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Comfort
The Rented Room
Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of
Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the
upstairs rooms to outpatients 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
prefaced 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.
And 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 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 illness' 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.
The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man
looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." (1
Samuel 16:7b)
The 7 Ups
1. Wake Up !!
Decide to have a good day.
"This is the day the Lord hath made;
let us rejoice and be glad in it."
Psalms 118:24
2. Dress Up !!
The best way to dress up is to put on a smile.
A smile is an inexpensive way to improve your looks.
"The Lord does not look at the things man looks at.
Man looks at outward appearance,
but the Lord looks at the heart."
I Samuel 16:7
3. Shut Up!!
Say nice things and learn to listen.
God gave us two ears and one mouth,
so He must have meant for us to do twice as much listening as talking.
"He who guards his lips guards his soul."
Proverbs 13:3
4. Stand Up!!
. . . for what you believe in.
Stand for something or you will fall for anything.
"Let us not be weary in doing good; for at the proper time,
we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.
Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good..."
Galatians 6:9-10
5. Look Up !!
. . . to the Lord.
"I can do everything through Christ who strengthens me".
Philippians 4:13
6. Reach Up !!
. . . for something higher.
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and lean not unto your own understanding.
In all your ways, acknowledge Him, and He will direct your path."
Proverbs 3:5-6
7. Lift Up !!
. . . your Prayers.
"Do not worry about anything; instead
PRAY ABOUT EVERYTHING."
Philippians 4:6
THE STORY OF EDITH BURNS...
Edith Burns was a wonderful Christian who lived in San Antonio, Texas.
She was the patient of a doctor by the name of Will Phillips. Dr. Phillips
was a gentle doctor who saw patients as people. His favorite patient was
Edith Burns.
One morning he went to his office with a heavy heart and it was because
of Edith Burns. When he walked into that waiting room, there sat Edith
with her big black Bible in her lap earnestly talking to a young mother
sitting beside her.
Edith Burns had a habit of introducing herself in this way: "Hello, my
name is Edith Burns. Do you believe in Easter?" Then she would explain the
meaning of Easter, and many times people would be saved.
Dr. Phillips walked into that office and there he saw the head nurse,
Beverly. Beverly had first met Edith when she was taking her b! lood
pressure. Edith began by saying, "My name is Edith Burns. Do you
believe in
Easter?"
Beverly said, "Why yes I do."
Edith said, "Well, what do you believe about Easter?"
Beverly said, "Well, it's all about egg hunts, going to church, and
dressing up." Edith kept pressing her about the real meaning of Easter, and
finally led her to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ.
Dr. Phillips said, "Beverly, don't call Edith into the office quite
yet. I believe there is another delivery taking place in the waiting room.
After bring called back in the doctor's office, Edith sat down and when
she took a look at the doctor she said, "Dr. Will, why are you so sad? Are
you reading your Bible? Are you praying?"
Dr. Phillips said gently, "Edith, I'm the doctor and you're the
patient."
With a heavy heart he said, "Your lab report came back and it says you
have cancer, and Edith, you're not going to live very long."
Edith said, "Why Will Phillips, shame on you. Why are you so sad? Do
you think God makes mistakes? You have just told me I'm going to see my
precious Lord Jesus, my husband, and my friends. You have just told me
that I am going to celebrate Easter Forever, and here you are having
difficulty giving me my ticket!"
Dr. Phillips thought to himself, "What a magnificent woman this Edith
Burns is!" Edith continued coming to Dr. Phillips. Christmas came and the
office was closed through January 3rd. On the day the office opened, Edith
did not show up. Later that afternoon, Edith called Dr. Phillips and said she
would have to be moving her story to the hospital and said, "Will, I'm
very near home, so would you make sure that they put women in here next to
me in my room who need to know abo! ut Easter."
Well, they did just that and women began to come in and share that room
with Edith. Many women were saved. Everybody on that floor from staff to
patients were so excited about Edith, that they started calling her
Edith Easter; that is everyone except Phyllis Cross, the head nurse.
Phyllis made it plain that she wanted nothing to do with Edith because
she was a "religious nut". She had been a nurse in an army hospital. She
had seen it all and heard it all. She was the original G.I. Jane. She
had been married three times, she was hard, cold, and did everything by the
book.
One morning the two nurses who were to attend to Edith were sick.
