HAPPINESS COMES FROM GIVING

This story is about a beautiful, expensively dressed lady who complained to her psychiatrist that she felt that her whole life was empty; it had no meaning. 

So the counselor called over the old lady who cleaned the office floors, and then said to the rich lady, "I'm going to ask Mary here to tell you how she found happiness. All I want you to do is listen." 

So the old lady put down her broom and sat on a chair and told her story: "Well, my husband died of malaria and three months later my only son was killed by a car. I had nobody... I had nothing left. I couldn't sleep; I couldn't eat; I never smiled at anyone, I even thought of taking my own life. Then one evening a little kitten followed me home from work. Somehow I felt sorry for that kitten. It was cold outside, so I decided to let the kitten in. I got it some milk, and it licked the plate clean. Then it purred and rubbed against my leg, and for the first time in months, I smiled. Then I stopped to think; if helping a little kitten could make me smile, maybe doing something for people could make me happy. So the next day I baked some biscuits and took them to a neighbour who was sick in bed. Every day I tried to do something nice for someone. It made me so happy to see them happy. Today, I don't know of anybody who sleeps and eats better than I do. I've found happiness, by giving it to others." 

When she heard that, the rich lady cried. She had everything that money could buy, but she had lost the things which money cannot buy. 

DARRELL SCOTT'S TESTIMONY

Testimony of Darrell Scott - father of two victims of Columbine high school shooting - Littleton, Colorado before the subcommittee on crime - House Judiciary Committee - United States House of Representatives, Thursday, May 27,1999 2:00 p.m. - 2141 Rayburn House Office Building 

 

Since the dawn of creation there has been both good and evil in the heart of men and of women. We all contain the seeds of kindness or the seeds of violence. 

The death of my wonderful daughter Rachel Joy Scott, and the deaths of that heroic teacher and the other children who died must not be in vain. Their blood cries out for answers. 

The first recorded act of violence was when Cain slew his brother Abel out in the field. The villain was not the club he used. Neither was it the NCA, the National Club Association. The true killer was Cain and the reason for the murder could only be found in Cain's heart. 

In the days that followed the Columbine tragedy, I was amazed at how quickly fingers began to be pointed at groups such as the NRA. 

I am not a member of the NRA. I am not a hunter. I do not even own a gun. I am not here to represent or defend the NRA - because I don't believe that they are responsible for my daughters death. Therefore I do not believe that they need to be defended. If I believed they had anything to do with Rachel's murder I would be their strongest opponent. 

I am here today to declare that Columbine was not just a tragedy - it was a spiritual event that should be forcing us to look at where the real blame lies! 

Much of that blame lies here in this room. Much of that blame lies behind the pointing fingers of the accusers themselves. 

I wrote a poem just four nights ago that express my feelings best. This was written way before I knew l would be speaking here today. 

Your laws ignore our deepest needs

Your words are empty air.

You've stripped away our heritage.

You've outlawed simple prayer.

Now gunshots fill our classrooms.

And precious children die.

You seek for answers everywhere.

And ask the question "WHY"?

You regulate restrictive laws.

Through legislative creed.

And yet you fail to understand.

That God is what we need! 

 

Men and women are three part beings. We all consist of body, soul, and spirit. When we refuse to acknowledge a third part of our makeup, we create a void that allows evil, prejudice, and hatred to rush in and wreak havoc. 

Spiritual influences were present within our educational systems for most of our nation's history. Many of our major colleges began as theological seminaries. This is a historic fact. 

What has happened to us as a nation? We have refused to honor God and in doing so, we open the doors to hatred and violence. 

And when something as terrible as Columbine's tragedy occurs - politicians immediately look for a scapegoat such as the NRA. They immediately seek to pass more restrictive laws that continue to erode away our personal and private liberties. 

We do not need more restrictive laws. Eric and Dylan would not have been stopped by metal detectors. No amount of gun laws can stop someone who spends months planning this type of massacre. 

The real villain lies within our own hearts. Political posturing and restrictive legislation is not the answers. 

The young people of our nation hold the key. There is a spiritual awakening taking place that will not be squelched! 

We do not need more religion. We do not need more gaudy television evangelists spewing out verbal religious garbage. We do not need more million dollar church buildings built while people with basic needs are being ignored. 

We do need a change of heart and a humble acknowledgment that this nation was founded on the principle of simple trust in God. 

As my son Craig lay under that table in the school library and saw his two friends murdered before his very eyes. He did not hesitate to pray in school. I defy any law or politician to deny him that right! 

I challenge every young person in America and around the world to realize that on April 20, 1999 at Columbine High School - prayer was brought back to our schools. Do not let the many prayers offered by those students be in vain. 

Dare to move into the new millennium with a sacred disregard for legislation that violates your conscience and denies your God-given right to communicate with Him. 

