THE HAND OF A FATHER

My Dad, some ninety plus years now, sat feebly on the patio bench. He didn't move, just sat with his head down staring at his hands. I sat down beside him. He didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if he was okay.





Finally, not really wanting to disturb him but wanting to check on him at the same time, I asked him if he was okay. He raised his head and looked at me and smiled.





Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking, he said in a clear strong voice. I didn't mean to disturb you, Dad, but you were just sitting there staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were alright.





"Have you ever looked at your hands?" he asked. "I mean really looked at your hands?"





I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point he was making.







Dad smiled and related this story: "Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life."

"They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They dried the tears of my children and caressed the love of my life. They wiped my tears when my son went off to war." 

"They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold you as a newborn daughter. Decorated with my wedding bandthey showed the world that I was married and loved someone special."



"They wrote the letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse. They have held children, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, washed and cleansed the rest of my body."



They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else on me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer. These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of my life."



"But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when He leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ."







After that day, I will never look at my hands the same again.





But I remember God reached out and took my Dad's hands and led him home. When my hands are hurt of sore or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I think of Dad. I know he has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God.

NO ONE IS COMPLETE

The following story brings out the fact that we were all created to function in certain areas with gifts and talents, however, when we begin to move outside of that realm it sometimes leads to great difficulty for us... and others.



He wanted to conduct. His conducting style, however, was idiosyncratic. During soft passages he'd crouch extremely low. For loud sections, he'd often leap into the air, even shouting to the orchestra.



His memory was poor. Once he forgot that he had instructed the orchestra not to repeat a section of music. During the performance, when he went back to repeat that section, they went forward, so he stopped the piece, hollering, "Stop! Wrong! That will not do! Again! Again!"



For his own piano concerto, he tried conducting from the piano. At one point he jumped from the bench, bumping the candles off the piano. At another concert he knocked over a choir boy.



During one long, delicate passage, he jumped high to cue a loud entrance, but nothing happened because he had lost count and signaled the orchestra too soon.



As his hearing worsened, musicians tried to ignore his conducting and get their cues from the first violinist.



Finally the musicians pled with him to go home and give up conducting, which he did.



He was Ludwig van Beethoven.



As the man whom many consider to be the greatest composer of all time learned, no one is a genius of all trades.



David Sacks

Fresh Illustrations for Preaching & Teaching /Baker

NO EXCEPTIONS!

One evening I stopped by the church just to encourage those who were there rehearsing for the spring musical. I didn't intend to stay long, so I parked my car next to the entrance. After a few minutes, I ran back to my car and drove home.



The next morning I found a note in my office mailbox. It read: "A small thing, but Tuesday night when you came to rehearsal, you parked in the 'No Parking' area. A reaction from one of my crew (who did not recognize you until after you got out of the car) was, 'There's another jerk parking in the "No Parking" area!' We try hard not to allow people--even workers--to park anywhere other than the parking lots. I would appreciate your cooperation, too." It was signed by a member of our maintenance staff.



I'm sorry to report this staff member is no longer with us. He was late coming back for lunch the next day, and we had to let him go. You have to draw the line somewhere. ...



No, I'm kidding. Actually he's still very much with us, and his stock went up in my book because he had the courage to write me about what could have been a slippage in my character.



And he was right on the mark. As I drove up that night, I had thought, "I shouldn't park here, but after all, I am the pastor." That translates: I'm an exception to the rules. But that employee wouldn't allow me to sneak down the road labeled "I'm an exception."



I'm not the exception to church rules, nor am I the exception to sexual rules or financial rules or any of God's rules. As a leader, I am not an exception; I'm to be the example. According to Scripture, I am to life in such a way that I can say, "Follow me. Park where I park. Live as I live."



That's why we all need people like my staff member to hold us accountable in even the small matters. Because when we keep the minor matters in line, we don't stumble over the larger ones.



Just when I was starting to think, "I'm an exception," somebody on our staff cared enough to say, "Don't do it, Bill, not even in one small area." That's love.





Bill Hybels



Willow Creek Community Church 

THE COORS TRIUMPH

On February 9, 1960, Adolph Coors III was kidnapped and held for ransom. Seven months later his body was found on a remote hillside. He had been shot to death. Adolph Coors IV, then fifteen years old, lost not only his father but his best friend. For years young Coors hated Joseph Corbett, the man who was sentenced to life for the slaying.



Then in 1975 Ad Coors became a Christian. While he divested himself of his interest in the family beer business, he could not divest himself of the hatred that consumed him. Resentment seethed within him and blighted his growth in faith. He prayed to God for help because he realized how his hatred for Corbett was alienating him from God and other persons.





