The New Year's Sermon That Echoed

"How do we avoid having just another sermon that's forgotten before dinner is over?"
That was the question raised by the worship committee at Calvary Memorial Church in Oak Park, Illinois, after learning that Pastor Donald Gerig intended to kick off the new year with a message on spiritual growth.
The eventual solution: a blank piece of paper and an envelope inside every bulletin. "At the close of the sermon, I gave the people a few minutes to write a letter to themselves," Gerig says, "outlining goals for their own growth. Then they sealed the envelope, addressed it, and turned it in. We promised we'd mail it back to them six months later as a check-up."
Some stayed in the pews that morning, busily writing, while others turned theirs in as much as a month later. Altogether about 40 percent of the audience responded.
That June, the letters went out to remind people of their aspirations. "It was a positive growth experience for many," Gerig remembers. "Quite a few expressed appreciation for the reminder." It was certainly one message that outlasted the afternoon football game.

Fresh Ideas for Preaching, Worship, & Evangelism (Christianity Today International, 1982)

Young Boy Ignores His Father's Voice

Lee Eclov shares the following true story about a conversation between Max, a first grader in Lee's congregation, and Max's dad, Todd.
Dad: Max! Why didn't you answer me when I called you?
Max: I didn't hear you, Dad.
Dad: What do you mean you didn't hear me?
Max does not respond.
Dad: How many times didn't you hear me?
Max: I don't know, maybe three or four times.

Lee Eclov, Vernon Hills, Illinois

The Greatest Treasure

A friend of mine whose parents were immigrants, Jews from Europe who came to America in search of safety, told me this story. His parents lived and worked in New York. They were not well off. His father died when he was young. His mother lived on, and in time my friend succeeded and became wealthy. He often used to offer his mother the chance to travel outside America. She never did. When eventually she died, they went back to recover the safety box where she kept her jewelry. They found there another box. There was no key. So they had to drill it open. They wondered what precious jewel must be in it. They lifted the lid. There was wrapping and more wrapping and finally an envelope. Intrigued, they opened it. In the envelope were her U.S. citizenship papers. Nothing more. That was the jewel, more precious to her than any other possession. That was what she treasured most.

Tony Blair, A Journey: My Political Life (Knopf, 2010), p. xvi

Priest Experiences the Connection of Prayer

Jean Bosco Gakirage was not there when everyone he knew was murdered. It was 1994, and the Rwandan priest was returning to his home church for ordination when he received the terrible news: "Do not come home. Your parents and the whole congregation have been murdered in the sanctuary."
Jean refused to stay away. Reaching Musha, his small village, he found that only seven children remained alive. With the bodies of his parents and friends still inside the church, Jean told the children, "We are the Resurrection." But he felt that he died that day.
The story did not go untold or unnoticed. A continent away, Marie Michelle saw a picture of the tall Rwandan in a mission magazine. Marie is a nun, living in seclusion and near-silence in a Missouri convent. Her heart went out to the newly ordained priest who lost his parents and six siblings to genocide. She asked for permission to write Jean a letter.
When the letter arrived, Jean could hardly believe it was for him. There was no one left to write to him since the death of his family and friends. He placed the envelope on the table while he stared at it—"to let it rest," he said, "because it had come far."
Finally, Jean opened the envelope and read these words:
I will pray for you every day. From now on you can think of me as your sister, and I will call you not "Father Jean" but "my brother."
Jean responded to the letter with thanks and a promise to pray for Marie as well. He also included words from Psalm 141, "The evildoers appall me … but my eyes are fixed on thee, O Lord God; thou art my refuge."
The daily prayers continued for ten years. Jean corresponded regularly. Marie was limited to two letters per year, but other nuns in the order wrote seasonally. Then, on July 8, 2004, Jean was given the opportunity to visit the convent. The nuns usually communicate with outsiders only through notes, but on this day Jean would be able to speak to Marie through a metal grate. After the midday prayers and services were over, the curtain over the grate parted. Standing with her nine Passionist sisters, Marie peered through the bars at Jean.
"My brother," she said. "I thought I'd have to wait for heaven to see him."
After what will likely be their only meeting in this life, both agreed on their greatest connection.
Marie said, "The union in prayer is the deepest thing, better than letters and pictures."

source unknown

Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown

The animated classic A Charlie Brown Christmas airs on one of the major television networks every holiday season. Two producers working closely with Charlie Brown creator Charles Schulz remember their desperate efforts to first convince a network to show the special. All the major networks were hesitant. Finally, one agreed, and the great cartoonist got to work.
A memorable part of the animated tale occurs when Linus answers Charlie Brown's plaintive cry, "Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?" Linus walks to centre stage, requests a spot light, then recites from Luke 2 the biblical account of Jesus' birth. "That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown," he concludes.
While the program was in development, the producers cautioned Schulz about putting the scene in the special. They were convinced the religious message wouldn't go over well with the network. Undeterred, Schulz faced both producers and said, "If not us, then who's going to do it?"

