Showing posts with label attitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label attitude. Show all posts
Friday, July 29, 2011
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person--her name was "Information, Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information, Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear, "Information."
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked.
I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your
finger," said the voice.
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked.
I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your
finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information, Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information, Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child, but I was inconsolable. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information, Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information, Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking
what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information."
what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information."
I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft-spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft-spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "Information."
I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she asked.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?" "Yes," I replied.
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today?
Friday, July 29, 2011 1
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 enjoying his 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 his career.
When the carpenter finished his work and the builder came to inspect the house, the contractor handed the front-door key to the carpenter. "This is your house," he said, "my gift to you."
What a shock! What a shame! If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so differently. Now he had to live in the home he had built none too well.
So it is with us. We build our lives in a distracted way, reacting rather than acting, willing to put up less than the best. At important points we do not give the job our best effort. Then with a shock we look at the situation we have created and find that we are now living in the house we have built. If we had realized that we would have done it differently.
Think of yourself as the carpenter. Think about your house. Each day you hammer a nail, place a board, or erect a wall. Build wisely. It is the only life you will ever build. Even if you live it for only one day more, that day deserves to be lived graciously and with dignity. The plaque on the wall says, "Life is a do-it-yourself project." Your life tomorrow will be the result of your attitudes and the choices you make today.
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 his career.
When the carpenter finished his work and the builder came to inspect the house, the contractor handed the front-door key to the carpenter. "This is your house," he said, "my gift to you."
What a shock! What a shame! If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so differently. Now he had to live in the home he had built none too well.
So it is with us. We build our lives in a distracted way, reacting rather than acting, willing to put up less than the best. At important points we do not give the job our best effort. Then with a shock we look at the situation we have created and find that we are now living in the house we have built. If we had realized that we would have done it differently.
Think of yourself as the carpenter. Think about your house. Each day you hammer a nail, place a board, or erect a wall. Build wisely. It is the only life you will ever build. Even if you live it for only one day more, that day deserves to be lived graciously and with dignity. The plaque on the wall says, "Life is a do-it-yourself project." Your life tomorrow will be the result of your attitudes and the choices you make today.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
When things go wrong,
as they sometimes will,
When the road your trudging
Seems all uphill,
When the funds are low
And the debts are High ,
And you want to smile,
but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is queer with it's twists an turns,
As everyone of us must sometimes learn,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won had he stuck it our,
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.
Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you can never tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far,
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,
It's when things seem worst that you cannot quit.
Unknown Author
Thursday, July 28, 2011 0
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Today I learned that life is carefully or carelessly designed by us. We choose happiness, sadness, decisiveness, ambivalence, we also choose success, failure, courage, and fear. Just remember that every moment or situation provides a new choice, and it gives us a perfect opportunity to do things differently to produce more positive results.
Be proactive is about taking responsibility for our life. We can't keep blaming everything on our parents or grandparents or our boss. Is your terrible childhood or genetics or work environment controlling your life? Or how about growing up poor? - that's a great excuses for all of our problems, isn't it? We do have the freedom to choose-all of us do.
Proactive people recognize that they are response-able. They don't blame circumstances, conditions, or conditioning for their behavior. They know they choose they behavior. Reactive people, on the other hand are often affected by their physical environment. If the weather is good, they feel good. if it isn't it affects their attitude and performance or behavior.
“You cannot control what happens to you, but you can control your attitude toward
what happens to you, and in that, you will be mastering change rather than
allowing it to master you.”
- Brian Tracy
- Brian Tracy
So, which kind of person are you?
From the book of:
The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People
Wednesday, July 20, 2011 0
Saturday, July 16, 2011
I ran into a stranger as he passed by.
"Oh, excuse me please" was my reply.
He said, "Please, excuse me too,
Wasn't even watching for you."
We were very polite, this stranger and I.
We went on our way and we said good-bye.
But at home a different story is told,
How we treat our loved ones, young and old.
Later that day, cooking the evening meal,
My daughter stood beside me very still.
When I turned, I nearly knocked her down.
"Move out of the way," I said with a frown.
She walked away, her little heart broken
at how harshly I had spoken.
