Ice Cream for the Soul

Last week I took my children to a restaurant. My six-year-old son asked if he could say grace. As we bowed our heads he said, "God is good. God is great. Thank you for the food, and I would even thank you more if Mom gets us ice cream for dessert. And Liberty and justice for all! Amen!"

Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby I heard a woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't even know how to pray. Asking God for ice cream. Why, I never!" Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?"

As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, and elderly gentleman approached the table. He winked at my son and said, "I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer."

"Really?" my son asked.

"Cross my heart." Then in theatrical whisper he added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), "Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."

Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal. My son stared at his for a moment and then did something I will remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and without a word walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her, "Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes and my soul is good already."

The Power of Worrying

Here's a good inspirational message. Keep it in your hearts.

Death was walking toward a city one morning and a man asked, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to take 100 people," Death replied.

"That's horrible!" the man said.

"That's the way it is," Death said. "That's what I do."

The man hurried to warn everyone he could about Death's plan.
As evening fell, he met Death again. "You told me you were going to take 100 people," the man said. "Why did 1,000 die?"

"I kept my word," Death responded. "I only took 100 people.
Worry took the others."

This interesting tale portrays so well what the National Mental Health Committee reported a few years ago - half of all the people in America's hospital beds are constant worriers. Mental distress can lead to migraine headaches, arthritis, heart trouble, cystitis, colitis, backaches, ulcers, depression, digestive disorders and yes, even death. Add to that list the mental fatigue of nights without sleep and days without peace, then we get a glimpse of the havoc worry plays in destroying the quality and quantity of life.

Worry is, and always will be, a fatal disease of the heart, for its beginning signals the end of faith.

Release the regrets of yesterday, refuse the fears of tomorrow and receive instead, the peace of today.

FREE YOUR MIND, YOU WILL BE GLAD YOU DID.

Even more miraculous

1 Foot Of Water

"Wow, man," Timmy said. "God parted the Red Sea and let all His people through on dry ground!"

"Sorry," said the 'biblical' scholar. "But that wasn't the Red Sea; it
was the Reed Sea. And its water is only about 1 foot deep. No miracle
was involved."

"Oh," said Timmy. Then, reading on a little more, he said,

"Wow, man! What a miracle! God drowned all those Egyptians in 1 foot
of water!"

-----

5 French Loaves and 2 Whales

" Jesus can multiply 5 loaves and 2 fishes to feed 5000 people!" exclaimed Jim.

" It wasn't any miracle. The loaves were French loaves!" said a 'biblical' scholar.
" Wow, that 'small' boy sure had a big appetite!" said Jim. " And those loaves were certainly big to have 12 basketful left over!"

The Bible in 30 seconds

God made.
Adam bit.
Noah arked.
Abraham split.
Joseph ruled.
Jacob fooled. Bush talked. Moses balked.
Pharaoh plagued. People walked. Sea divided.
Tablets guided. Promise landed. Saul freaked.
David peeked.
Prophets warned.
Jesus born.
God walked.
Love talked.
Anger crucified.
Hope died.
Love rose.
Spirit flamed.
Word spread.
God remained!
--Author unknown.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A Little Perspective

Pythagorean theorem: 24 words
The Lord's Prayer: 66 words
Archimedes' Principle: 67 words
The 10 Commandments: 179 words
The Gettysburg Address: 286 words
The Declaration of Independence: 1,300 words
The US Government regulations on the sale of cabbage: 26,911 words

--Selected from Mikey's Funnies

Marriage Tips ... from kids!

Enjoy these tips from kids on love and marriage!

1. How Does a Person Decide Whom to Marry?
"You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff. Like if you like sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the chips and dip coming." (Allan, age 10)

"No person really decides before they grow up who they're going to marry. God decides it all way before, and you got to find out later who you're stuck with." (Kirsten, age 10)

2. How Can a Stranger Tell if Two People Are Married?
"Married people usually look happy to talk to other people." (Eddie, age 6)

"You might have to guess based on whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids." (Derrick, age 8)

3. What Do You Think Your Mom and Dad Have in Common?
"Both don't want no more kids." (Lori, age 8)

4. What Do Most People Do on a Date?
"Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough." (Lynnette, age 8)

5. Is It Better to Be Single or Married?
"It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need somebody to clean up after them!" (Anita, age 9)

"Single is better...for the simple reason that I wouldn't want to change no diapers...Of course, if I did get married, I'd figure something out. I'd just phone my mother and have her come over for some coffee and diaper-changing." (Kirsten, age 10)

6. What Would You Suggest to Make a Marriage Work?
"Tell your wife that she looks pretty even if she looks like a truck!" (Ricky, age 7)

7. How Would the World Be Different if People Didn't Get Married?
"You can be sure of one thing--the boys would come chasing after us just the same as they do now!" (Roberta, age 7)

--Author unknown.

Faith like a Child

Faith only grows when you use it.

Background: Helen Roseveare, a missionary doctor from England to Zaire Africa told this story as it happened to her in Africa.

"One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator. (We had no electricity to run an incubator.) We also had no special feeding facilities.

Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. "And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed.

As in the West it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.

"All right," I said, "Put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. "Your job is to keep the baby warm."

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died.

During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. "Please, God," she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon."

While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of a corollary, "And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?"

As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen?" I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything. The Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!

Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly.

Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the...could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out--yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle!

I cried.

I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!" Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted.

Looking up at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?" That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child--five months before--in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that afternoon."

Live as if Christ died yesterday, arose this morning, and is coming back tomorrow.

Important Recall Notice

The maker of all human beings is recalling all units manufactured, regardless of make or year, due to the serious defect in the primary and central component, or heart. This is due to a malfunction in the original prototype units, resulting in the reproduction of the same defect in all subsequent units.

This defect has been technically termed, 'Subsequential Internal Non-morality,' or more commonly known as S-I-N, as it is primarily symptomized by loss of moral judgment.

Some other symptoms are:
(a) Loss of direction
(b) Foul vocal emissions
(c) Amnesia of origin
(d) Lack of peace and joy
(e) Selfish or violent behavior
(f) Depression or confusion in the mental component

The manufacturer, who is neither liable or at fault for this defect, is providing factory-authorized repair and service, free of charge, to correct this S-I-N defect, at numerous locations throughout the world.

The number to call for the recall station in your area is: P-R-A-Y-E-R.

WARNING: Continuing to operate the human unit without correction voids manufacturer's warranty, exposing owner to dangers and problems too numerous to list, and will result in the human unit being permanently destroyed.

