You'll Get Exactly What You Expect

I remember a young lady who went to work for a company immediately after graduating from college. She seemed extremely talented but unbelievably timid.

She was assigned to a division-level marketing department where she assisted in the production of advertising and collateral material. Her supervisor associated her shyness with a lack of technical and conceptual skills. As a result, she was never included in brainstorming or planning sessions. The supervisor thought she was best suited to simple graphics layout and paste-up.

Frustrated that her talents were squandered on simple tasks, she applied to the corporate marketing department. The vice-president reviewed her resume and transferred her without interviewing her at length. His concept of the young lady was positive and assigned her to a series of important, key projects. She performed magnificently.

A few months later, the original supervisor was in the vice-president's office admiring the new corporate ad campaign. The project consisted of television and radio commercials, full-page ads for national publications and complete press kits. The supervisor asked, "What kind of a Madison Avenue rain-maker worked this kind of magic?" The VP replied, "This was all completed by that young lady you sent me. That was the best move I ever made!"

This is but one example of the dozens of cases I can document where individuals were literally hobbled by low or incorrect expectations. In many instances, the mind set of a co-worker or supervisor can restrict an employee's ability to become an excellent performer.

This cause-and-effect model applies to all aspects of our lives. The neighbor's young son asked if he could mow my yard. I told him I would talk to his dad first. The father said, "I don't think he can handle a mower. I never let him near mine. Go ahead if you like." I assured him I would watch his son closely and be certain he could handle the equipment safely.

The boy not only knew how to handle the mower, but did such a good job, I asked him to help each week. His dad was amazed. "I never would have guessed," he said. "You should have given him a chance," I suggested.

by : Bruce D. Zimmerman, Source Unknown

Trees That Wood

Once there were three trees on a hill in the woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, “Someday I hope to be a treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems. I could be decorated with intricate carving and everyone would see the beauty.”

Then the second tree said, “Someday I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull.”

Finally the third tree said, “I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me.”

After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. When one came to the first tree he said, “This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter” ... and he began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.

At the second tree a woodsman said, “This looks like a strong tree, I should be able to sell it to the shipyard.” The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.

When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down his dreams would not come true. One of the woodsmen said, “I don't need anything special from my tree so I'll take this one”, and he cut it down.

When the first tree arrived at the carpenters, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for. The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark. The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.

Then one day, a man and woman came to the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time. Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said "Peace" and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the King of Kings in its boat.

Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible, because Jesus had been crucified on it.

The moral of this story is that when things don't seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you. If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts. Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined. We don't always know what God's plans are for us. We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always best.

God Is At The Window

There was a little boy visiting his grandparents on their farm. He was given a slingshot to play with out in the woods. He practiced in the woods, but he could never hit the target. Getting a little discouraged, he headed back to dinner. As he was walking back he saw Grandma's pet duck. Just out of impulse, he let the slingshot fly, hit the duck square in the head, and killed it. He was shocked and grieved. In a panic, he hid the dead duck in the wood pile, only to see his sister watching. Diane had seen it all, but she said nothing.

After lunch the next day Grandma said, “Diane, let's wash the dishes.”

But Diane said, “Grandma, Johnny told me he wanted to help in the kitchen.”

Then she whispered to him, “Remember the duck?”

So Johnny did the dishes. Later that day, Grandpa asked if the children wanted to go fishing and Grandma said, “I'm sorry but I need Diane to help make supper.”

Diane just smiled and said, “Well that's all right because Johnny told me he wanted to help.”

She whispered again, “Remember the duck?”

So Diane went fishing and Johnny stayed to help. After several days of Johnny doing both his chores and Diane's he finally couldn't stand it any longer. He came to Grandma and confessed that he had killed the duck.

Grandma knelt down, gave him a hug, and said, “Sweetheart, I know. You see, I was standing at the window and I saw the whole thing. But because I love you, I forgave you. I was just wondering how long you would let Diane make a slave of you.”

Reflection :
“Thought for the day and everyday there after: Whatever is in your past, whatever you have done and the devil keeps throwing it up in your face (lying, debt, fear, haltred, anger, unforgiving, bitterness, etc.) Whatever it is, you need to know that God was standing at the window and He saw the whole thing, HE has seen your whole life. HE wants you to know that HE loves you and that you are forgiven. HE's just wondering how long you will let the devil make a slave of you. The great thing about God is that when you ask for forgiveness, He not only forgives you, but He forgets - It is by God's Grace and Mercy that we are saved.Go ahead and make the difference in someone's life today.”