While I lay awake in bed,
God's still small voice came to me and said,
"While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use,
But the children you love, you seem to abuse.
Look on the kitchen floor,
You'll find some flowers there by the door.
Those are the flowers she brought for you.
She picked them herself, pink, yellow and blue.
"Oh, excuse me please" was my reply.
He said, "Please, excuse me too,
Wasn't even watching for you."
We were very polite, this stranger and I.
We went on our way and we said good-bye.
But at home a different story is told,
How we treat our loved ones, young and old.
Later that day, cooking the evening meal,
My daughter stood beside me very still.
When I turned, I nearly knocked her down.
"Move out of the way," I said with a frown.
She walked away, her little heart broken
at how harshly I had spoken.
While I lay awake in bed,
God's still small voice came to me and said,
"While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use,
But the children you love, you seem to abuse.
Look on the kitchen floor,
You'll find some flowers there by the door.
Those are the flowers she brought for you.
She picked them herself, pink, yellow and blue.
She stood quietly not to spoil the surprise,
And you never saw the tears in her eyes.
"By this time, I felt very small,
and now my tears began to fall.
I quietly went and knelt by her bed;
"Wake up, little girl, wake up," I said.
"Are these the flowers you picked for me?"
She smiled, "I found 'em, out by the tree.
I picked 'em, because they're pretty like you.
I knew you'd like'em, especially the blue.
I said, "Daughter, I'm sorry for the way I acted today;
I shouldn't have yelled at you that way."
She said, "Oh, Mom, that's okay.
I love you anyway."
I said, "Daughter, I love you too,
And I do like the flowers, especially the blue."
And you never saw the tears in her eyes.
"By this time, I felt very small,
and now my tears began to fall.
I quietly went and knelt by her bed;
"Wake up, little girl, wake up," I said.
"Are these the flowers you picked for me?"
She smiled, "I found 'em, out by the tree.
I picked 'em, because they're pretty like you.
I knew you'd like'em, especially the blue.
I said, "Daughter, I'm sorry for the way I acted today;
I shouldn't have yelled at you that way."
She said, "Oh, Mom, that's okay.
I love you anyway."
I said, "Daughter, I love you too,
And I do like the flowers, especially the blue."
Saturday, July 16, 2011 0
Thursday, July 7, 2011
This is a short and old story about restraining your bad temper, and it teach us the importance of treating people with respect.
Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn't lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, "You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won't matter how many times you say I'm sorry, the wound is still there.
The little boy then understood how powerful his words were. He looked up at his father and said “I hope you can forgive me father for the holes I put in you.”
“Of course I can,” said the father.
The next time you are tempted to say hurtful to someone just because you're angry you might want to stop and remember this short story. Thursday, July 7, 2011 0
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Lord, thank thee for this sink of dirty dishes...We have plenty of food to eat.
Thank thee for this pile of dirty, stinky laundry... We have plenty of nice clothes to wear.
And I would like to thank thee, Lord, for those unmade beds in there... They were so warm and so comfortable last night... I know that many have no bed.
My thanks to thee, Lord, for this bathroom complete with all the splattered mirrors, soggy, grimy towels and dirty lavatory... They are so convenient.
Thank thee for this finger smudged refrigerator that needs defrosting so badly... It has served us faithfully for many years... It is full of cold drinks and enough leftovers for two or three meals.
Thank thee Lord, for this oven that absolutely must be cleaned today... It has baked so many things over the years.
The whole family is grateful for that tall grass that needs mowing....The lawn that needs raking... We all enjoy the yard.
Thank thee, Lord, even for that slamming screen door… My kids are healthy and able to run and play.
Lord, the presence of all these chores awaiting me says Thou hast richly blessed my family... I shall do them all cheerfully and I shall do them gratefully.
And all God's people say... AMEN!
Thursday, June 30, 2011 0
Monday, June 27, 2011
"When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot Thou hast taught me to say,
"It is well, it is well with my soul!"
