I am always getting neat stories passed to me in my Emails.
So this page will be used to share them.
Thanks all of you for the Beautiful Emails.
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From: Sharon Mesnard
Malachi 3:3: "He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."
This verse puzzled some women in a Bible study and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God.
One of the women offered to find out the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible Study.
That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work.
She didn't mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining
silver.
As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up.
He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the
impurities.
The woman thought about God holding us
in such a hot spot then she thought again about the verse that says: "He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver." She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined.
The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire.
If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be
destroyed.
The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, "How do you know when the silver is fully refined?"
He smiled at her and answered, "Oh, that's easy -when I see my image in it."
If today you are feeling the heat of the fire,remember that God has His eye on you and will keep watching you until He sees His image in you.
Thanks Sharon
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From: Diane Collins
The Secret
One day, one friend asked another,
"How is it that you are always so happy? You have so much energy, and you never seem to get down."
With her eyes smiling, she said,
"I know the Secret!"
"What secret is that?"
To which she replied,
"I'll tell you all about it, but you have to promise to share the Secret with others."
"The Secret is this:
I have learned there is little I can do
in my life that will make me truly happy.
I must depend on God to make me happy and to meet my needs.
When a need arises in my life, I have to trust God to supply according to HIS riches.
I have learned most of the time I don't need half of what I think I do.
He has never let me down.
Since I learned that 'Secret', I am happy."
The questioner's first thought was,
"That's too simple!"
But upon reflecting over her own life
she recalled how she thought a bigger house would make her happy, but it didn't!
She thought a better paying job would make her happy, but it hadn't.
When did she realize her greatest happiness?
Sitting on the floor with her grandchildren, playing games, eating pizza or reading a story, a simple gift from God.
Now you know it too!
We can't depend on people to make us happy.
Only GOD in His infinite wisdom can do that.
Trust HIM!
And now I pass the Secret on to you!
So once you get it, what will you do?
YOU have to tell someone the Secret, too!
That GOD in His wisdom will take care of YOU!
But it's not really a secret...
We just have to believe it and do it...
Really trust God!
Just Pass It On!
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Hole in the Fence from Sharon M.
Nail in the Fence A Good Story for Great Friends.....
There once was a little girl who had a bad temper. Her mother gave her a bag of nails and told her that every time she lost her temper, she must hammer a nail into the back of the fence.
The first day the girl had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as she learned to control her anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down. She discovered it was easier to hold her temper than to drive those nails into the fence.
Finally the day came when the girl didn't lose her temper at all.
She told her mother about it and the mother suggested that the girl now pull out one nail for each day that she was able to hold her temper.
The days passed and the young girl was finally able to tell her mother that all the nails were gone. The mother took her daughter by the hand and led her to the fence.
She said, "You have done well, my daughter, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one." You can put a knife in a person and draw it out. It won't matter how many times you say I'm sorry, the wound is still there. A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one.
Friends are very rare jewels, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share words of praise and they always want to open their hearts to us. It's National Friendship week.
Show your friends how much you care. Send this to everyone you consider a FRIEND, even if it means sending it back to the person who sent it to you.
If it comes back to you, then you'll know you have a circle of friends.
Happy Friendship week! You are my friend and I am honored. Now send this to every friend you have!! And to your family.
Please forgive me if I have ever left a hole in your fence
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This one is so neat: It came from Elaine
A nameless woman in an English home for the aged expressed her emotions in a
poem which was found in her meager possessions after she had died. Entitled,
"Lord, Open Their Eyes," it brings out our common need to be appreciated
with understanding and dignity.
[Lord, Open Our Eyes]
What do you see, nurse, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you look at me --
A crabbed old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit with far away eyes,
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do And forever is losing a stocking or shoe,
Who, resisting or not, let's you do as you will
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse. You're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I move at your bidding, eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another;
A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon a lover she'll meet;
A bride at twenty, my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At age twenty-five I have young of my own
Who need me to build a secure, happy home.
A woman of thirty, my children grow fast
Bound together with ties that I'm hoping will last.
At forty, my young sons have grown up and gone,
But my man's still beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me; my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread;
For my children are rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm an old woman now, and nature is cruel,
'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The worn body crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There now is a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my embittered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years, all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurse, open and see
Not a crabbed old woman.
Look closer -- see me.
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I got this one from Vickie:
An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life.
"A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy.
"It is a terrible fight and it is
between two wolves.
One is evil -- he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed,
arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride,superiority, and ego.
The other is good -- he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness,benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.
This same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too,"
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his
grandfather, "which wolf will win?"
The wise old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed,"
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Joy Saker wrote:
There are no coincidences in life ... a coincidence is a gift from God when
He wishes to remain anonymous........