Share this with a friend and always remember... God is at the window

Beggar And Bread

A beggar came and sat before me. “I want bread,” he said.

“How wise you are,” I assured him. “Bread is what you need. And you have come to the right bakery.” So I pulled my cookbook down from my shelf and began to tell him all I knew about bread.

I spoke of flour and wheat, of grain and barley. My knowledge impressed even me as I cited the measurements and recipe. When I looked up, I was surprised to see he wasn't smiling. “I just want bread,” he said.

“How wise you are.” I applauded his choice. “Follow me, and I'll show you our bakery.” Down the hallowed halls I guided him, pausing to point out the rooms where the dough is prepared and the ovens where the bread is baked.

“No one has such facilities. We have bread for every need. But here is the best part,” I proclaimed as I pushed open two swinging doors. “This is our room of inspiration.” I knew he was moved as we stepped into the auditorium full of stained-glass windows.

The beggar didn't speak. I understood his silence. With my arm around his shoulder, I whispered, “It overwhelms me as well.” I then leaped to the podium and struck my favorite pose behind the lectern.

“People come from miles to hear me speak. Once a week, my workers gather, and I read to them the recipe from the cookbook of life.”

By now the beggar had taken a seat on the front row. I knew what he wanted. "would you like to hear me?"

"No," he said, "but I would like some bread."

"How wise you are," I replied. And I led him to the front door of the bakery.

"What I have to say next is very important," I told him as we stood outside.

"Up and down this street you will find many bakeries. But take heed; they dont serve the true bread. I know of one who adds two spoons of salt rather than one. I know of another whose oven is three degrees too hot. They may call it bread," I warned, "but it's not according to the book."

The beggar turned and began walking away. "Don't you want bread?" I asked him.

He stopped, looked back at me, and shrugged, "I guess I lost my appetite."

I shook my head and returned to my office. "What a shame," I said to myself. "The world just isn't hungry for true bread anymore."

Carl’s Garden

Carl was a quiet man. He didn’t talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.

Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WW II. Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WW II, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister’s residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up. He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened.

He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, “Would you like a drink from the hose?”

The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, “Yeah, sure”, with a malevolent little smile. As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl’s arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl’s assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled. Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg.

He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him. Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn’t get there fast enough to stop it. “Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?” the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet. Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head.

“Just some ignorant kids. I hope they’ll wise-up someday.” His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.

Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, “Carl, what are you doing?”

“I’ve got to finish my watering. It’s been very dry lately”, came the calm reply. Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.

A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink form his hose. This time they didn’t rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water.

When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done. Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormenters reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack. “Don’t worry old man, I’m not gonna hurt you this time.” The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl.

As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl. “What’s this?” Carl asked.

“It’s your stuff,” the man explained. “It’s your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet.”

“I don’t understand,” Carl said. “Why would you help me now?”

The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. “I learned some thing from you”, he said. “I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn’t hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate.” He stopped for a moment. “I couldn’t sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back.” He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say. “That bag’s my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess.” And with that, he walked off down the street.

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn’t know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church. The minister spoke of Carl’s garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, “Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden.”

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: “Person needed to care for Carl’s garden.” The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister’s office door. Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. “I believe this is my job, if you’ll have me,” the young man said.

The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He knew that Carl’s kindness had turned this man’s life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, “Yes, go take care of Carl’s garden and honor him.”

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done. In that time, he went to college, got married and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl’s memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn’t care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, “My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she’s bringing him home on Saturday.”

“Well, congratulations!” said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. “That’s wonderful! What’s the baby’s name?”

“Carl”, he responded.

A Rose For “Mbok” Bodro

JAKARTA (JP): Departing the house early has been one way for me to avoid traffic jams. The only trouble is, I always arrive at the office before the gate is opened. Therefore, I decided I needed to find somewhere to stop to wait. Hence my acquaintance with Mbok Bodro, a scavenger living in a cardboard shelter on a sidewalk one kilometer from my office.

When I stopped near her shelter for the first time, she looked at me suspiciously, thinking that I was one of the Kamtib (municipal security personnel) who intended to demolish her home. But then, upon realizing I was harmless, her attitude changed. She came across as a humorous woman with a throaty laugh. And easy going too. When I gave a name to the old cat she had been looking after, she laughed her head off. “You rich people are unbelievable! A cat is a cat, an animal that would never know its name. Why bother to give it one?”

