> This truly touched my heart. Sometimes we are so busy
>
> adding up our troubles that we forget to count our
>
> blessings.Never underestimate the power of your actions.
>
> With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for
>
> better or for worse.
>
>
>
> God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another
>
> in some way. Look for GOOD in others..
>
>
>
> The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or
>
> touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller
>
>
>
> - Happy moments, praise God.
>
> - Difficult moments, seek God.
>
> - Quiet moments, worship God.
>
> - Painful moments, trust God.
>
> - Every moment, thank God.
>

M AY GOD BLESS THIS AIRLINE CAPTAIN:

He writes:
My lead flight attendant came to me and said, "We have an H.R. On this flight." (H.R. Stands for human remains.) "Are they military?" I asked.

'Yes', she said.

'Is there an escort?' I asked.

'Yes, I already assigned him a seat'.

'Would you please tell him to come to the flight deck.
You can board him early," I said..

A short while later, a young army sergeant entered the flight deck.
He was the image of the perfectly dressed soldier.
He introduced himself and I asked him about his soldier.
The escorts of these fallen soldiers talk about them as if they are still alive and still with us.

'My soldier is on his way back to Virginia,' he said.

He proceeded to answer my questions, but offered no words.

I asked him if there was anything I could do for him and he said no.
I told him that he had the toughest job in the military and that I appreciated the work that he does for the families of our fallen soldiers.

The first officer and I got up out of our seats to shake his hand.
He left the flight deck to find his seat.

We completed our preflight checks, pushed back and performed an uneventful departure.

About 30 minutes into our flight I received a call from the lead flight attendant in the cabin.

'I just found out the family of the soldier we are carrying, is on board', she said.
She then proceeded to tell me that the father, mother, wife and 2-year old daughter were escorting their son, husband, and father home.
The family was upset because they were unable to see the container that the soldier was in before we left.
We were on our way to a major hub at which the family was going to wait four hours for the connecting flight home to Virginia .

The father of the soldier told the flight attendant that knowing his son was below him in the cargo compartment and being unable to see him was too much for him and the family to bear. He had asked the flight attendant if there was anything that could be done to allow them to see him upon our arrival. The family wanted to be outside by the cargo door to watch the soldier being taken off the airplane. I could hear the desperation in the flight attendants voice when she asked me if there was anything I could do. 'I'm on it', I said. I told her that I would get back to her.

Airborne communication with my company normally occurs in the form of e-mail like messages.
I decided to bypass this system and contact my flight dispatcher directly on a secondary radio.

There is a radio operator in the operations control center who connects you to the telephone of the dispatcher.

I was in direct contact with the dispatcher. I explained the situation I had on board with the family and what it was the family wanted.
He said he understood and that he would get back to me.

Two hours went by and I had not heard from the dispatcher. We were going to get busy soon and I needed to know what to tell the family.
I sent a text message asking for an update.
I saved the return message from the dispatcher and the following is the text:

'Captain, sorry it has taken so long to get back to you. There is policy on this now and I had to check on a few things.
Upon your arrival a dedicated escort team will meet the aircraft.
The team will escort the family to the ramp and plane side. A van will be used to load the remains with a secondary van for the family. The family will be taken to their departure area and escorted into the terminal where the remains can be seen on the ramp.
It is a private area for the family only.
When the connecting aircraft arrives, the family will be escorted onto the ramp and plane side to watch the remains being loaded for the final leg home.
Captain, most of us here in flight control are veterans. Please pass our condolences on to the family. Thanks.'

I sent a message back telling flight control thanks for a good job.
I printed out the message and gave it to the lead flight attendant to pass on to the father.
The lead flight attendant was very thankful and told me, 'You have no idea how much this will mean to them.'

Things started getting busy for the descent, approach and landing.
After landing, we cleared the runway and taxied to the ramp area.
The ramp is huge with 15 gates on either side of the alleyway.
It is always a busy area with aircraft maneuvering every which way to enter and exit.
When we entered the ramp and checked in with the ramp controller, we were told that all traffic was being held for us.

'There is a team in place to meet the aircraft', we were told.
It looked like it was all coming together, then I realized that once we turned the seat belt sign off, everyone would stand up at once and delay the family from getting off the airplane.
As we approached our gate, I asked the copilot to tell the ramp controller we were going to stop short of the gate to make an announcement to the passengers.
He did that and the ramp controller said, 'Take your time.'

I stopped the aircraft and set the parking brake.
I pushed the public address button and said, 'Ladies and gentleman, this is your Captain speaking I have stopped short of our gate to make a special announcement.
We have a passenger on board who deserves our honor and respect.
His Name is Private XXXXXX, a soldier who recently lost his life.
Private XXXXXX is under your feet in the cargo hold. Escorting him today is Army Sergeant XXXXXXX.
Also, on board are his father, mother, wife, and daughter.
Your entire flight crew is asking for all passengers to remain in their seats to allow the family to exit the aircraft first. Thank you.'

We continued the turn to the gate, came to a stop and started our shutdown procedures.

A couple of minutes later I opened the cockpit door.
I found the two forward flight attendants crying, something you just do not see.
I was told that after we came to a stop, every passenger on the aircraft stayed in their seats, waiting for the family to exit the aircraft.

When the family got up and gathered their things, a passenger slowly started to clap his hands.
Moments later more passengers joined in and soon the entire aircraft was clapping.
Words of 'God Bless You', I'm sorry, thank you, be proud, and other kind words were uttered to the family as they made their way down the aisle and out of the airplane. They were escorted down to the ramp to finally be with their loved one.

Many of the passengers disembarking thanked me for the announcement I had made.
They were just words, I told them, I could say them over and over again, but nothing I say will bring back that brave soldier.

I respectfully ask that all of you reflect on this event and the sacrifices that millions of our men and women have made to ensure our freedom and safety in these United States of AMERICA .

Foot note:
As a Viet Nam Veteran I can only think of all the veterans including the ones that rode below the deck on their way home and how they were treated.

When I read things like this I am proud that our country has not turned their backs on our soldiers returning from the various war zones today and give them the respect they so deserve.

I know every one who has served their country who reads this will have tears in their eyes, including me.
Prayer chain for our Military... Don't break it!

Please send this on after a short prayer for our service men and women.
Don't break it!

They die for me and mine and you and yours and deserve our honor and respect.

Prayer: 'Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen.'

Prayer Request: When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our troops around the world.

There is nothing attached.
Just send this to people in your address book.
Do not let it stop with you.
Of all the gifts you could give a Marine, Soldier, Sailor, Airman, & others deployed in harm's way, prayer is the very best one.

GOD BLESS YOU!!!

Six Boys And Thirteen Hands...
Each year I am hired to go to Washington, DC, with the eighth grade class from Clinton, WI where I grew up, to videotape their trip. I greatly enjoy visiting our nation's capitol, and each year I take some special memories back with me. This fall's trip was especially memorable.

On the last night of our trip, we stopped at the Iwo Jima memorial. This memorial is the largest bronze statue in the world and depicts one of the most famous photographs in history -- that of the six brave soldiers raising the American Flag at the top of a rocky hill on the island of Iwo Jima, Japan, during WW II.

Over one hundred students and chaperones piled off the buses and headed towards the memorial. I noticed a solitary figure at the base of the statue, and as I got closer he asked, 'Where are you guys from?' I told him that we were from Wisconsin. 'Hey, I'm a cheese head, too! Come gather around, Cheese heads, and I will tell you a story.'

It was James Bradley who just happened to be in Washington, DC, to speak at the memorial the following day. He was there that night to say good night to his dad, who had passed away. He was just about to leave when he saw the buses pull up. I videotaped him as he spoke to us, and received his permission to share what he said from my videotape. It is one thing to tour the incredible monuments filled with history in Washington, DC, but it is quite another to get the kind of insight we received that night.

