parable of the pencil....

PARABLE OF THE PENCIL

The Pencil Maker took the pencil aside, just before putting him into the box. There are 5 things you need to know, he told the pencil, before I send you out into the world. Always remember them and never forget, and you will become the best pencil you can be.

One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in Someone's hand.

Two: You will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, but you'll need it to become a better pencil.

Three: You will be able to correct mistakes you will make.

Four: The most important part of you will always be what's inside.

And Five: On every surface you are used on, you must leave your mark. No matter what the condition, you must continue to write.

The pencil understood and promised to remember, and went into the box with purpose in its heart.

Now replacing the place of the pencil with you; always remember them and never forget, and you will become the best person you can be.

One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in God's hand. And allow other human beings to access you for the many gifts you possess.

Two: You will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, by going through various problems, but you'll need it to become a stronger person.

Three: You will be able to correct mistakes you might make or grow through them.

Four: The most important part of you will always be what's on the inside.

And Five: On every surface you walk, you must leave your mark. No matter what the situation, you must continue to serve God in everything.

By understanding and remembering, let us proceed with our life on this earth having a meaningful purpose in our heart and a relationship with God daily.

-- Author Unknown

this old tent

When I looked upon the days gone past,
I’d thought this tent was built to last.
For I’d stood it on some rocky ground
Where stormy winds couldn’t beat it down.

And with my pride and my own hand,
I put my tent on shifting sand
Where pegs pulled loose and my tent did shake,
But I was young and I could take
The unstable world that I was in
I’d just up and move again.

So for many years I went this route,
Shifting this old tent about.
Till one cold day when my mind grew clear,
This tent had an end and it might draw near.

So with much fear (such a heavy load)
I looked for the One who had made this abode.
Yes, the Tentmaker, He’d surely know
Where one such rotting tent should go
To have this canvas revitalized,
To have these poles and pegs re‐sized.

I went to Him on bended knees
Begging Him, “Oh tentmaker please!
Restore this tent I thought would last,
This canvas house that went so fast.”

He looked at me through loving eyes
And merely pointed to the skies.
“Please do not grieve over some old tent,
Old canvas walls that have been spent.
For this mansion that’s been built by Me
Will last you for eternity.”

who stared christmas??

WHO STARTED CHRISTMAS?

This morning I heard a story on the radio of a woman who was out Christmas
shopping with her two children. After many hours of looking at row after row
of toys and everything else imaginable. And after hours of hearing both her
children asking for everything they saw on those many shelves, she finally
made it to the elevator with her two kids.

She was feeling what so many of us feel during the holiday season time of
the year. Overwhelming pressure to go to every party, every housewarming,
taste all the holiday food and treats, getting that perfect gift for every
single person on our shopping list, making sure we don't forget anyone on
our card list, and the pressure of making sure we respond to everyone who
sent us a card.

Finally the elevator doors opened and there was already a crowd in the car.
She pushed her way into the car and dragged her two kids in with her and all
the bags of stuff. When the doors closed she couldn't take it anymore and
stated, "Whoever started this whole Christmas thing should be found, strung
up and shot."

From the back of the car everyone heard a quiet calm voice respond, "Don't
worry we already crucified him." For the rest of the trip down the elevator
it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

Don't forget this year to keep the One who started this whole Christmas
thing in your every thought, deed, purchase, and word. If we all did it,
just think of how different this whole world would be.

-- Author Unknown

the blessing of thorns

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 that from her.

 

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 holiday visit she coveted, called saying she could not come for the holiday.

 

Then 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. 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."

 

Just then the shop 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. And she left with her order.

 

"Uh," stammered Sandra, "that lady just left with, uh....she just left with no flowers!

 

"Right, said the clerk, "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 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, had just spent 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 the good things in my life and never questioned the good things that happened to me, but when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask questions! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important. I have 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 Special....12 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 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. "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?"

 

"Nothing. 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 would like to read it first."

 

It read: "My 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."

