A Good Read

[kong]

The Cost
=========

Tess was a precocious eight-year-old when she heard her Mom and Dad talking about her little brother, Andrew. All she knew was that he was very sick and they
were completely out of money. They were moving to an apartment complex next month because Daddy didn't have the money for the doctor's bills and their house.
Only a very costly surgery could save him now and it was looking like there was no one to loan them the money. She heard Daddy say to her tearful Mother with
whispered desperation, "Only a miracle can save him now." Tess went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet. She poured all 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 backdoor and made her way 6 blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief sign above the door.
She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention, but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise.
Nothing.
She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster.
No good.
Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter.
That did it!
"And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. "I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages," he said without
waiting for a reply to his question.
"Well, I want to talk to you about my brother," Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone.
"He's really really sick... and I want to buy a miracle."
"I beg your pardon?" said the pharmacist.
"His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now, so how much does a miracle cost?"
"We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry, but I can't help you," the pharmacist said, softening a little.
"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs."
The pharmacist's brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, "What kind of a miracle does your brother need?"
"I don't know," Tess replied with her eyes welling up "I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation, but my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use
my money."
"How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago.
"One dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audibly.
"And it's all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to.
"Well, what a coincidence," smiled the man. "A dollar and eleven cents, 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 kind of miracle you need."
That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neuro-surgery.
The operation was completed without 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.
A miracle is not the suspension of natural law,
but the operation of a higher law.


~Author Unknown~

[kong]

For A Glass of Milk
====================

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to
pay his way through school found he had only one thin dime
left, and he was hungry.

He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house.
However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the
door. Instead of a meal, he asked for a drink of water.

She thought he looked hungry so brought him a large glass of
milk. He drank it slowly and then asked, "How much do I owe
you?"

"You don't owe me anything," she replied. "Mother has taught us
never to accept pay for a kindness." He said, "Then I thank you
from my heart." As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only
felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was
strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.

Many year's later that same young woman became critically ill.
The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the
big city where they called in specialists to study her rare
disease. Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation.

When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange
light filled his eyes. Immediately he rose and went down the
hall of the hospital to her room. Dressed in his doctor's gown
he went in to see her.

He recognized her at once. He went back to the consultation
room determined to do his best to save her life.

From that day he gave special attention to her case.

After a long struggle, the battle was won.

Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill
to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on
the edge and the bill was sent to her room.

She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest
of her life to pay for it all.

Finally she looked and something caught her attention on the
side of the bill. She read these words, "Paid in full with one
glass of milk"

(Signed) Dr. Howard Kelly.

Tears of joy flooded her eyes as her happy heart prayed:
"Thank You, God, that Your love has spread abroad through
human hearts and hands."

~Author Unknown~

[kong]

Do You Believe in Easter?
==========================
Edith Burns was a wonderful Christian who lived in San Antonio, Texas. She was the patient of a doctor by the name of Will Phillips. Dr. Phillips was a gentle doctor who saw patients as people. His favorite patient was Edith Burns. One morning he went to his office with a heavy heart and it was because of Edith Burns. When he walked into that waiting room, there sat Edith with her big black Bible in her lap earnestly talking to a young mother sitting beside her. Edith Burns had a habit of introducing herself in this way: - "Hello, my name is Edith Burns. Do you believe in Easter?" Then she would explain the meaning of Easter and many times people would be saved. Dr. Phillips walked into that office and there he saw the head nurse, Beverly. Beverly had first met Edith when she was taking her blood pressure. Edith began by saying, "My name is Edith Burns. Do you believe in Easter?" Beverly said, "Why yes I do." Edith said, "Well, what do you believe about Easter?" Beverly said, "Well, it's all about egg hunts, going to church, and dressing up." Edith kept pressing her about the real meaning of Easter, and finally led her to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. Dr. Phillips said, "Beverly, don't call Edith into the office quite yet. I believe there is another delivery taking place in the waiting room. After being called back in the doctor's office, Edith sat down and when she took a look at the doctor she said, "Dr. Will, why are you so sad? Are you reading your Bible? Are you praying?" Dr. Phillips said gently, "Edith, I'm the doctor and you're the patient." With a heavy heart he said, "Your lab report came back and it says you have cancer, and Edith, you're not going to live very long." Edith said, "Why Will Phillips, shame on you. Why are you so sad? Do you think God makes mistakes? You have just told me I'm going to see my precious Lord Jesus, my husband, and my friends. You have just told me that I am going to celebrate Easter forever, and here you are having difficulty giving me my ticket!" Dr. Phillips thought to himself, "What a magnificent woman this Edith Burns is!" Edith continued coming to Dr. Phillips. Christmas came and the office was closed through January 3rd. On the day the office opened, Edith did not show up. Later that afternoon, Edith called Dr. Phillips and said she would have to be moving her story to the hospital and said, "Will, I'm very near home, so would you make sure that they put women in here next to me in my room who need to know about Easter." Well, they did just that and women began to come in and share that room with Edith. Many women were saved. Everybody on that floor from staff to patients were so excited about Edith, that they started calling her Edith Easter; that is everyone except Phyllis Cross, the head nurse. Phyllis made it plain that she wanted nothing to do with Edith because she was a "religious nut." She had been a nurse in an army hospital. She had seen it all and heard it all. She was the original G.I. Jane. She had been married three times, she was hard, cold, and did everything by the book. One morning the two nurses who were to attend to Edith were sick. Edith had the flu and Phyllis Cross had to go in and give her a shot. When she walked in, Edith had a big smile on her face and said, "Phyllis, God loves you and I love you, and I have been praying for you." Phyllis Cross said, "Well, you can quit praying for me, it won't work. I'm not interested." Edith said, "Well, I will pray and I have asked God not to let me go home until you come into the family." Phyllis Cross said, "Then you will never die because that will never happen," and curtly walked out of the room. Every day Phyllis Cross would walk into the room and Edith would say, "God loves you Phyllis and I love you, and I'm praying for you." One day Phyllis Cross said she was literally drawn to Edith's room like a magnet would draw iron. She sat down on the bed and Edith said, "I'm so glad you have come, because God told me that today is your special day." Phyllis Cross said, "Edith, you have asked everybody here the question, 'Do you believe in Easter?' but you have never ask me."Edith said, "Phyllis, I wanted to many times, but God told me to wait until you asked, and now that you have asked." Edith Burns took her Bible and shared with Phyllis Cross the Easter Story of the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Edith said, "Phyllis, do you believe in Easter? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is alive and that He wants to live in your heart?" Phyllis Cross said, "Oh I want to believe that with all of my heart, and I do want Jesus in my life." Right there, Phyllis Cross prayed and invited Jesus Christ into her heart.For the first time Phyllis Cross did not walk out of a hospital room, she was carried out on the wings of angels.Two days later, Phyllis Cross came in and Edith said, "Do you know what day it is?" Phyllis Cross said," Why Edith, it is Good Friday." Edith said, "Oh, no, for you every day is Easter. Happy Easter Phyllis!" Two days later, on Easter Sunday, Phyllis Cross came into work, did some of her duties and then went down to the flower shop and got some Easter lilies because she wanted to go up to see Edith and give her some Easter lilies and wish her a Happy Easter. When she walked into Edith's room, Edith was in bed. That big black Bible was on her lap. Her hands were in that Bible. There was a sweet smile on her face. When Phyllis Cross went to pick up Edith's hand, she realized Edith was dead. Her left hand was on John 14:2 "In my Father's house there are many mansions. I go to prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also."Her right hand was on Revelation 21:4, " And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, there shall be no more death nor sorrow, nor crying; and there shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away." Phyllis Cross took one look at that dead body, and then lifted her face toward heaven, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, said, "Happy Easter, Edith - Happy Easter!" Phyllis Cross left Edith's body, walked out of the room and over to a table where two student nurses were sitting. She said, "My name is Phyllis Cross. Do you believe in Easter?"
Author Unknown

[kong]

