An Obituary

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:
* Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
* Why the early bird gets the worm;
* Life isn't always fair; and
* maybe it was my fault.
Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).
His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.
Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.
It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.
Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.
Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realise that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.
Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust ; his wife, Discretion ; his daughter, Responsibility ; his son, Reason.
He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers;
* I Know My Rights
* I Want It Now
* Someone Else Is To Blame
* I'm A Victim
Not many attended his funeral because so few realised he was gone.

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How Much Land Does a Man Need

Russian author Leo Tolstoy wrote a short story about a rich man who was offered the real estate deal of a lifetime. For 1000 roubles he could have all the land he was able to walk around in a day. The only condition was that he had to make it back to his starting point by sunset or he would lose the lot. He rose early and set out. Walking on and on he kept thinking how good it would be if he could claim just a bit more land. Eventually, stopping for a rest, he realized that he had covered a lot of ground and that he would have to hurry to get back by sunset. The lower the sun fell in the sky, the faster the man walked and then ran. Just as the sun began to set he saw the starting point and drew on all his energy to surge forward. He ran hard for the line – then fell. The onlookers rushed to him. Blood oozed from his mouth. He was dead. His servant took out a spade, dug a hole and buried him. The title of Tolstoy’s story is: "How Much Land Does a Man Need?" Its last line reads: "Six feet from his head to his heels was all he needed."

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Man's Sacrifices Change Neighbourhood Children

In the September/October 2007 issue of Today's Christian, Shirley Shaw told the story of how the sacrifices of a successful cabinet maker named Terry Lane continue to change a drug-riddled neighbourhood in Jacksonville, Florida.
My business had prospered to the point my 40-man staff needed more space to produce the quality cabinets for which Mid-Lane was well known. We found an ideal location in northwest Jacksonville and in 1985 built a 25,000 square foot state-of-the-art plant that was soon humming with activity. Life was good. But my peace and comfort were short lived.
Almost immediately, problems erupted. Every night the burglar alarm sounded, and I was summoned to the plant by police officers. Broken windows, shots fired, bullet holes in the walls, stolen equipment, vandalism—even incinerated cars in the parking lot.
One night an officer asked me, "What possessed you to build a plant this close to 'The Rock'?"
"What do you mean, 'The Rock'?" I asked.
"The Cleveland Arms apartments," he responded. "More crack cocaine is sold here than anywhere in Jacksonville, so we call it 'The Rock.'" And he proceeded to enlighten me about my new neighbourhood. The 200-unit subsidised housing complex was occupied by drug dealers, prostitutes, and felons, a place considered so dangerous police were hesitant to go there…
As I sat mulling over the situation, from out of nowhere came a thought so clear it was almost audible: If you'll love those who despitefully use you, I'll take care of it. Stunned and shaken by God's admonition, I wondered how I'd obey this gentle command. Then I sensed him say, "Forget about all the shooting and all the garbage. Look at the children." …
Days went by as I prayed for my neighbors and tried to figure out how to connect with this community. I bought several basketballs, wrote "Jesus loves you" and "Mr. Lane loves you" on them, and threw them over the fence into the complex. There was no immediate reaction, but at least they didn't throw them back.
Then one Saturday while working alone, I stepped outside for a break. I heard the noise of children playing beneath a tractor trailer parked on the property. When they saw me, one said, "There's the man," and they started running.
"Wait," I called. "Would you like something cold to drink?" Four or five little kids followed me into the plant where I opened the soft drink machine and gave them a cold soda pop. They went home, and I thought no more about it. Until Monday afternoon when I heard a commotion in the lobby and the receptionist ask, "Can I help you?"
As I walked down the hallway, I heard one little kid ask, "Where's the big man with the beard?" Turning the corner, I saw 16 kids in the lobby looking for me—well, for the man with the key to the drink machine.
That was the beginning. Suddenly, 35 children adopted me, coming to my office every afternoon after school instead of going home. There was nothing for them to go home to. Day after day, while I worked at my drafting table, I was surrounded by kids on the floor busily coloring or doing other crafts I had brought…
Thus began the journey that would change my world and that of many kids whose addicted parents left them to fend for themselves. Often hungry, unkempt, undisciplined, with no structure in their lives or motivation to attend school or church, these children would be the next lost generation. I felt compelled to do what I could. Years flew by, and the kids I mentored became a part of my life.
Terry Lane's journey of self-denial continued. Ten years after he first reached out to the kids of "The Rock," he sold his share of the cabinetmaking business to his partner and started Metro Inner City Sunday School. When the kids got older, they started youth groups and teen programs. It wasn't long before Terry asked the owner of Cleveland Arms to give him an apartment. In five-years' time, Lane established a community centre called Metro Kids Konnection where the staff feeds over 145 children physically, academically, and spiritually.
Shaw ends her article with these final thoughts from Terry: There is so much to do, but I'm excited and grateful for the direction God chose for me. My wife and I have gone from enjoying a six-figure annual income to subsisting on $12,000 a year, but God faithfully meets every need. And the rewards are incomparable…
Nothing can replace the joy of having a little child crawl into my lap with a hug for "Pastor Terry," or for a young man who has been rescued from a potential life of dealing drugs to look me in the eye, shake my hand with a firm grip, and say, "Thanks, P.T."
That's my reward for "looking at the children."

Daddy's Car In The Woods

Little Johnny watched his daddy's car pass by the school playground and go into the woods. Curious, he followed the car and saw Daddy and Aunt Jane in a passionate embrace.
Little Johnny found this so exciting that he could hardly contain himself as he ran home and started to tell his mother. 'Mummy, I was at the playground and I saw Daddy's car go into the woods with Aunt Jane. I went back to look and he was giving Aunt Jane a big kiss, and then he helped her take off her shirt. Then Aunt Jane helped Daddy take his pants off, then Aunt Jane...'
At this point Mommy cut him off and said, 'Johnny, this is such an interesting story, suppose you save the rest of it for supper time. I want to see the look on Daddy's face when you tell it tonight.'
At the dinner table that evening, Mummy asked little Johnny to tell his story. Johnny started his story, 'I was at the playground and I saw Daddy's car go into the woods with Aunt Jane. I went back to look and he was giving Aunt Jane a big kiss, then he helped her take off her shirt. Then Aunt Jane helped Daddy take his pants off, then Aunt Jane and Daddy started doing the same thing that Mummy and Uncle Bill used to do when Daddy was in the Army.'
Mummy fainted!
Moral: Sometimes you need to listen to the whole story before you interrupt!

