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His name is Bill. He
has wild hair, wears a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans and no shoes. This was
literally his entire wardrobe for his entire four years of college.
He is brilliant. Kind of 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 Bill decides to go there. He walks in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt,
and wild hair. The service has already started and so Bill 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.
Bill 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 Bill. 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, 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 Bill and worships with him so
he won't be alone. Everyone chokes up with the 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." -- Gray, Alice
Now the
parable tells us what kind of prodigal love awaits us each time1 every time, we
return to the Father. He has been waiting, watching, longing for us. Behold your
God! This is our God who sees His son a long way off and runs to meet Him.
Jesus' picture of the father running down the hill to greet his son implies more
than meets first glance. It was considered very undignified for a senior man to
run. Aristotle expressed the same Shibboleth:
"Great men never run in public." But look at prodigal love give wings
to the father's feet. He can't run fast enough; his legs won't respond quickly
enough to express the expectant longing of his heart to welcome his son home.
Whatever else you believe about God, don't miss this. He runs to us. Our least
response unleashes His immense, incalculable responsiveness. Right now your God
and mine is running to us to meet us and enfold us in His arms!
-- Gray, Alice
A Scottish minister of a previous
generation recounted a dream to his congregation. He dreamed he had died and
came to the Pearly Gates. To his dismay, he was denied entrance until he
presented his credentials. Proudly the pastor articulated the number of sermons
preached and the prominent pulpits occupied. But Saint Peter said no one had
heard them in heaven. The discouraged servant enumerated his community
involvement. He was told they were not recorded. Sorrowfully, the pastor turned
to leave, when Peter said, "Stay a moment, and tell me, are you the man who
fed the sparrows?"
"Yes," the Scotsman replied, "but what does that have to do with
it?"
"Come in," said Saint Peter, "the Master of the sparrows wants to
thank you."
Here is the pertinent, though often overlooked, point: great and prominent
positions indicate skill and capacity, but small services suggest the depth of
one's consecration. -- Jones,
G. Curtis
A stranger was
walking down a residential street and noticed a man struggling with a washing
machine at the doorway of his house. When the newcomer volunteered to help, the
homeowner was overjoyed, and the two men together began to work and struggle
with the bulky appliance. After several minutes of fruitless effort the two
stopped and just stared at each other in frustration. They looked as if they
were on the verge of total exhaustion.
Finally, when they had caught their breath, the first man said to the homeowner:
"We'll never get this washing machine in there!" To which the
homeowner replied: "In? I'm trying to move it out of here!"
-- Green, Michael P.
Farmers in
southern Alabama were accustomed to planting one crop every year-cotton. They
would plow as much ground as they could and plant their crop. Year after year
they lived by cotton.
Then one year the dreaded boll weevil devastated the whole area. So the next
year the farmers mortgaged their homes and planted cotton again, hoping for a
good harvest. But as the cotton began to grow, the insect came back and
destroyed the crop, wiping out most of the farms.
The few who survived those two years of the boll weevil decided to experiment
the third year, so they planted something they'd never planted before-peanuts.
And peanuts proved so hardy and the market proved so ravenous for that product
that the farmers who survived the first two years reaped profits that third year
that enabled them to pay off all their debts. They planted peanuts from then on
and prospered greatly.
Then you know what those farmers did? They spent some of their new wealth to
erect in the town square a monument - to the boll weevil. If it hadn't been for
the boll weevil, they never would have discovered peanuts. They learned that
even out of disaster there can be great delight. -- Larson,
Craig Brian
It seems a gentleman
worked on the 4:00 P.M. to midnight shift, and he always walked home after work.
One night the moon was shining so bright he decided to take a shortcut through
the cemetery, which would save him roughly a half-mile walk. There were no
incidents involved, so he repeated the process on a regular basis, always
following the same path. One night as he was walking his route through the
cemetery, he did not realize that during the day a grave had been dug in the
very center of his path. He stepped right into the grave and immediately started
desperately trying to get out. His best efforts failed him, and after a few
minutes, he decided to relax and wait until morning when someone would help him
out.
He sat down in the corner and was half asleep when a drunk stumbled into the
grave. His arrival roused the shift worker since the drunk was desperately
trying to climb out, clawing frantically at the sides. Our hero reached out his
hand, touched the drunk on the leg, and said, "Friend, you can't get out of
here.. " -but he did! Now that's motivation! -- Dr. Ken McFarland
An old method
for catching raccoons is to place a piece of foil inside a small barred box that
is staked to the ground. When a raccoon comes by, he reaches his paw into the
box to get the foil. But, once he has grasped the foil, his paw changes shape
and will not fit back through the bars on the box. Many times a raccoon would
rather give up his freedom and perhaps his life-just for the sake of a shiny but
useless piece of foil. -- Green,
Michael P.
