Miracle by Unknown Author

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A little girl went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet. She poured the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way 6 blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big Red Indian Chief sign above the door.

She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention, but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good. Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!

"And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. "I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages," he said without waiting for a reply to his question.

"Well, I want to talk to you about my brother," Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's really, really sick...and I want to buy a miracle."

"I beg your pardon?" said the pharmacist.

"His name is Andrew, and he has something bad growing inside his head, and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?"

"We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry, but I can't help you," the pharmacist said, softening a little.

"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs."

The pharmacist's brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, "What kind of a miracle does your brother need?"

"I don't know," Tess replied with her eyes welling up. I just know he's really sick, and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money."

"How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago.

"One dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audibly. "And it's all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to."

"Well, what a coincidence," smiled the man. "A dollar and eleven cents--the exact price of a miracle for little brothers."

He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let's see if I have the miracle you need."

That well dressed man was a surgeon specializing in neurosurgery. The operation was completed free of charge, and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well.

Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.

"That surgery," her Mom whispered, "was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?"

Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost...

One dollar and eleven cents...plus the faith of a little child.

HOLD ON

by Howard Blichfeldt

Some years ago on a hot summer day in south Florida, a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house. In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went. He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore.

His mother in the house was looking out the window saw the two as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear, she ran toward the water, yelling to her son as loudly as she could. Hearing her voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his mother. It was too late. Just as he reached her, the alligator reached him.

From the dock, the mother grabbed her little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began an incredible tug-of-war between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the mother, but the mother was much too passionate to let go. A farmer happened to drive by, heard her screams, raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator.

Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal, and on his arms, were deep scratches where his mother's fingernails dug into his flesh in her effort to hang on to the son she loved.

The newspaper reporter, who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, 'But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my Mom wouldn't let go.'

You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, or anything quite so dramatic, but the scars of painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us deep regret. But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go. In the midst of your struggle, He's been there holding on to you. The Scripture teaches that God loves you. You are a child of God. He wants to protect you and provide for you in every way. But sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations. The swimming hole of life is filled with peril - and we forget that the enemy is waiting to attack. That's when the tug-of-war begins - and if you have the scars of His love on your arms be very, very grateful. He did not and will not - let you go.

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL FLOWER

The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree. Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown, For the world was intent on dragging me down.

And if that weren't enough to ruin my day, A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play. He stood right before me with his head tilted down And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, With its petals all worn - not enough rain, or too little light. Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play, I faked a small smile and then shifted away.

But instead of retreating he sat next to my side And placed the flower to his nose and declared with surprise, "It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too. That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."

The weed before me was dying or dead. Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red. But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave. So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."

But instead of him placing the flower in my hand, He held it mid-air without reason or plan. It was then that I noticed for the very first time That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.

I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun As I thanked him for picking the very best one. "You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play, Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day. I sat there and wondered how he managed to see A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree. How did he know of my self-indulged plight? Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see The problem was not with the world; the problem was me. And for all of those times I myself had been blind, I vowed to see beauty, and appreciate every second that's mine.

And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose And smiled as that young boy, another weed in his hand About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

I was born in 1725 and I died 1807. The only godly influence in my life, as far back as I can remember, was my mother, whom I had for only seven years. When she left my life through death, I was virtually an orphan.

My father remarried, sent me to a strict military school, where the severity of discipline almost broke my back. I couldn't stand it any longer and I left in rebellion at the age of ten. One year later, deciding that I would never enter formal education again, I became a seaman's apprentice, hoping, somehow, to step into my father's trade and learn at least the ability to skillfully navigate a ship.

And, I determined that I would sin to my fill without restraint, now that the righteous lamp of my life had gone out. I did that all my days in the military service and I further rebelled.

My spirit would not break and I became more and more a rebel. Because of a number of things that I disagreed with in the military, I finally deserted, only to be captured like a common criminal and beaten publicly several times. After enduring the punishment, I, again, fled.

I entertained thoughts of suicide on my way to Africa. I decided on Africa because it would be the place where I could get farthest from anyone who knew me. And, again, I made a pact with the devil to live for him.