Always...
==========

Scott got to church early to get a good seat for the Christmas service. He found a seat up against the aisle, and settled in.People were starting to file in wearing their Sunday finery when he remembered his cell phone was on. Just as he started to cut it off, John walked up with a big smile and a handshake. A typical Sunday morning conversation ensued, and as it wasending John questioned Scott about turning off his cell phone. "You never know," he said. "Some desperate soul just might need you," he smiled. Scott grimaced, reconsidered, and turned the phone onto vibrate. Scott ran a one-man towing business, and the last thing he wanted this morning was to have to miss the service to haul someone out of a ditch, or worse, drag the shredded remains of someone's car off of the highway. Not five minutes passed before his cell phone vibrated. As he walked toward the lobby to answer the call he could only think, "Full retail for this one." It was old Mrs. Wingate, a widow whose dilapidated jalopy was headed for the Guinness Book of World records for running long past the natural life span of any car. Her car had broken down on her way to church, and she was stranded on the side of the road, freezing. She was perhaps the kindliest little old lady anyone could ever hope to meet, and he could scarcely ask her to call anyone else. After all, she and his Mom were good friends. When he arrived, Scott could see the steam still rising from her hood. She smiled gracefully as only a true Southern lady could, and they commiserated for a moment over her ailing car. As he slipped a pair of coveralls over his Sunday pants and shirt, he asked her to step in front of his truck for safety's sake. "Why, whatever for?" she asked. He explained how when the steel cable pulled her car up onto the flat bed of his truck there was always the possibility that it could snap, and either hurt or maybe even kill someone. She gave a little gasp, and moved in front of the truck. In just a few minutes her ailing car was secured, and the pair tookoff towards her mechanic's shop. Since her church was almost on the way, he asked if he could drop her off there. She turned to him and said, "Yes, thank you." As he pulled up to the side door of her church to let her out,she asked, "How much do I owe you." He smiled, knowing that she was as poor as a church mouse. He pointed to the church building and said, "This one's on the House." She smiled that smile that only the truly thankful and relieved could smile, put her time-worn hand on his forearm and said, "I will always pray for your safety." As she walked towards the church she joined some friends. As he pulled away, he could see them clustered in that tight huddle ladies form when some news needs to be shared. He knew he did not need to ask if she could get a ride home. That was as given as tomorrow's sunrise. A year later, Scott's Reserve Unit got called up for combat duty. He had all the training he needed, and now it was the time to pony up. He went through the usual tearful goodbyes with his parents and friends, and took the long grueling flight overseas. Shortly after arriving, his unit was assigned to clear a town of "insurgents." With his mechanical skills, it was no surprise that he was assigned to a support group helping to maintain other vehicles in their unit. It was not a peaceful day. Occasionally, the distinctive clatter of AK-47s would be heard along with the blast of rocket propelled grenades. This was usually followed by M-16 and 50 caliber machine gun fire. It wasn't long before his team got the call to assist a wounded humvee towards the center of town. They quickly descended on the shot-up vehicle, and began repairs. As they worked away it became obvious what parts and tools were needed, so Scott returned to the truck to get them. As he rounded the back of the truck he ran face-first into a enemy soldier that had slipped up quietly. Instantly an AK-47 was shoved into his face, and he heard the hammer of the rifle drop as the trigger was pulled. It was the loudest sound he had ever heard in his life. For whatever reason, the gun had not discharged, but he had heard that gun's hammer hit steel like a blacksmith's hammer striking an anvil. Immediately he reacted. With his left hand he swept the gun aside, and with his right hand slammed the heavy wrench he was carrying into the head of the enemy soldier. The grungy, AK-carrying guerilla went down like a pile of rags. Calling for help, he turned his unconscious would-be killer over to the combat troops. He was shaken so hard he couldn't stand up. He sat down on the truck's tailgate. He could only think, "The gun should have gone off. It should have blown my brains across the street. I should be dead." But he wasn't.
By evening, his nerves had finally settled down as much as they were going to that day. His team had been called back to work on a downed vehicle in a well-secured area so they moved away from the fighting. After chow the mail caught up with them. He got two letters, and a post card. He flipped the post card over and found that it was from that dear old soul, Mrs. Wingate.
It had only one sentence,
"I will always pray for your safety."
He bowed his head, and quietly cried.


~copyrighted and submitted by author Jack Holton Cowart,

[kong]

Still Answers
==============
A young man had been to Wednesday night Bible study. The 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 them 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 something, 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 a 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 a 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 the hallway, speaking loudly in Spanish. 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 asked him to send an Angel with some milk. Are you an Angel?" The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had on him and put it 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. "Stop telling God how big your storm is. Instead, tell the storm how big your God is!"
Author Unknown

[kong]

Daddy's Empty Chair
A man's daughter had asked the local minister to come and pray with her father. When the minister arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows. An empty chair sat beside his bed.
The minister assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit. "I guess you were expecting me," he said."No, who are you?" said the father. The minister told him his name and then remarked, "I saw the empty chair and I figured you knew I was going to show up." "Oh yeah, the chair," said the bedridden man. "Would you mind closing the door?"Puzzled, the minister shut the door. "I have never told anyone this, not even my daughter," said the man. "But all of my life I have never known how to pray. At church I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, but it went right over my head. I abandoned any attempt at prayer," the old man continued, "until one day four years ago my best friend said to me, "Johnny, prayer is just a simple matter of having a conversation with Jesus. Here is what I suggest." "Sit down in a chair; place an empty chair in front of you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair. It's not spooky because he promised, 'I will be with you always'. "Then just speak to him in the same way you're doing with me right now." "So, I tried it and I've liked it so much that I do it a couple of hours every day. I'm careful though. If my daughter saw me talking to an empty chair, she'd either have a nervous breakdown or send me off to the funny farm." The minister was deeply moved by the story and encouraged the old man to continue on the journey. Then he prayed with him, anointed him with oil, and returned to the church. Two nights later the daughter called to tell the minister that her daddy had died that afternoon. "Did he die in peace?" he asked."Yes, when I left the house about two o'clock, he called me over to his bedside, told me he loved me and kissed me on the cheek. When I got back from the store an hour later, I found him dead. But there was something strange about his death. Apparently, just before Daddy died, he leaned over and rested his head on the chair beside the bed.What do you make of that?" The minister wiped a tear from his eye and said, "I wish we could all go like that."

[kong]

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 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 un-assuming 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 warm giving sun, picked up his hose, and went
on with his watering. The summer was quickly fadinginto 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. In 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.
~Author Unknown~

[kong]

the rented room

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic
entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived
downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the
clinic.
One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at
the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man.
"Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I
stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing
was his face, lopsided from swelling, red and raw.
Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come
to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a
treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no
bus 'til morning."
He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no
success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face...
I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more
treatments..."
For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me,
"I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus
leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch.
I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready,
I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you.
I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.
When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk
with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that
this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body.
He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her
five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from
a back injury.
He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other
sentence was prefaced with a thanks to God for a blessing.
He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was
apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him
the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him.
When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded
and the little man was out on the porch.
He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus,
haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said,
"Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a
treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a
chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made
me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children
don't seem to mind."
I told him he was welcome to come again.
And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the
morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the
largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them
that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh.
I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m., and I wondered what time he
had to get up in order to do this for us.
In the years he came to stay overnight with us, there was never
a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables
from his garden.
Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special
delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young
spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.
Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these and knowing
how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a
comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first
morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night?
I turned him away!
You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"
Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they
could have known him, perhaps their illness would have been
easier to bear. I know our family will always be grateful to
have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the
bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.
Recently, I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse.
As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one
of all, a golden chrysanthemum bursting with blooms.
But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty
bucket. I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it
in the loveliest container I had!"
My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she
explained, "and knowing how beautiful this one would be,
I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's
just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."
She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly,
but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven.
"Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when
he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman.
"He won't mind starting in this small body."
All this happened long ago -- and now, in God's garden,
how tall this lovely soul must stand.
Author Unknown

[kong]

Psalm 55:22 --- you really need to read this.
"Friends are God's way of taking care of us."

This was written by a Metro Denver Hospice Physician:
I was driving home from a meeting this evening about 5, stuck in traffic on Colorado Blvd., and the car started to choke and splutter and die - I barely managed to coast, cursing, into a gas station, glad only that I would not be blocking traffic and would have a somewhat warm spot to wait for the tow truck. It wouldn't even turn over. Before I could make the call, I saw a woman walking out of the quickie mart building, and it looked like she slipped on some ice and fell into a gas pump, so I got out to see if she was okay. When I got there, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than that she had fallen; she was a young woman who looked really haggard with dark circles under her eyes. She dropped something as I helped her up, and I picked it up to give it to her. It was a nickel. At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the ancient Suburban crammed full of stuff with 3 kids in the back (1 in a car seat), and the gas pump reading $4.95.
I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, and she just kept saying "I don't want my kids to see me crying," so we stood on the other side of the pump from her car. She said she was driving to California and that things were very hard for her right now. So I asked, "And you were praying?" That made her back away from me a little, but I assured her I was not a crazy person and said, "He heard you, and He sent me." I took out my card and swiped it through the card reader on the pump so she could fill up her car completely, and while it was fueling, walked to the next door McDonald's and bought 2 big bags of food, some gift certificates for more, and a big cup of coffee. She gave the food to the kids in the car, who attacked it like wolves, and we stood by the pump eating fries and talking a little. She told me her name, and that she lived in Kansas City Her boyfriend left 2 months ago and she had not been able to make ends meet. She knew she wouldn't have money to pay rent Jan. 1, and finally in desperation had finally called her parents, with whom she had not spoken in about 5 years. They lived in California and said she could come live with them and try to get on her feet there. So she packed up everything she owned in the car. She told the kids they were going to California for Christmas, but not that they were going to live there. I gave her my gloves, a little hug and said a quick prayer with her for safety on the road. As I was walking over to my car, she said, "So, are you like an angel or something?" This definitely made me cry. I said, "Sweetie, at this time of year angels are really busy, so sometimes God uses regular people."
It was so incredible to be a part of someone else's miracle. And of course, you guessed it, when I got in my car it started right away and got me home with no problem. I'll put it in the shop tomorrow to check, but I suspect the mechanic won't find anything wrong.
Sometimes the angels fly close enough to you that you can hear the flutter of their wings...
Psalms 55:22 "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee. He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved."
Share this with the people in your life
Father, I ask You to bless my children, grandchildren, friends, relatives and email buddies reading this right now. Show them a new revelation of your love and power. Holy Spirit, I ask You to minister to their spirit this very moment. Where there is pain, give them Your peace and mercy. Where there is self doubt, release a renewed confidence through Your grace, In Jesus' precious name. Amen."

