Lear Jet CEO Chooses Integrity Over Profit

Bill Lear was devastated when he learned that two Lear aircraft had crashed under mysterious circumstances. He'd developed the plane to offer business travelers a fast, economical alternative to the airlines. At that time, 55 Lear jets were privately owned. Bill sent word to all the owners to ground their planes until he and his team could determine what had caused the crashes.
To Bill, a Christian, risking the loss of more lives meant far more than the adverse publicity that grounding all Lear jets might generate in the media. He protected his customers and counted on God to protect the reputation of his corporation.
As he researched the two ill-fated flights, a possible technical problem emerged. Bill experimented with his own plane to recreate the same problem. He nearly lost control of the jet in the process, but found that a defect in the plane's mechanism did exist. All 55 planes were fitted with a new part, eliminating the danger.
Bill spent two years rebuilding the business. Lear jets were soon soaring again, carrying thousands of business people safely to their destinations.

Stephen Arterburn, The Power Book; reprinted in Men of Integrity, (Jan/Feb 2002)

Daymaker

A simple, yet profound idea that has been championed by a remarkable man named David Wagner.
David's idea is to be a Daymaker. Just as you'd expect a Daymaker is someone who intentionally does things to "make someone's day"... several times per day, every day.
If you watch the "Good Morning America" show in the mornings on ABC, you probably saw David some time ago in 2003. He was on the show to kick off the start of a tour across America to encourage others to become Daymakers too.
The idea is to intentionally look for small ways to do nice things for others. Then quietly do them.
I want to share a quick story about how all of this got started. David owns a major hair salon and spa business that does over $25 million in annual sales.
A number of years ago, when David still provided services to his clients, a woman came in for a hair cut several weeks before she was expected. During the visit, David was wondering why she had come back so far ahead of schedule, so he asked if she had something special to go to that night. The client responded that she did not.
A few days later, David received a letter from this woman. In the letter she thanked David for the care and attention he provided and went on to explain that the real reason she had come in that day was that she wanted to look nice when they found her. She had planned to commit suicide that evening.
She explained that David was so nice to her, and he made her feel so good and so worthy of care that she realised that maybe life really was worth living. She did not commit suicide, but rather sought professional help to improve her life.
It was at that moment that David realised that he had absolutely no idea this woman was planning suicide the very day she was in his chair. He realised just how tremendously powerful the little things he did could be.
He changed the title on his business card to read:
David Wagner, Daymaker
He decided to write a book about being a Daymaker. It is a small little book. He got a small publisher to print a small initial run. It became a run-away success. Not from advertising or promotion, but from word-of- mouth. Friends telling friends. The entire print run sold out. Another print run was ordered. Those sold out, and the next print run is just now becoming available.
The book had such a wonderful response that the trade association for the salon industry decided to support David and his Daymaker idea. This group, TSA (The Salon Association) officially proclaimed that Wednesday, April 29th, 2003, would be Daymaker Day.
The Good Morning America show was the start of a month long tour of our country where David is going from city to city to tell the Daymaker story. At each stop along the way, salon owners are volunteering to help David by being Daymakers too. They are going into homeless shelters, Ronald McDonald House, Children's' Hospitals and the like to volunteer, bringing a bit of beauty into the lives of people fighting some big problems.
I wanted to share David's story with you. He has a web site at:
http://www.daymakermovement.com/
You can see some great video clips on his site at:
http://www.daymakermovement.com/ripple-effect.html

source unknown

Run Through The Rain

She had been shopping with her Mum in Wal-Mart. She must have been six years old, this beautiful red haired, freckle faced image of innocence. It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout.
We all stood there under the awning and just inside the door of the Wal-Mart. We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature messed up their hurried day. I am always mesmerized by rainfall. I get lost in the sound and sight of the havens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories of running, splashing so carefree as a child come pouring in as a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day.
Her voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in. "Mum, let's run through the rain," she said. "What?" Mum asked. "Let's run through the rain!" She repeated. "No, honey. We'll wait until it slows down a bit," Mum replied.
This young child waited about another minute and repeated: "Mum, let's run through the rain." "We'll get soaked if we do," Mum said. "No, we won't, Mum. That's not what you said this morning," the young girl said as she tugged at her Mum's arm. "This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?" "Don't you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said, 'If God can get us through this, he can get us through anything!'"
The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you couldn't hear anything but the rain. We all stood silently. No one came or left in the next few minutes. Mum paused and thought for a moment about what she would say. Now some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child's life. A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith.
"Honey, you are absolutely right. Let's run through the rain. If God let's us get wet, well maybe we just needed washing," Mum said. Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and yes, through the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case. They got soaked. But they were followed by a few who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars. And yes, I did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.
Circumstances or people can take away your material possessions, they can take away your money, and they can take away your health. But no one can ever take away your precious memories. So, don't forget to make time and take the opportunities to make memories every day! To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.
HOPE YOU STILL TAKE THE TIME TO RUN THROUGH THE RAIN!