Chatting with Mbok Bodro, who was better off when her husband was still alive, was a routine activity that I got to enjoy. She helped me kill the boring time waiting for the gate to open, with her jokes and her simple points of view. She often came up with funny stories about her experience as a scavenger.

One day, I brought her some fried rice for breakfast.

“Wow! High-class food!” she joked in her usual loudness.

“Tole will love this. He hasn’t had a decent meal for ages.”

“Who is Tole?” I asked uncomfortably. I brought the food for her, not for anybody else.

“He is our boy,” she answered happily.

“Our boy” turned out to be a 15-year-old orphan whose parents died in a flood two years ago. Mbok Bodro found the skinny, homeless boy roaming the streets of Jakarta, earning his bread and butter by singing at intersections. She took him home with her and built him a small shelter adjacent to hers.
Her fellow scavengers then pitched in to foster Tole and send him to school.

“He is such a smart boy. He is always number one in his class. Some day he will be an engineer or a doctor. He is our sweetheart and we are proud of him,” bragged Mbok Bodro lovingly as though she was talking about her own son.

I was amazed at how Mbok Bodro saw things in life. Poor as she was, she still had room for good deeds; something I never thought of trying. Her simple philosophy in helping others should be adopted by those who have abundant.

“Keeping more than you need is a burden. Why not share it with those in need?”

Frankly speaking, I myself find it hard to adopt her way of life, what with so many obligations I am saddled with in this demanding era of modernity. I have never thought of fostering an orphan, let alone erecting a home (whatever the condition) for one.

The idea of taking Tole home and giving him a better life did cross my mind.
It wouldn’t be a problem because I could afford it. But then I realized that taking him away would just rob Mbok Bodro and her fellow scavengers of all the pride and the joy they get from sharing his upbringing.

It is not relevant to do things Mbok Bodro’s way.
We can do good deeds in our own way, our own capacity. The trouble is, we frequently do it improperly.

A friend of mine, a journalist, was once invited to accompany a rich celebrity on her trip to hand out donations to the victims of a natural disaster. He almost quit the trip. First of all, he loathed the sight of the woman who didn’t show a trace of sensitivity on the situation. “Clad in an outfit of the latest trend, she looked like a walking advertisement for Emanuel Ungaro, Gucci, Cartier or Bvlgari. And the smell made me feel like I was sitting with Madonna, Naomi Campbell and Liz Taylor in a stretch limousine with all the windows closed,” my friend ranted.

“She came with a helping hand all right! But why should she flaunt such luxury in front of those in misery? And to think that she took along an army of journalists to cover her activity!”

Recently, the Jakarta municipality also did a good deed; it cleaned up the sidewalks to make the city look neat and clean so that people can better enjoy the city. Unfortunately the good deed removed Mbok Bodro from sight because her home was swept away.

I was shocked to find Mbok Bodro was no longer there. The people nearby said she was hauled onto a truck and her home was burned down along with all of her miserable belongings. Nobody had any idea where the poor scavengers were taken.

Now I have a boring time waiting for my office gate to open. Gone is the friend who made my day with her jokes and her simple words of wisdom. It makes me sick every time I think of what may have happened to her and her fellow scavengers, especially Tole, the future engineer.

But life goes on. I can’t possibly take control of what may happen. As Mbok Bodro once said, everybody is born with his or her fate predetermined. However, should you see her around this Valentine’s Day, please give her a rose for me. She might laugh her head off, because she has no idea what a rose means on this day. But give it to her anyway. She deserves it.

– Carl Chairul
form the Jakarta Post, February 13, 2000

A Fireman

In Phoenix, AZ. A 26-year-old mother stared down at her son who was dying of terminal leukaemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent she wanted her son to grow up and fulfil all his dreams.

Now that was no longer possible. The leukaemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son’s dreams to come true.

She took her son’s hand and asked, “Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grewup? Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?”

“Mommy, I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up.” Mom smiled back and said, “Let’s see if we can make your wish come true.”

Later that day she went to her local fire department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son’s final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her six-year-old son a ride around the block on a fire engine.

Fireman Bob said, “Look, we can do better than that. If you’ll have your son ready at seven o’clock Wednesday morning, we’ll make him an honorary fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! And if you’ll give us his sizes, we’ll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat-not a toy one-with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots. They’re all manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast.”

Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy, dressed him in his fire uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven. There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day an Billy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the paramedic’s van, and even the fire chief’s car. He was also videotaped for the local news program. Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible.

One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept that no one could die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition.

The chief replied, “We can do better than that. We’ll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favour? When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire? It’s just the fire department coming to see one of its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room?”

About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital and extended its ladder up to Billy’s third floor open window. Sixteen fire-fighters climbed up the ladder into Billy’s room. With his mother’s permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they loved him.

With his dying breath, Billy looked up at the fire chief and said, “Chief, am I really a fireman now?” “Billy, you are, and the Head Chief, Jesus, is holding your hand,” the chief said.

With those words, Billy smiled and said, “I know, He’s been holding my hand all day, and the angels have been singing.” He closed his eyes one last time.

A Cracked Pot

A water-bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master’s house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pot full of water in his master’s house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water-bearer one day by the stream.

“I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.”

“Why?” asked the bearer. “What are you ashamed of?”

“I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don’t get full value from your efforts,” the pot said.

The water-bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, “As we return to the master’s house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.”

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We’re all cracked pots. But if we will allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father’s table. In God’s great economy, nothing goes to waste.

So as we seek ways to minister together, and as God calls you to the tasks He has appointed for you, don’t be afraid of your flaws. Acknowledge them, and allow Him to take advantage of them, and you, too, can be the cause of beauty in His pathway.

Go out boldly, knowing that in our weakness we find His strength, and that “In Him every one of God’s promises is a Yes.”

Another thought for you:
a perfection may in the long run be an imperfection, depending on how one looks at it.

God’s Under The Bed

My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed.  At least that's what I heard him say one night.  He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped outside his closed door to listen.  "Are you there, God?" he said.  "Where are you?  Oh, I see.  Under the bed."  I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room.

Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement.  But that night something else lingered long after the humor.  I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.  He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor.  Apart from his size (he's 6'2"), there are few ways in which he is an adult.  He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7 year old, and he always will.  He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas, and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different.  Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?  Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, returning to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.  The only variation in the entire scheme are laundry days, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.

He does not seem dissatisfied.  He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05 eager for a day of simple work.  He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.  And Saturdays -- oh, the bliss of Saturdays!  That's the day my dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside.  "That one's goin' to Chi-car-go!" Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.  His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

I don't think Kevin knows anything exists outside his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.  He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.  His life is simple.  He will never know the entanglements of wealth or power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats.  He recognizes no differences in people, treating each person as an equal and a friend.  His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.

His hands are diligent.  Kevin is never so happy as when he is working.  When he  unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it.  He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished.  But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.  He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others.

His heart is pure.  He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.  Free from pride and  unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry.  He is always transparent, always sincere.

And he trusts God.  Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child.  Kevin seems to know God -- to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an "educated" person to grasp.  God seems like his closest companion.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity, I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.  It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.  It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap -- I am.  My obligations, my fears, my pride, my circumstances -- they all become disabilities when I do not submit them to Christ.

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn?  After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of the Lord.  And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.

Kevin won't be surprised at all. 

The Master’s Hand

Wishing to encourage her young son's progress on the piano, a mother took the small boy to a Paderewski concert.  After they were seated, the mother spotted a friend in the audience and walked down the aisle to greet her.  Seizing the opportunity to explore the wonders of the concert hall, the little boy rose and eventually explored his way through a door marked "NO ADMITTANCE."

When the house lights dimmed and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her seat and discovered that her son was missing.  Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights focused on the impressive Steinway on stage.  In horror, the mother saw her little boy sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."  At that moment, the great piano master made his entrance, quickly moved to the piano, and whispered in the boy's ear, "Don't quit, keep playing." 

Then leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part.  Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child and he added a running obligatio.  Together, the old master and the young novice transformed a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience.  The audience was mesmerized.

That's the way it is with God.   What we can accomplish on our own is hardly noteworthy.  We try our best, but the results aren't exactly graceful flowing music.  But with the hand of the Master, our life's work truly can be beautiful.  Next time you set out to accomplish great feats, listen carefully.  You can hear the voice of the Master, whispering in your ear, "Don't quit, keep playing."  Feel His loving arms around you.  Know that His strong hands are playing the concerto of your life.  Remember, God doesn't call the equipped, He equips the called. 