Source: ABC News

Answered Prayer

In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket.
Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tyres crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds. He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries. Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either. If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it. I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job. The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck. The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince who ever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job. Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive -in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel. An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night.
I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pyjamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal. That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mummy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel. When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money - fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meagre wage.
The tyres on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home. One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tyres in the back seat. New tyres! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tyres. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered. I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tyres, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tyres. I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.
Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids. I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe. A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up. When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat. Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!
I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.
Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll. As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude.
And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.
Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop....

source unknown

God Delights to Give His Children Gifts

In his book Pure Pleasure, Gary Thomas reminds us that the Heavenly Father we meet in and through Jesus Christ loves to give his children gifts:

Once, while walking through a McDonald's restaurant, I saw eight ten-year-old girls celebrating a birthday. The warmth of sheer, unadulterated happiness permeated the gathering.
It was as if a light had been turned on and I could see God's delight. God felt happy that these girls were happy. Their delight, their joy, even their giddiness, gave God great pleasure. Have you ever thought about that—that you can give God great pleasure by enjoying yourself?
If you're a parent, imagine Christmas morning as the young kids tear into presents. Does anything make you happier? Don't moments like these break into the dull routines of life and give us a glimpse of heaven?
The fact that we are children of God—and that Jesus urges us to become like children—speaks of a certain demeanour, a certain delight, a certain trust in God's goodness and favour toward us. While God's servants are not merely his children (he also calls us to sacrificial and mature service), we never become less than his children.

Gary Thomas, "Let's Play," Men of Integrity (January/February 2011)

Christmas in Narnia

In the last of his Chronicles of Narnia books, C.S. Lewis includes a short dialogue that links his fantasy world with his belief in the mystery of Jesus' incarnation.
"It seems, then," said Tirian, "that the Stable seen from within and the Stable seen from without are two different places."
"Yes," said Lord Digory. "Its inside is bigger than its outside."
"Yes," said Queen Lucy. "In our world too, a Stable once had something inside it that was bigger than our whole world."

Source: The Last Battle

Yellow Line Transforms Behaviour

Randy Cohen, who writes "The Ethicist" column for The New York Times Magazine, says:
In New York at 33rd and Broadway, it's a big transportation hub. Penn Station's right there. A lot of commuter trains stop there, a major subway stop. Thousands and thousands of people pouring out and what everybody wants more than anything else is: They want a taxi.
And the most appalling episodes of violence I've seen since I've been here—and I've been in New York for 30 years—were committed there. People did just terrible things.
Then about 10 years ago, someone—I guess, the Taxi and Limousine Commission—they did something very simple. They painted a yellow strip down the sidewalk and they stencilled two words on the sidewalk: Cab Line. It utterly transformed behaviour there. It's the most astonishing thing. Nearly everyone, almost all the time, simply waits in line. It's magnificent. It's never enforced—there are no "line" police there. But we changed the physical conditions and made it possible for people to behave, invited them to behave, and they do!

Wilma Rudolph Overcame Obstacles to Win Olympic Gold

Wilma Rudolph was the 20th of 22 children. Born prematurely, doctors did not expect Wilma to survive. She did, but at the age of four, she contracted double pneumonia and scarlet fever, leaving her left leg paralysed. She learned to walk with the aid of a metal brace.
When Wilma was nine-years-old, she removed the leg brace and began walking without it. By age 13, she developed a rhythmic walk. That same year, she decided to begin running. She entered her first race and came in last. For the next three years, Wilma came in dead last in every race she entered. But she kept on running, and one day she won. Eventually, the little girl who was not supposed to live, and then who was not supposed to be able to walk, would win three gold medals in Rome's 1960 Olympic games.

source unknown

Stowaway in Cargo Box

When Charles McKinley, a 25-year-old shipping clerk in a New York warehouse, found himself in trouble with the law, he couldn't get his mind off heading for home to where his parents lived in suburban Dallas. He thought he could save himself money by shipping himself home in an airline cargo crate, so that is what he did.
On Friday, September 5, 2003, after filling out paperwork describing the cargo as clothes and a computer, McKinley called for a courier service and crawled inside the crate. The 42" by 36" by 15" crate containing McKinley's 5'8", 170-pound body, was taken by truck from New York's Kennedy Airport. According to the FBI, it was then taken to New Jersey before being loaded onto a pressurized, heated cargo plane operated by Kitty Hawk Cargo. The crate then was flown from Newark, New Jersey, to Niagara Falls, New York, before being taken to the carrier's hub in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and eventually on to Dallas.
When the crate was eventually delivered to the McKinley home in De Soto, Texas, on Saturday, he broke out of the box, startling his parents and the delivery man.
Without food or water on the 15-hour journey, the stowaway had taken a huge risk. The crate could have been handled roughly, breaking his bones. He had no place to relieve himself. According to Richard G. Phillips, chief executive of Pilot Air Freight, it was fortunate McKinley's box was carried in the pressurized, heated cabins, because it could just as easily have been placed in the lower, unpressurized holds.
"He could easily have died," Phillips told authorities. "What is more, the freight cost—billed to McKinley's employer—was $550. At that rate, he could have flown first-class."
Obviously this man did not give much forethought to his trip, and it could have cost him everything. In the same way, many people give little forethought to their trip into eternity. UPDATE: For his actions, McKinley was fined $1,500 and placed on probation. It could have been worse: he could have received a $100,000 fine and one year in prison.

source: Associated Press (9-9-03)

Operation Cleanses Abuse Victim

Maylo Aames' life was as bad as it could get. Bud, her mother's boyfriend, raped and beat her for years. Maylo's mother ignored the abuse her daughter suffered. Even her father refused to listen to her cry for help. Maylo says, "The older I got, the more I fought with Bud—and the more violent the rapes became. He told me if anyone ever found out what was going on, he would kill me."
Maylo escaped to Hollywood and a life of drugs and alcohol. Eventually she began an acting career and put an end to her destructive behaviour.
A visit to the doctor brought news of internal damage created by the years of abuse. Maylo would also have to undergo an operation for cervical cancer. This increased her rage for the man whose abuse made it unlikely she would ever have children.
Maylo described the operation as a turning point. Even though I didn't know God, he began to heal me. Before I fell asleep in the operating room, my doctor leaned over and said, "When you wake up, there won't be one spot in you that that man has touched. You will be clean." When I woke, my body was my own. My doctor will never know what a gift he gave me that day.