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“I'll Do Better Tomorrow I Promise"
Dear God, are you still awake?
Have you got a minute or two?
You're pretty good at understanding, and I really need to talk to you. You see, mommy came to tuck me in, like she does every night.
I was trying to play a trick on her, since she can't see without the light. I was going to close my eyes and pretend to be asleep.
But when I heard her crying, I didn't dare let out a peep.
She started talking to you, God.
Did you hear the things she said?
Could you hear what she was saying as she stood beside my bed?
Why would mommy be so sad? I wondered just what I had done, and then I began to remember it all as she named them one by one...
This morning we worked in the garden, but, honest, I really didn't know that if I picked all those little yellow blooms, the tomatoes wouldn't grow!
Charlie and I were trying to be helpers, 'cause I know that's what Mommy needs.
But I don't think she was too happy with us when we pulled up carrots instead of weeds.
Mommy said we should stop for the day, she decided we had helped quite enough. I sure had worked up an appetite...
I didn't know gardening was so tough!
We had peanut butter and jelly for lunch and I shared too much, I guess...
But I didn't realize until I was done that Charlie had made such a mess.
Mommy said she needed a nap, she had one of her headaches today. She told me to keep an eye on my sister and find something quiet to play.
Well, God, do you remember all those curls you gave my little sister Jenny?… We played barber shop...very quietly...and now, well, she doesn't have any. Boy, was mommy mad at me...
I had to go sit on my bed. She said never to cut "people hair" again. I guess I'll practice on Charlie instead.
We sat and watched poor old Albert, I just knew he must be so bored going round and round in the same place all day. Wouldn't you think so, Lord?
I didn't think it would hurt to
let him out for a while. I mean, mice need exercise, too. By the way, have you seen Albert lately? He's been sort of missing since two. Mommy sent us outside for the rest of the day. She said we needed fresh air. But when daddy came home she told him he was trying to get something out of her hair.
We thought mommy needed cheering up, so we decided to brighten her day. But, God, did you see the look on her face when we gave her that pretty bouquet?
We had gotten a little bit dirty, so mommy said to get in the tub. "Use soap this time," she reminded, "and please don't forget to scrub." Charlie didn't like the water too much, but I lathered up real good.
I knew mommy would be so proud of me for cleaning up like I should. I went downstairs to the table, but during dinner it started to rain...
I'd forgotten to turn off the water, it seems, and I hadn't unplugged the drain!
I decided right then it was just about time to start getting ready for bed, when mommy said, "It's sure been a long day," and her face began turning all red. I lay there listening to mommy as she told you about our day.
I thought about all of the things I had done and I wondered what I should say. I was just about to tell her that I'd been awake all along, and ask her to please forgive me for all of those thing I'd done wrong.
When suddenly, I heard her whisper,
"God, forgive me for today... For not being more understanding when those problems came my way...
For not handling situations in the way You wanted me to...for getting angry and losing my temper, things I know you don't want me to do.
And, God, please give me more patience, Help me make it through another day, I'll do better tomorrow, I promise...
In Jesus' name I pray." Wiping her eyes, she kissed me and knelt here beside my bed.
She stroked my hair for a little while..."I love you, precious," mommy said. She left the room without ever knowing,
That I'd been awake all the time. And God, could we make it our little secret?
You know, just yours and mine?
I'm sorry I was so much
trouble today, I really didn't mean to be...daddy says it's tough being a kid sometimes, but I think it's harder on mommy than me.
Well, good night, God.
Thanks for listening.
It's sure nice to know you're there. I feel so much
better when I talk to you 'cause you always hear my prayer.
And I'll do better tomorrow, I promise...Just you wait and see!
I'll try not to be so much trouble again,
But, God, please give more patience to mommy......
Just In case.
Amen
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The Pickle Jar
The pickle jar, as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar.
They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty.
Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window.
When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.
Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the
bank, Dad would look at me hopefully.
"Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back." Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly.
"These are for my son's college fund.
He'll never work at the mill all his life like me."
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla.
When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm.
"When we get home, we'll start filling
the jar again." He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar.
As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other.
"You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters," he said.
"But you'll get there. I'll see to that."
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone.
It had served its purpose and had been removed. A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood.
My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith.
The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done.
When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part
the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy.
In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar.
Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring ketchup over my beans to make them more palatable, he
became more determined than ever to make a way out for me.
"When you finish college, Son," he told me, his eyes glistening, "You'll never have to eat beans again...unless you want to."
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent
the holiday with my parents.
After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to
each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild.
Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms.
"She probably needs to be changed," she said, carrying the baby into my
parents' bedroom to diaper her.