To those of you who would point your finger at the NRA - I give to you sincere challenge. Dare to examine your own heart before you cast the first stone! 

My daughter's death will not be in vain. The young people of this country will not allow that to happen. 

DADDY IS DRIVING

 

A speaker has once shared his experience: 

While his family and he were in Europe, there was once that they need to drive 3 days continuously, day and night, to get to Germany. So, they all got into the car - he, his wife, and his 3 years old daughter. 

His little daughter has never traveled at night before. She was scared the first night in the car, with deep darkness outside. 

"Where are we going, Daddy?" "To your uncle's house, in Germany." 

"Have you been to his house before?" "No." 

"Then, do you know the way?" "Maybe, we can read the map." 

Short pause. "Do you know how to read the map?" "Yes, we will get there safely." 

Another pause. "Where are we going to eat if we get hungry before arriving?" "We can stop by restaurants if we are hungry." 

"Do you know if there are restaurants on the way?" "Yes, there are." 

"Do you know where?" "No, but we will be able to find some." 

The same dialogue repeated a few times within the first night, and also the second night. But on the third night, his daughter was quiet. The speaker thought that she might have fallen asleep, but when he looked into the mirror, he saw that she was awake and was just looking around calmly. He couldn't help wondering why she was not asking the questions anymore -

"Dear, do you know where we are going?" "Germany, Uncle's house." 

"Do you know how we are getting there?" "No." 

"Then why aren't you asking anymore?" "Because Daddy is driving." 

Because Daddy is driving. This answer from a 3 years' old girl has then become the strength and help for this speaker for the many years follow whenever he has questions and fears on his journey with the Lord. Yes, our Father is driving. We may know the destination (and sometimes we may just know it like the little girl - "Germany", without understanding where or what it really is). We do not know the way, we do not know how to read the map, we do not know if we can find restaurants along the way. But the little girl knew the most important thing - Daddy is driving - and so she is safe and secure. She knows that her Daddy will provide all that she needs. 

Do you know your Daddy, the Great Shepherd, is driving today? What are your behavior and response as a passenger, His child? 

You may have asked many questions before, but can you like the little girl, starts to realize the most important focus should be "Daddy is driving?" 

A BROKXN KXY

Evxn though my typxwritxr is an old modxl, it works quitx wxll xxcxpt for onx of the kxys.

I havx many timxs wishxd that is workxd pxrfxctly. 

It is trux that thxrx arx forty-onx kxys that function wxll xnough, but just onx kxy not working makxs thx diffxrxncx. 

Somxtimxs it sxxms to mx that our church is somxthing likx my typxwritxr -- not all thx kxy pxoplx arx working propxrly. 

As onx of thxm, you may say to yoursxlf, "Wxll, I am only onx pxrson, I don't makx or brxak thx church." 

But it doxs makx a big diffxrxncx, bxcasx a church, to bx xffxctivx, nxxds thx activx participation of xvxry pxrson. 

So, thx nxxt timx your xfforts arx not nxxdxd vxry much, rxmxmbxr my typxwritxr and say to yoursxlf, "I am a kxy pxrson in thx congrxgation and I am nxxdxd vxry much." 

This is what happxns to thx wholx church, and multiply this by many timxs - thx whole thing just doxs not makx sxnsx! 

So, don't be a broken key - be a useful one. 

THE BARBER OF COUPE DE VILLE

A young boy had just gotten his driving permit. He asked his father, who was a minister, if they could discuss his use of the car. His father said to him, "I'll make a deal with you. You bring your grades up, study the bible a little, and get your hair cut; then we'll talk about it." 



A month later the boy came back and again asked his father if he could use the car. His father said, "Son, I'm really proud of you. You brought your grade up, studied the bible well, but you didn't get your hair cut!" 



The young man waited a moment an then replied, "You know dad, I've been thinking about that. Samson had long hair, Moses had long hair, Noah had long hair, and even Jesus had long hair."

His father replied gently, "Yes son, and they walked everywhere they went."

THOSE WHO WALK WITH GOD

Right before the jetway door closed, I scrambled aboard the plane going from LA to Chicago, lugging my laptop and overstuffed briefcase. It was the first leg of an important business trip a few weeks before Christmas, and I was running late. I had a ton of work to catch up on. Half wishing, half praying I muttered, "Please God, do me a favor; let there be an empty seat next to mine, I don't need any distractions." 

I was on the aisle in a two seat row. Across sat a businesswoman with her nose buried

in a newspaper. No problem. But in the seat beside mine, next to the window,

was a young boy wearing a big red tag around his neck: Minor Traveling Unattended.

The kid sat perfectly still, hands in his lap, eyes straight ahead. He'd probably

been told never to talk to strangers. Good, I thought. Then the flight attendant

came by. "Michael, I have to sit down because we're about to take off," she said

to the little boy."This nice man will answer any of your questions, okay?" 