source unknown

Appearing on a Baseball Card

I have a small collection of baseball cards. The card that is worth the most is called "Future Stars" and is valued at $100.
There are three players on this card. The first is Jeff Schneider. Schneider played 1 year of professional baseball, pitched in 11 games, and gave up 13 earned runs in those 11 games.
The second player is Bobby Bonner, who played 4 years of baseball but only appeared in 61 games, with 8 runs batted in, and 0 home runs.
The third "Future Star" played 21 years for the Baltimore Orioles and appeared in 3,001 games. He came to bat 11,551 times, collected 3,184 hits and 431 home runs, and batted in 1,695 runs. His name is Cal Ripken, Jr.
Now imagine if you met Bobby Bonner, and he shook your hand and boasted, "Did you know that my baseball card is worth over $100?" You would laugh because you know the worth of the card has nothing to do with him.
That's how it is when we come to Christ and point to our good works, our statistics, and ask, "Is this good enough?" If you want to hold up your stats to God, you don't have a chance. But when you put your faith in Christ, his statistics become yours, and your baseball card becomes worth a lot because of someone else's stats.
Bobby Bonner and Jeff Schneider's baseball card is worth $100, not because of their statistics, but because of what someone else has done.

Shaun Brown, Newport News, Virginia

Boxer Refuses to Be Consumed by Bitterness

On June 17, 1966, two black men strode into the Lafayette Grill in Paterson, New Jersey, and shot three people to death. Rubin "Hurricane" Carter, a celebrated black boxer, and an acquaintance were falsely charged and wrongly convicted of the murders in a highly publicised and racially charged trial. The fiercely outspoken boxer maintained his claims of innocence and became his own jailhouse lawyer. After serving nineteen years, Carter was released.
As a free man, Carter reflected on how he has responded to injustice in his life.
The question invariably arises, it has before and it will again: "Rubin, are you bitter?" And in answer to that I will say, "After all that's been said and done - the fact that the most productive years of my life, between the ages of twenty-nine and fifty, have been stolen; the fact that I was deprived of seeing my children grow up - wouldn't you think I would have a right to be bitter? Wouldn't anyone under those circumstances have a right to be bitter? In fact, it would be very easy to be bitter. But that has never been my nature, or my lot, to do things the easy way. If I have learned nothing else in my life, I've learned that bitterness only consumes the vessel that contains it. And for me to permit bitterness to control or to infect my life in any way whatsoever would be to allow those who imprisoned me to take even more than the 22 years they've already taken. Now that would make me an accomplice to their crime.

James S. Hirsch, Hurricane: The Miraculous Journey of Rubin Carter (Boston/New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2000), p. 310

The Ascent

In many ways, ministry is like flying. Before we ever see results, much time, preparation, and work needs to be invested-constructing the wings, cockpit, and engine of the plane; training the pilots how to effectively navigate through the air; preparing a safe flight path for the plane's travel. So much effort goes into flying before takeoff that at times it is easy to give up. After all, it is much easier to stay on the ground.
Just ask the Wright brothers. Their efforts were not easy by any means. They began with measly ideas of tying a rope to a 150 foot pole, running a glider off a sand hill, and crashing their crafts time and time again. Even more troubling, when they finally did fly on a cold December day in 1903, they were airborne for a mere 59 seconds. They spent three years of work for a mere 59 seconds! Except for a few less successful attempts, everything else that day happened on the ground.
In many ways, ministry is like flying.
About nine months ago (or what felt like 59 seconds), Riverside began a unique college ministry for the students of Ball State and Taylor Universities. Under the name of Alive365, a group of energetic young people began a ministry from the ground up-much like building a plane-by forming a band, arranging special events and outings, and organizing a program and a message relevant to the current college generation.
On one hand, Alive365 exceeded expectations, as over 100 different students were affected by this ministry, as well as how the program continued to improve throughout the semester. But, at the same time, Alive365 fell well short of its goals. There was a hope of drastically increasing attendance and becoming one of the "soaring" college ministries in the Muncie area. There was hope of rising above all human practicality, allowing God to lift us to new heights, enabling us to reach hundreds of Ball State students this year. But we never flew quite as high as desired, and even at times, we completely faltered.
In many ways, ministry is like falling.
Now that funding has been cut for this ministry, before giving up entirely, it would be important to remember again words of Wilbur Wright, for before the Wright Brothers ever flew their historical flight at Kitty Hawk, NC, they contemplated resignation. As Wilbur explains, "We doubted that we would ever resume our experiments...when we looked at the time and money which we had expended, and considered the progress made and the distance yet to go, we considered our experiments a failure." To think that such historical figures were so close to giving up! For the sake of travel, aeronautics, and invention, thank goodness they never did!
In many ways, ministry is like rising.
What made the Wright brothers successful can make a ministry successful. They never viewed their failures as failures. In fact, looking back upon their attempts, they realised that each attempt led to the next. As Wilbur again wrote, "Although the hours and hours of practice...finally dwindled down to about two minutes, we were very much pleased with the general results of the trip, for setting out as we did, with almost revolutionary theories on many points, and an entirely untried form of machine...[our attempts were successful]."
In the same way, it is important to keep any attempt into perspective - whether it be an attempt at flying or an attempt at starting a brand new ministry. In my perspective, the Alive365 ministry puttered along at times, but considering it was "an entirely untried form of machine," it would be completely wrong to view this ministry as a failure. This in mind, when a ministry like this is cut from a church, the important things to keep in mind are: (1) ministry is not about numbers or acclaim, since even Jesus spent most of his time with a group of 12 disciples, and much of his energy was spent responding to critics; (2) ministry is not about reaching the heavens, since at times, the plane will never leave the ground-as seen in Jesus' beating and crucifixion; and (3) ministry is not about immediate results, since some ministries face immediate rejection-as in cases of martyrdom.
So how should a Church respond when it feels like giving up? No matter how we might reason or feel, Christ's message for the Church remains exactly the same, as it has since the beginning: "I know your deeds, that you have a name that you are alive, but you are dead. Wake up, and strengthen the things that remain, which were about to die." (Rev. 3:1b-2a) When His children feel like quitting or cutting back, Christ tells the Church not to die, but to wake up and live! Christ challenges the Church to strive even further in its efforts-no matter how great the difficulty might seem.
I cannot help but think that the Wright brothers knew this message well. Before ever flying, the Wright brothers originally exclaimed, "Not within a thousand years would man ever fly!" But as faithful Christian believers, the Wright brothers never gave up. They woke up, strengthened what remained... and eventually, they became the first men to ever fly...
And my prayer is that we too will hear that voice-that voice that spoke to the church in Sardis and the voice that spoke to the Wright Brothers - "Ascend, ascend, and never stop flying. You only fail, you only falter, you only die, when you stop trying..." Since after all, when an accomplishment or a ministry seems impossible, when it seems like it might take a thousand years, that is exactly when God intervenes... when history is made and the skies are broken...
Amen and amen.

