Showing posts with label inspirational stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspirational stories. 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
Saturday, July 23, 2011
This is pretty strange how it worked out this way.
Even if you are not religious you should read this.
Q. What is the shortest chapter in the Bible?
A. Psalms 117
A. Psalms 119
A. Psalms 118
Facts:
There are 594 Chapters before Psalms 118
There are 594 Chapters after Psalms 118
Add this numbers up and you get 1188
Q. What is the center verse in the Bible?
A. Psalms 118:8
Does this verse say something significant about God's perfect will for our lives?
The next time someone says they would like to find God's perfect will for their lives and that they want to be in the center of His will, just send them to the center of His Word!
Psalms 118:8 (KJV)
"It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in man."
Now isn't that odd how this worked out... or was God in the center of it?
When things get tough, always remember...
Faith doesn't get you around trouble,
It gets you through it.
When you relinquish the desire to force
the path of your future life....
that is when you obtain happiness.
"Preserve me, Oh God
For in You I put my Trust."
May God Bless You!
May you find some time to share this with your family, friends and other people you know.
Source: rogerknapp.com
Saturday, July 23, 2011 0
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Last week I took my children to a restaurant. My six-year-old son asked if he could say grace.
As we bowed our heads he said, "God is good. God is great. Thank you for the food, and I would even thank you more if Mom gets us ice cream for dessert. And Liberty and justice for all!
Amen!"
Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby I heard a woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't even know how to pray. Asking God for ice-cream! Why, I never!"
Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?"
As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table. He winked at my son and said,
"I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer."
"Really?" my son asked.
"Cross my heart," the man replied.
Then in a theatrical whisper he added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), "Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."
Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal. My son stared at his for a moment and then did something I will remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and without a word, walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her,
"Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes; and my soul is good already."
As we bowed our heads he said, "God is good. God is great. Thank you for the food, and I would even thank you more if Mom gets us ice cream for dessert. And Liberty and justice for all!
Amen!"
Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby I heard a woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't even know how to pray. Asking God for ice-cream! Why, I never!"
Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?"
As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table. He winked at my son and said,
"I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer."
"Really?" my son asked.
"Cross my heart," the man replied.
Then in a theatrical whisper he added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), "Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."
Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal. My son stared at his for a moment and then did something I will remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and without a word, walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her,
"Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes; and my soul is good already."
Thursday, July 21, 2011 0
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the "good" living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather rambling about his youth.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have burned the pink candle sculped like a rose before it melted
in storage.
I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television, and more
while watching life.
I would have gone to bed when I was sick, instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment, realising that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."
There would have been more "I love you's" and more "I'm sorry's"
. . . but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute . . .
look at it and really see it . . . and never give it back."
In memory of Erma Bombeck who lost her fight with cancer. "Be courageous and bold. When you look back on your life, you'll regret the things you didn't do more than the ones you did."
Wednesday, July 13, 2011 0
Saturday, July 9, 2011
There is a powerful story told of Leonardo Da Vinci.
One day in his studio he started work on a large canvas. He laboured on it, choosing the subject carefully, arranging the perspective, sketching the outline, applying the colours and developing the background. Then, for some unknown reason, he stopped with the painting still unfinished. He called one of his students and asked him to finish. The student was flabbergasted, how could he finish a painting by one of the world's truly great masters. He protested his inadequacy and inefficiency for so challenging a task, but the great artist silenced him.
One day in his studio he started work on a large canvas. He laboured on it, choosing the subject carefully, arranging the perspective, sketching the outline, applying the colours and developing the background. Then, for some unknown reason, he stopped with the painting still unfinished. He called one of his students and asked him to finish. The student was flabbergasted, how could he finish a painting by one of the world's truly great masters. He protested his inadequacy and inefficiency for so challenging a task, but the great artist silenced him.
"Will not what I have done inspire you to do your best?" he asked.
That's really Jesus' question, isn't it? As a Christian we should be inspired everyday despite of all our trials, cares and burdens in life. We should not forget that Jesus gave his life for you and for me.
He paid the debt he did not owe, We owed the debt but we could not pay. Jesus took our place on the cross, and that made me thankful and inspired everyday.
God Bless.