When Susan came back into the living
room, there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room.
"Look," she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser.
To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old
pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins.
I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket,and pulled out a fistful of coins.
With a gamut of emotions choking me,I dropped the coins into the jar.
I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room.
Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
Author unknown
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This truly touched my heart.....I know it has yours as well. Sometimes
we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings.
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Sorrow looks back.
Worry looks around.
Faith looks UP!
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Dear Lord:
Every single evening
As I'm lying here in bed
This tiny little prayer
Keeps running through my head.
God bless my mom and dad,
And other family.
Keep them warm and safe from harm
For they are so close to me.
And God, there is one more thing
I wish that you could do.
Hope you don't mind me asking,
Bless my computer too.
Now I know that it's not normal
To bless a mother board,
But listen just a second
While I explain to you 'My Lord.'
You see, that little metal box
Holds more than odds & ends
Inside those small compartments
Rest so many of my FRIENDS.
I know so much about them
By the kindness that they give
And this little scrap of metal
Takes me in to where they live.
By faith is how I know them
Much the same as you
We share in what life brings us
And from that our friendship grew.
Please, take an extra minute
From your duties up above
To bless those in my address book
That's filled with so much love!
Wherever else this prayer may reach
To each and every friend,
Bless each email Inbox
And the person who hits send.
When you update your heavenly list
On your own CD-ROM
Remember each who've said this prayer
Sent up to God.com.
Amen.
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The Shoe Box
As a new bride, Aunt Edna moved into the small home on her husband's ranch near Snowflake.
She put a shoe box on a shelf in her closet and asked her husband never to touch it.
For 50 years Uncle Jack left the box alone, until Aunt Edna was old and dying.
One day when he was putting their affairs in order, he found the box again and thought it might hold something important.
Opening it, he found two doilies and $82,500 in cash.
He took the box to her and asked about the contents.
"My mother gave me that box the day we married," she explained.
"She told me to make a doily to help ease my frustrations every time I got mad at you."
Uncle Jack was very touched that in 50 years she'd only been mad at him twice.
"What's the $82,500 for?" he asked.
"Oh, that's the money I made selling the doilies."
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Kindergarten Story
Did you hear about the teacher who was helping one of her kindergarten
students put his boots on?
He asked for help and she could see why. With her pulling and him pushing,
the boots still didn't want to go on. When the second boot was on, she had
worked up a sweat. She almost whimpered when the little boy said, "Teacher,
they're on the wrong feet." She looked, and sure enough, they were. It wasn't
any easier pulling the boots off than it was putting them on. She managed to
keep her cool as together they worked to get the boots back on - this time on
the right feet.
He then announced, "These aren't my boots." She bit her tongue rather than
get right in his face and scream, "Why didn't you say so?" like she wanted
to. Once again she struggled to help him pull the ill-fitting boots off.
He then said, "They're my brother's boots. My Mom made me wear them." She
didn't know if she should laugh or cry. She mustered up the grace to wrestle
the boots on his feet again.
She said, "Now, where are your mittens?" He said,"I stuffed them in the toes
of my boots..."
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"Have You Ever"
Have you ever been just sitting there and all of a sudden you feel like doing something nice for someone you care for?
THAT'S GOD...he talks to you through the Holy Spirit.
Have you ever been down and out and nobody seems to be around for
you to talk to?
THAT'S GOD...he wants you to talk to him.
Have you ever been thinking about somebody that you haven't seen in
a long time and then next thing you know you see them or receive a phone
call from them?
THAT'S GOD...there is no such thing as "coincidence."
Have you ever received something wonderful that you didn't even ask for, like money in the mail, a debt that had mysteriously been cleared,or a coupon to a department store where you had just seen something you wanted, but couldn't afford?
THAT'S GOD...he knows the desires of your heart.
Have you ever been in a situation and you had no clue how it is going to get better, but now you look back on it?
THAT'S GOD...he passes us through tribulation to see a brighter day...
DO YOU THINK THAT THIS E-MAIL WAS ACCIDENTALLY SENT TO YOU?
NOPE!
I was thinking of You! Please pass this along and share the
Power of God...
In all that we do, we should totally give HIM thanks and
our blessings will continue to multiply.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~What Goes Around Comes Around
TRUE STORY
His name was Fleming, and he was a poor Scottish farmer.
One day, while trying to make a living for his family, he heard a cry for help coming from a nearby bog. He dropped his tools and ran to the bog.
There, mired to his waist in black muck, was a terrified boy,
screaming and struggling to free himself
Farmer Fleming saved the lad from what could have been a slow and
terrifying death.
The next day, a fancy carriage pulled up to the Scotsman's
sparse surroundings. An elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced himself as the father of the boy Farmer Fleming had saved.