Did I have a choice? I offered my hand, and Michael shook it twice, straight

up and down. "Hi, I'm Jerry," I said. "You must be about 7 years old."

"I'll bet you don't have any kids," he responded.

"Why do you think that? Sure I do." I took out my wallet to show him pictures.

"Because I'm six."

"I was way off, huh?" 

The captains' voice came over the speakers: "Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff."

Michael pulled his seat belt tighter and gripped the armrests as the jet engines roared.

I leaned over and said, "Right about now, I usually say a prayer. 

I ask God to keep the plane safe and to send angels to protect us." 

"Amen," he said, then added, "but I'm not afraid of dying.

I'm not afraid because my mama's already in heaven." 

"I'm sorry." I said. 

"Why are you sorry?" he asked, peering out the window as the plane lifted off.

"I'm sorry you don't have your mama here." My briefcase jostled at my feet,

reminding me of all the work I needed to do. 

"Look at those boats down there!" Michael said as the plane banked over the Pacific.

"Where are they going?" 

"Just going sailing, having a good time. And there's probably a fishing

boat full of guys like you and me." 

"Doing what?" he asked. 

"Just fishing, maybe for bass or tuna. Does your dad ever take you fishing?" 

"I don't have a dad." Michael sadly responded. 

Only 6 years old and he didn't have a dad, and his Mom had died, and here he was

flying halfway across the country all by himself. The least I could do was make

sure he had a good flight. With my foot I pushed my briefcase under my seat. 

"Do they have a bathroom here?" he asked, squirming a little. 

"Sure," I said, "let me take you there." I showed him how to work the 'Occupied' sign,

and what buttons to push on the sink, then he closed the door. 

When he emerged, he wore a wet shirt and a huge smile. "That sink shoots

water everywhere!" The attendants smiled. 

Michael got the VIP treatment from the crew during snack time. I took out my

laptop and tried to work on a talk I had to give, but my mind kept going to

Michael. I couldn't stop looking at the crumpled grocery bag on the floor

by his seat. He'd told me that everything he owned was in that bag. Poor kid.

While Michael was getting a tour of the cockpit the flight attendant told me his

grandmother would pick him up in Chicago. In the seat pocket a large manila envelope

held all the paperwork regarding his custody. He came back explaining,

"I got wings! I got cards! I got more peanuts.

I saw the pilot and he said I could come back anytime!" 

For a while he stared at the manila envelope. "What are you thinking?" I asked Michael.

He didn't answer. He buried his face in his hands and started sobbing.

It had been years since I'd heard a little one cry like that.

My kids were grown -- still I don't think they'd ever cried so hard.

I rubbed his back and wondered where the flight attendant was. 

"What's the matter buddy?" I asked. 

All I got were muffled words "I don't know my grandma.

Mama didn't want her to come visit and see her sick.

What if Grandma doesn't want me? Where will I go?" 

"Michael, do you remember the Christmas story?

Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus?

Remember how they came to Bethlehem just before Jesus was born?

It was late and cold, and they didn't have anywhere to stay, no family, no hotels,

not even hospitals where babies could be born. Well, God was watching out for them.

He found them a place to stay; a stable with animals." 

"Wait, wait," Michael tugged on my sleeve. "I know Jesus. I remember now."

Then he closed his eyes, lifted his head and began to sing. His voice rang out

with a strength that rocked his tiny frame. "Jesus loves me - this I know.

For the Bible tells me so....." 

Passengers turned or stood up to see the little boy who made the large sound.

Michael didn't notice his audience. With his eyes shut tight and voice lifted high,

he was in a good place. "You've got a great voice," I told him when he was done.

"I've never heard anyone sing like that." 

"Mama said God gave me good pipes just like my Grandma's," he said.

"My Grandma loves to sing, she sings in her church choir." 

"Well, I'll bet you can sing there too. The two of you will be running that choir."

The seat belt sign came on as we approached O'Hare. The flight attendant came by

and said we just have a few minutes now, but she told Michael it's important that he put on his seat belt. People started stirring in their seats, like the kids before the final school bell.

By the time the seat belt sign went off, passengers were rushing down the aisle.

Michael and I stayed seated. 

"Are you gonna go with me?" he asked. 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world buddy!" I assured him. 

Clutching his bag and the manila envelope in one hand, he grabbed my hand with the other. The two of us followed the flight attendant down the jetway. All the noises of the airport seemed to fill the corridor. Michael stopped, flipping his hand from mine,

he dropped to his knees. His mouth quivered. His eyes brimmed with tears.

"What's wrong Michael? I'll carry you if you want." 