When all had gathered around, he reverently began to speak. (Here are his words that night.)
'My name is James Bradley and I'm from Antigo, Wisconsin. My dad is on that statue, and I just wrote a book called 'Flags of Our Fathers' which is #5 on the New York Times Best Seller list right now. It is the story of the six boys you see behind me.

'Six boys raised the flag. The first guy putting the pole in the ground is Harlon Block. Harlon was an all-state football player.
He enlisted in the Marine Corps with all the senior members of his football team. They were off to play another type of game. A game called 'War.' But it didn't turn out to be a game. Harlon, at the age of 21, died with his intestines in his hands. I don't
say that to gross you out, I say that because there are people who stand in front of this statue and talk about the glory of
war. You guys need to know that most of the boys in Iwo Jima were 17, 18, and 19 years old - and it was so hard that the ones who did make it home never even would talk to their families about it. (He pointed to the statue) 'You see this next guy? That's Rene Gagnon from New Hampshire. If you took Rene's helmet off at the moment this photo was taken and looked in the webbing of that helmet, you would find a photograph...a photograph of his girlfriend. Rene put that in there for protection because he was scared. He was 18 years old. It was just boys who won the battle of Iwo Jima. Boys. Not old men.
'The next guy here, the third guy in this tableau, was Sergeant Mike Strank.. Mike is my hero. He was the hero of all these guys. They called him the 'old man' because he was so old. He was already 24. When Mike would motivate his boys in training camp, he didn't say, 'Let's go kill some Japanese' or 'Let's die for our country.' He knew he was talking to little boys.. Instead he would say, 'You do what I say, and I'll get you home to your mothers.'

The last guy on this side of the statue is Ira Hayes, a Pima Indian from Arizona .. Ira Hayes was one of them who lived to walk off Iwo Jima . He went into the White House with my dad. President Truman told him, 'You're a hero' He told reporters, 'How can I feel like a hero when 250 of my buddies hit the island with me and only 27 of us walked off alive?' So you take your class at school, 250 of you spending a year together having fun, doing everything together. Then all 250 of you hit the beach, but only 27 of your classmates walk off alive. That was Ira Hayes. He had images of horror in his mind. Ira Hayes carried the pain home with him and eventually died dead drunk, face down, drowned in a very shallow puddle, at the age of 32 (ten years after this picture was taken).

'The next guy, going around the statue, is Franklin Sousley from Hilltop, Kentucky . A fun-lovin' hillbilly boy. His best friend,
who is now 70, told me, 'Yeah, you know, we took two cows up on the porch of the Hilltop General Store. Then we strung wire across the stairs so the cows couldn't get down. Then we fed them Epsom salts. Those cows crapped all night.' Yes, he was a fun-lovin' hillbilly boy. Franklin died on Iwo Jima at the age of 19. When the telegram came to tell his mother that he was dead, it went to the Hilltop General Store. A barefoot boy ran that telegram up to his mother's farm. The neighbors could hear her scream all night and into the morning Those neighbors lived a quarter of a mile away.

'The next guy, as we continue to go around the statue, is my dad, John Bradley, from Antigo, Wisconsin, where I was raised. My dad lived until 1994, but he would never give interviews. When Walter Cronkite's producers or the New York Times would call, we were trained as little kids to say 'No, I'm sorry, sir, my dad's not here. He is in Canada fishing. No, there is no phone there, sir. No, we don't know when he is coming back.' My dad never fished or even went to Canada. Usually, he was sitting there right at the table eating his Campbell's soup. But we had to tell the press that he was out fishing. He didn't want to talk to the press.

'You see, like Ira Hayes, my dad didn't see himself as a hero. Everyone thinks these guys are heroes, 'cause they are in a photo and on a monument. My dad knew better. He was a medic. John Bradley from Wisconsin was a combat caregiver. On Iwo Jima he probably held over 200 boys as they died. And when boys died on Iwo Jima, they writhed and screamed, without any medication or help with the pain.

'When I was a little boy, my third grade teacher told me that my dad was a hero. When I went home and told my dad that, he looked at me and said, 'I want you always to remember that the heroes of Iwo Jima are the guys who did not come back. Did NOT come back.'

'So that's the story about six nice young boys. Three died on Iwo Jima , and three came back as national heroes. Overall, 7,000 boys died on Iwo Jima in the worst battle in the history of the Marine Corps. My voice is giving out, so I will end here. Thank you for your time.'

Suddenly, the monument wasn't just a big old piece of metal with a flag sticking out of the top. It came to life before our eyes with the heartfelt words of a son who did indeed have a father who was a hero. Maybe not a hero for the reasons most people would believe, but a hero nonetheless.

We need to remember that God created this vast and glorious world for us to live in, freely, but also at great sacrifice .Let us never forget from the Revolutionary War to the current War on Terrorism and all the wars in-between that sacrifice was made for our freedom...please pray for our troops.Remember to pray praises for this great country of ours and also ...please pray for our troops still in murderous places around the world. STOP and thank God for being alive and being free due to someone else's sacrifice.

God Bless You and God Bless America .

REMINDER: Everyday that you can wake up free, it's going to be a great day. One thing I learned while on tour with my 8th grade students in DC that is not mentioned here is . . that if you look at the statue very closely and count the number of hands' raising the flag, there are 13. When the man who made the statue was asked why there were 13, he simply said the 13th hand was the hand of God.

A few years ago a group of salesmen went to a regional sales convention in Chicago . They had assured their wives that they would be home in plenty of time for Friday night's dinner. In their rush, with tickets and briefcases, one of these salesmen inadvertently kicked over a table which held a display of apples. Apples flew everywhere. Without stopping or looking back, they all managed to reach the plane in time for their nearly missed boarding... ALL BUT ONE !!! He paused, took a deep breath, and experienced a twinge of compassion for the girl whose apple stand had been overturned..
He told his buddies to go on without him, waved good-bye, told one of them to call his wife when they arrived at their home destination and explain his taking a later flight. Then he returned to the terminal where the apples were all over the terminal floor.
He was glad he did.

The 16 year old girl was totally blind! She was softly crying, tears running down her cheeks in frustration, and at the same time helplessly groping for her spilled produce as the crowd swirled about her, no one stopping and no one to care for her plight.

The salesman knelt on the floor with her, gathered up the apples, put them back on the table and helped organize her display. As he did this, he noticed that many of them had become battered and bruised; these he set aside in another basket.
When he had finished, he pulled out his wallet and said to the girl, 'Here, please take this $40 for the damage we did. Are you okay?' She nodded through her tears. He continued on with, 'I hope we didn't spoil your day too badly.'

As the salesman started to walk away, the bewildered blind girl called out to him, 'Mister.......' He paused and turned to look back into those blind eyes. She continued,
'Are you Jesus?'
He stopped in mid-stride, and he wondered. Then slowly he made his way to catch the later flight with that question burning and bouncing about in his soul: 'Are you Jesus?'
Do people mistake you for Jesus?
That's our Destiny, is it not? To be so much like Jesus that people cannot tell the difference as we live and interact with a world that is blind to His love, life and grace.
If we claim to know Him,
we should live, walk and act as He would.
Knowing Him is more than simply quoting Scripture and going to church.
It's actually living the Word as life unfolds day to day.
You are the apple of His eye even though we, too, have been bruised by a fall. He stopped what He was doing and picked you and me up on a hill called Calvary and paid in full for our damaged fruit.

Sack Lunches

I put my carry-on in the

luggage compartment and sat down in my assigned

seat. It was going to be a long flight. 'I'm

glad I have a good book to read. Perhaps I will

get a short nap,' I thought.

Just before take-off,

a line of soldiers came down the aisle and

filled all the vacant seats, totally surrounding

me. I decided to start a conversation.

'Where are you

headed?' I asked the soldier seated nearest to

me.

'Petawawa. We'll be there for two

weeks for special training, and then we're being

deployed to Afghanistan

After

flying for about an hour, an announcement was

made that sack lunches were available for five

dollars. It would be several hours before we

reached the east, and I quickly decided a lunch

would help pass the time...