God Knows Just What We Need

A woman was at work when she received a phone call that her daughter was very sick with a fever. She left her work and stopped by the pharmacy to get some medication for her daughter. Upon returning to her car she found that she had locked her keys in the car. She was in a hurry to get home to her sick daughter. She didn't know what to do, so she called her home and told the baby sitter what had happened and that she did not know what to do.

The baby sitter told her that her daughter was getting worse. She said, "You might find a coat hanger and use that to open the door." The woman looked around and found an old rusty coat hanger that had been thrown down on the ground, possibly by someone else who at some time or other had locked their keys in their car. Then she looked at the hanger and said, "I don't know how to use this." So she bowed her head and asked God to send her some help.

Within five minutes an old rusty car pulled up, with a dirty, greasy, bearded man who was wearing an old biker skull rag on his head. The woman thought, "This is what you sent to help me?" But, she was desperate, so she was also very thankful. The man got out of his car and asked her if he could help. She said, "Yes, my daughter is very sick. I stopped to get her some medication and I locked my keys in my car. I must get home to her. Please, can you use this hanger to unlock my car?"

He said, "Sure". He walked over to the car, and in less than one minute the car was opened. She hugged the man and through her tears she said, "Thank You So Much! You are a very nice man."

The man replied, "Lady, I am not a nice man. I just got out of prison yesterday. I was in prison for car theft and have only been out less than 24 hours."

The woman hugged the man again and with sobbing tears cried out loud, "Oh, Thank you God! You even sent me a Professional!"

God may not always send us what we expect, but He will always send us what we need. It's up to us to have the wisdom to recognize the difference and be thankful.

Earthly Threasure

Knowing he would die soon, a rich man had all his assets converted into gold bars, put them in a big bag on his bed, draped his body over the bag of gold, and breathed his last. When he woke up, he was at the gate of Heaven.

Saint Peter met him at the gate and with a concerned look on his face said, "Well, I see you actually managed to get here with something from earth! But unfortunately, you can't bring that in."

"Oh please, sir," said the man. "I must have it. It means everything to me."

"Sorry, my friend," said Saint Peter. "If you want to keep that bag, then I'm afraid you'll have to go to, you know, the other place. You don't want to go there, believe me."

"Well, I won't part with this bag."

"Have it your way," returned Peter. "But before you go, would you mind if I looked in the bag to see what it is that you're willing to trade eternal life for?"

"Sure," said the man. "You'll see. I could never part with this."

Saint Peter looked in the bag and with a puzzled look on his face said to the man, "You're willing to go to hell for... pavement?"

Where to take it from here...

What's coming between you and God? Your money? Your possessions? Your status? Your friends? Your fun? You may be sure that none of it can compare with what God has prepared for you (1 Corinthians 2:9).

"What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?" (Matthew 16:26).

Untitled

After a few of the usual Sunday evening hymns, the church's pastor slowly stood up, walked over to the pulpit and, before he gave his sermon for the evening, briefly introduced a guest minister who was in the service that evening.  In the introduction, the pastor told the congregation that the guest minister was one of his dearest childhood friends and that he wanted him to have a few moments to greet the church and share whatever he felt would be appropriate for the service.

With that, an elderly man stepped up to the pulpit and began to speak.  "A father, his son, and a friend of his son were sailing off the Pacific Coast," he began, "when a fast approaching storm blocked any attempt to get back to shore.  The waves were so high that, even though the father was an experienced sailor, he could not keep the boat upright, and the three were swept into the ocean as the boat capsized."

The old man hesitated for a moment, making eye contact with two teenagers who were, for the first time since the service began, looking somewhat interested in the story.  The aged minister continued with his story.  "Grabbing a rescue line, the father had to make the most excruciating decision of his life:  to which boy he would throw the other end of the life line.  He only had seconds to make the decision.  The father knew that his son was a Christian, and he also knew that his son's friend was not.  The agony of his decision could not be matched by the torrent of the waves.  As the father yelled out, 'I love you, son!', he threw out the life line to the son's friend.  By the time the father had pulled the friend back to the capsized boat, his son had disappeared beneath the raging swells into the black of night.  His body was never recovered."

By this time, the two teenagers were sitting up straight in the pew, anxiously waiting for the next words to come out of the old minister's mouth.  "The father," he continued, "knew his son would step into eternity with Jesus, and he could not bear the thought of his son's friend stepping into an eternity without Jesus.  Therefore, he sacrificed his son to save the son's friend.  How great is the love of God that He could do the same for us.  Our heavenly Father sacrificed His only begotten Son that we could be saved.  I urge you to accept His offer to rescue you and take hold of the life line."