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Opposing Players Help Fallen Softball Player

On April 26, 2008, the Western Oregon women's softball team played against Central Washington University in Ellensburg, Washington. During the course of the game, Western Oregon senior Sara Tucholsky hit the first homerun of her college career. She dropped her bat and started to make her way around the bases. In the midst of all the excitement, she forgot to tag first base. When the first base coach brought the mistake to her attention, she quickly turned around. To everyone's horror, her right knee buckled. Crying, she tried her best to crawl back to the base. Tucholsky's teammates were warned that if they touched her, she would be called out. The umpires also noted that if her coaches opted to call in a pinch runner, the homerun would only count as a single.
You can probably imagine the shock everyone felt, then, when Mallory Holtman, the opposing team's first baseman and career homerun leader for Central Washington, turned to the umpire and said, "Would it be okay if we carried her around the bases, and she touched each bag?" When the umpires gave their approval, Holtman and teammate Liz Wallace picked up Tucholsky, crossed their hands beneath her, and carried her to second base. Once there, they lowered the injured player and gently touched her foot to the bag. They did the same for third base and home plate. The crowd erupted into a standing ovation. Western Oregon went on to win the game, eliminating Central Washington from the playoffs.
When later asked about the good deed, Holtman said the decision to help out her opponent was simple. She felt Tucholsky deserved the homerun, because the ball cleared the fence. In her own interview, Tucholsky said, "It's amazing, what they did…I hope I would do the same for her in the same situation." George Vecsey, a writer who was there covering the game, said what happened can only be described as a moment of grace.

source: George Vecsey, "A Sporting Gesture Touches 'Em All," The New York Times (April 30, 2008)

This Is It

What kind of groundwork leads to real community? by Mark Buchanan
A few years ago, a friend assembled a weekend work party to lay sod in his yard. The sun was shining. He had fresh coffee and cinnamon buns. And the crew he'd called together were all good friends. We liked each other immensely.
Then Al said, "Guys, do you realise something? This is it! This is it!" We stopped.
"Al, this is what?"
"This is community."
We all murmured our assent and congratulated one another. Yes. This is it.
But then I said, "Al, this is great, but I don't think this is it. I like you all too much. Add a person or two to this company who lacks social graces, who looks different, who's needy, smelly, and irritating. If we truly loved a person like that, then that would be it."
Silence. Then one of guys said, "Uh, Mark. We've accepted you, haven't we?"
We all laughed, but they granted my point.
We're always tempted to turn the church into a club. With our kind of people. With a strict decorum designed to keep up appearances and keep out the, shall we say, undesirables. But Jesus said it's no credit to us if we love those who love us – our kind of people. We don't need God to love them; natural affinities are sufficient. But you, Jesus said, are to love the least of these and the worst of these – losers, enemies. That takes God: a supernatural subversion of our own prejudices, and a heaven-borne infusion of God's prodigal love.
I preach that. I try to live that.
A year or so after our sod-laying party, Wanda arrived. Wanda was not our kind of people. She was thirsty alright, for beer, port, rum, vanilla extract, whatever. She had only one way to pay for that. I'll let you guess.
But she was desperate, and thirsty for something else. She called the church one day, wondering if she could see a pastor, and now! Two of us met with her. She told us her troubled story. I told her about the woman at the well whose life, like Wanda's, wasn't going well. But she met Jesus and he offered her living water.
I explained what living water was, and asked Wanda if she'd like some.
"Oh yeah!" she said. We prayed. She confessed, repented, surrendered. Drank deep.
The other pastor said, "Now, Wanda, this Sunday will be your first time in church. Don't feel you have to fit in right away. You can sit at the back if you like, come late, leave early. Whatever is comfortable."
Wanda looked at him sideways. "Why would I do that?" she said. "I've been waiting for this all my life."
That Sunday, Wanda was the first to arrive. She sat at the front, and loudly agreed with everything I said. She was the last to leave. The next Sunday, same thing, except she brought a friend, one of her kind of people. I preached on servanthood. My main point: if you've tasted the love of Jesus, you'll want to serve. It was Communion Sunday. In those days, we called our elders The Servant Leadership Team. I asked the Servant Leaders to come and help with Communion. That day only two of our team were in church. They straggled to the front.
All Wanda heard was the word servant. And she had been listening intently to my sermon: if you've tasted the love of Jesus, you'll want to serve.
She walked straight up to serve Communion with the other two "servants."
I flinched.
Then I remembered Luke 7, Jesus' words to Simon the Pharisee as a woman, not unlike Wanda, washed Jesus' feet: "Do you see this woman?"
Do you see her?
I leaned over to Wanda and said, "Since this is your very first time doing this, do you mind if I help?"
So Wanda and I served Communion. The best part was watching the faces of the people I love and serve and pray for and preach to.
Not one flinched. They saw her.
This is it.

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Living (the) Bible

A.J. Jacobs spent a year trying to be completely obedient to Scripture. Even down to his underwear?
Can the teachings of the Bible be followed literally, every jot and tittle? A.J. Jacobs, a secular Jew and editor at large for Esquire magazine in New York City, spent an entire year trying to find out. The result was a book, The Year of Living Biblically (Simon & Schuster, 2007), as well as good doses of insight and personal growth. He dressed in white and let his beard grow. And it was life changing. "The year was the most fascinating year of my life, and completely changed my life and perspective. I learned from the Bible to be much more thankful. I think I became more community minded as opposed to individual minded, because the Bible is all about being a part of community."
Did you find what you learned from the Bible applicable to your everyday life?
A lot of it is so startlingly relevant to today. I had a very secular childhood, so I didn't know much about the Bible before starting. I thought, How can this 2,000- to 3,000-year-old book have any relevance to today? The parts on avoiding gossip and lying and coveting, these are huge issues that I struggle with. I loved having this Book that taught me how to have an extreme ethical makeover.
Which biblical teachings stuck with you?
Forgiveness was a big one. Forgiveness is such a hard thing. Even when I did forgive, I forgave with an asterisk. That was a problem. Paul says that love does not keep score. I disobeyed this literally because, before my year, I had been keeping score of my wife's arguments with me. Any time I would win an argument or she would make a mistake, I'd always jot those down in my Treo in a little file so that I could remember them. The Bible taught me to get rid of that. I showed my wife the list, and she just laughed at me. Her response was amusement mixed with pity that I would even need to keep such a list.
What did taking a Sabbath do for you?
I had been a workaholic, so I would work 24 hours a day. The first thing I would do when I woke up was check my Blackberry. The Sabbath is a great thing, because the Bible is saying you can't work. You can't check e-mail. You have to spend the day with your family. It's a real smell-the-roses type of day. I found it to be a day for joy, for just really reconnecting with my life and realizing that work is not everything. I loved it, but it was a huge struggle. I had to do it in stages. I still practice the Sabbath now. I'm Jewish, so I do it on Saturday. It's a day where I spend time with the family and refuse to work.
What did you learn about yourself?
One thing I learned was how much I sinned. That was a little disturbing, but once you start to pay attention to the amount that you lie and gossip and covet and even steal– I was taken aback and that was a real eye-opener. I don't steal cars, but even something like taking three straws at Starbucks when you only need one, that could be considered stealing. I became very aware of taking other people's things without asking.
How did people respond to your new behaviour?
I did end up stoning an adulterer, so that was interesting.
At times during my year I tried to really get into character and dress like an Old Testament person, so I had my beard and I was wearing sandals and robes occasionally. I was in the park and this man came up to me and said, "Why are you dressed like that?" And I said, "Well, I'm trying to follow the Old Testament, everything from the Ten Commandments to stoning an adulterer."
And he said, "Well, I'm an adulterer. Are you going to stone me?"
And I said, "Well, yeah, that would be great." I had been carrying around a pocketful of stones, hoping for this interaction. They were actually pebbles because the Bible doesn't say the size of the stones. So I took out my pebbles and he grabbed them from my hand and threw them at my face. He was a very confrontational adulterer. I was taken aback but I figured "an eye for an eye," so I tossed one back at him.
How has your faith changed, if at all?
I started out as an agnostic. I grew up with no religion at all. Throughout the year, I went through all sorts of permutations, including believing very strongly in a present and loving God. Part of this was because I was praying all the time, and when you pray for a year, you can't help but start to believe in the being that you're praying to.
By the end of the year when I stopped praying as much all the time, I sort of settled into a radically different agnosticism. I am what a friend of mine calls a "reverent agnostic." Whether or not there is a God, I believe there is something very important about the idea of sacredness: prayer can be sacred, the Sabbath can be sacred, family is sacred, rituals are sacred. That was a huge change in perspective for me. But I never did convert; I never did make the leap of faith to accept Jesus as my savior. As I read the New Testament, I more tried to live by his ethical teachings, which did change my life.