 

Praise Him for your roses; thank him for your thorns!

 

-- Nancy Leigh DeMoss

the cab ride.............

THE CAB RIDE

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry. Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.

I responded to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory in the industrial part of town. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needed my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knick-knacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said.

I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".

I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done very many more important things in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider small ones.

-- Author Unknown

footprints...new version

FOOTPRINTS...A New Version



Imagine you and the Lord Jesus are walking down the road together. For much of the way, the Lord's footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace.



But your footprints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnarounds, circles, departures, and returns.



For much of the way, it seems to go like this, but gradually your footprints come more in line with the Lord's, soon paralleling His consistently.



You and Jesus are walking as true friends!



This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: Your footprints that once etched the sand next to Jesus' are now walking precisely in His steps.



Inside His larger footprints are your smaller ones, you and Jesus are becoming one.



This goes on for many miles, but gradually you notice another change. The footprints inside the large footprints seem to grow larger.



Eventually they disappear altogether. There is only one set of footprints. They have become one.



This goes on for a long time, but suddenly the second set of footprints is back. This time it seems even worse! Zigzags all over the place. Stops. Starts. Gashes in the sand. A variable mess of prints.



You are amazed and shocked.



Your dream ends. Now you pray:



"Lord, I understand the first scene, with zigzags and fits. I was a new Christian; I was just learning. But You walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with You."



"That is correct."



"And when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps, following You very closely."



"Very good.. You have understood everything so far."



When the smaller footprints grew and filled in Yours, I suppose that I was becoming like You in every way."



"Precisely."



"So, Lord, was there a regression or something? The footprints separated, and this time it was worse than at first."



There is a pause as the Lord answers, with a smile in His voice.



"You didn't know? It was then that we danced!"



To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: A time to weep, a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance.



Ecclesiastes 3:1,4.



Spread the Word and give thanks to the Lord for He is good!



It's not WHAT you have in your life, but Whom you have in your life that counts... Think about that.

Pappy...........

PAPPY

 

Pappy was a pleasant-looking old fellow. He had the whitest hair which he kept neatly cut and combed. His eyes were blue, though faded with age, and they seemed to emit a warmth from within. His face was quite drawn, but when he smiled, even his wrinkles seemed to soften and smile with him. He had a talent for whistling and did so happily each day as he dusted and swept his pawnshop; even so, he had a secret sadness, but everyone who knew him respected and adored him.

 

Most of Pappy's customers returned for their goods, and he did not do much business, but he did not mind. To him, the shop was not a livelihood as much as a welcome pastime.

 

There was a room in the back of his shop where he spent time tinkering with a menagerie of his own precious items. He referred to this back room as "memory hall." In it were pocket watches, clocks, and electric trains. There were miniature steam engines and antique toys made of wood, tin, or cast iron, and there were various other obsolete trinkets as well.

 

Spending time in memory hall delighted him as he recalled many treasured moments from his past. He handled each item with care, and sometimes he would close his eyes and pause to relive a sweet, simple childhood memory.

 

One day, Pappy was working to his heart's content reassembling an old railroad lantern.  As he worked, he whistled the melody of a railroad tune and reminisced about his own past as a switchman. It was a typical day at the shop. Outside, the sun illuminated the clear sky, and a slight wind passed through the door.  Whenever the weather was this nice, Pappy kept the inner door open. He enjoyed the fresh air—almost as much as the distinctive smell of antiques and old engine oil.

 

As he was polishing his newly restored lantern, he heard the tinkling of his bell on the shop door.  The bell, which produced a uniquely charming resound, had been in Pappy's family for over a hundred years. He cherished it dearly and enjoyed sharing its song with all who came to his shop. Although the bell hung on the inside of the main door, Pappy had strung a wire to the screen door so that it would ring whether the inner door was open or not. Prompted by the bell, he left memory hall to greet his customer.

 

At first, he did not see her. Her shiny, soft curls barely topped the counter.

