A verse to ponder: "Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth, burst into jubilant song with music; make music to the LORD with the harp, with the harp and the sound of singing, with trumpets and the blast of the ram's horn-- shout for joy before the LORD, the King." -- Psalms 98:4-6
My Thought:
© 2000-2003 AG"Beginning the day with God and keeping a positive attitude help foster an abundant life." ~ JA Lacy
When I feel my faith being mocked by others, I bristle up and want to fire back a stinging retort. No one likes to be ridiculed and to mock one's faith is contemptible.
What is faith? To me faith is the sureness that my Creator is with me and guiding me throughout my daily life. To others, faith may be crossing their fingers hoping that the car doesn't run out of gas. Sure, with God all things are possible, but most folks have their faith in the CAR to go the extra mile and not for God to allow for the car to go the extra mile.
Empty faith is akin to the brown leaf lying on the ground. Once it was attached to a living thing and was provided nourishment and beauty, then changes occurred and the lifeline was cut off. All that is left is a crumbling shell of what it once was.
Remember Who you have faith in to keep your leaves green, and don't forget to keep a positive attitude! Take this scripture with you today: "Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you. You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men. You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden." Matthew 5:11-14
Stories on this page:
Some of these stories do not have the author's name mentioned. If anyone knows who the authors are, please Contact Me so that these gifted writers may receive recognition.
Reader's Inspirations:
Lori shares: New Year's Eve is special me. Dec 31st 1992, I was in Children's Hospital of Philly with dear son #2. I'd had no sleep for 3 days, and would collapse for 10-minute intervals in the playroom (we could not sleep in the rooms and I would not leave). On New Year's Eve, he needed packed cells or his heart would arrest (tachycardia). I could get hold of no one and made all decisions between myself and God...with most of it relying on God [wink] ... anyway, every beat of his heart seemed to take an eternity and I wandered down the hall just to stretch my legs...I then realized that the world was still going on even though my baby was so very ill. It broke my heart, but also let me know how small I(we) was in the grand scope of things. I got to play with a severely deformed baby and see a smile and hear a laugh that may have frightened most people, I saw a 4 month old who was propped in the palm of a nurse ... she could have worn Barbie clothes, I got to see a child whose parents would come in at 11pm and stay until 11:15 and never say a word but he would know they were coming ... I got to see all these wonderful glorious creatures who all had one thing in common ...their eyes. Their eyes could light up a room! Babies with surgical scars on their heads from brain cancer surgery, others with traches who gurgled and sputtered. They had the most wonderful eyes that told the most intricate stories of their lives. I will never forget that, and can recognize it now in a heartbeat ... my dear son has those eyes. Even though he is fully recovered, discharged from all care and has led a more than average little life so far .... he has them ... the eyes of an angel. So New Year's Eve brings me back to the neuro-ward at CHOP, it brings me to the beautiful children I was privy to know for only 4 days, it brings me back to the angels we call nurses and to the glorious donor who gave of themselves the blood that saved my youngest son. The ball dropping has more meaning to me ever since and the new year holds more promises than I could explain =o)
Do you have an inspirational story to share? Contact Me!
FOURTEEN STEPS -- Hal Manwaring (Thanks Marci!)
They say a cat has nine lives, and I am inclined to think that possible since I am now living my third life and I'm not even a cat.
My first life began on a clear, cold day in November 1904, when I arrived as the sixth of eight children of a farming family. My father died when I was 15, and we had a hard struggle to make a living. Mother stayed home and cooked the potatoes and beans and cornbread and greens, while the rest of us worked for whatever we could get - a small amount at best.
As the children grew up, they married, leaving only one sister and myself to support and care for Mother, who became paralyzed in her last years and died while still in her 60s. My sister married soon after, and I followed her example within the year.
This was when I began to enjoy my first life. I was very happy, in excellent health, and quite a good athlete. My wife and I became the parents of two lovely girls. I had a good job in San Jose and a beautiful home up the peninsula in San Carlos.
Life was a pleasant dream.
Then the dream ended and became one of those horrible nightmares that cause you to wake in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. I became afflicted with a slowly progressive disease of the motor nerves, affecting first my right arm and leg, and then my other side.
Thus began my second life....
In spite of my disease I still drove to and from work each day, with the aid of special equipment installed in my car. And I managed to keep my health and optimism, to a degree, because of 14 steps.
