40 WRESTLERS FOR CHRIST

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In the days of Nero, the Emperor of Rome, there was a band of elite soldiers known as the “The Emperor’s Wrestlers.” These men were the best athletes in the Roman amphitheater, and the bravest soldiers in all of the Roman army. They wrestled for the Emperor against all who challenged them. Before each contest they would stand before the Emperor’s throne and cry out,“We, the wrestlers, wrestling for thee, O Emperor, to win for thee the victory and from thee the victor’s crown.”

One year, in mid-winter, there was a rebellion waged in Gaul (modern-day France), the Emperor sent for his wrestlers and told them to go to Gaul to end the war that was raging on. This brave group of wrestlers left Rome under the command of Vespasian. 

While in Gaul rumors spread to Rome that many of the Emperor’s Wrestlers had become Christians. When news of this reached Nero, the Emperor, he sent a message to Vespasian, and made this decree; “If there be any among your soldiers who cling to the faith of the Christian, they must die!”

It was in the dead of winter that Vespasian received the message while his soldiers were camped beside a frozen lake in Gaul. Vespasian assembled his troops and asked, “Are there any among you who cling to the faith of the Christians? If so, let him step forward.”

Forty soldiers instantly stepped forward two paces, saluted and stood at attention. Vespasian was stunned! He had not expected any to step forward. Vespasian said, “Until sundown I shall give you time to recant and to deny your faith.”

At sundown the soldiers were again assembled together and Vespasian asked: “Who still clings to the Christian faith, even if it means death?”

Again 40 soldiers stepped forward and stood at attention. Vespasian pleaded with them to deny their faith, but not one soldier would deny Christ.

Vespasian did not want these men he loved, respected, who fought side to side together, die at the hands of their fellow wrestlers, so he had them strip naked. Vespasian reluctantly said, “The decree of the Emperor must be obeyed, so you shall stand out on the frozen lake, exposed to the elements until you freeze to death. Should you recant and deny Christ, the fire will remain burning on shore, and by returning to the shelter of the fire, you will be denouncing Christ and you shall live.”

The forty soldiers stripped off their clothing, fell into four columns of ten each, and marched towards the center of the frozen lake to their death. But as they marched onto the ice, they chanted, “Forty wrestlers, wrestling for thee O Christ, to win for thee the victory and from thee the victor’s crown.”

All night long Vespasian stood by his campfire and watched those forty brave wrestlers out on the ice as they slowly succumbed to the elements. As they grew weaker and weaker, their chanting grew fainter and fainter, “Forty wrestlers, wrestling for thee O Christ, to win of thee the victory and from thee the victor’s crown.” 

As morning drew near, one wrestler, no longer able to stand the freezing cold, walked off the ice and came to the edge of the fire, renouncing Christ. Vespasian could hear faintly from the frozen lake, “Thirty-nine wrestlers, wrestling for thee O Christ, to win for thee the victory and from thee the victor’s crown.”

Vespasian, standing by the fire all night, was thinking. As he stood there God touched his heart. Vespasian slowly removed his cloak, helmet and armor and calmly walked down upon the frozen lake to join his men, and as he walked, he chanted:

“Forty wrestlers, wrestling for thee O Christ, to win for thee the victory and from thee the victor’s crown.”

Author Unknown

A Christian's Possessions

A tax officer came one day to a poor Christian to determine the amount of taxes he would have to pay.

The following conversation took place:

"What property do you possess?" asked the assessor.

"I am a very wealthy man," replied the Christian.

"List your possessions, please," the assessor instructed.

The Christian replied:

First, I have everlasting life, John 3:16

Second, I have a mansion in heaven, John 14:2

Third, I have a perfect conscience and peace that passes all understanding, Philippians 4:7

Fourth, I have joy unspeakable, 1 Peter 1:8

Fifth, I have divine love which never fails, 1 Corinthians 13:8

Sixth, I have a faithful wife, Proverbs 31:10

Seventh, I have healthy, happy obedient children, Exodus 20:12

Eighth, I have true, loyal friends, Proverbs 18:24

Ninth, I have songs in the night, Psalms 42:8

Tenth, I have a crown of life, James 1:12"

The tax assessor closed his book, and said, "Truly you are a very rich man, but your property is not subject to taxation."

I pray that all of us will have this kind of tax free "wealth."

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.

