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Post by Kimmy on Jun 5, 2009 6:36:47 GMT
I will go to God
The stars shone more brightly then ever before and the moon hung ever so high in the majesticly black sky. I could hear laughter in the background and crying in the foreground. My mind was clouded and my palms a bright red from the bitter cold.
It seemed like just yesterday I had sat with him laughing and smiling. I could still hear the slight crackle or his perfectly creased shirts, and smell the sweet aromas of cologne and dryer sheets. I remembered the brightness in his eyes and his glowing personality. I could hear his sweet voice and his assuring words. But now he was gone. It was only hours after I said goodbye, laid a single rose upon the ground, and watched his casket slowly fade into the deep earth tones. I was confused, numb, and deeply depressed. He had been my mentor, my guide. He had been my life.
The days went by ever so slowly and the nights were never ending. I kneeled beside my bed and prayed each night while drowning in my tears. I was lost without him, and felt as if I had no reson to live anymore. I was standing on the edge.
Finally it came time for me to clean out his belongings. I was going through albums and dresser drawers in his bedroom when I found a small white book and on the cover was a tiny angel with his initials inscribed. It looked as if he had sketched them in himself. I opened the book and began to flip through the pages. Page after page there were prayers and inscriptions from the bible. As I put the book down a small folded piece of paper fell out. I opened it and read it. It was a list of names he had written himself. It was in two or three tones of blue pen and had been folded and unfolded several times. On this piece of paper were his "thank-yous". He had made a list of all the people who had made a difference in his life and who he cared about. Reading the names and inscriptions I felt the tears flow down my cheeks. At the bottom of the list it read: "These people have shown me the way through the toughest of times, but most of all I must thank God. For without him I would not have these people. When I get to heaven I will go to God and ask Him to watch over you all. I know He will be proud to stand next to you all when it is your time. Enjoy every minute of your time on Earth. Live through God."
With this I put the paper back into the book and finished packing things up. For the first time int he past month I smiled. I knew he was safe and he would be watching over us. And I learned to live through God, Our Savior.
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 6, 2009 9:43:05 GMT
If I Were the Devil.
If I were the Devil I would gain control of the most powerful nation in the world;
I would delude their minds into thinking that they had come from man's effort, instead of God's blessings;
I would promote an attitude of loving things and using people, instead of the other way around;
I would dupe entire states into relying on gambling for their state revenue;
I would convince people that character is not an issue when it comes to leadership;
I would make it legal to take the life of unborn babies;
I would make it socially acceptable to take one's own life, and invent machines to make it convenient;
I would cheapen human life as much as possible so that the life of animals are valued more than human beings;
I would take God out of the schools, where even the mention of His name was grounds for a law suit;
I would come up with drugs that sedate the mind and target the young;
I would get sports heroes to take on the job to advertise them;
I would get control of the media, so that every night I could pollute the mind of every family, the backbone of any nation;
I would make divorce acceptable and easy, even fashionable.....If the family crumbles, so does the nation;
I would compel people to express their most depraved fantasies on canvas and movie screens, and I would call it art;
I would try to convince the people that right and wrong are determined by a few who call themselves authorities and refer to their agenda as politically correct;
I would persuade people that the church is irrelevant and out of date, and the Bible is for the naive;
I would dull the minds of Christians, and make them believe that prayer is not important, and that faithfulness and obedience are optional;
I guess I would leave things pretty much the way they are.
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 7, 2009 8:25:11 GMT
I'm Only In The Other Room
My Father called, and, I'm sorry I had to leave. It's o.k. I know you love me when you grieve. I'm now standing in glory with God, and that, you must believe. There will be times when you'll wish I was back, but, just remember this: I'm only in the other room, The one my Master made for me. I'm only in the other room, That space in your hearts, you saved, just for me. I'm only in the other room, I love you each, as love should be. There'll come a time, when we'll reunite... It's in the other room.
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 8, 2009 8:39:49 GMT
The Paperboy
He sat there all alone outside the cardboard box in which he stayed Reflections of the fire he'd built were on the alley walls displayed The flames danced from a tiny fire he built to try and keep him warm The papers weren't all sold that day so burning them would do no harm He'd been a paperboy since back before his mom and dad had died He couldn't seem to sell enough but every afternoon he tried Attending school was out because the papers came at half-past-noon The best locations-where to sell- would all be taken very soon That dark abandoned alley where he sat and shivered-tired and cold. Would be off-limits very soon - "Move on", that day he had been told He hadn't eaten all day long and soon the fire would dwindle down With eye lids closed he thought of food then fell asleep there on the ground It seemed he dreamed about a place where all were filled with peace and joy A place where there were Moms and Dads for every girl and every boy Crystal seas were all around, and all the streets were paved with gold Jasper walls and mansions tall and no one there was growing old No one ever knew of thirst - nor hunger- heartache - hurt or pain All the air was filled with love and from the skies each day would rain Kids all went to Christian schools to sing and studied Bible verse And everything was free to all ‘cause no one had a money purse He stood beside a pearly gate two angels slowly opened wide They said, "well done - the prize you've won, and now dear child please come inside" He woke at dawn and gave a yawn then off to work he quickly went His sales were good - he bought some food and nearly all his money spent That night he huddled in the alley hoped his dream would start again He longed to know what happened after he had been invited in The papers left were just a few he burned them slowly one by one And hoped he wouldn't freeze that night when all the burning had been done Then just before he fell asleep he heard "A Voice" begin to say "Tomorrow you'll be here with Me you'll never work another day I've watched the things you say and do observed the way you try to live I've looked within your heart and seen the love that you have tried to give The times you've helped old ladies cross the street I've been around to see The times you gave a lonely bum a bite to eat - you gave to Me You gave to some of your last cent to others helping hands you leant And I was there each time you'd share ` so now My Love to you is sent Tonight you'll dream a dream again that I begin - it's just for you But the dream I send won't ever end tonight. . .your dream. . .comes true !"