As I reached for my

wallet, I overheard a soldier ask his buddy if

he planned to buy lunch. 'No, that seems

like a lot of money for just a sack lunch.

Probably wouldn't be worth five bucks.

I'll wait till we get to base.'

His friend agreed.

I looked around at the

other soldiers. None were buying lunch. I walked

to the back of the plane and handed the flight

attendant a fifty dollar bill. 'Take a

lunch to all those soldiers.' She grabbed my

arms and squeezed tightly. Her eyes wet with

tears, she thanked me. 'My son was a soldier in

Iraq ; it's almost like you are doing it for

him.'

Picking up ten

sacks, she headed up the aisle to where the

soldiers were seated. She stopped at my seat and

asked, 'Which do you like best - beef or

chicken?'

'Chicken,' I replied,

wondering why she asked. She turned and went to

the front of plane, returning a minute later

with a dinner plate from first class.

'This is your thanks.'

After we finished

eating, I went again to the back of the plane,

heading for the rest room.

A

man stopped me. 'I saw what you did. I want to

be part of it. Here, take this.' He handed me

twenty-five dollars.

Soon after I returned

to my seat, I saw the Flight Captain coming down

the aisle, looking at the aisle numbers as he

walked, I hoped he was not looking for me, but

noticed he was looking at the numbers only on my

side of the plane. When he got to my row he

stopped, smiled, held out his hand and said, 'I

want to shake your hand.' Quickly unfastening my

seatbelt I stood and took the Captain's hand.

With a booming voice he said, 'I was a soldier

and I was a military pilot. Once, someone bought

me a lunch. It was an act of kindness I never

forgot.' I was embarrassed when applause was

heard from all of the passengers.

Later I walked to the

front of the plane so I could stretch my legs. A

man who was seated about six rows in front of me

reached out his hand, wanting to shake mine. He

left another twenty-five dollars in my palm.

When we landed I

gathered my belongings and started to deplane.

Waiting just inside the airplane door was a man

who stopped me, put something in my shirt

pocket, turned, and walked away without saying a

word. Another twenty-five dollars!

Upon entering the

terminal, I saw the soldiers gathering for their

trip to the base.

I walked over to

them and handed them seventy-five dollars. 'It

will take you some time to reach the

base.

It

will be about time for a sandwich.

God

Bless You.'

Ten young

men left that flight feeling the love and

respect of their fellow travelers.

As I walked briskly to

my car, I whispered a prayer for their safe

return. These soldiers were giving their all for

our country. I could only give them a couple of

meals. It seemed so little...

A veteran is someone

who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank

check made payable to 'The United States of

America ' for an amount of 'up to and

including my life.'

Once upon a time there was a girl who had four boyfriends.

She loved the fourth boyfriend the most and adorned him with rich robes and treated him to the finest of delicacies. She gave him nothing but the best.

She also loved the third boyfriend very much and was always showing him off to neighboring kingdoms.. However, she feared that one day he would leave her for another.

She also loved her second boyfriend. He was her confidant and was always kind, considerate and patient with her. Whenever this girl faced a problem, she could confide in him, and he would help her get through the difficult times..

The girl's first boyfriend was a very loyal partner and had made great contributions in maintaining her wealth and kingdom. However, she did not love the first boyfriend Although he loved her deeply, she hardly took notice of him!

One day, the girl fell ill and she knew her time was short. She thought of her luxurious life and wondered, 'I now have four boyfriends with me, but when I die, will I be a alone.'

Thus, she asked the fourth boyfriend, 'I loved you the most, endowed you with the finest clothing and showered great care over you. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?
'No way!', replied the fourth boyfriend, and he walked away without another word.

His answer cut like a sharp knife right into her heart.

The sad girl then asked the third boyfriend, 'I loved you all my life. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?' 'No!', replied the third boyfriend. 'Life is too good! When you die, I'm going to marry someone else!' Her heart sank and turned cold ....

She then asked the second boyfriend, 'I have always turned to you for help and you've always been there for me. When I die, will you follow me and keep me company?'

'I'm sorry, I can't help you out this time!', replied the second boyfriend. 'At the very most, I can only walk with you to your grave.'
His answer struck her like a bolt of lightning, and the girl was devastated ......

Then a voice called out: 'I'll go with you. I'll follow you no matter where you go.' The girl looked up, and there was her first boyfriend. He was very skinny as he suffered from malnutrition and neglect.

Greatly grieved, the girl said, 'I should have taken much better care of you when I had the chance!'

In truth, you have four boyfriends in your lives:

Your fourth boyfriend is your body! No matter how much time and effort you lavish in making it look good, it will leave you when you die.

Your third boyfriend is your possessions, status and wealth.When you die, it will all go to others.

Your second boyfriend is your family and friends. No matter how much they have been there for you, the furthest they can stay by you is up to the grave.

And your first boyfriend is your soul. Often neglected in pursuit of the world.

However, your soul is the only thing that will follow you wherever you go.. Cultivate, strengthen and cherish it now, for it is the only part of you that will follow you to the throne of God and continue with you throughout Eternity. In essence, it's the REAL you......

Thought for the day: Remember, when the world pushes you to your knees, you're in the perfect position to pray.

Pass this on to someone you care about - I just did.

Being happy doesn't mean everything's perfect. It means you've decided to see beyond the imperfections. PRAISE HIM!

Here is a pretty neat little thing from Paul Harvey. See if you can guess the riddle at the end.

Paul Harvey Writes:

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 meat loaf sandwiches. I really would.

I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated.

I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car.
And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen.

It will be good if at least one time you can see puppies 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/sister.. 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 movie and your little brother/sister wants to tag along, I hope you'll let him/her.

I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely.

On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don't ask your driver 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 computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.....

I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush on a boy/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 your hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.

I don't care if you try a 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 Grandma/Grandpa and go fishing with your Uncle.

May you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.

I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through your neighbor's window and that she hugs you and kisses you at Hannukah/Christmas time when you give her a plaster mold of your hand.

These things I wish for you - tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it's the only way to appreciate life.

Written with a pen. Sealed with a kiss. I'm here for you. And if I die before you do, I'll go to heaven and wait for you.

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.

Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.

'Hello Barry, how are you today?'
'H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure look good.'

'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?'

'Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time.'

'Good. Anything I can help you with?'

'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas..'

'Would you like to take some home?' Asked Mr. Miller.

'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.'

'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?'

'All I got's my prize marble here.'

'Is that right? Let me see it' said Miller.

'Here 'tis. She's a dandy.'

'I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store owner asked.

'Not zackley but almost.'

'Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble'. Mr. Miller told the boy.

'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.'

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.

With a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances.. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.

When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died.. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts... All very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket.

Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.

They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size... They came to pay their debt.'

'We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.'

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral:

We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself... An unexpected phone call from an old friend... Green stoplights on your way to work... The fastest line at the grocery store.... A good sing-along song on the radio... Your keys found right where you left them.

A farmer had some
puppies he needed to sell.
He painted a sign
advertising the 4 pups and
set about nailing it to a post on the edge of
his yard.
As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on his overalls.
He looked down into the eyes of a little boy.

"Mister," he said, "I want to buy one of your puppies."

"Well," said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat
off the back of his neck,

"These puppies come
from fine parents and cost
a good deal of money."

The boy dropped his head for a moment.Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer.

"I've got thirty-nine cents.
Is that enough to take a look?"

"Sure," said the farmer.
And with that he let out a whistle. "Here, Dolly!" he
called.

Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of
fur.

The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence.
His eyes danced with delight.
As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse.

Slowly another little ball appeared, this one
noticeably smaller.
Down the ramp it slid.
Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up...

"I want that one," the little boy said, pointing to the
runt. The farmer knelt down at the boy's side and said,
"Son, you don't want that puppy.
He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would."