 

"And how can I help you, little lady?" Pappy's voice was jovial.

 

"Hello, sir." The little girl spoke almost in a whisper. She was dainty. Bashful. Innocent.  She looked at Pappy with her big brown eyes, then slowly scanned the room in search of something special.  Shyly she told him, "I'd like to buy a present, sir."

 

"Well, let's see," Pappy said, "who is this present for?"

 

"My grandpa. It's for my grandpa. But I don't know what to get."

 

Pappy began to make suggestions. "How about a pocket watch? It's in good condition. I fixed it myself," he said proudly.

 

The little girl didn't answer. She had walked to the doorway and put her small hand on the door.  She wiggled the door gently to ring the bell.  Pappy's face seemed to glow as he saw her smiling with excitement.

 

"This is just right," the little girl bubbled.  "Momma says grandpa loves music."

 

Just then, Pappy's expression changed. Fearful of breaking the little girl's heart, he told her, "I'm sorry, missy. That's not for sale. Maybe your grandpa would like this little radio."

 

The little girl looked at the radio, lowered her head, and sadly sighed, "No, I don't think so."

 

In an effort to help her understand, Pappy told her the story of how the bell had been in his family for so many years, and that was why he didn't want to sell it.

 

The little girl looked up at him, and with a giant tear in her eye, sweetly said, "I guess I understand. Thank you, anyway."

 

Suddenly, Pappy thought of how the rest of the family was all gone now, except for his estranged daughter whom he had not seen in nearly a decade.

 

Why not, he thought. Why not pass it on to someone who will share it with a loved one?  God only knows where it will end up anyway.

 

"Wait...little lady." Pappy spoke just as the little girl was going out the door--just as he was hearing his bell ring for the last time.  "I've decided to sell the bell. Here's a hanky.  Blow your nose."

 

The little girl began to clap her hands. "Oh, thank you, sir. Grandpa will be so happy."

 

"Okay, little lady. Okay." Pappy felt good about helping the child; he knew, however, he would miss the bell. "You must promise to take good care of the bell for your grandpa--and for me, too, okay?" He carefully placed the bell in a brown paper bag.

 

"Oh, I promise," said the little girl. Then, she suddenly became very still and quiet. There was something she had forgotten to ask.  She looked up at Pappy with great concern, and again almost in a whisper, asked, "How much will it cost?"

 

"Well, let's see. How much have you got to spend?" Pappy asked with a grin.

 

The child pulled a small coin purse from her pocket then reached up and emptied two dollars and forty-seven cents onto the counter.

 

After briefly questioning his own sanity, Pappy said, "Little lady, this is your lucky day. That bell costs exactly two dollars and forty-seven cents."

 

Later that evening as Pappy prepared to close up shop, he found himself thinking about his bell.  Already he had decided not to put up another one.  He thought about the child and wondered if her grandpa like his gift. Surely he would cherish anything from such a precious grandchild.

 

At that moment, just as he was going to turn off the light in memory hall, Pappy thought he heard his bell. Again, he questioned his sanity; he turned toward the door, and there stood the little girl.  She was ringing the bell and smiling sweetly.

 

Pappy was puzzled as he strolled toward the small child. "What's this, little lady? Have you changed your mind?"

 

"No," she grinned. "Momma says it's for you."

 

Before Pappy had time to say another word, the child's mother stepped into the doorway, and choking back a tear, she gently said, "Hello, Dad."

 

The little girl tugged on her grandpa's shirttail.  "Here, Grandpa. Here's your hanky. Blow your nose."

 

-- Author Unknown

John 3:16.............

JOHN 3:16

 

In the city of Chicago, one cold, dark night, a blizzard was setting in. A little boy was selling newspapers on the corner, the people were in and out of the cold.  The little boy was so cold that he wasn't trying to sell many papers.  He walked up to a policeman and said, "Mister, you wouldn't happen to know where a poor boy could find a warm place to sleep tonight would you? You see, I sleep in a box up around the corner there and down the alley and it's awful cold in there, of a night. Sure would be nice to have a warm place to stay."