He opened his mouth and moved his lips, but it was as if his words were

stuck in his throat.When I knelt next to him, he grabbed my neck.

I felt his warm, wet face as he whispered in my ear, "I want my mama!"

I tried to stand, but Michael squeezed my neck even harder.

Then I heard a rattle of footsteps on the corridor's metal floor. 

"Is that you baby?" I couldn't see the woman behind me, but I heard the warmth

in her voice. "Oh baby," she cried. "Come here. Grandma loves you so much.

I need a hug baby. Let go of that nice man," she knelt beside Michael and me.

Michael's grandma stroked his arm. I smelled a hint of orange blossoms. 

"You've got folks waiting for you out there Michael. Do you know that

you've got aunts and uncles and cousins?" She patted his skinny shoulders and

started humming. Then she lifted her head and sang. I wondered if the flight attendant

told her what to sing, or maybe she just knew what was right.

Her strong, clear voice filled the passageway, "Jesus loves me - this I know..."

Michael's gasps quieted. Still holding him, I rose, nodded hello to his grandma and

watched her pick up the grocery bag. Right before we got to the doorway to the terminal, Michael loosened his grip around my neck and reached for his grandma.

As soon as she walked across the threshold with him, cheers erupted. From the size

of the crowd, I figured family, friends, pastors, elders, deacons, choir members and

most of the neighbors had come to meet Michael. A tall man tugged on Michael's ear

and pulled off the red sign around his neck. It no longer applied. 

As I made my way to the gate for my connecting flight, I barely noticed the weight
of my overstuffed briefcase and laptop.


I started to wonder who would be in the seat next to mine this time...... 



And I smiled.

IN GOD WE TRUST

Several years ago, a friend of mine and her husband were invited to

spend the weekend at the husband's employer's home. My friend, Arlene,

was nervous about the weekend. The boss was very wealthy, with a fine

home on the water-way, and cars costing more than her house. The first

day and evening went well, and Arlene was delighted to have this rare

glimpse into how the very wealthy live. 

The husband's employer was quite generous as a host, and took them to

the finest restaurants. Arlene knew she would never have the opportunity

to indulge in this kind of extravagance again, so was enjoying herself

immensely. As the three of them were about to enter an exclusive

restaurant that evening, the boss was walking slightly ahead of Arlene

and her husband. 

He stopped suddenly, looking down on the pavement for a long, silent

moment. Arlene wondered if she was supposed to pass him. There was

nothing on the ground except a single darkened penny that someone had

dropped, and a few cigarette butts. 

Still silent, the man reached down and picked up the penny. He held it

up and smiled, then put it in his pocket as if he had found a great

treasure. How absurd! What need did this man have for a single penny?

Why would he even take the time to stop and pick it up? Throughout

dinner, the entire scene nagged at her. Finally, she could stand it no

longer. She causally mentioned that her daughter once had a coin

collection, and asked if the penny he had found had been of some value.

A smile crept across the man's face as he reached into his pocket for

the penny and held it out for her to see. She had seen many pennies

before! What was the point of this? "Look at it." He said. "Read what it

says." She read the words "United States of America." "No, not that;

read further." "One cent?" 

"No, keep reading." "In God we Trust?" "Yes!" "And?" "And if I trust in

God, the name of God is holy, even on a coin. Whenever I find a coin I

see that inscription. It is written on every single United States coin,

but we never seem to notice it! God drops a message right in front of me

telling me to trust Him? Who am I to pass it by? When I see a coin, I

pray, I stop to see if my trust IS in God at that moment. I pick the

coin up as a response to God; that I do trust in Him. For a short time,

at least, I cherish it as if it were gold. I think it is God's way of

starting a conversation with me. 

Lucky for me, God is patient and pennies are plentiful! 

When I was out shopping today, I found a penny on the sidewalk. I

stopped and picked it up, and realized that I had been worrying and

fretting in my mind about things I can not change. I read the words, "In

God We Trust," and had to smile. Yes, God, I get the message. It seems

that I have been finding an inordinate number of pennies in the last few

months, but then, pennies are plentiful! 

And God is patient...

THE LOST PILOT

In his early days as a pilot, Australia's Outback Patrol pilot and bush padre, Les Nixon, was flying an old 1933 De Havilland Dragon bi-plane from Bourke to Longreach in the outback of far western Queensland. The twin engines were purring happily when suddenly a frantic call came over the radio from a lost pilot! 

"Mayday. Mayday. Any Station. Any Station. Request urgent assistance," came his first call.

After half an hour of fruitless calling, he began to panic. "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!"

He had become disoriented on his first cross-country solo exercise.

Lost and low on fuel, he needed urgent help. 

He was a hundred miles from Les so there was little he could do but pray for him, and hope someone was close enough to help. 

"I'm almost out of fuel--someone help me." Any other pilots listening could do little but offer suggestions and wish him the best. 