With that, the old man turned and sat back down in his chair as silence filled the room.  The pastor again walked slowly to the pulpit and delivered a brief sermon with an invitation at the end.  However, no one responded to the appeal.  Within minutes after the service, the two teenagers were at the old man's side.  "That was a nice story," politely said one of the boys, "but I don't think it was very realistic for a father to give up his only son's life in hopes that the other boy would become a Christian."

"Well, you've got a point there," the old man replied, glancing down at his worn Bible.  Sorrow began to overtake the old man's smiling face as he once again looked up at the boys and said, "It sure isn't very realistic, is it?  But I'm here today to tell you that I understand more than most the pain God must have felt to give up His only Son.  For you see, I'm the man who lost  his son to the ocean that day, and my son's friend that I chose to save is your pastor."

Teacup Story

There was a couple who took a trip to England to shop in a beautiful antique store to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. They both liked antiques and pottery, and especially teacups. Spotting an exceptional cup, they asked "May we see that? We've never seen a cup quite so beautiful."

As the lady handed it to them, suddenly the teacup spoke, "You don't understand. I have not always been a teacup. There was a time when I was just a lump of red clay. My master took me and rolled me pounded and patted me over and over and I yelled out, 'Don't do that. I don't like it! Let me alone.' But he only smiled, and gently said; 'Not yet!'" "Then. WHAM! I was placed on a spinning wheel and suddenly I was spun around and around and around. 'Stop it! I'm getting so dizzy! I'm going to be sick,' I screamed. But the master only nodded and said, quietly; 'Not yet.'

"He spun me and poked and prodded and bent me out of shape to suit himself and then… Then he put me in the oven. I never felt such heat. I yelled and knocked and pounded at the door. Help! Get me out of here! I could see him through the opening and I could read his lips as he shook his head from side to side, 'Not yet'."

"When I thought I couldn't bear it another minute, the door opened. He carefully took me out and put me on the shelf, and I began to cool. Oh, that felt so good! Ah, this is much better, I thought. But, after I cooled he picked me up and he brushed and painted me all over. The fumes were horrible. I thought I would gag. 'Oh, please; Stop it, Stop it!' I cried. He only shook his head and said. 'Not yet!'."

"Then suddenly he put me back in to the oven. Only it was not like the first one. This was twice as hot and I just knew I would suffocate. I begged. I pleaded. I screamed. I cried. I was convinced I would never make it. I was ready to give up. Just then the door opened and he took me out and again placed me on the shelf, where I cooled and waited ------- and waited, wondering "What's he going to do to me next? An hour later he handed me a mirror and said 'Look at yourself.'"

"And I did. I said, 'That's not me; that couldn't be me. It's beautiful. I'm beautiful!'

Quietly he spoke: 'I want you to remember, then,' he said, 'I know it hurt to be rolled and pounded and patted, but had I just left you alone, you'd have dried up. I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled. I know it hurt and it was hot and disagreeable in the oven, but if I hadn't put you there, you would have cracked. I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over, but if I hadn't done that, you never would have hardened. You would not have had any color in your life. If I hadn't put you back in that second oven, you wouldn't have survived for long because the hardness would not have held. Now you are a finished product. Now you are what I had in mind when I first began with you."

The moral of this story is this: God knows what He's doing for each of us. He is the potter, and we are His clay. He will mold us and make us, and expose us to just enough pressures of just the right kinds that we may be made into a flawless piece of work to fulfill His good, pleasing and perfect will. So when life seems hard, and you are being pounded and patted and pushed almost beyond endurance; when your world seems to be spinning out of control; when you feel like you are in a fiery furnace of trials; when life seems to "stink", try this....

Brew a cup of your favorite tea in your prettiest teacup, sit down and think on this story and then, have a little talk with the Potter.

Traffic Ticket

Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone. Fourth time in as many months. How could a guy get caught so often?

When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour, Jack pulled over, but only partially. Let the cop worry about the potential traffic hazard. Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror. The cop was stepping out of his car, the big pad in hand. Bob? Bob from church? Jack sunk farther into his trench coat.

This was worse than the coming ticket. A Christian cop catching a guy from his own church. A guy who happened to be a little anxious to get home after a long day at the office. A guy he was about to play golf with tomorrow.

Jumping out of the car, he approached a man he saw every Sunday, a man he'd never seen in uniform. "Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this."