Edith had the flu and Phyllis Cross had to go in and give her a shot. When she
walked in, Edith had a big smile on her face and said, "Phyllis, God loves you
and I love you, and I have bee! n praying for you."
Phyllis Cross said, "Well, you can quit praying for me, it won't work.
I'm not interested."
Edith said, "Well, I will pray and I have asked God not to let me go
home until you come into the family."
Phyllis Cross said, "Then you will never die because that will never
happen," and curtly walked out of the room.
Every day Phyllis Cross would walk into the room and Edith would say,
"God loves you Phyllis and I love you, and I'm praying for you."
One day Phyllis Cross said she was literally drawn to Edith's room like
a magnet would draw iron. She sat down on the bed and Edith said, "I'm
so glad you have come, because God told me that today is your special
day."
Phyllis Cross said, "Edith, you have asked everybody here the question,
'Do you believe in Easter?' but you have never asked me."
Edith said, "Phyllis, I wanted to many times, but God told me to! wait
until you asked, and now that you have asked.."
Edith Burns took her Bible and shared with Phyllis Cross the Easter
Story of the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Edith said,
"Phyllis, do you believe in Easter? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is alive
and that He wants to live in your heart?"
Phyllis Cross said, "Oh I want to believe that with all of my heart,
and I do want Jesus in my life." Right there, Phyllis Cross prayed and
invited Jesus Christ into her heart. For the first time Phyllis Cross did not
walk out of a hospital room, she was carried out on the wings of angels.
Two days later, Phyllis Cross came in and Edith said, "Do you know what
day it is?" Phyllis Cross said,"Why Edith, it's Good Friday."
Edith said, "Oh, no, for you every day is Easter. Happy Easter
Phyllis!"
Two days later, on Easter Sunday, Phyllis Cross cam! e into work, did
some of her duties and then went down to the flower shop and got some Easter
lilies because she wanted to go up to see Edith and give her some Easter
lilies and wish her a Happy Easter.
When she walked into Edith's room, Edith was in bed. That big black
Bible was on her lap. Her hands were in that Bible. There was a sweet smile
on her face. When Phyllis Cross went to pick up Edith's hand, she
realized Edith was dead.
Her left hand was on John 14: "In my Father's house are many mansions.
I go to prepare a place for you,I will come again and receive you to Myself,
that where I am, there you may be also."
Her right hand was on Revelation 21:4, " And God will wipe away every
tear from their eyes, there shall be no more death nor sorrow, nor crying;
and there shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away."
Phyllis Cross! took one look at that dead body, and then lifted her face
toward heaven, and with tears streaming down here cheeks, said, "Happy
Easter, Edith - Happy Easter!"
Phyllis Cross left Edith's body, walked out of the room, and over to a
table where two student nurses were sitting. She said, "My name is Phyllis
Cross. Do you believe in Easter?"
Butt Prints In The Sand
One night I had a wondrous dream,
One set of footprints there was seen,
The footprints of my precious Lord,
But mine were not along the shore.
But then some stranger prints appeared...
And I asked the Lord, "What have we here?
Those prints are large and round and neat,
But Lord, they are too big for feet."
"My child," He said in somber tones,
"For miles I carried you alone.
I challenged you to walk in faith,
But you refused and made me wait."
"You disobeyed, you would not grow,
The walk of faith you would not know...
So I got tired, I got fed up,
And there I dropped you on your butt."
"Because in life there comes a time
When one must fight, and one must climb,
When one must rise and take a stand,
Or leave their butt prints in the sand."
- Author Unknown
GOD WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS
It was an unusually cold day for the month of May.
Spring had arrived and everything was alive with
color. But a cold front from the North had brought
winter's chill back to Indiana. I sat, with two
friends, in the picture window of a quaint restaurant
just off the corner of the towns-square. The food
and the company were both especially good that day.
As we talked, my attention was drawn outside,
across the street. There, walking into town, was a man
who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on
his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read,
I will work for food." My heart sank. I brought him
to the attention of my friends and noticed that others
around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads
moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We
continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my
mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways.
I had errands to do and quickly set out to
accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square,
looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange
visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing
him again would call some response. I drove through
town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at
a store and got back in my car.
Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to
me: "Don't go back to the office until you've at least
driven once more around the square." And so, with some
hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the
square's third corner. I saw him. He was standing on
the steps of the storefront church, going
through his sack. I stopped and looked, feeling both
compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on.
The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a
sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got
out and approached the town's newest visitor. "Looking
for the pastor?" I asked. "Not really," he replied,
just resting."
Have you eaten today?" "Oh, I ate something early
this morning."
Would you like to have lunch with me?"
Do you have some work I could do for you?"
No work," I replied. "I commute here to work from
the city, but I would like to take you to lunch."
Sure, he replied with a smile.
As he began to gather his things. I asked some
surface questions. "Where you headed?" "St. Louis."
Where you from?" "Oh, all over; mostly Florida."
How long you been walking?"
"Fourteen years," came the reply.
I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across
from each other in the same restaurant I had left
earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38
years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with
an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He
removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that
said, "Jesus is The Never Ending Story."
Then Daniel's story began to unfold. He had seen
rough times early in life. He'd made some wrong
choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years
earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had
stopped on the beach in Daytona.
He tried to hire on with some men who were putting
up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he
thought. He was hired, but the tent would not house a
concert but revival services, and in those
services he saw life more clearly.
He gave his life over to God. "Nothing's been the
same since," he said, "I felt the Lord telling me to
keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now."
Ever think of stopping?" I asked.
Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the
best of me.
But God has given me this calling. I give out
Bibles. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food
and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit
leads."
I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless.
He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The
question burned inside for a moment and then I asked:
What's it like?" "What?"
To walk into a town carrying all your things on
your back and to show your sign?"
Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would
stare and make comments. Once someone tossed a piece
of half eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly
didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became
humbling to realize that God was using me to touch
lives and change people's concepts of other folks like
me."
My concept was changing, too. We finished our
dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the
door, he paused. He turned to me and said, "Come Yea
blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom
I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave
me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a
stranger and you took me in."
I felt as if we were on holy ground.
Could you use another Bible?" I asked.
He said he preferred a certain translation. It
traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his
personal favorite. "I've read through it 14 times," he
said. "I'm not sure we've got one of those, but
let's stop by our church and see."
I was able to find my new friend a Bible that
would do well, and he seemed very grateful. "Where you
headed from here?"
Well, I found this little map on the back of this
amusement park coupon."
Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?"
No, I just figure I should go there. I figure
someone under that star right there needs a Bible,
that's where I'm going next." He smiled, and the
warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his
mission. I drove him back to the town square where
we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it
started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.
"Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked.
I like to keep messages from folks I meet."
I wrote in his little book that his commitment to
his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to
stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture
from Jeremiah, "I know the plans I have for you,"
declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to
harm you. Plans to give you a future and a hope."
Thanks, man," he said. "I know we just met and
we're really just strangers, but I love you."
I know," I said, "I love you, too."
The Lord is good."
Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone
hugged you?" I asked. "A long time," he replied.
And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling
rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep
inside that I had been changed. He put his things on
his back, smiled his winning smile and said, "See you
in the New Jerusalem."
"I'll be there!" was my reply.
He began his journey again. He headed away with
his sign dangling from his bed roll and pack of
Bibles. He stopped, turned and said, "When you see
something that makes you think of me, will you pray
for me?"
You bet," I shouted back, "God bless."
God bless." And that was the last I saw of him.
Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew
strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town.
I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and
reached for the emergency brake, I saw them... a pair
of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the
length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of
my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm.
Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They
help me to see the world and its people in a new way,
and they help me remember those two hours with my
unique friend and to pray for his ministry.
"See you in the New Jerusalem," he said. Yes,
Daniel, I know I will...
Brandon
Six year old Brandon decided one Saturday morning to fix his parents
pancakes. He found a big bowl and spoon, pulled a 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 from 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.
And just then he saw Dad standing at the door. Big crocodile tears
welled up
in Brandon's eyes. All he'd 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. Then, walking through the mess, he picked
up his crying son, hugged him and loved him, getting his own pajamas white
and sticky in the process.
That's how God deals with us. We try to do something good in life, but
it turns into a mess. Our marriage gets all sticky or we insult a
friend or we can't stand our job 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 to "make pancakes," for God or for others. Sooner
or later we'll get it right, and then they'll be glad we tried...