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Gordon MacDonald's Fall into Grace

A painful tumble and surgery taught him some things that "were worth it all." by Gordon MacDonald
Three weeks ago I did something stupid. I fell on ice and ruptured the ligament that connects the kneecap to the thigh. The moment I hit the ground I knew my right leg was inoperative. My first thought was, I guess I won't be running tomorrow.
Dragging my useless leg, I crawled to the back door of our home and finally got the attention of my wife, Gail. With her assistance I managed to get inside and to a chair where we could assess the damage. Some guests were soon to arrive at our home, and since I wasn't in serious pain, we decided to go through with our evening plans. Later, after everyone had gone, we drove to the emergency room and learned that I'd need surgery to reattach the ligament.
The next morning the surgeon confirmed the judgment of the ER people and told me what my future might look like.
"Your daily running is over, perhaps forever," he said. He spoke of a few months of physical therapy, relative inactivity, and pain. It was a dreadful mix of information. Only later would I realise that he purposely offered a worst-case scenario so that I wouldn't be cavalier about my injury.
Three days later the surgeon cut my knee open and repaired the damage caused by my fall.
Now, at this writing, I am three weeks into the post-surgical period. The doctor likes what he sees and appears to have backed away from his gloomy predictions. He told me that I could (with prudence) resume a few of my activities. A few days later I flew to South Carolina to speak to a group of Southern Baptists who received me with southern sympathy and affection. One woman called me a sweet (yes: sweet!). Yankee. Confession: I loved it.
In these 21 days, I have learned these things:
* About cheer and receiving it. The number of letters and cards, the flowers, the phone calls has been overwhelming. I have come to value the power of encouragement as it is mediated through words of appreciation, assurances of prayer, quotes and Bible verses, and the various ways people remind you that you're special to them. Cheer is a medicine, which when pressed into people, offers a courage that cannot be calculated. I have often tried to give cheer; but this time I have been the recipient. And the experience has deeply influenced me.
* About human goodness. I have yet to meet anyone in the medical community who did not do an outstanding job of making me feel important, listened to, cared for, and confident of healing. From the man who first met us at the door of the emergency room to the X-ray technician, from the person obtained a blood sample to the nurse who made me put on a ridiculous-looking surgical gown, from the surgeon and the anesthesiologist to the person who wheeled me out of the hospital for the ride home, I have been treated like royalty. I feel constrained to write this because we are too often flooded with stories of the harshness and depersonalization of systems like the medical world. But I have nothing but positive stories about the good people found in the world of healing.
* About kindness. To travel to South Carolina this week meant a ride from my home to Logan Airport in Boston (driven by a friend). Then a slow walk (on crutches, carrying a knapsack) to the ticket counter, through security, to the gate. Throughout this process, any number of people offered to carry my bag, find me a wheelchair, get me a newspaper. Airline personnel provided me with special assistance out to the plane, and in Charleston, the pilot himself grabbed my knapsack and escorted me off the plane to a waiting wheelchair. All this done not for someone who was, in any way, a celebrity but merely one more no-name traveler with a leg in a cast. Cynics will say that the airlines were simply trying to prevent an accident and a lawsuit. But I know better. There is a compelling beauty in human beings when they choose to be kind, and you smell it. A mystery of human connection fills the air, and one travels on a cloud of blessing.
* About marriage. I have known for a long time that I married a champion. But in an experience like this, where one becomes unusually dependent on others, beginning with a spouse, I am reminded of the value of a relationship that has been growing for 47 years. Now there is extra time for talking, reading to one another, prayer, and looking after each other's needs more carefully. And on more than a few times I have mused upon how absolutely honored I am to be loved by another human being. Sometimes it takes an injury to sharpen one's appreciation of these things.
* About faith. The Biblical person walks in a tradition in which it is believed that "our steps are ordered by the Lord." So what does that really mean? That God causes slips on the ice to slow us down, to quiet us for a while, to discipline us? I don't know. But I am constrained to believe that whether he is directly the causation or not, God means for something to be learned. So what is it this time? Perhaps it is too early to tell. But at this writing, I can tell you that if the experiences described in preceding paragraphs are all there is to be learned, it's been worth it.
* About life's bizarre twists and turns. You do the same mindless thing 10,000 times with no consequence. The next time something freaky happens that alters your life. We never know how close we are to circumstances that change everything. It is not pessimism to demand of oneself a readiness for the unexpected. When contemplating my surgery, I asked God what kind of a man I should be in this messy period of convalescence. I heard heaven offer these "bullets":
o Don't complain
o Accept offerings of service graciously
o Ooze with thankfulness
o Listen for things you would not have heard under other circumstances.
Each day I'm trying to do these things.
* About helplessness. Not many years ago an injury like mine would have been a permanent one, and I would have been effectively disabled for life. I read of healings in the Gospels with a fresh eye these days. I think with disturbance of places in this world where people sustain injuries like mine but have none of the medical remedies that are available to me. I am newly sensitive to those who will never escape a wheelchair or crutches. I'm mindful of those who, unlike me, have no loved ones, no friends, no cheerleaders to walk through this stuff; people who are alone and without resources.
What I have experienced is hardly qualified to be called suffering. But there's been enough sensation in these past weeks to make me more alert to those in my little world who are hurting a lot worse than I am.