Joel Jupp

Would You Like A Doughnut?

There was a certain professor of theology named Dr. Christianson, a studious man who taught at a small college in the western U.S. Dr. Christianson taught the survey course in Christianity, which was a requirement of every freshman regardless of major.
Although Dr. Christianson tried to communicate the essence of the gospel in his class, he found that most of his students looked upon the course as nothing but required drudgery. Despite his efforts, most students refused to take the gospel seriously.
One year Dr. Christianson had a special student named Steve. Steve was only a freshmen, but was studying with the intent of going on to seminary for the ministry. Steve was popular, smart, and athletic. Although only a freshman, Steve was the starting centre on the football team, and was the best student in the professor's class.
One day Dr. Christianson asked Steve to stay after class so he could talk with him. "How many push-ups can you do?" Steve said, "I do two hundred every night." "Two hundred! That's pretty good, Steve." Dr. Christianson said. "Do you think you could do 300?" Steve replied, "I don't know... I've never done 300 at a time." "Do you think you could?" again asked Dr. Christianson.
"Well, I can try," said Steve. "Can you do 300 in sets of ten? I have a class project in mind and I need you to do about 300 pushups in sets of ten for this to work. Can you do it? I need you to tell me you can," said the professor.
Steve said, "Well, I think I can. . . . yeah, I can do it." Dr. Christianson said, "Good! I need you to do this on Friday. Let me explain what I have in mind..."
Friday came and Steve got to class early and sat in the front of the room.
When class started, the professor pulled out a big box of doughnuts. They were the extra fancy big kind, with cream centres and frosting swirls. Everyone was excited it was Friday, the last class of the day, and they were going to get an early start on the weekend with a party in Dr. Christianson's class.
Dr. Christianson went to the first girl in the first row and asked, "Cynthia, do you want to have one of these doughnuts?" Cynthia said, "Yes." Dr. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so Cynthia can have a doughnut?"
Steve said, "Sure," and jumped down from his desk to do a quick ten. Then Steve sat again at his desk. Dr. Christianson put a doughnut on Cynthia's desk.
Dr. Christianson then went to Joe, the next in line, and asked ,"Joe, do you want a doughnut?" Joe said yes, so Dr. Christianson asked Steve to do ten pushups so that Joe could have a doughnut. Steve did ten, and Joe got a doughnut. And so it went down the first aisle. Steve did ten pushups for every person so that each could have a doughnut.
And down the second aisle, till Dr. Christianson came to Scott. Scott was on the basketball team, was in excellent condition, and also was very popular. The professor asked, "Scott, do you want a doughnut?" Scott's reply was, "Well, can I do my own pushups?"
Dr. Christianson said, "No, Steve has to do them." Scott said, "Then I don't want one."
Dr. Christianson shrugged and turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so that Scott can have a doughnut he doesn't want?" With perfect obedience, Steve started to do ten pushups.
Scott said, "Hey! I said I didn't want one!" Dr. Christianson said, "Look, this is my classroom, my class, my desks, and these are my doughnut. Just leave it on the desk if you don't want it." And he put a doughnut on Scott's desk. Now by this time, Steve had begun to slow down a bit. He stayed on the floor between sets because it took too much effort to get up and down. You could see a little perspiration coming out around his brow.
Dr. Christianson started down the third row. Now the students were beginning to get a little angry. Dr. Christian asked Jenny, "Jenny, do you want a doughnut?" Sternly, Jenny said, "No!" Then Dr. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten more pushups so Jenny can have a doughnut she doesn't want?" Steve did ten and Jenny got a doughnut.
By now a sense of uneasiness filled the room. Students were beginning to say no and there were all these uneaten doughnuts on the desks. Steve had to put forth a lot of extra effort to get these pushups done for each doughnut. There began to be a small pool of sweat on the floor beneath his face; his arms and brow were getting red because of the physical effort involved.
