Joy

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THE MASTER A sick man turned to his doctor, as he was leaving the room after paying a visit, and said, "Doctor, I am afraid to die. Tell me what lies on the other side." Very quietly the doctor said, "I don't know." "You don't know? You, a Christian man, do not know what is on the other side?" The doctor was holding the handle of the door; on the other side of which came a sound of scratching and whining, and as he opened the door a dog sprang into the room and leaped on him with an eager show of gladness. Turning to the patient, the doctor said, "Did you notice my dog? He's never been in this room before. He didn't know what was inside. He knew nothing except that his master was here, and when the door opened he sprang in without fear. I know little of what is on the other side of death, but I do know one thing: I know my Master is there, and that is enough. And when the door opens, I shall pass through with no fear, but with gladness." Author Unknown Mudpuddles When I look at a patch of dandelions, I see a bunch of weeds that are going to take over my yard. My kids see flowers for Mom and blowing white fluff you can wish on. When I look at an old drunk and he smiles at me, I see a smelly, dirty person who probably wants money and I look away. My kids see someone smiling at them and they smile back. When I hear music I love, I know I can't carry a tune and don't have rhythm so I sit self- consciously and listen. My kids feel the beat and move to it. They sing out the words. If they don't know them, they make up their own. When I feel wind on my face, I brace myself against it. I feel it messing up my hair and pulling me back when I walk. My kids close their eyes, spread their arms and fly with it, until they fall to the ground laughing. When I pray, I say thee and thou and grant me this, give me that. My kids say, "Hi God! Thanks for my toys and my friends. Please keep the bad dreams away tonight. Sorry, I don't want to go to Heaven yet.I would miss my Mommy and Daddy." When I see a mud puddle I step around it. I see muddy shoes and dirty carpets. My kids sit in it. They see dams to build, rivers to cross and worms to play with. I wonder if we are given kids to teach or to learn from? No wonder God loves the little children!! "Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things." Just a reminder about the important things in life. I wish you mud puddles and dandelions! God is Awesome! One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator. (We had no electricity to run an incubator.) We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. "And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed. As in the West it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down for! e! st pathways. "All right," I said, "put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. "Your job is to keep the baby warm." The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. "Please, God," she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon." While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of a corollary, "And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?" As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen?" I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything. The Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator! Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas-that would make a batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.....could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out-yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of, the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!" Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted. Looking up at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?" That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child-five months before-in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that afternoon." "Before they call, I will answer!" Is 65:24 Live as if Christ died yesterday, arose this morning, and is coming back tomorrow. Please share this amazing story with as many others as you can. Our God really IS . . . AN AWESOME GOD! 1 minute prayer This awesome prayer takes less than a minute. When you receive this, say the prayer. That's all you have to do. There is nothing attached. This is powerful. Just send it on to whomever you want - but do send it .......please! Prayer is one of the best free gifts we receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards. Let's continue praying for one another. "Father, I ask you to bless my friends reading this right now. I am asking You to minister to their spirit at this very moment. Where there is pain, give them Your peace and mercy. Where there is self doubting, release a renewed confidence in Your ability to work through them. Where there is tiredness, or exhaustion, I ask You to give them understanding, guidance, and strength as they learn submission to Your leading. Where there is spiritual stagnation, I ask You to renew them by revealing Your nearness, and by drawing them into greater intimacy with You. Where there is fear, reveal Your love, and release to them Your courage. Where there is a sin blocking them, reveal it, and break its hold over my friend's life. Bless their finances, give them greater vision, and raise up leaders and friends to support and encourage them. Give each of them discernment to recognize the evil forces around them, and reveal to them the power they have in ! You to defeat it. I ask You to do these things in Jesus' name." In Love, Your Friend 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 these 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! Thoughts to Ponder "To the world you might be one person, but to one person you might be the world." "Going to church does not make you a Christian any more than going to McDonald's makes you a hamburger." "Real friends are those who, when you feel you've made a fool of yourself, don't feel you've done a permanent job." "A coincidence is when God performs a miracle, and decides to remain anonymous." Sometimes the majority only means that all the fools are on the same side." "I don't have to attend every argument I'm invited to." "Lead your life so you won't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip." "People gather bundles of sticks to build bridges they never cross." "Life is 10% of what happens to you, and 90% of how you respond to it." "Did it ever occur to you that nothing occurs to God?" "Life is like an onion; you peel off one layer at a time and sometimes you weep." "Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself." "There