With that the little boy
stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers.

In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down
both sides of his leg attaching itself to a
specially made shoe.

Looking back up at the
farmer, he said, "You see sir, I don't run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands."

With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the little pup.

Holding it carefully he
handed it to the little boy.

"How much?" asked the little boy... "No charge," answered the farmer,"There's no charge for love."

The world is full of people who need someone who
understands.

THE BASIC RULES FOR CLOTHESLINES:

(If you don't know what clotheslines are,
better skip this.)

1. You had to wash the clothes line before hanging any clothes--walk the entire lengths of each line with a damp cloth around the lines.

2. You had to hang the clothes in a certain order, and always hang "whites" with "whites," and hang them first.

3. You never hung a shirt by the shoulders, always by the tail! What would the neighbors think?

4. Wash day on a Monday! . .. . Never hang clothes on the Weekend, or Sunday, for Heaven's sake!

5. Hang the sheets and towels on the outside lines so you could hide your "unmentionables" in the middle (perverts & busybodies, y'know!).

6. It didn't matter if it was sub zero
weather....clothes would "freeze-dry."

7. Always gather the clothes pins when taking down dry clothes! Pins left on the lines were "tacky!"

8. If you were efficient, you would line the clothes up so that each item did not need two clothes pins, but shared one of the clothes pins with the next washed item.

9. Clothes off of the line before dinner time, neatly folded in the clothes basket, and ready to be ironed.

10. IRONED? Well, that's a whole other
subject!

A CLOTHESLINE POEM

A clothesline was a news forecast
To neighbors passing by,
There were no secrets you could keep
When clothes were hung to dry.

It also was a friendly link
For neighbors always knew,
If company had stopped on by
To spend a night or two.

For then you'd see the "fancy sheets"
And towels upon the line;
You'd see the "company table cloths"
With intricate designs.

The line announced a baby's birth
From folks who lived inside -
As brand new infant clothes were hung,
So carefully with pride!

The ages of the children could
So readily be known
By watching how the sizes changed,
You'd know how much they'd grown!

It also told when illness struck,
As extra sheets were hung;
Then nightclothes, and a bathrobe, too,
Haphazardly were strung.

It also said, "Gone on vacation now"
When lines hung limp and bare.
It told, "We're back!" when full lines sagged, with not an inch to spare!

A seminary professor was vacationing with his wife in Gatlinburg, Tennessee .

One morning, they were eating breakfast at a little restaurant, hoping to enjoy a quiet, family meal. While they were waiting for their food, they noticed a distinguished looking, white-haired man moving from table to table, visiting with the guests. The professor leaned over and whispered to his wife, 'I hope he doesn't come over here.' But sure enough, the man did come over to their table.

'Where are you folks from?' he asked in a friendly voice.

'Oklahoma,' they answered.

'Great to have you here in Tennessee,' the stranger said... 'What do you do for a living?'

'I teach at a seminary,' he replied.

'Oh, so you teach preachers how to preach, do you? Well, I've got a really great story for you.' And with that, the gentleman pulled up a chair and sat down at the table with the couple.

The professor groaned and thought to himself, 'Great. Just what I need.... another preacher story!'

The man started, 'See that mountain over there? (Pointing out the restaurant window). Not far from the base of that mountain, there was a boy born to an unwed mother. He had a hard time growing up, because every place he went, he was always asked the same question, 'Hey boy, who's your daddy?' Whether he was at school, in the grocery store or drug store, people would ask the same
question, 'Who's your daddy?'
He would hide at recess and lunch time from other students. He would avoid going in to stores because that question hurt him so bad. 'When he was about 12 years old, a new preacher came to his church. He would always go in late and slip out early to avoid hearing the question, 'Who's your daddy?'

But one day, the new preacher said the benediction so fast that he got caught and had to walk out with the crowd.

Just about the time he got to the back door, the new preacher, not knowing anything about him, put his hand on his shoulder and asked him, 'Son, who's your daddy?'

The whole church got deathly quiet. He could feel every eye in the church looking at him. Now everyone would finally know the answer to the question, 'Who's your daddy?'

This new preacher, though, sensed the situation around him and using discernment that only the Holy Spirit could give, said the following to that scared little boy. 'Wait a minute! I know who you are! I see the family resemblance now, You are a child of God.'
With that he patted the boy on his shoulder and said, 'Boy, you've got a great inheritance. Go and claim it.'

'With that, the boy smiled for the first time in a long time and walked out the door a changed person. He was never the same again. Whenever anybody asked him, 'Who's your Daddy?' he'd just tell them, 'I'm a Child of God.''

The distinguished gentleman got up from the table and said, 'Isn't that a great story?'

The professor responded that it really was a great story!

As the man turned to leave, he said, 'You know, if that new preacher hadn't told me that I was one of God's children, I probably never would have amounted to anything!' And he walked away.

The seminary professor and his wife were stunned. He called the waitress over and asked her, 'Do you know who that man was -- the one who just left that was sitting at our table?'

The waitress grinned and said, 'Of course. Everybody here knows him.

That's Ben Hooper. He's governor of Tennessee!'

Someone in your life today needs a reminder that they're one of God's children!

'The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of God stands forever.' ~~Isaiah

HAVE A GREAT DAY!

A brother and sister had made their usual hurried, obligatory pre-Christmas visit to the little farm where dwelt their elderly parents with their small herd of horses. The farm was where they had grown up and had been named Lone Pine Farm because of the huge pine, which topped the hill behind the farm. Through the years the tree had become a talisman to the old man and his wife, and a landmark in the countryside. The young siblings had fond memories of their childhood here, but the city hustle and bustle added more excitement to their lives, and called them away to a different life.
The old folks no longer showed their horses, for the years had taken their toll, and getting out to the barn on those frosty mornings was getting harder, but it gave them a reason to get up in the mornings and a reason to live. They sold a few foals each year, and the horses were their reason for joy in the morning and contentment at day's end.
Angry, as they prepared to leave, the young couple confronted the old folks "Why do you not at least dispose of The Old One." She is no longer of use to you. It's been years since you've had foals from her. You should cut corners and save so you can have more for yourselves. How can this old worn out horse bring you anything but expense and work? Why do you keep her anyway?"
The old man looked down at his worn boots, holes in the toes, scuffed at the barn floor and replied, " Yes, I could use a pair of new boots.
His arm slid defensively about the Old One's neck as he drew her near with gentle caressing he rubbed her softly behind her ears. He replied softly, "We keep her because of love. Nothing else, just love."
Baffled and irritated, the young folks wished the old man and his wife a Merry Christmas and headed back toward the city as darkness stole through the valley.
The old couple shook their heads in sorrow that it had not been a happy visit. A tear fell upon their cheeks. How is it that these young folks do not understand the peace of the love that filled their hearts?
So it was, that because of the unhappy leave-taking, no one noticed the insulation smoldering on the frayed wires in the old barn. None saw the first spark fall. None but the "Old One".
In a matter of minutes, the whole barn was ablaze and the hungry flames were licking at the loft full of hay. With a cry of horror and despair, the old man shouted to his wife to call for help as he raced to the barn to save their beloved horses. But the flames were roaring now, and the blazing heat drove him back. He sank sobbing to the ground, helpless before the fire's fury. His wife back from calling for help cradled him in her arms, clinging to each other, they wept at their loss.
By the time the fire department arrived, only smoking, glowing ruins were left, and the old man and his wife, exhausted from their grief, huddled together before the barn. They were speechless as they rose from the cold snow covered ground. They nodded thanks to the firemen as there was nothing anyone could do now. The old man turned to his wife, resting her white head upon his shoulders as his shaking old hands clumsily dried her tears with a frayed red bandana. Brokenly he whispered, "We have lost much, but God has spared our home on this eve of Christmas. Let us gather strength and climb the hill to the old pine where we have sought comfort in times of despair. We will look down upon our home and give thanks to God that it has been spared and pray for our beloved most precious gifts that have been taken from us.
And so, he took her by the hand and slowly helped her up the snowy hill as he brushed aside his own tears with the back of his old and withered hand.
The journey up the hill was hard for their old bodies in the steep snow. As they stepped over the little knoll at the crest of the hill, they paused to rest, looking up to the top of the hill the old couple gasped and fell to their knees in amazement at the incredible beauty before them.
Seemingly, every glorious, brilliant star in the heavens was caught up in the glittering, snow-frosted branches of their beloved pine, and it was aglow with heavenly candles. And poised on its top most bough, a crystal crescent moon glistened like spun glass. Never had a mere mortal created a Christmas tree such as this. They were breathless as the old man held his wife tighter in his arms.
Suddenly, the old man gave a cry of wonder and incredible joy. Amazed and mystified, he took his wife by the hand and pulled her forward. There, beneath the tree, in resplendent glory, a mist hovering over and glowing in the darkness was their Christmas gift. Shadows glistening in the night light.
Bedded down about the "Old One" close to the trunk of the tree, was the entire herd, safe.
At the first hint of smoke, she had pushed the door ajar with her muzzle and had led the horses through it. Slowly and with great dignity, never looking back, she had led them up the hill, stepping cautiously through the snow. The foals were frightened and dashed about. The skittish yearlings looked back at the crackling, hungry flames, and tucked their tails under them as they licked their lips and hopped like rabbits. The mares that were in foal with a new years crop of babies, pressed uneasily against the "Old One" as she moved calmly up the hill and to safety beneath the pine. And now she lay among them and gazed at the faces of the old man and his wife.
Those she loved she had not disappointed. Her body was brittle with years, tired from the climb, but the golden eyes were filled with devotion as she offered her gift-
Because of love. Only Because of love.
Tears flowed as the old couple shouted their praise and joy... And again the peace of love filled their hearts.