MOTHER'S DAY SPECIAL: TOWARD MORNING

Sometimes when I wake up early in the morning before it is light, I hear my baby talking in his crib. If I rise upon my elbow very gently so that he will not see me, I can see him there in the dim light, dark eyes with his fat hands clasped together or patting one another. All the while he makes those tender, inarticulate sounds in his own language.

To whom is he speaking in the dark, toward morning? He is still so near Heaven, this little one - is he talking in the language of the angels to some visitor invisible to me, but seen by his pure eyes? Is he making a report of his day’s events, his own progress, or asking after the welfare of others he loves in the land he left so short a time ago?

Perhaps the angel who cared for him comes in that holy hour, to sit with and love him yet awhile...t-o-w-a-r-d m-o-r-n-i-n-g

|| Unknown

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?

WE'LL SEE

Once upon a time, there was a farmer in the central region of China. He didn't have a lot of money and, instead of a tractor, he used an old horse to plow his field. 

One afternoon, while working in the field, the horse dropped dead. Everyone in the village said, "Oh, what a horrible thing to happen." The farmer said simply, "We'll see." He was so at peace and so calm, that everyone in the village got together and, admiring his attitude, gave him a new horse as a gift. 

Everyone's reaction now was, "What a lucky man." And the farmer said, "We'll see." 

A couple days later, the new horse jumped a fence and ran away. Everyone in the village shook their heads and said, "What a poor fellow!"

The farmer smiled and said, "We'll see."

Eventually, the horse found his way home, and everyone again said, "What a fortunate man." 

The farmer said, "We'll see."

Later in the year, the farmer's young boy went out riding on the horse and fell and broke his leg. Everyone in the village said, "What a shame for the poor boy."

The farmer said, "We'll see."

Two days later, the army came into the village to draft new recruits. When they saw that the farmer's son had a broken leg, they decided not to recruit him.

Everyone said, "What a fortunate young man."

The farmer smiled again, and said, "We'll see."

Moral of the story: There's no use in overreacting to the events and circumstances of our everyday lives. Many times what looks like a setback, may actually be a gift in disguise. And when our hearts are in the right place, all events and circumstances are gifts that we can learn valuable lessons from.

As Fra Giovanni once said, "Everything we call a trial, a sorrow, or a duty, believe me...the gift is there and the wonder of an overshadowing presence." 

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?”

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!"

MOUNTAIN-MOVING FAITH

A small congregation in the foothills of the Great Smokies built a new sanctuary on a piece of land willed to them by a church member. Ten days before the new church was to open, the local building inspector informed the pastor that the parking lot was inadequate for the size of the building. Until the church doubled the size of the parking lot, they would not be able to use the new sanctuary.

Unfortunately, the church with its undersized parking lot had used every inch of their land except for the mountain against which it had been built. In order to build more parking spaces, they would have to move the mountain out of the back yard.

Undaunted, the pastor announced the next Sunday morning that he would meet that evening with all members who had "mountain-moving faith". They would hold a prayer session asking God to remove the mountain from the back yard and to somehow provide enough money to have it paved and painted before the scheduled opening dedication service the following week.

At the appointed time, 24 of the congregation's 300 members assembled for prayer. They prayed for nearly three hours. At ten o'clock the pastor said the final "Amen". "We'll open next Sunday as scheduled," he assured everyone. "God has never let us down before, and I believe He will be faithful this time too."

The next morning as he was working in his study there came a loud knock at his door. When he called "come in", a rough looking construction foreman appeared, removing his hard hat as he entered.

"Excuse me, Reverend. I'm from Acme Construction Company over in the next county. We're building a huge new shopping mall over there and we need some fill dirt. Would you be willing to sell us a chunk of that mountain behind the church? We'll pay you for the dirt we remove and pave all the exposed area free of charge, if we can have it right away. We can't do anything else until we get the dirt in and allow it to settle properly."

The little church was dedicated the next Sunday as originally planned and there were far more members with "mountain-moving faith" on opening Sunday than there had been the previous week!

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

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 overacted 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 in 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 the beauty in life,

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 I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand,

About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

GOD'S COFFEE

A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life.

Offering his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups - porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain looking, some
expensive, some exquisite - telling them to help themselves to the coffee.

When all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said:

"If you noticed, all the nice looking expensive cups were taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress.

Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases it is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink.

What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups... And then you began eyeing each other's cups.

