The Room
by Joshua Harris
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features
save for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles
by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly
endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked".
I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names
written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small
files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small,
in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring
their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would
look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends
I Have Betrayed".
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read", "Lies I Have Told",
"Comfort I Have Given", "Jokes I Have Laughed At". Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:
"Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger",
"Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents". I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20
years 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 signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To", I realized the files grew to contain their
contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file.
I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts", I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file
out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt
sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one
must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't
matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor,
I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as
strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out
a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With".
The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not
more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me.
I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves
swirled in my tear-filled
eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly
as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could
bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes.
Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a
pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over
and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one
by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card
from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, 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.
Rose's Dream
author unknown
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 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 and 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.
The Rose
by Manda McBroom
from the soundtrack to "The Rose"
by Bette Midler
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 endless 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 dying'
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 winter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose.
Ruth went to her mail box and there was only one letter. She picked it up and looked at it before opening, but
then she looked at the envelope again. There was no stamp, no postmark, only her name and address. She read the
letter:
Dear Ruth,
I'm going to be in your neighborhood Saturday afternoon and I'd like to stop by for a visit.
Love Always,
Jesus
Her hands were shaking as she placed the letter on the table. "Why would the Lord want to visit me? I'm nobody
special. I don't have anything to offer." With that thought, Ruth remembered her empty kitchen cabinets. "Oh
my goodness, I really don't have anything to offer. I'll have to run down to the store and buy something for dinner."
She reached for her purse and counted out its contents. Five dollars and forty cents. "Well, I can get some
bread and cold cuts, at least." She threw on her coat and hurried out the door. A loaf of french bread, a
half-pound of sliced turkey, and a carton of milk ... leaving Ruth with a grand total of twelve cents to last her
until Monday.
Nonetheless, she felt as she headed home, her meager offerings tucked under her arm. "Hey lady, can you help
us, lady?" Ruth had been so absorbed in her dinner plans, she hadn't even noticed two figures huddled in the
alleyway. A man and a woman, both of them dressed in little more than rags.
Look lady, I ain't got a job, ya know, and my wife and I have been living out here on the street, and, well, now
it's getting cold and we're getting kinda hungry and, well, if you could help us, lady, we'd really appreciate
it." Ruth looked at them both. They were dirty, they smelled bad and, frankly, she was certain that they could
get some kind of work if they really wanted to. "Sir, I'd like to help you, but I'm a poor woman myself. All
I have is a few cold cuts and some bread, and I'm having an important guest for dinner tonight and I was planning
on serving that to Him." "Yeah, well, OK lady, I understand. Thanks anyway."
The man put his arm around the woman's shoulders, turned and headed back into the alley. As she watched them leave,
Ruth felt a familiar twinge in her heart. "Sir, wait!" The couple stopped and turned as she ran down
the alley after them. "Look, why don't you take this food. I'll figure out something else to serve my guest."
She handed the man her grocery bag. "Thank you lady. Thank you very much!" "Yes, thank you!"
It was the man's wife, and Ruth could see now that she was shivering.
"You know, I've got another coat at home. Here, why don't you take this one." Ruth unbuttoned her jacket
and slipped it over the woman's shoulders. Then smiling, she turned and walked back to the street...without her
coat and with nothing to serve her guest. "Thank you lady! Thank you very much!" Ruth was chilled by
the time she reached her front door, and worried too. The Lord was coming to visit and she didn't have anything
to offer Him. She fumbled through her purse for the door key. But as she did, she noticed another envelope in her
mailbox. "That's odd. The mailman doesn't usually come twice in one day." She took the envelope out of
the box and opened it.
Dear Ruth,
It was so good to see you again. Thank you for the lovely meal. And thank you, too, for the beautiful coat.
Love Always,
Jesus
The air was still cold, but even without her coat, Ruth no longer noticed.
There was a girl, about 17 years old, from a upper class family on the North Shore. She was a strong Christian
and went to a large youth group.
One night she was travelling home from the city, alone. In fact she was travelling from Kings Cross. It was 1am
and the carriage was empty The train pulled up at a station and a man entered her carriage. He was visually fearful
and gave her a look that said " I'm going to hurt you".
She was petrified and began to pray. She asked her Lord to protect her, to make her strong and to trust His plan.
She asked Him for safety and for comfort
The man walked past her slowly, paused, and walked on.