are two things I've learned: There is a God. And, I'm not Him." "Following the path of least resistance is what makes rivers and men crooked." Your worst days are never so bad that you are beyond the reach of God's grace. And your best days are never so good that you are beyond the need of God's grace." "When it comes time to die...make sure all you have to do is die." The Shoes My alarm went off -- it was Sunday again; I was tired -- it was my one day to sleep in. But the guilt I'd have felt the rest of the day Would have been too much, so I'd go, I'd pray. I showered and shaved, adjusted suit and tie, Got there and swung into a pew just in time. Bowing my head in humble prayer Before I closed my eyes, I saw that the shoe of the man next to me Was touching my own and I sighed. With plenty of room on either side, I thought, why do our soles have to touch? It bothered me so; he was glued to my shoe, But it didn't seem to bother him much. Then the prayer began: Heavenly Father, someone said -- But I thought, Does this man with the shoes have no pride? They were dusty, worn, scratched end to end. What's worse, there were holes on the side! Thank You for blessings, the prayer went on. The shoe man said a quiet amen. I tried to focus on the prayer, But my thoughts were on his shoes again. Aren't we supposed to look our best When walking through that door? Well, this certainly isn't it, I thought, Glancing toward the floor. Then the prayer ended and songs of praise began. The shoe man was loud, sounding proud as he sang. He lifted the rafters; his hands raised high; The Lord surely heard his voice from the sky. Then the offering was passed; what I threw in was steep. The shoe man reached into his pockets, so deep, And I tried to see what he pulled out to put in, Then I heard a soft clink, as when silver hits tin. The sermon bored me to tears-- And no lie-- It was the same for the shoe man, For tears fell from his eyes. At the end of the service, as is custom here, We must greet the visitors and show them good cheer. But I was moved inside to want to meet this man, So after the closing, I shook his hand. He was old, his skin dark, his hair a mess. I thanked him for coming, for being our guest, He said, My name's Charlie, glad to meet you, my friend, And there were tears in his eyes -- but he had a wide grin. Let me explain, he said, wiping his eyes. I've been coming for months, and you're the first to say, Hi. I know I don't look like all the rest, But I always try to look my best. I polish my shoes before my long walk, But by the time I get here they're as dirty as chalk. My heart fell to my knees, but I held back my tears, He continued, And I must apologize for sitting so near. But I know when I get here, I must look a sight. And I thought . . . if I touched you, our souls might unite. I was silent for a moment knowing anything I said Would pale in comparison, so I spoke from my heart not my head. Oh, you've touched me, I said. And taught me, in part, That the best of a man is what's in his heart. The rest, I thought, this man will never know. . . How thankful I am that he touched my soul! I wonder I wonder what I would have done, Had I been there in that crowd; Would I have spoken up for Him, In a voice clear and loud? Would I have walked beside Him, Down that dirty, rock-strewn road? Would I have tried to steady Him, As He stumbled with His load? Would I have let Him lean against me? Would I have gladly borne his weight? Could I have helped in anyway, To ease His great heartache? Could I have said the proper words, To comfort His aloneness, To show I shared His sorrow, To attend to His forlornness? I wonder if I'd been there, Would I have stroked His tear-stained cheek, And kissed His bloodied hands, And washed his bloodstained feet? Would I have rubbed His aching shoulders, Put soothing lotion on His back, Tended to His open wounds, And supplied the water that He lacked? I know I was not good enough, To volunteer to take His place, But could I have helped Him bear that cross, And kept the sweat from His dear face? Would I have put my arms around His mother, And hugged her to my breast? Could I have shielded her from viewing, Her precious Son's tormented death? Could I have helped prepare His body, And have bathed Him with perfume? I wonder if I'd been there, Would I have waited by His tomb? No doubt that Easter Morning, I would have shouted, "HE IS RISEN!" And I know I would have thanked my God, For that most joyous of occasions. I'm so sorry that He suffered, And I am sad it was that way, But I know it was God's plan for man, And because of it ... we're saved. The only thing I could have done, I suppose, had I been there, Would have been to state my love for Him, And tell Him that I cared. Life The happiest of people dont necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way. Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right one so that when we finally meet the right person, we will know how to be grateful for that gift. When the door of happiness closes, another opens, but often times we look so long at the closed door that we dont see the one which has been opened for us. Its true that we dont know what we got until we lose it, but its also true that we dont know what weve been missing until it arrives. Giving someone all your love is never an assurance that theyll love you back! Dont expect love in return, just wait for it to grow in their heart, but if doesnt, be content it grew in yours. It takes only a minute to get a crush on someone, an hour to like someone, and a day to love someone, but it takes a lifetime to forget someone. Dont go for looks, they can deceive. Dont go for wealth; even that fades away. Go for some who makes you smile because it takes only a smile to make a dark day seem bright. Find the one that makes your heart smile. There are moments in life when you miss someone so much that you just want to pick them from your dreams and hug them for real! Dream what you want to dream; go where you want to go; be what you want to be, because YOU HAVE ONLY ONE LIFE AND ONLY ONE CHANCE to do all the things you want to do. May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human, enough hope to make you happy. Always put yourself in others shoes. If you feel that it hurts you, it probably hurts the other person too. Happiness lies for those who cry, those who hurt, those who have searched, and those who have tried, for only they can appreciate the importance of people who have touched their lives. The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past, you cant go on in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches. When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling. Live your life so that when you die, youre the one smiling and everyone around you is crying. Yellow Roses I walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry. The pain of losing my husband of 37 years was still too raw. And this grocery store held so many sweet memories. Rudy often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with the three yellow roses in his hands. Rudy knew I loved yellow roses. With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since Rudy had passed on. Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two. Standing by the meat, I searched for the perfect small steak and remembered how Rudy had loved his steak. Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blond, slim and lovely in a soft green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large pack of T-bones,dropped them in her basket, hesitated, and then put them back. She turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks. She saw me watching her and she smiled. "My husband loves T-bones, but honestly, at these prices, I don't know." I swallowed the emotion down my throat and met her pale blue eyes. "My husband passed away eight days ago" I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice. "Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you have together." She shook her head and I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled away. I turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. A quart, I finally decided and moved on to the ice cream section near the front of the store. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream cone. I placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the front. I saw first the green suit, then recognized the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried a package. On her face was the brightest smile I had ever seen. I would swear a soft halo encircled her blond hair as she kept walking toward me, her eyes holding mine. As she came closer,I saw what she held and tears began misting in my eyes. "These are for you," she said and placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms. "When you go through the line, they will know these are paid for." She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek,then smiled again. I wanted to tell her what she'd done, what the roses meant, but still unable to speak, I watched as she walked away as tears clouded my vision. I looked down at the beautiful roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal. How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear. I wasn't alone. "Oh, Rudy, you haven't forgotten me, have you?" I whispered, with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel. Everyday be thankful for what you have and who you are. Even though I clutch my blanket and growl when the alarm rings,thank you, Lord, that I can hear. There are many who are deaf. Even though I keep my eyes closed against the morning light as long as possible, thank you, Lord, that I can see. Many are blind. Even though I huddle in my bed and put off rising, thank you, Lord,that I have the strength to rise. There are many who are bedridden. Even though the first hour of my day is hectic, when socks are lost,toast is burned, tempers are short, and my children are so loud, thank you,Lord, for my family. There are many who are lonely. Even though our breakfast table never looks like the pictures in magazines and the menu is at times unbalanced, thank you, Lord, for the food we have. There are many who are hungry. Even though the routine of my job often is monotonous, thank you, Lord,for the opportunity to work. There are many who have no job. Even though I grumble and bemoan my fate from day to day and wish my circumstances were not so modest, thank you, Lord, for life. Road to Success The road to SUCCESS is not straight There is a curve called FAILURE.. A loop called CONFUSION.. Speed bumps called FRIENDS.. Red lights called ENEMIES.. Caution lights called FAMILY.. You will have flats called JOBS but.. If you have a spare called DETERMINATION.. An engine called PERSEVERANCE.. Insurance called FAITH.. A driver called JESUS.. You will make it to a place called SUCCESS! 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 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 catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make away 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. 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. Sorrow looks back. Worry looks around. Faith looks UP! The Birdcage There once was a man named George Thomas, pastor in a small New England town. One Easter Sunday morning he came to the Church carrying a rusty, bent, old bird cage, and set it by the pulpit. Eyebrows were raised and, as if in response, Pastor Thomas began to speak... "I was walking through town yesterday when I saw a young boy coming toward me swinging this bird cage. On the bottom of the cage were three little wild birds, shivering with cold and fright. I stopped the lad and asked, "What you got there, son?" "Just some old birds," came the reply. "What are you gonna do with them?" I asked. "Take 'em home and have fun with 'em," he answered. "I'm gonna tease 'em and pull out their feathers to make 'em fight. I'm gonna have a real good time." "But you'll get tired of those birds sooner or later. What will you do?" "Oh, I got some cats," said the little boy. "They like birds. I'll take 'em to them." The pastor was silent for a moment. "How much do you want for those birds, son?" "Huh?? !!! Why, you don't want them birds, mister. They're just plain old field birds. They don't sing. They ain't even pretty!" "How much?" the pastor asked again. The boy sized up the pastor as if he were crazy and said, "?" The pastor reached in his pocket and took out a ten dollar bill. He placed it in the boy's hand. In a flash, the boy was gone. The pastor picked up the cage and gently carried it to the end of the alley where there was a tree and a grassy spot. Setting the cage down, he opened the door, and by softly tapping the bars persuaded the birds out, setting them ! free. Well, that explained the empty bird cage on the pulpit, and then the pastor began to tell this story. One day Satan and Jesus were having a conversation. Satan had just come from the Garden of Eden, and he was gloating and boasting. "Yes, sir, I just caught the world full of people down there. Set me a trap, used bait I knew they couldn't resist. Got 'em all!" "What are you going to do with them?" Jesus asked. Satan replied, "Oh, I'm gonna have fun! I'm gonna teach them how