For free emergency service: Kneel and call on the name of J-E-S-U-S for prompt assistance at any location worldwide.

--Author Unknown

Where is God's perfection?

In Brooklyn, New York, Chush is a school that caters to learning disabled children. Some children remain in Chush for their entire school career, while others can be mainstreamed into conventional schools. At a Chush fund-raising dinner, the father of a Chush child delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all that attended.

After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he cried out, "Where is the perfection in my son Shaya? Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God's perfection?

The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father's anguish and stilled by the piercing query. "I believe," the father answered, "that when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that he seeks is in the way people react to this child."

He then told the following story about his son Shaya:

One afternoon, Shaya and his father walked past a park where some boys Shaya knew were playing baseball. Shaya asked, "Do you think they will let me play?" Shaya's father knew that his son was not at all athletic and that most boys would not want him on their team. But Shaya's father understood that if his son was chosen to play it would give him a comfortable sense of belonging.

Shaya's father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shaya could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his teammates.

Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said "We are 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 up to bat in the ninth inning." Shaya's father was ecstatic as Shaya smiled broadly.

Shaya was told to put on a glove and go out to play short centre field. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shaya's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shaya's team scored again and now with two outs and the bases loaded with the potential winning run on base. Shaya was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let Shaya bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shaya was given the bat. Everyone knew that it was all but impossible because Shaya didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, let alone hit with it. However, as Shaya stepped up to the plate,the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shaya should at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came and Shaya swung clumsily and missed. One of Shaya's team-mates came up to Shaya and together they held the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the next pitch.

The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly
toward Shaya. As the pitch came in, Shaya and his teammate swung at the ball and together they hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shaya would have been out and that would have ended the game.

Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman. Everyone started yelling, "Shaya, run to first. Run to first."

Never in his life had Shaya run to first. He scampered down the baseline wide-eyed and startled. By the time he reached first base, the right fielderhad the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman who would tag out Shaya, who was still running. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions were, so he threw the ball high and far over the Third baseman's head

Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second." Shaya ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home. As Shaya reached second base, the opposing short stop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base and shouted, "Run to third."

As Shaya rounded third, the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming, "Shaya run home." Shaya ran home, stepped on home plate and all 18 boys lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero, as he had just hit a "grand slam" and won the game for his team." That day," said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, "those 18 boys reached their level of God's perfection.

Really Important Stuff ( My Kids Have Taught Me )

It's more fun to color outside the lines.
If you're going draw on the wall, do it behind the couch.
Ask why until you understand.
Hang on tight.
It doesn't matter who started it.
Ask for sprinkles.
If the horse you're drawing looks more like a dog, make it a dog.
Sometimes you have to take the test before you've finished studying.
If you want a kitten, start out asking for a horse.
Picking your nose when no one else is looking is still picking your nose.
Just keep banging until someone opens the door.
There is no good reason why clothes have to match.
Even Popeye didn't eat his spinach until he absolutely had to.
If your dog doesn't like someone, you probably shouldn't either.
Toads aren't ugly; they're just toads.
Don't pop someone else's bubble.
You can't ask to start over just because you're losing the game.
Make your mother proud of you.

--Selected from Good Clean Fun

If you want to be ...

If you want to be distressed, look within.
If you want to be defeated, look back.
If you want to be distracted, look around.
If you want to be dismayed, look ahead.
If you want to be delivered, look up.

What is?

This is for kindergarten kids but let's see if you can get the answer.
When asked this riddle, 80% of kindergarten students got the answers compared to 17% of Stanford University seniors.
Ready?

What is greater than God,
More evil than the devil,
The poor have it,
The rich need it,
And if you eat it, you'll die?

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Give up? The answer is Nothing.
Nothing is greater than God,
Nothing is more evil than the devil,
The poor have Nothing,
The rich need Nothing,
And if you eat Nothing, you'll die.

Mommy ...

This is very sad but I think you should read it.

Mommy...
Johnny brought a gun to school,
He told his friends that it was cool,
And when he pulled the trigger back,
It shot with a great crack.
Mommy, I was a good girl, I did
What I was told,
I went to school, I got straight A's,
I even got the gold!
But Mommy, when I went school that day,
I never said good-bye,
I'm sorry Mommy, I had to go,
But Mommy, please don't cry.
When Johnny shot the gun,
He hit me and another,
And all because Johnny,
Got the gun from his older brother.
Mommy, please tell Daddy;
That I love him very much,
And please tell Chris; my boyfriend;
That it wasn't just a crush.
And tell my little sister;
That she is the only one now,
And tell my dear sweet grandmother;
I'll be waiting for her now,
And tell my wonderful friends;
That they always were the best;
Mommy, I'm not the first,
I'm no better than the rest.
Mommy, tell my teachers;
I won't show up for class,
And never to forget this,
And please don't let this pass.
Mommy, why'd it have to be me?
No one deserves this,
Mommy, warn the others,
Mommy I left without a kiss.
And Mommy tell the doctors;
I know they really did try,
I think I even saw a doctor,
Trying not to cry.
Mommy, I'm slowly dying,
With a bullet in my chest,
But Mommy please remember,
I'm in heaven with the rest.
Mommy I ran as fast as I could,
When I heard that crack,
Mommy, listen to me if you would,
I'm not coming back.
I wanted to go to college,
I wanted to try things that were new,
I guess I'm not going with Daddy,
On that trip to the new zoo.
I wanted to get married,
I wanted to have a kid,
I wanted to be an actress,
Mommy, I wanted to live.
But Mommy I must go now,
The time is getting late,
Mommy, tell my boyfriend,
I'm sorry but I had to cancel the date.
I love you Mommy, I always have,
I know; you know it's true,
And Mommy all I wanted to say is,
"Mommy, I love you."

**In Memory of The School Shootings**

Words of Wisdom II

Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right one so that when we finally meet the right person, we will know how to be grateful for that gift.

When the door of happiness closes, another opens, but often times we look so long at the closed door that we don't see the one which has been opened for us.

When God closes a door, He open several others.

The best kind of friend is the kind you can sit on a porch and swing with, never say a word, and then walk away feeling like it was the best conversation you've every had.

It's true that we don't know what we've got until we lose it, but it's also true that we don't know what we've been missing until it arrives.

Giving someone all your love is never an assurance that they'll love you
back

Don't expect love in return; just wait for it to grow in their heart but if it doesn't, be content it grew in yours.

It takes only a minute to get a crush on someone, an hour to like someone, and a day to love someone, but it takes a lifetime to forget someone.