At her station she got off, thanked God and went home. A few days later she was reading the newspaper and an article
caught her eye. The police were asking for information from anyone who had been on the Kings Cross to the city
to the North Shore connection.
She called the police and they asked her to come in for questioning. When she went she was told that whilst she
was on the train, two carriages up a woman had been repeatedly raped by the man she saw. He had been identified
and was in custody. He was a serial rapist and had raped many other woman along that train route.
When the man was asked why he hadn't attacked the young girl he replied that he had intended to but when he walked
down the stairs he noticed the man sitting next to her so he walked past her.
God protected his daughter in this situation. He saved her not unlike the way He has saved all of us. He sent His
one and only Son to die for you and me. When asked what does salvation mean to you, think about it. Consider the
epic proportion of this word. God is trustworthy, that is worth of your trust. So next time you are worried about
where life will lead you or whether God will protect you, trust him and realize God has already saved you and nothing
will ever change that. Nothing can separate you from the love of God. Nothing. Stand Strong in Christ and He will
shine through you.
Science Is Flawed
author unknown
"Let me explain the problem science has with Jesus Christ." The atheist professor of philosophy pauses before his class and then asks one of his new students to stand.
"You're a Christian, aren't you, son?"
"Yes, sir."
"So you believe in God?"
"Absolutely."
"Is God good?"
"Sure! God's good."
"Is God all-powerful? Can God do anything?"
"Yes."
"Are you good or evil?"
"The Bible says I'm evil."
The professor grins knowingly. "Ahh! The bible!" He considers for a moment. "Here's one for you. Let's say there's a sick person over here and you can cure him. You can do it. Would you help them? "Would you try?"
"Yes sir, I would."
"So you're good...!"
"I wouldn't say that."
"Why not say that? You would help a sick and maimed person if you could...in
fact most of us would if we could....God doesn't."
[No answer]
"He doesn't, does he? My brother was a Christian who died of cancer even though he prayed to Jesus to heal him. How is this Jesus good? Hmmm? Can you answer that one?"
[No answer]
The elderly man is sympathetic. "No, you can't, can you?" He takes a sip of water from a glass on his desk to give the student time to relax. In philosophy, you have to go easy with the new ones. "Let's start again, young fella. Is God good?"
"Er... Yes."
"Is Satan good?"
"No."
"Where does Satan come from?"
The student falters. "From... God..."
"That's right. God made Satan, didn't he?" The elderly man runs his bony fingers through his thinning hair and turns to the smirking student audience. "I think we're going to have a lot of fun this semester, ladies and gentlemen." He turns back to the Christian. "Tell me, son. Is there evil in this world?"
"Yes, sir."
"Evil's everywhere, isn't it? Did God make everything?"
"Yes."
"Who created evil?
[No answer]
"Is there sickness in this world? Immorality? Hatred? Ugliness. All the terrible things - do they exist in this world? "
The student squirms on his feet. "Yes."
"Who created them?"
[No answer]
The professor suddenly shouts at his student. "Who created them? Tell me, Please!" The professor closes in for the kill and climbs into the Christian's face. In a still small voice: "God created all evil, didn't He, son?"
[No answer]
The student tries to hold the steady, experienced gaze and fails. Suddenly the lecturer breaks away to pace the front of the classroom like an aging panther. The class is mesmerized. "Tell me," he continues, "How is it that this God is good if He created all evil throughout all time?" The professor swishes his arms around to encompass the wickedness of the world. "All the hatred, the brutality, all the pain, all the torture, all the death and ugliness and all the suffering created by this good God is all over the world, isn't it, young man?"
[No answer]
"Don't you see it all over the place? Huh?" Pause. "Don't you?" The professor
leans into the student's face again and whispers, "Is God good?"
[No answer]
"Do you believe in Jesus Christ, son?"
The student's voice betrays him and cracks. "Yes, professor. I do."
The old man shakes his head sadly. "Science says you have five senses you use to identify and observe the world around you. Have you seen Him?"
"No, sir. I've never seen Him."
"Then tell us if you've ever heard your Jesus?"
"No, sir. I have not."
"Have you ever felt your Jesus, tasted your Jesus or smelt your Jesus... in fact, do you have any sensory perception of your God whatsoever?"
[No answer]
"Answer me, please."
"No, sir, I'm afraid I haven't."
"You're AFRAID... you haven't?"
"No, sir."