Miraculously, through the static of the radio - out of the blue, came a quiet, stoic voice of a helper from above. A mysterious presence from nowhere assessed the

situation, found an answer, and directed the frantic pilot what to do.

"Yes, son, I have you in sight," droned the pilot of an old commercial airline

who happened to be flying overhead, and had heard his call for help.

"Now, listen.....simply do what I say. Turn to your right-north-yes, that's it. You're doing just fine. Line up on that paddock (field) over the fence and you'll find you can easily land on the open field, stay with your plane, and I'll get someone there to get you." 

The older, experienced pilot had been watching from above - even as the frantic

young pilot had been unable to work it out for himself - followed him for a few minutes, and found the answer to his problem. Then he quietly directed the inexperienced pilot through each maneuver until he placed him safely on an outback paddock (field). 

One can only imagine the terror this young pilot must have experienced and then

the incredible relief when the miraculous rescue "from above" guided him to safety.

One of life's greatest tragedies is that so many people are lost and they don't even know it.

Some don't even want to know it. That is, they are lost spiritually and heading towards a lost eternity without God and without hope. And that's why Jesus, the Son of God, came to earth 2000 years ago. He came to die on the cross to pay the penalty for all our sins, to find us, to give us the gift of forgiveness, and to rescue us from a lost eternity in hell.

All we need to do is to admit that because of our sin we are lost, and come to Christ

for his forgiveness. He's waiting from above to rescue us. 

DONUTS

There was a boy by the name of Steve who was attending school in Utah.

Brother Christianson taught at this particular school. He had an

open-door policy and would take in any student that had been thrown out

of another class as long as they would abide by his rules. Steve had

been kicked out of his sixth period and no other teacher wanted him, so

he went into Brother Christianson's class. Steve was told that he could

not be late, so he arrived just seconds before the bell rang and he

would sit in the very back of the room. He would also be the first to

leave after the class was over. One day, Brother Christianson asked

Steve to stay after class so he could talk with him. After class, Bro.

Christianson pulled Steve aside and said, "You think you're pretty

tough, don't you?" 

Steve's answer was, "Yeah, I do." 

Then Brother Christianson asked, "How many push-ups can you do?" 

Steve said, "I do about 200 every night." 

"200? That's pretty good, Steve," Brother Christianson said. "Do you think you could do 300?" 

Steve replied, "I don't know... I've never done 300 at a time." 

"Do you think you could?" Again asked Brother Christianson. 

"Well, I can try," said Steve. 

"Can you do 300 in sets of 10? I need you to do 300 in sets of ten for

this to work. Can you do it? I need you to tell me you can do it,"

Brother Christianson said. 

Steve said, "Well... I think I can... yeah, I can do it." 

Brother Christianson said, "Good! I need you to do this on Friday."

Friday came and Steve got to class early and sat in the front of the

room. When class started, Brother Christianson pulled out a big box of

donuts. Now these weren't the normal kinds of donuts, they were the

extra fancy BIG kind, with cream centers and frosting swirls. Everyone

was pretty excited-it was Friday, the last class of the day, and they

were going to get an early start on the weekend. 

Bro. Christianson went to the first girl in the first row and asked,

"Cynthia, do you want a donut?" 

Cynthia said, "Yes." 

Bro. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do

ten push-ups so that Cynthia can have a donut?" 

Steve said, "Sure," and jumped down from his desk to do a quick ten.. 

Then Steve again sat in his desk. Bro. Christianson put a donut on

Cynthia's desk. Bro. Christianson then went to Joe, the next person, and

asked, "Joe do you want a donut?" 

Joe said, "Yes." 

Bro. Christianson asked, "Steve would you do ten push-ups so Joe can

have a donut?" Steve did ten push-ups, Joe got a donut. And so it went,

down the first aisle, Steve did ten pushups for every person before they

got their donut. And down the second aisle, till Bro. Christianson came

to Scott. Scott was captain of the football team and center of the

basketball team. He was very popular and never lacking for female

companionship. When Bro. Christianson asked, "Scott do you want a

donut?" Scott's reply was, "Well, can I do my own pushups?" 

Bro. Christianson said, "No, Steve has to do them." 

Then Scott said, "Well, I don't want one then." 

Bro. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked "Steve, would you do

ten pushups so Scott can have a donut he doesn't want?" 

Steve started to do ten pushups. Scott said, "Hey! I said I didn't want

one!" 

Bro. Christianson said, "Look, this is my classroom, my class, my desks,

and my donuts. Just leave it on the desk if you don't want it." And he

put a donut on Scott's desk. 

Now by this time, Steve had begun to slow down a little. He just stayed

on the floor between sets because it took too much effort to be getting

up and down. You could start to see a little perspiration coming out

around his brow. Bro. Christianson started down the third row. Now the

students were beginning to get a little angry. 