Don't go for looks; they can deceive.
Don't go for wealth; even that fades away.
Go for someone who makes you smile
because it takes only a smile to make a dark day seem bright.
Find the one that makes your heart smile.

There are moments in life when you miss someone so much that you just want to pick them from your dreams and hug them for real!

Dream what you want to dream; go where you want to go; be what you want to be, because you have only one life and one chance to do all the things you want to do.

May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human, enough hope to make you happy.

Always put yourself in others' shoes.
If you feel that it hurts you, it probably hurts the other person, too.

The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way.

Happiness lies for those who cry, those who hurt, those who have searched, and those who have tried, for only they can appreciate the importance of people who have touched their lives.

Love begins with a smile, grows with a kiss and ends with a tear.

The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past, you can't go on well in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.

When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling. Live your life so that when you die, you're the one who is smiling and everyone around you is crying.

Words of Wisdom

God didn't promise days without pain,
laughter without sorrow, sun without rain,
But? He did promise strength for the day,
comfort for the tears, and light for the way.

Disappointments are like road humps, they slow you down a bit
but you enjoy the smooth road afterwards.
Don't stay on the humps too long.
Move on!

When you feel down because you didn't get what you want,
just sit tight and be happy,
because God is thinking of something better to give you.

When something happens to you, good or bad, consider what it means.
There's a purpose to life's events, to teach you how
to laugh more or not to cry too hard.

You can't make someone love you,
all you can do is be someone who can be loved,
the rest is up to the person to realize your worth.

What the heart gives away is never gone...
It is kept in the hearts of others.

Remember that great love and great achievements
involve great risks.
Secure a special place in your heart.
A certain place only you can enter.
For there will come a time when you need to find yourself and
only your heart will show you the way.

The measure of love is when you love without measure.
In life there are very rare chances that
you'll meet the person you love and loves you in return.
So once you have it don't ever let go,
the chance might never come your way again.

It's better to lose your pride to the one you love,
than to lose the one you love because of pride.

We spend so much time looking for the right person to love
or finding fault with those we already love,
when instead we should be perfecting the love we give.

When you truly care for someone,
you don't look for faults,
you don't look for answers,
you don't look for mistakes.
Instead, you fight the mistakes, you accept the faults, and you overlook
excuses.

Never abandon an old friend.
You will never find one who can take his place.

Five rules to be happy.
1. Free your heart from hatred.
2. Free your mind from worries.
3. Live simply.
4. Give more.
5. Expect less.

Money can buy a bed, but it can't buy sleep
Money can buy a companion, but it can't buy true love.
Money can buy a diamond, but hey, how can that be your best friend?

Quality not Quantity

"It's not how many hours you put in but how much you put into the hours."

One day, in a very busy factory, an intricate piece of machinery broke down. The company's best machinists were called in to diagnose the problem, but they couldn't come up with a solution.

Finally, they suggested a specialist be brought in. The master mechanic arrived, looked the apparatus over thoroughly, and then asked for the smallest hammer they had on hand. He then pecked on a critical area of the machine with the hammer, and said, "Now turn on the power. It ought to work." His small peck apparently released a mechanism that had jammed, and sure enough, the machine worked.

Later when the specialist sent a bill for $100 the managers were astounded! One hundred dollars was an exorbitant fee for one small peck! They asked him to sent them and itemized statement. He complied, but didn't reduce his fee. His statement read: $1 for pecking $99 for knowing where to peck.

A similar story is told about a young medical student who asked an experienced surgeon how long it would take him to learn how to perform an appendectomy. The surgeon replied, "Three hours." Then he added, "And three years to learn what to do if anything goes wrong."

Put as much as you can into every hour. You'll have much more to draw upon later!

Buttprints in the Sand

One night I had a wondrous dream,
One set of footprints there was seen,
The footprints of my precious Lord,
But mine were not along the shore.
But then some stranger prints appeared,
And I asked the Lord, "What have we here?"
Those prints are large and round and neat,
"But Lord, they are too big for feet."
"My child," He said in somber tones,
"For miles I carried you alone.
I challenged you to walk in faith,
But you refused and made me wait."
"You disobeyed, you would not grow,
The walk of faith, you would not know,
So I got tired, I got fed up,
And there I dropped you on your butt."
"Because in life, there comes a time,
When one must fight, and one must climb,
When one must rise and take a stand,
Or leave their butt prints in the sand."

Footprints in the Sand - A Variation

Imagine you and the Lord Jesus walking down the road together. For much of the way, the Lord's footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace. But your prints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnarounds, circles, departures and returns.

But gradually, your footprints come more in line with the Lord's, soon paralleling His consistently.

You and Jesus are walking as true friends.

This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: your footprints that once etched the sand next to the Master's are now inside His larger footprints is the small "sandprint," safely enclosed. You and Jesus are becoming one.

This goes on for many miles. But gradually you notice another change. The footprint inside the larger footprint seems to grow there is only one set of footprints.

They have become one.

Again, this goes on for a long time. But then something awful And this time it Stops. Starts. You're amazed and shocked.

"Lord, I understand the first scene with the I was a new Christian, just But You walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with you."

"That is correct."

"Yes, and when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, It was I followed You very closely."

You have understood everything so far."

"Then the smaller footprints grew and eventually filled in with I suppose that I was actually growing so much that I was becoming like you."

"Precisely."

Lord ... Was there a regression or something? The footprints went back to two, and this time it was worse than the first."

"That was when we danced."

Footprints in the Sand

by Mary Stevenson (11/8/22 -1/6/99)

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky. In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints. Other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life When I was suffering from anguish, sorrow, or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints. So I said to the Lord, "You promised me, Lord, That if I followed you, you would walk with me always.

But I noticed that during the most trying periods of my life There have only been one set of prints in the sand. Why, When I have needed you most, you have not been there for me?"

The Lord replied, "The times when you have seen only one set of footprints Is when I carried you."

The Painting

The story of the painting, The Last Supper, is extremely interesting and instructive. The two incidents connected with it afford a most convincing lesson on the effects of right thinking or wrong thinking in the life of a boy or girl, or of a man or a woman.

The Last Supper was painted by Leonardo Da Vinci, a noted Italian artist; and the time engaged for its completion was seven years. The figures representing the twelve Apostles and Christ himself were painted from living persons. The life-model for the painting of the figure of Jesus was chosen first.

When it was decided that Da Vinci would paint this great picture, hundreds and hundreds of young men were carefully viewed in an endeavor to find a face and personality exhibiting innocence and beauty, free from the scars and signs of dissipation caused by sin.