"Yet you still believe in him?"
"...yes..."
"That takes FAITH!" The professor smiles sagely at the underling. "According to the rules of empirical, testable, demonstrable protocol, science says your God doesn't exist. What do you say to that, son? Where is your God now?"
[The student doesn't answer]
"Sit down, please."
The Christian sits...defeated.
Another Christian raises his hand. "Professor, may I address the class?"
The professor turns and smiles. "Ah, another Christian in the vanguard! Come,
come, young man. Speak some proper wisdom to the gathering."
The Christian looks around the room. "Some interesting points you are making,
sir. Now I've got a question for you. Is there such thing as heat?"
"Yes," the professor replies. "There's heat."
"Is there such a thing as cold?"
"Yes, son, there's cold too."
"No, sir, there isn't."
The professor's grin freezes. The room suddenly goes very cold. The second Christian continues. "You can have lots of heat, even more heat, super-heat, mega-heat, white heat, a little heat or no heat, but we don't have anything called 'cold'. We can hit 458 degrees below zero, which is no heat, but we can't go any further after that. There is no such thing as cold, otherwise we would be able to go colder than 458 - You see, sir, cold is only a word we use to describe the absence of heat. We cannot measure cold. Heat we can measure in thermal units because heat is energy. Cold is not the opposite of heat,
sir, just the absence of it."
Silence. A pin drops somewhere in the classroom.
"Is there such a thing as darkness, professor?"
"That's a dumb question, son. What is night if it isn't darkness? What are you
getting at...?"
"So you say there is such a thing as darkness?"
"Yes..."
"You're wrong again, sir. Darkness is not something, it is the absence of something. You can have low light, normal light, bright light, flashing light but if you have no light constantly you have nothing and it's called darkness, isn't it? That's the meaning we use to define the word. In reality, Darkness isn't. If it were, you would be able to make darkness darker and give me a jar of it. Can you...give me a jar of darker darkness, professor?"
Despite himself, the professor smiles at the young effrontery before him. This will indeed be a good semester. "Would you mind telling us what your point is, young man?"
"Yes, professor. My point is, your philosophical premise is flawed to start with and so your conclusion must be in error...."
The professor goes toxic. "Flawed...? How dare you...!""
"Sir, may I explain what I mean?"
The class is all ears.
"Explain... oh, explain..." The professor makes an admirable effort to regain control. Suddenly he is affability itself. He waves his hand to silence the class, for the student to continue.
"You are working on the premise of duality," the Christian explains. "That for example there is life and then there's death; a good God and a bad God. You are viewing the concept of God as something finite, something we can measure. Sir, science cannot even explain a thought. It uses electricity and magnetism but has never seen, much less fully understood them. To view death as the opposite of life is to be ignorant of the fact that death cannot exist as a substantive thing. Death is not the opposite of life, merely the absence of it."
The young man holds up a newspaper he takes from the desk of a neighbor who has been reading it. "Here is one of the most disgusting tabloids this country hosts, professor. Is there such a thing as immorality?"
"Of course there is, now look..."
"Wrong again, sir. You see, immorality is merely the absence of morality. Is there such thing as injustice? No. Injustice is the absence of justice. Is there such a thing as evil?" The Christian pauses. "Isn't evil the absence of good?" The professor's face has turned an alarming color. He is so angry he is temporarily speechless. The Christian continues. "If there is evil in the world, professor, and we all agree there is, then God, if he exists, must be accomplishing a work through the agency of evil. What is that work God is accomplishing? The Bible tells us it is to see if each one of us will, of our own free will, choose good over evil."
The professor bridles. "As a philosophical scientist, I don't view this matter as having anything to do with any choice; as a realist, I absolutely do not recognize the concept of God or any other theological factor as being part of the world equation because God is not observable."
"I would have thought that the absence of God's moral code in this world is probably one of the most observable phenomena going," the Christian replies. "Newspapers make billions of dollars reporting it every week! Tell me, professor. Do you teach your students that they evolved from a monkey?"
"If you are referring to the natural evolutionary process, young man, yes, of course I do."
"Have you ever observed evolution with your own eyes, sir?" The professor makes a sucking sound with his teeth and gives his student a silent, stony stare. "Professor. Since no one has ever observed the process of evolution at work and cannot even prove that this process is an on-going endeavor, are you not teaching your opinion, sir? Are you now not a scientist, but a priest?"