"I want to repay you," said the nobleman. "You saved my son's life."
"No, I can't accept payment for what I did," the Scottish farmer replied, waving off the offer.
At that moment, the farmer's own son came to the door of the family hovel.
"Is that your son?" the nobleman asked.
"Yes," the farmer replied proudly.
"I'll make you a deal. Let me provide him with the level of education my son will enjoy. If the lad is anything like his father, he'll no doubt grow to be a man we both will be proud of."
And that he did. Farmer Fleming's son attended the very best schools and in time, he graduated from St. Mary's Hospital Medical School in London, and went on to become known throughout the world as the noted
Sir Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of Penicillin.
Years afterward, the same nobleman's son who was saved from
the bog was stricken with pneumonia. What saved his life this time?
Penicillin.
The name of the nobleman? Lord Randolph Churchill.
His son's name? Sir Winston Churchill.
Someone once said: What goes around comes around...
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TO: Jesus, Son of Joseph
The Woodcrafter's Carpenter Shop Nazareth
FROM: Jordan Management Consultants Jerusalem
RE: New Hire Staffing Evaluations
Thank you for submitting the resumes of the twelve men you have picked for managerial positions in your new start up....
All of them have now taken our battery of tests, and we have not only run the results through our computers,but also arranged personal interviews for each of them with our psychologist and vocation aptitude consultant....
It is the opinion of our senior staff that most of your nominees are lacking
in background, education and vocational aptitude for the type of enterprise you
are undertaking.
They clearly do not have the team concept needed for the success of your new venture.
We would recommend that you continue your search for persons better experienced in management with demonstrated aptitudes and skills for
the tasks of your enterprise.
We have summarized the findings of our study below:
Simon Peter is emotional, unstable and given to fits of temper and lying.
Andrew has absolutely no qualities of leadership.
The two brothers, James and John,
the sons of Zebedee, place personal interests above company loyalty.
Thomas demonstrates a constant questioning attitude that would tend to undermine morale,effective delegation and efficient project management.
We believe it is our duty to tell you that Matthew has been blacklisted by the Greater Jerusalem Better Business Bureau.
James, the son of Alphaeus, an Thaddeus, definitely have radical leanings. Additionally, they both registered high scores on the manic depressive scale.
However, one of the candidates shows great potential. He's a man of ability and resourcefulness; he is a great networker; has a keen business mind; and has strong contacts in influential circles.He's highly motivated,very ambitious and adept with financial matters. We strongly recommend Judas as your Controller and Chief Operating Officer.
All the other profiles are self-explanatory.We wish you the utmost success in your new venture.
What if Jesus had chosen the twelve
based on the modern methods of ..leadership selection?
Most of them would have never had a chance to participate....
Jesus chooses people not for who they are, but for what they can become in ...Him.
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An Angel
The child asked God, "They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow, but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?"
"Your angel will be waiting for you and will take care of you."
The child further inquired, "But tell me, here in heaven I don't have to do
anything ...but sing and smile to be happy."
God said, "Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you...
And you will feel your angel's love and be very happy."
Again the child asked, "And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don't know the language?"
God said, "Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak."
"And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?"
God said, "Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray.
"Who will protect me?"
God said, "Your angel will defend you even if it means risking it's life."
"But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore. " God said,
"Your angel will always talk to you about me and will teach you the way to come back to me, even though I will always be next to you."
At that moment there was much peace in heaven, but voices from Earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked,...
"God, if I am to leave now,
please tell me my angel's name."
"You will simply call her Mommy."
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Our Lady's Midshipman
A young boy, whose parents were Jews, was one day taken by some playmates of
his own age to a Catholic church in Paris. It was the occasion of First
Communion. What passed in the heart of the young Israelite during that solemn
hour? All we know is that this glimpse of the light was never quenched from
his memory. He even expressed his desire of sharing in the happiness of those privileged children whom he had seen communicating for the first time. But,doubtless, his time had not yet come; for his mother some days after placed him as a midshipman on board a vessel. This hasty determination was intended to bring to naught the new desire of the child. At least, the mother thought so, not knowing that the Spirit of God breathes wheresoever it will.
The ship which had the young boy on board was assailed by a violent storm,
and soon became a total wreck. Some of the sailors found safety in one of the
boats. They picked up the midshipman, and all together were taken on board a
ship they were lucky enough to meet with. But their safety was not of long
duration. A new storm arose, more furious than the first, and their ship was again swallowed up. Believing that all was over for him, the poor child closed his eyes and became unconscious. He was again saved in one of the boats and taken on board a third ship. This last was also destined to perish with its crew and cargo. In the midst of the tempest the sailors began to invoke Mary, Star of the Sea. Their prayer to the Blessed Virgin during the frightful hurricane made such an impression on the poor little fellow that he mingled his voice with that of the servants of Mary.