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Author Anne Rice on Conversion

Anne Rice is one of the most widely read authors in the world. Her bestsellers—most notably, her series of gothic books called "The Vampire Chronicles"—have sold over 100 million copies. After spending most of her adult life a self-described atheist, Rice converted back to Christianity in 1996. She has since focused her writing efforts on religious-themed works. Her newest book is entitled Christ the Lord: The Road to Cana. She recently allowed the readers of Time magazine to ask her whatever they wished for an interactive piece called "10 Questions." When one reader asked about the reasons behind her conversion, Rice summed up her journey in these words:
Americans like to believe we turn to religion because of an accident or the loss of a loved one, but in my case it was simply the culmination of searching. I wrestled with a lot of theological questions, and then one afternoon, I thought, I love you—I want to come back to you.

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Waitress's Kindness Rewarded

Every day, for close to seven years, Walter "Buck" Swords cursed and stomped his feet in his favourite restaurant, Luby's Cafeteria, demanding that he get his food exactly as he wanted it. Every day, for close to seven years, his preferred waitress, Melina Salazar, offered a patient smile and did whatever she could to help her most stubborn customer. After years of thankless service, Salazar was rewarded. When Swords died at 89 years old, just days before Christmas (2007), he left Salazar $50,000 and a 2000 Buick.
"I still can't believe it," she said. After all, she says, he was always "kind of mean."

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Board Game Softens Discipleship

When I was a kid in the mid-50s, Parker Brothers came out with a game for church families like ours. It was called "Going to Jerusalem." Your playing piece wasn't a top hat or Scottie dog, like in the "worldly" game of Monopoly. In "Going to Jerusalem," you got to be a real disciple. You were represented by a little plastic man with a robe, a beard, some sandals, and a staff.
In order to move across the board, you looked up answers to questions in the little black New Testament provided with the game. I remember that you always started in Bethlehem, and you made stops at the Mount of Olives, Bethsaida, Capernaum, the stormy sea, Nazareth, and Bethany. If you rolled the dice well, you went all the way to a triumphal entry into Jerusalem. But you never got to the Crucifixion or Resurrection. There were no demons or angry Pharisees. You only made your way through the nice stories. It was a safe adventure, perfectly suited for a Christian family on a Sunday afternoon walk with Jesus.
It never occurred to me, while leaning over the card table jiggling the dice in my hand, that traveling with Jesus wasn't meant for plastic disciples who looked up verses in a little black Bible. If you're gong to walk with Jesus as his disciple in this world, you may need to change your expectations. After all, Jesus said, "Take up your cross, and follow me."

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Pastor Dies and Lives to Tell About It

On January 18, 1989, [Don] Piper was returning home from a conference in Galveston, Texas, when his car was struck head-on by a tractor-trailer truck, killing him instantly.
Ninety minutes after the accident, Dick Onerecker, a pastor who happened upon the scene, felt led by God to pray for the dead man. He did so, and Piper immediately returned to life. But for 90 minutes, as his lifeless body lay inside his car, Piper claims to have been in heaven.
Piper's recollections of heavenly glory have since been chronicled in 90 Minutes in Heaven, a book which has sold nearly 2 million copies and become a long-time fixture on the New York Times bestseller list…
"It was like nothing I could have ever imagined," Piper recalls. "When I was killed, I was immediately transported to heaven's gate. It was an instantaneous thing."
Piper refers to his heavenly detour as a "smorgasbord for the senses," being embraced and welcomed by friends he had known throughout his life, angelic choirs, and even a "pearly" gate—sort of.
"Although I didn't have a body as we normally think of one, I didn't see a single person who I didn't know," he explains. "There were relatives, there were friends who had died in high school, there were some of my teachers—there were people I had known all my life who had gone to glory. They were smiling, embracing me, and welcoming me.
"Then, as I looked over their heads, I could see the looming gate. To say it was beautiful would be a serious understatement. It wasn't 'pearly' as people say, it was more like it had been sculpted from mother-of-pearl. Then there was the light, a light I couldn't fathom as a human being, and there was an angelic choir that seemed to be singing every praise song conceivable all at once."
But almost as soon as Piper's heavenly excursion began, it ended, thanks to the power of answered prayer.
"My first conscious memory was 'What a Friend We Have in Jesus.' Here I was, in this crushed vehicle, staring at a tarp that had been thrown over me, holding someone's hand, and I'm singing a song. What in the heck is going on?"
Onerecker had prayed that Piper would have no internal injuries and no head injuries. Then he started to sing hymns, and Piper started singing with him…
Piper was transported to the nearest trauma hospital in Houston, where he spent nearly four months recovering from his injuries. His left arm and leg were almost completely severed, and had to be surgically repaired and reattached.
"I spent so much time in such terrible pain, and having seen glory, I wanted to go back," Piper says. "The trouble was so many people were trying to help me, and praying for me, that I realized I was here because people were asking God for me to be here"…
Today, Piper travels nearly two-thirds of every year, giving talks about his experiences, speaking to audiences of practically every type.

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Am I A Fireman Yet??

In Phoenix , Arizona , a 26-year-old mother stared down at her 6 year old son, who was dying of terminal leukaemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent, she wanted her son to grow up & fulfill all his dreams. Now that was no longer possible. The leukaemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son's dream to come true.
She took her son' s hand and asked, "Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up? Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?"
Mummy, "I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up."
Mum smiled back and said, "Let's see if we can make your wish come true."
Later that day she went to her local fire department in Phoenix, Arizona , where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son's final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her 6 year-old son a ride around the block on a fire engine.
Fireman Bob said, "Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! And if you'll give us his sizes, we'll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat – not a toy – one with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots."
"They're all manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast."
Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy, dressed him in his uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven.
There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Billy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the Paramedic's' van, and even the fire chief's car. He was also videotaped for the local news program. Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy, that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible.
One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept - that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a Fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition.
The chief replied, "We can do better than that. We'll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favour? When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire?"
"It's the department coming to see one of its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room?"
About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital and extended its ladder up to Billy's third floor open window… 16 fire-fighters climbed up the ladder into Billy's room.
With his mother's permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they LOVED him.
With his dying breath, Billy looked up at the fire chief and said, "Chief, am I really a fireman now?"
"Billy, you are, and the Head Chief, Jesus, is holding your hand," the chief said
With those words, Billy smiled and said, "I know, He's been holding my hand all day, and the angels have been singing."
He closed his eyes one last time.