[The Brahama Bull]

Great stories each and every one of them

[kong]

thanks, i have been collecting these over the years from different sources, i figured they were too good to just delete or cast aside so i just kept them in a folder, ( I am a big sucker for stuff like this)

[Oldschool]

I need to look through my files too, I have some good ones

[kong]

The Ticket
=========
Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone.
When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour, Jack pulled over, but only
partially off the road. Let the cop worry about the potential traffic hazard.
Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror.
The cop that stepped out of his car was Bob, Bob from Church?
Jack sunk farther into his seat. This was worse than the coming
ticket, a Christian cop catching a guy from his own church.
Jumping out of the car, he approached a man he saw every Sunday,
a man he'd never seen in uniform.
Jack - "Hi, Bob."
Bob - "Hello, Jack." No smile.
Jack - "Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife
and kids."
Bob - "Yeah, I guess."
Jack - "I've seen some long days at the office lately. I'm
afraid I was going a little fast. Diane said something about
roast beef and potatoes tonight. Know what I mean?"
Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement.
Bob - "I know what you mean. I also know that you have a
reputation for speeding."
Ouch. This was not going in the right direction. Time to
change tactics.
Jack - "What'd you clock me at?"
Bob - "Seventy. Would you sit back in your car please?"
Jack - "Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as I saw
you. I was barely nudging 65."
Bob - "Please, Jack, in the car."
Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door.
Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard. The minutes
ticked by. Why hadn't he asked for a driver's license?
A tap on the door jerked his head to the left. There was Bob,
with 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 a lot!" Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his
voice.
Bob returned to his police car without a word as Jack unfolded
the sheet of paper.
How much was this one going to cost?
Jack began to read:
"Dear Jack, once 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 for killing my
daughter. 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.
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 so handle it with care.
Drive safely and carefully.
This is an important message; please pass it along to your
friends.
Remember, cars are not the only things recalled by their maker.
by Bill Stephens

[kong]

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 and 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 story of 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. Look for God in others.
You now have two choices, you can:
1) Pass this on to your friends or
2) Delete it and act like it didn't touch your heart.
As you can see, I took choice number 1. "Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly." There is no beginning or end..Yesterday is history.
Tomorrow is mystery.
Today is a gift.

[kong]

The Blessing Of Thorns
===================

Sandra felt as low as the heels of her shoes as she pushed against a November gust and the florist shop door. Her life had been easy, like a spring breeze. Then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a minor automobile accident stole her ease. During this Thanksgiving week she would have delivered a son. She grieved over her loss. As if that weren't enough, her husband's company threatened a transfer. Then her sister, whose annual holiday visit she coveted, called saying she could not come. What's worse, Sandra's friend infuriated her by suggesting her grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer. "She has no idea what I'm feeling," thought Sandra with a shudder. "Thanksgiving? Thankful for what?" she wondered aloud. For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear- ended her? For an airbag that saved her life but took that of her child?
"Good afternoon, can I help you?" The shop clerk's approach startled her. "I....I need an arrangement, "stammered Sandra. "For Thanksgiving? Do you want beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call the Thanksgiving Special?" asked the shop clerk. "I'm convinced that flowers tell stories," she continued. "Are you looking for something that conveys 'gratitude' this Thanksgiving? "Not exactly!" Sandra blurted out. "In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong." Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the shop clerk said, "I have the perfect arrangement for you. "Then the door's small bell rang, and the shop clerk said, "Hi Barbara...let me get your order." She politely excused herself and walked toward a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and long-stemmed thorny roses. Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped...there were no flowers. "Want this in a box?" asked the clerk. Sandra watched for the customer's response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no flowers!?! She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed. "Yes, please," Barbara replied with an appreciative smile. "You'd think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn't be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again," she said as she gently tapped her chest. "Uhh," stammered Sandra, "that lady just left with, uhh... she just left with no flowers!" "Right...I cut off the flowers. That's the Special... I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet. "Oh, come on, you can't tell me someone is willing to pay for that?" exclaimed Sandra. "Barbara came into the shop three years ago feeling very much like you feel today," explained the clerk. "She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, her son was into drugs, and she was facing major surgery .""That same year I had lost my husband, "continued the clerk," and for the first time in my life, I had to spend the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow any travel. "So what did you do?" asked Sandra. "I learned to be thankful for thorns," answered the clerk quietly. "I've always thanked God for good things in life and never thought to ask Him why those good things happened to me, but when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important. I always enjoyed the 'flowers' of life, but it took thorns to show me the beauty of God's comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we're afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others. "Sandra sucked in her breath as she thought about the very thing her friend had tried to tell her. "I guess the truth is I don't want comfort. I've lost a baby and I'm angry with God." Just then someone else walked in the shop. "Hey, Phil!" shouted the clerk to the balding, rotund man. "My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving arrangement....twelve thorny, long-stemmed stems!" laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue-wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator. "Those are for your wife?" asked Sandra incredulously. "Do you mind me asking why she wants something that looks like that? "No...I'm glad you asked," Phil replied. "Four years ago my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord's grace and guidance, we slogged through problem after problem. He rescued our marriage. Jenny here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she learned from "thorny" times, and that was good enough for me. I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific "problem" and give thanks to Him for what that problem taught us." As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, "I highly recommend the Special!" "I don't know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life." Sandra said to the clerk. "It's all too...fresh." "Well," the clerk replied carefully, "my experience has shown me that thorns make roses more precious. We treasure God's providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love.Don't resent the thorns." Tears rolled down Sandra's cheeks. For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on resentment. "I'll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please," she managed to choke out. "I hoped you would," said the clerk gently. "I'll have them ready in a minute. ""Thank you. What do I owe you?" asked Sandra. "Nothing." said the clerk. "Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year's arrangement is always on me. "The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra. "I'll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you'd like to read it first. "It read: "Dear God, I have never thanked you for my thorns. I have thanked you a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to you along the path of pain. Show me that, through my tears, the colors of your rainbow look much more brilliant."

~Author Unknown~

[kong]

The Loan Application
======================

It was shortly after marriage when it became clear that two people joining in Holy matrimony included the marriage of
debts. My total personal debt before marriage was approximately $3,000, but it suddenly increased to approximately $30,000.00. My wife could not work for about three years due to intermittent ill health. Income that was adequate for me at one time, suddenly had to be extended to her debts. Our credits began to decline. Her car was repossessed amongst other bad experiences. As her health improved, boredom overtook her. She suggested starting a small business from home. She then decided to capitalize on her excellent sewing skills. We bought a machine and she began. Money was short and sewing jobs were few. On the day that she got, what was for us, a huge job, approximately $400 for one dress, the sewing machine broke. With no money to repair that one or purchase a new machine, we threw our hands up in despair and decided we would call our client to pick up her unfinished fabric. On that day I had returned home for lunch since I worked nearby. We discussed our dilemma, we accepted our plight, I disappointingly had some lunch and started my walk back to work. On my way I had to pass a Central Carolina Bank. Just as I reached the bank, a voice inside of me spoke "Go inside and get a loan." I figured it was desperation talking since the bank was the source of our solution (Money). I replied, "That's not the way it works. You don't just walk off the street without a plan of repayment or formal proposal and receive money from the bank".
"Just go inside. What's the worse that can happen?" the voice insisted. At that time I was standing before the bank alone, a petrified soul, debating a voice inside my head, sometimes laughing out loud and sometimes disgusted at such a despicable idea. "This is foolish, but like you said, what's the worse that can happen. Even if it doesn't work, she doesn't know that I tried this foolish idea anyway. So, okay! Here I go, stupidly into this building without a plan, as I know it should be. I whispered a prayer, Lord, please go ahead of me and make this way straight. Courage, here I go!" Once in the bank, I asked the bank manager a rhetorical question,
"How does one obtain a loan from your bank?"
"You fill out an application." She said.
"Okay, I wish to fill one out.
What's the most I can ask for?" another rhetorical question.
"Well, how much would you like to borrow?" she asked.
"Approximately two hundred dollars." I replied.
"Do you have an account with us?" she asked.
"Yes, and my account number is 4404899."
"Well, let me see how your account looks." she said.
She stopped typing, reviewed the computer screen then said,
"By the way, you can borrow up to five hundred dollars and there's no need for an application."
"What do you mean?" I asked shocked, anxious and puzzled.
"Just go to the teller, and tell her that you would like a loan of whatever amount, up to five hundred dollars, and just sign a
withdrawal slip."
"Is that all?" "Why does it seem so easy?"
"Some time ago, you requested the bank to grant you a check protection account. That loan was approved but apparently,
you've never needed it. So, its there and its all yours upon demand."
Wow! Whew! You probably know my disposition at that moment. God was in the blessing business at that moment. I withdrew two hundred dollars, ran back home, pulled my wife by the hand into the room, spread two hundred dollars all over the bed, drawn in five dollar bills, then we prayed together for God's intervention into our lives at one of those times when we needed Him most.

