Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The Water of Life



It was one of the hottest days of the dry season. We had not seen rain in almost a month. The crops were dying. Cows had stopped giving milk. The creeks and streams were long gone back into the earth. It was a dry season that would bankrupt several farmers before it was through. Every day, my husband and his brothers would go about the arduous process of trying to get water to the fields. Lately this process had involved taking a truck to the local water rendering plant and filling it up with water. But severe rationing had cut everyone off. If we didn't see some rain soon... we would lose everything.

It was on this day that I learned the true lesson of sharing and witnessed the only miracle I have seen with my own eyes. I was in the kitchen making lunch for my husband and his brothers when I saw my six-year old son, Billy, walking toward the woods. He wasn't walking with the usual carefree abandon of a youth but with a serious purpose. I could only see his back. He was obviously walking with a great effort... trying to be as still as possible. Minutes after he disappeared into the woods, he came running out again, toward the house. I went back to making sandwiches; thinking that whatever task he had been doing was completed.

Moments later, however, he was once again walking in that slow purposeful stride toward the woods. This activity went on for over an hour: walking carefully to the woods, then running back to the house. Finally, my curiosity got the best of me. I crept out of the house and followed him on his journey (being very careful not to be seen... as he was obviously doing something important and didn't need his Mommy checking-up on him).

He was cupping both hands in front of him as he walked; being very careful not to spill the water he held in them... maybe two or three tablespoons were held in his tiny hands. I sneaked closer as he went into the woods. Branches and thorns slapped his little face but he did not try to avoid them. He had a much greater purpose. As I leaned in to spy on him, I saw the most amazing site.

Several large deer loomed in front of him. Billy walked right up to them. I almost screamed for him to get away. A huge buck with elaborate antlers was dangerously close. But the buck did not threaten him... he didn't even move as Billy knelt down. And I saw a tiny fawn laying on the ground, obviously suffering from dehydration and heat exhaustion, lift its head with great effort to lap up the water cupped in my beautiful boy's hand.

When the water was gone, Billy jumped up to run back to the house and I hid behind a tree. I followed him back to the house; to a spigot that we had shut off the water to. Billy opened it all the way up and a small trickle of water began to creep out. He knelt there, letting each drip of water slowly fill up his makeshift "cup," as the sun beat down on his little back. It was just last week he was punished for playing with the garden hose, and received a stern lecture on the importance of not wasting water. So, I'm sure that is why he didn't ask me to help him.

It took almost twenty minutes for the drops to fill his hands. When he stood up and began the trek back, I was there in front of him. His little eyes just filled with tears. "I'm not wasting," was all he said. As he began his walk, I joined him... with a small pot of water from the kitchen. I let him tend to the fawn. I stayed away... it was his job.

I stood on the edge of the woods watching the most beautiful heart I have ever known working so hard to save a life. As the tears that rolled down my face began to hit the ground, they were suddenly joined by other drops... and more drops... and more. I looked up at the sky. It was as if God, Himself, was weeping with pride.

Some will probably say that this was all just a huge coincidence. That miracles don't really happen. That it was bound to rain sometime. And I can't argue with that... I'm not even going to try. All I can say is that the rain that came that day saved our farm... just like the actions of one little boy saved a life.

To Give and Receive



By Ginger Lingo, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida

More than anything I wanted a new bike. I dreamed about it every day while walking to school. My father was a pastor so we didn’t have much money. The only way I was going to get that bike was to earn my own money for it. So I worked hard, doing
odd jobs like babysitting, weeding and raking leaves. I stashed every penny I earned from those jobs and my allowance in my piggy bank.

Then one day at Sunday school our teacher told us of a letter she had received from Chile about a boy who had hepatitis. His missionary parents said he was recovering, but his spirits were still low. “Can you think of anything that might cheer him up?” our teacher asked us.

“A new bike!” the whole class exclaimed eagerly, and we agreed we would raise the money.

All week long I agonized over what to do. My conscience could only come up with one answer—give up my savings for the boy in Chile. So I emptied out my piggy bank and brought every cent to Sunday school. It was the hardest thing I had ever done, and maybe that’s why it felt so right.

In college years later I found myself praying for something even harder than I had prayed for the bike—a man meant just for me. All my friends were dating. Why wasn’t I?

Was God asking me to wait again?

At last I met someone named Steve. We had a lot in common. He went to the college where my father taught, and my roommate was engaged to his best friend. He was earnest, smart and hard-working. But I couldn’t help wondering, Is he really the one?