It is said an Eastern monarch once
charged his wise men to invent him a sentence, to be ever in view, and which
should be true and appropriate in all times and situations.
They presented him the words: "And this, too, shall pass away."
How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride-how consoling in the
depth of affliction! -- Abraham
Lincoln
Pastor John C. Paton,
a missionary in the New Hebrides islands, told a story involving the protective
care of angels. Hostile natives surrounded his mission headquarters one night,
intent on burning out the Patons and killing them. John Paton and his wife
prayed all during that terror-filled night that God would deliver them. When
daylight came they were amazed to see the attackers unaccountably leave.
A year later, the chief of the tribe was converted to Christ, and Paton,
remembering what had happened, asked the chief what had kept him and his men
from burning down the house and killing them. The chief replied in surprise,
"Who were all those men you had there with you?" The missionary
answered, "There were no men there; just my wife and I." The chief
argued that they had seen many men standing guard-hundreds of big men in shining
garments with drawn swords in their hands. They seemed to circle the mission
station, so the natives were afraid to attack. Only then did the Rev. Paton
realize that God had sent his angels to protect them. -- Billy Graham
As members of
the body of Christ, we can be compared to pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. Each piece
has protrusions and indentations. The protrusions represent our strengths
(gifts, talents, abilities), and the indentations represent our weaknesses
(faults, limitations, shortcomings, undeveloped areas). The beautiful thing is
that the pieces complement one another and produce a beautiful whole.
Just as each piece of a puzzle is important, so each member of the body of
Christ is important and can minister to the other members of the body.
Just as, when one piece is missing from the puzzle, its absence is very obvious
and damages the picture, so also is the whole weakened when we are absent from
the body of Christ.
Just as, when each piece of a puzzle is in place, any one piece is not
conspicuous but blends in to form the whole picture, so it should be in the body
of Christ. -- Green, Michael P.
The story is told of
a colony of mice who made their home at the bottom of a large upright piano. To
them, music was frequent, even routine. It filled all the dark spaces with
lovely melodies and harmonies.
At first, the mice were impressed by the music. They drew comfort and wonder
from the thought that Someone made the music - though invisible to them, yet
close to them. They loved to tell stories about the Great Unseen Player whom
they could not see.
Then one day an adventuresome mouse climbed up part of the way in the piano and
returned with an elaborate explanation about how the music was made. Wires were
the secret - tightly stretched wires of various lengths that vibrated and
trembled from time to time. A second mouse ventured forth and came back telling
of hammers - many hammers dancing and leaping on the wires. The mice decided
they must revise their old opinions. The theory they developed was complicated,
but complete with evidence. In the end, the mice concluded that they lived in a
purely mechanical and mathematical world. The story of the Unseen Player was
relegated to mere myth.
But the Unseen Player continued to play nonetheless.
One winter's night
in 1935, it is told, Fiorello LaGuardia, the irrepressible mayor of New York,
showed up at a night court in the poorest ward of the city. He dismissed the
judge for the evening and took over the bench. That night a tattered old woman,
charged with stealing a loaf of bread, was brought before him. She defended
herself by saying, "My daughter's husband has deserted her. She is sick,
and her children are starving."
The shopkeeper refused to drop the charges, saying, "It's a bad
neighborhood, your honor, and she's got to be punished to teach other people a
lesson."
LaGuardia sighed. He turned to the old woman and said, "I've got to punish
you; the law makes no exceptions. Ten dollars or ten days in jail."
However, even while pronouncing sentence, La Guardia reached into his pocket,
took out a ten-dollar bill, and threw it into his hat with these famous words:
"Here's the ten-dollar fine, which I now remit, and furthermore, I'm going
to fine everyone in the courtroom fifty cents for living in a town where a
person has to steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat. Mr. Bailiff,
collect the fines and give them to the defendant."
The following day, a New York newspaper reported: "Forty-seven dollars and
fifty cents was turned over to a bewildered old grandmother who had stolen a
loaf of bread to feed her starving grandchildren. Making forced donations were a
red-faced storekeeper, seventy petty criminals, and a few New York
policemen." -- Larson, Craig Brian
The March 1988 Rotarian tells the
story of a certain organization offering a bounty of $5,000 for wolves captured
alive. It turned Sam and Jed into fortune hunters. Day and night they scoured
the mountains and forests looking for their valuable prey.
Exhausted one night, they fell asleep dreaming of their potential fortune.
Suddenly, Sam awoke to see that they were surrounded by about fifty wolves with
flaming eyes and bared teeth. He nudged his friend and said, "Jed, wake up!
We're rich!"