[kong]

The Rosary

Jim Castle was tired when he boarded his plane in Cincinnati, Ohio, that night in 1981. The 45-year-old management consultant had put on a week-long series of business meetings and seminars, and now he sank gratefully into his seat
ready for the flight home to Kansas City, Kansas. As more passengers entered, the place hummed with conversation, mixed with the sound of bags being stowed. Then, suddenly, people fell silent. The quiet moved slowly up the aisle like an invisible wake behind a boat. Jim craned his head to see what was happening, and his mouth dropped open. Walking up the
aisle were two nuns clad in simple white habits bordered in blue. He recognized the familiar face of one at once, the wrinkled skin, theeyes warmly intent. This was a face he'd seen in newscasts and on the cover of TIME. The two nuns halted, and
Jim realized that his seat companion was going to be Mother Teresa! As the last few passengers settled in, Mother Teresa and her companion pulled out rosaries. Each decade of the beads was a different color, Jim noticed. The decades represented various areas of the world, Mother Teresa told him later, and added, "I pray for the poor and dying on each continent."
The airplane taxied to the runway, and the two women began to pray, their voices a low murmur. Though Jim considered himself not a very religious Catholic who went to church mostly out of habit, inexplicably he found himself joining in. By the time they murmured the final prayer, the plane had reached cruising altitude. Mother Teresa turned toward him. For the first time in his life, Jim understood what people meant when they spoke of a person possessing an "aura". As she gazed at him, a sense of peace filled him; he could no more see it than he could see the wind, but he felt it, just as surely as he felt a warm
summer breeze. "Young man," she inquired, "do you pray the rosary often?" "No, not really," he admitted. She took his hand, while her eyes probed his. Then she smiled. "Well, you will now." And she dropped her rosary into his palm. An hour later
Jim entered the Kansas City airport, where he was met by his wife, Ruth. "What in the world?" Ruth asked when she noticed the rosary in his hand. They kissed and Jim described his encounter. Driving home, he said. "I feel as if I met a true sister of God." Nine months later Jim and Ruth visited Connie, a friend of theirs for several years. Connie confessed that she'd been told she had ovarian cancer. "The doctor says it's a tough case," said Connie, "but I'm going to fight it. I won't give up." Jim clasped her hand. Then, after reaching into his pocket, he gently twined Mother Teresa's rosary around her fingers. He told her the story and said, "Keep it with you Connie. It may help." Although Connie wasn't Catholic, her hand closed willingly around the small plastic beads. "Thank you," she whispered. "I hope I can return it." More than a year passed before Jim saw
Connie again. This time, face glowing, she hurried toward him and handed him the rosary "I carried it with me all year," she said. "I've had surgery and have been on chemotherapy, too. Last month, the doctors did second-look surgery, and the tumor's gone. Completely!" Her eyes met Jim's. "I knew it was time to give the rosary back." In the fall of 1987, Ruth's sister, Liz, fell into a deep depression after her divorce. She asked Jim if she could borrow the rosary, and when he sent it, she hung it over her bedpost in a small velvet bag. "At night I held on to it, just physically held on. I was so lonely and afraid," she says," yet when I gripped that rosary, I felt as if I held a loving hand." Gradually, Liz pulled her life together, and she mailed the rosary back. "Someone else may need it," she said. Then one night in 1988, a stranger telephoned Ruth. She'd heard about the rosary from a neighbor and asked if she could borrow it to take to the hospital where her mother lay in a coma. The family hoped the rosary might help their mother die peacefully. A few days later, the woman returned the beads. "The
nurses told me a coma patient can still hear," she said, "so I explained to my mother that I had Mother Teresa's rosary and that when I gave it to her she could let go; it would be all right. Then I put the rosary in her hand. Right away,
we saw her face relax. The lines smoothed out until she looked so peaceful, so young." The woman's voice caught. "A few minutes later she was gone." Fervently, she gripped Ruth's hands. "Thank you."
Is there special power in those humble beads? Or is the power of the human spirit simply renewed in each person who borrows the rosary? Jim only knows that requests continue to come often unexpectedly. He always responds though whenever he lends the rosary. He says, "When you're through needing it, send it back. Someone else may need it."
Jim's own life has changed, too, since his unexpected meeting on the airplane. When he realized Mother Teresa carries everything she owns in a small bag, he made an effort to simplify his own life. "I try to remember what really counts - not money or titles or possessions, but the way we love others," he says
- MAY GOD BLESS YOU ABUNDANTLY, AND MAY MOTHER MARY ASK HER SON JESUS TO
SHOWER YOU WITH GRACES.

[kong]

Only A Man . . .

At first glance she looked like any other old woman. Plodding along in the snow, alone, neglected, head bowed. People passing on the busy city sidewalk averted their eyes, lest she remind them that pain and suffering did not stop to celebrate
Christmas. A young couple, smiling, talking, laughing, arms loaded with Christmas presents, took no notice of the old woman. A mother with two small children hurried by, on their way to grandmother's house. They took no notice.
A minister walked by proudly carrying his Bible in his right hand, like a well armed Christian soldier. But his mind was stayed on heavenly things, and he took no notice. If these people had noticed, they would have seen that the old woman wore no
shoes. She walked barefoot in the ice and snow.With both hands the old woman gathered her worn button-less overcoat at the collar to keep out the wind. She stopped and stood bent and bowed at the bus stop. A red and blue scarf covering her head, she waited for the downtown bus.A gentleman carrying an important looking briefcase waited near her, not too
closely. After all, she could have something contagious. A teen-age girl also waited for the bus. She glanced repeatedly at the old woman's feet, but said nothing.The bus arrived and the old woman slowly, painfully boarded. She sat on the side-ways seat just behind the driver. The gentleman and the teen-age girl hurried to the rear. The man sharing the seat with the old woman shuffled uneasily and twirled his thumbs. "Senile," he thought.The bus driver saw her bare feet and thought; "This neighborhood is sinking deeper and deeper into poverty, I hate to see it, I'll be glad when they put me on the College Park route."A little boy pointed at the old woman."Look, Mother, that old lady is barefoot."The embarrassed mother slapped his hand down. "Don't point at people, Andrew. It's not polite to point." She looked out the window."She must have grown children," a lady in a fur coat suggested. "Her children should be ashamed of themselves." She felt morally superior, because she took good care of her mother.A teacher seated near the middle of the bus steadied the bag of gifts on her lap.
"Don't we pay enough taxes to handle situations like this?" she said to a friend seated beside her. "It's this tax-cut crazy Republican administration, her friend replied. "They rob the poor and give to the rich." "No, its the Democrats," a
gray-haired man behind them interjected. "These Democrat welfare programs just make people lazy and keep them in poverty.""People have to learn to save their money," a well-dressed young college man added. "If that old woman had saved when she was young, she wouldn't be suffering now. It's her own fault." And all these people beamed with satisfaction that their acumen had delivered such trenchant analysis.But, a kind businessman felt offended by this murmuring detachment of his fellow citizens. He reached into his wallet and took out a crisp twenty-dollar bill. He strode proudly down the isle and pressed the bill into the old woman's unsteady, wrinkled hand. "Here, Madam, get yourself some shoes." The old woman nodded her head in thanks. The businessman strode back to his seat, feeling pleased with himself, that he was a man of action.A well-dressed Christian lady had noticed all of this. She began to pray silently."Lord, I don't have money. There is no way I can help. But Lord, I can turn to you in every need. Lord, I know that you are a loving God. You make a way out
of no way. Now Lord, let your blessing shine on this old woman. Let shoes fall like manna from heaven, so that this old woman can have shoes for Christmas." And the Christian lady felt supremely spiritual.At the next stop, a young man boarded the bus. He wore a heavy blue jacket, a maroon scarf around his neck, and a gray woolen cap pulled down over is ears. A wire running under the cap and into his ear was connected to a Walkman. The young man jiggled his body in time to music only he heard. He paid his fare and plopped down on the sideways seat directly across from the old woman.As the young man's glance caught the old woman's bare feet, His jiggling stopped. He froze. His eyes went from her feet to his. He wore his expensive, new, brand name sneakers. For months he had saved from his minimum wage pay to buy these sneakers. Everybody in the gang would think he was "so cool." The young man bent down and began to untie his sneakers.
He removed his impressive new sneakers. He removed his socks. He knelt down before the old woman."Mother," he said, "I see you have no shoes. Well, I have shoes." Carefully, gently, he lifted the old woman's crusty feet in his hands. He placed his socks and his fine sneakers on the old woman's feet. The old woman nodded in thanks.Just then the bus arrived at the nest stop. The young man left the bus and walked away, barefoot in the snow.The passengers crowded at the windows to watch him as he plodded barefoot through the snow.
"Who is he?" one asked.
"He must be a prophet," said another.
"He must be a saint," someone suggested.
"He must be an angel," said yet another.
"Look! There's a halo around his head," somebody shouted.
"He must be the Son of God," said the Christian lady.
But the little boy who had pointed, said, "No Mother, I saw him clearly, ...
He was only a man."

[kong]

Shay
=====
Everything happens for a Reason.....
In Brooklyn, New York, Chush is a school that caters to learning disabled children. Some children remain in Chush for their
entire school career, while other can be mainstreamed into conventional schools. At a Chush fundraising dinner, the father of a Chush child delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he cried out, "Where is the perfection in my son, Shay? Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God's perfection?"
The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father's anguish and stilled by the piercing query.
"I believe," the father answered, " that when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that he seeks is in the way people react to this child."He then told the following story about his son Shay: One afternoon, Shay and his father walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, "Do you think they will let me play?"
Shay's father knew that his son was not at all athletic and that most boys would not want him on their team. But Shay's father understood that if his son was chosen to play it would give him a comfortable sense of belonging. Shay's father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his teammates. Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said, "We are losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning."Shay's father was ecstatic as Shay smiled broadly. Shay was told to put on a glove and go out to play short center field. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again and now with two outs and the basses loaded with the potential winning run on base Shay was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let Shay bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game?
Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that it was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, let alone hit with it. However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved up a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay should at least be able to make contact.
The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.
One of Shay's teammates came up to Shay and together they held the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the next pitch.
The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay and his teammate swung at the ball and together they hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher.The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have ended the game.
Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman. Everyone
started yelling, "Shay, run to first, run to first!"Never in his life had Shay run to first. He scampered down the
baseline wide-eyed and startled. By the time he reached first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the
ball to the second baseman who would tag out Shay, who was still running. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions were, so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman's head. Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second." Shay ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home.As Shay reached second base, the opposing shortstop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base and shouted, "Run to
third." As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming, "Shay run home." Shay ran home, stepped on home plate and all 18 boys lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero, as he had just hit a "grand slam" and won the game for his team.
"That day," said the father softly with tears now rolling down his Face, "those 18 boys reached their level of God's perfection."