Dr. Christianson asked Robert, who was the most vocal unbeliever in the class, to watch Steve do each pushup to make sure he did the full ten pushups in a set because he couldn't bear to watch all of Steve's work for all those uneaten doughnut. He sent Robert over to where Steve was so that he could count the set and watch Steve closely. Dr. Christianson started down the third row.
During the class, however, students from other classes had wandered in and sat down on the steps that ran along the sides of the room. When the professor saw this, he did a quick count and saw that there were now 34 students in the room. He started to worry if Steve could do it. Dr. Christianson went on to the next person, and the next, and the next.
Near the end of that row, Steve was really having a rough time. He was taking a lot more time to complete each set. Steve asked Dr. Christianson, "Do I have to touch my nose to the floor on each one?" Dr. Christianson thought for a moment. "Well, they're your pushups. You are in charge now. You can do this any way you want."
And Dr. Christianson went on. A few moments later, Jason, a recent transfer student, came to the room and was about to come in when all the students started to yell, "No!
Don't come in! Stay out!" Jason didn't know what was going on. Steve picked up his head and said, "No, let him come."
Professor Christianson said, "You realise that if Jason comes in you will have to do ten pushups for him?" Steve said, "Yes, let him come in. Give him a doughnut."
Dr. Christianson said, "Okay, Steve. I'll let you get Jason's out of the way right now. Jason, do you want a doughnut?" Jason, new to the room, hardly knew what was going on. "Yes," he said, "give me a doughnut."
"Steve, will you do ten pushups so that Jason can have a doughnut?" Steve did ten pushups very slowly and with great effort. Jason was handed a doughnut and sat down. Dr. Christianson finished the fourth row and started on the visitors sitting on the step. Steve's arms were shaking from the effort of each pushup. Sweat was dripping off his face and by this time there was no sound except his heavy breathing. There was not a dry eye in the room.
The very last students in the room were two young women, both popular cheerleaders. Dr. Christian went to Linda and asked, "Linda, do you want a doughnut?"
Linda said, very sadly, "No, thank you." Professor Christianson quietly asked, "Steve, would you do ten pushups so Linda can have a doughnut she doesn't want?"
Grunting from the effort, Steve did ten very slow pushups for Linda.
Then Dr. Christianson turned to the last girl, Susan. "Susan, do you want a doughnut?" Susan, with tears flowing down her face, began to cry. "Dr. Christianson, why can't I help him?"
Dr. Christianson, with tears of his own, said, "No, Steve has to do it himself. I have given him this task and he is in charge of seeing that everyone has an opportunity for a doughnut whether they want it or not. When I decided to have a party this last day of class, I looked at my grade book. Steve is the only student with a perfect grade.
Everyone else has failed a test, or skipped a class, or offered me inferior work. Steve told me that in football practice when a player messes up he must do pushups. I told Steve that none of you could come to my party unless he paid the price by doing your pushups. He and I made a deal for your sakes. Steve, would you do ten pushups so that Susan can have a doughnut?"
When Steve finished his last pushup, with the understanding that he had accomplished all that was required of him, having done 350 pushups, his arms buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor.
Dr. Christianson turned to the room and said, "And so it was, that our Saviour, Jesus Christ, on the cross, prayed to the Father, 'Into Thy hands I commend my spirit.' With the understanding that he had done everything that was required of him, he yielded up his life. And like some of those in this room, many of us leave the gift on the desk, uneaten." Two students helped Steve off the floor and into a seat, physically exhausted but wearing a thin smile. "Well done, good and faithful servant," said the professor. "Then he added, "Not all sermons are preached with words." Turning to the class he said, "My wish is that you might understand all the riches of grace and mercy that have been given you through the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. God the Father spared not his only begotten Son, but gave him up for us all."