Bro. Christianson asked Jenny, "Jenny, do you want a donut?"

Jenny said, "No." 

Then Bro. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so

Jenny can have a donut that she doesn't want?" Steve did ten, Jenny got

a donut. 

By now, the students were beginning to say "No" and there were all these

uneaten donuts on the desks. Steve was also having to really put forth a

lot of effort to get these pushups done for each donut. There began to

be a small pool of sweat on the floor beneath his face, his arms and

brow were beginning to get red because of the physical effort involved.

Bro. Christianson asked Robert to watch Steve to make sure he did ten

pushups in a set because he couldn't bear to watch all of Steve's work

for all of those uneaten donuts. So Robert began to watch Steve closely.

Bro. Christianson started down the fourth row. 

During his class, however, some students had wandered in and sat along

the heaters along the sides of the room. When Bro. Christianson realized

this; he did a quick count and saw 34 students in the room. He started

to worry if Steve would be able to make it. 

Bro. Christianson went on to the next person and the next and the next.

Near the end of that row, Steve was really having a rough time. He was

taking a lot more time to complete each set. 

Steve asked Bro. Christianson, "Do I have to make my nose touch on each one?"

Bro. Christianson thought for a moment, "Well, they're your pushups..

You can do them any way that you want." And Bro. Christianson went on.

A few moments later, Jason came to the room and was about to come in

when all the students yelled, "No! Don't come in! Stay out!" 

Jason didn't know what was going on. Steve picked up his head and said,

"No, let him come." 

Bro. Christianson said, "You realize that if Jason comes in you will

have to do ten pushups for him." 

Steve said, "Yes, let him come in." 

Bro. Christianson said, "Okay, I'll let you get Jason's out of the way

right now. Jason, do you want a donut?" 

"Yes." 

"Steve, will you do ten pushups so that Jason can have a donut?" Steve

did ten pushups very slowly and with great effort. Jason, bewildered,

was handed a donut and sat down. 

Bro. Christianson finished the fourth row, then started on those seated

on the heaters. Steve's arms were now shaking with each pushup in a

struggle to lift himself against the force of gravity. Sweat was

dropping off of his face and, by this time, there was not a dry eye in

the room. 

The very last two girls in the room were cheerleaders and very popular.

Bro. Christianson went to Linda, the second to last, and asked, "Linda,

do you want a doughnut? Linda said, very sadly, "No, thank you." 

Bro. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so that

Linda can have a donut she doesn't want?" 

Grunting from the effort, Steve did ten very slow pushups for Linda..

Then Bro. Christianson turned to the last girl, Susan. "Susan, do you

want a donut?" Susan, with tears flowing down her face, asked, "Bro.

Christianson, can I help him?" 

Bro. Christianson, with tears of his own, said, "No, he has to do it

alone, Steve, would you do ten pushups so Susan can have a donut?"

As Steve very slowly finished his last pushup, with the understanding

that he had accomplished all that was required of him, having done 350

pushups, his arms buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor.

Brother Christianson turned to the room and said,

"And so it was, that our Savior, Jesus Christ, plead to the Father,

"Into thy hands I commend my spirit." With the understanding that He had

done everything that was required of Him, he collapsed on the cross and

died. And like some of those in this room, many of us leave the gift on

the desk, uneaten"

A SIMPLE LESSON

A rat looked through a crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife opening a package. What food might it contain? He was aghast to discover that it was a rat trap. Retreating to the farmyard the rat proclaimed the warning; "There is a rat trap in the house, a rat trap in the house!" 

The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said, "Excuse me, Mr. Rat, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it." 

The rat turned to the pig and told him, "There is a rat trap in the house, a rat trap in the house!" "I am so very sorry Mr. Rat," sympathized the pig, "but there is nothing I can do about it but pray. Be assured that you are in my prayers." 

The rat turned to the cow. She said, "Like wow, Mr. Rat. A rat trap. I am in grave danger. Duh?"

So the rat returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer's rat trap alone. 

That very night a sound was heard throughout the house, like the sound of a rat trap catching its prey. The farmer's wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness, she did not see that it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught. The snake bit the farmer's wife. The farmer rushed her to the hospital. She returned home with a fever. 

Now everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup's main ingredient. 

His wife's sickness continued so that friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. To feed them the farmer butchered the pig. 

The farmer's wife did not get well. She died, and so many people came for her funeral that the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide meat for all of them to eat. 

So the next time you hear that someone is facing a problem and think that it does not concern you, remember that when there is a rat trap in the house, the whole farmyard is at risk. 