Back in the days of
the Great Depression a Missouri man named John Griffith was the controller of a
great railroad drawbridge across the Mississippi River. One day in the summer of
1937 he decided to take his eight-year-old son, Greg, with him to work. At noon,
John Griffith put the bridge up to allow ships to pass and sat on the
observation deck with his son to eat lunch. Time passed quickly. Suddenly he was
startled by the shrieking of a train whistle in the distance. He quickly looked
at his watch and noticed it was 1:07-the Memphis Express, with four hundred
passengers on board, was roaring toward the raised bridge! He leaped from the
observation deck and ran back to the control tower. just before throwing the
master lever he glanced down for any ships below. There a sight caught his eye
that caused his heart to leap pounding into his throat. Greg had slipped from
the observation deck and had fallen into the massive gears that operate the
bridge. His left leg was caught in the cogs of the two main gears! Desperately
John's mind whirled to devise a rescue plan. But as soon as he thought of a
possibility he knew there was no way it could be done.
Again, with alarming closeness, the train whistle shrieked in the air. He could
hear the clicking of the locomotive wheels over the tracks. That was his son
down there-yet there were four hundred passengers on the train. John knew what
he had to do, so he buried his head in his left arm and pushed the master switch
forward. That great massive bridge lowered into place just as the Memphis
Express began to roar across the river. When John Griffith lifted his head with
his face smeared with tears, he looked into the passing windows of the train.
There were businessmen casually reading their afternoon papers, finely dressed
ladies in the dining car sipping coffee, and children pushing long spoons into
their dishes of ice cream. No one looked at the control house, and no one looked
at the great gear box. With wrenching agony, John Griffith cried out at the
steel train: "I sacrificed my son for you people! Don't you care?" The
train rushed by, but nobody heard the father's words, which recalled
Lamentations 1:12: "Is it nothing to you, all who pass by?" -- Dr.
D. James Kennedy
The day started out
rotten. I overslept and was late for work. Everything that happened at the
office contributed to my nervous frenzy. By the time I reached the bus stop for
my homeward trip, my stomach was one big knot.
As usual, the bus was late and jammed. I had to stand in the aisle. As the
lurching vehicle pulled me in all directions, my gloom deepened.
Then I heard a deep voice from up front boom, "Beautiful day, isn't
it?" Because of the crowd, I could not see the man, but I could hear him as
he continued to comment on the spring scenery, calling attention to each
approaching landmark. This church. That park. This cemetery. That firehouse.
Soon all the passengers were gazing out the windows. The man's enthusiasm was so
contagious I found myself smiling for the first time that day. We reached my
stop. Maneuvering toward the door, I got a look at our "guide": a
plump figure with a black beard, wearing dark glasses, and carrying a thin white
cane. -- Barbara Johnson
The best and the
most beautiful things in life cannot be seen or even touched … they must be
felt with the heart. -- Helen Keller
My art instructor,
an excellent craftsman, told me a compelling story about the benefits of
diligent work.
Many years ago there was a famous Japanese artist named Hokusai, whose paintings
were coveted by royalty. One day a nobleman requested a special painting of his
prized bird. He left the bird with Hokusai, and the artist told the nobleman to
return in a week.
The master missed his beautiful bird, and was anxious to return at the end of
the week, not only to secure his favorite pet, but his painting as well. When
the nobleman arrived, however, the artist humbly requested a two-week
postponement.
The two week delay stretched into two months - and then six.
A year later, the nobleman stormed into Hokusai's studio. He refused to wait any
longer and demanded both his bird and his painting. Hokusai, in the Japanese
way, bowed to the nobleman, turned to his workshop table, and picked up a brush
and a large sheet of rice paper. Within moments he had effortlessly painted an
exact likeness of the lovely bird.
The bird's owner was stunned by the painting.
And then he was angry. "Why did you keep me waiting for a year if you could
have done the painting in such a short time?"
"You don't understand," Hokusai replied. Then he escorted the nobleman
into a room where the walls were covered with paintings of the same bird. None
of them, however, matched the grace and beauty of the final rendering....
This must also be true of the canvas of our lives.... If we want to have
something of real worth and lasting value in our character, it won't come easy.
It never does. -- Joni Eareckson Tada
Billy Graham told the story of an
Eskimo fisherman who came to a village every Saturday. He always brought his
dogs with him: one black, the other white. The dogs were trained to fight on
command. One Saturday the white dog would win; the next Saturday the black would
win. The Eskimo would take bets from the observers. He always won. When asked to
explain the phenomenon, he replied: "I feed one dog and starve the other.
The one I feed always wins because he's stronger."
There are two natures deep within each person: one good, the other evil. The one
we feed, nurture, always wins!
Someone once asked
Corrie ten Boom how she could possibly handle all the compliments and praise
that were constantly heaped upon her, without becoming proud.
She said she looked at each compliment as a beautiful long-stemmed flower given
to her. She smelled it for a moment and then put it into a vase with the others.