 

The policeman looked down at the little boy and said, "You go down the street to that big white house and you knock on the door.  When they come out the door you just say John 3:16 and they will let you in."

 

So he did, he walked up the steps to the door, and knocked on the door and a lady answered.  He looked up and said, "John 3:16."

 

The lady said "Come on in, Son." She took him in and she sat him down in a split bottom rocker in front of a great big old fireplace and she went off. 

 

He sat there for a while, and thought to himself "John 3:16.... I don't understand it, but it sure makes a cold boy warm." 

 

Later she came back and asked him "Are you hungry?" 

 

He said, "Well, just a little. I haven't eaten in a couple of days and I guess I could stand a little bit of food." The lady took him in the kitchen and sat him down to a table full of wonderful food.  He ate and ate until he couldn't eat any more.  Then he thought to himself "John 3:16... Boy, I sure don't understand it, but it sure makes a hungry boy full."

 

She took him upstairs to a bathroom to a huge bathtub filled with warm water and he sat there and soaked for a while. As he soaked, he thought to himself, "John 3:16... I sure don't understand it, but it sure makes a dirty boy clean.  You know, I've not had a bath, a real bath, in my whole life. The only bath I ever had was when I stood in front of that big old fire hydrant as they flushed it out."

 

The lady came in and got him, and took him to a room and tucked him into a big old feather bed and pulled the covers up around his neck and kissed him goodnight and turned out the lights.  As he laid in the darkness and looked out the window at the snow coming down on that cold night he thought to himself, "John 3:16... I don't understand it, but it sure makes a tired boy rested."

 

The next morning she came back up and took him down again to that same big table full of food. After he ate she took him back to that same big old split bottom rocker in front of the fireplace and she took a big old Bible and sat down in front of him and she looked up at and she asked "Do you understand John 3:16?"

 

He said, "No, Ma'am, I don't.  The first time I ever heard it was last night when the policeman told me to use it."

 

She opened her Bible to John 3:16 , and she began to explain to him about Jesus.  Right there in front of that big old fireplace he gave his heart and life to Jesus. He sat there and thought, "John 3:16. I don't understand it, but it but it sure makes a lost boy feel safe."

 

You know, I have to confess I don't understand it either, how God would be willing to send His Son to die for me, and how Jesus would agree to do such a thing.  I don't understand it either, but it sure does make Life worth living.

 

John 3:16 - 18
16. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. 17. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. 18. He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.

 

-- Author Unknown

Jesus in the house.....

JESUS IN THE HOUSE

 

One day he decided to invite the Lord to come home and stay with him. When the Lord arrived, this young man offered him the very best room in the house.  The room was upstairs and at the end of the hall.  "This room is yours, Jesus! Stay as long as you like and you can do whatever you want to in this room, remember Jesus, its all yours."

 

That evening after he had retired for the night there came a loud knocking at the front door. The young man pulled on his robe and made his way downstairs. When he opened the door he found that the devil had sent three of his demons to attack the man. He quickly tried to close the door but one of the demons kept sticking his foot in.

 

Sometime later, after a great struggle, he managed to slam the door shut and returned to his room totally exhausted.

 

Can you believe that," the man thought. Jesus is upstairs in my very best room sleeping while I am down here battling demons. Oh, well, maybe he just didn't hear. He slept fitfully that night. The next day thing went along as normal and, being tired as he was, the young man retired early that evening. Along about midnight, there came such a terrible ruckus at the front door that the young man was sure that whatever it was would tear the door down. He stumbled down the stairs once again and opened the door to find that were dozens of demons now trying to get into his beautiful home.

 

For more than three hours he fought and struggled against the demons from hell, and finally overtook them enough to shut the door against their attack.  All energy seemed to fail him. He really didn't understand this at all.  Why won't the Lord come to my rescue? Why does he allow me to fight all by myself? I feel so alone. Troubled, he found his way to the sofa and fell into a restless sleep.