Finally, after weeks of laborious searching, a young man nineteen years of age was selected as a model for the portrayal of Christ. For six months, Da Vinci worked on the production of this leading character of his famous painting.

During the next six years, Da Vinci continued his labors on this sublime work of art. One by one fitting persons were chosen to represent each of the eleven Apostles; space being left for the painting of the figure representing Judas Iscariot as the final task of this masterpiece. This was the Apostle, you remember, who betrayed his Lord for thirty pieces of silver, worth in our present day, currency of $16.96.

For weeks, Da Vinci searched for a man with a hard callous face, with a countenance marked by scars of avarice, deceit, hypocrisy, and crime; a face that would delineate a character who would betray his best friend.

After many discouraging experiences in searching for the type of person required to represent Judas, word came to Da Vinci that a man whose appearance fully met his requirements had been found in a dungeon in Rome, sentenced to die for a life of crime and murder.

Da Vinci made the trip to Rome at once, and this man was brought out from his imprisonment in the dungeon and led out into the light of the sun. There Da Vinci saw before him a dark, swarthy man; his long, shaggy and unkempt hair sprawled over his face, which betrayed a character of viciousness and complete ruin. At last, the famous painter had found the person he wanted to represent the character of Judas in his painting.

By special permission from the king, this prisoner was carried to Milan where the picture was being painted; and for months he sat before Da Vinci at appointed hours each day as the gifted artist diligently continued his task of transmitting to his painting this base character in the picture representing the traitor and betrayer of our savior. As he finished his last stroke, he turned to the guards and said, "I have finished. You may take the prisoner away."

As the guards were leading their prisoner away, he suddenly broke loose from their control and rushed up to Da Vinci, crying as he did so, "O, Da Vinci, look at me! Do you not know who I am?"

Da Vinci, with the trained eyes of a great character student, carefully scrutinized the manupon whose face he had constantly gazed for six months and replied, "No, I have never seen you in my life until you were brought before me out of the dungeon in Rome."

Then, lifting his eyes toward heaven, the prisoner said, "Oh, God, have I fallen so low?" Then turning his face to the painter he cried, "Leonardo Da Vinci! Look at me again for I am the same man you painted just seven years ago as the figure of Christ."

This is the true story of the painting of The Last Supper that teaches so strongly the lesson of the effects of right or wrong thinking on the life of an individual. Here was a young man whose character was so pure, unspoiled by the sins of the world that he presented a countenance of innocence and beauty fit to be used for the painting of a representation of Christ. But within seven years, following the thoughts of sin and a life of crime, he was changed into a perfect picture of the most traitorous character ever known in the history of the world.

A Perfect Mistake

My Mother's father worked as a carpenter. On this particular day, he was building some crates for the clothes his church was sending to orphanages in China. On his way home, he reached into his shirt pocket to find his glasses, but they were gone. When he mentally replayed his earlier actions, he realized what had happened; the glasses had slipped out of his pocket unnoticed and fallen in one of the crates, which he had nailed shut. His brand new glasses were heading for China! The Great Depression was at it's height and Grandpa had six children. He had spent $20 for those glasses that very morning. He was upset by the thought of having to buy another pair. "It's not fair," he told God as he drove home in frustration. "I've been very faithful in giving of my time and money to your work, and now this."

Months later, the director of the orphanage was on furlough in the United States. He wanted to visit all the churches that supported him in China, so he came to speak one Sunday at my grandfather's small church in Chicago. The missionary began by thanking the people for their faithfulness in supporting the orphanage. "But most of all," he said, "I must thank you for the glasses you sent last year. You see, the Communists had just swept through the orphanage, destroying everything, including my glasses. I was desperate. Even if I had the money, there was simply no way of replacing those glasses. Along with not being able to see well, I experienced headaches every day, so my coworkers and I were much in prayer about this.

Then your crates arrived. When my staff removed the covers, they found a pair of glasses lying on top. The missionary paused long enough to let his words sink in. Then, still gripped with the wonder of it all, he continued, "Folks, when I tried on the glasses, it was as though they had been custom made just for me! I want to thank you for being a part of that."

The people listened, happy for the miraculous glasses. But the missionary surely must have confused their church with another, they thought. There were no glasses on their list of items to be sent overseas. But sitting quietly in the back, with tears streaming down his face, an ordinary carpenter realized the Master Carpenter had used him in an extraordinary way.

Jars of Clay

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you." "Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?" "I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

A Blue Ribbon

A teacher in New York decided to honor each of her seniors in high school by telling them the difference they each made. Using a process developed by Helice Bridges of Del Mar, California, she called each student to the front of the class, one at a time. First she told them how the student made a difference to her and the class. Then she presented each of them with a blue ribbon imprinted with gold letters which read, "Who I Am Makes a Difference."

Afterwards the teacher decided to do a class project to see what kind of impact recognition would have on a community. She gave each of the students three more ribbons and instructed them to go out and spread this acknowledgment ceremony. Then they were to follow up on the results, see who honored whom and report back to the class in about a week.

One of the boys in the class went to a junior executive in a nearby company and honored him for helping him with his career planning. He gave him a blue ribbon and put it on his shirt. Then he gave him two extra ribbons, and said, "We're doing a class project on recognition,
and we'd like you to go out, find somebody to honor, give them a blue ribbon, then give them the extra blue ribbon so they can acknowledge a third person to keep this acknowledgment ceremony going. Then please report back to me and tell me what happened."

Later that day the junior executive went in to see his boss, who had been noted, by the way, as being kind of a grouchy fellow. He sat his boss down and he told him that he deeply admired him for being a creative genius. The boss seemed very surprised. The junior executive asked him if he would accept the gift of the blue ribbon and would he give him permission to put it on him. His surprised boss said, "Well, sure."

The junior executive took the blue ribbon and placed it right on his boss's jacket above his heart. As he gave him the last extra ribbon, he said, "Would you do me a favor? would you take this extra ribbon and pass it on by honoring somebody else? The young boy who first gave me the ribbons is doing a project in school and we want to keep this recognition ceremony going and find out how it affects people."

That night the boss came home to his 14-year-old son and sat him down. He said, "The most incredible thing happened to me today. I was in my office and one of the junior executives came in and told me he admired me and gave me a blue ribbon for being a creative genius. Imagine. He thinks I'm a creative genius. Then he put this blue ribbon that says 'Who I Am Makes A Difference' on my jacket above my heart. He gave me an extra ribbon and asked me to find somebody else to honor. As I was driving home tonight, I started thinking about whom I would honor with this ribbon and I thought about you. I want to honor you."