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 9, 2009 8:11:17 GMT
Please Take Me
I was driving to the grocery store just thinking of everything on my list to do today. Taking the kids to soccer practice, cleaning the house, getting groceries, getting the oil changed in the car, the list went on and on. I was feeling overwhelmed and was already tired before I had even gotten started."
On my way to the store I saw something horrible happen!! A train had run into a car that was crossing the tracks. I thought "Oh no!, This is horrible, there is no way the driver of that car could have lived!!" I was the closest car to the tracks so I put my car in park and got out. I ran over to the car and looked in and could not believe what I was seeing. Tears came to my eyes and I just couldn't take it. Inside the car was a woman driving that was obviously dead. In the backseat was a baby in it's car seat bleeding everywhere and next to the baby was a little girl who I guessed to be about 4 years old and she was bleeding also. Just then the little girl spoke.
She said, "Is my mommy and baby sister okay?" I just looked at her and said "Honey I don't know. There is a doctor on his way right now." Just then the little girl started crying saying, "Don't take my mommy and my baby sister - Take me with you too!! Please!!" She was pleading at who knows what to take her - but take her where?? I asked the little girl who she was talking to and she said, "Don't you see? That Angel is taking my mommy and my baby sister! I want to go with them too! My mommy is waving goodbye to me and she is holding my baby sister and she is smiling!" The little girl started to cry because she did not want to stay, she wanted to go with her mommy and her baby sister. I felt so sorry for her. I didn't believe in god and I thought to myself, where did an Angel come from? What kind of God would take a mommy and a baby but not the little sister?
At that moment I saw the little girl start to smile so big as she held her arms out to something, someone to pick her up. I thought to myself that she must be delirious and maybe she is hurt worse than I thought. Just then the little girl closed her eyes and slumped over in her seat. She was dead! I couldn't be sad even though this was a 4 year old little girl that had just died. You wouldn't be sad either if you could see that beautiful smile on her face! I guess her mommy and baby sister came back to get her. That was also the day that God came to get me - as that was the day that I became a believer and turned my life over to the Living God.
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 10, 2009 7:58:39 GMT
They thought they were in love but it was just a fake. They thought it felt so right, now a child pays for their mistake. Today hope is murdered And he’s not even there. Today an innocent will suffer and she doesn’t even care. Where is this love they speak of? Could love have done all this? Love is so much more than just a feeling, touch, or kiss. If not love, where do we point the blame. Hate or lust, or just this dating game. Who killed this baby, I demand to know. Who took away its chance to learn and think and grow. Silence answers with a deafening cry. It wasn’t me a whispered lie. In truth perhaps we’re all to blame. We looked the other way not even feeling shame.
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 11, 2009 7:37:51 GMT
All
All that I am belongs to him everything outside as well as within.
All that I have I'll give to him I'll exchange it all to be washed clean of sin.
All that I say I'll say for him so other will let him in.
All that I want I'll seek in him In him, for with God I know I can win.
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 12, 2009 11:09:03 GMT
Blessings
I knelt to pray when day was done And prayed, "O Lord, bless everyone, Lift from each saddened heart the pain And let the sick be well again." And then I woke another day And carelessly went on my way, The whole day long I did not try To wipe a tear from any eye. I did not try to share the load Of any brother on the road. I did not even go to see The sick man just next door to me. Yet once again when day was done I prayed, "O Lord, bless everyone." But as I prayed, into my ear there came a voice that whispered clear, "Pause now, my son, before you pray. Whom have you tried to bless today? Gods sweetest blessing always go by hands that serve him here below." And then I hid my face and cried, "Forgive me, God, I have not tried, But let me live another day and I will live the way I pray."
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 13, 2009 9:15:09 GMT
Drink Plenty of Water!
I've heard it. I've read it. As long as I have been running, it's always been the same message: "drink plenty of water."
All along most race courses are water stations, and most runners slow down to drink a cup of cool water. Keeping your water level up is critical when you run. If you get slightly dehydrated, you will not run well. If you get moderately dehydrated, you will become disoriented. If you get seriously dehydrated, you can die. It's serious business.
The first year I ran was 1991, and I was inexperienced (also younger, slimmer, stupider, etc.) I passed water stop after water stop, occasionally drinking a swallow or two. I felt good, and I wasn't going to waste precious seconds drinking water, even though it was a hot, humid day.