Somehow, through a process of events, I got in touch with a Portuguese slave trader and I lived in his home. His wife, who was brimming with hostility, took a lot out on me. She beat me and I ate like a dog on the floor of the house. If I refused to do that, she would whip me with a lash.

I fled, penniless, owning only the clothes on my back, to the shoreline of Africa where I built a fire, hoping to attract a ship that was passing by. The skipper thought that I had gold, slaves or ivory to sell and was surprised that I was a skilled navigator. And, it was there that I virtually lived for a long period of time.

I went through all sorts of narrow escapes, with death only a hair's breadth away, on a number of occasions. One time, I opened some crates of rum and got everybody on the crew drunk. The skipper, incensed with my actions, beat me and threw me down below. I lived on stale bread and sour vegetables for an almost unendurable amount of time. He brought me above to beat me again and I fell overboard. Because I couldn't swim, he harpooned me to get me back on the ship. And I lived with the scar in my side, from a wound big enough for me to put my fist into, until the day of my death. On board, I was inflamed with fever and enraged with the humiliation.

A storm broke out and I wound up, again, in the hold of the ship, down among the pumps. To keep the ship afloat, I worked as a servant of the slaves. There, bruised and confused, bleeding and diseased, I was the epitome of the degenerate man. I remembered the words of my mother.

I cried out to God, the only way I knew, calling upon His grace and His mercy to deliver me, and upon His Son to save me. The only glimmer of light I could find was in a crack in the floor above me. I looked up to it and screamed for help.

God heard me.

Thirty-one years passed. I married a childhood sweetheart. I entered the ministry. In every place that I served, rooms had to be added to the building to handle the crowds that came to hear the Gospel that was presented and the story of God's grace in my life.

The tombstone above my head reads, "Born 1725, died 1807. A clerk, once an infidel and libertine, a servant of slaves in Africa, was by the rich mercy of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, preserved, restored, pardoned and appointed to preach the faith he once long labored to destroy."

I decided before my death to put my life's story in verse. And that verse has become a hymn.

My name? John Newton.

The hymn? Amazing Grace.

WE REAP WHAT WE SOW

Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem.

And we said an expert should know what he's talking about, so we won't spank them anymore…

Then someone said teachers and principals better not discipline our children when they misbehave. And the school administrators said no faculty member in this school better touch a student when they misbehave because we don't want any bad publicity, and we surely don't want to be sued. And we accepted their reasoning…

Then someone said let's let our daughters have abortions if they want, and they won't even have to tell their parents. And we said, that's a grand idea…

Then some wise school board member said since boys will be boys and they're going to do it anyway, let's give our sons all the condoms they want, so they can have all the fun they desire, and we won't have to tell their parents they got them at school.

And we said, that's another great idea…

Then some of our top elected officials said it doesn't matter what we do in private as long as we do our jobs. And agreeing with them, we said it doesn't matter to me what anyone, including the President, does in private as long as I have a job and the economy is good…

And then someone said let's print magazines with pictures of nude women and call it wholesome down-to-earth appreciation for the beauty of the female body.

And we said we have no problem with that…

And someone else took that appreciation a step further and published pictures of children and then stepped further still by making them available on the Internet.

And we said they're entitled to their free speech…

And the entertainment industry said, let's make TV shows and movies that promote profanity, violence, and illicit sex. And let's record music that encourages rape, drugs, murder, suicide, and satanic themes.

And we said it's just entertainment, it has no adverse effect, and nobody takes it seriously anyway, so go right ahead…

Therefore, now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves…

Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with..."We reap what we sow!"

DON'T WE ALL?

I was parked in front of the mall wiping off my car. I had just come from the car wash and was waiting for my wife to get out of work. Coming my way from across the parking lot was what society would

consider a bum.

From the looks of him, he had no car, no home, no clean clothes, and no money. There are times when you feel generous but there are other times that you just don't want to be bothered. This was one of those "don't want to be bothered times."

"I hope he doesn't ask me for any money," I thought.

He didn't.

He came and sat on the curb in front of the bus stop but he didn't look like he could have enough money to even ride the bus.

After a few minutes he spoke.

"That's a very pretty car," he said.