While they were praying, a wave swept him overboard into the raging billows
of the ocean. He never knew what became of the sailors. However, stunned by
the shock, he soon regained his senses and swam with the energy of despair.
At last, overcome with fatigue, he felt that he was lost beyond help, when he perceived at a few yards' distance a barrel tossed about by the waves.
Summoning his remaining strength, he reached it and clung to it with all his
might. It was his plank of safety.
Once installed on his barrel in mid-ocean, the boy began to reflect
seriously. He recalled the scene of the tempest and the touching prayer of
the sailors. He had learned the prayer and it rose ardently from his heart to
his lips. The little Israelite said to the Mother of Christians: "Mary,Blessed Virgin, save me and soon, I promise you, I will be your child."
A ship on its way back to France caught sight of this strange buoy and
rescued the midshipman. They landed at Rouen. Our young hero, who had passed
through so many dangers, hastened to visit his family. He reached Paris on
foot and came joyously to knock at his mother's door, but for him it remained
closed. Wounded with sorrow and dying of hunger, he was found two days later,
by a Christian child, on a bench in one of the squares. A charitable and
pious family received him for a week, and then brought him to us. The dear
boy wished to receive holy Baptism and make his First Communion. "Oh, you
will see Father," he said, "that you will no longer recognize me once I am a
Christian!" Indeed, this lad, who was protected by the Blessed Virgin, is now
a fervent Catholic. Who knows if the Providence that guided him by the hand
has not also other designs upon him, and is reserving for him a post in the
Bark of St. Peter? At least such is his desire and such seems to be his
vocation.
This is a True Story
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Why Go To Church?
A Church goer wrote a letter to the editor of the newspaper and
complained that it made no sense to go to church every Sunday.
I've gone for 30 years now, he wrote, and in that time I have heard something like 3,000 sermons. But for the life of me I can't remember a single one of them. So I
think I'm wasting my time and the pastors are wasting theirs by giving
sermons at all. This started a real controversy in the Letters to the
Editor column, much to the delight of the editor. It went on for weeks until
someone wrote this clincher:
I've been married for 30 years now. In that time my wife has cooked some 32,000 meals.
But for the life of me, I cannot recall the entire menu for a single one of those meals.
But I do know this: They all nourished me and gave me the strength I needed to do my work.
If my wife had not given me those meals, I would be physically dead today.
Likewise, if I had not gone to church for nourishment, I would be spiritually dead today!
When you are DOWN to nothing.... God is UP to something!
Faith sees the invisible, believes the incredible and receives the impossible!
Thank God for our physical AND our spiritual nourishment!
Author unknown
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Room...beware..this is really powerful.
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.
There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with
small index card files.
They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order.
But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very
different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one
that read "Girls I have liked."
I opened it and began flipping through the cards.
I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life.
Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity,
coupled with horror, stirred within me.
As I began randomly opening files and exploring their content.
Some brought joy and sweet memories;
others a sense of shame and regret.
So intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed."
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird.
"Books I Have Read,"
"Lies I Have Told,"
"Comfort I have Given,"
"Jokes I Have laughed at."
Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:
"Things I've yelled at my
brothers."
Others I couldn't laugh at:
"Things I Have Done in My Anger",
"Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents."
I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected.
Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.
Could it be possible that I had the
time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards?
But each card confirmed this truth.
Each was written in my own handwriting.
Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I have listened to,"
I realized the files grew to contain their contents.
The cards were packed tightly. I pulled the drawer out for yards, and I still hadn't found the end of the file.
I shut it, ashamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast
amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked
"Lustful Thoughts,"
I felt a chill run through my body.
I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card.
I shuddered at its detailed content.
It made me sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me.
One thought dominated my mind:
"No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room!
I have to destroy them!"
In insane frenzy I yanked the file out.
Its size didn't matter now.
I had to empty it and burn the cards.
But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor,
I could not dislodge a single card.
I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel.
When I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot.
Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.
And then I saw it.
The title read "People I Have Shared the gospel with"
The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused.
I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands.
I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came.
I began to weep.
Sobs so deep that the hurt started
in my stomach and shook through me.
I fell on my knees and I cried out of
shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all.
The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes.
No one must ever, ever know of this room.
I must lock it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.
No, please not Him....
Not here.....
Oh, anyone but Jesus...
I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards.
I couldn't bear to watch His response.
And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow
deeper than my own.
He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes.
Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room.
He looked at me with pity in His eyes.