Big mistake. As I neared the final mile, I "hit the wall." My energy level dropped to zero, I began having to walk some, and I realized I would have to work hard just to finish. I did make it across the line, but only with a tremendous headache and hardly enough energy to walk. It was not much fun.
I learned an important lesson that year. Stopping for water doesn't actually slow you down. In fact, you will run a better race if you do drink water. The bottom line is that your body is simply not designed to function without water.
In the same way, your spiritual stamina depends on stopping for regular drinks of "spiritual water." The dilemma for busy believers is finding time to invest in reading the Word and meeting with God in prayer. Like the runner intent on reaching the finish line, we tend to put off those regular drinks of water until we are totally parched.
But in the long run, you will run a better race if you will stop for spiritual water. In fact, finishing the Christian race at all may depend on it. And runners who don't ever slow down to take a drink often stumble off the course far short of the finish line.
In this year's race, I saw a man become dehydrated just a mile from the finish. Strangely, he didn't seem to recognize that anything was wrong. He was swaying from side to side as he walked, mumbling over and over, "I'm fine. I'm fine." He was so disoriented that he didn't even recognize his own sick condition.
If you let yourself become spiritually dehydrated, you may not even be able to recognize it. Stop today to drink some cool "living water." For serious runners, it's a must.
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Post by Les on Jun 13, 2009 21:34:08 GMT
there ain't no sanity clause,the marks brothers
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 15, 2009 7:15:24 GMT
An Angel
I started out an angel The one you couldn't hate Then the angel turned mortal And made a few mistakes I soon could not be trusted Or so my loved ones thought They do not understand The pain and suffering they've brought Little do they know Of the ones I've learned to love Who do not see the mask I wear When I am truly hurt at heart They give me the strength and courage To make it through the day And face what problems might conspire If I'm not the angel so many have come to desire
This angel is sick of the disguise And wants everyone to know That she is not all that wise For this angel is also human And is allowed some mistakes But should not be cast down For the problems that she makes For you see with every problem comes a solution And with every solution a lesson to be learned That whoever you are And whatever you do You are only expected to be you
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 16, 2009 6:55:51 GMT
Free To Soar
One windy spring day, I observed young people having fun using the wind to fly their kites. Multicolored creations of varying shapes and sizes filled the skies like beautiful birds darting and dancing in the heady atmosphere above the earth. As the strong winds gusted against the kites, a string kept them in check. Instead of blowing away with the wind, they arose against it to achieve great heights. They shook and pulled, but the restraining string and the cumbersome tail kept them in tow, facing upward and against the wind. As the kites struggled and trembled against the string, they seemed to say, "Let me go! Let me go! I want to be free!" They soared beautifully even as they fought the imposed restriction of the string. Finally, one of the kites succeeded in breaking loose. "Free at last" it seemed to say. "Free to fly with the wind."
Yet freedom from restraint simply put it at the mercy of an unsympathetic breeze. It fluttered ungracefully to the ground and landed in a tangled mass of weeds and string against a dead bush. "Free at last" -- free to lie powerless in the dirt, to be blown helplessly along the ground, and to lodge lifeless against the first obstruction.
How much like kites we sometimes are. The Lord gives us adversity and restrictions, rules to follow from which we can grow and gain strength. Restraint is a necessary counterpart to the winds of opposition. Some of us tug at the rules so hard that we never soar to reach the heights we might have obtained. We keep part of the commandment and (pardon the pun) never rise high enough to get our tails off the ground.
Let us each rise to the great heights our Heavenly Father has in store for us, recognizing that some of the restraints that we may chafe under are actually the steadying force that helps us ascend and achieve.
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 17, 2009 8:16:37 GMT
God's Message To Women
When I created the heavens and the earth, I spoke them into being. When I created man, I formed him and breathed life into his nostrils. But you, woman, I fashioned after I breathed the breath of life into man because your nostrils are too delicate. I allowed a deep sleep to come over him so I could patiently and perfectly fashion you.
Man was put to sleep so that he could not interfere with the creativity. From one bone I fashioned you. I chose the bone that protects man's life. I chose the rib, which protects his heart and lungs and supports him, as you are meant to do. Around this one bone I shaped you. I modeled you. I created you perfectly and beautifully.
Your characteristics are as the rib, strong yet delicate and fragile. You provide protection for the most delicate organ in man, his heart. His heart is the center of his being; his lungs hold the breath of life.
The rib cage will allow itself to be broken before it will allow damage to the heart. Support man as the rib cage supports the body. You were not taken from his feet, to be under him, nor were you taken from his head, to be above him. You were taken from his side, to stand beside him and be held close to his side.
You are my perfect angel. You are my beautiful little girl. You have grown to be a splendid woman of excellence, and my eyes fill when I see the virtues in your heart. Your eyes - don't change them. Your lips how lovely when they part in prayer. Your nose, so perfect in form, your hands so gentle to touch. I've caressed your face in your deepest sleep; I've held your heart close to mine. Of all that lives and breathes, you are the most like me. Adam walked with me in the cool of the day and yet he was lonely. He could not see me or touch me. He could only feel me. So everything I wanted Adam to share and experience with me, I fashioned in you: my holiness, my strength, my purity, my love, my protection and support.
