The Son

Author Unknown

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had Everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.

When the Viet Nam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.

About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands. He said, "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art."

The young man held out his package.

"I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this."

The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the portrait.

"Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift."

The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected. The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection. On the platform sat the painting of the son.

The auctioneer pounded his gavel. "We will start the bidding with this portrait of the son. Who will bid for this painting?" There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted. "We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one." But the auctioneer persisted. "Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?" Another voice shouted angrily. "We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!" But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?"

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the long-time gardener of the man and his son. "I'll give $10 for the painting." Being a poor man, it was all he could afford. "We have $10, who will bid $20?" "Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters." "$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?"

The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the painting of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections. The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!" A man sitting on the second row shouted. "Now let's get on with the collection!"

The auctioneer laid down his gavel.

"I'm sorry, the auction is over. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings. The man who took the son gets everything!"

God gave his son 2,000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is, "The son, the son, who'll take the son?"

Thinking of you this Easter season!

An Unspoken Bible

Author Unknown

His name is Bill. He has wild hair, wears a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans and no shoes. This was literally is wardrobe for his entire four years of college. He is brilliant. Kind of esoteric and very, very bright. He became a Christian recently while attending college.

Across the street from the campus is a well-dressed, very conservative church. 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 really 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, an Elder is slowly making his way toward Bill. Now the Elder is in his eighties, has silver-gray hair, and a three-piece suit. 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 that 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 minister can't even preach the sermon until the Elder 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 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. Be careful how you live. You may be the only Bible some people will ever read."

A Simple Prayer

By Peggy Porter

My son Gilbert was eight years old and had been in Cub Scouts only a short time. During one of his meetings he was handed a sheet of paper, a block of wood and four tires and told to return home and give all to"dad."

That was not an easy task for Gilbert to do. Dad was not receptive to doing things with his son. But Gilbert tried. Dad read the paper and scoffed at the idea of making a pine wood derby car with his young,eager son. The block of wood remained untouched as the weeks passed.

Finally, mom stepped in to see if I could figure this all out. The project began. Having no carpentry skills, I decided it would be best if I simply read the directions and let Gilbert do the work. And he did. I read aloud the measurements, the rules of what we could do and what we couldn't do. Within days his block of wood was turning into a pinewood derby car.A little lopsided, but looking great (at least through the eyes of mom).

Gilbert had not seen any of the other kids cars and was feeling pretty proud of his "Blue Lightning," the pride that comes with knowing you did something on your own.

Then the big night came. With his blue pinewood derby in his hand and pride in his heart we headed to the big race. Once there my little one's pride turned to humility. Gilbert's car was obviously the only car made entirely on his own. All the other cars were a father-son partnership, with cool paint jobs and sleek body styles made for speed.

A few of the boys giggled as they looked at Gilbert's, lopsided, wobbly, unattractive vehicle. To add to the humility Gilbert was the only boy without a man at his side. A couple of the boys who were from single parent homes at least had an uncle or grandfather by their side, Gilbert had "mom."

As the race began it was done in elimination fashion. You kept racing as long as you were the winner. One by one the cars raced down the finely sanded ramp. Finally it was between Gilbert and the sleekest, fastest looking car there. As the last race was about to begin, my wide eyed, shy eight year old ask if they could stop the race for a minute, because he wanted to pray.

The race stopped.

Gilbert hit his knees clutching his funny looking block of wood between his hands. With a wrinkled brow he set to converse with his Father. He prayed in earnest for a very long minute and a half. Then he stood, smile on his face and announced, 'Okay, I am ready."

As the crowd cheered, a boy named Tommy stood with his father as their car sped down the ramp. Gilbert stood with his Father within his heart and watched his block of wood wobble down the ramp with surprisingly great speed and rushed over the finish line a fraction of a second before Tommy's car.

Gilbert leaped into the air with a loud "Thank you" as the crowd roared in approval. The Scout Master came up to Gilbert with microphone in hand and asked the obvious question, "So you prayed to win, huh,Gilbert?" To which my young son answered, "Oh, no sir. That wouldn't be fair to ask God to help you beat someone else. I just asked Him to make it so I don't cry when I lose."