Horatio G. Spafford was born on October 20, 1828, in North Troy, New York. He grew up to be an attorney, a businessman, and a Christian supporter of D.L. Moody. Moody was an evangelist who founded the Northfield Mount Hermon School, the Moody Bible Institute, and Moody Publishers.Spafford and his wife had four daughters and a son. In 1870, his four-year-old son died from Scarlet Fever. Just a year later, when The Great Chicago Fire happened, it left 300 people dead, 100,000 people homeless, and the entire central business district destroyed. The fire also took a huge toll on Spafford's finances since he owned a large amount of real estate in the city.
In 1873, Spafford arranged to take his wife and daughters on a vacation to Europe. He was going to visit Moody while he was there. On the day their ship was scheduled to leave, Spafford had some last-minute business to attend to. So he put his family on the ship and told them he'd catch up with them soon.
In the wee hours of November 22, 1873, the ship, the "S.S. Ville du Harve", collided with another vessel. Within two hours, their ship sank into the icy water. Among the 226 dead were Spafford's young daughters- Maggie, Tanetta, Annie, and Bessie. Spafford's wife Anna managed to survive.
Horatio Spafford immediately booked passage on a ship to join his wife. As the ship passed over the spot where his four daughters had drowned, he said, "It is well; the will of God be done." Spafford then wrote the Gospel song, "It is Well with My Soul."
Monday, June 27, 2011 0
Thursday, June 2, 2011
In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less,
a 10 year old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table.
A waitress put a glass of water in front of him.
"How much is an ice cream sundae?"
"Fifty cents," replied the waitress.
The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied a number of coins in it.
"How much is a dish of plain ice cream?" he inquired.
Some people were now waiting for a table and the waitress was a bit impatient.
"Thirty-five cents," she said brusquely.
The little boy again counted the coins.
"I'll have the plain ice cream," he said.
The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away.
The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and departed.
When the waitress came back, she began wiping down the table
and then swallowed hard at what she saw.
There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies - her tip.
You see, he couldn’t have the sundae, because he had to have enough left to leave her a tip.
Thursday, June 2, 2011 0
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order.
But these files, which were stretched from floor to ceiling and were seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked," I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realise that I recognised the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalogue system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me, as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed."
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told", "Comfort I Have Given", "Jokes I Have Laughed At". Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I Have Yelled At My Little Brother." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done In My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath At My Parents".
I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes even fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my life to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each was signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realised that the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of wasted time that file represented.
While I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out - its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn those cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor. I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it out.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long self-pitying sigh.
And then I saw it. The file with the title "People I Have Shared The Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep with sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I feel on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please, not Him! Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response, and in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively to go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
Finally, He turned around and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes, but His was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands, and began to cry again.He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, No," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.
He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door.
There were still cards to be written....…
Wednesday, May 18, 2011 0
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
One day a father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to the country with the firm purpose of showing his son how poor people live. They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be considered a very poor family. On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, "How was the trip?" " It was great, Dad." "Did you see how poor people live?" the father asked. "Oh yeah," said the son. "So, tell me, what did you learn from the trip?" asked the father.
The son answered: "I saw that we have one dog and they had four. We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a creek that has no end. We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night. Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon. We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight. We have servants who serve us, but they serve others. We buy our food, but they grow theirs. We have walls around our property to protect us, they have friends to protect them." The boy's father was speechless. Then his son added, "Thanks, Dad, for showing me how poor we are."
Tuesday, May 17, 2011 0
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
"What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?"
Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50s, but how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank.
Before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade.
"Absolutely," said the professor. "In your careers you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say 'Hello'.
I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy.
Author: Unknown
Tuesday, May 3, 2011 0
Monday, May 2, 2011
"Who are you?" said the Prime Minister, opening the door. "I am God," replied the stranger. "I don't believe you," sneered the Prime Minister. "Show me a miracle." And God showed the Prime Minister the miracle of birth. "Pah," said the Prime Minister. "My scientists are creating life in test-tubes and have nearly solved the secret of heredity. Artificial insemination is more certain than your lackadaisical method, and by cross-breeding we are producing fish and mammals to our design. Show me a proper miracle."
And God caused the sky to darken and hailstones came pouring down."That's nothing," said the Prime Minister, picking up the telephone to the Air Ministry."Send up a met. plane would you, old chap, and sprinkle the clouds with silver chloride crystals."And the met. plane went up and sprinkled the clouds which had darkened the world and the hailstones stopped pouring down and the sun shone brightly. "Show me another," said the Prime Minister.