He was ragged but he had an air of dignity around him. His scraggly blond beard keep more than his face warm. I said, "thanks," and continued wiping off my car.

He sat there quietly as I worked. The expected plea for money never came. As the silence between us widened something inside said, "ask him if he needs any help." I was sure that he would say "yes" but I held true to the inner voice.

"Do you need any help?" I asked.

He answered in three simple but profound words that I shall never forget. We often look for wisdom in great men and women. We expect it from those of higher learning and accomplishments.

 I expected nothing but an outstretched grimy hand. He spoke the three words that shook me.

"Don't we all?" he asked.

I was feeling high and mighty, successful and important, above a bum in the street, until those three words hit me like a twelve gauge shotgun.

Don't we all?

I needed help. Maybe not for bus fare or a place to sleep, but I needed help. I reached in my wallet and gave him not only enough for bus fare, but enough to get a warm meal and shelter for the day. Those

three little words still ring true. No matter how much you have, no matter how much you have accomplished, you need help too. No matter how little you have, no matter how loaded you are with problems, even without money or a place to sleep, you can give help.

Even if it's just a compliment, you can give that. You never know when you may see someone that appears to have it all. They are waiting on you to give them what they don't have. A different

perspective on life, a glimpse at something beautiful, a respite from daily chaos, that only you through a torn world can see.

Maybe the man was just a homeless stranger wandering the streets. Maybe he was more than that.

Maybe he was sent by a power that is great and wise, to minister to a soul too comfortable in themselves.

 Maybe God looked down, called an Angel, dressed him like a bum, then said, "Go minister to that man cleaning the car, that man needs help."

Don't we all?

THE SMALL BUNDLE OF BURDENS

A long time ago God had a great many burdens that He wished to have carried from one place to another on earth.  He asked the animals to lend a hand, but all of them had excuses for not helping: the elephant was too dignified; the lion, too proud; and so on...

Finally the birds came to God and said, "If you will tie the burdens into small bundles, we'll be glad to carry them for you.  We are small, but we would like to help."

So God fastened upon the back of each bird a small bundle, and they all set out walking across the plain to their destination. They sang as they went, not minding the weight of their burdens at all.  Every day the burdens seemed lighter and lighter, until the loads seemed to be lifting the birds, instead of the birds carrying the burdens.

When they arrived at their destination, they discovered that when they removed their loads, there were beautiful wings in their place.  Wings that enabled them to fly to the tree tops and soar through the sky, closer and closer to God.

The burdens we carry for others, as well as ourselves, become wings of the spirit, lifting us to new places and bringing us closer and closer to God.

May you always soar in spite of your burdens!

THE ELDERLY CARPENTER

An elderly carpenter was ready to retire. He told his employer-contractor of his plans to leave the house building business and live a more leisurely life with his wife enjoying his extended family.

He would miss the paycheck, but he needed to retire. They could get by.  The contractor was sorry to see his good worker go and asked if he could build just one more house as a personal favor. The carpenter said yes, but in time it was easy to see that his heart was not in his work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an unfortunate way to end his career.

When the carpenter finished his work and the builder came to inspect the house, the contractor handed the front-door key to the carpenter. "This is your house," he said, "my gift to you."

What a shock! What a shame! If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so differently. Now he had to live in the home he had built none too well.

So it is with us. We build our lives in a distracted way, reacting rather than acting, willing to put up less than the best. At important points we do not give the job our best effort. Then with a shock we look at the situation we have created and find that we are now living in the house we have built. If we had realized that we would have done it differently. 

Think of yourself as the carpenter. Think about your house. Each day you hammer a nail, place a board, or erect a wall. Build wisely. It is the only life you will ever build. Even if you live it for only one day more, that day deserves to be lived graciously and with dignity. The plaque on the wall says, "Life is a do-it-yourself project." Your life tomorrow will be the result of your attitudes and the choices you make today.

ARE YOU GOD'S WIFE?

A boy about ten years old was standing in front of a shoe store, barefooted, peering through the window and
shivering with cold. A lady approached the boy and said, “My little fellow, why are you looking so earnestly in that window?”

“I was asking God to give me a pair of shoes,” was the boy’s reply.