The day came, however, when claiming the Spirit's presence, Ad Coors visited the maximum security unit of Colorado's Canon City penitentiary and tried to talk with Corbett. Corbett refused to see him. Coors left a Bible inscribed with this message: I'm here to see you today and I'm sorry that we could not meet. As a Christian I am summoned by our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, to forgive. I do forgive you, and I ask you to forgive me for the hatred I've held in my heart for you.





Later Coors confessed, "I have a love for that man that only Jesus Christ could have put in my heart."











James S. Hewett

Illustrations Unlimited

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc (1988)

SET FREE

I knew an old Glasgow professor named MacDonald who, along with a Scottish chaplain, had bailed out of an airplane behind German lines. They were put in a prison camp. A high wire fence separated the Americans from the British, and the Germans made it next to impossible for the two sides to communicate. MacDonald was put in the American barracks and the chaplain was housed with the Brits.

Every day the two men would meet at the fence and exchange a greeting. Unknown to the guards, the Americans had a little homemade radio and were able to get news from the outside, something more precious than food in a prison camp. Every day, MacDonald would take a headline or two to the fence and share it with the chaplain in the ancient Gaelic language, indecipherable to the Germans.

One day, news came over the little radio that the German High Command had surrendered and the war was over. MacDonald took the news to his friend, then stood and watched him disappear into the British barracks. A moment later, a roar of celebration came from the barracks.

Life in that camp was transformed. Men walked around singing and shouting, waving at the guards, even laughing at the dogs. When the German guards finally heard the news three nights later, they fled into the dark, leaving the gates unlocked. The next morning, Brits and Americans walked out as free men. Yet they had truly been set free three days earlier by the news that the war was over.



While Christ’s Kingdom is not fully achieved, we know the outcome of the battle. We too have been set free.

Ray Bakke

Leadership Vol. 19/2

FAULT-FINDING

A serviceman once wrote about a moment of comedy he had witnessed in the army.





It happened during a company inspection at the Redstone Arsenal in Alabama. The inspection was being conducted by a full colonel. Everything had gone smoothly until the officer came to a certain soldier, looked him up and down and snapped, "Button that pocket, trooper!"



The soldier, more than a little rattled, stammered, "Right now, sir?" "Of course, right now!" was the reply. Whereupon the soldier very carefully reached out and buttoned the flap on the colonel's shirt pocket.





The officer had been quick to note the youngster's uniform problem, but hadn't noticed his own. For some reason, we seem to be the same way. The faults of others stick out like a missing tooth, while our own are often hard to spot. Small specks in other people seem major, while the planks in our own eye seem excusable (Matt 7:1-5).





Let's quit dwelling on the faults of others all the time. The church needs builders and workers-not a wrecking crew. Work on your own faults, then seek to help others in a spirit of gentleness.

THE PEACE-MAKING

Carl and Sam were at odds with each other. They could not even remember the initial cause of friction - but their hostility had festered through the years. A deeply concerned deacon prayed that God would use him as a peacemaker.



He called on Carl. “What do you think of Sam?” he asked. “He’s the sorriest guy in town!” “But,” countered the deacon, “you have to admit that he’s a hard-working man.” “No one can deny that,” said Carl. “I’ve never known a person who worked harder.”



Next the deacon visited Sam. “Do you know what Carl said about you?” “No, but I can imagine his lies,” he responded angrily. “This may surprise you,” said the deacon, “but he said he’s never known a harder worker.” “He said that?” Sam was stunned. “What do you think of Carl?” asked the deacon. “It is no secret that I have absolutely no use for him.” “But you must admit he’s honest in business,” said the deacon. “There’s no getting around that,” said Sam. “In business he’s a man you can trust.”



Later the deacon met Carl again. “Do you know what Sam said about you? He claims you’re absolutely trustworthy in business, that you are scrupulously honest.” “Well, how ’bout that,” reacted Carl with a smile.



Soon the peacemaking deacon noticed Sam and Carl would cautiously nod in a friendly sort of way. Before long they were shaking hands, talking, even visiting in each other’s homes. Today they are best of friends.



Many people, even church folk, seem to delight in promoting a fight by carrying news of ill-will. Rip this page from a deacon’s peace-making notebook.

It’s a worthy example to follow.

THE YOUNG MAN & THE JUDGE

On a crowded street of one of our large cities, a young man was snatched from the path of a speeding truck, his life saved by a venerable looking man. Still breathless from fright, the youth thanked the one who saved his life and then was lost in the crowd.