Crazy? Not at all.
Our home was a split-level affair with 14 steps leading up from the garage to the kitchen door. Those steps were a gauge of life. They were my yardstick, my challenge to continue living. I felt that if the day arrived when I was unable to lift one foot up one step and then drag the other painfully after it - repeating the process 14 times until, utterly spent, I would be through - I could then admit defeat and lie down and die.
So I kept on working, kept on climbing those steps. And time passed. The girls went to college and were happily married, and my wife and I were alone in our beautiful home with the 14 steps.
You might think that here walked a man of courage and strength. Not so. Here hobbled a bitterly disillusioned cripple, a man who held on to his sanity and his wife and his home and his job because of 14 miserable steps leading up to the back door from his garage.
As I dragged one foot after another up those steps - slowly, painfully, often stopping to rest - I would sometimes let my thoughts wander back to the years when I was playing ball, golfing, working out at the gym, hiking, swimming, running, jumping. And now I could barely manage to climb feebly up a set of steps.
As I became older, I became more disillusioned and frustrated. I'm sure that my wife and friends had some unhappy times, when I chose to expound to them my philosophy of life. I believed that in this whole world
I alone had been chosen to suffer. I had carried my cross now for nine years and probably would bear it for as long as I could climb those 14 steps.
I chose to ignore the comforting words from I Cor. 15:52: "In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye...we shall be changed." And so it was that I lived my first and second lives here on earth.
Then on a dark night in August 1971, I began my third life. I had no idea when I left home that morning that so dramatic a change was to occur. I knew only that it had been rougher than usual even getting down the steps that morning. I dreaded the thought of having to climb them when I arrived home.
It was raining when I started home that night; gusty winds and slashing rain beat down on the car as I drove slowly down one of the less-traveled roads. Suddenly the steering wheel jerked in my hands and the car swerved violently to the right. In the same instant I heard the dreaded bang of a blowout. I fought the car to a stop on the rain-slick shoulder of the road and sat there as the enormity of the situation swept over me. It was impossible for me to change that tire! Utterly impossible!
A thought that a passing motorist might stop was dismissed at once. Why should anyone? I knew I wouldn't! Then I remembered that a short distance up a little side road was a house. I started the engine and thumped slowly along, keeping well over on the shoulder until I came to the dirt road, where I turned in - thankfully. Lighted windows welcomed me to the house and I pulled into the driveway and honked the horn.
The door opened and a little girl stood there, peering at me. I rolled down the window and called out that I had a flat and needed someone to change it for me because I had a crutch and couldn't do it myself.
She went into the house and a moment later came out bundled in raincoat and hat, followed by a man who called a cheerful greeting.
I sat there comfortable and dry, and felt a bit sorry for the man and the little girl working so hard in the storm. Well, I would pay them for it. The rain seemed to be slackening a bit now, and I rolled down the window all the way to watch. It seemed to me that they were awfully slow and I was beginning to become impatient. I heard the clank of metal from the back of the car and the little girl's voice came clearly to me. "Here's the jack-handle, Grandpa." She was answered by the murmur of the man's lower voice and the slow tilting of the car as it was jacked up.
There followed a long interval of noises, jolts and low conversation from the back of the car, but finally it was done. I felt the car bump as the jack was removed, and I heard the slam of the trunk lid, and then they were standing at my car window.
He was an old man, stooped and frail-looking under his slicker. The little girl was about 8 or 10, I judged, with a merry face and a wide smile as she looked up at me.
He said, "This is a bad night for car trouble, but you're all set now."
"Thanks," I said, "thanks. How much do I owe you?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Cynthia told me you were a cripple - on crutches. Glad to be of help. I know you'd do the same for me. There's no charge, friend."
I held out a five-dollar bill. "No! I like to pay my way."
He made no effort to take it and the little girl stepped closer to the window and said quietly, "Grandpa can't see it."
In the next few frozen seconds the shame and horror of that moment penetrated, and I was sick with an intensity I had never felt before. A blind man and a child! Fumbling, feeling with cold, wet fingers for bolts and tools in the dark - a darkness that for him would probably never end until death.
They changed a tire for me - changed it in the rain and wind, with me sitting in snug comfort in the car with my crutch. My handicap. I don't remember how long I sat there after they said good night and left me, but it was long enough for me to search deep within myself and find some disturbing traits.