The lady took him by the hand and went into the store and asked for the clerk to get half a dozen pairs of socks for the boy. She then asked if he could give her a basin of water and a towel. He quickly brought them to her. She took the young fellow to the back of the store and, removing her gloves, knelt down, washed his feet and dried them with the towel.

By this time the clerk had returned with the socks. Placing a pair upon the boy’s feet, she purchased a pair of shoes for him. She packaged the remaining pairs of socks and gave them to him.

She patted him on the head and said, “No doubt, my young fellow, you feel more comfortable now?” As she turned to go, the astonished lad caught her by the hand, and looking up into her face with tears in his eyes, answered her question with these words:

“Are you God’s wife?”

WHAT I VALUE MOST

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man who used to live next door. College, girls, career, life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days. "Jack, did you hear me?" "Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said. "Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him. "I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said. "You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said. "He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time. Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly. "What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked. "The box is gone," he said. "What box? " Mom asked. "There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said. It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it. "Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention."Mr. Harold Belser" it read.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.

"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser."

"The thing he valued most...was...my time." Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked. "I need some time to spend with my son," he said. "Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your time!"

HANG ON TO ONE ANOTHER

There is a beautiful story of an overworked nurse who escorted a tired young man to her patient’s bedside.
Leaning over and speaking loudly to the elderly patient, she said, “Your son is here.”

With great effort, the old man’s unfocused eyes opened, then flickered shut again. The young man squeezed the aged hand in his and sat beside the bed.

Throughout the night he sat there, holding the old man’s hand and whispering words of comfort.

By morning light, the patient had died. In moments, hospital staff swarmed into the room to turn off machines and remove needles.

The nurse stepped over to the young man’s side and began to offer sympathy, but he interrupted her.
“Who was that man?” he asked.

The startled nurse replied, “I thought he was your father!”

“No, he was not my father,” he answered. “I never saw him before in my life.” “Then why didn’t you say something when I took you to him?”

“I realized he needed his son and his son wasn’t here,” the man explained. “And since he was too sick to recognize that I was not his son, I knew he needed me.”

Do we need to be reminded that nobody should have to die alone? Likewise, nobody should have to grieve alone or cry alone. Or laugh alone or celebrate alone.

We are made to travel life’s journey hand in hand. There is someone ready to grasp your hand today, and someone hoping you will take his or her hand.

Remember to hang on to one another!

Lord help me live from day to day
In such a self-forgetful way
That even when I kneel to pray
My prayer shall be for others.

THE BEST IS YET TO COME

The sound of Martha's voice on the other end of the telephone always brought a smile to Brother Jim's face. She was not only one of the oldest members of the congregation, but one of the most faithful. Aunt Martie, as all of the children called her, just seemed to ooze faith, hope, and love wherever she went. This time, however, there seemed to be an unusual tone to her words.

"Preacher, could you stop by this afternoon? I need to talk with you."

"Of course, I'll be there around three. Is that ok?"

It didn't take long for Jim to discover the reason for what he had only sensed in her voice before. As they sat facing each other in the quiet of her small living room. Martha shared the news that her doctor had just discovered a previously undetected tumor.

"He says I probably have six months to live".

Martha's words were naturally serious, yet there was a definite calm about her.

"I'm so sorry to ..." but before Jim could finish, Martha interrupted.

"Don't be. The Lord has been good. I have lived a long life. I'm ready to go. You know that."

"I know," Jim whispered with a reassuring nod.

"But I do want to talk with you about my funeral. I have been thinking about it, and there are things that I know I want."

The two talked quietly for a long time. They talked about Martha's favorite hymns, the passages of Scripture that had meant so much to her through the years, and the many memories they shared from the five years Jim had been with Central Church. When it seemed that they had covered just about everything, Aunt Martie paused, looked up at Jim with a twinkle in her eye, and then added,

"One more thing, preacher. When they bury me, I want my old Bible in one hand and a fork in the other".

"A fork?" Jim was sure he had heard everything, but this caught him by surprise.

"Why do you want to be buried with a fork?"

"I have been thinking about all of the church dinners and banquets that I attended through the years," she explained, "I couldn't begin to count them all. But one thing sticks in my mind".