source unknown

Celebrating Easter When You're Living Good Friday

In the darkness, would God's presence break through? It was Good Friday. My house looked more like a set for "Rescue 911" than a place of solemn preparation for the pinnacle of the church year.
Barbara, my wife of 15 years, had just gotten home at 3 a.m. after a long shift as a registered nurse at a physical rehabilitation hospital. Her heart started to pound more than a hundred beats a minute. Her pulse raced so fast we couldn't measure it. We tried massage and relaxation exercises, but nothing helped. She said her heart felt as if it were going to explode. Desperate, I called 911.
In the darkness, the emergency medical services unit arrived in our parsonage living room and worked on my normally healthy, 43-year-old wife.
I followed the ambulance to the hospital, my thoughts as heavy as my foot was on the gas pedal. In the early morning hours when many churches would sing "Go to Dark Gethsemane" and reflect on Christ's agony on the cross, I was deep in my own darkness. Barbara had always been the trim half of our marriage. (I can't stay away from bratwurst, and I have the waistline to prove it.) She had been working long hours to help pay off both my seminary and her nursing school debts. Was it too much for her? I wept as I thought the unthinkable.
At the emergency room, it took two hours to stabilise Barbara's heart. My wife lay in a hospital gown, hooked up to IV tubes, breathing with the aid of an oxygen mask. It looked wrong; it didn't fit this youthful, active woman.
When her atrial fibrillation was finally controlled, Barbara was admitted to the intensive care cardiac unit. She had another episode on Saturday, which the doctor again brought under control. It wasn't a heart attack, he said, but because her father died of heart disease in his fifties, he wanted to be cautious.
Around noon on Saturday, Barb finally slept. I too was exhausted. I felt ten years older. After calling family members, I realised she needed her rest more than she needed my presence.
Intensive-Care Easter
I returned to our empty parsonage, facing an Easter I couldn't cancel and didn't have much heart for.
I prayed, wept, and pleaded for God to give me the strength to be both a good husband and a good pastor. Lent had been a hard season in our rural area, with frequent blizzards and ice storms. The people expected - and deserved - a real Easter. As at many churches, Easter was our best-attended service of the year. They needed a worship leader who could invite them into the presence of the Risen Lord.
The question pulled at me. How can I celebrate Easter when I'm living Good Friday?
I called a couple of local pastor friends. They empathised, and in response to my question "How does one do Easter with a wife in intensive care?" they said, "You tell me how you did it, so I will know if it ever happens to me."
I prayed some more, cried some more, and paced the room. I was tired but couldn't sleep. I had put together my sermons in rough outline form, but they weren't as polished as my Myers- Briggs "J" personality expected (a "J" type craves order and a sense of completion). I read and reread the biblical texts.
Finally a seminary classmate called me from out of state at 11:30 that night. He asked me what I planned to preach on Easter Sunday. I responded by pouring out my heart to him. My friend gave me a couple of thoughts to hang onto.
"First, Christ is Saviour and rose from the grave," he said. "Dave, you are not Christ. You will find the energy to do Easter. Second, Barb knows you love her. She wants you to be the best pastor you can be on Easter morning."
Resurrection Though I barely got three hours of sleep the night before Easter, somehow Christ strengthened me the next day. I led the early service, went to our church's breakfast, and was able to proclaim to the large (for us) crowd of 123 at the second service the eternal message: "He is risen!"
The choir sang, we served Communion, and the crucifix on the altar was replaced with the statue of the risen Christ. Throughout my chanting of the liturgy and prayers, I stared at the statue of the risen Christ and drew strength from it. I was told that I preached one of the finest Easter sermons of my ministry at the church.
When the Communion server gave me the bread and wine and said, "Take and eat; this is the body and blood of Christ, broken and shed for you," it struck me: Christ is present with us in all his majesty - just as he is with Barbara in the ICCU.
After church I found Barbara in great shape at the hospital. Two of our clergy friends had visited her. Our congregation was extremely supportive; I found pies, cookies, and treats at our doorstep and on my desk at the church. Barbara returned to health.
We concluded that Barb's working two jobs to pay off our bills wasn't worth her life. We arranged for a longer time period to make our payments, but I can live with that. There's a lot I've learned to live with. Our priorities changed dramatically, thanks to the Easter weekend when we truly lived - not just observed - the journey to new life.

David Coffin is a Lutheran pastor in Ohio.

Supposedly True Stories Told by Travel Agents

1. A client called in inquiring about a package to Hawaii. After going over all the cost info, she asked, "would it be cheaper to fly to California and then take the train to Hawaii?"
2. I got a call from a woman who wanted to go to Capetown. I started to explain the length of the flight and the passport information when she interrupted me with "I'm not trying to make you look stupid, but Capetown is in Massachusetts." Without trying to make her look like the stupid one, I calmly explained, "Cape Cod is in Massachusetts, Capetown is in South Africa." Her response....click.
3. A secretary called in looking for hotel in Los Angeles. She gave me various names off a list, none of which I could find I finally had her fax me the list. To my surprise, it was a list of hotels in New Orleans, Louisiana. She thought the LA stood for Los Angeles, and that New Orleans was a suburb of L.A. Worst of all, when I called her back, she was not even embarrassed.
4. A man called, furious about a Florida package we did. I asked what was wrong with the vacation in Orlando. He said he was expecting an ocean-view room. I tried to explain that is not possible, since Orlando is in the middle of the state. He replied, "Don't lie to me. I looked on the map and Florida is a very thin state."
5. I got a call from a man who asked, "Is it possible to see England from Canada?" I said, "No." He said "but they look so close on the map."
6. A nice lady just called. She needed to know how it was possible that her flight from Detroit left at 8:20am and got into Chicago at 8:33am. I tried to explain that Michigan was an hour ahead of Illinois, but she could not understand the concept of time zones. Finally I told her the plane went very fast, and she bought that!
7. A woman called and asked, "Do airlines put your physical description on your bag so they know who's luggage belongs to who?" I said, "No, why do you ask?" She replied, "Well, when I checked in with the airline, they put a tag on my luggage that said FAT, and I'm overweight, is there any connection?" After putting her on hold for a minute while I "looked into it" ( I was actually laughing) I came back and explained the city code for Fresno, California is FAT, and that the airline was just putting a destination tag on her luggage.
8. I just got off the phone with a man who asked, "How do I know which plane to get on?" I asked him what exactly he meant, which he replied, "I was told my flight number is 823, but none of these darn planes have numbers on them."
9. A woman called and said, " I need to fly to Pepsi-Cola on one of those computer planes." I asked if she meant to fly to Pensacola on a commuter plane. She said, "Yea, whatever." 10. A business man called and had a question about the documents he needed in order to fly to China. After a lengthy discussion about passports, I reminded him he needed a visa. "Oh no I don't, I've been to China many times and never had to have one of those." I double checked, and sure enough, his stay required a visa. When I told him this he said, "Look, I've been to China four times and every time they have accepted my American Express card."

source unknown

Praying For Persecutors At Gunpoint

On January 6, 1999, rebels terrorised Freetown, Sierra Leone - murdering people, burning houses, and destroying our city. That evening the soldiers demanded that we come out of our houses. I went outside and stood by a gate. My family was terrified.
One rebel took his bayonet and pricked my stomach. "Do you own this house?" he asked.
"Well, I live here," I said.
As they marched me toward the back of my house, I told their colonel, "I am a pastor."
He sneered. "You political pastors!" He pulled out his gun, cocked it, and pressed it against my chest. "I feel like executing you now!"
I smiled and said, "But Jesus loves you. I want you to know the love of God. I want to pray for you."
"March on!" he ordered.
As I opened the door to my house, I gently called, "Darling, we have visitors." I turned to the rebels and said, "Won't you come in?"
My 95-year-old mother, who has Alzheimer's and is our ward, was in the house and came into the room where my wife, Olive, was. The colonel raised his gun. "I will shoot!"
I grabbed his arm and said, "Don't shoot!"
He calmed down, then turned to Olive. "You are one of those political people who think that you are better than others."
She didn't respond, but I said, "I want you to know that Jesus loves you, and I want to pray the Lord's Prayer. Would you mind?"
"Feel free," he said. I quickly prayed. The colonel asked, "Do you have rice?"
Olive brought rice and stew for the colonel and his assistant to eat. I kept telling the colonel about Jesus. He stood there, deep in thought. Then he asked defiantly, "Can your God forgive me? Can you pray to your God to forgive me?"
"Two thousand years from today you and I both will be alive. The question is, 'Where will you be? Will you be in heaven or hell?' Yes, my God is able to forgive you."
The colonel lowered his gun and sat down. "Don't you know that I am responsible for burning houses? If I say, 'That house goes,' it goes. If I say, 'That house stays,' it stays." After a while the colonel got up to leave.
"No, I don't want you to go. I want to pray for you first. What shall I pray for?" I said.
"Pray that I will have a long life and good health," he said.
"Please kneel on the floor in reverence to God," I said. The colonel and is assistant knelt on the floor with the rest of us. I prayed fervently.
Afterward, as the rebels prepared to leave, I said, "We have a Bible study in our home every Monday evening. Join us." Then they left.
The rebel colonel never attended the Bible study. Within a week our street was liberated by the West African Regional Force. I never saw the colonel or his assistant again.
But during the week after the colonel's visit and before the liberation, the rebels returned to do havoc to our house. People told me the colonel had said to the rebels when they came to our house, "You must save that house. Don't burn that one."
I believe that God spared me from death so I may continue to proclaim the gospel. One of the best messages I ever presented was to the colonel and his assistant.