Funny how this is so true! Funny how simple it is for people to trash different ways of living and believing and then wonder why the world is going to hell.
Funny how people can send a thousand jokes through email and they spread like wildfire, but when one starts sending messages regarding life choices, people think twice about sharing.
Funny how the lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of morality is too
often suppressed in school and the workplace.
Funny how when you go to forward this message (if you choose to forward it), you will not send it to many on your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they will think of you for sending it to them.
Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us than what we think of ourselves.

FUNNY ISN'T IT!

[Oldschool]

The following was written by Ben Stein and recited by him on CBS Sunday Morning.

Commentary.

My confession:

I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not

bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled

trees, 'Christmas' trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated

against. That's what they are: Christmas trees.

It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, 'Merry Christmas' to me. I don't

think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I

kind of like it It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this

happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on

display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu . If people want a

preacher, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.

I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians

like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in

God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where

the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find

it in the Constitution and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.

Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we

should worship celebrities and we aren't allowed to worship God as we

understand Him? I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too. But there are

a lot of us who are wondering where these celebrities came from and where

the America we knew went to.

In light of the many jokes we send to one another for a laugh, this is a little

different: This is not intended to be a joke; it's not funny, it's intended to get

you thinking.

Billy Graham's daughter was interviewed on the Early Show and Jane Clayson

asked her, 'How could God let something like this happen?' (regarding Katrina).

Anne Graham (Lotz) gave an extremely profound and insightful response. She

said, 'I believe God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for years

we've been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our government

and to get out of our lives. And being the gentleman He is, I believe He has

calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His blessing and His

protection if we demand He leave us alone?'

In light of recent events... terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I think it

started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found a

few years ago) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said

OK. Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school. The Bible says

thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And

we said OK.

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they

misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might

damage their self-esteem (Dr Spock's son committed suicide). We said an

expert should know what he's talking about. And we said OK.

Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they

don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers,

their classmates, and themselves.

Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I

think it has a great deal to do with 'WE REAP WHAT WE SOW.'

Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's

going to hell. Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question

what the Bible says. Funny how you can send 'jokes' through e-mail and they

spread like wildfire but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord,

people think twice about sharing. Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene

articles pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of God is

suppressed in the school and workplace.

Are you laughing yet?

Funny how when you forward this message, you will not send it to many on

your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they will

think of you for sending it.

Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us than

what God thinks of us.

Pass it on if you think it has merit. If not then just discard it... no one will know

you did. But, if you discard this thought process, don't sit back and complain

about what bad shape the world is in.

My Best Regards, Honestly and respectfully,

Ben Stein

[kong]

thank you Oldschool

[Oldschool]

No problem :)

[kong]

What Do You Value Most?
========================
A young man learns what's most important in life from the guy next door. It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his
dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his
wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him. Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days. "Jack, did you hear me?" "Oh, 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."


~Author Unknown~

[Oldschool]

Good advice :)

[Oldschool]

Scripture: Galatians 6:16a
"Peace and mercy to all who follow this rule." NIV

Some years ago, while on a Caribbean Cruise, my sons John and Greg had a great idea: let's go scuba diving!

We were beginners so our instructor took time to introduce us to the rules to insure safety no matter where we are diving. One such rule to follow when in deep water is "follow your bubbles." In deep water a diver is encircled by light and weightless with no sense of gravity. There is no way to tell which way is up because the water diffuses the light.

Surrounded in an aura of light and weightlessness it is very easy to lose all sense of direction and get disoriented. A diver may sense that a particular way is up and that his air bubbles are going sideways. He may be so convinced that this perception is true that he decides to ignore his bubbles and go the way he thinks is up.

One of the first rules our instructor impressed upon us is always trust your bubbles. No matter how I feel, no matter what I think, my bubbles are always right.

Life can be like that at times too. If we base the rules of life on our feelings, perception or what we think, we can be very easily led astray. The 1960's philosophy, "If it feels good it must be right," is a dangerous guide to follow because our feelings can play all sorts of tricks on us.

If something is wrong, it is wrong regardless of how we feel or what we think. True, it's important that we don't deny or repress our feelings as we can learn to trust them, but what we can't always trust is our interpretation of them.

The only safe guide to follow when it comes to the rules of life is to trust God and his Word, the Bible. Therein lie the "bubbles of life" to follow. These "bubbles" are always right. Always follow your bubbles!

Prayer: Father help me to confidently follow your path as an experienced diver follows his bubbles. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen!

[kong]

The Carpenter
An elderly carpenter was ready to retire. He told his employer-contractor of his plans to leave the house-building business and live a more leisurely life with his wife so that they could enjoy their extended family. He would miss the paycheck, but he needed to retire. They could get by. The contractor was sorry to see his good worker go and asked if he could build just one more house as a personal favor. The carpenter said yes, but in time it was easy to see that his heart was not in his work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an unfortunate way to end a dedicated career. When the carpenter finished his work, the employer came to inspect the house. Then he handed the front-door key to the carpenter saying, "This is your house. My gift to you!" The carpenter was shocked! What a shame! If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so differently. So it is with us. We build our lives, a day at a time, often putting less than our best into the building. Then with a shock we realize we have to live in the house we have built. If we could do it over, we'd do it much differently. But we cannot go back.

[kong]

The Carpenter, part 2
==============
Once upon a time two brothers who lived on adjoining farms fell into conflict. It was the first serious rift in 40 years of farming side by side, sharing machinery, and trading labor and goods as needed without a hitch. Then the long collaboration fell apart. It began with a small misunderstanding and it grew into a major difference, and finally it exploded into an exchange of bitter words followed by weeks of silence. One morning there was a knock on John's door. He opened it to find a man with a carpenter's toolbox. "I'm looking for a few days work," he said. "Perhaps you would have a few small jobs here and there. Could I help you?""Yes," said the older brother. "I do have a job for you. Look across the creek at that farm. That's my neighbor, in fact, it's my younger brother.Last week there was a meadow between us and he took his
bulldozer to the river levee and now there is a creek between us. Well, he may have done this to spite me, but I'll go him one better. See that pile of lumber curing by the barn? I want you to build me a fence - an 8-foot fence - so I won't need to see his place anymore. Cool him down, anyhow." The carpenter said, "I think I understand the situation. Show me the nails and the post-hole digger and I'll be able to do a job that pleases you." The older brother had to go to town for supplies, so he helped the carpenter get the materials ready and then he was off for the day.The carpenter worked hard all that day measuring, sawing, nailing. About sunset when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just finished his job. The farmer's eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. There was no fence there at all. It was a bridge. A bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other! A fine piece of work, handrails and all, and the neighbor, his younger brother, was coming across, his hand outstretched. "You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I've said and done." The two brothers stood at each end of the bridge and then they met in the middle, taking each other's hand. They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox on his shoulder. "No, wait! Stay a few days. I've got a lot of other projects for you," said the older brother. "I'd love to stay on," the carpenter said, "but, I have many more bridges to build."

[kong]

On Christmas Eve, the king invited the prime minister to join him for their usual walk together. He enjoyed seeing the decorations in the streets, but since he didn’t want his subjects to spend too much money on these just to please him, the two men always disguised themselves as traders from some far distant land.
They walked through the centre of the city, admiring the lights, the Christmas trees, the candles burning on the steps of the houses, the stalls selling gifts, and the men, women and children hurrying off to celebrate a family Christmas around a table laden with food. On the way back, they passed through a poorer area, where the atmosphere was quite different. There were no lights, no candles, no delicious smells of food about to be served. There was hardly a soul in the street, and, as he did every year, the king remarked to the prime minister that he really must pay more attention to the poor in his kingdom. The prime minister nodded, knowing that the matter would soon be forgotten again, buried beneath the day-to-day bureaucracy of budgets to be approved and discussions with foreign dignitaries. Suddenly, they heard music coming from one of the poorest houses. The hut was so ramshackle and the rotten wooden timbers so full of cracks, that they were able to peer through and see what was happening inside. And what they saw was utterly absurd: an old man in a wheelchair apparently crying, a shaven-headed young woman dancing, and a young man with sad eyes shaking a tambourine and singing a folk song.
"I’m going to find out what they’re up to," said the king.
He knocked. The music stopped, and the young man came to the door. "We are merchants in search of a place to sleep. We heard the music, saw that you were still awake, and wondered if we could spend the night here." "You can find shelter in a hotel in the city. We, alas, cannot help you. Despite the music, this house is full of sadness and suffering."
"And may we know why?" "It’s all because of me." It was the old man in the wheelchair who spoke. "I’ve spent my life teaching my son calligraphy, so that he could one day get a job as a palace scribe. But the years have passed and no post has ever come up. And then, last night, I had a stupid dream: an angel appeared to me and asked me to buy a silver goblet because, the angel said, the king would be coming to visit me. He would drink from the goblet and give my son a job. "The angel was so persuasive that I decided to do as he said. Since we have no money, my daughter-in-law went to the market this morning to sell her hair so that we could buy that goblet over there. The two of them are doing their best to get me in the Christmas spirit by singing and dancing, but it’s no use." The king saw the silver goblet, asked to be given a little water to quench his thirst and, before leaving, said to the family: ‘Do you know, we were talking to the prime minister only today, and he told us that an opening for a palace scribe would be announced next week.’ The old man nodded, not really believing what he was hearing, and bade farewell to the strangers. The following morning, however, a royal proclamation was read out in all the city streets; a new scribe was needed at court. On the appointed day, the audience room at the palace was packed with people eager to compete for that much-sought-after post. The prime minister entered and asked everyone there to prepare their paper and pens: ‘Here is the subject of the composition: Why is an old man weeping, a shaven-headed woman dancing, and a sad young man singing?’ A murmur of disbelief went round the room. No one knew how to tell such a story, apart, that is, from the shabbily dressed young man sitting in one corner, who smiled broadly and began to write.