Each night, just before retiring, she took the beautiful bouquet and handed it
over to God saying, "Thank you, Lord, for letting me smell the flowers;
they all belong to you." She had discovered the secret to genuine humility.
-- David Seamands
Dr. Victor E. Frankl,
survivor of three grim years at Auschwitz and other Nazi prisons, has recorded
his observations on life in Hitler's camps:
We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the
huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They have been
few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from
a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms-to choose one's attitude in
any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.
Growing up on the
Atlantic Coast, I spent long hours working on intricate sand castles; whole
cities would appear beneath my hands.
One year, for several days in a row, I was accosted by bullies who smashed my
creations. Finally I tried an experiment: I placed cinder blocks, rocks, and
chunks of concrete in the base of my castles. Then I built the sand kingdoms on
top of the rocks.
When the local toughs appeared (and I disappeared), their bare feet suddenly met
their match.
Many people see the church in grave peril from a variety of dangers: secularism,
politics, heresies, or plain old sin. They forget that the church is built upon
a Rock (Matt. 16:16), over which the gates of hell itself shall not prevail.
-- Gregory Elder
A good friend in
North Carolina bought a new car with a voice-warning system. ... At first Edwin
was amused to hear the soft female voice gently remind him that his seat belt
wasn't fastened. ... Edwin affectionately called this voice the "little
woman."
He soon discovered his little woman was programmed to warn him about his
gasoline. "Your fuel level is low," she said one time in her sweet
voice. Edwin nodded his head and thanked her. He figured he still had enough to
go another fifty miles, so he kept on driving. But a few minutes later, her
voice interrupted again with the same warning. And so it went over and over.
Although he knew it was the same recording, Edwin thought her voice sounded
harsher each time.
Finally, he stopped his car and crawled under the dashboard. After a quick
search, he found the appropriate wires and gave them a good yank. So much for
the little woman.
He was still smiling to himself a few miles later when his car began sputtering
and coughing. He ran out of gas! Somewhere inside the dashboard, Edwin was sure
he could hear the little woman laughing.
People like Edwin learn before long that the little voice inside, although
ignored or even disconnected, often tells them exactly what they need to know.
-- Larson, Craig Brian
The order from the head teacher was
abrupt: "The classroom needs sweeping. Take the broom and sweep it."
Young Booker T. Washington knew that this was his chance. He swept the room
three times, and then dusted the furniture four times. When the head teacher
came back to evaluate his work, she inspected the floor closely and then used
her handkerchief to rub the woodwork around the walls, the table, and the
students' benches. When she could not find one speck of dust anywhere in the
room, she said quietly, "I guess you will do to enter this
institution."
Cleaning a classroom was nothing less than Booker T. Washington's entrance
examination to Hampton Institute in Virginia. In later years, he would recall
this as the turning point in his life. He wrote in his autobiography Up From
Slavery, "I have passed several examinations since then, but I have always
felt that this was the best one I ever passed."
Two little teardrops
were floating down the river of life. One tear-drop asked the other, "Who
are you?"
"I am a teardrop from a girl who loved a man and lost him. But who are you?
The first teardrop replied, "I am a teardrop, from the girl who got
him."
Life is like that. We cry over the things we can't have, but we might cry twice
as hard if we had received them. Paul had the right idea when he said, ". .
. . I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation. . . ." (Phil. 4:12,
NIV). -- Green, Michael P.
Corrie ten Boom in The
Hiding Place relates an incident that taught her always to be thankful. She
and her sister, Betsy, had just been transferred to the worst German prison camp
they had seen yet, Ravensbruck. On entering the barracks, they found them
extremely overcrowded and flea-infested.
That morning, their Scripture reading in I Thessalonians had reminded them to
rejoice always, pray constantly, and give thanks in all circumstances. Betsy
told Corrie to stop and thank the Lord for every detail of their new living
quarters. Corrie at first flatly refused to give thanks for the fleas, but Betsy
persisted, and Corrie finally succumbed to her pleadings. During the months
spent at that camp, they were surprised to find how openly they could hold Bible
study and prayer meetings without guard interference. It was not until several
months later that they learned the reason the guards would not enter the
barracks was because of the fleas.
It was a few weeks
before Christmas 1917. The beautiful snowy landscapes of Europe were blackened
by war.
The trenches on one side held the Germans and on the other side the trenches
were filled with Americans. It was World War I. The exchange of gunshots was
intense. Separating them was a very narrow strip of no-man's-land. A young
German soldier attempting to cross that no-man's-land had been shot and had
become entangled in the barbed wire. He cried out in anguish, then in pain he
continued to whimper.