source unknown

Super Bowl Star Shares Journey of Faith

Anyone who watched the New York Giants defeat the New England Patriots in 2008's Super Bowl remembers the catch made by David Tyree, a receiver for the Giants. Eli Manning, quarterback for the Giants, threw what looked like a desperate pass. Tyree somehow jumped high above defensive coverage, picked the ball out of the air, pinned it to his helmet, and fell to the ground for a completion. The Giants went on to win the game, 17–14.
In the wake of his new fame, Tyree has talked openly about a troubled past. Tyree started drinking when he was in junior high. By his junior year in high school, he was regularly consuming 40 ounces of malt liquor and a half a pint of Jack Daniel's. It was not uncommon for him to smoke marijuana in the same sitting. The habits continued throughout his college career. After Tyree was arrested for selling drugs to pay off a fine he had incurred during his rookie season with the Giants, his pregnant girlfriend threatened to leave him. "I had no peace," the player says. "My life was obviously in disarray." When he picked up a Bible and read its message of redemption, he knew things would turn around. He decided to never drink again and started attending church for the first time in a long time. Tyree is now sober, married, and a Super Bowl hero. Looking back on his life thus far, Tyree says, "It's more than just a feel-good story. It's about destiny and purpose."

source unknown

Kobe Bryant Snaps Achilles Tendon

When Kobe Bryant snapped his achilles tendon in an NBA game last week, he posted the following response on his Facebook profile:
This is such BS! All the training and sacrifice just flew out the window with one step that I've done millions of times! The frustration is unbearable. The anger is rage. Why the hell did this happen ?!? Makes no damn sense. Now I'm supposed to come back from this and be the same player Or better at 35?!? How in the world am I supposed to do that??
I have NO CLUE. Do I have the consistent will to overcome this thing? Maybe I should break out the rocking chair and reminisce on the career that
was. Maybe this is how my book
ends. Maybe Father Time has defeated me...Then again maybe not! It's 3:30am, my foot feels like dead weight, my head is spinning from the pain meds and I'm wide awake. Forgive my Venting but what's the purpose of social media if I won't bring it to you Real No Image?? Feels good to vent, let it out. To feel as if THIS is the WORST thing EVER! Because After ALL the venting, a real perspective sets in. There are far greater issues/challenges in the world then a torn achilles. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, find the silver lining and get to work with the same belief, same drive and same conviction as ever.
One day, the beginning of a new career journey will commence. Today is NOT that day.
"If you see me in a fight with a bear, prey for the bear". Ive always loved that quote. Thats "mamba mentality" we don't quit, we don't cower, we don't run. We endure and conquer.
I know it's a long post but I'm Facebook Venting LOL. Maybe now I can actually get some sleep and be excited for surgery tomorrow. First step of a new challenge.
Guess I will be Coach Vino the rest of this season. I have faith in my teammates. They will come thru.
Thank you for all your prayers and support. Much Love Always.
Mamba Out

Story Time

A small group that's all about you by Mike Lueken
A few years ago, I had a bedtime routine with my kids that including telling them a story about a boy named Ernie. His adventures were as far-fetched as I could make them: Ernie and the elf. Ernie and the monster. Ernie inside a pinball machine. As absurd as the tales were, the kids hung on every word.
Stories, no matter how old we get, we are captivated by them. Fantasy stories touch a deep place within us that longs for adventure and heroism. True stories, on the other hand, bind us together in shared experience. They forge community. For the Christ-follower, biography can become a type of theology as God is discovered through the meandering journey of one's life.
The spiritual significance and power of our stories have led our church to develop "Story Groups." These are small groups that work through a 20-week curriculum designed to help people understand the importance of their life stories in their formation toward Christ-likeness. Story groups are discussion-oriented, with assignments designed to trace the hand of God through our personal history with the ultimate goal of having each person present his or her story. This process may be painful, but also amazingly liberating.
As the group works through the curriculum, each person begins to write the story. They delineate seasons, elaborate on crucial events, relationships, and experiences, and describe the impact these things have had on their hearts. How did it affect his view of God? Did she make vows or changes at certain junctures? How did an event trigger anger, fear, anxiety, or a new desire? Obviously, for some this process will resurrect old wounds and painful memories. But the intent of the Story Group is to journey toward accepting my life as my story. It is a way of facing the truth and embracing it.
A healing process occurs as group members read or share their stories with one another. I have seen initial fears dissolve as people open their hearts and vulnerably share with the group. Many people imagine they are alone in the pain they have experienced, the burdens they carry, and the pressure they feel. But hearing another person's story helps us recognize our commonality. We suddenly see that we are not alone on the journey. This is both comforting and encouraging.
Of course, whenever people open up in this manner, it can be dangerous. Vulnerability always is, and no amount of covenant-making or contract-signing will reduce the risk. But what is the alternative? Sadly, what we often see in small groups is people hiding the truth about who they are behind inductive Bible studies and a prayer time. While these activities are good, they can keep us hidden. We may never reveal who we really are. But in a Story Group, I am called to share the truth about my life and who I am, while holding firmly to the truth that my identity is in Christ.
Some may wonder, why bother?
If we are new creatures in Christ, if the old is gone and the new has come, why spend so much time focused on the past? But simply because something is "gone" doesn't mean it cannot affect our lives today. Many people carry their pasts into their present relationships and circumstances. And large numbers of people, knowingly or unknowingly, expend enormous amounts of energy each day fighting the truth of their story. Part of our spiritual growth must include facing the truth about ourselves. The best way to deal with the story of our lives is to turn directly toward it, walk right into the middle of it, and learn, with others, to accept the story as it really is.

Mike Lueken is co-pastor of Oak Hills Church in Folsom, California © 2007

The New School Prayer

Now I sit me down in school
Where praying is against the rule
For this great nation under God
Finds mention of Him very odd.
If Scripture now the class recites,
It violates the Bill of Rights
And anytime my head I bow
Becomes a Federal matter now.
Our hair can be purple, orange or green,
That's no offense; it's a freedom scene.
The law is specific, the law is precise.
Prayers spoken aloud are a serious vice.

For praying in a public hall
Might offend someone with no faith at all
In silence alone we must meditate,
God's name is prohibited by the state.

We're allowed to cuss and dress like freaks,
And pierce our noses, tongues and cheeks.
They've outlawed guns, but FIRST the Bible.
To quote the Good Book makes me liable
We can elect a pregnant Senior Queen,
And the 'unwed daddy,' our Senior King.
It's "inappropriate" to teach right from wrong,
We're taught that such "judgments" do not belong.
We can get our condoms and birth controls,
Study witchcraft, vampires and totem poles
But the Ten Commandments are not allowed,
No word of God must reach this crowd.
It's scary here I must confess,
When chaos reigns the school's a mess.
So, Lord, this silent plea I make:
Should I be shot; My soul please take!
Amen !