[kong]

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, and 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.

[Oldschool]

I KNOW SOMETHING GOOD ABOUT YOU
By Louis C. Shimon

Wouldn't this old world be better
If the folks we meet would say-
"I know something good about you!"
And treat us just that way?

Wouldn't it be fine and dandy
If each handclasp, fond and true,
Carried with it this assurance -
"I know something good about you!"

Wouldn't life be lots more happy
If the good that's in us all
Were the only thing about us
That folks bothered to recall?

Wouldn't life be lots more happy
If we praised the good we see?
For there's such a lot of goodness
In the worst of you and me!

Wouldn't it be nice to practice
That fine way of thinking too?
You know something good about me,
I know something good about you?

[Oldschool]

Scripture: Job 36:15
“But by means of their suffering, he rescues those who suffer. For he gets their attention through adversity.” NLT

Have you ever noticed how some Christians can just not be stopped? They have accomplished much despite adversity. They refuse to be controlled by their circumstances. They look fear in the eye and come out rejoicing. Nothing --- their circumstances, lack of funds or pain holds them back from doing God’s will.

Read on and see what God can do with A Little Adversity!

Banish a murderer for life --- you have a Moses
Riddled with fear and running away --- you have a Jonah
Penniless and living in the wilderness --- you have a John the Baptist
Filled with doubt, fear and cowardice --- you have a Peter
A thorn in his flesh and lock him in prison --- you have a Paul
Raised in poverty by candle light --- you have an Abraham Lincoln
Born black subject to racial discrimination --- you have a Martin Luther King Jr.
Put him in prison for a crime --- you have a Chuck Colson
Cripple her --- you have a Joni

Prayer: Father thank you that A Little Adversity today gives way to glory forever in your kingdom. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen!

[kong]

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. He had no decorations, no tree, no lights. It was just another day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to celebrate. There were no children in his life. His wife had gone.
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, George, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the space heater and warmup. "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 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 in. George went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building and opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting. "Here, you can borrow 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. George turned and walked back inside the office. "Glad I loaned em the truck. Their tires were shot too. That 'ol truck has brand new tires........" 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 block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. "Well, 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.
As he was working he heard a shot 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, "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 laundry 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." George said, but the phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your police 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." Then George added: "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 the money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got. Now put that pee 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. "Being 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 works 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. A toy airplane, a racing car and a little metal 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. Count it as part of your first week's pay." 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 getting 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 become a rich man and share his wealth with many people. 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 man's old leather jacket and his torn pants turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room.
"You see, George, it's My birthday. Merry Christmas."

Author Unknown

[kong]

CLEAN BLOOD
==========

The day is over, you are driving home. You tune in your radio.
You hear a little blurb about a little village in India where
some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has
never been seen before.

It's not influenza, but three or four fellows are dead, and it's
kind of interesting. They're sending some doctors over there to
investigate it.

You don't think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home from
church, you hear another radio spot. Only they say it's not
three villagers, it's 30,000 villagers in the back hills of
this particular area of India, and it's on TV that night. CNN
runs a little blurb; people are heading there from the disease
center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been
seen before.

By Monday morning when you get up, it's the lead story. For
it's not just India; it's Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and
before you know it, you're hearing this story everywhere and
they have coined it now as "the mystery flu".

The President has made some comment that he and everyone are
praying and hoping that all will go well over there. But
everyone is wondering, "How are we going to contain it?"

That's when the President of France makes an announcement that
shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights from
India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has
been seen.

That night you are watching a little bit of CNN before going
to
bed. Your jaw hits your chest when a weeping woman is
translated from a French news program into English: "There's a
man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu."
It has come to Europe. Panic strikes.

As best they can tell, once you get it, you have it for a week
and you don't know it. Then you have four days of unbelievable
symptoms.

Then you die. Britain closes it's borders, but it's too late.
South Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton, and it's Tuesday
morning when the President of the United States makes the
following announcement:

"Due to a national security risk, all flights to and from
Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones are
overseas, I'm sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure
for this thing."

Within four days our nation has been plunged into an
unbelievable fear.

People are selling little masks for your face. People are
talking about what if it comes to this country, and preachers
on Tuesday are saying, "It's the scourge of God.

"It's Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting
when somebody runs in from the parking lot and says,
"Turn on a radio, turn on a radio." While the church listens
to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it,
the announcement is made,"

Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from the
mystery flu."

Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps across the
country.

People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote.

Nothing is working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida,
Massachusetts.

It's as though it's just sweeping in from the borders.
Then, all of a sudden the news comes out.
The code has been broken.
A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made.

It's going to take the blood of somebody who hasn't been
infected, and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest,
through all those channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone
is asked to do one simple thing:

"Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken.
That's all we ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in
your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and
safely to the hospitals."

Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late on
that Friday night, there is a long line, and they've got
nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking
blood and putting labels on it.

Your wife and your kids are out there, and they take your
blood type and they say, "Wait here in the parking lot and if
we call your name, you can be dismissed and go home."

You stand around scared with your neighbors, wondering what in
the world is going on, and that this is the end of the world.

Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital
screaming. He's yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What?
He yells it again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says,
"Daddy, that's me."

Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy.
"Wait a minute, hold it!" And they say, "It's okay, his blood
is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make sure he doesn't
have the disease. We think he has got the right type."

Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses,
crying and hugging one another some are even laughing. It's
the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an
old doctor walks up to you and says,

"Thank you, sir. Your son's blood type is perfect.
It's clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine."

As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot full
of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing and
crying.

But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside
and says, "May we see you for a moment? We didn't realize
that the donor would be a minor and we need. . . we need you
to sign a consent form."

You begin to sign and then you see that the number of pints of
blood to be taken is empty.

"H-h-h-how many pints?"
And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he says,
"We had no idea it would be a little child.

We weren't prepared. We need it all!"

"But but..."

"You don't understand. We are talking about the world here.
Please sign. We - we need it all, we need it all!"

"But can't you give him a transfusion?"
"If we had clean blood we would. Can you sign? Would you
sign?" In numb silence you do. Then they say, "Would you like
to have a moment with him before we begin?"

Can you walk back? Can you walk back to that room where he
sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?" Can
you take his hands and say, "Son, your mommy and I love you,
and we would never ever let anything happen to you that didn't
just have to be. Do you understand that?"

And when that old doctor comes back in and says, "I'm sorry,
we've - we've got to get started. People all over the world
are dying." Can you leave? Can you walk out while he is
saying,

"Dad? Mom? Dad? Why - why have you forsaken me?"

And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your
son, and some folks sleep through it, and some folks don't
even come because they go to the lake, and some folks come
with a pretentious smile and just pretend to care. Would you
want to jump up and say, "MY SON DIED!
DON'T YOU CARE?"

Is that what God is saying?
"MY SON DIED. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?"

"Father, seeing it from your eyes breaks our hearts. Maybe
now we begin to comprehend the great love you have for us.
Amen "

~Author Unknown~

What a story. Think about this as you prepare for EASTER.

[kong]

My Miracle
===========

My husband and I had been married for seven years, and had tried
and tried to have a child. No matter how hard or what we tried,
we could not have a baby.

I had so many miscarriages that the doctor finally told me that
I was putting myself at risk to continue trying. I was so heavy
hearted. I grew up in a loving Christian home, my father being
a Pastor. All my life I knew there was a God, but I could not
understand why he was punishing me so. I was angry with him.

I felt as though he was giving me hope with each pregnancy and
then snatching it away from me. I remember on one occasion, I
met this complete stranger, a Christian lady. She walked right
up to me and told me that God had wanted her to tell me to not
give up faith, yet my faith was already gone.

The more time that passed, I became angrier with God.
The lady told me that God had given her a vision of me and in
that vision I was holding a little girl by the hand and that
she was my child.

At that time, I laughed and really thought the woman had lost
her mind. I saw that woman a few days ago, and in my hand was my
daughter's hand. For you see, on a Thursday night, we received
a phone call.

It was my mother-in-law asking us if we wanted a baby.

I laughed and asked her, "A baby what?" I thought it was a
puppy or something. She is a nurse, and she had just treated a
young woman who had been in a car accident and was pregnant with
no means of caring for another child. In fact the young woman
was not even aware that she was expecting.

She was six months along already and was completely unaware.
Being 19 years old and already having two other small children,
she started crying stating that she would just have to have an
abortion. My mother-in-law informed her that she was too far
along in her pregnancy to do that, besides there were too many
people in the world who wanted children but were unable to do so.

The young woman then asked her what she meant. My mother-in-law
told her that she had a son and daughter-in-law who had tried to
have a child and just couldn't. The young woman left that
hospital that night.