"At those really nice get-togethers, when the meal was almost finished, a server or maybe the hostess would come by to collect the dirty dishes. I can hear the words now. Sometimes, at the best ones, somebody would lean over my shoulder and whisper, 'You can keep your fork.'

And do you know what that meant? Dessert was coming!

"It didn't mean a cup of Jell-O or pudding or even a dish of ice cream. You don't need a fork for that. It meant the good stuff, like chocolate cake or cherry pie! When they told me I could keep my fork, I knew the best was yet to come!

"That's exactly what I want people to talk about at my funeral. Oh, they can talk about all the good times we had together. That would be nice.

"But when they walk by my casket and look at my pretty blue dress, I want them to turn to one another and say, 'Why the fork'?

"That's what I want you to say, I want you to tell them, that I kept my fork because the best is yet to come!"

THE LAST TRACT

Every Sunday afternoon, after the morning service at their church, the Pastor and his eleven year old son would go out into their town and hand out gospel tracts. This particular Sunday afternoon, as it came time for the Pastor and his son to go to the streets with their tracts, it was very cold outside as well as pouring down rain.

The boy bundled up in his warmest and driest clothes and said - "OK dad, I'm ready."

His Pastor dad asked, "Ready for what?"

"Dad, it's time we gather our tracts together and go out."

Dad responds, "Son, it's very cold outside and it's pouring down rain."

The boy gives his dad a surprised look, asking, "But dad, aren't people still going to hell, even though it's raining?"

Dad answers, "Son, I am not going out in this weather."

Despondently the boy asks, "Dad, can I go, Please?"

His father hesitated for a moment then said, "Son, you can go. Here are the tracts. Be careful son."

"Thanks Dad!"

And with that he was off and out into the rain.

This eleven year old boy walked the streets of the town going door to door and handing everybody he met in the street a gospel tract. After two hours of walking in the rain he was soaking bone chilled wet and down to his very last tract. He stopped on a corner and looked for someone to hand a tract to but the streets were totally deserted. Then he turned toward the first home he saw and started up the sidewalk to the front door and rang the door bell.

He rang the bell - but nobody answered. He rang it again and again but, still no one answered. He waited but still no answer. Finally this eleven year old trooper turned to leave but something stopped him. Again, he turned to the door and rang the bell and knocked loudly on the door with his fist. He waited, something holding him there on the front porch. He rang again, and this time the door slowly opened.

Standing in the doorway was a very sad looking elderly lady. She softly asked, "What can I do for you son?"

With radiant eyes and a smile that lit up her world this little boy said, "Mama, I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but I just want to tell you that Jesus really does love you, and I came to give you my very last gospel tract which will tell you all about Jesus and His great love."

With that he handed her his last tract, and turned to leave.

She called to him as he departed, "Thank you son! And God Bless You!"

Well, the following Sunday morning in Church, Pastor Dad was in the pulpit and as the service began he asked, "Does anybody have a testimony or want to say anything?"

Slowly, in the back row of the Church, an elderly lady stood to her feet.

As she began to speak a look of glorious radiance came from her face as she said, "None of you in this church know me. I've never been here before. You see, before last Sunday I was not a Christian. My husband passed on, some time ago, leaving me totally alone in this world.”

“Last Sunday, being a particularly cold and rainy day, it was even more so in my heart as I came to the end of the line where I no longer had any hope or will to live. So I took a rope and a chair and ascended the stairway into the attic of my home. I fastened the rope securely to a rafter in the roof then stood on the chair and fastened the other end of the rope around my neck. Standing on that chair, so lonely and brokenhearted, I was about to leap off when suddenly the loud ringing of my doorbell downstairs startled me.”

“I thought - I'll wait a minute, and whoever it is will go away. I waited and waited, but the ringing doorbell seemed to get louder and more insistent and then the person ringing also started knocking loudly. I thought to myself again - "who on earth could this be?! Nobody ever rings my bell or comes to see me." I loosened the rope from my neck and started for the front door, all the while the bell rang louder and louder.”