"My days are really hectic and when I come home I don't pay a lot of attention to you. Sometimes I scream at you for not getting good enough grades in school and for your bedroom being a mess, but somehow tonight, I just wanted to sit here and, well, just let you know that you do make a difference to me. besides your mother, you are the most important person in my life. You're a great kid and I love you!"

The startled boy started to sob and sob, and he couldn't stop crying. His whole body shook. He looked up at his father and said through his tears, "I was planning on committing suicide tomorrow, Dad, because I didn't think you loved me. Now I don't need to."

Marriage: The Business Deal

Advice for woman seeking $500k+ earning man

What am I doing wrong?

Okay, I’m tired of beating around the bush. I’m a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I’m articulate and classy. I’m not from New York. I’m looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don’t think I’m overreaching at all.

Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250. But that’s where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won’t get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she’s not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?

Here are my questions specifically:

- Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars, restaurants, gyms

-What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won’t hurt my feelings

- Is there an age range I should be targeting (I’m 25)?

- Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east side so plain? I’ve seen really ‘plain jane’ boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I’ve seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What’s the story there?

- Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investment banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?

- How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY

Please hold your insults - I’m putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I’m being up front about it. I wouldn’t be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn’t able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.

The reply:

I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament. Firstly, I’m not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here’s how I see it.

Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a crappy business deal. Here’s why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here’s the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity…in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won’t be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you’re 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and hold…hence the rub…marriage. It doesn’t make good business sense to “buy you” (which is what you’re asking) so I’d rather lease. In case you think I’m being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It’s as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.

Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So, I wonder why a girl as “articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful” as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn’t found you, if not only for a tryout.

By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn’t need to have this difficult conversation.

With all that said, I must say you’re going about it the right way. Classic “pump and dump.” I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.

The 5 minute management course

Lesson 1:

A man is getting into the shower just as his wife is finishing up her shower, when the doorbell rings.

The wife quickly wraps herself in a towel and runs downstairs. When she opens the door, there stands Bob, the next-door neighbour.Before she says a word, Bob says, ‘I’ll give you $800 to drop that towel.’

After thinking for a moment, the woman drops her towel and stands naked in front of Bob, after a few seconds, Bob hands her $800 and leaves.The woman wraps back up in the towel and goes back upstairs.

When she gets to the bathroom, her husband asks,‘Who was that?’
‘It was Bob the next door neighbour,’ she replies.
‘Great,’ the husband says, ‘did he say anything about the $800 he owes me?’

Moral of the story:
If you share critical information pertaining to credit and risk with your shareholders in time, you may be in a position to prevent avoidable exposure.

—–

Lesson 2:

A priest offered a Nun a lift.She got in and crossed her legs, forcing her gown to reveal a leg.
The priest nearly had an accident.After controlling the car, he stealthily slid his hand up her leg.
The nun said, ‘Father, remember Psalm 129?’ The priest removed his hand. But, changing gears, he let his hand slide up her leg again.

The nun once again said, ‘Father, remember Psalm 129?’
The priest apologized ‘Sorry sister but the flesh is weak.’
Arriving at the convent, the nun sighed heavily and went on her way.
On his arrival at the church, the priest rushed to look up Psalm 129.
It said, ‘Go forth and seek, further up, you will find glory.’

Moral of the story:
If you are not well informed in your job, you might miss a great opportunity. Knowledge is Power.

—–

Lesson 3:

A sales rep, an administration clerk, and the manager are walking to lunch when they find an antique oil lamp.
They rub it and a Genie comes out. The Genie says, ‘I’ll give each of you just one wish.’
‘I’m first! Me first!’ says the admin clerk. ‘I want to be in the Bahamas, driving a speedboat, without a care in the world.’ Puff! She’s gone.
‘I’m next! Me next!’ says the sales rep. ‘I want to be in Hawaii, relaxing on the beach with my personal masseuse, an endless supply of Pina Coladas and the love of my life.’
Puff! He’s gone.
‘OK, you’re up,’ the Genie says to the manager. The manager says, ‘I want those two back in the office after lunch.’

Moral of the story:
Always let your boss have the first say. Listen and Make your plans around his.

—–

Lesson 4

An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing.
A small rabbit saw the eagle and asked him, ‘Can I also sit like you and do nothing?’

The eagle answered: ‘Sure, why not.’
So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.

Moral of the story:
To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.

—–

Lesson 5

A turkey was chatting with a bull.
‘I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree’ sighed the turkey, ‘but I haven’t got the energy.’

‘Well, why don’t you nibble on some of my droppings?’ replied the bull. They’re packed with nutrients.’
The turkey pecked at a lump of dung, and found it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree.
The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch.
Finally after a fourth night, the turkey was proudly perched at the top of the tree.
He was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot him out of the tree.

Moral of the story:
Bull Shit might get you to the top, but it won’t keep you there.. Real Substance Does…

—–

Lesson 6

A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground into a large field.
While he was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on him.
As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung, he began to realize how warm he was.
The dung was actually thawing him out!
He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate.
Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.

Morals of the story:
(1) Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.
(2) Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.
(3) And when you’re in deep shit, it’s best to keep your mouth shut!

THUS WE END THIS FIVE MINUTE MANAGEMENT COURSE

Table for Two

by Kirsten Burgess

He sits by himself at a table for two.
The uniformed waiter returns to his side and asks, “Would you like to go ahead and order, sir?” The man has, after all, been waiting since seven o’clock–almost half an hour.

“No, thank you,” the man smiles. “I’ll wait for her a while longer. How about some more coffee?”

“Certainly, sir.”

The man sits, his clear blue eyes gazing straight through the flowered centerpiece. He fingers his napkin, allowing the sounds of light chatter, tinkling silverware, and mellow music to fill his mind. He is dressed in sport coat and tie. His dark brown hair is neatly combed, but one stray lock insists on dropping to his forehead. The scent of his cologne adds to his clean cut image. He is dressed up enough to make a companion feel important, respected, loved. Yet he is not so formal as to make one uncomfortable. It seems that he has taken every precaution to make others feel at ease with him. Still, he sits alone.

The waiter returns to fill the man’s coffee cup. “Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?”

“No, thank you.”
The waiter remains standing at the table. Something tugs at his curiosity. “I don’t mean to pry, but…” His voice trails off. This line of conversation could jeopardize his tip.