Two weeks later in a crowded courtroom, an anxious young man stood in the prisoner's box to be sentenced for murder.





"Young man, have you anything to say before the sentence of death is passed upon you?"





"Why! Yes! Yes, Judge," the youth responded, "you know me."





A silence moved like a shock wave over the courtroom.





"I'm sorry. I cannot place you."





"Yes. Surely you remember. Two weeks ago. At Main and Seventh Streets, you saved my life. Surely, Judge, you can do something to save me now."





A silence pervaded the courtroom.





"Young man, now I do remember you. But that day I was your savior. Today I am your judge."





The same thing will happen to us when we come face to face with Jesus. Today, wants to be your Savior. If you refuse Him and His grace, one day He will be your Judge.

THE BONES OF BELIEF

A clergyman took a seat in a dining car on a train traveling along the Hudson River. Opposite him was an atheist who, seeing his clerical collar, started a discussion.





"I see you are a clergyman."





"Yes," came the reply. "I am a minister of the gospel."





"I suppose you believe the Bible."





The clergyman, orthodox in his views, responded, "I certainly do believe the Bible to be the Word of God."





"But aren't there things in the Bible you can't explain?"





With humility the minister answered, "Yes, there are places in the Bible too hard for me to understand."





With an air of triumph as though he had cornered the preacher, the atheist asked, "Well, what do you do then?"





Unruffled, the clergyman went on eating his dinner - which happened to be Hudson shad, a tasty fish but noted for its bony structure.





Looking up, he said, "Sir, I do just the same as when eating this shad. When I come to the bones, I put them to the side of the plate and go on enjoying my lunch. I leave the bones for some fool to choke on.



James S. Hewett

Illustrations Unlimited

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc, 1988

THE SCARS OF LOVE

Some years ago on a hot summer day in south Florida a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house. In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went. He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore.

His mother – in the house was looking out the window – saw the two as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear, she ran toward the water, yelling to her son as loudly as she could. Hearing her voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his mother. It was too late. Just as he reached her, the alligator reached him. From the dock, the mother grabbed her little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began an incredible tug-of-war between the two.

The alligator was much stronger than the mother, but the mother was much too passionate to let go. A farmer happened to drive by, heard her screams, raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator. Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. And, on his arms, were deep scratches where his mother’s fingernails dug into his flesh in her effort to hang on to the son she loved.

The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, “But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my mom wouldn’t let go.”

You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, or anything quite so dramatic. But, the scars of a painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us deep regret.

But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go. In the midst of your struggle, He’s been there holding on to you. The Scripture teaches that God loves you. If you have Christ in your life, you have become a child of God. He wants to protect you and provide for you in every way. But sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations. The swimming hole of life is filled with peril – and we forget that the enemy is waiting to attack. That’s when the tug-o-war begins – and if you have the scars of His love on your arms, be very, very grateful.

He did not – and will not – let you go.

THE MOUSE STORY

A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package.

“What food might this contain?” The mouse wondered – he was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.

Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning. “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!”

The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said, “Mr. Mouse, 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 mouse turned to the pig and told him, “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!”

The pig sympathized, but said, “I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it but pray. Be assured you are in my prayers.”

The mouse turned to the cow and said, “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!”

The cow said, “Wow, Mr. Mouse. I’m sorry for you, but it’s no skin off my nose.”

So, the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer’s mousetrap – alone.

That very night a sound was heard throughout the house – like the sound of a mousetrap catching its prey. The farmer’s wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness, she did not see 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 and she returned home with a fever.

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.

But his wife’s sickness continued, so 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. So many people came for her funeral the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for all of them.

The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness.

So, the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and think it doesn’t concern you, remember – when one of us is threatened, we are all at risk. We are all involved in this journey called life. We must keep an eye out for one another and make an extra effort to encourage one another.

THE POWER OF TEMPTATION

The tuna were running for the first time in 47 years, only 30 miles off Cape Cod. And they were biting! Last fall all you needed to catch one was a sharp hook and some bait. And the rewards for doing so were substantial. Rumor had it that Japanese buyers would pay $50,000 for a nice bluefin!



That's why many would-be fishermen ignored Coast Guard warnings and headed out to sea in small boats. But what these new fishermen didn't realize was the problem is not catching a tuna—the problem comes after they're caught.



On September 23, the Christi Anne, a 19-foot boat, capsized while doing battle with a tuna. That same day the 27-foot boat Basic Instinct suffered the same fate, while Official Business, a 28-footer, was swamped after it hooked onto a 600-pound tuna. The tuna pulled it under water.