Between the shells all the Americans in that sector could hear him scream. When
one American soldier could stand it no longer, he crawled out of the American
trenches and on his stomach crawled to that German soldier. When the Americans
realized what he was doing they stopped firing, but the Germans continued. Then
a German officer realized what the young American was doing and he ordered his
men to cease firing. Now there was a weird silence across the no-man's-land. On
his stomach, the American made his way to that German soldier and disentangled
him. He stood up with the German in his arms, walked straight to the German
trenches and placed him in the waiting arms of his comrades. Having done so, he
turned and started back to the American trenches.
Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder that spun him around. There stood a
German officer who had won the Iron Cross, the highest German honor for bravery,
He jerked it from his own uniform and placed it on the American, who walked back
to the American trenches. When he was safely in the trenches, they resumed the
insanity of war!
Charles Colson, in Loving
God, tells the story of Telemachus, a fourth-century Christian.
He lived in a remote village, tending his garden and spending much of his time
in prayer. One day he thought he heard the voice of God telling him to go to
Rome, so he obeyed, setting out on foot. Weary weeks later, he arrived in the
city at the time of a great festival. The little monk followed the crowd surging
down the streets into the Coliseum. He saw the gladiators stand before the
emperor and say, "We who are about to die salute you." Then he
realized these men were going to fight to the death for the entertainment of the
crowd. He cried out, "In the name of Christ, stop!"
As the games began, he pushed his way through the crowd, climbed over the wall,
and dropped to the floor of the arena. When the crowd saw this tiny figure
rushing to the gladiators and saying, "In the name of Christ, stop!"
they thought it was part of the show and began laughing.
When they realized it wasn't, the laughter turned to anger. As he was pleading
with the gladiators to stop, one of them plunged a sword into his body. He fell
to the sand. As he was dying, his last words were, "In the name of Christ,
stop!"
Then a strange thing happened. The gladiators stood looking at the tiny figure
lying there. A hush fell over the Coliseum. Way up in the upper rows, a man
stood and made his way to the exit. Others began to follow. In dead silence,
everyone left the Coliseum.
The year was A.D. 391, and that was the last battle to the death between
gladiators in the Roman Coliseum. Never again in the great stadium did men kill
each other for the entertainment of the crowd, all because of one tiny voice
that could hardly be heard above the tumult. One voice-one life-that spoke the
truth in God's name.
In the town hall in Copenhagen
stands the world's most complicated clock. It took forty years to build at a
cost of more than a million dollars. That clock has ten faces, fifteen thousand
parts, and is accurate to two-fifths of a second every three hundred years. The
clock computes the time of day, the days of the week, the months and years, and
the movements of the planets for twenty-five hundred years. Some parts of that
clock will not move until twenty-five centuries have passed.
What is intriguing about that clock is that it is not accurate. It loses
two-fifths of a second every three hundred years. Like all clocks, that
timepiece in Copenhagen must be regulated by a more precise clock, the universe
itself. That mighty astronomical clock with its billions of moving parts, from
atoms to stars, rolls on century after century with movements so reliable that
all time on earth can be measured against it. -- Larson, Craig Brian
What is
crucifixion? The cross is placed on the ground and the exhausted man is
quickly thrown backwards with his shoulders against the wood. The legionnaire
feels for the depression at the front of the wrist. He drives a heavy, square
wrought-iron nail through the wrist and deep into the wood. Quickly he moves to
the other side and repeats the action, being careful not to pull the arms too
tightly, but to allow some flex and movement. The cross is then lifted into
place.
The left foot is pressed backward against the right foot, and with both feet
extended, toes down, a nail is driven through the arch of each, leaving the
knees flexed. The victim is now crucified. As he slowly sags down with more
weight on the nails in the wrists, excruciating, fiery pain shoots along the
fingers and up the arms to explode in the brain-the nails in the wrists are
putting pressure on the median nerves. As he pushes himself upward to avoid
stretching torment, he places the full weight on the nail through his feet.
Again he feels the searing agony of the nail tearing through the nerves between
the bones of the feet.
As the arms fatigue, cramps sweep through the muscles, knotting them in deep,
relentless, throbbing pain. With these cramps comes the inability to push
himself upward to breathe. Air can be drawn into the lungs but not exhaled. He
fights to raise himself in order to get even one small breath. Finally carbon
dioxide builds up in the lungs and in the blood stream, and the cramps partially
subside. Spasmodically he is able to push himself upward to exhale and bring in
life-giving oxygen.
Hours of this limitless pain, cycles of twisting, joint-rending cramps,
intermittent partial asphyxiation, searing pain as tissue is torn from his
lacerated back as he moves up and down against the rough timber. Then another
agony begins: a deep, crushing pain deep in the chest as the pericardium slowly fills with
serum and begins to compress the heart.