Am I my brother's keeper? || Genesis 4:9 

EYE OPENER

I saw him in the church building for the first time on Wednesday. He was in his mid-70's, with thinning silver hair and a neat brown suit. Many times in the past I had invited him to come. Several other Christian friends had talked to him about the Lord and had tried to share the good news with him. He was a well-respected, honest man with so many characteristics a Christian should have, but he had never put on Christ, nor entered the doors of the church. 

"Have you ever been to a church service in your life?" I had asked him a few years ago. We had just finished a pleasant day of visiting and talking. He hesitated. Then with a bitter smile he told me of his childhood experience some fifty years ago. He was one of many children in a large impoverished family. His parents had struggled to provide food, with little left for housing and clothing. When he was about ten, some neighbors invited him to worship with them. The Sunday School class had been very exciting! He had never heard such songs and stories before! He had never heard anyone read from the Bible! After class was over, the teacher took him aside and said, "Son, please don't come again dressed as you are now. We want to look our best when we come into God's house." 

He stood in his ragged, unpatched overalls. Then looking at his dirty bare feet, he answered softly, "No, ma'am, I won't ever." "And I never did," he said, abruptly ending our conversation. There must have been other factors to have hardened him so, but this experience formed a significant part of the bitterness in his heart. 

I'm sure that Sunday School teacher meant well. But did she really understand the love of Christ? Had she studied and accepted the teachings found in the second chapter of James? What if she had put her arms around the dirty, ragged little boy and said, "Son, I am so glad you are here, and I hope you will come every chance you get to hear more about Jesus." 

I reflected on the awesome responsibility a teacher or pastor or a parent has to welcome little ones in His name. How far reaching her influence was! I prayed that I might be ever open to the tenderness of a child's heart, and that I might never fail to see beyond the appearance and behavior of a child to the eternal possibilities within. 

Yes, I saw him in the church house for the first time on Wednesday. As I looked at that immaculately dressed old gentleman lying in his casket, I thought of the little boy of long ago. I could almost hear him say, "No, ma'am, I won't ever." 

And I wept.

ANSWERED PRAYER

A voyaging ship was wrecked during a storm at sea and only two of the men on it were able to swim to a small, desert like island. The two survivors, not knowing what else to do, agreed that they had no other recourse but to pray to God. However, to find out whose prayer was more powerful, they agreed to divide the territory between them and stay on opposite sides of the island. 

The first thing they prayed for was food. The next morning, the first man saw a fruit-bearing tree on his side of the land, and he was able to eat its fruit. The other man's parcel of land remained barren. 

After a week, the first man was lonely and he decided to pray for a wife. The next day, another ship was wrecked, and the only survivor was a woman who swam to his side of the land. On the other side of the island, there was nothing. 

Soon the first man prayed for a house, clothes, more food. The next day, like magic, all of these were given to him. However, the second man still had nothing. 

Finally, the first man prayed for a ship, so that he and his wife could leave the island. In the morning, he found a ship docked at his side of the island. The first man boarded the ship with his wife and decided to leave the second man on the island. He considered the other man unworthy to receive God's blessings, since none of his prayers had been answered. 

As the ship was about to leave, the first man heard a voice from heaven booming, "Why are you leaving your companion on the island?" "My blessings are mine alone, since I was the one who prayed for them," the first man answered. "His prayers were all unanswered and so he does not deserve anything." 

"You are mistaken!" the voice rebuked him. "He had only one prayer, which I answered. If not for that, you would not have received any of my blessings." 

"Tell me," the first man asked the voice, "What did he pray for that I should owe him anything?" 

"He prayed that all your prayers be answered." 

GOD'S AMBASSADORS

His name is Bill. He has wild hair, wears a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans, and no shoes. This was literally his wardrobe for his entire four years of college. He is brilliant. Kind of esoteric and very, very bright. He became a Christian while attending college. 

Across the street from the campus is a well-dressed, very conservative church. They want to develop a ministry to the students, but are not sure how to go about it. 

One day Bill decides to go there. He walks in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt, and wild hair. The service has already started and so Bill starts down the aisle looking for a seat. The church is completely packed and he can't find a seat. By now, people are really looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one says anything. Bill gets closer and closer and closer to the pulpit, and when he realizes there are no seats, he just squats down right on the carpet. (Although perfectly acceptable behavior at a college fellowship, trust me, this had never happened in this church before!) 

By now the people are really uptight, and the tension in the air is thick. About this time, the minister realizes that from way at the back of the church, a deacon is slowly making his way toward Bill. Now the deacon is in his eighties, has silver-gray hair, and a three-piece suit. A godly man, very elegant, very dignified, very courtly. He walks with a cane and, as he starts walking toward this boy, everyone is saying to themselves that you can't blame him for what he's going to do. How can you expect a man of his age and of his background to understand some college kid on the floor?