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Saturday, July 9, 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
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Not in pleasure -- Lord Byron lived a life of pleasure, if anyone did. He wrote: "The worm, the canker and the grief are mine alone."
Not in money -- Jay Gould, the American millionaire, had plenty of that. When dying, he said: "I suppose I am the most miserable man on earth."
Not in possession and fame -- Lord Beaconsfield enjoyed more than his share of both. He wrote: "Youth is a mistake, manhood a struggle, old age a regret."
Not in military glory -- Alexander the Great conquered the known world of his day. Having done so, he wept in his tent, because, as he said: "There are no more worlds to conquer."
Where, then is happiness found?
The answer is simple: "In Christ alone." He said: "I will see you again and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you." (John 16:22)
Tuesday, June 28, 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
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The young man waited a moment and replied, "You know Dad, I've been thinking about that. You know, Samson had long hair, Abraham had long hair, Noah had long hair, and even Moses had long hair...."
To which the pastor replied.... "Maybe, but they WALKED every where they went!"
Tuesday, June 21, 2011 0
Thursday, June 16, 2011
It's a tough, but heartwarming story...with a picture of John Gebhardt in Iraq
This, my friends, is worth sharing with the WORLD! Go for it!!
You'll never see things like this in the news. Please keep this going. Nothing will happen if you don't, but the public needs to see pictures like this and needs to realize that we're making a difference. Even if it is just one little girl at a time.
Thursday, June 16, 2011 0
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
The hundred dollar bill began to brag:
"I've had a great life," he said. "I've been to all the big hotels, Donald Trump himself used me at his casino, I've been in the wallets of Fortune 500 board members, I've flown from one end of the country to the other! I've even been in the wallet of two Presidents of the United States, and once when Princess Diana visited the US, she used me to buy a packet of gum."
In awe, the dollar humbly responded, "Gee, nothing like that has ever happened to me, ...but I have been to church a lot!"
Tuesday, June 14, 2011 0
Monday, June 13, 2011
Some years ago, I read a story from England. It happened around Christmas. There was a man, and he was a good man. He was not drinking really, but he’d been out around Christmas to visit his neighbors and colleagues, just to have a little fellowship.They were exchanging presents and everyone would say, “John, have just a little drink.” And so, a little sip here, a little sip there, from house to house – he got too much, and he had to go back home.
His little boy was following him, and on his road, the man turned and noticed, that the little boy was just going from one side to the other, almost wallowing in the snow. He turned and said, “Why are you going from one side to the other? What makes you walk like that? He said, “Daddy, I am trying to walk in your footsteps!“
The man kneeled down, picked the boy up in his arms and said, “O God – you forgive me. From this day on, I’ll never take another drink.” I want to walk straight, so my son after me will walk straight. See – somebody’s going to follow your footsteps. Let’s walk that straight line from the cradle to Calvary. That’s the footsteps; let’s have them to walk in.
messageforchildren.org
Monday, June 13, 2011 0
Friday, June 10, 2011
Once upon a time, there was a rich merchant who had 4 wives. He loved the 4th wife the most and adorned her with rich robes and treated her to delicacies. He took great care of her and gave her nothing but the best.
He also loved the 3rd wife very much. He's very proud of her and always wanted to show off her to his friends. However, the merchant is always in great fear that she might run away with some other men.
He loved his 2nd wife, too. She is a very considerate person, always patient and in fact is the merchant's confidante. Whenever the merchant faced some problems, he always turned to his 2nd wife and she would always help him out and tide him through difficult times.
Now, the merchant's 1st wife is a very loyal partner and has made great contributions in maintaining his wealth and business as well as taking care of the household. However, the merchant did not love the first wife and although she loved him deeply, he hardly took notice of her.
One day, the merchant fell ill. Before long, he knew that he was going to die soon. He thought of his luxurious life and told himself, "Now I have 4 wives with me. But when I die, I'll be alone. How lonely I'll be!" Thus, he asked the 4th wife, "I loved you most, endowed you with the finest clothing and showered great care over you. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?"
"No way!" replied the 4th wife and she walked away without another word. The answer cut like a sharp knife right into the merchant's heart.
The sad merchant then asked the 3rd wife, "I have loved you so much for all my life. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?"