It is now almost over-the loss of tissue fluids reached a critical level-the
compressed heart is struggling to pump heavy, thick, sluggish blood into the
tissues-the tortured lungs are making a frantic effort to gasp in small gulps of
air.
He can feel the chill of death creeping through his tissues.... Finally he can
allow his body to die.
All this the Bible records with the simple words, "And they crucified
him" (Mark 15:24).
What wondrous love is this? -- C. Truman Davis, M.D., The Expositers'
Bible Commentary
The story is about a
wealthy farmer who was probably one of the richest men in Africa. Hafid owned a
large farm with fertile soil, herds of camels and goats, orchards of dates and
figs. One day a wandering holy man visited his farm and mentioned that huge
fortunes were being made discovering and mining diamonds - fortunes greater than
even Hafid's.
This news captured Hafid's attention. He inquired of the holy man what diamonds
were and where they could be found. The holy man said he wasn't sure of all the
details but he had heard that diamonds were usually found in the white sands of
rivers that flowed out from valleys formed by V-shaped mountains.
Hafid, eager to increase his fortune, sold his farm, herds, and orchards. He
placed his family in the care of someone else and set out to find his fortune.
Hafid's travels took him all over Africa. Finally, in deep despair he threw
himself off a mountain and died a frustrated, broken, poor man.
The farmer that bought his farm was watering his camels one day and noticed a
pretty rock in the river, because it sparkled. He took it home and put it on a
shelf where the sun would strike it and splash rainbows of color across the
room.
The same wandering holy man came back to this same farm. He was immediately
startled by the rainbow of light from the rock. Had Hafid returned? Well, no he
hadn't, and he was no longer the owner of this farm.
Then taking the rock from the shelf, the holy man became animated. "That's
a diamond!" he excitedly told the farmer. "Where did you find
it?" The farmer, somewhat confused in the flurry of excitement explained
that it came from down by the river.
"Show me," insisted the holy man.
The two of them went out to the river, which flowed out from a valley formed by
a V-shaped mountain. And there, in the white sands, they found a larger diamond,
then another, and many more diamonds, large and small.
Actually the land, which Hafid sold to pursue his fortune elsewhere, turned out
to be acres and acres of diamonds. In fact, it became the Kimberly, the richest
diamond mine in all of South Africa! -- Robert Strand
An old legend tells
how a man once stumbled upon a great red barn after wandering for days in a
dark, overgrown forest. Seeking refuge from the howling winds of a storm that
seemed to rage perpetually in the forest, he let his eyes grow accustomed to the
dark and then, to his astonishment, he discovered that this was the barn where
Satan kept his storehouse of seeds to be sown into human hearts. More curious
than fearful, he lit a match and began to explore the piles and bins of seeds
around him. He couldn't help but notice that the containers labeled "seeds
of discouragement" far outnumbered any other type of seed.
Just as the man had drawn this conclusion, one of Satan's foremost demons
arrived to pick up a fresh supply of seed. The man asked him why the great
abundance of discouragement seeds. The demon laughed, "Because they are so
effective and they take root so quickly!" The man then asked, "Do they
grow everywhere?" At this the demon became sullen. He glared at the man and
admitted in disgust, "No. They never seem to thrive in the heart of a
grateful person."
Many years ago when
Egyptian troops conquered Nubia, a regiment of soldiers was crossing the Nubian
desert with an Arab guide. Recognizing that they had limited water and suffering
from great thirst, the soldiers were deceived by the appearance of a beautiful
lake on the horizon. They insisted that their guide take them to its banks. The
guide, who knew the desert well, knew that what they saw was just a mirage. In
vain, he told the men that the lake was not real. He refused to lose precious
time by wandering from the designated course.
Angry words led to blows and in the end, the soldiers killed the guide. As they
moved toward the lake, it receded into the distance. Finally, they recognized
their delusion - the lake was only burning sand. Raging thirst and horrible
despair engulfed the soldiers. Without their guide, the pathless desert was a
mystery They were lost and without water. Not one of them survived.
A newspaper columnist and minister
George Crane tells of a wife who came to his office full of hatred toward her
husband. Fully intending to divorce her husband, she said, "Before I
divorce him, I want to hurt him as much as he has me."
Crane advised that she go home and act as if she really loved her husband.
"Tell him how much he means to you, he said. "Praise him for every
decent trait. Go out of your way to be as kind, considerate, and generous as
possible. Spare no efforts to please him, to enjoy him. Make him believe you
love him. . . then drop the bomb. . .. That will really hurt him."
The woman exclaimed, "Beautiful!" And she did as he had suggested . .
. with enthusiasm, acting "as if" she loved him. Two months later she
returned to Crane, who asked, "Are you ready now to go through with the
divorce?"
"Divorce!" she said. "Never! I discovered I really do love
him!"