J. E. Modupe Taylor-Pearce, "I Feel Like Executing You Now!" Christian Reader (May / June 2002), pp. 33-35

The Horror of Blimps

Last week while traveling I stopped at a Zany Brainy store and saw that they had a blimp for sale. It's called Airship Earth, and it's a great big balloon with a map of the Earth on it, and two propellers hanging from the bottom. You blow up the balloon with helium, put batteries in it, and you have a radio-controlled indoor blimp. I'd seen these things for sale in Sharper Image catalogs for $60-$75. At Zany Brainy it was on clearance for $15. What a deal!
Last night my wife was playing tennis and it was just my daughter and I at home. I bought a small helium tank from a party store, and last night we put the blimp together. Let me tell you, it's quite a blimp. It's huge. The balloon has like a 3 ft diameter. We blew it up with the tank attached the gondola with the propellers, and put in batteries.
Then we balanced the blimp for neutral buoyancy with this putty that came with it, so it hangs in the air by itself neither rising nor falling. It was easy and fun, and then I blew up another balloon and made Mickey Mouse helium voices for my daughter. My three-year-old girl loved it. We flew the blimp all over the house, terrorised the dog, attacked the fish tank, and the controls were so easy my daughter could fly.
Let's face it: blimps are fun.
Alas, the fun had to end and my daughter had to go to sleep. I left the blimp floating in my office downstairs, my wife came home, and we went to bed, and slept the sleep of the righteous.
At this point it is important to know that my house has central heating. I have it configured to blow hot air out on the ground floor and take it in at the second floor to take advantage of the fact that heat rises.
The blimp, which was up until this moment, a fun toy, now embarked on a career of evil. Using the artificial convection of my central heating, the blimp stealthily departed my office. It moved silently through the living and drifted to the staircase. Gliding wraithlike over the staircase it then entered the bedroom where my wife and I lay sleeping peacefully.
Running silently, and gliding six feet or so above the ground on invisible and tiny air currents it approached the bed. In spite of it's noiseless passage, or perhaps because of it, I awoke.
That doesn't really say it properly. Let me try again. I awoke, the way you awake at 2 am when your sleeping senses suddenly tell you without reason that the forces of evil on converging on you.
That still doesn't do it. Let me try one more time. I awoke the way you awake when you suddenly know that there is a large levitating sinister presence hovering towards you with menacing intent through the malignant darkness.
Now sometimes I do wake up in the middle of the night thinking that there are large sinister and menacing things floating out of the darkness to do me and mine evil. Usually I open my eyes, look and listen carefully, decide it was a false alarm, and go back to sleep. So, the fact that I awoke in such a manner was not all that unusual.
On this occasion I awoke to the sense that there was a large menacing presence approaching me silently out of the gloom, so I opened my eyes, and there it was! A LARGE SILENT MENACING PRESENCE WAS APPROACHING ME OUT OF THE GLOOM, AND IT COULD FLY!!!
Somewhere in the control room of my mind a fat little dwarf in a security outfit was paging through a Penthouse while smoking a cigar with his feet up on the table, watching the security monitors of my brain with his peripheral vision. Suddenly he saw the LARGE SILENT SINISTER MENACING FLOATING PRESENCE coming at me, and he pulled every panic switch and hit every alarm that my body has. A full decade's allotment of adrenaline was dumped into my bloodstream all at once. My metabolism went from "restful sleep mode" to ... "FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE OR DIE!!!! Mode" in a nanosecond. My heart went from twenty something beats per minute to about 240 even faster.
... Without volition I screamed my battle cry (which is indistinguishable to the sound a little girl makes when you drop a spider down her dress (not that I'd know what that sounds like,) and leapt out of bed in my underwear. I struck the approaching menace with all my strength and almost fell over at the total lack of resistance that a helium balloon offers ...
Its trajectory took it straight into the ceiling fan, which whipped it about the room at terrifying velocity. Seeking a weapon, I ripped the alarm clock out of its plug and hurled it at the now High Velocity Menacing presence (breaking the clock and putting a nice hole in the wall.)
Somehow at this moment I suddenly realised that I was fighting the blimp, and not a monster. It might have been funny if I didn't truly and actually feel like I was having a legitimate heart attack. On quivering legs I went to the bathroom and literally gagged into the toilet while shaking uncontrollably with the shock of the reaction I'd had. Unbelievably, both my wife and daughter had completely slept through the incident. When I decided that I wasn't having a heart attack after all I went back into the bedroom and found the blimp, which had somehow survived the incident.
I took it to the walk in closet and released it inside where it floated around with the air currents released from the vents in there. I closed the door, this sealing it in, and went back to bed. About 500 years later I fell asleep.
Later that morning...
At about 7 am my wife awoke. She had been playing tennis and wasn't aware that we have assembled the blimp the previous evening, the blimp that is now floating around the walk-in closet that she approached.
The dynamic between the existing air currents of the closet and the suction caused by opening the door was just enough to give the blimp the appearance of an Evil Sinister Menace flying straight towards her.
This time the blimp did not survive the encounter, nor almost, did I, as I had to explain to my very angry spouse what motivated me to hide an "evil lurking presence" in the closet for her to find at 7 am.
I can order replacement balloons on the Internet but I don't think I will.
Some blimps are better off dead.

by Scylla

Friend's Grace Motivates Change

Recently I witnessed an unusual accountability partnership at my church.
In an effort to break his habit of using profanity, Paul started meeting with another guy from church, and they set up an aggressive plan for holiness. Each Sunday, Paul would report to William how many times he cussed during the week, and he'd put $5 in the offering plate for each incident. The first week cost Paul $100. Although following weeks improved somewhat, he wasn't having the success he wanted and was losing a lot of hard-earned cash.
After the fourth week, William told Paul he had unilaterally changed the deal for the coming week, but he wouldn't tell Paul how. Paul wanted to know, but all William would say was, "Trust me. It will cost you both less and more."
The following Sunday before worship, Paul was looking a bit down, obviously having failed again. William put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Paul, this will cost you both less and more. It's called grace." At that he took out a check made out to the church, dated and signed by William. Only the amount was blank. "Your sin still costs, but for you it's free. Just fill in the numbers. And next week there will be more grace."
That first week of grace cost William $55, but the second only cost him $20. There was no third week. It cost Paul too much to fill in those checks, so he quit sinning.