Please pass some of this love on to others..........
suppose one morning you never wake up, do all your friends know you love
them? I was thinking...I could die today, tomorrow or next week and I
wondered if I had any wounds needing to be healed, friendships that need
rekindling or three words needing to be said, sometimes, "I love you"
can heal & bless. Let every one of your friends know you love them. Even
if you think they don't love back, you would be amazed at what those
three little words and a smile can do.
Unfolding the Rose
A young, new preacher was walking with an older, more seasoned preacher in the garden one day and feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do, he was inquiring of the older preacher. The older preacher walked up to a rosebush and handed the young preacher a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing off any petals. The young preacher looked in disbelief at the older preacher and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the WILL OF GOD for his life and for his ministry. Because of his high respect for the older preacher, he proceeded to TRY to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal intact...It wasn't long before he realized how impossible it was to do so. Noticing the younger preacher's inability to unfold the rosebud while keeping it intact, the older preacher began to recite the following poem...
UNFOLDING THE ROSE
It is only a tiny rosebud,
A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
GOD opens this flower so sweetly,
When in my hands they die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
Then how can I have the wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So I'll trust in Him for leading
Each moment of my day.
I will look to him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.
Please share this poem with a friend if you enjoyed being reminded to let go and let God unfold the moments.
Ice Cream Is Good For The Soul
Last week I took my children to a restaurant. My six-year-old
son asked if he could say grace. As we bowed our heads he said,
"God is good. God is great. Thank You for the food, and I would
even thank you more if Mom gets us ice cream for dessert. And
Liberty and justice for all. Amen!"
Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby, I heard
a woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids
today don't even know how to pray. Asking God for ice-cream.
Why, I never!"
Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it
wrong? Is God mad at me?"
As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job and
God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached
the table.
He winked at my son and said, "I happen to know that God thought
that was a great prayer."
"Really?" my son asked.
"Cross my heart." Then in a theatrical whisper he added,
indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing,
"Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is
good for the soul sometimes."
Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal. My
son stared at his for a moment and then did something I will
remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and
without a word walked over and placed it in front of the woman.
With a big smile he told her, "Here, this is for you. Ice cream
is good for the soul sometimes, and my soul is good already."
Special Delivery!
Sally jumped up as soon as she saw the surgeon coming out of the
operating room. She said, "How is my little boy? Is he going to be OK? When can
see him?"
The Surgeon said, "I'm sorry, we did all we could."
Sally said, "Why do little children get cancer? Doesn't GOD care any
more?
GOD, where were you when my son needed you?"
The Surgeon said, "One of the nurses will be out in a few minutes to
let you spend time with your son before his body is transported to the
university."
Sally asked that the nurse stay with her while she said good-bye to her
son.
She lovingly ran her fingers through his thick red curly hair.
The nurse said, "Would you like a lock of his hair?" Sally nodded yes.
The nurse cut a lock of his hair, put it in a plastic bag, and handed it
to Sally.
Sally said, "It was Jimmy's idea to give his body to the university for
study. He said it might help somebody else, and that is what he wanted.
I said 'No' at first, but Jimmy said, 'Mom, I won't be using it after I
die, maybe it will help some other little boy to be able to spend one more
day with his mother."
She continued, "My Jimmy had a heart of gold, always thinking of
someone else and always wanting to help others if he could."
Sally walked out of the Children's Hospital for the last time now after
spending most of the last 6 months there. She sat the bag, with
Jimmy's things in it, on the seat beside her in the car. The drive home was
hard and it was even harder to go into an empty house. She took the bag to
Jimmy's room and started placing the model cars and things back in his
room, exactly where he had always kept them. She laid down across his bed and
cried herself to sleep while clutching his pillow.
Sally woke up about midnight and saw, beside her on the bed, a folded
letter. She opened the letter.
Dear Mom,
I know your going to miss me, but don't think that I will ever
forget you or stop loving you because I'm not around to say I LOVE
YOU.
I'll think of you every day and I'll love you even more each day.
Some day we will see each other again. If you want to adopt a little boy so
you won't be so lonely, he can have my room and my old stuff to play with.
If you decide to get a girl instead, she probably wouldn't like the
same things as us boys do, so you will have to buy her dolls and stuff
girls like. Don't be sad when you think about me, this is really a
great place. Grandma and Grandpa met me as soon as I got here and showed
me around some, but it will take a long time to see everything
here.