 

The next morning he decided to inquire of the Lord about the happenings of the last two evenings.  Quietly he made his way to the elegant bedroom where he had left Jesus.  "Jesus," he called as he tapped at the door. "Lord, I don't understand what is happening. For the last two nights I have had to fight the demons away from my door while you laid up here sleeping.  Don't you care about me?  Did I not give you the very best room in the house?"

 

He could see the tears building in Jesus' eyes but continued on, "I just don't understand, I really thought that once I invited you in to live with me that you would take care of me and I gave you the best room in my house and everything. What more can I do?"

 

"My precious child," Jesus spoke so softly. "I do love and care for you.  I protect all that you have released into my care. But, when you invited me to come here and stay, you brought me to this lovely room and you shut the door to the rest of your house. I am Lord of this room but I am not Master of this house.

 

I have protected this room and no demon may enter here."

 

"Oh, Lord, please forgive me. Take all of my house -- it is yours. I am so sorry that I never offered you all to begin with. I want you to have control of everything."  With this he flung open the bedroom door and knelt at Jesus' feet. "Please forgive me Lord for being so selfish."

 

Jesus smiled and told him that He had already forgiven him and that He would take care of things from now on. That night as the young man prepared for bed he thought, I wonder if those demons will return, I am so tired of fighting them each and every night. But, he knew that Jesus said that he would take care of things from now on.

 

Along about midnight the banging on the door was frightening. The young man slipped out of his room in time to see Jesus going down the stairs.  He watched in awe as Jesus swung open the door, no need to be afraid.

 

Satan stood at the door, this time demanding to be let in. "What do you want, satan?" the Lord asked. The devil bowed low in the presence of the Lord, "So sorry, I seem to have gotten the wrong address." And with that, he and the demons all ran away.

 

There is a moral to this tale. Jesus wants all of you, not just a part. He will take all that you give Him, but nothing more. How much of your heart have you given to the Lord? Are you keeping a portion of it away from Him?

 

Perhaps the attacks are coming more and more each day. Why not let the Lord fight the battles for you? He is always victorious. I have found that God made man simple, all of man's complexities are of his own devising.

 

-- Author Unknown

Rose......

ROSE

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us
to get to know someone we didn't already know. I stood up to look around
when a gentle hand touched my shoulder.

I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a
smile that lit up her entire being. She said, "Hi handsome. My name is Rose.
I'm eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?"

I laughed and enthusiastically responded, "Of course you may!" and she gave
me a giant squeeze." Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?"
I asked.

She jokingly replied, "I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married, have a
couple of children, and then retire and travel."

"No seriously," I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be
taking on this challenge at her age. "I always dreamed of having a college
education and now I'm getting one!" she told me. After class we walked to
the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became
instant friends.

Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk
nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this "time machine" as she
shared her wisdom and experience with me. Over the course of the year, Rose
became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She
loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from
the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet.
I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to
the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her
three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she
leaned into the microphone and simply said "I'm sorry I'm so jittery. I gave
up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I'll never get my speech
back in order so let me just tell you what I know."

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began: "We do not stop playing
because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four
secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success.

"You have to laugh and find humor every day."

"You've got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so
many people walking around who are dead and don't even know it!"

"There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are
nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don't do one
productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years
old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn
eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or
ability.

The idea is to grow up by always finding the opportunity in change."

"Have no regrets. The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did,
but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are
those with regrets."

She concluded her speech by courageously singing "The Rose." She challenged
each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.

At the years end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those
years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep. Over
two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the
wonderful woman who taught by example that it's never too late to be all you
can possibly be.

-- Author Unknown


The Rose
Artist: Bette Midler
Words & Lyrics by: Amanda McBroom

Some say love it is a river
That drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed
some say love it is a hunger
an end less aching need
I say love it is a flower
and you it's only seed
It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken
who cannot seem to give
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live
When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong
just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose

remember the duck....