source unknown

A Father's Love

In Surprised by Children, Harold Myra writes:
One afternoon my older brother Johnny and I were walking home from school when we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by four older boys we didn't know. Johnny was a good fighter, but they pushed us into a field, threw ropes around us, and shoved us down on the ground.
"What did we do?" we demanded. "We didn't do anything to you."
They laughed, tying us up, tangling us together, cinching the knots tight. They thoroughly enjoyed themselves, taunting us and pulling on the ropes.
Then the bullies left us in the secluded field—just left us trussed up. We yelled at them to free us, but they were soon gone.
At first a wave of relief rolled over me. They're gone! Now we can squirm free. We yanked at the ropes, thinking we could surely get loose somehow. But we couldn't. We strained and strained, feeling panic building as it started to get dark.
We lay there as the light slowly vanished. The moon and stars appeared. We wondered how anyone could find us in the dark and how long this could go on.
At long, long last, under the evening sky, we heard our father's voice. He had searched all along the way to school and found us in the field.

How We Treat People

Five lessons to make you think about the way we treat people.
1. First Important Lesson - Cleaning Lady. During my second month of college, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions, until I read the last one: "What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?" Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50s, but how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank. Just before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade. "Absolutely," said the professor. "In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say "hello". I’ve never forgotten that lesson. I also learned, her name was Dorothy.
2. Second Important Lesson - Pickup in the Rain One night, at 11:30 p.m., an older African American woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway trying to endure a lashing rainstorm. Her car had broken down and she desperately needed a ride. Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car. A young white man stopped to help her, generally unheard of in those conflict-filled 1960s. The man took her to safety, helped her get assistance and put her into a taxicab. She seemed to be in a big hurry, but wrote down his address and thanked him. Seven days went by and a knock came on the man’s door. To his surprise, a giant console color TV was delivered to his home. A special note was attached. It read: "Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway the other night. The rain drenched not only my clothes, but also my spirits. Then you came along. Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying husband’s bedside just before he passed away. God bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving others," Sincerely, Mr s. Nat King Cole.
3. Third Important Lesson - Always remember those who serve.
In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10 year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him. "How much is an ice cream sundae?" he asked. "Fifty cents," replied the waitress. The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied the coins in it. " Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?" he inquired. By now more people were waiting for a table and the waitress was growing impatient. "Thirty-five cents," she brusquely replied. The little boy again counted his coins. "I’ll have the plain ice cream," he said. The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and left. When the waitress came back, she began to cry as she wiped down the table. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies. You see, he couldn’t have the sundae, because he had to have enough left to leave her a tip.
4. Fourth Important Lesson - The Obstacles in Our Path.
In ancient times, a King had a boulder placed on a roadway. Then he hid himself and watched to see if anyone would remove the huge rock. Some of the king’s wealthiest merchants and courtiers came by and simply walked around it. Many loudly blamed the King for not keeping the roads clear, but none did anything about getting the stone out of the way. Then a peasant came along carrying a load of vegetables. Upon approaching the boulder, the peasant laid down his burden and tried to move the stone to the side of the road. After much pushing and straining, he finally succeeded. After the peasant picked up his load of vegetables, he noticed a purse lying in the road where the boulder had been. The purse contained many gold coins and a note from the King indicating that the gold was for the person who removed the boulder from the roadway. The peasant learned what many of us never understand! Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve our condition.
5. Fifth Important Lesson - Giving When it Counts.
Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare & serious disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year-old brother, who had miraculously survived the same illness. The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked he little boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister. I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, "Yes I’ll do it if it will save her." As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheeks. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away?" Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister all of his blood in order to save her.

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Don't Tell Me If This Is False - I Don't Want To Know!

A Mexican newspaper reports that bored Royal Air Force pilots stationed on the Falkland Islands have devised what they consider a marvelous new game. Noting that the local penguins are fascinated by airplanes, the pilots search out a beach where the birds are gathered and fly slowly along it at the water's edge.
Perhaps ten thousand penguins turn their heads in unison watching the planes go by, and when the pilots turn around and fly back, the birds turn their heads in the opposite direction, like spectators at a slow-motion tennis match. Then, the paper reports, "The pilots fly out to sea and directly to the penguin colony and overfly it. Heads go up, up, up, and ten thousand penguins fall over gently onto their backs.

Audubon Society Magazine

Corporation Chooses Charity over Party

Mort Meyerson, who ran Perot Systems from 1992 to 1997, created a stir when he canceled the company's annual Christmas party. He saw that the event (for 13,000 employees) was costing $360,000 and decided the money could be put to better use.
He said, "We'll take the $360,000 and buy food and clothes and toys, and we will get our employees to take those things personally and deliver them to the inner city, to people who don't have anything."
The first reaction to his decision was outrage, followed by depression, then recognition that they were doing something different, and finally elation on the part of the people who made the deliveries.
What did the event do for their employees?
Meyerson stated: "It made them more human. It made them more effective as employees. It made them better family members."
One employee told Meyerson, "This has changed my life."

Fortune Magazine (December 18, 2000)

Strange Sound from The Monastery

A man is driving down the road and breaks down near a monastery. He goes to the monastery, knocks on the door, and says, "My car broke down. Do you think I could stay the night?" The monks graciously accept him, feed him dinner, and even fix his car.
As the man tries to fall asleep, he hears a strange sound. The next morning, he asks the monks what the sound was, but they say, "We can't tell you. You're not a monk."
The man is disappointed but thanks them anyway and goes about his merry way. Some years later, the same man breaks down in front of the same monastery. The monks again accept him, feed him, and even fix his car. That night, he hears the same strange noise that he had heard years earlier. The next morning, he asks what it is, but the monks reply, "We can't tell you. You're not a monk."
The man says, "All right, all right. I'm dying to know. If the only way I can find out what that sound was is to become a monk, how do I become a monk?" The monks reply, "You must travel the earth and tell us how many blades of grass there are and the exact number of sand pebbles. When you find these numbers, you will become a monk."
The man sets about his task. Some forty-five years later, he returns and knocks on the door of the monastery. He says, "I have traveled the earth and have found what you have asked for. There are 145,236,284,232 blades of grass and 231,281,219,999,129,382 sand pebbles on the earth."
The monks reply, "Congratulations. You are now a monk. We shall now show you the way to the sound."
The monks lead the man to a wooden door, where the head monk says, "The sound is right behind that door." The man reaches for the knob, but the door is locked. He says, "Real funny. May I have the key?"
The monks give him the key, and he opens the door. Behind the wooden door is another door made of stone. The man demands the key to the stone door. The monks give him the key, and he opens it, only to find a door made of ruby. He demands another key from the monks, who provide it. Behind that door is another door, this one made of sapphire. So it went until the man had gone through doors of emerald, silver, topaz, and amethyst.
Finally, the monks say, "This is the last key to the last door."
The man is relieved to no end. He unlocks the door, turns the knob, and behind that door he is amazed to find the source of that strange sound...



But I can't tell you what it is because you're not a monk.

source unknown

The Picture

An absolute classic from my dear friend Stan Thornburg...
 