I realized that I was filled to overflowing with self-pity, selfishness, indifference to the needs of others and thoughtlessness.
I sat there and said a prayer. In humility I prayed for strength, for a greater understanding, for keener awareness of my shortcomings and for faith to continue asking in daily prayer for spiritual help to overcome them.
I prayed for blessings upon the blind man and his granddaughter. Finally I drove away, shaken in mind, humbled in spirit.
"Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law of the prophets." (Matt. 7:12.)
To me now, months later, this scriptural admonition is more than just a passage in the Bible. It is a way of life, one that I am trying to follow. It isn't always easy. Sometimes it is frustrating, sometimes expensive in both time and money, but the value is there.
I am trying now not only to climb 14 steps each day, but in my small way to help others. Someday, perhaps, I will change a tire for a blind man in a car - someone as blind as I had been.
It was an unusually cold day for the month of May. Spring had arrived and everything was alive with color. But a cold front room the north had brought winter's chill back to Indiana. I sat with two friends in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town square. The food and the company were both especially good that day. As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying a well-worn sign that read, "I will work for food." My heart sank. I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind.
We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat half-heartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call for some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car. Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: "Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once more around the square." And so, with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square's third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the store front church, going through his sack. I stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town's newest visitor.
"Looking for the pastor?" I asked.
"Not really," he replied, "Just resting."
"Have you eaten today?"
"Oh, I ate something early this morning."
"Would you like to have lunch with me?''
"Do you have some work I could do for you?"
"No work," I replied. "I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch."
"Sure," he replied with a smile.
As he began to gather his things. I asked some surface questions. "Where you headed?"
"St. Louis."
"Where you from?"
"Oh, all over; mostly Florida."
"How long you been walking?"
"Fourteen years," came the reply. I knew I had met someone unusual.
We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said, "Jesus is the Never Ending Story.'' Then Daniel's story began to unfold.
He had seen rough times early in life. He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God.
"Nothing's been the same since," he said, "I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now."
"Ever think of stopping?" I asked.
"Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me. But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads."
I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: "What's it like?"
"What?"
"To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?"
"Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments.
Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts of other folks like me."
My concept was changing, too.
We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door, he paused. He turned to me and said, " 'Come, ye blessed of my Father, and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in.'" I felt as if we were on holy ground.
"Could you use another Bible?" I asked. He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite.
"I've read through it 14 times," he said.
"I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see."
I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful.
"Where you headed from here?"
"Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon."
"Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?"
"No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star, right there, needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next." He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission.
I drove him back to the town square where we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.
"Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked. "I like to keep messages from folks I meet."
I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture, in Jeremiah, " 'I know the plans I have for you," declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a future and a hope.' "
"Thanks, man," he said.
"I know we just met and we're really just strangers, but I love you."
"I know," I said, "I love you, too."
"The Lord is good."
"Yes. He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?" I asked.
"A long time," he replied.
And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed. He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, "See you in the New Jerusalem."
"I'll be there!" was my reply. He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bed roll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned and said, "When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
"You bet," I shouted back, "God bless."
"God bless."
And that was the last I saw of him. Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them....a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them. I remembered his words: "If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry.
"See you in the New Jerusalem," he said. Yes, Daniel, I know I will....
One of my teachers had each one of us bring a clear plastic bag and a sack of potatoes. For every person we'd refuse to forgive in our life experience, we were told to choose a potato, write on it the name and date, and put it in the plastic bag. Some of our bags, as you can imagine, were quite heavy.
We were then told to carry this bag with us everywhere for one week, putting it beside our bed at night, on the car seat when driving, next to our desk at work.
The hassle of lugging this around with us made it clear what a weight we were carrying spiritually, and how we had to pay attention to it all the time to not forget, and keep leaving it in embarrassing places.
Naturally, the condition of the potatoes deteriorated to a nasty slime. This was a great metaphor for the price we pay for keeping our pain and heavy negativity!
Too often we think of forgiveness as a gift to the other person, and it clearly is for ourselves!
So the next time you decide you can't forgive someone, ask yourself... Isn't MY bag heavy enough?
BROWNIES WITH A DIFFERENCE
(thanks Diana!) By: Annette Nay, Her web site is at: https://members.aol.com/annettenay/Many parents are hard pressed to explain to their youth why some music, movies, books, and magazines are not acceptable material for them to bring into the home or to listen to or see.