The angels are so friendly, I love to watch them fly. Jesus
doesn't look like any of the pictures I saw of Him, but I knew it was Him as soon as
I saw Him. Jesus took me to see GOD! And guess what, Mom? I got to
sit on GOD'S knee and talk to Him like I was somebody important. I
told GOD that wanted to write you a letter and tell you good-bye and
everything, but I knew that wasn't allowed. God handed me some paper
and His own personal pen to write you this letter. I think Gabriel is
the name of the angel who is going to drop this letter off to you. God
said for me to give you the answer to one of the questions you
asked Him--Where was He when I needed him? God said, "The same place He was
when Jesus was on the cross. He was right there, as He always is with
all His children. Oh, by the way Mom, nobody else can see what is written
on this paper but you. To everyone else, it looks like a blank piece of
paper. I have to give God His pen back now, he has some more names to
write in the Book Of Life. Tonight I get to sit at the table with Jesus
for Supper. I'm sure the food will be great. I almost forgot to let
you know - Now I don't hurt anymore, the cancer is all gone. I'm glad
because I couldn't stand that pain anymore and God couldn't stand to
see me suffer the pain either, so He sent The Angel of Mercy to get me.
The Angel said I was Special Delivery!
With Our Love,
God, Jesus and Me
Uncle Charlie
I remember being scared the first time I saw Uncle
Charlie. I had just stepped off the school bus, and coming
into the house from the brightness of day, I couldn't see.
When my eyes adjusted, I was surprised to see a bed in the
dining room. A strange, unshaven man, propped up by
pillows, sat in the darkened room. For a second, I
wondered whether I was in the wrong house.
"Patty, is that you?" my grandmother called from the
other room. I bolted into the kitchen.
"Nana, who's that man?"
"Remember me telling you about Charlie, about how sick
he got in the war and how they put him in the veterans'
hospital? Well, that man in there is your Uncle Charlie."
The silent man in the dining room didn't look anything
like the smiling photograph on the mantle.
"Last night, Patty, I had a dream," my grandmother
said. "In the dream, God spoke. He said, 'Go get your
son. Bring him home, and he'll get well.' That's what I
did. This morning after you went to school, I took the
city bus to the hospital. I walked right into that place,
into Charlie's room, took him by the hand, and said, 'I'm
taking you home.'" Nana chuckled. "Good heavens, how we
must have looked, charging down that big ol' hospital lawn,
him in that gown, open and flapping in the back. Nobody
stopped us. But nobody said a word, even when we got on
the bus." She paused. "It was like we was invisible."
"Nana, Charlie didn't look like he saw me. Maybe I'm
invisible too."
"Charlie saw you. It's just that he's got what the
doctors call catatonic. Guess that's their fancy way of
saying cat's got his tongue." She stopped rocking. "Don't
you worry now. Charlie will be talking. He just needs to
know we love him, that he's home."
Frightened by the dark beyond the open kitchen door, I
ran out the back door, leaped off the porch and raced
across the field, slapping my hips, pretending I was both
horse and rider.
For months, I avoided the dining room. Finally I
became accustomed to Charlie's silence. After that, I
played in Charlie's room. His blanket-covered knees were
the "towers" of my castles.
"Charlie, you awake?" I whispered. "Today at school,
I saw a picture of an enchanted prince in my teacher's
book. He's got long hair, just like you."
Dust sparkled in the shaft of light streaming in under
the drawn shade. I grabbed at the sparkles, making the
dust whirl.
"Look Charlie, I've caught us a handful of sun. It's
got millions and billions of tiny stars in it." I held out
my fist. "I've caught some for you."
"Patty, I've got something for you," Nana called from
outside.
Before leaving Charlie, I put my favorite doll with
its red nail-polish lips and half-bald head next to him,
and tucked them both in.
"She's a princess. I'm leaving her to keep you
company."
I found this little bird under the old oak," Nana
said. "Its eyes are still closed. It must have just
pecked out of its shell. There's a dropper in the medicine
cabinet in the bathroom. Use that dropper to feed him
ground-up sunflower seeds and water."
She handed me the bird. "Empty out a shoe box and be
sure to put something soft in it for a lining. What are
you going to name him?"
"Little Bird. I'm calling him Little Bird, just like
in the song."