"I'll overlook your impudence in the light of our philosophical discussion. Now, have you quite finished?" the professor hisses.
"So you don't accept God's moral code to do what is righteous?"
"I believe in what is - that's science!"
"Ahh! SCIENCE!" the student's face splits into a grin. "Sir, you rightly state that science is the study of observed phenomena. Science too is a premise which is flawed..."
"SCIENCE IS FLAWED..?" the professor splutters. The class is in uproar. The Christian remains standing until the commotion has subsided.
"To continue the point you were making earlier to the other student, may I give you an example of what I mean?" The professor wisely keeps silent.
The Christian looks around the room. "Is there anyone in the class who has ever seen the professor's brain?" The class breaks out in laughter. The Christian points towards his elderly, crumbling tutor. "Is there anyone here who has ever heard the professor's brain... felt the professor's brain, touched or smelt the professor's brain?" No one appears to have done so. The Christian shakes his head sadly. "It appears no one here has had any sensory perception of the professor's brain whatsoever. Well, according to the rules of empirical, stable, demonstrable protocol, science, I DECLARE that the professor has no brain."
The class is in chaos. The Christian sits....Because that is what a chair is for.
My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other.
The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house. As soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more. They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal.
They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet. There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels.
The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace.
This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture. It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game.
Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love-one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection, which not everyone is lucky enough to experience. Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could.
They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em." Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other. But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: my grandmother had breast cancer.
The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.
Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grand-father's steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore.
For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.
"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around grandma one last time.
Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.
S-H-M-I-L-Y: See How Much I Love You.
Simplicity Of A Child
author unknown
"Daddy, how much do you make an hour?"
With a timid voice and idolizing eyes, the little boy greeted his father as he returned from work.
Greatly surprised, but giving his boy a glaring look, the father said: "Look, sonny, not even your mother knows that. Don't bother me now, I'm tired."
"But Daddy, just tell me please! How much do you make an hour, " the boy insisted. The father, finally giving up, replied: "Twenty dollars per hour."
"Okay, Daddy. Could you loan me ten dollars?" the boy asked.
Showing his restlessness and positively disturbed, the father yelled: "So that was the reason you asked how much I earn, right? Go to sleep and don't bother me anymore!"
It was already dark and the father was meditating on what he said and was feeling guilty. Maybe he thought , his son wanted to buy something. Finally, trying to ease his mind, the father went to his son's room.
"Are you asleep, son?" asked the father.
"No, Daddy. Why?" replied the boy, partially asleep.
"Here's the money asked for earlier, " the father said.
"Thanks, Daddy!" rejoiced the son, while putting his hand under his pillow and removing some money.
"Now I have enough! Now I have twenty dollars!" the boy said to his father, who was gazing at his son, confused at what his son had just said. "Daddy, could you sell me one hour of your time?"
The Smile Project
author unknown
I am a mother of three (ages 14,12, 3) and have recently completed my college degree. The last class I had to take
was Sociology. The teacher was absolutely inspiring with the qualities that I wish every human
being had been graced with. Her last project of the term was called "Smile." The class was asked to go
out and smile at three people and document their reaction. I am a very friendly person and always smile at everyone
and say, hello anyway...so, I thought, this would be a piece of cake literally.
Soon after we were assigned the project, my husband, youngest son, and I went out to McDonalds, one crisp March
morning. It was just our way of sharing special playtime with our son. We were standing in line, waiting to be
served, when all of a sudden everyone around us began to back away, and then even my husband did. I did not move
an inch...an overwhelming feeling of panic welled up inside of me as I turned to see why they had moved. As I turned
around I smelled a horrible "dirty body" smell... and there standing
behind me were two poor homeless men.
As I looked down at the short gentleman, close to me, he was "smiling". His beautiful sky blue eyes were
full of God's Light as he searched for acceptance. He said, "Good day" as he counted the few coins he
had
been clutching. The second man fumbled with his hands as he stood behind his friend. I realized the second man
was mentally deficient and the blue eyed gentle man was his salvation. I held my tears.... as I stood there with
them.
The young lady at the counter asked him what they wanted. He said, "Coffee is all, Miss" because that
was all they could afford. (To sit in the restaurant and warm up, they had to buy something...he just wanted to
be warm). Then I really felt it... the compulsion was so great I almost reached out and embraced the little man
with his blue eyes. That is when I noticed all eyes in the restaurant were set on me...judging my every action.