“Go ahead,” the man encourages. His is strong, yet sensitive, inviting conversation.

“Why do you bother waiting for her?” the waiter finally blurts out. This man has been at the restaurant other evenings, always patiently alone.

Says the man quietly, “Because she needs me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Well, sir, no offense, but assuming that she needs you, she sure isn’t acting much like it. She’s stood you up three times just this week.” The man winces, and looks down at the table. “Yes, I know.” “Then why do you still come here and wait?”

“Cassie said that she would be here.”

“She’s said that before,” the waiter protests. “I wouldn’t put up with it. Why do you?”

Now the man looks up, smiles at the waiter, and says simply, “Because I love her.”

The waiter walks away, wondering how one could love a girl who stands him up three times a week. The man must be crazy, he decides. Across the room, he turns to look at the man again. The man slowly pours cream into his coffee. He twirls his spoon between his fingers a few times before stirring sweetener into his cup. After staring for a moment into the liquid, the man brings the cup to his mouth and sips, silently watching those around him. He doesn’t look crazy, the waiter admits. Maybe the girl has qualities that I don’t know about. Or maybe the man’s love is stronger than most. The waiter shakes himself out of his musings to take an order from a party of five.

The man watches the waiter, wonders if he’s ever been stood up. The man has, many times. But he still can’t get used to it. Each time, it hurts. He’s looked forward to this evening all day. He has many things, exciting things, to tell Cassie. But, more importantly, he wants to hear Cassie’s voice. He wants her to tell him all about her day, her triumphs, her defeats… anything, really. He has tried so many times to show Cassie how much he loves her. He’d just like to know that she cares for him, too. He sips sporadically at the coffee, and loses himself in thought, knowing that Cassie is late, but still hoping that she will arrive.

The clock says nine-thirty when the waiter returns to the man’s table. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

The still empty chair stabs at the man. “No, I think that will be all for tonight. May I have the check please?”

“Yes, sir.”

When the waiter leaves, the man picks up the check. He pulls out his wallet and sighs. He has enough money to have given Cassie a feast. But he takes out only enough to pay for his five cups of coffee and the tip. Why do you do this, Cassie, his mind cries as he gets up from the table.
“Good-bye,” the waiter says, as the man walks towards the door.

“Good night. Thank you for your service.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” says the waiter softly, for he sees the hurt in the man’s eyes that his smile doesn’t hide.

The man passes a laughing young couple on his way out, and his eyes glisten as he thinks of the good time he and Cassie could have had. He stops at the front and makes reservations for tomorrow. Maybe Cassie will be able to make it, he thinks.

“Seven o’clock tomorrow for party of two?” the hostess confirms.

“That’s right,” the man replies.

“Do you think she’ll come?” asks the hostess. She doesn’t mean to be rude, but she has watched the man many times alone at his table for two.

“Someday, yes. And I will be waiting for her.” The man buttons his overcoat and walks out of the restaurant, alone. His shoulders are hunched, but through the windows the hostess can only guess whether they are hunched against the wind or against the man’s hurt.

As the man turns toward home, Cassie turns into bed. She is tired after an evening out with friends. As she reaches toward her night stand to set the alarm, she sees the note that she scribbled to herself last night. ‘7:00,’ it says. ‘Spend some time in prayer.’ Darn, she thinks. She forgot again. She feels a twinge of guilt, but quickly pushes it aside. She needed that time with her friends. And now she needs her sleep. She can pray tomorrow night. Jesus will forgive her.

And she’s sure he doesn’t mind.

Pruning

In the early dawn, a young gardener was pruning his trees and shrubs. He had one choice currant bush which had gone too much to wood. He feared therefore that it would produce little, if any, fruit.

Accordingly, he trimmed and pruned the bush†and cut it back. In fact, when he had finished, there was little left but stumps and roots.
Tenderly he considered what was left. It looked so sad and deeply hurt. On every stump there seemed to be a tear where the pruning knife had cut away the growth of early spring. The poor bush seemed to speak to him, and he thought he heard it say:

“O, how could you be so cruel to me; you who claim to be my friend, who planted me and cared for me when I was young, and nurtured me and encouraged me to grow? Could you not see that I was rapidly responding to your care? I was nearly half as large as the trees across the fence, and might soon have become like one of them. But now you’ve cut my branches back; the green, attractive leaves are gone, and I am in disgrace among my fellows.”

The young gardener looked at the weeping bush and heard it’s plea with sympathetic understanding. His voice was full of kindness as he said, “Do not cry; what I have done to you was necessary that you might be a prize currant bush in my garden. You were not intended to give shade or shelter by your branches. My purpose when I planted you was that you should bear fruit. When I want currants, a tree, regardless of it’s size, cannot supply the need.”

“No, my little currant bush, if I had allowed you to continue to grow as you had started, all your strength would have gone to wood; your roots would not have gained a firm hold, and the purpose for which I brought you into my garden would have been defeated. Your place would have been taken by another, for you would have been barren. You must not weep; all this will be for your good; and some day, when you see more clearly, when you are richly laden with luscious fruit, you will thank me and say, `Surely, he was a wise and loving gardener. He knew the purpose of my being, and I thank him now for what I then thought was cruelty.’”†

Some years later, this young gardener was in a foreign land, and he himself was growing. He was proud of his position and ambitious for the future.†One day an unexpected vacancy entitled him to promotion. The goal to which he had aspired was now almost within his grasp, and he was proud of the rapid growth which he was making.

But for some reason unknown to him, another was appointed in his stead, and he was asked to take another post relatively unimportant and which, under the circumstances, caused his friends to feel that he had failed.

The young man staggered to his tent and knelt beside his cot and wept. He now knew that he could never hope to have what he had thought so desirable. He cried to God and said, “Oh, how could you be so cruel to me? You who claim to be my friend - you who brought me here and nurtured and encouraged me to grow. Could you not see that I was almost equal to the other men whom I have so long admired? But now I have been cut down. I am in disgrace among my fellows. Oh, how could you do this to me?”

He was humiliated and chagrinned and a drop of bitterness was in his heart, when he seemed to hear an echo from the past. Where had he heard those words before? They seemed familiar. Memory whispered:

“I’m the gardener here.”

He caught his breath. Ah, that was it - the currant bush! But why should that long-forgotten incident come to him in the midst of his hour of tragedy? And memory answered with words which he himself had spoken;

“Do not cry … what I have done to you was necessary … you were not intended for what you sought to be, … if I had allowed you to continue … you would have failed in the purpose for which I planted you and my plans for you would have been defeated. You must not weep; some day when you are richly laden with experience you will say, `He was a wise gardener. He knew the purpose of my earth life, … I thank him now for what I thought was cruel.’