This is great. Take a moment to read it; it will make your day!

The ending will surprise you.

Take my Son.....

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art..

When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son..

About a month later, just before Christmas,

There was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands..

He said, 'Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly... He often talked about you, and your love for art.' The young man held out this package. 'I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.'

The father

Opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture.. 'Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift.'

The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.

On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. 'We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?'

There was silence...

Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, 'We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.'

But the auctioneer persisted. 'Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?'

Another voice angrily. 'We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Gogh'S, the Rembrandts. Get on with the Real bids!'

But still the auctioneer continued. 'The son! The son! Who'll take the son?'

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. 'I'll give $10 for the painting...' Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.

'We have $10, who will bid $20?'

'Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters.'

The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son.

They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.

The auctioneer pounded the gavel.. 'Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!'

A man sitting on the second row shouted, 'Now let's get on with the collection!'

The auctioneer laid down his gavel. 'I'm sorry, the auction is over.'

'What about the paintings?'

'I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will... I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.

The man who took the son gets everything!'

God gave His son over 2,000 years ago to die on the Cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: 'The Son, the Son, who'll take the Son?'

Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything!

FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON, WHO SO EVER BELIEVETH, SHALL HAVE ETERNAL LIFE...THAT'S LOVE

Quote from: bot1tle on October 11, 2011, 09:59AM

:'( This is so touching... thank you, thank you so much for sharing this! :'(

This is a true story, per Truth or Fiction.com. Hope you appreciate it
and
want to pass it along.

http://www.truthorfiction.com/rumors/r/rickenbacker.htm

It happened every Friday evening, almost without fail, when the sun
resembled a giant orange and was starting to dip into the blue ocean.

Old Ed came strolling along the beach to his favorite pier.. Clutched in
his bony hand was a bucket of shrimp. Ed walks out to the end of the
pier,
where it seems he almost has the world to himself. The glow of the sun
is a
golden bronze now.

Everybody's gone, except for a few joggers on the beach. Standing out
on
the end of the pier, Ed is alone with his thoughts...and his bucket of
shrimp.

Before long, however, he is no longer alone. Up in the sky a thousand
white
dots come screeching and squawking, winging their way toward that lanky
frame standing there on the end of the pier.

Before long, dozens of seagulls have enveloped him, their wings
fluttering
and flapping wildly. Ed stands there tossing shrimp to the hungry birds.
As he does, if you listen closely, you can hear him say with a smile,
'Thank you. Thank you.'

In a few short minutes the bucket is empty. But Ed doesn't leave.

He stands there lost in thought, as though transported to another time
and
place.

When he finally turns around and begins to walk back toward the beach, a
few of the birds hop along the pier with him until he gets to the
stairs,
and then they, too, fly away. And old Ed quietly makes his way down to
the
end of the beach and on home.

If you were sitting there on the pier with your fishing line in the
water,
Ed might seem like 'a funny old duck,' as my dad used to say.
Or, 'a guy who's a sandwich shy of a picnic,' as my kids might say.
To onlookers, he's just another old codger, lost in his own weird world,
feeding the seagulls with a bucket full of shrimp.

To the onlooker, rituals can look either very strange or very empty.
They can seem altogether unimportant ...

maybe even a lot of nonsense.

Old folks often do strange things, at least in the eyes of Boomers and
Busters.

Most of them would probably write Old Ed off, down there in Florida .
That's too bad. They'd do well to know him better.

His full name: Eddie Rickenbacker. He was a famous hero back in World
War
II. On one of his flying missions across the Pacific, he and his
seven-member crew went down. Miraculously, all of the men survived,
crawled out of their plane, and climbed into a life raft.

Captain Rickenbacker and his crew floated for days on the rough waters
of
the Pacific. They fought the sun. They fought sharks. Most of all, they
fought hunger. By the eighth day their rations ran out. No food.
No water. They were hundreds of miles from land and no one knew where
they were.

They needed a miracle. That afternoon they had a simple devotional
service
and prayed for a miracle. They tried to nap. Eddie leaned back and
pulled
his military cap over his nose. Time dragged. All he could hear was the
slap of the waves against the raft.

Suddenly, Eddie felt something land on the top of his cap.

It was a seagull!

Old Ed would later describe how he sat perfectly still, planning his
next
move. With a flash of his hand and a squawk from the gull, he managed
to
grab it and wring its neck.. He tore the feathers off, and he and his
starving crew made a meal - a very slight meal for eight men - of it.
Then
they used the intestines for bait.. With it, they caught fish, which
gave
them food and more bait......and the cycle continued. With that simple
survival technique, they were able to endure the rigors of the sea until
they were found and rescued (after 24 days at sea...).

Eddie Rickenbacker lived many years beyond that ordeal, but he never
forgot
the sacrifice of that first life-saving seagull.. And he never stopped
saying, 'Thank you.' That's why almost every Friday night he would walk
to
the end of the pier with a bucket full of shrimp and a heart full of
gratitude.

PS: Eddie started Eastern Airlines.

bot1tle: I found another story that is ABSOLUTELY the best way to look at life and still have fun!!!! :)

NEED WASHING?

A little girl had been shopping with her Mom in Wal-Mart.
She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful red haired, freckle faced image of innocence.

It was pouring outside.
The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters,
so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout..
We all stood there, under the awning, just inside the door of the WalMart.

We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature messed up their hurried day.

I am always mesmerized by rainfall.
I got lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world.
Memories of running, splashing so carefree as a child came pouring in
as a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day.

Her little voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in,
'Mom let's run through the rain,'

She said.

'What?' Mom asked.

'Let's run through the rain!' She repeated.

'No, honey. We'll wait until it slows down a bit,' Mom replied.

This young child waited a minute and repeated: 'Mom, let's run through the rain..'

'We'll get soaked if we do,' Mom said.

'No, we won't, Mom. That's not what you said this morning,' the young girl said as she tugged at her Mom's arm.

'This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?'

'Don't you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said,
' If God can get us through this, He can get us through anything! ' '

The entire crowd stopped dead silent..
I swear you couldn't hear anything but the rain..
We all stood silently. No one left.
Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she would say.