I smiled and asked the young lady behind the counter to give me two more breakfast meals on a separate tray. I
then walked around the corner to the table that the men had chosen as a resting spot.
I set the tray on their table then I laid my hand on the blue eyed gentleman's cold hand. He looked up at me,
with tears in his eyes, and said, "Thank you." I leaned over, began to pat his hand and said, "I
did not do this for you...God is here working through me to give you hope."
I started to cry as I walked away to join my husband and son. When I sat down my husband smiled at me and said,
"That is why God gave you to me honey.... to give me hope." We held hands for a moment and at
that time we knew that only because of the Grace that we had been given that we were able to give.
We are not church goers but we are believers. That day showed me the pure Light of God's sweet love. I returned
to college, on the last evening of class, with this story in hand. I turned in "my project" and the instructor
read it.... then she looked up at me and said, "Can I share this?" I slowly nodded as she got
the attention of the class. She began to read and that is when I knew that we, as human beings and being part of
God, share this need to heal people and be healed. In my own way I had touched the people at McDonalds, my husband,
son, instructor, and every soul that shared the classroom on the last night I spent as a college student.
I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever learn... UNCONDITIONAL ACCEPTANCE. Much love And compassion
sent to each and every person who may read this learn how to
LOVE PEOPLE AND USE THINGS - NOT LOVE THINGS AND USE PEOPLE.
The Soldier
author unknown
A story is told about a soldier who was finally coming home after having fought in Vietnam. He called his parents
from San Francisco. "Mom and Dad, I'm coming home, but I've a favor to ask. I have a friend I'd like to bring
home with me." "Sure," they replied, "We'd love to meet him."
"There's something you should know the son continued, 'he was hurt pretty badly in the fighting. He stepped
on a land mine and lost an arm and a leg. He has nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us."
"I'm sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere to live." "No, Mom and Dad, I
want him to live with us." "Son," said the father, "you don't know what you're asking. Someone
with such a handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we can't let something
like this interfere with our lives. I think you should just come home and forget about this guy. He'll find a way
to live on his own."
At that point, the son hung up the phone. The parents heard nothing more from him. A few days later, however, they
received a call from the San Francisco police. Their son had died after falling from a building, they were told.
The police believed it was suicide. The grief-stricken parents flew to San Francisco and were taken to the city
morgue to identify the body of their son. They recognized him, but to their horror they also discovered something
they didn't know, their son had only one arm and one leg.
The parents in this story are like many of us. We find it easy to love those who are good looking or fun to have
around, but we don't like people to inconvenience us or make us feel uncomfortable. We would rather stay away from
people who aren't as healthy, beautiful, or smart as we are. Thankfully, there's someone who won't treat us that
way. Someone who loves us with an unconditional love that welcomes us into the forever family, regardless of how
messed up we are. Tonight, before you tuck yourself in for the night, say a little prayer that God will give you
the strength you need to accept people as they are, and to help us all be more understanding of those who are different
from us!!!
There's a miracle called Friendship
That dwells in the heart
You don't know how it happens
Or when it gets started
But you know the special lift
It always brings
And you realize that Friendship
Is God's most precious gift!
Someone Is Watching You
by Ron Brown
Do you know that someone is watching the way you live? In 1957 this story began to unfold.
There was a young man of the age of twelve that obeyed the gospel of Christ and became a Christian. Soon afterwards,
due to circumstances in his family, he had no transportation to attend worship services of the Lord's church.
This did not stop him from going to church, it only slowed him down some. He chose to walk to church services.
(Some will think that this is no big deal, for many people have walked to church.) Even though he lived more than
five miles from the church building, he never missed a church service that weather allowed him to attend.
Across the road from the church building lived an elderly gentleman who had no use for religion. Now, as the spring
of 1957 wore into summer, this old gent sat out on his front porch each Sunday morning. He could not help but take
notice of this young man. Every Sunday, the lad walked down the dusty road and entered the church building across
the road.
In almost all rural communities, everyone knows most everyone else. This elderly man had been visited by nearly
every member of that church. He had been invited often to visit their services, but to no avail.
Through the weeks of spring and summer, Mr. Doe (not the man's real name) and the young man greeted each other
every Sunday. Mr. Doe could almost set his clock by the church's schedule of services and the youth's arrival.
This continued throughout the summer of 1957.