One parent came up with an original idea that is hard to refute.
The father listened to all the reasons his children gave for wanting to see a particular PG-13 movie. It had their favorite actors. Everyone else was seeing it. Even church members said it was great. It was only rated PG-13 because of the suggestion of sex--they never really showed it. The language was pretty good--the Lord's name was only used in vain three times in the whole movie.
The teens did admit there was a scene where a building and a bunch of people were blown up, but the violence was just the normal stuff. It wasn't too bad. And, even if there were a few minor things, the special effects were fabulous and the plot was action packed.
However, even with all the justifications the teens made for the '13' rating, the father still wouldn't give in. He didn't even give his children a satisfactory explanation for saying, "No." He just said, "No!"
A little later on that evening the father asked his teens if they would like some brownies he had baked. He explained that he'd taken the family's favorite recipe and added a little something new. The children asked what it was.
The father calmly replied that he had added dog poop.
However, he quickly assured them, it was only a little bit. All other ingredients were gourmet quality and he had taken great care to bake the brownies at the precise temperature for the exact time. The teens would not take any. The father acted surprised. After all, it was only one small part that was causing them to be so stubborn. He was certain they would hardly notice it. Still the teens held firm and would not try the brownies.
The father then told his children how the movie they wanted to see was just like the brownies. Satan tries to enter our minds and our homes by deceiving us into believing that just a little bit of evil won't matter. But, the truth is even a little bit of poop makes the difference between a great treat and something disgusting and totally unacceptable.
The father went on to explain that even though the movie industry would have us believe that most of today's movies are acceptable fare for adults and youth, they are not.
Now, when this father's children want to see something that is of questionable material, the father merely asks them if they would like some of his special dog poop brownies. That closes the subject.
THE CROOKED SMILE, (Thanks to Julie) By: James C Brown, M.D.
As we rolled five-year-old Mary into the MRI room, I tried to imagine what she must be feeling. She had suffered a stroke that left half of her body paralyzed, had been hospitalized for treatment of a brain tumor, and had recently lost her father, her mother and her home. We all wondered how Mary would react.
She went into the MRI machine without the slightest protest, and we began the exam. At that time, each imaging sequence required the patient to remain perfectly still for about five minutes. This would have been difficult for anyone - and certainly for a five-year-old who had suffered so much. We were taking an image of her head, so any movement of her face, including talking, would result in image distortion.
About two minutes into the first sequence, we noticed on the video monitor that Mary's mouth was moving. We even heard a muted voice over the intercom. We halted the exam and gently reminded Mary not to talk. She was smiling and promised not to talk.
We reset the machine and started over. Once again we saw her facial movement and heard her voice faintly. What she was saying wasn't clear. Everyone was becoming a little impatient, with a busy schedule that had been put on hold to perform an emergency MRI on Mary.
We went back in and slid Mary out of the machine. Once again, she looked at us with her crooked smile and wasn't upset in the least. The technologist, perhaps a bit gruffly, said, "Mary, you were talking again, and that causes blurry pictures."
Mary's smile remained as she replied, "I wasn't talking. I was singing. You said no talking." We looked at each other, feeling a little silly.
"What were you singing?" someone asked. "Jesus Loves Me," came the barely perceptible reply.
"I always sing `Jesus Loves Me' when I'm happy."
Everyone in the room was speechless. "Happy? How could this little girl be happy?" The technologist and I had to leave the room for a moment to regain our composure as tears began to fall.
Many times since that day, when feeling stresses, unhappy or dissatisfied with some part of my life, I have thought of Mary and felt both humbled and inspired. Her example made me see that happiness is a marvelous gift - free to anyone willing to accept it.
By James C Brown, M.D. from A 5th Portion of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen
Thanks to Valerie for this beautiful poem:
If I knew it would be the last time that I'd see you fall asleep,
I would tuck you in more tightly and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.
If I knew it would be the last time that I see you walk out the door,
I would give you a hug and kiss and call you back for one more.
If I knew it would be the last time I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise,
I would video tape each action and word, so I could play them back day after day.
If I knew it would be the last time, I could spare an extra minute or two
To stop and say "I love you," instead of assuming, you would KNOW I do.
If I knew it would be the last time I would be there to share your day,
Well, I'm sure you'll have so many more, so I can let just this one slip away.