to marry and divorce each other, how to hate and abuse each other, how to drink and smoke and curse. I'm gonna teach them how to invent guns and bombs and kill each other. I'm really gonna have fun!" "And what will you do when you get done with them?" Jesus asked. "Oh, I'll kill 'em," Satan glared proudly. "How much do you want for them?" Jesus asked. "Oh, you don't want those people. They ain't no good. Why, you'll take them and they'll just hate you. They'll spit on you, curse you and kill you. You don't want those people!!" "How much? He asked again. Satan looked at Jesus and sneered, "All your blood, tears and your life." Jesus said, "DONE!" Then He paid the price. The pastor picked up the cage he opened the door and he walked from the pulpit. When Jesus Looks When Jesus looks upon my life, What picture does He see? Does He see His own reflection, Or does He just see me? Does He see His likeness, The product of His hand. Or just another Christian, Who never took a stand? Does He see a child of God, A child that He set free? Living life to honor Him, Or does He just see me? What about the other folks, I meet along the way. Do I show them Jesus, To brighten up their day? When someone looks into my eyes, Can they truly see. That calm and gentle peace of God, That dwells inside of me? When I reach out and shake a hand, Is He right there in my grip? Can they feel that strength from God, That steadies when I slip? When folks are in my presence, Do they know His Spirit's there? Can they see that He's the one, Who guides me everywhere? When other people think of me, What is on their mind? Do they think of Jesus Christ, So gentle and so kind? I try to be like Jesus, Every single day. Spreading love and kindness, All along my way. I'm afraid that I have failed, I could not pass the test. Deep inside my heart I know, I haven't done my best. I have had to fight my flesh, Since the day that I was born. It's always causing trouble, And being such a thorn. That's why His Spirit dwells in me, He's helping me to learn. In every situation, Where I need to turn. He knew I'd never pass the test, That's why He took my place. He gave His life to save my soul, He suffered my disgrace. Now I try to be like Him, I must present Him well. So other folks will want His gift, And turn their backs on hell. Other folks should see the joy, That Christ has given me. They should want to have it too, Especially since it's free. They should begin to ask me, What is it they must do. Just how it is they go about, Getting Jesus too. Then I get to tell them, This wondrous gift is free. It only takes a humble heart, A prayer on bended knee. Someday when I'm face to face, With the Lord who set me free. Will He see His own reflection, Or will He just see me? GOD'S P R I O R I T I E S Sure set my day straight. Hope it completes and compliments yours P R I O R I T I E S I asked God to grant me patience. God said, No. Patience is a by-product of tribulations; it isn't granted, it is earned. I asked God to give me happiness. God said, No. I give you blessings. Happiness is up to you. I asked God to spare me pain. God said, No. Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares and brings you closer to me. I asked God to make my spirit grow. God said, No. You must grow on your own, but I will prune you to make you fruitful. I asked for all things that I might enjoy life. God said, No. I will give you life so that you may enjoy all things. I ask God to help me LOVE others, as much as he loves me. God said... Ahhhh, finally you have the idea. Stop telling God how big your storm is. Instead tell your storm how big your GOD is. Amen God's Boxes I have in my hands two boxes Which God gave me to hold. He said, "Put all your sorrows in the black box, And all your joys in the gold." I heeded His words, and in the two boxes Both my joys and sorrows I stored, But though the gold became heavier each day The black was as light as before. With curiosity, I opened the black, I wanted to find out why, And I saw, in the base of the box, a hole Which my sorrows had fallen out by. I showed the hole to God, and mused, "I wonder where my sorrows could be." He smiled a gentle smile and said, "My child, they're all here with me." I asked, "God, why He gave me the boxes, Why the gold, and the black with the hole?" "My child, the gold is for you to count your blessings, The black is for you to let go." Robby At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name is Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from DeMoines, Iowa. I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons-something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a protage though I have taught some talented students. However I've also had my share of what I call "musically challenged" pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn. Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, "My mom's going to hear me play some day." But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in. Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons. I thought about calling him but assumed, because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching! Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mom had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing. "Miss Hondorf...I've just got to play!" he insisted. I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be alright. The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my "curtain closer." Well the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he' run an egg-beater through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?" Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo...from allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age. After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause. Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. "I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it?" Through the microphone Robby explained: "Well Miss Hondorf...remember I told you my mom was sick? Well actually she had cancer and passed away this morning. And well....she was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special." There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil. No, I've never had a protage but that night I became a protage...of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil. For it was he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance on someone and you don't know why. This is especially meaningful to me since after serving in Desert Storm Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was reportedly....playing the piano.
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