But this was a pity that didn't anger me.
I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again.
He walked over and put His arm around me.
He could have said so many things.
But He didn't say a word.
He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files.
Starting at one end of the room,
He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign ...
His name over mine on each card.
"No!" I shouted, rushing to Him.
All I could find to say was "No, no, no" as I pulled the card from Him.
His name shouldn't be on these cards.
But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive.
The name of Jesus covered mine.
It was written with His blood.
He gently took the card back.
He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards.
I don't think I'll ever understand how ...
He did it so quickly, but the next
instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.
He placed His hand on my shoulder and said,
"It is finished...."
I stood up, and He led me out of the room.
There was no lock on its door.
There were still cards to be written.
"For God so loved the world that
He gave His only son, that
whoever believes in Him...
shall not perish but have eternal life...."
If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as you can so the
love of Jesus will touch their lives also.
My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger; how about yours?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Retarded Children
In the state of Michigan they began to mix retarded children in with the regular classes in primary schools. Here is what happened recently in a newly integrated sixth grade.
It was recess time and one of the children said to the other, "Come on, Theresa, let's go. Don't bother with Elizabeth she's retarded." And so
they left.
And Elizabeth, who was retarded but not deaf, walked slowly back to the classroom and said to the teacher,
"Mrs. Browning, am I retarded?" And
Mrs. Browning smiled a loving smile and took Elizabeth by the hand and said,
"Yes, Elizabeth, you are retarded."
She paused for just an instant and then she continued, "And, Elizabeth, I am retarded because God did not make any perfect people.
But, Elizabeth, none are more retarded than those who could, but will not understand."
Jesus said: "What you do for one of these least important brothers of mine, you do for me." [Mat.
25:40]
---------------------------------------- Carl's Garden
Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well. Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.
When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically un-assuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened. He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked,"Would you like a drink from the hose?"
The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure", with a malevolent little smile. As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.
Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg.He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him. Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop it. "Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet. Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head.
"Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday." His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water. Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?" "I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately", came the calm reply. Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.
A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose. This time they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done. Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.
The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormenters reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack. "Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time." The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl.
As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl. "What's this?" Carl asked. "It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help me now?" The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. "I learned something from you", he said. "I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate." He stopped for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back." He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say. "That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess." And with that, he walked off down the street.
Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago. He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church. The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden."
The following spring another flyer went up. It read: "Person needed to care for Carl's garden." The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister's office door. Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. "I believe this is my job, if you'll have me," the young man said.
The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's garden and honor him." The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done.
In that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it. One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, "My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday" "Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?" "Carl," he replied.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE POEM
I knelt to pray but not for long,
I had too much to do.
I had to hurry and get to work
For bills would soon be due.
So I knelt and said a hurried prayer,
And jumped up off my knees.
My duty was now done
My soul could rest at ease.
All day long I had no time
To spread a word of cheer.
No time to speak of Christ to friends,
They'd laugh at me I'd fear.
No time, no time, too much to do,
That was my constant cry,
No time to give to souls in need
But at last the time, the time to die.
I went before the Lord,
I came, I stood with downcast eyes.
For in his hands God held a book;
It was the book of life.
God looked into his book and said
"Your name I cannot find.
I once was going to write it down...
But never found the time"
Now do you have the time to pass it on?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Joy Saker wrote:
Now it came to pass that a group existed who called themselves fishermen.
And lo, there were many fish in the waters all around. In fact, the whole
area was surrounded by streams and lakes filled with fish. And the fish were hungry. Year after year these who called themselves fishermen met in
meetings and talked about their call to fish, the abundance of fish, and how
they might go about fishing.
Continually they searched for new and better definitions of fishing. They
sponsored costly nationwide and worldwide congresses to discuss fishing and to promote fishing and hear about all the ways of fishing.
These fishermen built large, beautiful buildings called "Fishing
Headquarters." The plea was that everyone should be a fisherman and every
fisherman should fish. One thing they didn't do, however; they didn't fish.
They organized a board to send out fishermen to where there were many fish.
The board was formed by those who had the great vision and courage to speak
about fishing, to define fishing, and to promote the idea of fishing in
far-away streams and lakes where many other fish of different colors lived.
Also the board hired staffs and appointed committees and held many meetings to define fishing, to defend fishing, and to decide what new streams should be thought about. But the staff and committee members did not fish.
Expensive training centers were built to teach fishermen how to fish. Those
who taught had doctorates in fishology, but the teachers did not fish. They only taught fishing. Year after year, graduates were sent to do full-time fishing, some to distant waters filled with fish.
Further, the fishermen built large printing houses to publish fishing
guides. A speaker's bureau was also provided to schedule special speakers on
the subject of fishing.
