John 3:16

A little boy was selling newspapers on the corner, the people were in and out of the cold. The little boy was so cold that he wasn't trying to sell many papers. He walked up to a policeman and said, "Mister, you wouldn't happen to know where a poor boy could find a warm place to sleep tonight would you? You see, I sleep in a box up around the corner there and down the alley and it's awful cold in there for tonight.

Sure would be nice to have a warm place to stay."

"God sends miracles everyday. We just have to train our eyes to be aware of them"

The policeman looked down at the little boy and said, "You go down the street to that big white house and you knock on the door. When they come out the door you just say John 3:16, and they will let you in."

So he did. He walked up the steps and knocked on the door, and a lady answered. He looked up and said, "John 3:16." The lady said, "Come on in, Son."

She took him in and she sat him down in a split bottom rocker in front of a great big old fireplace, and she went off. The boy sat there for a while and thought to himself: I don't understand it, but it sure makes a cold boy warm.

Later she came back and asked him "Are you hungry?"

He said, "Well, just a little. I haven't eaten in a couple of days, and I guess I could stand a little bit of food," The lady took him in the kitchen and sat him down to a table full of wonderful food. He ate and ate until he couldn't eat any more. Then he thought to himself: Boy, I sure don't understand it but it sure makes a hungry boy full.

She took him upstairs to a bathroom to a huge bathtub filled with warm water, and he sat there and soaked for a while. As he soaked, he thought to himself: I sure don't understand it, but it sure makes a dirty boy clean. You know, I've not had a bath, a real bath, in my whole life. The only bath I ever had was when I stood in front of that big old fire hydrant as they flushed it out. The lady came in and got him. She took him to a room, tucked him into a big old feather bed, pulled the covers up around his neck, kissed him goodnight and turned out the lights. As he lay in the darkness and looked out the window at the snow coming down on that cold night, he thought to himself: I don't understand it but it sure makes a tired boy rested.

The next morning the lady came back up and took him down again to that same big table full of food. After he ate, she took him back to that same big old split bottom rocker in front of the fireplace and picked up a big old Bible.

She sat down in front of him and looked into his young face. "Do you understand John 3:16?" she asked gently. He replied, "No, Ma'am, I don't. The first time I ever heard it was last night when the policeman told me to use it," She opened the Bible to John 3:16 and began to explain to him about Jesus. Right there, in front of that big old fireplace, he gave his heart and life to Jesus. He sat there and thought: Don't understand it, but it sure makes a lost boy feel safe.

You know, I have to confess I don't understand it either, how God was willing to send His Son to die for me, and how Jesus would agree to do such a thing. I don't understand the agony of the Father and every angel in heaven as they watched Jesus suffer and die. I don't understand the intense love for ME that kept Jesus on the cross till the end. I don't understand it, but it sure does make life worth living.

John 3:16 : For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

Amen.

In Everything I Give

The night shift had finally ended. It was one of the worst nights I could remember in 10 years. No matter what I had done, it didn't seem as if I had accomplished anything of value. The hospital was unusually full, and the patients especially needy. Eight hours weren't enough time to get all my tasks completed, so I'd stayed an extra hour to finish. I drove home crying in frustration, nerve fibers stretched to maximum exhaustion.

Too tired to walk into the house, I sat on the front porch well past the hour of dawn's coolness and rocked in the wicker chair, oblivious to the weight-bearing heat on my skin. Devoid of energy, there was nothing left for me to do but to allow the sun's rays to warm me, wishing I was one of those people who didn't get so emotionally involved with my patients. I gripped the rounded curves of the oversized arms and pushed myself back and forth, chanting, "Why, why?" with the creaking rhythm.

My heart had been torn to shreds by a gentle giant whose illness I couldn't stop, whose pain I couldn't halt. Cancer had been invading his body cell by cell and all the years of training and experience and all the magical pills and potions couldn't stop it. Isaiah was dying. Nature was taking its course, and man had no power to reverse it.

A look of wide-eyed surprise and stiffening of his body were the only clues that he was suffering. He'd clutch his stomach and call out, "Lord, take it away. Please, Lord, take it away." The prescribed medication wasn't touching the racking pain rolling in waves through his system. Helplessly I gripped his hand and prayed aloud with him until the bout of agony had ended. The night crept along, second by second, as Isaiah waited for the next attack to render him helpless, knowing that death, ever vigilant, lurked in the shadows. When I turned him to his side to make him more comfortable, swaddled with pillows, he squeezed my fingers and repeated, "Oh, God is so good. God is so good. Thank you, miss. Thank you."

When he had an episode of heavy bleeding from his wounds, he was bathed, dressings were changed, and his linens were replaced, but still he didn't complain. When asked what could be done for him, he replied, "I just want to sit and talk to my Master. I need to talk to my Master right now." He lay back, eyes closed, and murmured prayers of worship. During brief interludes of respite we held hands, patient and nurse, the words spilling over from my heart. My tears fell on my lap as I leaned over Isaiah to fix yet another bleeding wound, reminded of someone else who had suffered over 2,000 years ago. Had the women of Jerusalem felt this same anguish? Had they railed about their own impotence as did I?

I was the silent witness to Isaiah's Calvary. Nursing care could temporarily beat back the discomfort, but he alone would walk the final walk with God. To be in communion with his Creator in preparation for their meeting was a sacred rite that couldn't be trespassed upon by mere mortals. Before I left him to the care of the day shift, I tiptoed into his room and kissed both his cheeks. Words were unnecessary, but I wanted to open my heart.

"You are one of the bravest people I know, Isaiah. You have every right to whine to God about your situation, but, you pray for Him to be with you and to hold you in His arms while you suffer. You have opened a window for me and through it I have seen a glimpse of what it must have been like for Jesus. You are my hero."

A tear rolled down his face and he gripped my hands. "I am looking forward to seeing you in heaven," he whispered. Nodding my head, I left his side. Safe on my porch, I asked for forgiveness for all the times I had complained about insignificant problems in my life, for my doubting and questioning. Then I prayed for grace to walk my walk with the same dignity and faith as did Isaiah. Rising from the chair, I felt the peace that comes when one has witnessed the work of God, and I gave praise.

"Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your request known to God." (Phil 4:6)

By Irene Budzynski