source unknown

AIDS Patient Sees Jesus In Caregiver

It had been a trying week at our Love & Action office. At five o'clock on a Friday, I was looking forward to having a quiet dinner with friends. Then the phone rang.
"Jeff! It's Jimmy!" I heard a quivering voice say. Jimmy, who suffered from several AIDS-related illnesses, was one of our regular clients. "I'm really sick, Jeff. I've got a fever. Please help me."
I was angry. After a 60-hour workweek, I didn't want to hear about Jimmy. But I promised to be right over. Still, during the drive, I complained to God about the inconvenience.
The moment I walked in the door, I could smell the vomit. Jimmy was on the sofa, shivering and in distress. I wiped his forehead, then got a bucket of soapy water to clean up the mess. I managed to maintain a facade of concern, even though I was raging inside.
Jimmy's friend, Russ, who also had AIDS, came down the stairs. The odor made Russ sick, too.
As I cleaned the carpet around Russ's chair, I was ready to explode inside. Then Russ startled me. "I understand! I understand!"
"What, Russ?" Jimmy asked weakly.
"I understand who Jesus is," Russ said through tears. "He's like Jeff!" Weeping, I hugged Russ and prayed with him. That night Russ trusted Jesus Christ as his personal Saviour - a God who had used me to show his love in spite of myself.

Jeffrey Collins, "It Happened on a Friday," Christian Reader (March/April 1998), Vol. 36, no. 2

The Door

A church stands on a hill overlooking a city, town or rural centre somewhere in this country or yours. The peaked roof reaches towards the sky and a tasteful, yet compelling cross bursts from the roofline. The symmetrical design is unadorned and yet elegant in its simplicity.
The walls of the building are strong and straight, and you can see that much care has been taken to ensure that it continues to look as good as the day on which it was built. There is a fence around the outside of the building and a gate at the front. A broad and well-manicured path leads up to the large front door of the building.
The door is magnificent. One might almost consider that the whole building has been designed with the door in mind. The door is the centre-piece of the church façade. It is directly below the cross – which just as it points upwards towards the sky also points downwards towards the door, underlining its importance in the life of the church.
The door is perfectly symmetrical and constructed of heavy wood. Some days the door stands wide open, welcoming all that might enter. The observer is left under no illusions – clearly the best and most appropriate way to enter this church is through the door.
However, there are some for whom the door is a barrier. One has had bad experiences with doors in the past and is distrustful of them. One has never had much to do with doors but has the general impression that they are old-fashioned and passé. For one, the door holds no interest at all - he is sure that lots of people like the door but it is just not for him. Some have had the experience of the door being closed to them. Some have seen the ugly side of the door and have vowed never to pass through it again. Some, despite its prominent position, don’t even seem to notice the door at all.
Many people walk proudly over the threshold into the church. They can’t understand how people could have problems with a door. After all, people have been using doors for centuries!! And quite frankly, if people are not willing to do something so simple and basic as walk through the door, then perhaps they would be better off staying outside.
Some who walk through the door are concerned about those that remain outside. There have been discussions of replacing it with a modern automatic sliding door, which might attract more young people into the building. But many feel that a modern automatic sliding door would affect the building’s traditional beauty and majesty. And some of the people outside would think that this was just a cynical ploy to conceal what, when all is said and done, is still a door.
Some have suggested that bright lights and neon signs above the door might encourage more people to enter the door. Some think that holding meetings and sing-a-longs just outside the door might encourage people to walk through. Some people have spoken to the people outside, and taken the time to give them detailed directions to the door. Still, they do not enter.
It is difficult for those who are inside. The only way they have ever entered the church is through the door. They have been using doors their whole lives and never had a single problem with them. Many of them refuse to believe that it is the door that is the problem. How can something which has been perfectly serviceable for generations now be a barrier?! It doesn’t make sense.
If only there were some other way to enter. If only the windows were left open, if an underground tunnel were connected, if a skylight were easily accessible or if there was some other way to get into that building. If only a great ragged and dirty hole were cut in the side of the church for people to crawl through.
Some of the people outside have been searching for another way in. Some have had themselves shot from cannons and dropped from balloons to try to get in, but have missed the building altogether and landed somewhere else that they never intended to go.
For now it seems that things will remain the same. The church is as impressive as ever and plays an important role in the life of the community. And yet there are less and less people who are willing to walk through the door. Those inside have often entered the building since they were children, just as their parents did before them. There are entire families who do not know what the inside of the church looks like.
Everybody feels uneasy about the situation. People agree that things can’t go on this way, but nobody seems to know how things could be changed.
If only there was some other way to enter the church than through the door.

source unknown

In the lead-up to war with Iraq

Last Friday a friend of mine in California drove to his local supermarket with a sticker on his car saying: "Peace is also Patriotic." It was gone by the time he'd finished shopping."

- From John le Carre's op-ed in The Times (London): "The United States of America has gone mad"

Superbowl MVP Kurt Warner

The St. Louis Rams 1999 Cinderella season is not without a Cinder-fella. A virtually unknown quarterback by the name of Kurt Warner rose from the ashes of obscurity and adversity to bring glory to his team.
While at Northern Iowa, Warner was a second string player. It was during college he met a single mum who had two kids. Even though one of the children was blind, Warner didn't run for the sidelines. He married the woman and adopted both kids.
Because he wasn't drafted by the NFL after college, he went to work stocking groceries. But he kept his dream alive playing in the Arena Football League and eventually for the Amsterdam Admirals in the European NFL. In 1998, he was signed by the St. Louis Rams but barely played. In 1999 his opportunities didn't look much better. The Rams had hired quarterback Trent Green and gave him a multimillion dollar contract. Kurt got the league minimum for a second year player, $250,000.
In a preseason game Green got hurt, which allowed Warner to prove himself as a starting quarterback. And prove himself he did. Kurt Warner was named the NFL's most valuable player for 1999. Only a handful of quarterbacks have thrown for as many touchdowns as he did that year. And of course, he was named the Most Valuable Player of the Superbowl.
In spite of all this, Kurt Warner has an uncanny ability to keep his storybook success in perspective. On October 15, 1999 on the stage of the Billy Graham crusade, (which was held at the TWA Dome where the Rams play their home games), Warner announced to over 40,000 cheering fans: "Who am I? I am a devout Christian man. I am not a football player. That is what I do. When I throw a touchdown pass now, my thoughts are on how can I use this success on the field as a platform to glorify and praise my Lord Jesus Christ. People often ask the secret of my success as a football player. It has nothing to do with how I work out in the off-season, or my diet. The secret of my success is simply Jesus Christ."