Now some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly.
Some might even ignore what was said.
But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child's life.
A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith.

'Honey, you are absolutely right. Let's run through the rain.
If GOD let's us get wet, well maybe we just need washing,' Mom said.

Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and laughing
as they darted past the cars and yes, through the puddles.
They got soaked..

They were followed by a few who screamed and laughed like
children all the way to their cars.
And yes, I did.

I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.

Circumstances or people can take away your material possessions,
they can take away your money,
and they can take away your health.
But no one can ever take away your precious memories....
So, don't forget to make time and take the opportunities to make memories everyday.

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.

I HOPE YOU STILL TAKE THE TIME TO RUN THROUGH THE RAIN.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person,
an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them,
but then an entire life to forget them.

Send this to the people you'll never forget and remember to
also send it to the person who sent it to you.
It's a short message to let them know that you'll never forget them.

If you don't send it to anyone, it means you're in a hurry.

Take the time to live!!!

Keep in touch with your friends,
you never know when you'll need each other --
And don't forget to run in the rain!

The
Cab Ride

I arrived at the address and honked the horn.
after waiting a few minutes
I walked to the
door and knocked.. 'Just a minute', answered a
frail, elderly voice. I could hear something
being dragged across the floor.

After
a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in
her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a
print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned
on it, like somebody out of a 1940's
movie.

By her side was a small nylon
suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had
lived in it for years. All the furniture was
covered with sheets.

There were no
clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils
on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard
box filled with photos and
glassware.

'Would you carry my bag
out to the car?' she said. I took the suitcase
to the cab, then returned to assist the
woman.

She took my arm and we walked
slowly toward the curb.

She kept
thanking me for my kindness. 'It's nothing', I
told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers
the way I would want my mother to be
treated.'

'Oh, you're such a good
boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave
me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive
through downtown?'

'It's not the
shortest way,' I answered
quickly..

'Oh, I don't mind,' she
said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a
hospice.

I looked in the rear-view
mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 'I don't have
any family left,' she continued in a soft
voice.. 'The doctor says I don't have very
long.' I quietly reached over and shut off the
meter.

'What route would you like me
to take?' I asked.

For the next two
hours, we drove through the city. She showed me
the building where she had once worked as an
elevator operator.

We drove through the
neighborhood where she and her husband had lived
when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in
front of a furniture warehouse that had once
been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a
girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow
in front of a particular building or corner and
would sit staring into the dar kness, saying
nothing.

As the first hint of sun was
creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm
tired. Let's go now'.

We drove in
silence to the address she had given me. It was
a low building, like a small convalescent home,
with a driveway that passed under a
portico.

Two orderlies came out to
the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were
Solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her.
I opened
the trunk and took the small suitcase to
the door. The woman was already seated in a
wheelchair.

'How much do I owe you?'
She asked, reaching into her
purse.

'Nothing,' I
said

'You have to make a living,' she
answered.

'There are other
passengers,' I responded.

Almost
without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She
held onto me tightly.

'You gave an
old woman a little moment of joy,' she
said.
'Thank you.'

I squeezed her
hand, and then walked into the dim morning
light.. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound
of the closing of a life..

I didn't
pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove
aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that
day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had
gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient
to end his shift?
What
if I had refused to take the run, or had honked
once, then driven away?

On a quick
review, I don't think that I have done anything
more important in my life.

We're
conditioned to think that our lives revolve
around great moments.

But great
moments often catch us unaware-beautifully
wrapped in what others may consider a small
one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY
WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID ~BUT
~THEY WILL
ALWAYS REMEMBER
HOW YOU MADE THEM
FEEL.

Thanks, RoAR......May have seen this before, but a great story this time of trhe year...

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.
I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.

For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!
I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."

The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it.
Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.

Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were -- ridiculous Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

May you always have LOVE to share,
HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care...

And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!

Ruth went to her mail box and there was only one letter.

She picked it up and looked at it before opening, but then she looked at the envelope again..

There was no stamp, no postmark, only her name and address.

She read the letter:

Dear Ruth:

I? going to be in your neighborhood Saturday afternoon and I'd like to stop by for a visit.

Love Always,

Jesus

Her hands were shaking as she placed the letter on the table. 'Why would the Lord want to visit me?

I'm nobody special.. I don't have anything to offer.'

With that thought, Ruth remembered her empty kitchen cabinets.

'Oh my goodness, I really don't have anything to offer. I'll have to run down to the store and buy something for dinner..'

She reached for her purse and counted out its contents. Five dollars and forty cents.

Well, I can get some bread and cold cuts, at least.'

She threw on her coat and hurried out the door.

A loaf of French bread, a half-pound of sliced turkey, and a carton of milk...leaving Ruth with grand total twelve cents to last her until Monday.

Nonetheless, she felt good as she headed home, her meager offerings tucked under her arm.

'Hey lady, can you help us, lady?'

Ruth had been so absorbed in her dinner plans, she hadn't even noticed two figures huddled in the alleyway.

A man and a woman, both of them dressed in little more than rags.

'Look lady, I ain't got a job, you know, and my wife and I have been living out here on the street, and, well, now it's getting cold and we're getting kinda
hungry and, well, if you could help us Lady, we'd really appreciate it.'

Ruth looked at them both.

They were dirty, they smelled bad and frankly, she was certain that they could get some kind of work if they really wanted to.

'Sir, I'd like to help you, but I'm a poor woman myself. All I have is a few cold cuts and some bread, and I'm having an important guest for dinner tonight and I was planning on serving that to Him.'

'Yeah, well, okay lady, I understand. Thanks anyway.'

The man put his arm around the woman's
shoulders, turned and headed back into the alley.

As she watched them leave, Ruth felt a familiar twinge in her heart.

'Sir, wait!'

The couple stopped and turned as she ran down the alley after them.

'Look, why don't you take this food. I'll figure out something else to serve my guest.'

She handed the man her grocery bag.

'Thank you lady. Thank you very much!'

'Yes, thank you!' It was the man's wife, and Ruth could see now that she was shivering

'You know, I've got another coat at home.

0A
Here, why don't you take this one.'

Ruth unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it over the woman's shoulders.

Then smiling, she turned and walked back to the street...without her coat and with nothing to serve her guest.

'Thank you lady!

Thank you very much!'

Ruth was chilled by the time she reached her front

door, and worried too.

The Lord

was coming to visit and she didn't have anything to offer Him.

She fumbled through her purse for the door key. But as she did, she noticed another envelope in her mailbox.

'That's odd. The mailman doesn't usually come twice in one day.'

Dear Ruth:

It was so good to see you again.

Thank you for the lovely meal.

And thank you, too, for the beautiful coat.

Love Always,

Jesus

The air was still cold, but even without her coat, Ruth no longer noticed.

When I was a kid, my Mom liked to make breakfast food for dinner
every now and then. And I remember one night in particular when she had made breakfast after a long, hard day at work. On that evening so long ago, my Mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage and extremely burned biscuits in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone noticed!

Yet all my dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my Mom and ask
me how my day was at school. I don't remember what I told him that
night, but I do remember watching him smear butter and jelly on that
ugly burned biscuit. He ate every bite of that thing... never made a
face nor uttered a word about it!

When I got up from the table that evening, I remember hearing my Mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits. And I'll never forget what he said: "Honey, I love burned biscuits every now and then."

Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if
he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms and
said, "Your Momma put in a hard day at work today and she's real
tired. And besides - a little burned biscuit never hurt anyone!"

As I've grown older, I've thought about that many times. Life is
full of imperfect things and imperfect people. I'm not the best at
hardly anything, and I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like
everyone else. But what I've learned over the years is that learning
to accept each other's faults - and choosing to celebrate each others
differences - is one of the most important keys to creating a
healthy, growing, and lasting relationship.