And God caused a plague of frogs to descend upon the land. The Prime Minister picked up his telephone. "Get the Min. of Ag. and Fish," he said to the operator, "and instruct them to procure a frog-killer as myxomatosis killed rabbits." And soon the land was free of frogs, and the people gave thanks to the Prime Minister and erected laboratories in his name.
"Show me another," sneered the Prime Minister. And God caused the sea to divide. The Prime Minister picked up his direct- link telephone to the Polaris submarine. "Lob a few ICBMs into Antarctica and melt the ice-cap, please old man."And the ice cap melted into water and the sea came rushing back."I will kill all the first-born," said God. "Paltry tricks," said the Prime Minister. "Watch on his desk. And missiles flew to their pre-ordained destinations and H-bombs split the world asunder and radioactivity killed every mortal thing.
"I can raise the dead," said God. "Please," said the Prime Minister in his cardboard coffin. "Let me live again." "Why, who are you?" said God, closing the lid.
Monday, May 2, 2011 0
Thursday, April 28, 2011
- Isn't it strange how a 20 dollar bill seems like such a large amount when you donate it to church, but such a small amount when you go shopping?
- Isn't it strange how two hours seem so long when you're at church, and how short they seem when you're watching a movie?
- Isn't it strange that you can't find a word to say when you're praying, but you have no trouble thinking what to talk about with a friend?
- Isn't it strange how difficult it is to read one chapter of the Bible, but how easy it is to read 100 pages of a popular novel or book?
- Isn't it strange how everyone wants front-row tickets to concerts or games, but they do whatever is possible to sit in the last row in church?
- Isn't it strange how we need to know about an event for church 2-3 weeks before the day so we can include it in our agenda, but we can adjust it for other events in the last minute?
- Isn't it strange how difficult it is to learn a fact about God to share it with others, but how easy it is to learn, understand, extend, and repeat gossip?
- Isn't it strange how we believe everything that magazines and newspapers say, but we question the words in the Bible?
- Isn't it strange how everyone wants a place in Heaven, but they don't want to believe, do, or say anything to get there?
- Isn't it strange how you can send jokes in e-mails and they are forwarded right away, but before you send messages about God, you think about it twice before you share it with others?
IT'S STRANGE ISN'T IT?
Source: Young Foundations
Thursday, April 28, 2011 0
Monday, April 18, 2011
To: YOU
Date: TODAYFrom: GODSubject: YOURSELFReference: LIFE
This is God. Today I will be handling all of your problems for you. I do not need your help. So, have a nice day. I love you.
P.S. And remember... If life happens to deliver a situation to you that you cannot handle, do not attempt to resolve it yourself! Kindly put it in the SFGTD (something for God to do) box. I will get to it in MY TIME. All situations will be resolved, but in My time, not yours.
Once the matter is placed into the box, do not hold onto it by worrying about it. Instead, focus on all the wonderful things that are present in your life now.
If you find yourself stuck in traffic, don't despair. There are people in this world for whom driving is an unheard of privilege.
Should you have a bad day at work, think of the man who has been out of work for years.
Should you despair over a relationship gone bad, think of the person who has never known what it's like to love and be loved in return.
Should you grieve the passing of another weekend, think of the woman in dire straits, working twelve hours a day, seven days a week to feed her children.
Should your car break down, leaving you miles away from assistance, think of the paraplegic who would love the opportunity to take that walk.
Should you notice a new gray hair in the mirror, think of the cancer patient in chemo who wishes she had hair to examine.
Should you find yourself at a loss and pondering what is life all about, asking what is my purpose? Be thankful. There are those who didn't live long enough to get the opportunity.
Should you find yourself the victim of other people's bitterness, ignorance, smallness or insecurities, remember, things could be worse. You could be one of them!
Should you decide to share this to a friend, Thank you. You may have touched their life in ways you will never know! Now, you have a nice day.
God has seen you struggling, God says it's over.
Monday, April 18, 2011 0
Derek Redmond pulls his hamstring in the 1992 Barcelona Olympics and is helped to the finish line by his father. Simply Priceless!!