You are special because you are the extension of me. Man represents my image - woman, my emotions. Together, you represent the totality of God.
So man - treat woman well. Love her, respect her, for she is fragile. In hurting her, you hurt me. What you do to her, you do to me. In crushing her, you only damage your own heart, the heart of your Father, and the heart of her Father.
Woman, support man. In humility, show him the power of emotion I have given you. In gentle quietness show your strength. In love, show him that you are the rib that protects his inner self.
Did you not know that WOMAN was so special in God's eyes? Now we really know! Hallelujah!!
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 17, 2009 17:41:50 GMT
'REMEMBER SOME PEOPLE ARE ALIVE SIMPLY BECAUSE IT IS ILLEGAL TO SHOOT THEM'
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 18, 2009 7:45:12 GMT
Ideals
Remember that ideals are like stars up in the sky, You can never really reach them, hanging in the heavens high.... But like the mighty mariner who sailed the storm-tossed sea, And used the stars to chart his course with skill and certainty, You too can chart your course in life with high ideals and love, For high ideals are like the stars that light the sky above.... You cannot ever reach them, but lift your heart up high And your life will be as shining as the stars up in the sky.
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Post by makingitslowly on Jun 18, 2009 9:18:30 GMT
'REMEMBER SOME PEOPLE ARE ALIVE SIMPLY BECAUSE IT IS ILLEGAL TO SHOOT THEM' So very true LOL.
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 19, 2009 10:06:31 GMT
THE BRIDGE
There was once a bridge which spanned a large river. During most of the day the bridge sat with its length running up and down the river paralleled with the banks, allowing ships to pass through freely on both sides of the bridge. But at certain times each day, a train would come along and the bridge would be turned sideways across the river, allowing a train to cross it. A switchman sat in a small shack on one side of the river where he operated the controls to turn the bridge and lock it into place as the train crossed. One evening as the switchman was waiting for the last train of the day to come, he looked off into the distance through the dimming twilight and caught sight of the train lights. He stepped to the control and waited until the train was within a prescribed distance when he was to turn the bridge. He turned the bridge into position, but, to his horror, he found the locking control did not work.
If the bridge was not securely in position it would wobble back and forth at the ends when the train came onto it, causing the train to jump the track and go crashing into the river. This would be a passenger train with many people aboard. He left the bridge, turned across the river, and hurried across the bridge to the other side of the river where there was a lever switch he could hold to operate the lock manually. He would have to hold the lever back firmly as the train crossed. He could hear the rumble of the train now, and he took hold of the lever and leaned backward to apply his weight to it, locking the bridge. He kept applying the pressure to keep the mechanism locked. Many lives depended on this man's strength. Then, coming across the bridge from the direction of his control shack, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. "Daddy, where are you?" His four-year-old son was crossing the bridge to look for him. His first impulse was to cry out to the child, "Run! Run!" But the train was too close; the tiny legs would never make it across the bridge in time. The man almost left his lever to run and snatch up his son and carry him to safety. But he realized that he could not get back to the lever. Either the people on the train or his little son must die. He took a moment to make his decision. The train sped safely and swiftly on its way, and no one aboard was even aware of the tiny broken body thrown mercilessly into the river by the onrushing train. Nor were they aware of the pitiful figure of the sobbing man, still clinging tightly to the locking lever long after the train had passed. They did not see him walking home more slowly than he had ever walked: to tell his wife how their son had brutally died. Now if you comprehend the emotions which went this man's heart, you can begin to understand the feelings of our Father in Heaven when He sacrificed His Son to bridge the gap between us and eternal life. Can there be any wonder that He caused the earth to tremble and the skies to darken when His Son died? How does He feel when we speed along through life without giving a thought to what was done for us through Jesus Christ? When was the last time we thanked Him for the sacrifice of His Son?
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 20, 2009 11:18:04 GMT
The Nails and the Fence
There was a little boy with a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, to hammer a nail in the back fence.
The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Then it 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. A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one.
Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us. Show your friends how much you care.
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Post by banger on Jun 20, 2009 20:30:09 GMT
The Proper Way to Pray
"The proper way for a man to pray," Said Deacon Lemuel Keys, "And the only proper attitude Is down upon his knees."
"No, I should say the way to pray," Said Rev. Dr. Wise, "Is standing straight with outstretched arms And rapt and upturned eyes."
"Oh, no, no, no" Said Elmer Slow. "Such posture's too proud. A man should pray with eyes closed and head bowed."
"Seems to me his hands should be Austerely clasped in front, With both thumbs pointing toward the ground," Said Rev. Dr. Blunt.
"Last year I fell in Hitchkin's well, Headfirst," said Cyrus Brown, "And both my heels were stickin' up And my head was a pointin' down.
"And I made a prayer right then and there, The best prayer I ever said. The prayin'est prayer I ever prayed Was standin' on my head."