We could extend this to any relationship. In fact, understanding is
the base of any relationship, be it a husband-wife or parent-child or
friendship!

"Don't put the key to your happiness in someone else's pocket - keep
it in your own."

So, please pass me a biscuit, and yes, the burned one will do just fine.

And PLEASE pass this along to someone who has enriched your life. Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

"Life without God is like an unsharpened pencil - it has no point."

God's Amazing Accuracy

Fascinating, I've never given most of this a thought!!!!
God's accuracy may be observed in the
hatching of eggs.

For example:
-the eggs of the potato bug hatch in 7 days;
-those of the canary in 14 days;
-those of the barnyard hen in 21 days;
-The eggs of ducks and geese hatch in 28 days;
-those of the mallard in 35 days;
-The eggs of the parrot and the ostrich
hatch in 42 days.

(Notice, they are all divisible by seven,
the number of days in a week!)

God's wisdom is seen in the making of an elephant...
The four legs of this great beast all bend forward
in the same direction. No other quadruped is so made.
God planned that this animal would have a
huge body, too large to live on two legs...
For this reason He gave it four fulcrums so that it
can rise from the ground easily.

The horse rises from the ground on its two front legs first.
A cow rises from the ground with its two hind legs first.

How wise the Lord is in all His works of creation!

God's wisdom is revealed in His arrangement of
sections and segments, as well as in the number of grains.

-Each watermelon has an even number of stripes on the rind.
-Each orange has an even number of segments.
-Each ear of corn has an even number of rows.
-Each stalk of wheat has an even number of grains.

-Every bunch of bananas has on its lowest row an even number of bananas, and each row decreases by one, so that one row has an even number and the
next row an odd number.

-The waves of the sea roll in on shore twenty-six to the minute in all kinds of weather.
All grains are found in even numbers on the stalks,
and the Lord specified thirty fold, sixty fold,
and a hundred fold - all even numbers.
God has caused the flowers to blossom at certain specified times during the day, so that Linnaeus, the great botanist, once said that if he had a conservatory containing the rightkind of soil, moisture and temperature, he could tell the time of day or night by the flowers that were open and those that were closed!

The lives of each of you may be ordered by the Lord in a beautiful way for His glory, if you will only entrust Him with your life. If you try to regulate your own life, it will only be a mess and a failure.

Only the One Who made the brain and the heart
can successfully guide them to a profitable end.

I HOPE YOU FIND THIS AS
FASCINATING AS I DID

Thanks, Magic

In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket.

Their father was gone..

The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.

Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared.

Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.

He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.

Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either.

If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.

I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job..

The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town.

No luck.

The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince who ever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job.

Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop.

It was called the Big Wheel.

An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids.

She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning.

She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night.

I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people.

I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night.

She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep

This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.

That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job.. And so I started at the Big Wheel..

When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-- fully half of what I averaged every night.

As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.

The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home..

One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires!

There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires.

Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered.

I made a deal with the local service station.

In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office.

I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.

Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids .

I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning.

Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe.

A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine.

The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.

When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes.

I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat..

Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.

Inside was a whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!

I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.

Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.

There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.

And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.

As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude.

And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.

Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.

I wish you enough!

Recently I overheard a Father and daughter in their last moments
together at the airport. They had announced the departure.

Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the Father said, 'I
love you, and I wish you enough.'

The daughter replied, 'Dad, our life together has been more than
enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Dad.'

They kissed and the daughter left. The Father walked over to the
window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and
needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed
me in by asking, 'Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would
be forever?'

'Yes, I have,' I replied. 'Forgive me for asking, but why is this a
forever good-bye?'.

'I am old, and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the
reality is - the next trip back will be for my funeral,' he said.

'When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, 'I wish you enough.'
May I ask what that means?'

He began to smile. 'That's a wish that has been handed down from other
generations. My parents used to say it to everyone.' He paused a moment
and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail, and he smiled even
more. 'When we said, 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other
person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain
them.' Then turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were
reciting it from memory.

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how grey
the day may appear.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.

I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.

I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may
appear bigger.

I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.

I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.

I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.

He then began to cry and walked away.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to
appreciate them, a day to love them; but then an entire life to forget
them.

*Only if you wish send this to the people you will never forget and
remember to send it back to the person who sent it to you. If you don't
send it to anyone it may mean that you are in such a hurry that you
have forgotten your friends.

Take Time To Live..

To all my friends and loved ones, I wish you Enough !

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds , 'What does love mean?' The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined See what you think:

'When my grandmother got arthritis , she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore.. So my grandfather does it for her all the time , even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.'

Rebecca- age 8

'When someone loves you , the way they say your name is different.
You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.'

Billy - age 4

'Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.'

Karl - age 5

'Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.'

Chrissy - age 6

'Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.'

Terri - age 4

'Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him , to make sure the taste is OK.'

Danny - age 7

'Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing , you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that.
They look gross when they kiss'

Emily - age 8

'Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.'

Bobby - age 7 (Wow!)

'If you want to learn to love better , you should start with a friend who you hate , '

Nikka - age 6
(we need a few million more Nikka's on this planet)

'Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt , then he wears it everyday.'

Noelle - age 7

'Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.'

Tommy - age 6

'During my piano recital , I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling.

He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.'

Cindy - age 8

'My mommy loves me more than anybody
You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.'

Clare - age 6

'Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.'

Elaine-age 5

'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford .'

Chris - age 7

'Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.'

Mary Ann - age 4

'I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.'

Lauren - age 4

'When you love somebody , your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.' (what an image)

Karen - age 7

'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross..'

Mark - age 6

'You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it , you should say it a lot. People forget.'

Jessica - age 8
And the final one

The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.

Upon seeing the man cry , the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard , climbed onto his lap , and just sat there.

When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor , the little boy said ,

'Nothing , I just helped him cry'

One day, when I was a freshman in high school,

I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school.

His name was Kyle.

It looked like he was carrying all of his books.

I thought to myself, 'Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday?

He must really be a nerd.'

I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.

As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him.

They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt.

His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him...

He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes .

My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye.

As I handed him his glasses, I said, 'Those guys are jerks.'

They really should get lives.

' He looked at me and said, 'Hey thanks!'

There was a big smile on his face.

It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived.

As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before.

He said he had gone to private school before now.

I would have never hung out with a private school kid before.

We talked all the way home, and I carried some of his books.

He turned out to be a pretty cool kid.

I asked him if he wanted to play a little football
With my friends .

He said yes.

We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my friends thought the same of him.

Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again.

I stopped him and said, 'Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!

' He just laughed and handed me half the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends.

When we were seniors we began to think about college.

Kyle decided on Georgetown and I was going to Duke.

I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would never
Be a problem.

He was going to be a doctor and I was going for business on a football scholarship.

Kyle was valedictorian of our class.

I teased him all the time about being a nerd.

He had to prepare a speech for graduation.

I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak .

Graduation day, I saw Kyle.

He looked great.

He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school..

He filled out and actually looked good in glasses.

He had more dates than I had and all the girls loved him.

Boy, sometimes I was jealous!

Today was one of those days.

I could see that he was nervous about his speech.

So, I smacked him on the back and said, 'Hey, big guy, you'll be great!'

He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled....

' Thanks,' he said.

As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began ...

'Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years.

Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach...but mostly your friends....

I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them.

I am going to tell you a story.'

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the first day we met.

He had planned to kill himself over the weekend.

He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home.

He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile.

'Thankfully, I was saved.

My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable.'

I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment.

I saw his Mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile.

Not until that moment did I realize it's depth.

Never underestimate the power of your actions.

With one small gesture you can change a person's life.

For better or for worse.

God puts us all in each other’s lives to impact one another in some way.

You always hear the usual stories of pennies on the sidewalk being good luck, gifts from angels, etc. This is the first time I've ever heard this twist on the story. Gives you something to think about.....