I went inside and dumped the shoe box with my rock
collection on the rug.
"Hey, Charlie, look what I've got!" I put Little Bird
in the empty box. "Watch him for a minute. I've got to
get the dropper." I put the box in Charlie's lap.
When I returned with the dropper, the box was lying on
the floor, empty. Charlie had dropped him!
"Charlie," I whispered, trying not to cry, "where is
Little Bird?"
Cracking open his cupped hands, Charlie smiled as he
stared at the tiny, hunger-stretched beak that peeked up
between his thumbs and forefingers.
That evening, when I was mashing potatoes, I said,
"You know what, Nana? Charlie's taking care of Little
Bird."
"I know it. I saw him. And you know something else?
He's making humming noises, like he's singing."
Nana was getting Charlie's tray ready when Charlie
walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He was
dressed in overalls and a plaid shirt. It was the first
time I'd seen him in anything other than pajamas. Nana
opened her eyes in exaggerated surprise. She looked so
silly I started to laugh.
Then Charlie made the first sound, other than snoring
and coughing, that I'd ever heard him make. He laughed!
Slapping his knees, he laughed until tears ran down his
cheeks. Then he reached into the big pocket of his
overalls and took out Little Bird.
"Look," he said. "Isn't this the sweetest, most
helpless thing you ever saw?"
Nana almost fell off her chair. Then she started to
cry. I wasn't surprised, because I knew that even though
he'd been placed under a spell, the spell couldn't last.
they never do.
Speeding
Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing
down: 73 in a 55 zone. Fourth time in as many months. How could a
guy get caught so often? When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour,
Jack pulled over, but only partially. Let the cop worry about the
potential traffic hazard. Maybe some other car will tweak his
backside
with a mirror.
The cop was stepping out of his car, the big pad in
hand. Bob? Bob from Church? Jack sunk farther into his trench
coat.
This was worse than the coming ticket. A Christian cop catching
a guy from his own church. A guy who happened to be a little eager to
get home after a long day at the office. A guy he was about to play golf
with tomorrow.
Jumping out of the car, he approached a man he saw
every Sunday, a man he'd never seen in uniform. "Hi, Bob. Fancy
meeting you like this."
"Hello, Jack." No smile.
"Looks like you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my
wife and kids."
"Yeah, I guess." Bob seemed uncertain. Good.
"I've seen some long days at the office lately. I'm
afraid I bent the
rules a bit-just this once." Jack toed at a pebble on
the pavement.
"Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes
tonight. Know what
I mean?"
"I know what you mean. I also know that you have a
reputation in our
precinct."
Ouch. This was not going in the right direction. Time
to change
tactics. "What'd you clock me at?"
"Seventy. Would you sit back in your car please?"
"Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as I
saw you. I was
barely nudging 65." The lie seemed to come easier with
every ticket.
"Please, Jack, get back in the car."
Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open
door. Slamming
it shut, he stared at the dash board. He was in no rush
to open the
window. The minutes ticked by. Bob scribbled away on
the pad. Why
hadn't he asked for a driver's license? Whatever the
reason, it would
be a month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near this cop
again.
A tap on the door jerked his head to the left. There was
Bob, a folded
paper in hand. Jack rolled down the window a mere two
inches, just
enough room for Bob to pass him the slip. "Thanks."
Jack could not
quite keep the sneer out of his voice.
Bob returned to his police car without a word. Jack
watched his retreat
in the mirror. Jack unfolded the sheet of paper. How
much was this one
going to cost? Wait a minute. What was this? Some
kind of joke?
Certainly not a ticket. Jack began to read:
"Dear Jack,
Once upon a time I had a daughter. She was six when she
was killed by a
car. You guessed it - a speeding driver. A fine and
three months in
jail, and the man was free. Free to hug his daughters.
All three of
them. I only had one, and I'm going to have to wait
until Heaven before
I can ever hug her again. A thousand times I've tried
to forgive that
man. A thousand times I thought I had. Maybe I did,
but I need to do
it again. Even now. Pray for me. And be careful.
My son is all I have left.
"Bob"
Jack turned around in time to see Bob's car pull away
and head down the
road.
Jack watched until it disappeared. A full 15 minutes
later, he too,
pulled away and drove slowly home, praying for
forgiveness and hugging a
surprised wife and kids when he arrived.