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 21, 2009 7:56:57 GMT
THE BUILDER
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, 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."
Who could say it more clearly? Your life today is the result of your attitudes and choices in the past. Your life tomorrow will be the result of your attitudes and the choices you make today.
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Post by makingitslowly on Jun 21, 2009 9:44:35 GMT
THE BUILDER 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, 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." Who could say it more clearly? Your life today is the result of your attitudes and choices in the past. Your life tomorrow will be the result of your attitudes and the choices you make today. Thought provoking and brutally true.
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Post by banger on Jun 22, 2009 21:46:19 GMT
A Merry-Go-Round
Life is just like a merry-go-round, Sometimes it's up, and sometimes it's down.
Sometimes it's so hard to push and jump on, All those bill collectors calling me on my phone.
Those weekdays are speeding by so fast, I'm wondering if by the weekend I can last.
All those chores that I have to do, Keep spinning around in my head till I am so blue.
It would be so nice to have some rest, So I could slow down, and be my very best.
Where does it stop and where will it end, This merry-go-round that I'm on is in a spin.
It's going so fast, it's making me dizzy, No wonder I'm having it so hard, I'm in a tizzy.
I think I understand what prayer will do, It will take a load off your mind and bless you too.
This merry-go-round won't seem so fast, If all those heavy burdens on Him you cast.
I tried out prayer to see what it would do, Then I began to coast down, and you can too.
I still have problems, but they seem small, I turn them over to God, He handles them all.
This merry-go-round doesn't seem to stop. So when it gets too hard to handle, on my knees I drop.
Just try this instead of complaining, okay? You'll find out before long, this is the best way.
When I find something that helps others, I want to share it with all my sisters and brothers.
If I've helped you, and you understand, Please give those that you meet a helping hand
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 25, 2009 11:41:01 GMT
SPECIAL THOUGHTS
It was a bitter, cold evening in northern Virginia many years ago. The old man's beard was glazed by winter's frost while he waited for a ride across the river. The wait seemed endless. His body became numb and stiff from the frigid north wind.
He heard the faint, steady rhythm of approaching hooves galloping along the frozen path. Anxiously, he watched as several horsemen rounded the bend. He let the first one pass by without an effort to get his attention. Then another passed by, and another. Finally, the last rider neared the spot where the old man sat like a snow statue. As this one drew near, the old man caught the rider's eye and said, "Sir, would you mind giving an old man a ride to the other side? There doesn't appear to be a passageway by foot."
Reining his horse, the rider replied, "Sure thing. Hop aboard." Seeing the old man was unable to lift his half-frozen body from the ground, the horseman dismounted and helped the old man onto the horse. The horseman took the old man not just across the river, but to his destination, which was just a few miles away.
As they neared the tiny but cozy cottage, the horseman's curiosity caused him to inquire, "Sir, I notice that you let several other riders pass by without making an effort to secure a ride. Then I came up and you immediately asked me for a ride. I'm curious why, on such a bitter winter night, you would wait and ask the last rider. What if I had refused and left you there?"
The old man lowered himself slowly down from the horse, looked the rider straight in the eyes, and replied, "I've been around these here parts for some time. I reckon I know people pretty good." The old-timer continued, "I looked into the eyes of the other riders and immediately saw there was no concern for my situation. It would have been useless even to ask them for a ride. But when I looked into your eyes, kindness and compassion were evident. I knew, then and there, that your gentle spirit would welcome the opportunity to give me assistance in my time of need."
Those heartwarming comments touched the horseman deeply. "I'm most grateful for what you have said," he told the old man. "May I never get too busy in my own affairs that I fail to respond to the needs of others with kindness and compassion."
With that, Thomas Jefferson turned his horse around and made his way back to the White House.
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 26, 2009 10:55:11 GMT
THE STORY BEHIND THE PICTURE OF THE PRAYING HANDS
Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.
Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two the elder children, Albrecht and Albert, had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy.
After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg.
Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.
When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you."
All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no ...no ...no."
Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother ...for me it is too late."
More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.
One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love "The Praying Hands."
The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one - no one - - ever makes it alone!
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Post by banger on Jun 27, 2009 21:55:11 GMT
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 28, 2009 9:20:27 GMT
The Gift
Sometimes the most important gifts are given unwittingly. I set about checking the instruments in preparation for my last flight of the day, a short hop from Atlanta to Macon, Ga. It was 7:30 P.M. Christmas Eve, but instead of forking into Mom's turkey dinner, I was busy getting other people home to their families.
Above the low buzz of talking passengers, I heard a rustle behind me. I looked over my shoulder. Just outside the cockpit doorway was a fresh-faced boy of about nine gazing intently at the flight deck. At my glance he started to turn away.
"Hold up," I called. "Come on in here." I had been about his age when I first saw a flight panel lit up like a Christmas tree and I could hardly wait to get my pilot's wings. But now that I was 24 and first officer at a commuter airline, I wondered if I'd made the right choice. Here I was spending my first Christmas Eve away from home, and what was I accomplishing? How was I making my mark in the world, let alone doing God's work, just hauling people from city to city?