Children seem to have a wisdom far beyond us. Gilbert didn't ask God to win the race, he didn't ask God to fix the out come, Gilbert asked God to give him strength in the outcome. When Gilbert first saw the other cars he didn't cry out to God, "No fair, they had a fathers help." No, he went to his Father for strength. Perhaps we spend too much of our prayer time asking God to rig the race, to make us number one, or too much time asking God to remove us from the struggle, when we should be seeking God's strength to get through the struggle. "I can do everything through Him who gives me strength." Philippines 4:13

Gilbert's simple prayer spoke volumes to those present that night. He never doubted that God would indeed answer his request. He didn't pray to win, thus hurt someone else, he prayed that God supply the grace to lose with dignity. Gilbert, by his stopping the race to speak to his Father also showed the crowd that he wasn't there without a "dad," but His Father was most definitely there with him. Yes, Gilbert walked away a winner that night, with his Father at his side.

The Guest Minister

AFTER A FEW OF THE USUAL SUNDAY EVENING HYMNS,
THE CHURCH'S PASTOR SLOWLY STOOD UP,
WALKED OVER TO THE PULPIT AND,
BEFORE HE GAVE HIS SERMON FOR THE EVENING,
HE BRIEFLY INTRODUCED A GUEST MINISTER
WHO WAS IN THE SERVICE THAT EVENING.

  IN THE INTRODUCTION, THE PASTOR TOLD THE
CONGREGATION THAT THE GUEST MINISTER WAS
ONE OF HIS DEAREST CHILDHOOD FRIENDS AND
THAT HE WANTED HIM TO HAVE A FEW MOMENTS
TO GREET THE CHURCH AND SHARE WHATEVER
HE FELT WOULD BE APPROPRIATE FOR THE SERVICE..

  WITH THAT, AN ELDERLY MAN STEPPED UP TO THE
PULPIT AND BEGAN TO SPEAK.

'A FATHER, HIS SON, AND A FRIEND OF HIS SON WERE
SAILING OFF THE PACIFIC COAST ,' HE BEGAN.
'WHEN A FAST APPROACHING STORM BLOCKED ANY
ATTEMPT TO GET BACK TO THE SHORE.

 

  THE WAVES WERE SO HIGH, THAT EVEN THOUGH THE
FATHER WAS AN EXPERIENCED SAILOR, HE COULD NOT
KEEP THE BOAT UPRIGHT AND THE THREE WERE SWEPT
INTO THE OCEAN AS THE BOAT CAPSIZED.'

 

 

THE OLD MAN HESITATED FOR A MOMENT,
MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH TWO TEENAGERS WHO WERE,
FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THE SERVICE BEGAN,
LOOKING SOMEWHAT INTERESTED IN HIS STORY.

 

THE AGED MINISTER CONTINUED WITH HIS STORY,
'GRABBING A RESCUE LINE, THE FATHER HAD TO MAKE THE
MOST EXCRUCIATING DECISION OF HIS LIFE: TO WHICH BOY
WOULD HE THROW THE OTHER END OF THE LIFE LINE.
HE ONLY HAD SECONDS TO MAKE THE DECISION.
THE FATHER KNEW THAT HIS SON WAS A CHRISTIAN AND
HE, ALSO, KNEW THAT HIS SON'S FRIEND WAS NOT.
THE AGONY OF HIS DECISION COULD NOT BE MATCHED BY
THE TORRENT OF WAVES..

 

 

AS THE FATHER YELLED OUT, 'I LOVE YOU, SON!'
HE THREW OUT THE LIFE LINE TO HIS SON'S FRIEND.
BY THE TIME THE FATHER HAD PULLED THE FRIEND BACK
TO THE CAPSIZED BOAT, HIS SON HAD DISAPPEARED BENEATH
THE RAGING SWELLS INTO THE BLACK OF NIGHT.

 

HIS BODY WAS NEVER RECOVERED.

 

BY THIS TIME, THE TWO TEENAGERS WERE SITTING UP
STRAIGHT IN THE PEW, ANXIOUSLY WAITING FOR THE NEXT
WORDS TO COME OUT OF THE OLD MINISTER'S MOUTH.

 

'THE FATHER,' HE CONTINUED, 'KNEW HIS SON WOULD
STEP INTO ETERNITY WITH JESUS AND HE COULD NOT
BEAR THE THOUGHT OF HIS SON'S FRIEND STEPPING INTO
AN ETERNITY WITHOUT JESUS.. THEREFORE, HE SACRIFICED
HIS SON TO SAVE THE SON'S FRIEND. '

 

HOW GREAT IS THE LOVE OF GOD THAT HE SHOULD DO THE
SAME FOR US.. OUR HEAVENLY FATHER SACRIFICED HIS ONLY
BEGOTTEN SON THAT WE COULD BE SAVED. I URGE YOU TO
ACCEPT HIS OFFER TO RESCUE YOU AND TAKE A HOLD OF THE
LIFE LINE HE IS THROWING OUT TO YOU IN THIS SERVICE.'
WITH THAT, THE OLD MAN TURNED AND SAT BACK DOWN IN
HIS CHAIR AS SILENCE FILLED THE ROOM.