Friday, April 15, 2011
I thought everyone would find this fascinating, especially with the generation that we live in. So many folks are so caught up in the everyday nonsense that they have completely lost sight of the only thing that matters.
Cell phone vs. Bible:
Ever wonder what would happen if we treated our Bible like we treat our cell phone?
- What if we carried it around in our purses or pockets?
- What if we flipped through it several times a day?
- What if we turned back to go get it if we forgot it?
- What if we used it to receive messages from the text?
- What if we treated it like we couldn't live without it?
- What if we gave it to kids as gifts?
- What if we used it when we traveled?
- What if we used it in case of emergency?
This is something to make you go....hmm...where is my Bible?
Oh, and one more thing. Unlike our cell phone, we don't have to worry about our Bible being disconnected because Jesus already paid the bill. And no dropped calls!
Makes you stop and think, 'where are my priorities?'
Source: Young Foundations
Friday, April 15, 2011 0
Have you ever considered what life would be like if you were blind? Always living in darkness, and never to see a sunrise or a sunset, or that comforting sight of a mothers face? That was the world Fanny Crosby lived in.At the early age of six weeks old, little Fanny Crosby had lost her earthly sense of sight through an eye infection and unfortunate procedure gone wrong, with no hope of ever regaining it. She was one year old when her father died, and she was brought up by her godly mother and grandmother, who grounded her in the Protestant Christian principles. The foundation that Fanny obtained throughout her childhood made her character, and became the gateway for her talent to be used for the glory of God.
Young Sister Crosby never allowed her lack of sight to be a hindrance, but a blessing, and once wrote this little poem at the age of nine:
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Oh what a happy soul I am, Although I cannot see; I am resolved that in this world Contented I will be. How many blessings I enjoy, That other people don't; To weep and sigh because I'm blind, I cannot, and I won't."By the early age of eight, she had begun to write poems, and later in her life was given inspiration to write songs that still flood the world of gospel hymnals. Through her awe inspiring songs, she gained much glory and praise from people great and small throughout the world and even performed before many famous dignitaries, including presidents and generals. Even though Fanny had all the popularity and fame one could ask for, she remained a humble servant of the Lord and devoted much of her life to serving the poor and needy, never selling out to the money and filth of the world. It is said that she made the following remarks; “It seemed intended by the blessed providence of God that I should be blind all my life, and I thank him for the dispensation. If perfect earthly sight were offered me tomorrow I would not accept it. I might not have sung hymns to the praise of God if I had been distracted by the beautiful and interesting things about me. When I get to heaven, the first face that shall ever gladden my sight will be that of my Savior.”
What a talented little lady God used to bring such inspiring hymns into churches and homes throughout the world, so that He could be praised. Even God’s prophet, Brother William Branham, loved to sing these old hymns that this humble, blind sister wrote years ago.
Source: Young Foundations
This man is so inspiring, he loves life and really appreciate it.
Jerry is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins." He was a unique restaurant manager because he had several waiters who had followed him around from restaurant to restaurant.
The reason the waiters followed Jerry was because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation. Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and asked him, "I don't get it. You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?" Jerry replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, Jerry, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood, or you can choose to be in a bad mood. I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.""Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested. "Yes it is," Jerry said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations.You choose how people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live life."
I reflected on what Jerry said. Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it. Several years later, I heard that Jerry did something you are never supposed to do in the restaurant business; He left the back door open one morning and was held up at gunpoint by three armed robbers. While trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him. Luckily, Jerry was found relatively quickly and rushed to the local trauma center. After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jerry was released from the hospital with fragments of the bullets still in his body.
I saw Jerry about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied, "If I were any better, I'd be twins. Wanna see my scars?" I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the robbery took place. "The first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the back door," Jerry replied. "Then, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or I could choose to die. I chose to live." "Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked. Jerry continued, "...The paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes I read, "He's a dead man." I knew I needed to take action. "What did you do?" I asked. "Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me," said Jerry. "She asked if I was allergic to anything. 'Yes,' I replied. The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took deep breath and yelled, Bullets.' Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live.Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead,' Jerry lived to give thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully. Attitude, after all, is everything.
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