Many who felt the call to be fishermen responded, and were sent to fish. But like the fishermen back home, they never fished.
Some also said they wanted to be part of the fishing party, but they felt
called to furnish fishing equipment. Others felt their job was to relate to
the fish in a good way so the fish would know the difference between good
and bad fishermen. After one stirring meeting on "The Necessity for Fishing," a young fellow left the meeting and went fishing. The next day he reported he had caught two outstanding fish. He was honored for his
excellent catch and scheduled to visit all the big meetings possible to tell how he did it.
So he quit his fishing in order to have time to tell about the experience to the other fishermen. He was also placed on the Fishermen's General Board as a person having considerable experience. Now it's true that many of the fishermen sacrificed and put up with all kinds of difficulties. Some lived near the water and bore the smell of dead fish every day. They received the ridicule of some who made fun of their fishermen's clubs and the fact that they claimed to be fishermen yet never fished.
They wondered about those who felt it was of little use to attend the weekly
meetings to talk about fishing. After all, were they not following the
Master who said, "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men?
Imagine how hurt some were when one day a person suggested that those who
didn't catch fish were really not fishermen, no matter how much they claimed to be. Yet it did sound correct. Is a person a fisherman if year after year he never catches a fish or (even worse) never goes fishing?
Author unknown
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From: Tinlizzie117
I'm blessed with a lot of great friends that I love dearly !
Six-year old Brandon decided one Saturday morning to fix his parents pancakes. He found a big bowl and spoon, pulled chair to the
counter,opened the cupboard and pulled out the heavy flour canister, spilling it on the floor.
He scooped some of the flour into the bowl with his hands, mixed in most of a cup of milk and added some sugar, leaving a floury trail on the floor which by now had a few tracks left by his kitten.
Brandon was covered with flour and getting frustrated.
He wanted this to be something very good for Mom and Dad, but it was getting very bad.
He didn't know what to do next, whether to put it all into the oven or on the stove, (and he didn't know how the stove worked!).
Suddenly he saw his kitten licking the bowl of mix and reached to push her away, knocking the egg carton to the floor.
Frantically he tried to clean up this monumental mess but slipped on the eggs, getting his pajamas white and sticky.
Just then he saw Dad standing at the door.
Big tears welled up in Brandon's eyes. All he wanted to do was something good, but he'd made a terrible mess. He was sure a scolding was coming, maybe even a spanking.
But his father just watched him.
Walking through the mess, he picked up his crying son, hugged him getting his own pajamas white and sticky in the process of loving him.
That's how God deals with us. We try to do something good in life, but sometimes it turns into a mess.
Our marriage gets all sticky, or we insult a friend, or we can't stand our job or co-workers, or our health goes sour.
Sometimes we just stand there in tears because we can't think of anything else to do.
That's when God picks us up and loves us and forgives us, even though some of our mess gets all over Him.
But, just because we might mess up, we can't stop trying like Brandon to "make pancakes," for God or for others. Sooner or later we'll get it right, and then they'll be glad we tried.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Charles Plumb was a US Navy jet pilot in Vietnam.
After 75 combat missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. Plumb ejected and parachuted into enemy hands. He was captured and spent 6 years in a communist Vietnamese prison. He survived the ordeal and now lectures on lessons learned from that experience.
One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came up and said, "You're Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam from the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. You were shot down!"
"How in the world did you know that?" asked Plumb.
"I packed your parachute," the man replied. Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude.
The man pumped his hand and said, "I guess it worked!" Plumb assured him, "It sure did. If your chute hadn't worked, I wouldn't be here today."
Plumb couldn't sleep that night, thinking about that man.
Plumb says, "I kept wondering what he might have looked like in a Navy uniform: a white hat, a bib in the back, and bell-bottom trousers. I wonder how many times I might have seen him and not even said 'Good morning how are you?' or anything because, you see, I was a
fighter pilot and he was just a sailor."
Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent on a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship, carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands each time the fate of someone he didn't know.
Now, Plumb asks his audience, "Who's packing your parachute?" Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through the day. Plumb also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes when his plane was shot down over enemy territory-he needed his physical parachute, his mental parachute, his emotional parachute, and his spiritual parachute. He called on all these supports before reaching safety.
Sometimes in the daily challenges that life gives us, we miss what is really important. We may fail to say hello, please, or thank you, congratulate someone on something wonderful that has happened to them, give a compliment, or just do something nice for no reason.
Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us without writing a word, maybe this could explain:
When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do -- --you forward jokes.
And to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you get? --- A forwarded joke.
So my friend, next time if you get a joke, don't think that been sent just another forwarded joke, but that you've been thought of today and your friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile.