REMEMBER THE DUCK

 

There was a little boy visiting his grandparents on their farm. He was given a slingshot to play with, out in the woods.  He practiced in the woods, but he could never hit the target. Getting a little discouraged, he headed back to dinner.

 

As he was walking back, he saw Grandma's pet duck.  Just out of impulse, he let fly, hit the duck square in the head, and killed it. He was shocked and grieved.  In a panic, he hid the dead duck in the wood pile, only to see his sister watching. Sally had seen it all, but she said nothing.

 

After lunch that day grandma said, "Sally, let's wash the dishes." 

 

But Sally said, "Grandma, Johnny told me he wanted to help in the kitchen today, didn't you Johnny?"  And then she whispered to him, "Remember, the duck?"  So Johnny did the dishes.

 

Later Grandpa asked if the children wanted to go fishing, and Grandma said, "I'm sorry but I need Sally to help make supper."

 

But Sally smiled and said, "Well, that's all right because Johnny told me he wanted to help." And she whispered again, "Remember, the duck?" So Sally went fishing and Johnny stayed.

 

After several days of Johnny doing both his chores and Sally's, he finally couldn't stand it any longer. He came to Grandma and confessed that he killed the duck. She knelt down, gave him a hug, and said, "Sweetheart, I know. You see, I was standing at the window and I saw the whole thing. But because I love you, I forgave you. But I was just wondering how long would you let Sally make a slave of you."

 

I don't know what's in your past. I don't know what one sin the enemy keeps throwing up in your face. But whatever it is, I want you to know something.  Jesus Christ was standing at the window and He saw the whole thing. But because He loves you, He is ready to forgive you. Perhaps He's wondering how long you'll let the enemy make a slave out of you.  The great thing about God is that He not only forgives, but He forgets.

 

-- Author Unknown

the old man and the sea...

THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA

After a few of the usual Sunday evening hymns, the church's pastor once
again slowly stood up, walked over to the pulpit, and gave a very brief
introduction of his childhood friend. With that, an elderly man stepped up
to the pulpit to speak, "A father, his son, and a friend of his son were
sailing off the Pacific Coast," he began, "when a fast approaching storm
blocked any attempt to get back to shore. The waves were so high, that even
though the father was an experienced sailor, he could not keep the boat
upright, and the three were swept into the ocean."

The old man hesitated for a moment, making eye contact with two teenagers
who were, for the first time since the service began, looking somewhat
interested in his story. He continued, "Grabbing a rescue line, the father
had to make the most excruciating decision of his life....to which boy he
would throw the other end of the line. He only had seconds to make the
decision.

The father knew that his son was a Christian, and he also knew that his
son's friend was not. The agony of his decision could not be matched by the
torrent of waves. As the father yelled out, 'I love you, son!' he threw
the line to his son's friend. By the time he pulled the friend back to the
capsized boat, his son had disappeared beyond the raging swells into the
black of night. His body was never recovered."

By this time, the two teenagers were sitting straighter in the pew, waiting
for the next words to come out of the old man's mouth. "The father," he
continued, "knew his son would step into eternity with Jesus, and he could
not bear the thought of his son's friend stepping into an eternity without
Jesus. Therefore, he sacrificed his son. How great is the love of God that
He should do the same for us." With that, the old man turned and sat back
down in his chair as silence filled the room.

Within minutes after the service ended, the two teenagers were at the old
man's side. "That was a nice story," politely started one of the boys, "but
I don't think it was very realistic for a father to give up his son's life
in hopes that the other boy would become a Christian."

"Well, you've got a point there," the old man replied, glancing down at his
worn Bible. A big smile broadened his narrow face, and he once again looked
up at the boys and said, "It sure isn't very realistic, is it? But I'm
standing here today to tell you that THAT story gives me a glimpse of what
it must have been like for God to give up His Son for me."

"You see....I was that father, and your pastor was my son's friend."

-- Author Unknown