Several years ago, a friend of mine and her husband were invited to spend the weekend at the husband's employer's home. My friend, Arlene, was nervous about the weekend. The boss was very wealthy, with a fine home on the waterway, and cars costing more than her house.

The first day and evening went well, and Arlene was delighted to have this rare glimpse into how the very wealthy live. The husband's employer was quite generous as a host, and took them to the finest restaurants. Arlene knew she would never have the opportunity to indulge in this kind of extravagance again, so was enjoying herself immensely.

As the three of them were about to enter an exclusive restaurant that evening, the boss was walking slightly ahead of Arlene and her husband. He stopped suddenly, looking down on the pavement for a long, silent moment.

Arlene wondered if she was supposed to pass him. There was nothing on the ground except a single darkened penny that someone had dropped, and a few cigarette butts. Still silent, the man reached down and picked up the penny.
He held it up and smiled, then put it in his pocket as if he had found a great treasure. How absurd! What need did this man have for a single penny? Why would he even take the time to stop and pick it up?

Throughout dinner, the entire scene nagged at her. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She casually mention ed that her daughter once had a coin collection, and asked if the penny he had found had been of some value. A smile crept across the man's face as he reached into his pocket for the penny and held it out for her to see.. She had seen many pennies before! What was the point of this? 'Look at it,' he said. 'Read what it says.' She read the words ' United States of America .' 'No, not that; read further.'
'One cent?' 'No, keep reading.'
'In God we Trust?' 'Yes!' 'And... ?'

He explained, 'And if I trust in God, the name of God is holy, even on a coin. Whenever I find a coin I see that inscription. It is written on every single United States coin, but we never seem to notice it! God drops a message right in front of me telling me to trust Him. Who am I to pass it by? When I see a coin, I pray, I stop to see if my trust IS in God at that moment. I pick the coin up as my response to God; that I do trust in Him. For a short time, at least, I cherish it as if it were gold. I think it is God's way of starting a conversation with me. Lucky for me, God is patient and pennies are plentiful! '

When I was out shopping today, I found a penny on the sidewalk. I stopped and picked it up, and realized that I had been worrying and fretting in my mind about things I cannot change. I read the words, 'In God We Trust,' and had to laugh. Yes, God, I get the message.

It seems that I have been finding an inordinate number of pennies in the last few months, but then, pennies are plentiful! And, God is patient..

A lecturer, when explaining stress management to an audience, raised a glass of water and asked, 'How heavy is this glass of water?' Answers called out ranged from 20g to 500g.

The lecturer replied, 'The absolute weight doesn't matter. It depends on how long you try to hold it. If I hold it for a minute, it's not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my right arm. If I hold it for a day, you'll have to call an ambulance. In each case, it's the same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes.'

He continued, 'And that's the way it is with stress management. If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later, the burden will become increasingly heavy: and we won't be able to carry on.' 'As with the glass of water, you have to put your stress down for a while and rest before pick it up again.
When we're refreshed, we can carry on with the burden. So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down: don't carry it home. You can pick it up tomorrow. Whatever burdens you're carrying now, let them down for a moment if you can.' So, my friend put down anything that may be a burden to you right now. Don't pick it up again until after you've rested a while. Here are some great ways of dealing with the burdens of life:

* Just accept that, some days you're the pigeon: and some days, you're the statue.

* Always keep your words soft and sweet - just in case you have to eat them.

* Always wear stuff that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.

*Drive carefully. It's not only cars that can be "recalled" by their maker.

* If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague. (I really like this!!)

* If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, It was probably worth it. (Amen to that!!)

* It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to be kind to others.

* Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time, because then you won't have a leg to stand on.

* Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.

* The second mouse gets the cheese.

* When everything's coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.

* Birthdays are good for you. The more you have, the longer you live.

* You may be only one person in the world, but you may also be the world to one person.

* Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.

* We could learn a lot from crayons... Some are sharp; some are pretty; and some are dull. Some have weird names; and all are different colors; but they all have to live in the same box.

*A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.

Have an awesome day and know that someone has thought about you today!!!

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged
us to get to know someone we didn't already know. I stood up to look
around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder.

I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me
with a smile that lit up her entire being..

She said, 'Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I'm eighty-seven years old.
Can I give you a hug?'

I laughed and enthusiastically responded, 'Of course you may!' and she
gave me a giant squeeze..

'Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?' I asked.

She jokingly replied, 'I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married,
and have a couple of kids...'

'No seriously,' I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to
be taking on this challenge at her age.

'I always dreamed of having a college education and now I'm getting
one!' she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a
chocolate milkshake.

We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would
leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized
listening to this 'time machine' as she shared her wisdom and
experience with me...

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily
made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled
in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was
living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football
banquet. I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and
stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech,
she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a
little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, 'I'm
sorry I'm so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is
killing me! I'll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell
you what I know.'

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began, ' We do not stop
playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing.

There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and
achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor every day. You've
got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die.

We have so many people walking around who are dead and don't even know
it!

There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up.

If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and
don't do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am
eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything
I will turn eighty-eight.

Anybody can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or ability. The
idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change. Have no
regrets.

The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did, but rather for
things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with
regrets..'

She concluded her speech by courageously singing 'The Rose.'

She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our
daily lives. At the year's end Rose finished the college degree she had
begun all those months ago.

One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.

Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to
the wonderful woman who taught by example that it's never too late to
be all you can possibly be.

When you finish reading this, please send this peaceful word of advice
to your friends and family, they'll really enjoy it!

These words have been passed along in loving memory of ROSE.

REMEMBER, GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL. We make a
Living by what we get. We make a Life by what we give.

God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage. If God brings you to
it, He will bring you through it.

Pass this message on to 7 people.You will receive a miracle tomorrow (
if you don't think so....look out your window when you wake in the
morning and think about it )

If you choose not, then you refuse to bless someone else.

'Good friends are like stars..... .....You don't always see them, but
you know they are always there.'

Too Busy for a Friend.....

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other
students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between
each name.

Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about
each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment,
and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a
separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about
that individual.

On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the
entire class was smiling. 'Really?' she heard whispered. 'I never knew

that I meant anything to anyone!' and, 'I didn't know others liked me
so much,' were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if
they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't
matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were
happy with themselves and one another. That group of students moved on.

Several years later, one of the students was killed in
Vietnam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student.
She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked
so handsome, so mature.

The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him
took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless
the coffin.

As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up
to her. 'Were you Mark's math teacher?' he asked. She nodded: 'yes.'
Then he said: 'Mark talked about you a lot.'

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a
luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to
speak with his teacher.

'We want to show you something,' his father said, taking a wallet out
of his pocket 'They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought
you might recognize it.'

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook
paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times.
The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which
she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said
about him.

'Thank you so much for doing that,' Mark's mother said. 'As you can
see, Mark treasured it.'

All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around. Charlie
smiled rather sheepishly and said, 'I still have my list. It's in the
top drawer of my desk at home.'

Chuck's wife said, 'Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.'

'I have mine too,' Marilyn said. 'It's in my diary'

Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out
her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. 'I carry
this with me at all times,' Vicki said and without batting an eyelash,
she continued: 'I think we all saved our lists'

That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark
and for all his friends who would never see him again.

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life
will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be.

So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special
and important. Tell them, before it is too late.

And One Way To Accomplish This Is: Forward this message on. If you do
not send it, you will have, once again passed up the wonderful
opportunity to do something nice and beautiful.

If you've received this, it is because someone cares for you and it
means there is probably at least someone for whom you care.

If you're 'too busy' to take those few minutes right now to forward
this message on, would this be the VERY first time you didn't do that
little thing that would make a difference in your relationships?

The more people that you send this to, the better you'll be at reaching
out to those you care about.

Remember, you reap what you sow. What you put into the lives of others
comes back into your own.

CelticWomanForum.com

Everything Else => Members Helping Members => Topic started by: OldFatGuy on August 25, 2007, 08:33PM