Do you ever play the
game "how far"? Its rules are really simple- you fill up your gas tank
and then drive to see how far you can go before you fill up again. You watch the
gauge nervously as it falls closer and closer to the big E.
What about your spiritual gas tank-do you play "how far" with it, too,
trying to see how far you can get on a single fill-up? -- Green, Michael P.
In his beautiful
book Rising Above the Crowd, Brian Harbour tells the story of Ben Hooper.
When Ben Hooper was born many years ago in the foothills of East Tennessee,
little boys and girls like Ben who were born to unwed mothers were ostracized
and treated terribly. By the time he was three years old, the other children
would scarcely play with him. Parents were saying idiotic things like,
"What's a boy like that doing playing with our children?" as if the
child had anything at all to do with his own birth.
Sunday was the toughest day of all. Ben's mom would take him down to the little
general store to buy their supplies for the week. Invariably, the other parents
in the store would make caustic remarks just loudly enough for both mother and
child to hear, comments like, "Did you ever figure out who his daddy
is?" What a tough, tough childhood.
In those days there was no kindergarten. So, at age six, little Ben entered the
first grade. He was given his own desk, as were all the children. At recess, he
stayed at that little desk and studied because none of the other children would
play with him. At noon, little Ben could be found eating his sack lunch all
alone. The happy chatter of the children who shunned him was barely audible from
where he sat.
It was a big event when anything changed in the foothills of East Tennessee, and
when little Ben was twelve years old a new preacher came to pastor the little
church in Ben's town.
Almost immediately, little Ben started hearing exciting things about him-about
how loving and nonjudgmental he was. How he accepted people just as they were,
and when he was with them, he made them feel like the most important people in
the world.
Reportedly, the preacher had charisma. When he walked into a group of any size,
anywhere, the entire complexion of that group changed. Their smiles broadened,
their laughter increased, and their spirits rose.
One Sabbath though he had never been to church a day in his life, little Ben
Hooper decided he was going to go and hear the preacher. He got there late and
he left early because he did not want to attract any attention, but he liked
what he heard. For the first time in that young boy's life, he caught just a
glimmer of hope.
Ben was back in church the next Sabbath and the next and the next. He always got
there late and always left early, but his hope was building each Sabbath.
On about the sixth or seventh Sabbath the message was so moving and exciting
that Ben became absolutely enthralled with it. It was almost as if there were a
sign behind the preacher's head that read, "For you, little Ben Hooper of
unknown parentage, there is hope!" Ben got so wrapped up in the message, he
forgot about the time and didn't notice that a number of people had come in
after he had taken his seat.
Suddenly, the services were over. Ben very quickly stood up to leave as he had
in all the Sabbaths past, but the aisles were clogged with people and he could
not run out. As he was working his way through the crowd, he felt a hand on his
shoulder He turned around and looked up, right into the eyes of the young
preacher who asked him a question that had been on the mind of every person
there for the last twelve years: "Whose boy are you?"
Instantly the church grew deathly quiet. Slowly a smile started to spread across
the face of the young preacher until it broke into a huge grin, and he
exclaimed, "Oh! I know whose boy you are! Why the family resemblance is
unmistakable. You are a child of God!" -- Zig Ziglar
Do you wish to get
well? It seems like a rather foolish question on the surface! At first you
think, "Who wouldn't wish to get well?"
I ask these questions, and my mind races to a man sitting at one of the gates
surrounding the Old City of Jerusalem. As I recently came out of the Old City
into the noise of the lumbering buses jammed to the doors with Arabs and to the
honking of irate, impassioned cab drivers, as I felt the bright sunshine which
had been shielded by the walled, crowded, narrow streets of the Old City, a man
sitting on the ground caught my attention. He was happily conversing with other
beggars until a foreign tourist came by. At that point, all conversation ceased,
and a hand was lifted as dark eyes silently pled for alms. The other hand pulled
up a pant leg to make sure the already exposed ulcer-bright pink, glazed over
with white purulent patches glistening in the sun-was not missed.
My nurse's heart brought my feet to a halt. I wanted to bend down and shield the
open wound from the dust sent flying by the traffic scurrying through the gate.
His leg needed tending. It should be washed, medicated, and dressed by someone
who cared. Why, unattended, it would only eat away until it reached his bone,
and then he could lose his leg!
Arrested by his plight, I stopped to gaze at his leg and look into the darkness
of his eyes, until my friend gently took me by my elbow and propelled me toward
our destination. I was a tourist and did not know about these things. She then
proceeded to tell me that this man did not wish to be made well. He made his
living from his wound. No need to confront the complexities of responsibility as
a citizen of Israel when one could merely sit down in the dust and dirt of
Jerusalem and receive pity along with a few shekels.