source unknown

Starting Simple Like Saint Francis Of Assisi

The Assisi countryside in Italy, like much of Europe in the 1200s, was dotted with chapels, churches, and abbeys, each dedicated to one saint or another. Some were well endowed, but many were neglected, and most had a priest who depended on the generosity of locals to sustain him and the church.
San Damiano, a little less than a mile below Assisi, was such a church. It was guarded by olive trees and had a sweeping view of the wheat fields on the plain below. The church itself was in general disrepair; the walls crumbled all about it, and the priest eked out an existence. He didn't even have enough money to buy oil, let alone a lamp, to burn continually in the church.
On one of his country walks, Francis of Assisi decided to step into the chapel. In scattered light, he made his way to the front to pray.
How long he prayed and what exactly he said is unclear. But sometime in the middle of his prayer, Francis heard Christ speak to him: "Francis, go and repair my house, which, you can see, is all being destroyed."
Francis, up to this point in his life, had never experienced such a direct spiritual communication. He was "more than a little stunned," one of his biographers notes, "trembling and stuttering like a man out of his senses."
He pulled himself up from prayer and then pulled himself together. He vowed to carry out the command as quickly and as literally as he knew how: he found masonry, mortar, trowels, and other supplies, and began repairing the church he had been praying in.
Francis later became the key figure in the 13th-century revival of the church, a church that was racked with moral corruption from the pope to the local priest. Francis, at least for a time, was able to stem the tide of immorality. But it is interesting to note how he began repairing the medieval church as a whole: he started with the little chapel in front of him.
A lot of times we wish we could change the world, and who knows, maybe we are called to that eventually. But we are wiser to follow the example of Francis of Assisi: to do the little thing, the simple thing right in front of us, and let God take care of the world. As Jesus put it, those faithful in small things will be faithful in large things.

source unknown

Iranian Christians Multiply After Martyrdoms

In Iran, Mehdi Dibaj, an Assemblies of God minister, spent nearly 10 years in prison for his faith. A convert from Islam in 1955, Dibaj is given every opportunity by the authorities to regain his freedom. First, he is asked to sign a paper admitting he was wrong and that he wants to return to Islam. When this fails, he is beaten, tortured, and put through mock executions. His wife succumbs to pressure, converts to Islam, and marries another man, though Dibaj's children refuse to renounce their faith.
Next Dibaj is offered freedom in exchange for admitting he is mentally unstable. It is only after fellow pastor Haik Hovsepian-Mehr, chairman of Iran's Protestant Council, courageously sends out an open letter to Western media publicizing Dibaj's plight that he is freed. Not long after, Haik disappears and his murdered body is found. Still, Dibaj refuses to flee and continues his pastoral ministry; soon he meets the same fate. What is the result?
"In 1977 there were only 2,700 evangelicals in Iran out of a population of 45 million. Of these only 300 were former Muslims ... Today, there are close to 55 thousand believers, of whom 27 thousand are from Muslim backgrounds."

Michael G. Maudlin, "Have You Seen Jesus Lately?" Books & Culture (May/June 2002), p. 14

Church Supports Alcoholic On Christmas Eve

People came early one Christmas Eve for the 11pm service at Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, New York City. Among them was a recovering alcoholic, six months sober, who slipped into the eleventh row. This was his first Christmas since having lost his family. A family of four sat down two rows in front of him. Seeing them together was crushing. He decided he couldn't handle it - he had to have a drink.
As he moved from the sanctuary to the narthex, he ran into Pastor Thomas Tewell. "Jim, where are you going?" the pastor asked.
"Oh, I'm just going out for a Scotch," Jim replied.
"Jim, you can't do that," the pastor responded. He knew that Jim was a recovering alcoholic. "Is your sponsor available?"
Jim replied, "It's Christmas Eve. My sponsor is in Minnesota. There's nobody who can help me. I just came tonight for a word of hope, and I ended up sitting behind this family. If I had my life together, I'd be here with my wife and kids too."
Pastor Tewell took Jim into the vestry to talk with a couple of other pastors. Then he slipped into the auditorium, having no idea what to do. He whispered a prayer: "O God, could you give me a word of hope for Jim?" He welcomed everyone and told them about the church. Then he said, "I have one final announcement. If anyone here tonight is a friend of Bill Wilson - and if you are, you'll know it - could you step out for a moment and meet me in the vestry?" Bill Wilson, better known as Bill W., is a cofounder of Alcoholics Anonymous.
From all over the sanctuary, women, men, and college students arose and made their way out. "And there while I was preaching in the sanctuary about incarnation," said Pastor Tewell, "the Word was becoming flesh in the vestry. Someone was experiencing hope."

adapted from Dr. Thomas Tewell, The Communicator's Companion

Rose

The first day of school, our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn't already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to find wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being. She said, “Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I'm eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?"
I laughed and enthusiastically responded, “Of course you may!" and she gave me a giant squeeze. “Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?" I asked.
She jokingly replied, “I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married, have a couple of kids..."
"No seriously," I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.
"I always dreamed of having a college education and now I'm getting one!" she told me. After class, we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends.
Every day for the next three months we would leave, class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this “time machine" as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.
Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.
At the end of the semester, we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, “I'm sorry. I'm so jittery. I gave up beer for lent and this whiskey is killing me! I'll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know."
As we laughed, she cleared her throat and began, “We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success."
"You have to laugh and find humour every day."
"You've got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and don't even know it!"
"There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old, lie in bed for one full year, and don't do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding the opportunity in change."
"Have no regrets. The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did, but rather for things, we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets."
She concluded her speech by courageously singing “The Rose." She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives. At the year's end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation, Rose died peacefully in her sleep. Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it's never too late to be all you can possibly be.

source unknown

Suicide Bomber's Change Of Heart

Arin Ahmed, age 20, looked like a typical American teenager in tight pants and a short shirt exposing a bare midriff. She was on her way to the Israeli city of Rishon le-Zion, and the bare midriff was only a disguise. She had a bomb in her backpack.
Arin, fortunately, suddenly got cold feet and an unexpected warm heart. The would-be suicide bomber looked into the faces of the crowd and saw not hateful Jews, but an aging grandmother, a gurgling baby, a loving father, a teenager who looked like a Jewish friend she once had. She saw herself: "I suddenly understood what I was about to do, and I said to myself, How can I do such a thing?" She ran back to her two handlers cowering in a car and told them she was scratching her mission. They were furious, of course. At almost the same moment, a 16-year-old boy, her intended partner in suicide, was blowing himself up like a genuine martyr. Her disappointed handlers glumly drove her back to Bethlehem.
We know Arin's story because several days later Israeli security forces arrested her and her accomplices, members of the military (and terrorist) arm of Yasser Arafat's al-Fatah organization. She's in an Israeli jail, where Israeli Defense Minister Binyamin Ben-Eliezer visited her to try to learn what we all want to know: How typical is she? How many like her want to change their minds, but can't? Is there a point of no return? If so, where is it? "Mr. Minister," she asked of Binyamin Ben-Eliezer, "what will become of me? I have no future. I don't want my whole life to be ruined because of this. I'm at the beginning of life. I changed my mind."

adapted from Suzanne Fields, "When a Suicide Bomber Fails," www.townhall.com (1 July 2002)

How Much Does a Miracle Cost?