“When I opened the door and looked I could hardly believe my eyes for there on my front porch was the most radiant and Angelic little boy I had ever seen in my life. His smile, Oh, I could never describe it to you! And the words that came from his mouth caused my heart, that had long been dead, to leap to life as he exclaimed with cherub like voice, "Mam, I just came to tell you that Jesus really does love you." Then he gave me this gospel tract that I now hold in my hand. As the little angel disappeared back out, into the cold and rain, I closed my door and read slowly every word of this gospel tract.”

“Then I went up to my attic to get my rope and chair. I wouldn't be needing them any more. You see, I am now a happy child of the King, and since the address of your Church was on the back of this gospel tract I have come here to personally say ‘thank you’ to God’s little angel who came just in the nick of time and, by so doing, spared my soul from eternity in hell.”

There were now no dry eyes in the Church. And as shouts of praise, and honor to the King, resounded off the very rafters of the building, Pastor Dad descended from the pulpit to the front pew where the little angel was seated; He took him in his arms and sobbed uncontrollably.

THE STORY BEHIND "FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND"

Margaret’s boyfriend Paul proposed. While happy, she was hesitant. She and her boyfriend seemed so different. They decided to take a little walk along the beach to discuss marriage and its importance. When they reached the far end of the beach and were about to begin their return journey, Margaret glanced down and noticed that their footprints had washed out to the sea. Turning to Paul she said, ” Well, if our married life is to be like this, we don’t stand much of a chance.”

Paul replied, “When things are tough for me, you will help me – and when things are tough for you, I’ll help you.”

They continued walking, until Margaret glanced down again and saw that only one set of footprints had washed out to sea. Again, Margaret suggested that their life together didn’t appear to have much of a future. This time Paul responded by gently lifting her up in his arms and carrying her along the beach. Finally, he set her down and said, “Margaret, I want to impress upon you that when life is so bad that we can’t seem to help each other, God will carry us.” Then, pointing to the single set of footprints the two of them had just created, Paul added, “If you just looked at the set of tracks we just made, you couldn’t tell that I carried you – but I did.”

Margaret found his words and the thoughts behind them very beautiful. that night she couldn’t sleep, so she got up and wrote these words; One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the Lord. Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand; one belonging to him, and the other to the Lord.

When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times of his life.

This really bothered him and he questioned the Lord about it. “Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you’d walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints. I don’t understand why when I needed You most You would leave me.”

The Lord replied, “My precious, precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.”

This beautiful piece, printed time and time again, has a love story all it’s own. She called the piece “Footprints”.  Today, “Footprints” is one of the most widely distributed inspirational pieces in existence. It can be found on plaques, cards and jewelry. Its power lies in its message – the message of the greatest love of all. And yes, they did marry.

Love – is an eternal source.

|| Margaret Rose Powers

A WALL OF FIRE

The fighting in Central Africa was a regional war which involved about eight African countries. Sometime back it spilled over into Congo where American Baptist Missionaries have remained. The genocide and senseless killings in some areas have occurred so often that many in the Western world have become immune to the tragedy in this part of Africa. But God's people have been praying and He responds in sometimes miraculous ways. The following story did not make the evening news, but is a manifestation of the wondrous ways in which God worked wonders.

Tutsi soldiers had broken down the door of a young pastor's house and stood poised to slaughter by machine gun fire, him and his entire family right where they sat. Their intent was to massacre the civilians in this Hutu village. "Wait! the young man implored, would you not allow my family and I a moment to pray before we die? I can almost picture the sneers on the face of these soldiers as they watched this family, an African couple and their young children soberly kneel, arm in arm, in a circle on the floor and pray to God for mercy. The remarkable thing is that the expected shots never came. After praying, the family slowly stood up and saw that the soldiers were gone, not only out of their house but away from their village as well. It was not until several months later they found out just what had happened.

At a church meeting in another town where Christians from both sides had gathered to pray, this young pastor told his story and the seemingly miraculous way in which the soldiers "just disappeared from his house and village."