About two months later she called the hospital where my mother-
in-law works. She was crying and told her that she had tried
for all the elapsed time to find out who she was and how to find
her because she wanted "us" to have her child! She had called
the hospital so many times and could not get anyone to help her
in finding the nurse who had helped her, but she would not
give up.

That night when my mother-in-law called, I cried because I had
lost my faith in God, but He was still right there all the time,
never giving up on me even though I had given up on Him.

I remember that night after the phone call, my husband and I
prayed. We prayed that if this was God's will for Him to please
allow the baby to be born as soon as my husband was finished with his
Funeral Services Degree. On the night before his last exam, I
received a phone call. The young woman was on her way to the
hospital.

I was standing there in the delivery room when our daughter was
born. That day I came face to face with the true God whom I had
been told of all my life. The miracle completely overwhelmed me.

Why was I even worthy enough of this great gift when I had all
but given up on Him? In exactly 10 days my daughter will be 9
years old. We took her home from the hospital the day after she
was born, and it seems just like it was yesterday.

So all of you out there who think that God has forsaken you,
please don't give up hope or faith. We would never have ever
been able to adopt a child without God intervening in our life.

He sent us the one thing that both of us desired. I thank Him
each and every day for all that He has given to me. He sent me my
angel here on this earth for us to love. The only way that I
know to repay Him is to teach her of His love and mercy, and to
tell others that I know that there is a God.

Don't lose faith. He will never leave you.

[kong]

The Giant
==========

After dinner, the children turned to Jacob and asked if he
would tell them a story.

"A story about what?" asked Jacob.

"About a giant," squealed the children.

Jacob smiled, leaned against the warm stones at the side of the
fireplace, and his voice turned softly inward.

"Once there was a boy who asked his father to take him to see
the great parade that passed through the village. The father,
remembering the parade from when he was a boy, quickly agreed,
and the next morning the boy and his father set out together.

"As they approached the parade route, people started to push in
from all sides, and the crowd grew thick. When the people along
the way became almost a wall; the father lifted his son and
placed him on his shoulders.

"Soon the parade began and as it passed, the boy kept telling
his father how wonderful it was and how spectacular were the
colors and images. The boy, in fact, grew so prideful of what
he saw that he mocked those who saw less saying, even to his
father,
'If only you could see what I see.'"

"But," said Jacob staring straight in the faces of the
children, "what the boy did not look at was why he could see.
What the boy forgot was that once his father, too, could see."

Then as if he had finished the story, Jacob stopped speaking.

"Is that it?" said a disappointed girl. "We thought you were
going to tell us a story about a giant."

"But I did," said Jacob. "I told you a story about a boy who
could have been a giant."

"How?" squealed the children.

"A giant," said Jacob, "is anyone who remembers we are all
sitting on someone else's shoulders."

"And what does it make us if we don't remember?" asked the boy.

"A burden," answered Jacob.


~Author Unknown~

[kong]

The Soldier in Need
====================

A few years ago, upon entering a chat room on the web, a
message popped up on my screen: "Anyone want to chat with a
soldier in Iraq?"

My fingers leapt to the keyboard. "Sure!" We began a
friendship that night. We contacted each other often. We
exchanged photos. We kept each other company through our
respective New Year's Eves. At one point, during one of our
many conversations, his end was cut short.

For three long days I tried to contact him. When we finally
connected, he explained that his camp had been bombed. Several
people were injured but he was ok. There had been no warning
except for the "thump" he had heard not far from his tent. It
was a type of explosive that landed quietly and detonated with
no warning, but as he was in his tent chatting with me, he had
heard the bomb land. I'm not familiar with the various types
of bombs, so I hope I've described this correctly.

A couple of months later, he sent me a friendship ring.
It's called a "puzzle ring" and although it can be seen in
North America, he explained to me it's funny origin:
Apparently men in the east would buy their wives these rings,
with each one having its own solution. Only the husbands would
know how to solve the puzzle. We had a few laughs, and I wore
the ring with pride.

Well, the time came for him to return to his wife and family,
and we just stopped chatting.

It wasn't until late November 2007, almost three years later,
that I came across that ring there in my jewelry box. I put it
on, said "Hi James" and I asked God, "Why didn't he keep in
touch, God? Was he worried his wife would think we were more
than friends? Obviously we weren't. What happened?"

The strangest thing happened at that moment. I heard a voice
from somewhere in my head, and not my voice either, which
really spooked me, say, "Because he only needed you then."

I thought for a moment, "Yes, that's it! God always has a need
for us! We always have a purpose! You will always be needed by
someone somewhere, but you won't always know where or when.
God will always need us for something, somewhere, sometime.

I now wear that ring, and when I find myself asking God,
"What's my purpose in life? Why am I here?" I look at that ring
and remember: God needs me, He just doesn't always let me know
where or when.

Thank you James of Washington, D.C. I hope you and your family
are well. God Bless
by Barbara Tessier, Canada~

[kong]

I have just read MountainWings issue #1293 and wanted to let
ya'll know about "Our Angel." We call her "Our Angel" because
we don't know who she is.

My children and I had a dental appointment with Dr. Hilliard
here in Abilene one day in 1997 and when I was paying the bill
his receptionist was telling me all the work that needed to be
done on our teeth.

Mine totaled up to over $500.00 and being a single parent, that
was COMPLETLY out of the question. She was telling me that I
could do it "little by little" and I was letting her know that
there wasn't enough "little by little" in the world to justify
me spending $500.00 on MY mouth.

There were things that my children needed done and I would get
those done, but that the work on my mouth simply would not be
done. She understood and we left.

Later that day, she called me at work and told me that they had
an anonymous donor that wanted to pay the bill to have the work
done on my teeth. I thought she was kidding or that the doctor
was just going to do the work free, and that he did not want me
to feel bad so they were going to pretend like someone was going
to pay for it.

When it was obvious that neither of those were true, I figured
the doctor must have somehow figured out who my parents were and
called them.

I guess it took less of a miracle in my mind for him to figure
out who they were, even though he did not know them and that was
the first time we had ever been to see him, than for a total
stranger to be willing to pay my dental bill.

I called my Mom and of course, she knew nothing about it.

After call after call to the receptionist to make sure she
wasn't kidding, she finally told me that there was a lady in the
waiting room when I was paying out that had overheard our
conversation and had told her that she wanted to cover the
cost to have my teeth work done, but she did not want me to know
who she was.

There is NO WAY to explain how shocked I was!!!!

Needless to say, I got the work done that I needed and she paid
the bill. Then a little while before Christmas that year, the
receptionist called me at work again and told me they had
something for me that I needed to pick up.....I went down there
and there was an envelope from "Our Angel" with a check from
one of the local churches for $300.00 in it to help us with
Christmas.

She had given it to the church for them to write the check so
her identity would still remain unknown.

It turns out she was a Christian lady that had also been a
single mom. Once again......I simply could not believe
It and still can't really. There is no way she will ever know
how many times she still crosses my mind and how many prayers I
have prayed for the Lord to send her a special blessing and if
He can....to someway let her know it is from us through Him.
There is a special place in our hearts that is her's and her's
alone and there always will be.

The doctor told me one day that I had been in the same room with
her about 6 months earlier and was surprised to find out that I
still did not know her identity.

The first thing that came to my mind was that I hope I wasn't
having a bad day that day. When I told the receptionist that,
she said she didn't figure I had acted bad (but then she doesn't
know how bad I can act when things aren't going my way).

That just goes to show you that you never can tell when you are
"entertaining angels" and you sure wouldn't want to be showing
your "less than loveable side" at the time.

On top of all this a couple of months ago, I was going through
some mail that had piled up and found an envelope with no
address and no return address on it. It had a type written
message taped to the front of the envelope saying that the
sender had been watching our family....that we did not know it
because they kept it quiet but that they felt we were having
hard times and didn't know where to turn and that we should turn
to God because He is the only one that will never leave us.

Also, that they didn't know what the trouble was but that they
felt God had sent them to help and maybe this would help some.

I opened the envelope and there were five $20.00 bills in it!!!!

I started shaking and crying and immediately called my Mom.
She was leaving the next Wednesday to have tests done at M.D.
Anderson Cancer Center to find out if she had Mycosis
Fungoides or not.

The kids and I needed that money very, very badly and I told her
that if God would work Miracles like that $100.00 at a time when
I was at my wits end, then He would surely work miracles with
her health too!!!!

I have no way of knowing for sure who put the envelope in our
mailbox and no way of knowing for sure when it came....but I do
know FOR SURE that it was an "Angel" and that God had me find it
at just the right time.

And GUESS WHAT.......my Mom DOES NOT have Mycosis Fungoides!!!

Well, I just wanted to let ya'll know about "Our Angel".
God knows her name and one of these days I will see her in
Heaven and I will know her too.

Remember, God loves us very, very much and...if we will let Him
be...

He is always in control, even if we don't think so at the time.

(Heb 13:2) Be not forgetful to entertain strangers:
for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

[kong]

Why Johnny Lingo paid eight cows for his wife
==============================================

When I sailed to Kiniwata, an island in the Pacific, I took
along a notebook. After I got back it was filled with
descriptions of flora and fauna, native customs and costumes.
But the only note that still interests me is the one that says:
"Johnny Lingo gave eight cows to Sarita's father." And I don't
need to have it in writing. I'm reminded of it every time I see
a woman belittling her husband or a wife withering under her
husband's scorn. I want to say to them, "You should know why
Johnny Lingo paid eight cows for his wife."