One evening our families got together for dinner, a chance for everybody to get to know each other better. Over dessert and coffee Steve’s mother talked about some of the places they had lived when they were missionaries. “Once when we were in Chile,” she said, “Steve got hepatitis. You know what cheered him up?”

Of course, I knew. He got a bike—my bike. And I got the husband I have been married to for 29 years.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Results or Excuses


Many years ago, I met a person who gave me a word of advice that I'll never forget. He said, "In life, you either have results or excuses."

I think he was right. But these days ... his advice would not be considered "politically correct." After all, almost everyone these days seems to have a "justifiable" excuse for his/her own lack of results.

Nonetheless, I still think his comment is worthy of consideration ... that "In life, you either have results or excuses."

Think about his comment, and then think about all the people you know. How many of them get all the results they'd like? I'd venture to say ... not very many of them. And I'd also venture to say that one of the main reasons they don't get all the results they'd like is poor time management.

As a consultant and speaker to many, many organizations, I see it all the time. I see lots of activity ... with paltry results. I see people racing to meetings, and I see projects spinning out of control. I see people feeling overwhelmed, living in crisis mode, thinking that every task that crosses their path is somehow "important."
--Dr. Allan Zimmeran

Monday, April 18, 2011

IS YOUR HUT ON FIRE?



The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him. Every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming.. Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions. One day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, with smoke rolling up to the sky. He felt the worst had happened, and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief, grief, and anger. He cried out, "God! How could you do this to me?" Early the next day, he was awakened by the sound of a ship approaching the island! It had come to rescue him! "How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they replied.

The Moral of This Story:

It's easy to get discouraged when things are going bad, but we shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of our pain and suffering. Remember that the next time your little hut seems to be burning to the ground. It just may be a smoke signal that summons the Grace of God.

INVICTUS


By William Ernest Henly 1849-1903

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

THE SIX PILLARS OF CHARACTER



Courtesy of CharacterCounts.org

Trustworthiness - Be honest • Don’t deceive, cheat or steal • Be reliable — do what you say you’ll do • Have the courage to do the right thing • Build a good reputation • Be loyal — stand by your family, friends and country

Respect - Treat others with respect; follow the Golden Rule • Be tolerant of differences • Use good manners, not bad language • Be considerate of the feelings of others • Don’t threaten, hit or hurt anyone • Deal peacefully with anger, insults and disagreements

Responsibility - Do what you are supposed to do • Persevere: keep on trying! • Always do your best • Use self-control • Be self-disciplined • Think before you act — consider the consequences • Be accountable for your choices

Fairness - Play by the rules • Take turns and share • Be open-minded; listen to others • Don’t take advantage of others • Don’t blame others carelessly

Caring - Be kind • Be compassionate and show you care • Express gratitude • Forgive others • Help people in need

Citizenship - Do your share to make your school and community better • Cooperate • Stay informed; vote • Be a good neighbor • Obey laws and rules • Respect authority • Protect the environment

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Story of Teachers



The Good Lord was creating teachers. It was his 6th day of 'overtime' and He knew that this was a tremendous responsibility for teachers would touch the lives of so many impressionable young children. An angel appeared to Him and said, "You are taking a long time to figure this one out".

"Yes," said the Lord, "but have you read the specs on this order?"

A Teacher:

Must stand above all students, yet be on their level
Must be able to do 180 things not connected with the subjects being taught
Must run on coffee and leftovers
Must communicate vital knowledge to all students daily and be right most of the time
Must have more time for others than for themselves
Must have a smile that can endure pay cuts, problematic children and worried parents
Must go on teaching when parents question every move and others aren't supportive
Must have 6 pairs of hands
"Six pairs of hands," said the angel, "that's impossible".

"Well," said the Lord, "it's not the hands that are the problem. It's the three pairs of eyes that are presenting the most difficulty!"

The angel looked incredulous, "Three pairs of eyes… on a standard model?"

The Lord nodded his head, "One pair can see a student for what he is and not what others have labeled him as. Another pair of eyes is in the back of the teacher's head to see what shouldn't be seen, but what must be known. The eyes in the front are only to look at the child as he/she 'acts out' in order to reflect, "I understand and believe I still believe in you", without so much as saying a word to the child."

"Lord," said the angel, "this is a very large project and I think you should work on it tomorrow".

"I can't", said the Lord, "for I have come very close to creating something much like Myself. I have one that comes to work when he/she is sick… teaches a class of students that don't want to learn… has a special place in his/her heart for children who aren't their own… understands the struggles of those who have difficulty… never takes the students for granted… "

The angel looked closely at the model the Lord was creating. "It's too soft-hearted," said the angel.

"Yes", said the Lord, "but also tough. You can't imagine what this teacher can endure or do, if necessary".