Teenager Tries to Call the President

Access to the most powerful leader in the world—the President of the United States of America—is granted only to the few who have successfully passed through a series of detailed, cautious checkpoints. A Norway teen created quite a stir in the United States when he challenged the system, boldly dialing a secret phone number for the White House. Sixteen-year-old Vifill Atlason claims he called President George W. Bush out of curiosity. "I just wanted to talk to him—have a chat, invite him to Iceland, and see what he'd say," the teen told ABC News.
In order to get through security, Atlason pretended to be Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson, the President of Iceland. He was surprised when his initial call didn't pass through a switchboard, but went directly to a higher office to be screened by various security officials. Atlason was asked a series of personal questions in an attempt to verify his identification as President Grímsson, including Grímsson's date of birth, hometown, and even the names of Grímsson's parents. "It was like passing through checkpoints," Atlason said. The checkpoints proved one too many—the teen never made it through to the president and was later taken from his home for questioning by local police. No charges were filed.

source unknown

A Gift of Love

At a fund raising dinner for a school that serves learning-disabled children, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended.
After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:
"When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do.
He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?"
The audience was stilled by the query.
The father continued. "I believe that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child."
Then he told the following story:
Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, "Do you think they'll let me play?"
Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.
Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, "We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning."
Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt.
His Father watched with a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father's joy at his son being accepted.
In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.
In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field.
Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands.
In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.
At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?
Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.
However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.
The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.
The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.
Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, "Shay, run to first! Run to first!" Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.
Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second!" Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball ... the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.
He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.
All were screaming, "Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay"
Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, "Run to third! Shay, run to third!"
As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, "Shay, run home! Run home!"
Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team.
"That day", said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, "the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world".
Shay didn't make it to another summer.
He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making his father so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

source unknown

Grace for the Worst of Sinners

The film Amazing Grace chronicles William Wilberforce (Ioan Gruffedd) as he endeavours to end the British transatlantic slave trade in the nineteenth century.
Wilberforce has made an earlier visit to his old pastor and friend John Newton (Albert Finney). Newton himself was a former captain of a slave ship prior to his conversion to Christ and Wilberforce was hopeful that Newton would give an account of his slave-ship days. Newton, however, refused to do so, because the experience and the "20,000 ghosts" haunted him too greatly.
Now, near success in ending the slave trade, Wilberforce visits Newton and discovers that he has recorded his account. His eyesight now gone, Newton says to Wilberforce, "You must use it. Names, records, ship records, ports, people—everything I remember is in here. Although my memory is fading, I remember two things very clearly: I'm a great sinner, and Christ is a great Saviour."

Shining the Shoes of the Shoeshine Man

While attending Moody Graduate School in Chicago, campus housing was not available for my wife and me, so we ended up renting an apartment right around the corner on fashionable Oak Street. One morning I noticed Shoo, the local shoeshine man. Like a barker at a carnival, he would offer to shine the shoes (for a donation) of bustling passersby during the early morning rush.
On that particular day, however, a stretch limo pulled up in front of Shoo, and out of the vehicle stepped a gentleman who was dressed like a cover model for GQ magazine. Rather than asking for a shoeshine, he sat Shoo down and polished his scuffed and tattered shoes. When finished, he handed Shoo a tip—a $100 bill—and then returned to his waiting vehicle, never saying a word.
When I returned home that evening, my wife asked how my day at school had gone. I explained that on my way to class to learn about Jesus, I saw someone who acted a whole lot like Jesus. To this day I cannot remember what I learned in my theology classes that particular day, but it is hard to forget the lesson I learned at the corner of Oak and Rush from Shoo and the man who acted like Jesus.

Mike Hurn, Sports Pastor at Christ Community Church in St. Charles, Illinois, as told at Wayside Cross Ministries Dinner on Sept. 29, 2007

Infants Show Good Judgment

If only adults showed as much sound judgment as an infant! Through a series of tests, Yale University's Infant Cognition Center has found that babies as young as six to ten months old know what's right and wrong. Researchers sat babies down in front of a roller coaster-like track to watch a cartoon-eyed wooden toy try to climb its way to the top of one of the hills. As the toy climbed, other toys were designed to come along to either help it over the hump or push it backwards like a bully. When babies were then given the opportunity to play with any of the toys on the track, nearly every infant chose the toys that helped out. When researchers introduced neutral toys that weren't involved in the experiment at all, the babies still turned their backs on the bullies.
What's especially fascinating is that researchers believe the human qualities of the toy that was trying its best to climb the hill—the googly, cartoonish eyes—were what stirred a sense of loyalty from the babies. When researchers removed the eyes to make it less human, the children did not exercise the same level of judgment.
"It's incredibly impressive that babies can do this," said study lead author Kiley Hamlin. "It shows that we have these essential social skills occurring without much explicit teaching."