Dear Friends,
My youth pastor friend sent me an email asking me to study a picture he attached to see if I could find what was wrong with it. As I looked intently at it a terrifying picture and loud scream flashed on the screen and startled me out of my wits. This is my reply to him.
Hope it brings a smile

Paul,
Sorry I didn't get to study the picture you sent me. Some really strange things happened right in the middle of it. I was studying it when something startled me and I jumped and yelled and spilled my extra-hot 16 oz triple non-fat Latte right in my lap. The pain was unbearable and I ran screaming to the restroom while tearing my scalding pants from my body. Well, I ran down the hallway where the daycare children were lined up for recess and something about my screaming, the fact my pants were down, and the particular part of my body that I was grasping gave the daycare director sufficient cause to dial 911. Once I got into the restroom and eased the pain, I realised that I had made quite a spectacle of myself so I decided to climb out the window and go around the building to my car rather than walk back through the daycare gauntlet in the hallway. I had not realized that the daycare director had blockaded the door from the outside on the advice of the 911 dispatcher. As I climbed out the window, I saw four police with guns drawn shouting “scum-bag” and “molester” so I assumed there was an armed paedophile somewhere in the building. I ran toward the officers for protection and didn't realise that the still-steaming latte on the crotch of my pants might give them the impression that I was the aforesaid molester. They began firing just as the realisation of my compromising appearance began to sink in. I took a right turn to cut through the brush and trees adjacent to the church to see if I could find a place to hide from the bullets and stumbled into a group of Brownie Scouts making their way along the path to sell cookies to nearby homes. I stumbled and landed right on top of them and the den mother began to shout similar words to those the police had used. I could see that to try to explain would be dangerous now that the cops could see two hysterical Brownie Scouts being pulled out from under me. I jumped up and flung my hands in the air to surrender and just happened to hit the den mother (who was about to club me with a branch from behind) sending her to the dirt and, of course making the surrender idea worthless. The police then let their dogs go and, of course, dialogue was out of the question... Well, the rest is not all that interesting. I get moved out of the emergency room as soon as the stitches from the dog mauling are in. I had the bones in my hand reset and the second degree burns to my ...ah... what should I say... groin area... yes, that's it, the groin area treated and bandaged. I have talked to one psychiatrist and an animal rights volunteer and bought 34 dozen girl scout cookies. My guess is that I will be out on bail soon and then have several months to prepare my defence for the following charges: indecent exposure, child-endangerment, flight from prosecution, first degree assault (for the den mother), third degree assault (for the smashed Brownie Scouts), animal cruelty (for biting the Doberman back), and attempting to intimidate and officer in the performance of his/her duty (I flashed my pastor's credential and threatened to have God turn him turn him into Barry Manilow.)
Anyway, I was wondering. What was in that picture that you wanted me to see?? I hope is was well worth this trouble, because if it wasn't I am going to... never mind, my clerk of elders just showed up with the catholic priest from St. Anthony's. I wonder what he's doing here with all the beads, incense and a copy of “The Exorcist”?? Got to go.
Stan

Spy Novel

In a spy novel I had just read, the hero hid a letter in a particular statue in Washington, D.C. Since I was in that city at the time, on a whim I decided to see if the statue really contained the small niche the author had described. To my great surprise, it did - and a cellophane-wrapped letter was inside. After a moment's hesitation, I pulled out the letter, opened it, and burst into laughter.
An unidentified reader had penned, "Good book, wasn't it?"

source unknown

Living Fast-Paced Lives

A Tacoma, Washington, newspaper carried the story of Tattoo the basset hound. Tattoo didn't intend to go for an evening run, but when his owner shut the dog's leash in the car door and took off for a drive with Tattoo still outside the vehicle, he had no choice.
Motorcycle officer Terry Filbert noticed a passing vehicle with something dragging behind it: it was "the basset hound picking [up his feet] and putting them down as fast as he could." He chased the car to a stop. Tattoo was rescued, but not before the dog had reached a speed of 20 to 25 miles per hour, rolling over several times.
Too many of us end up living like Tattoo, our days marked by picking them up and putting them down as fast as we can.
It's time to learn another way to live.

John Ortberg

God is Watching!

There was a little boy visiting his grandparents on their farm. He was given a slingshot to play with in the woods. He practised in the woods, but he could never hit the target. Getting a little discouraged, he headed back for dinner. As he was walking back he saw Grandma's pet duck.
Just out of impulse, he let the slingshot fly, hit the duck square in the head, and killed it. He was shocked and grieved. In a panic, he hid the dead duck in the wood pile, only to see his sister watching. Sally had seen it all, but she said nothing.
After lunch the next day Grandma said, "Sally, let's wash the dishes." Sally said, "Grandma, Johnny told me he wanted to help in the kitchen." Then she whispered to him, "Remember the duck?" So Johnny did the dishes.
Later that day, Grandpa asked if the children wanted to go fishing and Grandma said, "I'm sorry but I need Sally to help make supper." Sally just smiled and said," Well that's all right because Johnny told me he wanted to help. She whispered again, "Remember the duck?" So Sally went fishing and Johnny stayed to help.
After several days of Johnny doing both his chores and Sally's he finally couldn't stand it any longer. He came to Grandma and confessed that he had killed the duck. Grandma knelt down, gave him a hug, and said,
"Sweetheart, I know. You see, I was standing at the window and I saw the whole thing. But because I love you, I forgave you. I was just wondering how long you would let Sally make a slave of you."
Thought for the day and everyday thereafter: Whatever is in your past, whatever you have done - and the devil keeps throwing it up in your face (lying, debt, fear, hatred, anger, unforgiveness, bitterness, tc.) - whatever it is, you need to know that God was standing at the window and He saw the whole thing. He has seen your whole life. He wants you to know that He loves you and that you are forgiven. He's just wondering how long you will let the devil make a slave of you.
The great thing about God is that when you ask for forgiveness, He not only forgives you, but He forgets - It is by God's Grace and Mercy that we are saved. Go ahead and make the difference in someone's life today.
Remember ... God is at the window!