"Can this teacher think?" asked the angel.

"Not only think," said the Lord, "but reason and compromise".

The angel came closer to have a better look at the model and ran his finger over the teacher's cheek. "Well Lord," said the angel, "your job looks fine, but there's a leak. I told you that you were putting too much into this model. You can't imagine the stress that will be placed upon the teacher."

The Lord moved closer and lifted the drop of moisture from the teacher's cheek. It shone and glistened in the light. "It's not a leak," He said, "It's a tear".

"A tear? What's that?" asked the angel, "What is a tear for?"

The Lord replied with great thought, "It's for the joy and pride of seeing a child accomplish even the smallest task. It's for the loneliness of children who have a hard time to fit in and it's for the compassion for the feelings of their parents. It comes from the pain of not being able to reach some children and the disappointment those children feels in themselves. It comes often when a teacher has been with a class for a year and must say goodbye to those students and get ready to welcome a new class."

"My," said the angel, "the tear is a great idea… you're a genius!!"

The Lord looked somber, "I didn't put it there…"

Thursday, April 7, 2011

ENTERTAINING AN ANGEL



This is true story as told to me by my wife...she was the woman in this story! She told me it at least five times, and I have attempted to describe via written prose the extraordinary events of that special day!

It was just another ordinary day as she performed her tasks at a large university as an administrator working with Hall Monitors and residents. It wasn't uncommon for students to pop in to say a welcomed "Hello" or the like.

This particular day would bring something entirely new her way. As the workday neared its end, she sat at her desk as she completed some paper work. She heard a sheepish giggle and looked up startled by what she saw.

This was not one of the many students that would drop in routinely to ask her a question about dorm life or complain about a given Hall Monitor. Standing there at the door of her office was a very short black man who, by most standards, would be considered unseemly to look at as he clearly had been born with birth defects.
He was unusually small and his face was deformed as he stood holding a cane.

Obviously his eyesight was impaired as well. Trying to keep her composure she asked, "Hello, can I help you with something?"

He smiled and replied, "No Ma'am, I just like to come to campus to make friends but most people won't talk to me because I think they are scared of me by the way I look."

Trying to be tactful, she replied, "Not at all! I am not scared of you. You look just fine to me." He giggled again as he placed his backpack on the floor. "Are you having a problem or is there something going on at your dorm that I can help you with?," she asked.

"No Ma'am. You see, I am not a student. I carry this backpack around with me so that the other students will talk with me and be my friend but I don't think it's working very well because no one wants to talk with me very long. I come to campus because there are alot of people here and I want to make friends."

As she looked at him, her eyes began to tear up but she desperately tried to hold her emotions back for fear that he would think she felt sorry for him. The conversation went on as he told her about himself and she told him more about her life and the things that had occurred while dealing with students.

His laugh was infectious and his childlike innocence was so delightful. Before she knew it, she realized that she no longer saw him in the same light as she first did. "Well, I think I've wasted enough of your time so I better leave. You have better things to do than talk with me."

As he reached down to the floor to pick up his backpack, she began to tear up again but this time the tears came not from her feeling sorry for him, but from the respect she had for his being so incredibly brave. Holding back the tears she stated, "You are one of the most kind and beautiful individuals that I've ever met. Promise me that you will come back and visit again as I enjoy talking with you. Do you promise?," she asked.

He smiled and callowly looked down for a moment. "Yes, I promise I will but I have a hard time climbing the stairs. Can I ask you a question Ma'am?" She stood up, as she wanted to shake his hand before he left and replied, "Of course you can. What do you want to know?"

He stood very still as his eyes turned her direction. "Did you really mean what you just said about me?," he asked. Without hesitation she quickly replied, "I've never said anything more true in all my life and I mean that!" He positioned his cane and began to walk out of the door but suddenly stopped and looked her way again.

"I can't see you very good, but for the first time in my life, I believe someone. Thanks for talking to me and being my friend. I'll be back, I believe in someone now!" As he walked slowly out of her office he giggled, smiled, and uttered very softly....."I believe."

"Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it." Hebrews 13:2

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Purpose of Brick Walls


Brick walls are there for a reason. The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the pople who don't want it bad enough. --Randy Pausch--Last Lecture

Glory is Fleeting


"For over a thousand years, Roman conquerors, returning from the wars, enjoyed the honor of a triumph, a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeters and musicians and strange animals from the conquered territories, together with carts latent with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphant chariot, the day's prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children, robed in white stood with him in the chariot or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror holding a golden crown and whispering in his ear a warning -- "ALL GLORY IS FLEETING."

From the last scene in "Patton"