Life is precious. Handle with care. This is an
important message,
please pass it along to your friends. Drive safely and
carefully.
Remember, cars are not the only thing recalled by their
maker. Funny how you can send a thousand 'jokes' through e-mail and
they spread like wildfire, but when you start sending messages regarding
spiritual matters, and the sanctity of life, people think twice
about sharing.
The Smell of Rain
A cold March wind danced around the dead
of night in Dallas as the Doctor walked into the
small hospital room of Diana Blessing. Still
groggy from surgery,
her husband David held her hand as they
braced themselves for the latest news.
That afternoon of March 10, 1991,
complications had forced Diana, only 24-weeks pregnant,
to undergo an emergency cesarean to deliver the
couple's new daughter, Danae Lu Blessing.
At 12 inches long and weighing only one
pound and nine ounces, they already knew she was
perilously premature. Still, the doctor's soft
words dropped like bombs.
"I don't think she's going to make it,"
he said, as kindly as he could. "There's only a
10-percent chance she will live through the night,
and even then, if
by some slim chance she does make it, her
future could be a very cruel one".
Numb with disbelief, David and Diana
listened as the doctor described the devastating
problems Danae would likely face if she survived. She
would never walk,she would never talk, she would probably
be blind, and she would certainly be prone to other
catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to
complete mental retardation, and on and on.
"No! No," was all Diana could say. She
and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had
long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to
become a family of four. Now, within a matter of hours,
that dream was slipping away. Through the dark hours
of morning as Danae held onto life by the thinnest
thread, Diana slipped in and out of sleep, growing more
and more determined that their tiny daughter would
live and live to be a healthy, happy young girl.
But David, fully awake and listening to
additional dire details of their daughter's chances
of ever leaving the hospital alive, much less
healthy, knew he must confront his wife with the
inevitable. David
walked in and said that we needed to talk
about making funeral arrangements. Diana
remembers 'I felt so
bad for him because he was doing
everything trying to
include me in what was going on, but I
just wouldn't listen, I couldn't listen. I
said, "No, that is not going to happen, no way! I don't care
what the doctors say. Danae is not going to die!
One day she will
be just fine, and she will be coming home
with us!"
As if willed to live by Diana's
determination, Danae clung to life hour after hour, with
the help of every medical machine and marvel her
minature body could endure. But as those first days
passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because
Danae's underdeveloped nervous system was
essentially 'raw,' the lightest kiss or caress only
intensified her discomfort, so they couldn't even cradle
their tiny baby girl against their chests to
offer the strength of their love. All they could
as Denae struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet
light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God
would stay close to their precious little girl.
There was never a moment when Danae
suddenly grew stronger. But as the weeks went by, she
did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce
of strength there. At last, when Danae
turned two months old,her parents were able to hold her in
their arms for the very first time. And two months
later, though doctors continued to gently but grimly
warn that her chances of surviving, much less living
any kind of normal life, were next to zero.
Danae went home from the hospital, just
as her mother had predicted. Today, five years
later, Danae is a petite but feisty young girl with
glittering gray eyes and an un-quenchable zest for life.
She shows no signs, whatsoever, of any mental or
physical impairment. Simply, she is everything a
little girl can be and more, but that happy
ending is far from the end of her story.
One blistering afternoon in the summer of
1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Danae was
sitting in her mother's lap in the bleachers of a
local ball park where her brother Dustin's baseball team
was practicing. As always, Danae was
chattering nonstop with her mother and several other
adults sitting nearby when she suddenly fell silent.
Hugging her arms across her chest, Danae asked, "Do
you smell that?"
Smelling the air and detecting the
approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, "Yes, it
smells like rain."
Danae closed her eyes and again asked,
"Do you smell that?" Once again, her mother replied,
"Yes, I think we're about to get wet, it smells
like rain. Still caught in the moment, Danae shook her
head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands
and loudly announced, "No, it smells like Him. It
smells like God when you lay your head on His chest."
Tears blurred my eyes as Denae happily
hopped down to play with the other
children. Before the
rains came, her daughter's words
confirmed what Diana
and all the members of the extended
Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all
along.
During those long days and nights of her
first two months of her life, when her nerves were
too sensitive for them to touch her, God was
holding Danae on
His chest and it is His loving scent that
she remembers so well.
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