The Smell of Rain

A cold March wind danced around the dead of night in Dallas as the Doctor walked into the small hospital room of Diana Blessing. Still groggy from surgery, her husband David held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news.

That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24-weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency cesarean to deliver the couple’s new daughter, Danae Lu Blessing. At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound and nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature. Still, the doctor’s soft words dropped like bombs. ‘I don’t think she’s going to make it’, he said, as kindly as he could. “There’s only a 10-percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one”. Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctors described the devastating problems Danae would likely face if she survived. She would never walk, she would never talk, she would probably be blind, she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation, and on and on. “No! No!” was all Diana could say.

She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four. Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away. Through the dark hours of morning as Danae held onto life by the thinnest thread, Diana slipped in and out of sleep, growing more and more determined that their tiny daughter would live - and live to be a healthy, happy young girl. But David, fully awake and listening to additional dire details of their daughter’s chances of ever leaving the hospital alive, much less healthy, knew he must confront his wife with the inevitable.

David walked in and said that we needed to talk about making funeral arrangements. Diana remembers ‘I felt so bad for him because he was doing everything, trying to include me in what was going on, but I just wouldn’t listen, I couldn’t listen.’ I said, “No, that is not going to happen, no way! I don’t care what the doctors say Danae is not going to die! One day she will be just fine, and she will be coming home with us!”

As if willed to live by Diana’s determination, Danae clung to life hour after hour, with the help of every medical machine and marvel her miniature body could endure. But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because Danae’s under-developed nervous system was essentially ‘raw,’ the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn’t even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love. All they could do, as Danae struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl.

There was never a moment when Danae suddenly grew stronger. But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there. At last, when Danae turned two months old, her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time. And two months later-though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero. Danae went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.

Today, five years later, Danae is a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life. She shows no signs, what so ever, of any mental or physical impairments. Simply, she is everything a little girl can be and more-but that happy ending is far from the end of her story.

One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Danae was sitting in her mother’s lap in the bleachers of a local ball park where her brother Dustin’s baseball team was practicing. As always, Danae was chattering non-stop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby when she suddenly fell silent. Hugging her arms across her chest, Danae asked, “Do you smell that?”

Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, “Yes, it smells like rain.” Danae closed her eyes and again asked, “Do you smell that?” Once again, her mother replied, “Yes, I think we’re about to get wet, it smells like rain.” Still caught in the moment, Danae shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced, “No, it smells like Him. It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest.”

Tears blurred Diana’s eyes as Danae then happily hopped down to play with the other children. Before the rains came, her daughter’s words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along. During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Danae on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.

Being Flat-Footed Can Save Lives

There was once an ambitious young lad who had always dreamt that one day he would become a general in the army. He was intelligent, and the qualities he possessed were more than enough to get him anywhere he wanted. For this he thanked God whom he feared and always prayed that one day his dream would be fulfilled.

Unfortunately when the time came for him to join the army, he was rejected due to the fact that he was flat-footed. After various attempts he gave up the idea of ever becoming a general, and for this he blamed God for not answering his prayer.

He felt alone, emotionally beaten, and most of all with an anger he had never experienced before. An anger which he started projecting against God. He knew that there was a God but did not believe in God as a friend any more but in God as a tyrant. He never prayed anymore and never put step in Church again. When people used to speak about the All Loving God he used to pull their legs and asking intricate questions which would leave the believer perplexed.

He than decided to enter university and become a doctor. And so happened, he became a doctor and some years later he was a qualified surgeon. He became a pioneer in delicate operations where the patient did not stand a chance of surviving if not under the hands of this young surgeon. Now all his patients had a chance, that of a new life.

Throughout the years he saved thousands of lives, those of children and adults. Parents could now live happily with their re-born son or daughter and mothers who were critically ill could now still love their family. Fathers who were devastated because no one could raise their family after their death, had been given another chance.

As he grew older he trained other aspiring surgeons on his new operating technique and more and more lives were saved and are still being saved.

One day he closed his eyes and went to meet the risen Lord. There still full of hatred the man asked God why his prayers were never answered and the Lord answered.

“Look out in the skies my child and see your dream fulfilled.”

There he could see himself as a young boy praying to become a soldier. He saw himself getting into the army and becoming a soldier. There he was proud and ambitious, and with a look in his eyes that one day he would lead a whole regiment. He was called to fight his first battle, but as he was in a camp at the front, a bomb fell and blasted him off. He was then sent in a wooden box back to his family.

All his ambitions were now shattered as his parents wept and wept.

Then the Lord said, “Now look how my plan has been fulfilled although you did not approve.”

Once again he looked in the skies. There he watched his life day by day and how many lives he had saved. He saw the smiles on his patient’s faces and on their family’s faces and the new life he had given them by becoming a surgeon.

Then amongst his patients he saw a young boy who also had a dream of becoming a soldier one day, but unfortunately was sick. He saw how he had saved his life by operating on the boy. Today the boy had grown up and became a general. He only became a general because the surgeon had saved his life.

At that point he knew that the Lord was always with him. He understood how God had used him as His instrument to save thousands of lives and to give a future to the young boy who wanted to become a soldier.

A Gentle Thunder

by Max Lucado

The comments began a couple of months ago. “Getting close to the top there, Max? Be careful. You may pick up speed going downhill.” “Almost there, eh, Max? Won’t be long before you’ll stop combing your hair and start arranging it.”

Thirty days out, the word started to spread (so did my waist). Reminders became more frequent. “Look at it this way. All your life you’ve been taught to respect your elders. Now you don’t have to respect anyone.” “Don’t worry, Max. Old age isn’t bad when you consider the alternative.” This week the phone calls started to arrive. “I don’t know whether to send condolences or congratulations.” “Able to make it out of bed this morning?” my brother asked today. Actually I fell out of bed earlier than normal this morning.