Johnny Lingo wasn't exactly his name. But that's what Shenkin,
the manager of the guest house on Kiniwata, called him. Shenkin
was from Chicago and had a habit of Americanizing the names of
the islanders. But Johnny was mentioned by many people in many
connections. If I wanted to spend a few days on the neighboring
island of Nurabandi, Johnny Lingo could put me up. If I wanted
to fish, he could show me where the biting was best. If it was
pearls I sought, he would bring me the best buys.

The people of Kiniwata all spoke highly of Johnny Lingo. Yet
when they spoke they smiled, and the smiles were slightly
mocking.

"Get Johnny Lingo to help you find what you want and let him do
the bargaining," advised Shenkin. "Johnny knows how to make a
deal."

"Johnny Lingo!" A boy seated nearby hooted the name and rocked
with laughter.

"What goes on?" I demanded. "Everybody tells me to get in
touch with Johnny Lingo and then breaks up. Let me in on the
joke."

"Oh, the people like to laugh," Shenkin said, shrugging.
"Johnny's the brightest, the strongest young man in the islands.
And for his age, the richest."

"But, if he's all you say, what is there to laugh about?"

"Only one thing. Five months ago, at fall festival, Johnny came
to Kiniwata and found himself a wife. He paid her father eight
cows!"

I knew enough about island customs to be impressed. Two or
three cows would buy a fair-to-middling wife, four or five a
highly satisfactory one.

"Good Lord!" I said. "Eight cows!" She must have beauty that
takes your breath away.

"She's not ugly," he conceded, and smiled a little. "But the
kindest could only call Sarita plain. Sam Karoo, her father,
was afraid she'd be left on his hands."

"But then he got eight cows for her? Isn't that extraordinary?"

"Never been paid before."

"Yet you call his wife plain?"

"I said it would be kindness to call her plain. She was skinny.
She walked with her shoulders hunched and her head ducked. She
was scared of her own shadow."

"Well," I said, "I guess there's just no accounting for love."

"True enough," agreed the man. "And that's why the villagers
grin when they talk about Johnny. They get special satisfaction
from the fact that the islands' sharpest trader was bested by
dull old Sam Karoo."

"But how?"

"No one knows and everyone wonders. All the cousins were urging
Sam to ask for three cows and hold out for two until he was sure
Johnny'd pay only one. Then Johnny came to Sam Karoo and said,
`Father of Sarita, I offer eight cows for your daughter.'"

"Eight cows," I murmured. "I'd like to meet this Johnny Lingo."

I wanted fish. I wanted pearls. So the next afternoon I
beached my boat at Nurabandi. And I noticed as I asked
directions to Johnny's house that his name brought no sly smile
to the lips of his fellow Nurabandians. And when I met the
slim, serious young man, when he welcomed me with grace to his
home, I was glad that from his own people he had respect
unmingled with mockery. We sat in his house and talked. Then
he asked, "You come here from Kiniwata?"

"Yes."

"They speak of me there?"

"They say there's nothing that you can't help me get."

He smiled gently. "My wife is from Kiniwata."

"Yes, I know."

"They speak of her?"

"A little."

"What do they say?"

"Why, just....." The question caught me off balance.
"They told me you were married at festival time."

"Nothing more?" The curve of his eyebrows told me he knew there
had to be more.

"They also say the marriage settlement was eight cows."
I paused. "They wonder why."

"They ask that?" His eyes lighted with pleasure. "Everyone in
Kiniwata knows about the eight cows?"

I nodded.

"And in Nurabandi everyone knows it too." His chest expanded
with satisfaction. "Always and forever, when they speak of
marriage settlements, it will be remembered that Johnny Lingo
paid eight cows for Sarita."

So that's the answer, I thought: vanity.

And then I saw her. I watched her enter the room to place
flowers on the table. She stood still a moment to smile at the
young man beside me. Then she went swiftly out again. She was
the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The lift of her
shoulders, the tilt of her chin, the sparkle of her eyes all
spelled a pride to which no one could deny her the right.

I turned back to Johnny Lingo and found him looking at me.

"You admire her?" he murmured.

"She ... she's glorious.
But she's not Sarita from Kiniwata," I said.

"There's only one Sarita. Perhaps she does not look the way
they say she looked in Kiniwata."

"She doesn't. I heard she was homely. They all make fun of you
because you let yourself be cheated by Sam Karoo."

"You think eight cows were too many?"
A smile slid over his lips.

"No. But how can she be so different?"

"Do you ever think," he asked, "what it must mean to a woman to
know that her husband has settled on the lowest price for which
she can be bought? And then later, when the women talk, they
boast of what their husbands paid for them. One says four cows,
another maybe six. How does she feel, the woman who was sold
for one or two? This could not happen to my Sarita."

"Then you did this just to make your wife happy?"

"I wanted Sarita to be happy, yes. But I wanted more than that.
You say she is different. This is true. Many things can change
a woman. Things that happen inside, things that happen outside.
But the thing that matters most is what she thinks about
herself. In Kiniwata, Sarita believed she was worth nothing.
Now she knows she is worth more than any woman in the islands."

"Then you wanted--"

"I wanted to marry Sarita. I loved her and no other woman."

"But--" I was close to understanding.

"But," he finished softly,

"I wanted an eight-cow wife."

[kong]

Burnt Biscuits
===============

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 other's faults - and choosing to celebrate each other's
differences - is one of the most important keys to creating a
healthy, growing, and lasting relationship.

And that's my prayer for you today. That you will learn to take
the good, the bad, and the ugly 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 burnt 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!

"Don't put the key to your happiness in someone else's pocket -
keep it in your own."

God Bless You..... Now, and Always...

So Please pass me a biscuit, and yes, the burnt one will do
just fine!


~Author Unknown~

[kong]

I Made A 41
============

Perhaps the only test score that I remember is the 41.
I was in high school. The class was taught by one of the two
teachers that impacted me most, Mr. Bales. The other teacher
was Mrs. Drew from the seventh grade. It's amazing how I can
remember from over 30 years ago my two most impacting teachers.

The eighth grade. It was a time when I, like most, didn't know
what I was to be in life. The drama of that time of youth was
simply get through school and make the long walk home.

There are some things that will still be like the eighth grade
when you get to be eighty.

The test was the final for the class. I remember anxiously
waiting as Mr. Bales passed out test after test. It was a
rather difficult test. I didn't know how well I had done but I
knew there were things on it that I didn't know.

The air whooshed around the pages as it made a gentle sound
plopping down. It was a rhythm as each student received their
test - plop, plop, plop.

I heard groan after groan that accompanied the plops.
I could tell by the groans that the grades weren't looking good.

Mr. Bales dropped the stapled pages on my desk.

There in big red numbers, circled to draw attention,
was my grade.

41

Groan!!!

I moved my paper where it wasn't in plain view, a 41 is not
something that you wanted your classmates to see.

After the final plop, Mr. Bales stood behind the worn desk that
had stood guard over countless students before me. He addressed
the none too jubilant class.

"The grades were not very good, none of you passed, so I will
have to consider grading on a scale," Mr. Bales announced.

"The highest grade in the class was a 41, so all of you
flunked," were the final words that I remember.

A 41. That's me.

Suddenly my dismal looking final didn't look quite so bad.
There were at least 30 students in the class. I had the highest
grade. I felt a whole lot better.

I walked home that day with the low but high grade safely tucked
away in my book satchel. My mother knew that I had a big test
that day and asked me as soon as I got home, "how did you do on
your test."

"I made a 41," I said.

My mother's expression changed. A frown now stood where a smile
was a few seconds earlier. I knew that I had to explain and
explain fast. "But mother, I had the highest grade in the
class," I proudly stated.

I knew that statement would change things. I had the highest
grade in the class, that made a difference.

My mother said, "You flunked."

"But I had the highest grade in the class!" I replied.

"I don't care what everyone else had, you flunked. It doesn't
matter if everyone else flunked too, what matters is what you
do," my mother firmly answered.

For years, I thought that was a harsh judgment. My mother was
always that way. It didn't matter what the other kids did, it
only mattered what I did and that I did it excellently.

We often don't understand the wisdom of good parents until we
ourselves stand in the parenting shoes. My mother's philosophy
has carried me throughout life. Don't worry about what the
crowd does.

The crowd often goes the wrong way.

If you follow the crowd, you will go to the same destination as
the crowd. The path of the crowd is wide and it is crowded.
The path to pass the tests of life is narrow and there are very
few people on it.

The path up the mountain is narrow; it is not crowded.

The path to health is narrow; it is not crowded.

The path to harmony, peace and happiness with your spouse is
narrow; it is not crowded.

The path to peace with yourself and the world is narrow; it is
not crowded.

I made a 41 and was proud of it, but it would not have gotten me
through the real tests.

The majority of spouses are not faithful, it's the crowd, and
even though you may be the smoothest deceiver of the group, you
are on the road to failure; it's not a passing grade.

The crowd eats fattening unhealthy fast food. That food sends
you to an early appointment with the doctor and the funeral
director. It's the food of the crowd.

The crowd spends no special time in prayer and meditation each
day. That leads to an unhealthy spirit. It's the way of the
crowd.

Thirty years after my mother said that she didn't care if I was
the best failure in the class, I understand why.

"Wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to
destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate
and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it."

That's a quote that my mother lives by.

We often take comfort in the crowd; the only problem is that the
crowd is not comfortable.

PASS the class!