source unknown

My Faves: The People I Keep

Creating a new cell-phone directory tested my commitment in ways I didn't expect by Gordon MacDonald
From my journal: A few weeks ago the cell-phone people notified me that I was eligible for a new phone at a rock-bottom price and that I should stop by their store and do a deal. A day or two later, I converted from TREO to Blackberry.
A technician transferred the contact data—my electronic "phone book"—from the old phone to the new one. "You've got a lot of stuff in the memory," he said referring to the over-three thousand names and numbers I'd accumulated during the past years. "You might want to think of purging it."
In the days that followed I did what the techie suggested, and shrunk the list from 3,000 names to about 1,500. I ended up with 1,500 keepers and 1,500 deleted…people that is.
It is not always an easy task to separate the keepers from the deleted. The exercise forced me to do some reflecting about the nature of my personal relationships.
I quickly saw that the "keepers" fell into four categories. There were my loved ones: wife, children, and grandchildren (they were not only keepers but they made my speed-dial list). There were my friends—dearly valued people who have long been in my life through the darkest and the brightest moments. Then there were colleagues: those to whom one relates because of shared work. And finally there were the networked: people you think you want to keep in touch with because you have common goals and objectives. Oh, a fifth group: the snow-plow guy, the hardware store, and United Airlines. Keepers: all of them.
The more challenging experience was in the deleting.
1,500 of my Closest Friends
I found names of people in the phone's memory, for example, whom I'd met here and there over the years. We had promised that we'd keep in touch or get together for lunch or collaborate on some effort. But the promises were forgotten. Well intentioned as we were when we thumbed each other's numbers into our phones, we simply got on to other things the minute we were out of each other's sight.
How many times have I heard my wife, Gail, say as she watched me enter one of these people into my contact list, "I know you want to connect with him, but I also know that you're too busy. He'll expect your call for the next couple of weeks and when it doesn't come, he'll think you were insincere."
Gail's right.
My eyes (for connection) are bigger than my stomach (my ability to digest all the relationships I'd like to have).
Sadly, I had to drop a lot of these names out of my new Blackberry—a reminder not to make promises I can't keep. I'm glad Gail wasn't looking over my shoulder as I did this and saying, "I told you so."
I deleted more than a few names of people who walked out of my life because, somewhere along the way, they didn't like my politics or my theology or something else about me. One moment they'd been loyal, supportive friends, but the next minute they were gone—on to another church or wherever.
These deletions caused me to reflect on the flimsiness of too many so-called Christian relationships where there is far more talk about faithfulness than action. I thought of how easy it is for people to turn on one another the minute things go awry. And I felt sad.
I confess to a feeling of fiendish satisfaction as I hit the delete button on some of these names. I felt the urge to say. "There! You're gone! No way you're going to get into my new phone." It was as if by deleting someone from my phone list I could make a bad memory go away forever.
Now there were those who walked out of my life for "natural causes." "San Diego pays more," they said. Or, "Florida's warmer." Or, "The company is moving me to Des Moines." Having spoken, they disappeared leaving in their trail only an occasional Christmas card or e-mail. But they left, sometimes to my consternation. Deleting their names reminds me that we live in a wildly mobile society where most relationships have short, practical shelf lives. No wonder young people are opting for small groups and less of the big stuff. They seek stability. Me, too.
A few names in line for deletion were those who have died in the past years. Once they had been vigorous, contributive people. Now they're gone. In many cases their loss was grieved for a few days. But then those of us still among the living had to get on with life and its demands. I found myself brooding on how long, when I die, I'll remain on some peoples' contact list. Not long, I suspect.
A significant number of those slated for deletion were people who have simply stopped playing any role in my life. For a moment our lives had connected as they picked me up at an airport or provided hospitality for me in their home. But it was only a one-time shot: pleasant, interesting, but one time. How often I'd said of these people, "I'd give anything to know them better." But it wasn't meant to be.
Now and then as I scanned the contact list on the old phone I saw names of people who might be called evangelical celebrities. They're people it's fun to say you know. But you really don't know them; you just shook their hands once and got their number. It's hard to delete them. Just having their number tempts you to feel important in a very superficial way. (Billy Graham once warned me about name-dropping.)
God's Delete Button
Purging my phone list has been a healthy exercise. It has reminded me that there is a certain collection of people in this world whose friendship and partnership I really prize. Wonderful people whose love for God and commitment to his agenda are inspiring to me. Christlike people who working with has been (and remains) a humble privilege.
But there were other lessons for me. That I actually liked deleting some names forced me to realize that as much as I believe in no grudge-holding, there is always a bit of residual vindictiveness deep in my heart, in all of us, perhaps. It bothers me that in some cases I really enjoyed hitting the delete button. Oh, there was one more lesson. I was forced to wonder if God would ever be tempted to purge his list of people. Did this happen in the Noah story? Was it about to happen the day he told Moses he was at his wits end with Israel? Has God ever wished to quietly delete me? Does God even have a delete button?

from Leadership's electronic newsletter

Slain Missionary Expected to Suffer for Christ

Missionary Karen Watson counted the cost of following Jesus. That's why she left a letter with her pastor before going to Iraq. She went to provide humanitarian relief in the name of Jesus—but she was gunned down in the country she came to serve.
The letter began, "You're only reading this if I died." It included gracious words to family and friends, and this simple summary of following Christ: "To obey was my objective, to suffer was expected, his glory my reward."

"Missionary Slain in Iraq Mourned," Los Angeles Times (17 March 2004)

Deck of Cards

During the North African campaign, a bunch of soldier boys had been on a long hike and they arrived in a little town called Casino.
The next morning being Sunday, several of the boys went to Church.
A sergeant commanded the boys in Church and after the Chaplain had read the prayer, the text was taken up next. Those of the boys who had a prayer book took them out, but this one boy had only a deck of cards, and so he spread them out.
The Sergeant saw the cards and said, "Soldier, put away those cards."
After the services was over, the soldier was taken prisoner and brought before the Provost Marshall. The Marshall said, "Sergeant, why have you brought this man here?"
"For playing cards in church, Sir."
"And what have you to say for yourself, son?"
"Much, Sir," replied the soldier.
The Marshall said, "I hope so, for if not I shall punish you more than any man was ever punished."
The soldier said, "Sir, I have been on the march for about six days.
I have neither a Bible nor a prayer book, but I hope to satisfy you, Sir, with the purity of my intentions." And with that, the boy started his story:
"You see Sir, when I look at the Ace, it reminds me that there is but one God.
And the Deuce reminds me that the Bible is divided into two parts, the Old and the New Testaments.
When I see the Trey, I think of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
And when I see the Four, I think of the four Evangelists who preached the Gospel; there was Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
And when I see the Five, it reminds me of the five wise virgins who trimmed their lamps; there were ten of them: five were wise and were saved, five were foolish and were shut out.
When I see the Six, it reminds me that in six days, God made this great heaven and earth.
When I see the Seven, it reminds me that on the seventh day, God rested from His great work.
And when I see the Eight, I think of the eight righteous persons God saved when He destroyed this earth; there was Noah, his wife, their sons and their wives.
And when I see the Nine, I think of the lepers our Saviour cleansed, and nine out of the ten didn't even thank Him.
When I see the Ten, I think of the Ten Commandments God handed down to Moses on a table of stone.
When I see the King, it reminds me that there is but one King of Heaven, God Almighty.
And when I see the Queen, I think of the Blessed Virgin Mary, who is Queen of Heaven.
And the Jack or Knave is the Devil.
When I count the number of spots on a deck of cards, I find 365, the number of days in a year. There are 52 cards, the number of weeks in a year. There are 4 suits, the number of weeks in a month.
There are 12 picture cards, the number of months in a year.
There are 13 tricks, the number of weeks in a quarter.
So you see, Sir, my pack of cards serves me as a Bible, an Almanac and a Prayer Book." "And friends, the story is true. I know, I was that soldier."

as narrated by Wink Martindal

The Old Man, The Boy and The Donkey

An old man, a boy & a donkey were going to town. The boy rode on the donkey & the old man walked. As they went along they passed some people who remarked it was a shame the old man was walking and the boy was riding.
The man and boy thought maybe the critics were right, so they changed positions.
Then, later, they passed some people who remarked, "What a shame, he makes that little boy walk."
So they then decided they'd both walk! Soon they passed some more people who thought they were stupid to walk when they had a decent donkey to ride. So, they both rode the donkey.
Now they passed some people who shamed them by saying how awful to put such a load on a poor donkey.
The boy and man figured they were probably right, so they decide to carry the donkey.
As they crossed the bridge, they lost their grip on the animal and he fell into the river and drowned.
The moral of the story?
If you try to please everyone, you might as well... Kiss your ass goodbye!