THE PASTOR AGAIN WALKED SLOWLY TO THE PULPIT AND
DELIVERED A BRIEF SERMON WITH AN INVITATION AT THE
END. HOWEVER, NO ONE RESPONDED TO THE APPEAL.

WITHIN MINUTES AFTER THE SERVICE ENDED, THE TWO
TEENAGERS WERE AT THE OLD MAN'S SIDE.

'THAT WAS A NICE STORY,' POLITELY STATED ONE OF
THEM,'BUT I DON'T THINK IT WAS VERY REALISTIC FOR A
FATHER TO GIVE UP HIS ONLY SON'S LIFE IN HOPES THAT
THE OTHER BOY WOULD BECOME A CHRISTIAN..'

'WELL, YOU'VE GOT A POINT THERE,' THE OLD MAN REPLIED,
GLANCING DOWN AT HIS WORN BIBLE. A BIG SMILE BROADENED
HIS NARROW FACE. HE ONCE AGAIN LOOKED UP AT THE BOYS
AND SAID, 'IT SURE ISN'T VERY REALISTIC, IS IT?  BUT,
I'M STANDING HERE TODAY TO TELL YOU THAT STORY GIVES
ME A GLIMPSE OF WHAT IT MUST HAVE BEEN LIKE FOR GOD
TO GIVE UP HIS SON FOR ME..

YOU SEE...

I WAS THAT FATHER AND YOUR PASTOR IS MY SON'S FRIEND.'

Saying hello

Boy oh boy, I have been a busy bee. The weather got nice and life went into fast motion. Work, family, church, vacations, birthday parties, baseball games. I can go on and on!!!

On the weight toss front, I was able to gain 10 pounds in one week (camping trip and s'mores galore). It was sooooo easy a caveman can do it, lol!!!!! I've got on plan a tiny bit and lost 4 lbs in the last two weeks but have a way to go.

One question???? I am 70lbs, okay 60 now ;) and I tried on some new bathing suits. Why do bathing suits make any size woman look bad?!?!? They are evil!!!! I am still not swimming this summer, maybe next summer!!!

Miss all my blog land friends! Here is a good story from my step dad for you :o)

Keeper
***************
I grew up in the 40's/50's with practical parents. A mother, God love her, who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it, then reused it. She was the original recycle queen, before they had a name for it... A father who was happier getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones.

Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away..
I can see them now, Dad in trousers, tee shirt and a hat and Mom in a house dress, lawn mower in one hand, and dish-towel in the other. It was the time for fixing things. A curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress. Things we keep.

It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy. All that re-fixing, eating, renewing, I wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant you knew there'd always be more.

But then my mother died, and on that clear summer's night, in the warmth of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn't any more.

Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away...never to return. So... while we have it... it's best we love it..... and care for it... and fix it when it's ! broken........ and heal it when it's sick.

This is true for marriage..... and old cars.... and children with bad report cards..... and dogs with bad hips.... and aging parents..... and grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth it. Some things we keep. Like a best friend that moved away or a classmate we grew up with.

There are just some things that make life important, like people we know who are special....... and so, we keep them close!

Ps: praying for you all, have a blessed summer!

How To Stop A Church Gossip

Mildred, the church gossip, and self-appointed monitor of the church's morals, kept sticking her nose into other people's business..
Several members did not approve of her extra curricular activities, but feared her enough to maintain their silence.

She made a mistake, however, when she accused Ray, a new member, of being an alcoholic after she saw his old pickup parked in front of the town's
Only bar one afternoon.
She emphatically told Ray (and several others) that every one seeing it there
WOULD KNOW WHAT HE WAS DOING !

Ray, a man of few words, stared at her for a moment and just turned and walked away. He didn't explain, defend, or deny.
He said nothing..


Later that evening, Ray quietly parked his pickup in front of Mildred's house .... Walked home ... And left it there all night.

(You gotta love Ray!)