As you go through this week, this month, this year, recognize people who pack your parachute. I am sending you this as my way of thanking you for your part in packing my parachute !!! And I hope you will send it on to those who have helped pack yours!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One rainy afternoon I was driving along one of the main streets of town,
taking those extra precautions necessary when the roads are wet and
slick. Suddenly, my son Matthew spoke up from his relaxed position in the front seat. "Mom, I'm thinking of something." This announcement usually meant he had been pondering some fact for a
while and was now ready to expound all that his seven-year-old mind
had discovered.
I was eager to hear. What are you thinking?" I asked. "The rain,"
he began, "is like sin and the windshield wipers are like God,
wiping our sins away."
After the chill bumps raced up my arms I was able to respond.
"That's really good, Matthew." Then my curiosity broke in.
How far would this little boy take this revelation?
So I asked... "Do you notice how the rain keeps on coming? What does that tell you?"
Matthew didn't hesitate one moment with his answer: "We keep on sinning, and God just keeps on forgiving us."
I will always remember this whenever I turn my wipers on.
Isn't it comforting to know that God does keep forgiving us. That all we
have to do is ask Him to come into our lives and He will keep washing our sins away.
Hope each of you remember this when you turn on your wipers and also remember to pass the message on - God does keep
forgiving when we invite him into our life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
............Tommy...........
Tommy ~~~ A Story Of Love And A Search For God.
John Powell, a professor at Loyola University in Chicago writes about a student in his Theology of Faith class named Tommy:
Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith. That was the day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind both blinked. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches below his shoulders.
It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that long. I
guess it was just coming into fashion then. I know in my mind that it isn't what's on your head but what's in it that counts; but on that day I was unprepared and my emotions flipped. I immediately filed Tommy under "S" for strange. . .very strange.
Tommy turned out to be the "atheist in residence" in my Theology of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at, or whined about the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father/God. We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the back pew.
When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final exam, he asked in a slightly cynical tone, "Do you think I'll ever find God?" I decided instantly on a little shock therapy. "No!" I said very emphatically.
"Oh," he responded, "I thought that was the product you were pushing." I let him get five steps from the classroom door and then called out, "Tommy! I don't think you'll ever find Him, but I am absolutely certain that He will find you!"
He shrugged a little and left my class and my life. I felt slightly
disappointed at the thought that he had missed my clever line --- He will find you! At least I thought it was clever. Later I heard that Tommy had graduated and I was duly grateful.
Then a sad report came. I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer. Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into my office, his body was very badly wasted and the long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy. But his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first time, I believe.
"Tommy, I've thought about you so often. I hear you are sick," I
blurted out. "Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It's a matter of weeks."
"Can you talk about it, Tom?" I asked.
"Sure, what would you like to know?" he replied.
"What's it like to be only twenty-four and dying?"
"Well, it could be worse."
"Like what?"
"Well, like being fifty and having no values or ideals, like being fifty and thinking that booze, seducing women, and making money are the real 'biggies' in life."
I began to look through my mental file cabinet under 'S' where I had filed Tommy as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by classification, God sends back into my life to educate me.)
"But what I really came to see you about," Tom said, "is something you said to me on the last day of class." (He remembered!) He continued, "I asked you if you thought I would ever find God and you said, 'No!' which surprised me. Then you said, 'But He will find you.' I thought about that a lot, even though my search for God was hardly intense at that time.
(My clever line. He thought about that a lot!) "But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me that it was malignant, that's when I got serious about locating God. And when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven. But God did not come out. In fact, nothing happened.
Did you ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with trying. And then you quit. Well, one day I woke up, and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there, I just quit. I decided that I didn't really care about God, about an after life, or anything like that. I decided to spend what time I had left doing something more profitable. I thought about you and your class and I remembered something else you had said: 'The essential
sadness is to go through life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them.'"
"So, I began with the hardest one, my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him."
"Dad."
"Yes, what?" he asked without lowering the newspaper.
"Dad, I would like to talk with you."
"Well, talk."
"I mean . . . It's really important."
The newspaper came down three slow inches. "What is it?"
"Dad, I love you. I just wanted you to know that."
Tom smiled at me and said it with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and secret joy flowing inside of him.
"The newspaper fluttered to the floor. Then my father did two things I could never remember him ever doing before. He cried and he hugged me.
We talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me."
"It was easier with my mother and little brother. They cried with me, too, and we hugged each other, and started saying real nice things to each other.
We shared the things we had been keeping secret for so many years. I was only sorry about one thing --- that I had waited so long.
Here I was, just beginning to open up to all the people I had actually been close to."
"Then, one day I turned around and God was there. He didn't come to me when I pleaded with Him. I