The boy stepped cautiously into the cockpit. "My name's Chad," I said, sticking out my hand. With a shy smile he put his hand in mine. "I'm Sam." He turned to the empty seat beside me. "Is that for the captain?"
"It sure is and that's where Captain Jim sits." I patted the worn fabric. "Would you like to try it out?"
Sam blinked at me from under his ball cap. "I don't know . . . I mean . . . well, sure if it's okay." I lowered the seat so he could slide into it. The captain loved to give demonstrations of the plane's gadgets to kids, but what would he think about one sitting in his seat? Well, it's Christmas, I thought.
I glanced out at the luggage carts being wheeled toward the plane, thinking of the gifts I wouldn't be able to give in person to my parents and friends the next day. Sam told me he and his family had flown in from Memphis. I checked my watch. The captain would be in any minute, but Sam looked so thrilled, I didn't want to cut short his fun. I gave the instrument panel another once-over, telling Sam what each button and lever did.
Finally Captain Jim clambered aboard. "Howdy, partner." He gave Sam a broad grin. "You know, son," he drawled, "I don't mind you staying with us for a while if you'll switch with me." Sam let the captain take his place and I made introductions.
We began previewing the startup checklist. I kept thinking the captain would send Sam away, but the boy was still peering over my shoulder when the ramp agent radioed to ask if we were ready to turn on the first engine in start sequence, number four.
I relayed the question to the captain, who was studying the weather reports. "I'm still going over these," he said. "You guys go ahead and start it."
"Okay, starting . . ."I said, positioning the switches. Then I did a double take. "Did you say 'you guys'?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
I looked over at the captain, and back at the flight panel. "Right." I flicked on the plane's flashing red beacon to signal the start.
Then I turned to my new assistant.
"You ever start an airplane before, Sam?"
Eyes wide, he shook his head. Following my instructions, Sam carefully turned a knob on the overhead console that switched on the igniters. Then he pressed a button as big as his hand to start the engine. Finally, with both hands he slid forward a lever to introduce the fuel. The engine hummed to life.
Sam slowly let go of the lever and stepped back, awestruck. He'd gotten to start an airplane, an honest-to-goodness airliner. I'm not sure if I'd have believed it myself at his age. I thanked Sam for helping us out.
"No, thank you, sir," Sam said. "This was really great!"
As he backed out of the doorway into the cabin, the plane resonated with the sound of the engine he'd started. "You have a merry Christmas, son, you hear?"
the captain said.
Sam looked like he was about to cry with happiness.
"I will, sir, I will. Thank you!" With one last look at the flight deck he turned and walked down the aisle. We started up the other engines, took off, and arrived in Macon about 40 minutes later.
Early Christmas morning, as we settled into the cockpit for the trip back to Atlanta, one of the gate agents ducked in. "Hey, guys, some kid's mother came by this morning. She wanted to make sure I thanked you for showing her son around last night. Said he couldn't stop talking about the cockpit. She left this for you."
The gate agent set a red tin on the center console.
"Well, I'll be," the captain said. He bit into one of the chocolate chip cookies from the tin. Then he unfolded the note taped to its cover and read it silently. He sighed deeply and turned to me, "Boy's got cancer," he said, and read the note aloud:
Dear Sirs, Thank you for allowing Sam to watch you work on Christmas Eve night. Sam has cancer and has been undergoing chemotherapy in Memphis. This is the first time he has been home since the treatment began. We drove Sam up to the hospital, but since he loves airplanes, we decided to fly him back home. I am not sure if he will ever get to fly again. His doctor has said that Sam may have only a few months left. Sam has always dreamed of becoming an airline pilot. The flight we took from Memphis to Atlanta was exhilarating for him. He wasn't sure flying on one of your "little" airplanes would be as much fun, but you two gentlemen gave him the greatest Christmas gift imaginable. For a few short minutes his dream came true, thanks to you.
I looked out at the runway gleaming before us in the sun. When I turned back to Jim, he was still staring at the note. A flight attendant came in and said the passengers were ready for departure. She stowed the cookies away and we went through the checklist. Then Captain Jim cleared his throat and called out, "Starting number four." I'd wanted to be home with my loved ones, exchanging gifts for the holidays. But that little boy showed me that sometimes the most important gifts we give are given unwittingly and the most precious ones we get come from strangers. I can serve God's purpose no matter where I am, as long as I let the spirit that moved me that night guide me always.
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Post by banger on Jun 28, 2009 9:41:38 GMT
Thank you for that as I read it my eyes were filling although no tears but filled with compassion
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 29, 2009 8:22:00 GMT
THE STORY OF CHARLIE COULSON
A true account about "Charlie Coulson - The Christian Drummer Boy" taken from an old, out of print book called "Touching Incidents and Remarkable Answers to Prayers."
I was a surgeon in the United States Army during the Civil War. After the battle of Gettysburg, there were hundreds of wounded soldiers in my hospital. Many were wounded so severely that a leg or an arm, or sometimes both, needed to be amputated.