Tess was a precocious eight year old when she heard her Mum and Dad talking about her little brother, Andrew. All she knew was that he was very sick and they were completely out of money. They were moving to an apartment complex next month because Daddy didn't have the money for the doctor's bills and our house.
Only a very costly surgery could save him now and it was looking like there was no-one to loan them the money. She heard Daddy say to her tearful Mother with whispered desperation, “Only a miracle can save him now." Tess went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap,
She slipped out the back door and made her way 6 blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief sign above the door.
She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good. Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it! “And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice.
I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages", he said without waiting for a reply to his question. “Well, I want to talk to you about my brother," Tess answered back the same annoyed tone. “He's really, really sick... and I want to buy a miracle."
"I beg your pardon?" said the pharmacist. “His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?"
"We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry but I can't help you," the pharmacist said, softening a little.
"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs."
The pharmacist's brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, “What kind of a miracle does your brother need?"
"I don't know," Tess replied with her eyes welling up. “I just know he's really sick and Mummy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money". “How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago. “One dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audibly. “And it's all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to.
"Well, what a coincidence," smiled the man. “A dollar and eleven cents exact price of a miracle for little brothers." He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said “Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let's see if I have the kind of miracle you need."
The pharmacist’s brother was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon from Chicago, specialising in neuro-surgery. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well. Mum and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.
"That surgery," her Mom whispered. “was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?"
Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost... one dollar and eleven cents … plus the faith of a little child. A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a higher law.

see http://www.snopes.com/glurge/price.asp

Sow the Seed

He almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of the road. But even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.
Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so...was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe, he looked poor and hungry.
He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you. He said, “I'm here to help you ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan."
Well, all she had was a flat tyre, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tyre. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt.
As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid. Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. She asked him how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Bryan never thought twice about the money. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.
He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed, and Bryan added, “...and think of me".
He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight. A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The cash register was like the telephone of an out-of-work actor - it didn't ring much. Her waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude.
The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan. After the lady finished her meal, and the waitress went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, the lady slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back.
The waitress wondered where the lady could be, then she noticed something written on the napkin under which was four $100 bills. There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: “You don't owe me anything, I have been there too.
Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you".
Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it?
With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard. She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, “Everything's gonna be all right; I love you, Bryan."

source unknown

Quecreek Miners Kept Each Other Alive

In what the news called “The Miracle at Quecreek," nine miners trapped for three days 240 feet underground in a water-filled mine shaft “decided early on they were either going to live or die as a group."
The 55 degree (Fahrenheit) water threatened to kill them slowly by hypothermia, so according to one news report “When one would get cold, the other eight would huddle around the person and warm that person, and when another person got cold, the favour was returned."
"Everybody had strong moments," miner Harry B. Mayhugh told reporters after being released from Somerset Hospital in Somerset. “But any certain time maybe one guy got down, and then the rest pulled together. And then that guy would get back up, and maybe someone else would feel a little weaker, but it was a team effort. That's the only way it could have been."
They faced incredibly hostile conditions together - and they all came out alive together.
What a picture of the body of Christ.

source unknown

"Dilbert" Creator On Influence

Scott Adams, creator of the popular “Dilbert" cartoon, tells this story about his beginnings as a cartoonist:
You don't have to be a “person of influence" to be influential. In fact, the most influential people in my life probably are not even aware of the things they've taught me. When I was trying to become a syndicated cartoonist, I sent my portfolio to one cartoon editor after another - and received one rejection after another. One editor even called and suggested that I take art classes. Then Sarah Gillespie, an editor at United Media and one of the real experts in the field, called to offer me a contract. At first, I didn't believe her. I asked if I'd have to change my style, get a partner - or learn how to draw. But she believed I was already good enough to be a nationally syndicated cartoonist. Her confidence in me completely changed my frame of reference and altered how I thought about my own abilities. This may sound bizarre, but from the minute I got off the phone with her, I could draw better. You can see a marked improvement in the quality of the cartoons I drew after that conversation.

James M. Kouzes and Barry Posner, Encouraging The Heart (Jossey-Bass, 1999)

Growing Up in Australia

I'm talking about hide and seek in the park. The corner milk bar, hopscotch, billy carts, cricket in front of the garbage bin, skipping, handstands, footy on the best lawn in the street. British bulldog 1-2-3, go home stay home, slip'n'slide, the trampoline with water on it, hula hoops, pogo sticks, stepping in enormous puddles, mud pies and building dams in the gutter. The smell of the sun and fresh cut grass.
'Big bubbles no troubles' with Hubba Bubba bubble gum. A choc-top Mr Whippy cone on a warm summer night after you've chased him round the block. When 20 cents worth of mixed lollies was a meal and smoking fags was really cool.
Wait... Watching Saturday morning cartoons...short commercials, The Thunderbirds (if you got up reeeeeally early), the Smurfs, AstroBoy, He-Man, Captain Caveman, Archie. Or staying up late and sneaking a look at the “AO" on the second telly.
When around the corner seemed far away, and going into town seemed like going somewhere. A million mozzie bites, wasp and bee stings. Sticky fingers. Cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, riding bikes and catching tadpoles. Marco polo in the neighbours' pool ("fish outta water?!" "NOOOO"), drawing all over the road with chalk. Climbing trees and building cubbies out of every sheet your mum had in the cupboard.
Walking to school, no matter what the weather. Running till you were out of breath. Laughing so hard that your stomach hurt. Jumping on the bed. Pillow fights. Spinning around, getting dizzy and falling down was cause for the giggles.
Being tired from playing... Remember that?????? The worst embarrassment was being picked last for a team. Water balloons were the ultimate weapon.
Cricket cards in the spokes transformed any bike into a motorcycle... eating raw jelly, making homemade lemonade and sucking on a Funny Face red Freeza.
Remember when... There were only two types of sneakers - girls and boys. Dunlop volleys with the green 'n' gold or blue and the only time you wore them at school was for “sports day." You knew everyone in your street - and so did your parents! It wasn't odd to have two or three “best" friends.
You didn't sleep a wink on Christmas eve. When nobody owned a pure-bred dog. When 50c was decent pocket money. When you'd reach into a muddy gutter for 10c. When nearly everyone's mum was at home when the kids got there from school. It was magic when dad would “remove" his thumb. When it was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at the local Chinese restaurant with your parents.
When any parent could discipline any kid, or feed her or use him to carry groceries and nobody, not even the kid, thought a thing of it. When being sent to the principal's office was nothing compared to the fate that awaited a misbehaving student at home.
Basically, we were in fear for our lives, but it wasn't because of drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc. Our parents and grandparents were a much bigger threat! Some of us are still afraid of them!!! Didn't that feel good?
Just to go back and say, yeah, I remember that!
Remember when... Decisions were made by going “eeny-meeny-miney-mo" or scissors, paper, rock. “Race issue" meant arguing about who ran the fastest. Money issues were handled by whoever was the banker in “Monopoly".
The worst thing you could catch from the opposite sex was boy/girl germs, and the worst thing in your day was having to sit next to one. Having a weapon in school, meant being caught with a slingshot.
Nobody was prettier than your Mum. Scrapes and bruises were kissed and made better. Taking drugs meant orange-flavoured chewable vitamin C's. Ice cream was considered a basic food group. Going to the beach and catching a wave was a dream come true. Abilities were discovered because of a “double-dare". Older siblings were the worst tormentors, but also the fiercest protectors. If you can remember most of these, then you have LIVED!!!