On a typical birthday I might have waved off my morning jog and stayed in bed. But this isn’t a typical birthday. And the thought of staying in bed never entered my mind. The thought of jogging an extra mile did, but not the thought of sleeping late. It’s the big one. The fortieth. In defiance of age, I stepped onto the dark streets and ran. I wanted to see what a forty-year-old jogger feels like. Know what I learned? He feels like a thirty-nine-year-old jogger. But even though I feel the same as I did yesterday, my driver’s license reminds me I am forty. They say that life begins at forty. But so do bad eye sight, arthritis, and the habit of telling the same joke three times to the same person. Lucille Ball said the secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age. Easier said than done. It’s hard to lie about the obvious. When you are old the mirror gets even.
But I tell myself that turning forty isn’t too bad; next to a Galapagos turtle I’m still a child. I’ve gotten several laughs out of the comments that have come my way., Thought you might enjoy a few: “You know you are getting older when you try to straighten out the wrinkles in your socks to find you aren’t wearing any.”

“At twenty we don’t care what the world thinks of us; at thirty we start to worry about what the world thinks of us; at forty we realize the world isn’t thinking of us at all.” “I’ve gotten to the age where I need my false teeth and hearing aid before I can ask where I left my glasses.” “Forty is when you stop patting yourself on the back and start patting yourself under the chin.” I’ll leave it to Dave Barry to sum it up: As a person start reaching this milestone (your fortieth birthday) you need to take time to learn about the biological changes that are taking place within your body, so that you will be better able to understand and cope with the inevitable and completely natural elements of the aging process the minor aches, pains, dental problems, intestinal malfunctions, muscle deterioration, emotional instability, memory lapses, hearing and vision loss, impotence, seizures, growths, prostate problems, greatly reduced limb function, massive coronary failure, death, and of course, painful hemorrhoid swelling that can make up this exciting adventure we call “middle age.”

Growing older. Aging. We laugh about it, and we groan about it. We resist it, but we can’t stop it. And with the chuckles and wrinkles come some serious thoughts and questions about what happened when we die. Is death when we go to sleep? Or is death when we finally wake up? As a minister, I’m often asked to speak at funerals. I no longer have to ask the family what they want me to say; I already know. Oh, I may have to ask a question or two about the deceased, and that I do, but I don’t ask them about what they want me to say. I know. They want to hear what God says about death. They want to hear how God would answer their question about the life hereafter. They don’t want my opinion; nor do they want the thoughts of a philosopher of the research of a scientist. They want to know what God says. If Jesus were here, at the head of this casket, in the middle of this cemetery, what would he say? And so under the canopy of sorrow, I give God’s words. I share the eulogy Jesus gave for himself. The disciples did not know it was his farewell address. No one did, but it was. He knew he had just witnessed his final sunset. He knew death would come with the morning.

So he spoke about death. Here is how he began. Don’t let our hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust in me. there are many rooms in my Father’s house; I would not tell you this if it were not true. I am going there to prepare a place for you. After I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me so that you may be where I am (John 14:1-4).

What kind of statement is that? Trust me with your death. When you face the tomb, don’t be troubled trust me! You get the impression that to God the grave is a no-brainer. He speaks as casually as the mechanic who says to a worried client, “Sure, the engine needs an overhaul, but don’t worry. I can do it.” For us it’s an ordeal. For him it’s no big deal.

The other night I did something that every parent has done dozens of times. I carried my daughter to bed. Five-year-old Sara fell asleep on the floor, and I picked her up, carried her up the stairs, and put her in bed. Why? I knew it was time for her to rest, and I know that rest was much better up there than down here. Doesn’t God do the same? Doesn’t he, knowing more than we, carry us to the place of rest he created? For God, death is not tragedy. In God’s economy, the termination of the body is the beginning of life.

Can you imagine if Sara’s sisters objected to my decision to carry her upstairs? “Don’t take her. We’ll miss her. Please keep her here so we will all be together.” How would I answer? “Oh, but she’ll rest so much better in the room I have prepared for her. Besides, you’ll be coming up yourselves soon.”

By calling us home, God is doing what any father would do. He is providing a better place to rest. A place he has “prepared for us.” Heaven is not mass-produced; it is tailor-made. Sometime ago I indulged and ordered two shirts from a tailor. I selected the cloth. The tailor measured my body. And several weeks later, I received two shirts made especially for me. There is a big difference between these two shirts and the other shirts in my closet. The tailored shirts were made with me in mind. The other shirts were made for any hundred thousand or so males my size. But not these two. They were made just for me. As a result, they fit! They don’t bulge. They don’t choke. They are just right. Such is the promise of heaven. It was made with us in mind.

Elsewhere Jesus invites us to “receive the kingdom God has prepared for you since the world was made” (Matt. 25:34). The problem with this world is that it doesn’t fit. Oh, it will do for now, but it isn’t tailor-made. We were made to live with God, but on earth we live by faith. We were made to live forever, but on this earth we live but for a moment. We were made to live bold lives, but this world is stained by sin.

This world wears like a borrowed shirt. Heaven, however, will fit like one tailor-made. By the way, I’ve often thought it curious how few people Jesus raised from the dead. He healed hundreds, fed thousands, but as far as we know he only raised three: the daughter of Jairus, the boy near Nain, and Lazarus. Why so few? Could it be because he knew he’d be doing them no favors? Could it be because he couldn’t get any volunteers? Could it be that once someone is there, the last place they want to return to is here?

We must trust God. We must trust not only that he does what is best but he knows what is ahead. Ponder these words of Isaiah 57:1-2: “The good men perish; the godly die before their time and no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to realize that God is taking them away from the evil day ahead. For the godly who die shall rest in peace” (TLB). My, what a thought. God is taking them away from the evil days ahead.

Could death be God’s grace? Could the funeral wreath be God’s safety ring? Why does an eight-year-old die of cancer? Why is a young mother taken from her children? As horrible as the grave may be, could it be God’s protection from the future? Trust in God, Jesus urges, and trust in me.

Several years ago I heard then Vice President George Bush speak at a prayer breakfast. He told of his trip to Russia to represent the United States at the funeral of Leonid Brezhnev. The funeral was as precise and stoic as the communist regime. No tears were seen, and no emotion displayed. With one exception. Mr. Bush told how Brezhnev’s widow was the last person to witness the body before the coffin was closed. For several seconds she stood at his side and then reached down and performed the sign of the cross on her husband’s chest. In the hour of her husband’s death, she went not to Lenin, not to Karl Marx, not to Khrushchez. In the hour of death she turned to a Nazarene carpenter who had lived two thousand years ago and who dared to claim: “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust in me.”

So what do we do with birthdays? As much as we’d like to avoid them, we can’t. Pretty soon the candles cost as much as the cake. And as much as we’d like to think we are exempt from the grave, we aren’t. So rather than avoid them, welcome them! Welcome them as mile-markers that remind you that you aren’t home yet, but you are closer than you’ve ever been.