One of these was a boy who had been in the service for only three months. Since he was too young to be a soldier, he had enlisted as a drummer. When my assistants came to give him Chloroform before the amputation, he turned his head and refused it. When they told him that it was the doctor's orders, he said, "Send the doctor to me." I came to his bedside and said, "Young man, why do you refuse the chloroform? When I picked you up on the battlefield, you were so far gone that I almost didn't bother to pick you up. But when you opened those large blue eyes, it occurred to me that you had a mother somewhere who might be thinking of you that very moment. I didn't want you to die on the field, so I had you brought here. But you' ve lost so much blood that you're just too weak to live through an operation without chloroform. You'd better let me give you some."
He laid his hand on mine, looked at me in the face and said, "Doctor, one Sunday afternoon, when I was nine and a half years old, I gave my life to Christ. I learned to trust Him then. I know I can trust Him now. He is my strength. He will support me while you amputate my arm and leg." I asked him if he would at least let me give him a little brandy.
Again he looked at me and said, "Doctor, when I was about 5-years-old, my mother knelt by my side with her arms around me and said, 'Charlie, I am praying to Jesus that you will never take even one drink of alcohol. Your father died a drunkard, and I've asked God to use you to warn people against the dangers of drinking, and to encourage them to love and serve the Lord.' I am now 17-years-old, and I have never had anything stronger than tea or coffee. There is a very good chance that I am about to die and go into the presence of my God. Would you send me there with brandy on my breath?"
I will never forget the look that boy gave me. At that time I hated Jesus, but I respected that boy's loyalty to His Savior. And when I saw how he loved and trusted Him to the very end, something deeply touched my heart. I did for that boy what I had never done for any other soldier. I asked him if he wanted to see his chaplain.
Chaplain R. knew the boy well from having seen him often at the tent prayer meetings. Taking his hand he said," Charlie, I am sorry to see you like this." "Oh, I am all right, sir," answered Charlie. "The doctor offered me chloroform, but I told him I didn't want any. Then he wanted to give me brandy, which I didn't want either. So now, if my Savior calls me I can go to Him in my right mind."
"You must not die, Charlie," said the chaplain, "but if the Lord does call you home, is there anything I can do for you after you're gone?" "Chaplain, please reach under my pillow and take my little Bible. My mother's address is inside. Please send it to her and write a letter for me. Tell her that since I left home I have never let a single day pass, no matter if we were on the march, on the battlefield, or in the hospital, without reading a portion of God's word, and daily praying that He would bless her."
"Is there anything else I can do for you, my lad?" asked the chaplain. "Yes. Please write a letter to the Sunday School teacher of the Sands Street Church in Brooklyn, New York. Tell him that I've never forgotten his encouragement, good advice, and many prayers for me. They have helped me and comforted me through all the dangers of battle. And now, in my dying hour, I thank the Lord for my dear old teacher, and ask Him to bless and strengthen him. That is all."
Then turning to me, he said, "I'm ready, doctor. I promise I won't even groan while you take off my arm and leg, if you don't offer me chloroform." I promised, but I didn't have the courage to take knife in my hand without first going into the next room and taking a little brandy myself.
While cutting through the flesh, Charlie Coulson never groaned. But when I took the saw to separate the bone, the lad took the corner of his pillow in his mouth and all I could hear him whisper was, "O Jesus, blessed Jesus! Stand by me now." He kept his promise. He never groaned.
I couldn't sleep that night. Whichever way I tossed and turned I saw those soft blue eyes. The words, "Blessed Jesus. Stand by me now" kept ringing in my ears. A little after midnight, I finally left my bed and visited the hospital - something I had never done before unless there was an emergency. I had such a strange and strong desire to see that boy. When I got there, an orderly told me that 16 of the badly wounded soldiers had died. "Was Charlie Coulson one of them?" I asked. "No,sir," he answered. "He's sleeping as sweet as a babe."
When I came to his bed, one of the nurses said, "at about 9 o'clock two members of the YMCA came through the hospital to sing a hymn. Chaplain R. was with them. He knelt by Charlie's bed and offered a fervent and soul-stirring prayer. Then, while still on their knees, they sang one of the sweetest of all hymns, 'Jesus, Lover Of My Soul.' Charlie sang along with them, too. I couldn't understand how that boy, who was in such horrible pain, could sing."
Five days after I performed the operation, Charlie sent for me, and it was from him that I heard my first Gospel sermon. "Doctor," he said,"my time has come. I don't expect to see another sunrise. I want to thank you with all my heart for your kindness to me. I know you are Jewish, and that you do not believe in Jesus, but I want you to stay and see me die trusting my Savior to the last moment of my life." I tried to stay, but I just couldn't. I didn't have the courage to stand by and see a Christian boy die rejoicing in the love of that Jesus who I hated. So I hurriedly left the room.
About 20 minutes later, an orderly came and found me sitting in my office with my hands covering my face. He told me that Charlie wanted to see me. "I've just seen him," I answered, "and I can't see him again." "But Doctor, he says he must see you once more before he dies." So I made up my mind to go and see Charlie, say an endearing word and let him die. However, I was determined that nothing he could say would influence me in the least bit, so far as his Jesus was concerned.