For surely there's always tomorrow to make up for an oversight,
And we always get a second chance to make everything right.
There will always be another day to say our "I love you's",
And certainly there's another chance to say our "Anything I can do's?"
But just in case I might be wrong, and today is all I get,
I'd like to say how much I love you and I hope we never forget,
Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, young or old alike,
And today may be the last chance you get to hold your loved one tight.
So if you're waiting for tomorrow, why not do it today?
For if tomorrow never comes, you'll surely regret the day
That you didn't take that extra time for a smile, a hug, or a kiss
And you were too busy to grant someone, what turned out to be their one last wish.
So hold your loved ones close today, whisper in their ear,
Tell them how much you love them and that you'll always hold them dear.
Take time to say "I'm sorry," "please forgive me," "thank you" or "it's okay".
And if tomorrow never comes, you'll have no regrets about today.
~Author Unfortunately Not Mentioned
An article from Sun-Star daily newspaper ... By Melanie T. Lim, June 2, 1999
(thanks to Ester!)Many people are afraid of growing old. I'm afraid of growing old and boring. Many people are afraid of growing old, alone. I'm afraid of growing old, insane. Many people are afraid of losing their looks. I'm afraid of losing my dreams. Many people are afraid of losing their youth. I'm afraid of losing my soul. When you're 15, 35 seems ancient. When you're 35, 15 seems juvenile. A turnaround in a split second - two decades zoom past and before you know it, it's only a mile to the next millennium.
Don't' fear age- it's a right of person-hood. Don't fear death- it's God's greatest jest. Don't grow old - you don't have to. Don't date because you're desperate. Don't marry because you're miserable. Don't have kids because you think your genes are superior. Don't separate because you think it's fashionable. Don't drink because you have troubles. Don't gamble because you think winning is inevitable. Don't philander because you think you're irresistible. Most likely, you're not.
Don't associate with people you can't trust. Don't cheat. Don't lie. Don't pretend. Don't try to buy your way into the kingdom of God. Don't dictate because you're smarter. Don't demand because you're stronger. Don't sleep around because you think you're old enough and know better. Don't hurt your kids because loving them is harder. Don't sell yourself, your family or your ideals. Don't stagnate. Don't regress. Learn a new skill. Find a new friend. Start a new career. Don't live in the past. Time can't bring anything or anyone back. Don't put your life on hold for possibly Mr. Right. Don't throw you life away on absolutely Mr. Wrong because your biological clock is ticking and you can't afford to have your eggs harvested before the new millennium.
There's always a mad rush to something, somewhere - but victory does not always belong to those who finish first. Sometimes, there is no race to be won only a price to be paid for some of life's more hasty decisions. You can't always go with the throng who could be wrong. Sometimes, you have to be alone to be enlightened. To terminate your loneliness, reach out to the homeless. To feed your nurturing instincts, care for the needy. To fulfill your parenting fantasies, get a puppy. Don't bring another life into this world for all the wrong reasons. To keep yourself warm, buy a jacket. In the long run, it will be less complicated and less costly. To make yourself happy, pursue your passions and be the best of what you can be.
Simplify your life. Take away the clutter. Get rid of destructive elements - abusive friends, nasty habits and dangerous liaisons. Don't abandon your responsibilities but don't overdose on duty. Don't live life recklessly without thought and feeling for your family. Be true to yourself. Don't commit when you're not ready.
Don't keep others waiting needlessly. Fall in love - it's the greatest thing on earth. But take care and remember, after the fall must come the rise.
Go on that trip. Don't postpone it. Say those words. Don't let the moment pass. Do what you must even at society's scorn. Write poetry. Love deeply. Walk barefoot. Hold hands. Dance with wild abandon. Cry at the movies. Take care of yourself. Don't wait for someone to take care of you. You light up your life. You drive yourself to your destination. No one completes you - except you. It is true that life doesn't get easier with age. It only gets more challenging. Don't be afraid. Don't lose your capacity to love.
Pursue your passions. Live your dreams. Don't lose faith in God.
Don't grow old. Just grow up.
Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and shall we say, love. The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly.
To start with, he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot has appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner.
His tail has long age been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, even his shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs.
Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. "That's one UGLY cat!!" All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around feet in forgiveness. Whenever he spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If ever picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.