The Art of Dying

People die like they live. Of course, some diseases and some treatments can change personalities, but barring that, people seem to face death like they face life.
On the Saturday before Easter, I anxiously made my way to the apparent deathbed of Art, a beloved, 90-year-old brother in Christ. He has lived with great thanksgiving in the midst of decaying health for a very long time. This, following decades as a middle school administrator, clearly showed him to be made of special stuff.
Following the late-night shuttling now so common in the jigsaw of medical care, I eventually found him in a different and remote rehab hospital. As I turned from the rather depressing hallway into his room, Art was alone, lying askew on the bed, uncovered, his breathing strained.
Art smiled. His eyes, now heavy, still twinkled. "Thank you so much for coming," he sighed. I kissed his forehead as I whispered how glad I was to be with him. I said, "Art, it seems like this is pretty close to the end, time for your passing into the very presence of the Lord."
His response? "You're doing a great job."
I gasped. He smiled.
"Art, I appreciate your words, but if there was ever a moment with you that is not about me, this is it." We went on to talk about his death, about his deep readiness to finish this chapter and to step into the next. No hurry, but also no clinging, no whining, no self-pity. We prayed and trusted.
Now, I am fairly sure that, over the decades I have known Art, I have never had a conversation in which he didn't express thanksgiving about someone or something. It was the way he had always lived. Now it was the way he was dying.
If our living is an act of denial, or a disguised effort at desperate avoidance, or a display of greedy consumption, or a lifestyle of manic busyness, or a daily fight for control, we may well come to our dying with far less than Art did. Standing by Art in that barren hospital room, I was taught again that the way to face dying is by living.
Moses understood this acutely, both for himself and for the people of Israel. "Choose life," were Moses' plain and final words. Nothing was more important or more urgent. He had observed in his own life and in the lives of Israel and of Egypt that people commonly choose death, even when we call it life. God's Ten Best Ways to Live had been Moses' practice for years and years.
In his death, they were the words of life.
Tom's Choice
Tom had been a successful financial investor. His family was vital to him, and his faith in God expressed itself in vigorous honesty, candid faith and doubt, and tangible action. His home was elegant and comfortable. He drove a red-and-black Mini Cooper. He would be the first to admit his life was wrapped in privilege and opportunity.
Along the way, Tom was drawn to Africa. For no good reason except the grace of God, Tom chose to let his heart be renewed and redefined by people he came to know and love in Africa who, in the midst of war, imprisonment, poverty, and disease, showed him by faith how to choose life. These trips became central in Tom's life. He never felt more alive than when he was in the midst of this dying.
Then Tom was diagnosed with cancer. What had been other peoples' dying was now his. And the gift of his good-dying over the next four months was that his good-living had prepared him. He passed too quickly for us who did not want him to go. His farewells were understated, authentic, self-deprecating, hopeful.
From his years of international service, Tom's family had all come to understand and see his living, and their own, in different terms. African friends of Tom's phoned and wept over the loss of a man they had loved and who loved them, from soil Tom could have easily avoided. Except, God had used these friends to teach him to choose life.
What could be more fitting then, but that Tom's family would decide that the body of this elegant, accomplished, wealthy disciple, would be wrapped in a simple, but brilliantly colored Congolese cloth. Tom had learned to live in the midst of death. So in death he was wrapped in life.
What more could one hope for? Do we want to die the way we are living? Are we helping others choose to live as a way to die?

 Mark Labberton

I Will Share My Spoon With You

A man was having a conversation with the Lord one day and said, 'Lord, I would like to know what Heaven and Hell are like.'
The Lord led the man to two doors.
He opened one of the doors and the man looked in. In the middle of the room was a large round table. In the middle of the table was a large pot of stew, which smelled delicious and made the holy man's mouth water.
The people sitting around the table were thin and sickly. They appeared to be famished. They were holding spoons with very long handles that were strapped to their arms and each found it possible to reach into the pot of stew and take a spoonful.
But because the handle was longer than their arms, they could not get the spoons back into their mouths.
The man shuddered at the sight of their misery and suffering.
The Lord said, 'You have seen Hell.'
They went to the next room and opened the door. It was exactly the same as the first one. There was the large round table with the large pot of stew which made the holy man's mouth water. The people were equipped with the same long-handled spoons, but here the people were well nourished and plump, laughing and talking. The man said, 'I don't understand.' It is simple,' said the Lord. 'It requires but one skill. You see they have learned to feed each other, while the greedy think only of themselves.'

source unknown

57 Cent Church

A little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned away because it was "too crowded."
"I can't go to Sunday School," she sobbed to the pastor as he walked by.
Seeing her shabby, unkempt appearance, the pastor guessed the reason and, taking her by the hand, took her inside and found a place for her in the Sunday school class. The child was so happy that they found room for her, and she went to bed that night thinking of the children who have no place to worship Jesus.
Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement buildings. Her parents called for the kindhearted pastor who had befriended their daughter to handle the final arrangements.
As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled red purse was found which seemed to have been rummaged from some trash dump.
Inside was found 57 cents and a note, scribbled in childish handwriting, which read: "This is to help build the little church bigger so more children can go to Sunday School."
For two years she had saved for this offering of love.
When the pastor tearfully read that note, he knew instantly what he would do. Carrying this note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he told the story of her unselfish love and devotion.
He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the larger building.
But the story does not end there...
A newspaper learned of the story and published it. It was read by a wealthy realtor who offered them a parcel of land worth many thousands.
When told that the church could not pay so much, he offered to sell it to the little church for 57 cents.
Church members made large donations. Checks came from far and wide. Within five years the little girl's gift had increased to $250,000.00 - a huge sum for that time (near the turn of the century). Her unselfish love had paid large dividends.
When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church, with a seating capacity of 3,300. And be sure to visit Temple University, where thousands of students are educated.
Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday School building which houses hundreds of beautiful children, built so that no child in the area will ever need to be left outside during Sunday school time.
In one of the rooms of this building may be seen the picture of the sweet face of the little girl whose 57 cents, so sacrificially saved, made such remarkable history. Alongside of it is a portrait of her kind pastor, Dr. Russell H. Conwell, author of the book, Acres of Diamonds.
This is a true story, which goes to show what God can do with 57 cents.

Made for Glory

Akeelah and the Bee tells the story of a talented South Los Angeles girl who overcomes her fears and many obstacles to compete at the National Spelling Bee. Akeelah is encouraged by her spelling coach, Mr. Larabee (Lawrence Fishburne), to see herself differently.
In one scene, Akeelah is in Mr. Larabee's office. He asks Akeelah, "Have you got any goals? What would you like to be when you grow up? A doctor, a lawyer, a standup comic?"
"I don't know. The only thing I'm good at is spelling."
"Go over there." He motions toward a plaque on the wall. "And read the quotation that's on the wall. Read it aloud please."
Akeelah walks over and begins to read. "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."
"Does that mean anything to you?" Larabee asks. "What does it mean?"
"That I'm not supposed to be afraid," she answers.
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of … me?"

source unknown

Clothing Not Optional

A survey of 1,000 American women found that most valued their favourite clothes more than sex, and would gladly abstain for 15 months in exchange for an entirely new wardrobe.

Source: The Week, February 16, 2007