"I think I can explain," came a quiet voice from the back of the room... spoken by one of the Tutsi soldiers who had been there that fateful day. "You see," said the soldier, "I was there when we broke into your house. I was one who had your children lined up in my rifle site as you kneeled and prayed... when suddenly a wall of fire, fierce and ferocious, jumped up and surrounded the lot of you. We couldn't even see beyond the flames. Due to the intense heat and fire, we knew the house would burn down so we fled. When we went outside and saw your home consumed by fire and yet not destroyed, we fled the village as well. Later I realized that this was not the type of fire we are familiar with but a fire sent by God. If this is how your God responds, I want to know Him too! I am tired of the fighting and the killing... this is why I came tonight."

Miracles abound in war torn Central Africa. Prayer is, and will always be, the only response to the tragedies and crises in our lives.

A mighty fortress is our God...

For I, saith the LORD, will be unto her a Wall Of Fire round about, and will be the Glory in the midst of her || Zechariah 2:5

A TRAGEDY OR A BLESSING?

Years ago in Scotland, the Clark family had a dream. Clark and his wife worked and saved, making plans for their nine children and themselves to travel to the United States. It had taken years, but they had finally saved enough money and had gotten passports and reservations for the whole family on a new liner to the United States.

The entire family was filled with anticipation and excitement about their new life. However, seven days before their departure, the youngest son was bitten by a dog. The doctor sewed up the boy but hung a yellow sheet on the Clarks’ front door. Because of the possibility of rabies, they were being quarantined for fourteen days.

The family’s dreams were dashed. They would not be able to make the trip to America as they had planned. The father, filled with disappointment and anger, stomped to the dock to watch the ship leave – without the Clark family. The father shed tears of disappointment and cursed both his son and God for their misfortune.

Five days later, the tragic news spread throughout Scotland – the mighty Titanic had sunk. The unsinkable ship had sunk, taking hundreds of lives with it. The Clark family was to have been on that ship, but because the son had been bitten by a dog, they were left behind in Scotland.

When Mr. Clark heard the news, he hugged his son and thanked him for saving the family. He thanked God for saving their lives and turning what he had felt was a tragedy into a blessing.

LIFE IS A 'DO-IT-YOURSELF' PROJECT

An elderly carpenter was ready to retire. He told his employer-of his plans to leave the house building business and live a more leisurely life with his wife enjoying his extended family.

He would miss the paycheck, but he wanted to retire. They could get by. The contractor was sorry to see his good worker go and asked if he could build just one more house as a personal favor. The carpenter said yes, but his heart was not in his work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an unfortunate way to end his career.

When the carpenter finished his work and the builder came to inspect the house, the contractor handed the front-door key to the carpenter. "This is your house," he said, "my gift to you."

What a shock! What a shame! If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so differently. Now he had to live in the home he had built none too well.

So it is with us. If we build our lives in a distracted way, reacting rather than acting, willing to put up less than the best. At important points we do not give the job our best effort. Then with a shock we look at the situation we have created and find that we are now living in the house we have built. If we had realized that we would have done it differently.

Think of yourself as the carpenter. Think about your house. Each day you hammer a nail, place a board, or erect a wall. Build wisely.

It is the only life you will ever build. Even if you live it for only one day more, that day deserves to be lived graciously and with dignity.

The plaque on the wall says, "Life is a do-it-yourself project."

Your attitudes and the choices you make today will be your life tomorrow, build it wisely.

THE ROAD OF LIFE

At first, I saw God as my observer, my judge, keeping track of the things I did wrong, so as to know whether I merited heaven or hell when I die. He was out there sort of like a president. I recognized His picture when I saw it, but I really didn't know Him. 

But later on when I met Christ, it seemed as though life were rather like a bike ride, but it was a tandem bike, and I noticed that Christ was in the back helping me pedal. 

  

I don't know just when it was that he suggested we change places, but life has not been the same since. When I had control, I knew the way. It was rather boring, but predictable... It was the shortest distance between two points.  

 

But when He took the lead, He knows the delightful long cuts, up mountains, and through rocky places at breakneck speeds, it was all I could do to hang on! Even though it looked like madness, He said, "Pedal!" 

                                                                                      

I worried and was anxious and asked, "Where are you taking me?" He laughed and didn't answer, and I started to learn to trust. I forgot my boring life and entered into the adventure. And when I'd say, "I'm scared," He'd lean back and touch my hand.