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NFL Teammates Must Overcome Incompatibility

Time printed a photograph of the back of Washington Redskins quarterback Jeff George (his helmet off, revealing a big, white-skinned bald spot) sitting on the bench flanked by two African-American teammates, each with a supportive hand on his shoulder.
The caption read, "What counts most in creating a successful team is not how compatible its players are, but how they deal with incompatibility."

"We Illustrated," Time (Nov-18-2002)

Modeling How a Christian Man Dies

When New Testament scholar William Lane taught at Western Kentucky University, contemporary musician Michael Card was a student of his, and they developed a friendship that led to a discipling relationship. Card's book, The Walk, describes the intertwining of these two lives that grew out of their days together at the university. William Lane worked to live out the meaning of redeemed life to the fullest extent. But he was not content until he passed it on to others, including Michael Card. Eventually, Professor Lane moved to another university. Years later through a telephone call, Card learned that Lane was dying of cancer. Eventually, the Lanes moved to be near the Cards. As Card tells the story, Professor Lane had a purpose in doing this.
He said to Card, "I want to come to Franklin (where the Cards lived) … I want to show you how a Christian man dies." The Lanes made the move and many months later Card's beloved mentor died. Lane's life mirrors the teaching of Psalm 15. Those who truly worship God do so with the totality of their being, even the hour of dying.

Authentic Worship, Herbert W. Bateman, editor (Kregel, 2002), pp. 76-77

The Best Cat Story

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my illness, I always sense my boss thinks I am lying.
On one occasion, I had a valid reason, but lied anyway because the truth was too humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel like coming in the next day. By then, I thought, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on my crown.
The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty. Initially, the new acquisition was no problem, but one morning I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen. "Ed!! The garbage disposal is dead. Come and reset it."
"You know where the button is," I protested through the shower (pitter-patter). "Reset it yourself!"
"I am scared!" she pleaded. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?"(Pause) "C'mon, it'll only take you a second."
So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a statement about how her cowardly behaviour was not without consequence. I crouched down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button.
It is the last action I remember performing.
It struck without warning, without any respect to my circumstances.
Nay, it wasn't a hexed disposal drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth.
It was our new kitty, clawing playfully at the dangling objects she spied between my legs.
She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I took the bait under the sink. At precisely the second I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.
I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, while rising upwardly at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region. Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight" syndrome.
Men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. Fleeing straight up, the sink and cabinet bluntly impeded my ascent; the impact knocked me out cold.
When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics snorted as they tried to conduct their work while suppressing hysterical laughter.
At the office, my colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me.
I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"
If they had only known!

source unknown

Wynton Marsalis Rescues a Song

Journalist David Hajdu recently told a memorable story about Wynton Marsalis, one of the most easily recognizable jazz musicians in our day and one of the premier jazz trumpeters of all time. One night, Marsalis was playing with a small, little-known combo in a New York basement club. A few songs into their set, he walked to the front of the bandstand and began an unaccompanied solo of the 1930s ballad, "I Don't Stand a Ghost of a Chance with You." Hajdu records that the audience became rapt as Marsalis's trumpet virtually wept in despair, almost gasping at times with the pain in the music.
Stretching the mood taut, Marsalis came to the final phrase, with each note coming slower and slower, with longer and longer pauses between each one: "I... don't... stand... a... ghost... of... a... chance"
Then someone's cell phone went off.
It began to chirp an absurd little tune. The audience broke up into titters, the man with the phone jumped up and fled into the hallway to take his call, and the spell was broken. "MAGIC—RUINED," the journalist scratched into his notepad.
But then Marsalis played the cellphone melody note for note. He played it again, with different accents. He began to play with it, spinning out a rhapsody on the silly little tune, changing keys several times. The audience settled down, slowly realising that they were hearing something altogether extraordinary. Around and around Marsalis played for several minutes, weaving glory out of goofiness.
Finally, in a masterstroke, he wound down seamlessly to the last two notes of his previous song: "... with... you." The audience exploded with applause. In the same way, our brilliant, adaptable God is at work throughout this sin-sick world, bringing beauty out of baseness, heroism out of holocaust, love out of loss—even salvation out of sacrifice. He calls us to believe, and then do the same.

source unknown

Arnold Palmer Receives Gift of Golf Club

Golfer Arnold Palmer once played a series of exhibition matches in Saudi Arabia. The king was so impressed that he proposed to give Palmer a gift. Palmer demurred; "It really isn't necessary, Your Highness. I'm honoured to have been invited."
"I would be deeply upset," replied the king, "if you would not allow me to give you a gift."
Palmer thought for a moment and said, "All right. How about a golf club? That would be a beautiful momento of my visit to your country."
The next day, delivered to Palmer's hotel, was the title to a golf club. Thousands of acres, trees, lakes, clubhouse, and so forth. The moral of this story is: In the presence of a King, don't ask for small gifts!

source unknown

Stevie

I tried not to be biased, but I have to admit that I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my Customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Down Syndrome.
I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade. The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck stop germ"; and the pairs of white shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truckstop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew (or thought I knew) those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.
I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee pill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto a cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.
Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated, surgeries due to cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.
He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Down Syndrome often had heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.
A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery and doing fine. Frannie, head waitress, let out a war whoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of the 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look.
He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked. "We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay." "I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?" Frannie quickly told Belle Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed. "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK" she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mum are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand a funny look on her face. " What's up?" I asked. "I didn't get that table where Belle Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup." She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something for Stevie." "Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told them about Stevie and his Mum and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply "truckers," That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work, met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back. Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.
"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!" I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins. "First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table. Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. He turned to his mother, who had tears in her eyes!. "There's more than $10,000 in cash and cheques on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy Thanksgiving, Steve!"
Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired. Plant a seed and watch it grow.

source unknown