My wounded beggar could have been healed. The hospital doors were open to him
and medicine was available, but he did not wish to get well. As I looked back in
curious fascination, I caught one last glimpse of someone less than what he
could have been.
The man in John 5 had been sick for 38 years. We do not know how long he had
been lying beside the pool of Bethesda. All we know is that when Jesus passed by
and asked him if he wished to be made well, he had to make a choice. Either he
could continue in his normal habit of life, or he could relinquish it for
healing.
Suppose, Beloved, Jesus asked you if you wanted to be made well emotionally,
physically, spiritually? What would you answer? -- Kay Arthur
Carl Coleman was
driving to work one morning when he bumped fenders with another motorist. Both
cars stopped, and the woman driving the other car got out to survey the damage.
She was distraught. It was her fault, she admitted, and hers was a new car, less
than two days from the showroom. She dreaded facing her husband.
Coleman was sympathetic; but he had to pursue the exchange of license and
registration data.
She reached into her glove compartment to retrieve the documents in an envelope.
On the first paper to tumble out, written in her husband's distinctive hand,
were these words:
"In case of accident, remember, Honey, it's you I love, not the car."
-- Paul Harvey
During the Civil War, a company of
irregulars known as "bush whackers" was arrested by the Union
soldiers. Because they were guerrilla fighters and not in uniform, they were
sentenced to be shot.
A courageous young boy in the Union Army touched his commanding officer on the
arm and pleaded, "Won't you allow me to take the place of one of the men
you have just condemned? I know him well - he has a large family who needs him
badly. My parents are dead and I have few friends. No one will miss me. Please
let me take his punishment!" The officer hesitated, but finally gave his
consent. Pulling the husband and father to one side, the young man filled his
position in the death line. On the stone that marks his grave in a little
southern town are these words: "Sacred to the memory of Willy Lear. He took
my place." -- Michael P. Green
Elizabeth Barrett
Browning's parents disapproved so strongly of her marriage to Robert that they
disowned her. Almost weekly, Elizabeth wrote love letters to her mother and
father, asking for a reconciliation. They never once replied. After ten years of
letter writing, Elizabeth received a huge box in the mail. She opened it. To her
dismay and heartbreak, the box contained all of her letters to her parents. Not
one of them had ever been opened!
Today those love letters are among the most beautiful in classical English
literature. Had her parents opened and read only a few of them, a reconciliation
might have been effected.
The Bible is God's letter of reconciliation to us. We should open and read it.
Enoch lived to be
365 years old. The Bible says that he walked with God and God took him away. A
little girl described this experience to her mother. "Mamma," she
said, "one day Enoch and God took a walk together. They walked and they
talked, and they talked and they walked, until Enoch finally said, 'Oh, my, dear
Lord, it's getting late. I'd better go home.' And the Lord said, 'Why, Enoch,
we've been walking so long together, I believe we're closer to my home than
yours. Why don't you come home with me tonight?'" So Enoch went home with
God. -- Green, Michael P.
Benjamin Franklin
came to a personal conclusion that the lighting of streets would not only add
gentility to his city, but also make his city safer. In seeking to interest the
people of his native Philadelphia in street lighting, however, he didn't try to
persuade them by talking about street lighting. Instead, he hung a beautiful
lantern on a long bracket before his own door. Then he kept the glass brightly
polished, and carefully and diligently lit the wick every evening just as dusk
approached.
People wandering down the dark street saw Franklin's light a long way off. They
found its glow not only friendly and beautiful, but a point of helpful guidance.
Before long other neighbors began placing lights on long brackets before their
own homes. Soon, the entire city was dotted with such lights and the entire city
awoke to the value of street lighting. The matter was taken up with interest and
enthusiasm as a citywide, city-sponsored endeavor.
Just as Franklin lit a lantern for his city, so too, our actions as parents are
like beacons to our children. What they see, they copy And when what they see is
good, what they copy is also good!
Most people know
that Thomas Edison conducted countless experiments with countless kinds of
materials in search for an effective filament to use in carbon incandescent
lamps. As each fiber failed, he would toss it out the window. Ultimately, the
pile of failures reached to the second story of his house.
One day in 1879, some thirteen months after his first failure, he succeeded in
finding a filament that would stand the stress of electric current. Here's how:
Edison casually picked up a bit of lampblack, mixed it with tar, rolled it into
a thin thread, and thought, Why not try a carbonized cotton fiber? He worked for
five hours to make a fiber but it broke in two before he removed the mold. He
used two spools of cotton thread before a perfect strand emerged, only to be
ruined when he tried to place it in a glass tube. He continued without sleep for
two days and nights before he managed to slip one of the carbonized threads into
a vacuum-sealed bulb. Turning on the current, he saw the glow of electric light
that we now take for granted.
A failure doesn't need to mark the end. It can be one step closer to the success
you desire! |