He took me to people with gifts that I needed, gifts of healing, acceptance, and joy. They gave me gifts to take on my journey, my Lord's and mine.

And we're off again. He said, "Give the gifts away; they're extra baggage, too much weight." So I did, to the people we met, and I found that in giving I received, and still our burden was light.

I did not trust him at first, in control of my life. I thought He'd wreck it; but he knows bike secrets, knows how to make it bend to take sharp corners, knows how to jump to clear high rocks, knows how to fly to shorten scary passages.

And I am learning to shut up and pedal in the strangest places, and I'm beginning to enjoy the view and the cool breeze on my face with my delightful constant companion, Jesus Christ. 

And when I'm sure I just can't do anymore, He just smiles and says...."Pedal."

THE THREE TREES

Once upon a mountain top, three little trees stood and dreamed of what they wanted to become when they grew up.

The first little tree looked up at the stars and said: "I want to hold treasure. I want to be covered with gold and filled with precious stones. I'll be the most beautiful treasure chest in the world!"

The second little tree looked out at the small stream trickling by on its way to the ocean. "I want to be traveling mighty waters and carrying powerful kings. I'll be the strongest ship in the world!"

The third little tree looked down into the valley below where busy men and women worked in a busy town. "I don't want to leave the mountain top at all. I want to grow so tall that when people stop to look at me, they'll raise their eyes to heaven and think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world."

Years passed. The rain came, the sun shone, and the little trees grew tall. One day three woodcutters climbed the mountain. The first woodcutter looked at the first tree and said, "This tree is beautiful. It is perfect for me." With a swoop of his ax, the first tree fell. "Now I shall be made into a beautiful chest, I shall hold wonderful treasure!" The first tree said.

The second woodcutter looked at the second tree and said, "This tree is strong. It is perfect for me." With a swoop of his ax, the second tree fell. "Now I shall sail mighty waters!" thought the second tree. "I shall be a strong ship for mighty kings!"

The third tree felt her heart sink when the last woodcutter looked her way. She stood straight and tall and pointed bravely to heaven. But the woodcutter never even looked up. "Any kind of tree will do for me," he muttered. With a swoop of his ax, the third tree fell.

The first tree rejoiced when the woodcutter brought her to a carpenter's shop. But the carpenter fashioned the tree into a feedbox for animals. The once beautiful tree was not covered with gold, nor with treasure. She was coated with saw dust and filled with hay for hungry farm animals.

The second tree smiled when the woodcutter took her to a shipyard, but no mighty sailing ship was made that day. Instead the once strong tree was hammered and sawed into a simple fishing boat. She was too small and too weak to sail to an ocean, or even a river. Instead she was taken to a little lake.

The third tree was confused when the woodcutter cut her into strong beams and left her in a lumberyard. "What happened?" The once tall tree wondered. "All I ever wanted was to stay on the mountain top and point to God..."

Many, many days and night passed. The three trees nearly forgot their dreams. But one night, golden starlight poured over the first tree as a young woman placed her newborn baby in the feedbox. "I wish I could make a cradle for him." her husband whispered.

The mother squeezed his hand and smiled as the starlight shone on the smooth and the sturdy wood. "This manger is beautiful." she said. And suddenly the first tree knew he was holding the greatest treasure in the world.

One evening a tired traveler and his friends crowded into the old fishing boat. The traveler fell asleep as the second tree quietly sailed out into the lake. Soon a thundering and thrashing storm arose. The little tree shuddered. She knew she did not have the strength to carry so many passengers safely through with the wind and the rain.

The tired man awakened. He stood up, stretched out his hand, and said, "Peace." The storm stopped as quickly as it had begun. And suddenly the second tree knew she was carrying the king of heaven and earth.

One Friday morning, the third tree was startled when her beams were yanked from the forgotten woodpile. She flinched as she was carried through an angry jeering crowd. She shuddered when soldiers nailed a man's hands to her. She felt ugly and harsh and cruel. But on Sunday morning, when the sun rose and the earth trembled with joy beneath her, the third tree knew that God's love had changed everything.

It had made the third tree strong. And every time people thought of the third tree, they would think of God. That was better than being the tallest tree in the world.

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