"Hello, Jack." No smile.

"Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife and kids."

"Yeah, I guess." Bob seemed uncertain. Good.

"I've seen some long days at the office lately. I'm afraid I bent the rules a bit-just this once." Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement.

"Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes tonight. Know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean. I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct."

Ouch! This was not going in the right direction. Time to change tactics. "What'd you clock me at?"

"Seventy-one. Would you sit back in your car, please?"

"Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as I saw you. I was barely nudging 65."

The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket.

"Please, Jack, in the car."

Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard. He was in no rush to open the window. The minutes ticked by. Bob scribbled away on the pad. Why hadn't he asked for a driver's license? Whatever the reason, it would be a month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near this cop again.

A tap on the door jerked his head to the left. There was Bob, a folded paper in hand. Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches, just enough room for Bob to pass him the slip.

"Thanks." Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice. Bob returned to his car without a word. Jack watched his retreat in the mirror. Jack unfolded the sheet of paper. How much was this one going to cost? Wait a minute. What was this? Some kind of joke? Certainly not a ticket.

Jack began to read: "Dear Jack, Once upon a time I had a daughter. She was six when killed by a car. You guessed it – a speeding driver. A fine and three months in jail, and the man was free. Free to hug his daughters. All three of them. I only had one, and I'm going to have to wait until heaven before I can ever hug her again. A thousand times I've tried to forgive that man. A thousand times I thought I had. Maybe I did, but I need to do it again. Even now. . . Pray for me. And be careful. My son is all I have left. Bob"

Jack twisted around in time to see Bob's car pull away and head down the road. Jack watched until it disappeared. A full 15 minutes later, he, too, pulled away and drove slowly home, praying for forgiveness and hugging a surprised wife and kids when he arrived. Life is precious. Handle with care.

Angels

Two traveling angels stopped to spend the night in the home of a wealthy family. The family was rude and refused to let the angels stay in the mansion's guest room. Instead the angels were given a space in the cold basement.

As they made their bed on the hard floor, the older angel saw a hole in the wall and repaired it. When the younger angel asked why, the older angel replied..."Things aren't always what they seem". The next night the pair came to rest at the house of a very poor, but very hospitable farmer and his wife. After sharing what little food they had the couple let the angels sleep in their bed where they could have a good night's rest. When the sun came up the next morning the angels found the farmer and his wife in tears. Their only cow, whose milk had been their sole income, lay dead in the field.

The younger angel was infuriated and asked the older angel "how could you have let this happen!? The first man had everything, yet you helped him," she accused. "The second family had little but was
willing to share everything, and you let their cow die."

"Things aren't always what they seem," the older angel replied. "When we stayed in the basement of the mansion, I noticed there was gold stored in that hole in the wall. Since the owner was so obsessed with greed and unwilling to share his good fortune, I sealed the wall so he wouldn't find it. Then last night as we slept in the farmers bed, the angel of death came for his wife. I gave her the cow instead. Things aren't always what they seem."

Sometimes this is exactly what happens when things don't turn out the way they should. If you have faith, you just need to trust that every outcome is always to your advantage. You might not know it until some time later.

Roses And Thorns

A certain man planted a rose and watered it faithfully, and before it blossomed, he examined it. He saw the bud that would soon blossom and also the thorns. And he thought, "How can any beautiful flower come from a plant burdened with so many sharp thorns?" Saddened by this thought, he neglected to water the rose, and before it was ready to bloom, it died.

So it is with many people. Within every soul there is a rose. The God-like qualities planted in us at birth grow amid the thorns of our faults. Many of us look at ourselves and see only the thorns, the defects. We despair, thinking that nothing good can possibly come from us. We neglect to water the good within us, and eventually it dies. We never realize our potential. Some people do not see the rose within themselves; someone else must show it to them.

One of the greatest gifts a person can possess is to be able to reach past the thorns and find the rose within others. This is the characteristic of love, to look at a person, and knowing his faults, recognize the nobility in his soul, and help him realize that he can overcome his faults. If we show him the rose, he will conquer the thorns. Our duty in this world is to help others by showing them their roses and not their thorns. Only then can we achieve the love we should feel for each other; only then can we bloom in our own garden.