"No!" replied the 3rd wife. "Life is so good over here! I'm going to remarry when you die!"
The merchant's heart sank and turned cold.
He then asked the 2nd wife, "I always turned to you for help and you've always helped me out. Now I need your help again. When I die, will you follow me and keep me company?"
"I'm sorry, I can't help you out this time!" replied the 2nd wife. "At the very most, I can only send you to your grave."
The answer came like a bolt of thunder and the merchant was devastated.
Then a voice called out : "I'll leave with you. I'll follow you no matter where you go.
"The merchant looked up and there was his first wife. She was so skinny, almost like she suffered from malnutrition. Greatly grieved, the merchant said, "I should have taken much better care of you while I could have!"
We all have 4 wives in our lives. The 4th wife is our body. No matter how much time and effort we lavish in making it look good, it'll leave us when we die. Our 3rd wife is our possessions, status and wealth. When we die, they all go to others. The 2nd wife is our family and friends. No matter how close they had been there for us when we're alive, the furthest they can stay by us is up to the grave. The 1st wife is in fact our soul, often neglected in our pursuit of material wealth and sensual pleasure. It is actually the only thing that follows us wherever we go. Perhaps it's a good idea to cultivate and strengthen it now rather than wait until we're on our death bed to lament.
Friday, June 10, 2011 0
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
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, 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 pass the intersection. Again, he felt that he should turn down seventh street. At the next intersection, he turned back and headed down Seventh. Half jokingly, he said out loud, "Okay, God, I will". He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. He pulled over to the curb and looked around. He was in a semi-commercial area of town. It wasn't the best but it wasn't the worst of neighborhoods either.
The businesses were closed and most of the houses looked dark like the people were already in bed. Again, he sensed something, "Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street."
The young man looked at the house. It was dark and it looked like the people were either gone or they were already asleep. He started to open the door and then sat back in the car seat. "Lord, this is insane. Those people are asleep and if I wake them up, they are going to be mad and I will look stupid." Again, he felt like he should go and give the milk. Finally, he opened the door, "Okay God, if this is you, I will go to the door and I will give them the milk. If you want me to look like a crazy person, okay. I want to be obedient. I guess that will count for 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 t-shirt. He looked like he just got out of bed. He had a strange look on his face and he didn't seem to happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep.
"What is it?"
The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, "Here, I brought this to you."
The man took the milk and rushed down a hall way 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 ask him to send an Angel with some… Are you an Angel?" The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had on him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back toward his car and the tears were streaming down his face.
He knew that God still answers prayers and that God still speaks to His people.
Do You?
Wednesday, June 8, 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
Friday, May 20, 2011
A store owner was tacking a sign above his door that read "Puppies For Sale". Signs like that have a way of attracting small children, and sure enough, a little boy appeared under the store owner's sign. "How much are you going to sell the puppies for?" he asked. The store owner replied, "Anywhere from $30 to $50." The little boy reached in his pocket and pulled out some change.
"I have $2.37," he said. "May I please look at them?"
The store owner smiled and whistled. Out of the kennel came a dog, who ran down the aisle of his store followed by five teeny, tiny balls of fur. One puppy was lagging considerably behind. Immediately the little boy singled out the lagging, limping puppy and said, "What's wrong with that little dog?"
The store owner explained that the veterinarian had examined the little puppy and had discovered it didn't have a hip socket. It would always limp. It would always be lame.
The little boy became excited. "That is the puppy that I want to buy."
The store owner said, "No, you don't want to buy that little dog. If you really want him, I'll just give him to you."
The little boy got quite upset. He looked straight into the store owner's eyes, pointing his finger, and said, "I don't want you to give him to me. That little dog is worth every bit as much as all the other dogs, and I'll pay full price. In fact, I'll give you $2.37 now, and $0.50 cents a month until I have him paid for." The store owner countered, "You really don't want to buy this little dog. He is never going to be able to run and jump and play with you like the other puppies." To his surprise, the little boy reached down and rolled up his pant leg to reveal a badly twisted, crippled left leg supported by a big metal brace. He looked up at the store owner and softly replied, "Well, I don't run so well myself, and the little puppy will need someone who understands."
Friday, May 20, 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
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