source unknown

Punch and Judy

Just a little information regarding Punch & Judy. I have been a Punch & Judy Professor for over 30 Years. I was performing Punch and Judy in England on a beach in Kent at a place call Whistable for many years before coming to Australia.
True performers of Punch & Judy are called Professors. It is a tradition that when a Punch & Judy Professor dies, his puppets are burned or buried with him. Of course there are a lot of people that have bought or made a Punch & Judy puppet set, that are not true Professors, just as there are many people that buy a few magic tricks and call themselves magicians.
People claim Punch & Judy to be British. In a way this is true, but its origins are in Italy in the 1500s. Punch was taken to England in 1688 by an Italian puppeteer. He was at that time a marionette or string puppet. He soon changed into a glove puppet and met up with his wife Judy. The play and characters have remained the same since then. The stories being passed down father to son over the years, They can still been seen & heard today almost word for word as they would have been hundreds of years ago.
Punch is a bad tempered ugly brute with a big nose a hump back, and of course his famous stick, which he used to beat & kill every one from his wife & baby, the policeman & the doctor to name a few. He even manages to hang the hangman Jack Ketch on his own gallows. He is what is known as a loveable rogue. The kids all love him and to put it mildly he gets away with murder. He gets his come-uppence in the end from the crocodile.
The Professor uses what is known as a swazzle to produce the squeaky voice that he is renowned for. You only have to hear the word “That's the way to do it" being shouted out using a swazzle, and there can be no doubt that somewhere close at hand, Punch & Judy are entertaining another generation of kids. You will hear Punch shouting out “Oh! No I didn't" and the kids responding “Oh, yes you did" over and over again.
In today's society of course he is very much politically incorrect, but it would be like trying to change Shakespeare to change the story or characters of Punch & Judy. I have made a few changes, not so much to the story line, but I do not have him kill anyone only chases then off using his stick. With his baby instead of him whacking the baby because it was crying, then throwing the body out the window, I have him rocking the baby in his arms trying to stop it crying, then he accidentally drops the baby out of the window, having it land on a trampoline. As the baby keeps bouncing up into view he is trying to catch it before his wife Judy returns. At that moment she comes back from shopping for his sausages, she asked where the baby is, he tells her it has been put to bed, she does not believe him, so asks the children where it is. They of course tell her that he dropped it out of the window. This of course starts another lot of “Oh! no I didn't" with the response of “Oh! yes you did" from the kids. As she is looking out the window for the baby, he gives her a smack on her bottom with his stick, knocking her out the window. Now there is her and the baby bouncing up and down, with her shouting she is going to call a policeman. And so it goes on, we use the policeman to give an anti-violence message as do several other characters in the play. This way we can stick to the true story line, but turn it into an anti-violence play, so keep everyone happy.

source unknown

"I never got more for 50 cents in my life."

The story of the first Ferris Wheel as summarized from an article by Diane Shore that appeared in the June 2002 issue of Highlights For Children.
Early in the year 1892, 33 year-old Pittsburgh engineer George Washington Gale Ferris travelled to Chicago to propose an idea to the officials that for planning the 1893 Chicago World's Fair.
Just imagine: a 1000 horsepower steam engine would gracefully turn an observation wheel, lifting people 26 stories above ground level (four stories taller than Chicago's current “sky-scraping" capitol building, which was the world's tallest building at that time). It would be America's rival to the Eiffel Tower, the still controversial observation tower built for the Paris Exposition three years earlier.
But the fair officials were not enthusiastic. Would people be afraid to ride it? Would be safe? Ferris was an experienced a bridge builder and he assured them of its strength and safety. On the other hand, officials worried, what if Ferris was wrong and the entire structure collapsed?
Their initial decision was "no thanks". A few weeks later they changed their minds, only to rescind their approval the very next day. But George Ferris remained optimistic. He had already formed the Ferris Wheel Company in Pittsburgh. From spring to autumn Ferris continued to urge the officials to approve the construction of his Ferris Wheel. Finally, in mid-December the officials gave him in their final definite approval.
But now there wasn't enough time to complete the project for the opening of the fair on May 1st, 1893. Nevertheless, George Ferris set to work in earnest. Once the major foundation was poured, crews worked around the clock to construct what must have looked like the largest bicycle wheel of all time - actually two wheels joined together by the freely rotating passenger compartments. Each compartment was built to hold 40 revolving chairs with standing room for 20 additional passengers. And there were 36 compartments, so over 2000 people would be riding the wheel at the same time.
Seven weeks after the opening of the Chicago World's Fair, Mr. and Mrs. George Ferris and their invited guests took the very first 26-story vertical circle ride in history. And many fair-goers followed them. Almost 1.5 million people paid 50 cents each ($9.25 today) for their 20 minute ride. Thanks to Mr. Ferris' Wheel, the World's Fair in Chicago actually showed an overall profit.
And what a thrill for those who took the ride! As one California gentleman remarked, “I never got more for 50 cents in my life."

source unknown

St. Louis Cardinal Dies Despite Excellent Physical Appearance

On Saturday, June 22, 2002, the scheduled game between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Chicago Cubs at Wrigley Field was cancelled because of an eerie discovery. The Card's ace pitcher was found dead in a Chicago hotel room. Thirty-three-year-old Darryl Kile, who wore number 57, had been a major league pitching sensation for 12 years and had appeared in three All-Star games.
At a recent team physical, the 6-foot 5-inch athlete seemed in excellent health. When the medical examiners conducted an autopsy later that day, they discovered that Kile had died from a massive heart attack. His main coronary artery was 90 percent blocked.
Darryl Kile appeared to be healthy, but his heart was diseased. Jesus reminded us that a person's appearance and behaviour can be misleading. The Pharisees, for example, looked impressive, but their hearts were far from God.

source unknown

Landmine Injuries

Most of the time for Australian audiences landmine injuries happen to somebody far away, from overseas, in such places as Afghanistan, Cambodia and Kosovo. Thankfully we have little first hand knowledge of what it is like to suffer such an injury.
Gerald Hinton recently spoke on behalf of the Australian Network of the International Campaign to Ban Landmines to a Probus Club Meeting. At question time an ex Digger shared this story from a Vietnam Veteran Motor Cycle Club Member, who did not want to be named, which in far more meaningful words than mine gave the audience another perspective of what it is like to be a landmine victim:
A soldier was finally coming home after the completion of his "tour of duty" in South Vietnam. He phoned his parents from Sydney: "Mum and Dad, I'm coming home but I have a favour to ask, I have a mate I'd like to bring home with me."
"Of course," they replied, "we'd love to meet him."
"There's something you should know" the son continued, “he was hurt pretty badly during the jungle patrol. He stepped on a mine and lost an arm and a leg. He has nowhere to go and I want him to come and live with us?"
"Sorry to hear that son," said the father, "maybe we can help him to find somewhere to live."
"No, Mum and Dad I want him to come and live with us!" the son pleaded.
"Son, you don't know what you are asking, someone with such a handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we can't let someone like this, disrupt our normal routine. I think you should just come home and forget about this bloke. He'll find a way to live on his own."
At that point the son hung up the phone.
The parents heard nothing more from him. A few weeks later however, they received a call from the police in Sydney. Their son had died after falling from the roof of a building. The police suspected suicide. The grief-stricken parents flew to Sydney to identify the body of their son. They recognised him but to their horror they also discovered something they did not know. Their son only had one arm and one leg!
Just one of the many appalling results of landmine use.