In Rememberance...Thank You

Thank you for your dedication and sacrifice. Thank you for your sons, husbands, and brothers. Thank you for the cost you all have paid for my and my family's freedom. Thank You!!!





THE SOLDIER
(This song was written for Memorial Day back in 1985.)

Out of the mouth of babes...

I needed a giggle today and here are some of the cute kiddie funnies (thanks you my friend, Heather)...

Six-year old Angie, and her four-year old brother, Joel, were sitting together in church. Joel giggled, sang and talked out loud. Finally, his big sister had had enough. "You're not supposed to talk out loud in church." "Why? Who's going to stop me?" Joel asked. Angie pointed to the back of the church and said, "See those two men standing by the door? They're hushers."

One Sunday in a Midwest City , a young child was "acting up" during the morning worship hour. The parents did their best to maintain some sense of order in the pew but were losing the battle. Finally, the father picked the little fellow up and walked sternly up the aisle on his way out. ....Just before reaching the safety of the foyer, the little boy called loudly to the congregation, "Pray for me! Pray for me!"

(out of the mouths of babes)The preacher was wired for sound with a lapel mike, and as he preached, he moved briskly about the platform, jerking the mike cord as he went. Then he moved to one side, getting wound up in the cord and nearly tripping before jerking it again. After several circles and jerks, a little girl in the third pew leaned toward her mother and whispered, "If he gets loose, will he hurt us?" LOL

The Cab Ride

I love short stories... here's one that my mom sent me:

So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90 s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?", she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
"It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."
"Oh, you re such a good boy", she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"
"It s not the shortest way", I answered quickly.
"Oh, I don t mind", she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don t have any family left", she continued. "The doctor says I don t have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let s go now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.
"Nothing", I said
"You have to make a living", she answered.
"There are other passengers", I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy", she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don t think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~BUT~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

The Nail

Laurie Glass


Who am I?

With no special purpose,

traveling upward,

unsure of my destination.

Where am I?

Steep hill appears.

Jeers permeate the air,

abominable stench pervades eerie summit.

Who is that woman?

Why is she so burdened, forlorn?

Who is the One,

beaten, bruised,

bearing a cross,

gasping for breathe,

being mocked, ridiculed,

with thorn-filled crown,

bloodshot eyes exuding compassion,

scarcely able to endure?

What’s happening?

I’m moving toward an open hand!

Strike! Strike! Strike!

Pierce faultless flesh,

crimson spurts forth,

covers me,

drips to the ground -

red pool of redemption.

Who am I?

One who attaches

innocence to a cross,

holds merciful Savior in place

as He fulfills prophesies foretold,

provides pardon for sinful human race.

Who am I?

Scar provider

of blessed Son,

resurrected Prince of Peace,

who resides in celestial paradise

and sits at His Father’s right hand

Answer me this...God Songs?

I am a praise and worshipper. I used to lead praise and worship at my old church, and music is very central in my walk with the Lord. Throughout various points in my life, God gives me a song, and in some cases two or three, that ministers to my life, my heart and my spirit man. It always comes at just that perfect moment when I need it the most. Some songs I have sang and know growing up, and some are brand new for the first time.

I love these "God Songs". It doesn't matter if it is fast or slow, I'm usually crying and worshipping at the same time, lol. The Holy Spirit rises up in me and my situation, and it's like "Yes Lord... right on, your here with me."

If you've been reading for a while, you'll know my current giant is my weight. I have been overweight my whole life, but it wasn't until I had my last baby, that God showed me how I needed to make changes in my life, not for me but for my babies.

I was never afraid of death or dying. I rejoice in it because I know it is the promise of a new life with my Lord and Savior. My fear or rather concern was for my babies not growing up knowing their mommy. I don't know the day and time my Lord will call me home, but I do know it is not going to be because I didn't take care of this temple God gave me. He reminded me that my body was his. I am his hands and feet, and he has a purpose and plan for my life. If I continued on the course I set for myself, he would not be able to work through me. In short, I was making, my selfishness in desires to eat what I wanted and not exercising, an idol. I was worshipping food/life and not him.

For this journey, He placed a song of edification, promise, and strength on my heart. My "God Song" (I like that term, lol) is I Will Not Be Moved by Natalie Grant, album is Relentless(how fitting is that!).

So what is your theme song a.k.a "God Song" right now?

Psalm 138: 1 "I give you thanks, O Lord,with all my heart; I will sing your praises before gods."