These fishermen underestimated the power of the fish they were trying to catch. That is what temptation does to us. It takes us by surprise. It looks manageable on the surface. Only after we hook into it do we discover its strength.



|| Kent Edwards

   Boson Globe/October 2, 1999

DECIDE TO BE HAPPY EVERY DAY

The 92-year-old, petite, well-poised and proud mother-in-law of my best friend, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o'clock, with her hair fashionably coifed and makeup perfectly applied, even though she is legally blind, moved to a nursing home today. Her husband of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary.



Maurine Jones is the most lovely, gracious, dignified woman that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. While I have never aspired to attain her depth of wisdom, I do pray that I will learn from her vast experience.



After many hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, she smiled sweetly when told her room was ready. As she maneuvered her walker to the elevator, I provided a visual description of her tiny room, including the eyelet sheets that had been hung on her window."I love it," she stated with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy."Mrs. Jones, you haven't seen the room...just wait." "That doesn't have anything to do with it," she replied. "Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged...it's how I arrange my mind. I already decided to love it..." She went on to say, "It's a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice; I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do. Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open, I'll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I've stored away...just for this time in my life. Old age is like a bank account...you withdraw from what you've put in...So, my advice to you would be to deposit a lot of happiness in the bank account of memories, so when you go over it a second time, you can enjoy it again."

SHAKE IT OFF & STEP UP

The parable is told of an old dog that fell into a farmer’s well. After assessing the situation, the farmer sympathized with the dog but decided that neither the dog nor the well were worth the trouble of saving. Instead he planned to bury the old dog in the well and put him out of his misery.



When the farmer began shoveling, initially the old dog was hysterical. But as the farmer continued shoveling and the dirt hit his back, a thought struck him. It dawned on the dog that every time a shovel load of dirt landed on his back he should shake it off and step up. This he did blow after blow. “Shake it off and step up, shake it off and step up, shake it off and step up!” he repeated to encourage himself.



No matter how painful the blows or how distressing the situation seemed, the old dog fought panic and just kept shaking it off and stepping up! It was not long before the dog, battered and exhausted, stepped triumphantly over the wall of that well. What seemed as though it would bury him actually benefited him—all because of the way he handled his adversity.



If we face our problems and respond to them positively, refusing to give in to panic, bitterness, or self-pity, the adversities that come along to bury us usually have within them the potential to bless us! Forgiveness, faith, prayer, praise, and hope are some of the biblical ways to shake it off and step up out of the wells in which we find ourselves.

                                                                      || Bruce Shelley || To Illustrate Plus || Leadership || Vol 20/4





Confirmation Code: GSDBSNX17520539

THE THREE TREES

Once there were three trees on a hill in the woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, "Someday I hope to be a treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems. I could be decorated with intricate carving and everyone would see the beauty."





Then the second tree said, "Someday I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."





Finally the third tree said, "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me."





After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. When one came to the first tree he said, "This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter" - and he began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.





At the second tree a woodsman said, "This looks like a strong tree, I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.





When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down his dreams would not come true. One of the woodsmen said, "I don't need anything special from my tree so I'll take this one", and he cut it down.





When the first tree arrived at the carpenters, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for. The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark. The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.





Then one day, a man and woman came to the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time. Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said "Peace" and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the King of Kings in its boat.





Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible, because Jesus had been crucified on it.





The moral of this story is that when things don't seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you. If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts. Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined. We don't always know what God's plans are for us. We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always best.

THE OLD FISHERMAN

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out patients at the clinic.





One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old, I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face--lopsided from swelling, red and raw.





Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning." He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face...I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..." For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."





I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us.





"No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.





When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury. He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.





At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him.





When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind."





I told him he was welcome to come again.





On his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.





In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these,and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious. When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning.





"Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"





Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had! My friend changed my mind.





"I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."





She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven.

"Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."





All this happened long ago - and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.

DISCOURAGED?

As I was driving home from work one day, I stopped to watch a local little League baseball game that was being played in a park near my home. As I sat down behind the bench on the first-baseline, I asked one of the boys what the score was.





"We're behind 14 to nothing," he answered with a smile.





"Really," I said. "I have to say you don't look very discouraged."





"Discouraged?" the boy asked with a puzzled look on his face. "Why should we be discouraged? We haven't been up to bat yet."

THE DEACON & THE DRIFTER

There was a bare-footed big-city drifter named George. He had wild hair and was wearing tattered pants and an over-sized, food-stained t-shirt ...