Lucky

Anyone who has pets will really like this. You'll like it even if you don't and may decide you need one. Mary and her husband Jim had a dog, Lucky. Lucky was a real character. Whenever Mary and Jim had company come for a weekend visit they would warn their friends to not leave their luggage open because Lucky would help himself to whatever struck his fancy. Inevitably someone would forget and something would come up missing. Mary or Jim would go to Lucky's toy box in the basement and there the treasure would be, amid all of Lucky's favorite toys. Lucky always stashed his finds in his toy box and he was very particular that his toys stay in the box.

It happened that Mary found out she had breast cancer. Something told her she was going to die of this disease...she was just sure it was fatal. She scheduled the double mastectomy, fear riding her shoulders.

The night before she was to go to the hospital she cuddled with Lucky. A thought struck her...what would happen to Lucky? Although the three-year-old dog liked Jim he was Mary's dog through and through. If I die Lucky will be abandoned, Mary thought. He won't understand that I didn't want to leave him. The thought made her sadder than thinking of her own death.

The double mastectomy was harder on Mary than her doctors had anticipated and Mary was hospitalized for over two weeks. Jim took Lucky for his evening walk faithfully but the dog just drooped, whining and miserable. But finally the day came for Mary to leave the hospital. When she arrived home, Mary was so exhausted she couldn't even make it up the steps to her bedroom. Jim made his wife comfortable on the couch and left her to nap. Lucky stood watching Mary but he didn't come to her when she called. It made Mary sad but sleep soon overcame her and she dozed.

When Mary woke for a second she couldn't understand what was wrong. She couldn't move her head and her body felt heavy and hot. Panic soon gave way to laughter though when Mary realized the problem. She was covered, literally blanketed in every treasure Lucky owned! While she had slept the sorrowing dog had made trip after trip to the basement and back bringing his beloved mistress his favorite things in life. He had covered her with his love. Mary forgot about dying. Instead she and Lucky began living again, walking further and further together every night. It's been 12 years now and Mary is still cancer-free. Lucky? He still steals treasures and stashes them in his toy box but Mary remains his greatest treasure.

Live everyday to the fullest...because every day is a blessing from God! He covers you with His treasures and His love!

Hugs,
May you always have work for your hands to do.
May your pockets hold always a coin or two.
May the sun shine bright on your windowpane.
May the rainbow be certain to follow each rain.
May the hand of a friend always be near you.
And may God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

Three Trees

Once upon a mountaintop, 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 twinkling like diamonds above him. "I want to hold treasure," he said. "I want to be covered with gold and filled with precious stones.  I will 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 a strong sailing ship," he said. "I want to travel mighty waters and carry powerful kings.  I will 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 this mountaintop at all," she said. "I want to grow so tall that when people stop to look at me they will raise their eyes to heaven and think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world!"

Years passed. The rains 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 shining axe, the first tree fell. "Now I shall be made into a beautiful chest," thought the first tree.  "I shall hold wonderful treasures."

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

The first tree rejoiced when the woodcutter brought him to a carpenter's shop.  But the busy carpenter was not thinking about treasure chests.  Instead, his work-worn hands fashioned the tree into a feed box for animals.  The once beautiful tree was not covered with gold or filled with treasure.  He was coated with sawdust and filled with hay for hungry farm animals.

The second tree smiled when the woodcutter took him to a shipyard, but no mighty ships were being made that day.  Instead, the once strong tree was hammered and sawed into a simple fishing boat. Too small and too weak to sail an ocean or even a river, he was taken to a little lake.  Every day he brought in loads of dead, smelly fish.

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 to do was stay on the mountaintop and point to God."

Many days and nights 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 feed box.  "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 sturdy wood.

"This manger is beautiful," she said.  And suddenly the first tree knew he was holding the greatest treasure in the world.

Years passed.  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 crashing storm arose.  The little tree shuddered.  He knew he did not have the strength to carry so many passengers safely through the wind and 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 he 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 first tree beautiful.

It had made the second tree strong.

And every time people thought of the third tree, they would think of God.

The Cracked Pot

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck.  One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the masters house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years, this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master's house.  Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments ... perfect to the end for which it was made.  But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.  "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."

"Why?" asked the bearer.  "What are you ashamed of?"

"I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house.  Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some.  But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again, the pot apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?  That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it.  I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them.  For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table.  Without you being just the way you are, he would not have had this beauty to grace his house."

Each of us has our own unique flaws.  We're all cracked pots.  But if we will allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father's table.  In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste.  Don't be afraid of your flaws.  Acknowledge them, and you too can be the cause of beauty.  Know that in our weakness we find our strength.