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Toilet Talk

This actually happened which is why it is so funny. I left Brisbane heading toward Maryborough, when I decided to stop at a comfort station. The first stall was occupied, so I went into the second one. I was no sooner seated than I heard a voice from the next stall: “Hi, how are you doing?" Well, I am not the type to chat with strangers in highway comfort stations, and I really don't know quite what possessed me ... but anyway, I answered-a little embarrassed: “Not bad." Then stranger asked, “And, what are you up to?" Talk about your dumb questions! I was really beginning to think this was too weird! But I said, “Well, just like you I'm driving east." Then, I heard the stranger, sounding very upset, say, Look, I'll call you back. There's some idiot in the next stall answering all the questions I am asking you."

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Puzzle Shows Our Need to Slow Down and Pay Attention

In his book Thinking, Fast and Slow, the Nobel Prize winning economist Daniel Kahneman uses a simple puzzle to show the importance of slowing down and paying attention. Kahneman writes, "Do not try to solve [this puzzle] but listen to your intuition:
      A bat and a ball cost $1.10.
      The bat costs one dollar more than the ball.
      How much does the ball cost?"
Kahneman writes that most people come up with a quick answer - 10 cents.
The distinctive mark of this easy puzzle is that it evokes an answer that is intuitive, appealing, and wrong. Do the math, and you'll see. If the ball costs 10 cents, then the total cost will be $1.20 (10 cents for the ball and $1.10 for the bat), not $1.10. The correct answer is 5 cents.
If you got the puzzle wrong, don't be discouraged. According to Kahneman's research, more than 50 percent of students at Harvard, MIT, and Princeton gave the wrong answer. At less selective universities, over 80 percent of students failed the puzzle.
Kahneman notes that solving this puzzle doesn't depend on intelligence as much as it depends on our willingness to slow down, focus intently, and pay attention.
Throughout the Bible and the history of the church, many writers have also emphasized how important it is to slow down, focus intently, and pay attention in our walk with Christ. But as Kahneman's research proves, paying attention often doesn't come naturally to us. We have to work at paying attention.

Daniel Kahneman, Thinking, Fast and Slow (Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2011), pp. 44-45

The Birth of “Precious Lord" by Tommy A. Dorsey

Note: this black gospel composer should not be confused with Tommy Dorsey the bandleader.

Back in 1932 I was 32 years old and a fairly new husband. My wife, Nettie, and I were living in a little apartment on Chicago's Southside. One hot August afternoon I had to go to St. Louis where I was to be the featured soloist at a large revival meeting.
I didn't want to go. Nettie was in the last month of pregnancy with our first child. But a lot of people were expecting me in St. Louis.
I kissed Nettie good-bye, clattered downstairs to our Model A and, in a fresh Lake Michigan breeze, chugged out of Chicago on Route 66.
However, outside the city, I discovered that in my anxiety at leaving, I had forgotten my music case. I wheeled around and headed back. I found Nettie sleeping peacefully. I hesitated by her bed; something was strongly telling me to stay. But eager to get on my way, and not wanting to disturb Nettie, I shrugged off the feeling and quietly slipped out of the room with my music.
The next night, in the steaming St. Louis heat, the crowd called on me to sing again and again. When I finally sat down, a messenger boy ran up with a Western Union telegram. I ripped open the envelope.
Pasted on the yellow sheet were the words: YOUR WIFE JUST DIED.
People were happily singing and clapping around me, but I could hardly keep from crying out. I rushed to a phone and called home.
All I could hear on the other end was "Nettie is dead. Nettie is dead." When I got back, I learned that Nettie had given birth to a boy. I swung between grief and joy.
Yet that night, the baby died.
I buried Nettie and our little boy together, in the same casket. Then I fell apart. For days I closeted myself. I felt that God had done me an injustice. I didn't want to serve Him any more or write gospel songs. I just wanted to go back to that jazz world I once knew so well.
But then, as I hunched alone in that dark apartment those first sad days, I thought back to the afternoon I went to St. Louis. Something kept telling me to stay with Nettie. Was that something God? Oh, if I had paid more attention to Him that day, I would have stayed and been with Nettie when she died.
From that moment on I vowed to listen more closely to Him. But still I was lost in grief. Everyone was kind to me, especially a friend, Professor Fry, who seemed to know what I needed. On the following Saturday evening he took me up to a neighbourhood music school. It was quiet; the late evening sun crept through the curtained windows. I sat down at the piano, and my hands began to browse over the keys.
Something happened to me then. I felt at peace. I felt as though I could reach out and touch God. I found myself playing a melody, one in my head - it just seemed to fall into place:

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

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

Tommy Dorsey

Hatfields and McCoys

On Election Day, August 7, 1882, three sons of Randolph McCoy brutally stabbed twenty-four times and shot Ellison Hatfield, brother of "Devil Anse" Hatfield in Pike County, Kentucky. Ellison was carried across the Tug Fork River to the Anderson Ferrell House where he eventually died from his wounds. Devil Anse and his clan seized the three McCoys responsible and, when Ellison died, they were tied to papaw trees and executed. Thus began America’s most notorious family feud that brought notoriety to the Tug Fork Valley, made national headlines and created a violent image of Appalachian West Virginia and Kentucky.
Kentucky bounty hunters made raids into West Virginia to capture the Hatfields during the 1880s, and the Hatfields retaliated in 1888 by attacking the McCoy homestead in Kentucky, killing a son and daughter and seriously wounding Randolph McCoy’s wife.
Economics, rather than pigs or forbidden love, was the real cause for the feud. The feud was a struggle for power. A 1988 book entitled Feud: Hatfields, McCoys, and Social Change in Appalachia 1860-1900 portrays the Hatfields and McCoys as traditional Appalachians who were wrapped up in the sudden race to control coal and timber—a race that eventually was dominated by powerful outside interests.
The Hatfield-McCoy struggle was a case of ‘local autonomy versus outside control.’ It was between people like the Hatfields and their friends who wanted local control...and people who wanted to bring development from the outside. As a successful small businessman Anse Hatfield, the patriarch of the clan, was the envy of his competitors and his neighbors, including the not-so-successful McCoys across the Kentucky border. The McCoys’ jealousy was manipulated by a local businessman who wanted to force the Hatfields to sell their timber and coal to powerful Eastern corporations.
Jealousy and intrigue may lie at the heart of the feud, but hatred and the hunger for vengeance quickly took over. The feud raged for eight years. By 1890 the killings had ended, but the feud continued to be sensationalised by journalists for years to come. No one is sure exactly how many people died in the long-running feud.

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