One Sunday morning, as he ambled past a big, beautiful Church in the heart of the city, he decided to go in. The Church was full, and the sermon was about to begin.



George found no seat, and no one moved to try to make room for him. And so, having walked all the way to the front without finding a seat, he squatted down on the floor, in front of the pulpit. The people were incredulous, but did nothing. Then, the preacher noticed the Churchs elderly Deacon slowly making his way down the aisle toward George. There was a certain elegance about the well-dressed Deacon and, even though he was walking with a cane, he had a confident, authoritative air about him.



Everyone was saying to themselves, more or less, You cant blame that elderly model of correctness for what hes going to do, or say, to that impudent, irreverent young man!



It took a while for the old Deacon to reach the young man, and the Church was in breathless silence other than the click of the old mans cane. The Deacon arrived at Georges spot and dropped his cane to the floor. Then, with great difficulty, he lowered himself to sit on the floor next to George, guaranteeing that for the rest of the service George would not sit alone.



Everyone was choked up with emotion. And when the preacher finally gained control, he said, What Im about to preach you may never remember. But what you have just seen, you will never forget.

TRUE RICHES

A tax assessor came one day to a poor minister of the gospel to determine the amount of taxes he would have to pay. “What do you possess?” he questioned.



“Oh, I am very wealthy,” replied the minister. “List your possessions, please,” the assessor instructed.



The man of God replied:

First, I have everlasting life - John 3:16.

Second, I have a mansion in Heaven - John 14:2.

Thirdly, I have peace that passeth understanding - Philippians 4:7.

Fourth, I have joy unspeakable - 1 Peter 1:8.

Fifth, I have divine love that never faileth - 1 Corinthians 13:8.

Sixth, I have a faithful, pious wife - Proverbs 31:10.

Seventh, I have healthy, happy, obedient children - Exodus 20:12.

Eighth, I have true, loyal friends - Proverbs 18:24.

Ninth, I have songs in the night - Psalm 42:8.

Tenth, I have a crown of life awaiting - James 1:12.



The tax collector closed his book and said, “Truly, you are a very rich man, but your property is not subject to taxation.”

THE CALL OF THE BARNYARD

A flock of wild ducks were flying in formation, heading south for the winter. They formed a beautiful V in the sky, and were admired by everyone who saw them from below.





One day, Wally, one of the wild ducks in the formation, spotted something on the ground that caught his eye. It was a barnyard with a flock of tame ducks who lived on the farm. They were waddling around on the ground, quacking merrily and eating corn that was thrown on the ground for them every day. Wally liked what he saw. "It sure would be nice to have some of that corn," he thought to himself. "And all this flying is very tiring. I'd like to just waddle around for a while."





So after thinking it over a while, Wally left the formation of wild ducks, made a sharp dive to the left, and headed for the barnyard. He landed among the tame ducks, and began to waddle around and quack merrily. He also started eating corn. The formation of wild ducks continued their journey south, but Wally didn't care. "I'll rejoin them when they come back north in a few months," he said to himself.





Several months went by and sure enough, Wally looked up and spotted the flock of wild ducks in formation, heading north. They looked beautiful up there. And Wally was tired of the barnyard. It was muddy and everywhere he waddled, nothing but duck doo. "It's time to leave," said Wally.





So Wally flapped his wings furiously and tried to get airborne. But he had gained some weight from all his corn-eating, and he hadn't exercised his wings much either. He finally got off the ground, but he was flying too low and slammed into the side of the barn. He fell to the ground with a thud and said to himself, "Oh, well, I'll just wait until they fly south in a few months. Then I'll rejoin them and become a wild duck again."





But when the flock flew overhead once more, Wally again tried to lift himself out of the barnyard. He simply didn't have the strength. Every winter and every spring, he saw his wild duck friends flying overhead, and they would call out to him. But his attempts to leave were all in vain.





Eventually Wally no longer paid any attention to the wild ducks flying overhead. He hardly even noticed them. He had, after all, become a barnyard duck.





Sometimes we get tired of being wild ducks-followers of Jesus Christ. It's not always easy to be obedient to God and to discipline ourselves to hang in there for the long haul. When we are feeling that way, that's when Satan tempts us to "fall out of formation" and to join the barnyard ducks - the world.

But look what happened to Wally. He thought he would just "check it out" for awhile and then leave when he wanted to. But he couldn't do it. Sin is like that. Sin is a trap, and it has a way of changing us into people we don't even want to become. Eventually we lose touch with who we really are-the sons and daughters of the Most High. We become barnyard ducks.