It takes a long time for the man to reach the boy. The church is utterly silent except for the clicking of the man's cane. All eyes are focused on him. You can't even hear anyone breathing. The minister can't even preach the sermon until the deacon does what he has to do. 

And now they see this elderly man drop his cane on the floor. With great difficulty, he lowers himself and sits down next to Bill and worships with him so he won't be alone. Everyone chokes up with emotion. When the minister gains control, he says, "What I'm about to preach, you will never remember. What you have just seen, you will never forget. 

"Be careful how you live.

You may be the only Bible some people will ever read".

I asked the Lord to bless you as I prayed for you today.

To guide you and protect you as you go along your way......

His love is always with you, His promises are true,

And when we give Him all our cares,

You know He will see us through.

THE RIFLE

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving. 

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas. 

We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity. Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." 

I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what. 

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick little job. I could tell. We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on. When we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" "You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?" "I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. 

"What's in the little sack?" I asked. "Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy. 

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern. We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?" Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. 

Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children - sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. 

I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out. "We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people. 

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his children to spare us." In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth, save One. 

I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it. Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes. 

Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine. At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away. Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will." Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand." 

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children. 

For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

|| Rian B. Anderson

THE BIRTH OF A SONG

Back in 1932 I was 32 years old and a fairly new husband. My wife, Nettie, and I were living in a little apartment on Chicago's South-side. One hot August afternoon I had to go to St. Louis where I was to be the featured soloist at a large revival meeting. 

I didn't want to go. Nettie was in the last month of pregnancy with our first child. But a lot of people were expecting me in St. Louis. 

I kissed Nettie good-bye, clattered downstairs to our Model A and, in a fresh Lake Michigan breeze, chugged out of Chicago on Route 66. 

However, outside the city, I discovered that in my anxiety at leaving, I had forgotten my music case. I wheeled around and headed back. I found Nettie sleeping peacefully. I hesitated by her bed; something was strongly telling me to stay. But eager to get on my way, and not wanting to disturb Nettie, I shrugged off the feeling and quietly slipped out of the room with my music. 

The next night, in the steaming St. Louis heat, the crowd called on me to sing again and again. When I finally sat down, a messenger boy ran up with a Western Union telegram. I ripped open the envelope. 

Pasted on the yellow sheet were the words: YOUR WIFE JUST DIED. People were happily singing and clapping around me, but I could hardly keep from crying out. I rushed to a phone and called home. 

All I could hear on the other end was "Nettie is dead. Nettie is dead." When I got back, I learned that Nettie had given birth to a boy. I swung between grief and joy. 

Yet that night, the baby died. I buried Nettie and our little boy together, in the same casket. Then I fell apart. 

For days I closeted myself. I felt that God had done me an injustice. I didn't want to serve Him any more or write gospel songs. I just wanted to go back to that jazz world I once knew so well. But then, as I hunched alone in that dark apartment those first sad days, I thought back to the afternoon I went to St. Louis. Something kept telling me to stay with Nettie. 

Was that something God? Oh, if I had paid more attention to Him that day, I would have stayed and been with Nettie when she died. From that moment on I vowed to listen more closely to Him. But still I was lost in grief. 

Everyone was kind to me, especially a friend, Professor Fry, who seemed to know what I needed. On the following Saturday evening he took me up to Malone's Poro College, a neighborhood music school. It was quiet; the late evening sun crept through the curtained windows. I sat down at the piano, and my hands began to browse over the keys. 

Something happened to me then. I felt at peace. I felt as though I could reach out and touch God. I found myself playing a melody, one into my head-they just seemed to fall into place: 

Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand, I am tired, I am weak, I am worn, Through the storm, through the night lead me on to the light, Take my hand, precious Lord, Lead me home. 

As the Lord gave me these words and melody, He also healed my spirit. I learned that when we are in our deepest grief, when we feel farthest from God, this is when He is closest, and when we are most open to His restoring power. And so I go on living for God willingly and joyfully, until that day comes when He will take me and gently lead me home. 

Taken from: "The Birth of "Precious Lord" by Tommy A. Dorsey, GUIDEPOSTS  

Precious Lord Take My Hand

Words & music by Thomas A. Dorsey

            Precious Lord, take my hand

            Lead me on, let me stand

            I'm tired, I’m weak, I’m lone

            Through the storm, through the night

            Lead me on to the light

            Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home

 

            When my way grows drear precious Lord linger near

            When my life is almost gone

            Hear my cry, hear my call

            Hold my hand lest I fall

            Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home

 

            When the darkness appears and the night draws near

            And the day is past and gone

            At the river I stand

            Guide my feet, hold my hand

            Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home

 

            Precious Lord, take my hand

            Lead me on, let me stand

            I'm tired, I’m weak, Lord I’m worn

            Through the storm, through the night

            Lead me on to the light

            Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home