When I entered the hospital I saw he was sinking fast, so I sat down by his bed. Asking me to take his hand, he said, "Doctor, I love you because you are a Jew. The best friend I've found in the world was a Jew." I asked him who that was, and he answered, "Jesus Christ, and I want to introduce you to Him before I die. Will you promise me, doctor that what I am about to say to you, you will never forget?" I promised, and he said, "5 days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ and asked Him to make His love known to you."
Those words went deep in my heart. I couldn't understand how, when I was causing him the most intense pain, he could forget about himself and think of nothing but the Savior and my unconverted soul. All I could say to him was, "Well, my dear boy, you'll soon be all right." With these words I left him, and 12 minutes later he fell asleep safe in the arms of his Savior.
Hundreds of soldiers died in my hospital during the war, but I only followed one to the grave, and that was Charlie Coulson. I rode 3 miles to see him buried. I had him dressed in a new uniform, and placed in an officer's coffin, with a United States flag over it.
That boy's dying words made a deep impression on me. I was rich at that time so far as money was concerned, but I would have given every penny I possessed if I could have felt towards Christ as Charlie did. But that feeling cannot be bought with money. Alas, I soon forgot all about my Christian soldier's little sermon, but I could not forget the boy himself. Looking back, I now know I was under deep conviction of sin at that time. But for nearly 10 years I remained unrepentant, until finally the dear boy's prayer was answered, and I surrendered my life to the love of Jesus.
About a year and a half after my conversion, I went to a prayer meeting one evening in Brooklyn. It was one of those meetings where Christians testify about the lovingkindness of God.
After several had spoken, an elderly lady stood up and said, "Dear friends, this may be the last time I have a chance to publicly share how good the Lord has been to me. My doctor told me yesterday that my right lung is nearly gone and my left lung is failing fast, so at the best I only have a short time to be with you. But what is left of me belongs to Jesus. It's a great joy to know that I shall soon meet my son with Jesus in heaven."
"Charlie was not only a soldier for his country, but also a soldier for Christ. He was wounded at the battle of Gettysburg, and was cared for by a Jewish doctor who amputated his arm and leg. He died 5 days after the operation. The chaplain of the regiment wrote me a letter and sent me my boy's Bible. I was told that in his dying hour my Charlie sent for that Jewish doctor and said to him, "5 days ago while you amputated my arm and leg I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ for you."
As I heard this lady speak, I just couldn't sit still! I left my seat, ran across the room and taking her hand I said, "God bless you, my dear sister. Your boy's prayer has been heard and answered! I am the Jewish doctor that Charlie prayed for, and his Savior is now my Savior! The love of Jesus has won my soul!"
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Post by Kimmy on Jun 30, 2009 8:45:51 GMT
The Brick
A young and successful executive was traveling down a neighborhood street, going a bit too fast in his new Jaguar. He was watching for kids darting out from between parked cars and slowed down when he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no children appeared. Instead, a brick smashed into the Jag's side door! He slammed on the brakes and backed the Jag back to the spot where the brick had been thrown.
The angry driver then jumped out of the car, grabbed the nearest kid and pushed him up against a parked car shouting, "What was that all about and who are you? Just what the heck are you doing? That's a new car and that brick you threw is going to cost a lot of money. Why did you do it?"
The young boy was apologetic. "Please, mister...please, I'm sorry but I didn't know what else to do, " He pleaded. "I threw the brick because no one else would stop..."
With tears dripping down his face and off his chin, the youth pointed to a spot just around a parked car. "It's my brother," he said. "He rolled off the curb and fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up."
Now sobbing, the boy asked the stunned executive, "Would you please help me get him back into his wheelchair? He's hurt and he's too heavy for me." Moved beyond words, the driver tried to swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. He hurriedly lifted the handicapped boy back into the wheelchair, then took out his fancy handkerchief and dabbed at the fresh scrapes and cuts. A quick look told him everything was going to be okay.
"Thank you and may God bless you," the grateful child told the stranger.
Too shook up for words, the man simply watched the boy push his wheelchair-bound brother down the sidewalk toward their home. It was a long, slow walk back to the Jaguar.
The damage was very noticeable, but the driver never bothered to repair the dented side door. He kept the dent there to remind him of this message "Don't go through life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at you to get your attention. God whispers in our souls and speaks to our heart. Sometimes when we don't have time to listen, He has to throw a brick at us. It's our choice. God didn't promise days without pain, laughter without sorrow, sun without rain, but He did promise strength for the day, comfort for the tears, and light for the way."
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 1, 2009 12:09:33 GMT
Subject: Just P.U.S.H.
When everything seems to go wrong, just push when the job gets you down, just push when people don't react the way you think they should, just push when your money looks funny and the bills are due, just push when you want to tell them off for whatever the reason, just push when you ask the question, when is my ship coming in? (as I often do), just push when people just don't understand you - just push not to continue on with when, when, when, etc. let me tell you what it stands for.
--- --- --- --- P-ray --- U-ntil --- S-omething --- H-appens --- --- --- If your life is going just well and you have nothing going wrong, just --- remember you are truly BLESSED and you too should continue to PUSH --- for even better blessings.
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