One beautiful Sunday morning in September, Mr. Doe was on his front porch wondering where the young man was. It
was past time for services and the lad had not walked past his house. The next week, Mr. Doe watched again for
the boy, but once again, he did not come.
The following Sunday, after services, Mr. Doe walked across the road and asked one of the men if he knew what he
knew about the young man. Did he know what had happened to the youth who had walked past his house each Sunday?
He was told that the young man's family had moved and that he would not be attending church services there any
more.
The first Sunday in October, Mr. Doe walked out onto his front porch, but did not sit down. Instead, he walked
across the road and entered the church building. This was the first time he had attended a church service since
he had been a lad himself.
The members were surprised, yet very happy to see Mr. Doe. After all these years, he had finally come. Mr. Doe
became a regular guest at the little country church, and that winter he was baptized into Christ.
The preacher was curious, as well as were the others, as to what had finally convinced Mr. Doe to take note of
his life and become a Christian. Mr. Doe explained that a young man whom he did not even know had persuaded him
that there must be something special about being a Christian.
This man became a Christian because of a young man's example.
The lad never realized that as he walked to church each Sunday, someone was watching him.
Sow And Reap
author unknown
A woman gave her teenage son a used automobile. The youth enjoyed racing the car around curves so he could hear
the tires squeal. One morning his car skidded and smashed into a telephone pole. The boy was thrown through the
windshield and was rushed to a hospital. When his pastor reached the hospital, the boy's mother was frantic. She
grasped the pastor's hands in hers and exclaimed, "Why would God let this happen?"
Her question is understandable, but it misses the hard truth of the situation. She can't blame God for that accident.
If the Lord were to suspend the laws of physics and snatch a telephone pole from in front of her son, He might
just as well place one in front of someone else who was driving carefully.
If the law of gravity works to keep me from flying into space, I cannot expect it to go into reverse if I step
out of a 10th-floor window. God doesn't cancel the rule of sowing and reaping just because we become Christians.
But there is an upside to that principle. If we sow "to the Spirit [we] will of the Spirit reap everlasting
life" (Gal. 6:8). With that in mind, "Let us not grow weary while doing good,
for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart" (v.9).
What do you expect to reap?
As long as the Bible remains an unread book, God will not be known as the loving, compassionate Father of the parable
of the Prodigal Son. God is forgiving, faithful and patient and just can't wait for His wandering children to come
home.
Read: Luke 15:11-24
The Special Mother
author unknown
Most women become mothers by accident, some by choice, a few by social pressure, and a couple by habit.
This year, nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children. Did you ever wonder how mothers of handicapped children are chosen?
Somehow, I visualize God hovering over earth, selecting His instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As He observes, He instructs His angels to make notes in a giant ledger.
"Armstrong, Beth, son. Patron saint, Matthew."
"Forest, Marjorie, daughter. Patron saint, Cecilia."
"Rutledge, Carrie, twins. Patron saint...give her Gerard. He's used to profanity."
Finally, He passes a name to an angel and smiles, "Give her a handicapped child."
The angel is curious. "Why this one, God? She's so happy."
"Exactly," smiles God. "Could I give a handicapped child a mother who does not know laughter? That would be cruel."
"But does she have patience?" asks the angel.
"I don't want her to have too much patience, or she will drown in a sea of self pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wear off, she'll handle it."
"I watched her today. She has that sense of self and independence that are so rare and necessary in a mother. You see, the child I'm going to give her has his own world. She has to make it live in her world and that's not going to be easy."
"But Lord, I don't think she even believes in you."
God smiles. "No matter, I can fix that. This one is perfect. She has just enough selfishness."
The angel gasps. "Selfishness? Is that a virtue?"
God nods. "If she can't separate herself from the child occasionally, she'll never survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect. She doesn't realize it yet, but she is to be envied."
"She will never take for granted a spoken word. She will never consider a step ordinary. When her child says 'Momma' for the first time, she will be a witness to a miracle and know it. When she describes a tree or a sunset to her blind child, she will see it as few people ever see my creations."
"I will permit her to see clearly the things I see - ignorance, cruelty, prejudice - and allow her to rise above them. She will never be alone. I will be by her side every minute of every day of her life because she is doing my work as surely as she is here by my side."
"And what about her patron saint?" asks the angel, his pen poised in mid air.
God smiles. "A mirror will suffice"
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