One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbors huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly's sad life was almost at an end. Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front.
As I picked him up and tried to carry him home I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. I must be hurting him terribly I thought. Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear- Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled-scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion. At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain.
Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly. Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I cared for. Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be ... Ugly.
Jenna Grant
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 to 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."
Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But if we will allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father's table.
In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste. So as we seek ways to minister together, and as God calls you to the tasks He has appointed for you, don't be afraid of your flaws.
Acknowledge them, and allow Him to take advantage of them, and you, too, can be the cause of beauty in His pathway. Go out boldly, knowing that in our weakness we find His strength, and that "In Him every one of God's promises is a Yes."
"The cheerful girl with bouncy golden curls was almost five. Waiting with her mother at the checkout stand, she saw them: a circle of glistening white pearls in a pink foil box. "Oh please, Mommy. Can I have them? Please, Mommy, please?"
Quickly the mother checked the back of the little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little girl's upturned face. "A dollar ninety-five. That's almost $2.00. If you really want them, I'll think of some extra chores for you and in no time you can save enough money to buy them for yourself. Your birthday's only a week away and you might get another crisp dollar bill from Grandma."
As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her penny bank and counted out 17 pennies. After dinner, she did more than her share of chores and she went to the neighbor and asked Mrs. McJames if she could pick dandelions for ten cents. On her birthday, Grandma did give her another new dollar bill and at last she had enough money to buy the necklace.
Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown up. She wore them everywhere-Sunday school, kindergarten, even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green. Jenny had a very loving daddy and every night when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come upstairs to read her a story.
One night when he finished the story, he asked Jenny, "Do you love me?" "Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you."
"Then give me your pearls." "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have Princess - the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink tail. Remember, Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite." "That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.
About a week later, after the story time, Jenny's daddy asked again, "Do you love me?"
"Daddy, you know I love you."
"Then give me your pearls."
"Oh Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have my baby doll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper."
"That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you, little one. Daddy loves you. And as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.
A few nights later when her daddy came in, Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came close, he noticed her chin was trembling and one silent tear rolled down her cheek.
"What is it, Jenny? What's the matter?"
Jenny didn't say anything but lifted her little hand up to her daddy. And when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a little quiver, she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you."
With tears gathering in his own eyes, Jenny's kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace, and with the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and gave them to Jenny. He had them all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up the dime-store stuff so he could give her genuine treasure.
Jenny's father is like our heavenly Father. He also is waiting for us to give up our dime store stuff and seek Him first... so He can fling open the windows of Heaven and pour us out such a blessing that we will not have room enough to hold it.
What are you hanging on to?"
His name is Joe. He has wild hair, wears a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans and no shoes. This was literally his wardrobe for his entire four years of college. He is brilliant. Kinda esoteric and very, very bright. He became a Christian while attending college.
Across the street from the campus is a well-dressed, very conservative church. They want to develop a ministry to the students, but are not sure how to go about it. One day Joe decides to go there.
He walks in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt, and wild hair. The service has already started and so Joe starts down the aisle looking for a seat. The church is completely packed and he can't find a seat.
By now people are looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one says anything. Joe gets closer and closer and closer to the pulpit and when he realizes there are no seats, he just squats down right on the carpet. (Although perfectly acceptable behavior at a college fellowship, trust me, this had never happened in this church before!).
By now the people are really uptight, and the tension in the air is thick. About this time, the minister realizes that from way at the back of the church, a deacon is slowly making his way toward Joe. Now the deacon is in his eighties, has silver-gray hair, a three-piece suit, and a pocket watch. A godly man, very elegant, very dignified, very courtly. He walks with a cane and as he starts walking toward this boy, everyone is saying to themselves, you can't blame him for what he's going to do.
How can you expect a man of his age and of his background to understand some college kid on the floor?
It takes a long time for the man to reach the boy. The church is utterly silent except for the clicking of the man's cane. All eyes are focused on him. You can't even hear anyone breathing. The people are thinking that the minister can't even preach the sermon until the deacon does what he has to do. And now they see this elderly man drop his cane on the floor. With great difficulty he lowers himself and sits down next to Joe and worships with him so he won't be alone. Everyone chokes up with emotion. When the minister gains control he says, "What I'm about to preach, you will never remember. What you have just seen, you will never forget."
Author unknown
Click here to subscribe to my stories! - It's free!