Now consider this: Life is the coffee; the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not define, nor change the quality of Life we live.

Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee God has provided us."

God brews the coffee, not the cups. Enjoy your coffee!

The happiest people don't have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything.
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Leave the rest to God.

THE SOLDIER & THE GIRL

One day, a young guy and a young girl fell in love.

But the guy came from a poor family. The girl’s parents weren’t too happy.

So the young man decided not only to court the girl but to court her parents as well. In time, the parents saw that he was a good man and was worthy of their daughter’s hand.

But there was another problem: The man was a soldier. Soon, war broke out and he was being sent overseas for a year.

The week before he left, the man knelt on his knee and asked his lady love, “Will you marry me?” She wiped a tear, said yes, and they were engaged. They agreed that when he got back in one year, they would get married.

But tragedy struck. A few days after he left, the girl had a major vehicular accident. It was a head-on collision.

When she woke up in the hospital, she saw her father and mother crying. Immediately, she knew there was something wrong.

She later found out that she suffered brain injury. The part of her brain that controlled her face muscles was damaged. Her once lovely face was now disfigured. She cried as she saw herself in the mirror. “Yesterday, I was beautiful. Today, I’m a monster.” Her body was also covered with so many ugly wounds.

Right there and then, she decided to release her fiancé from their promise. She knew he wouldn’t want her anymore. She would forget about him and never see him again.

For one year, the soldier wrote many letters—but she wouldn’t answer. He phoned her many times but she wouldn’t return her calls.

But after one year, the mother walked into her room and announced, “He’s back from the war.”

The girl shouted, “No! Please don’t tell him about me. Don’t tell him I’m here!”

The mother said, “He’s getting married,” and handed her a wedding invitation.

The girl’s heart sank. She knew she still loved him—but she had to forget him now.

With great sadness, she opened the wedding invitation.

And then she saw her name on it!

Confused, she asked, “What is this?”

That was when the young man entered her room with a bouquet of flowers. He knelt beside her and asked, “Will you marry me?”

The girl covered her face with her hands and said, “I’m ugly!”

The man said, “Without your permission, your mother sent me your photos. When I saw your photos, I realized that nothing has changed. You’re still the person I fell in love. You’re still as beautiful as ever. Because I love you!”

THE NOTES IN THE BOOK

John Blanchard was a soldier.

One day, in a library, he found an old book with a lot of writing in the margins. He read her handwritten notes in the book and admired their deep insights. At the front cover, he saw that the book was previously owned by a certain Hollis Maynell.

With much effort, he located her address. He wrote to her and told her about her old book and how he liked her written notes.

And she responded, thanking him for his kind words.

But that day, he was shipped overseas to fight in a war.

Still, they kept writing to each other. During the difficult times at the battlefield, her words inspired him and gave him hope.

Little by little, John was falling in love with her.

He requested for a photo, but she replied that if he really cared for her, it won’t matter how she looked.

Finally, he was going home.

They decided to meet at the Grand Central Station at 7pm.

He said he’d be in his soldier’s uniform bringing her old book.

And she said, “You’ll know me by the red rose I’ll wear on my lapel.”

When the train arrived at 7pm, John was there, wearing his neatly pressed military uniform, with her old book in his hand.

The first woman to step off the train was a beautiful woman in a green suit. But there was no red rose on her blouse.

John was disappointed. But she was so lovely, he kept looking at her. She walked in front of him, glanced at him with a smile, and asked, “Are you following me, soldier?”

A part of him wanted to follow.

But no, he had to wait for Hollis Maynell.

The next woman who stepped off the train had a red rose on her lapel. She was perhaps 45 years old. She had graying hair beneath her hat. And she was very overweight. Meantime, the beautiful woman in the green suit was walking away.

John was torn.

Yet he looked again at the woman who was wearing the red rose. He remembered her letters and what a fascinating a person she was. He remembered how wonderful her words made him feel. He told himself, “This may not be love. But this may be more than love. This will be a beautiful friendship with a lovely person.”

He walked up to her, straightened himself, handed the book to her and said, “My name is Lieutenant John Blanchard. You must be Ms. Hollis Maynell. I’m so glad you could meet me. May I have dinner with you tonight?”

The woman smiled. “I don’t know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit asked me to wear this red rose on my coat. She also said that if you asked me out for dinner, she said she’d be waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!”