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Thread: Just sharing.

  1. #2161
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    Cab ride


    Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy’s life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn’t realize was that it was also a ministry.

    Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep.

    But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night. I was responding to a call from a small brick four-plex in a quiet part of town.

    I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

    Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked. “Just a minute”, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened.

    A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knick-knacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

    “Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, and then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. “It’s nothing”, I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way would want my mother treated”.

    “Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said.

    When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”

    “It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.

    “Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.”

    I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. “I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.”

    I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to take?” I asked.

    For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

    Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”

    We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

    Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

    I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

    “How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.

    “Nothing,” I said.

    “You have to make a living,” she answered.

    “There are other passengers,” I responded.

    Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. “You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said, “Thank you.”

    I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

    I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?

    What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

    On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

    ------------

    "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." -- Maya Angelou

  2. #2162
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    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 WWII.

    Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, 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 punk 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 from 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 tormentors 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 something 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 who 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 who 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's 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'name?" "Carl," he replied.

    That's the whole gospel message simply stated.

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  4. #2164
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    Chain of love


    One day a man saw an old lady, stranded on the side of the road, but even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out.

    His old Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.

    Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe; he looked poor and hungry.

    He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you.

    He said, 'I'm here to help you, ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson.'

    Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt.

    As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid.

    Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. The lady asked how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Bryan never thought twice about being paid. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty, who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.

    He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed, and Bryan added, 'And think of me.'

    He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.

    A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed that the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude.

    The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan.

    After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a hundred dollar bill. The waitress quickly went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be.

    Then she noticed something written on the napkin. There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: 'You don't owe me anything. I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you.'

    Under the napkin were four more $100 bills.

    Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard.

    She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, 'Everything's going to be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.'

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    Character counts - a mitt romney story



    In July 1996, the 14-year-old daughter of Robert Gay, a partner of Mitt Romney at Bain Capital, had disappeared. She had attended a rave party in New York City and gotten high on ecstasy. Three days later, her distraught father had no idea where she was.

    Romney took immediate action. He closed down the entire firm and asked all 30 partners and employees to fly to New York to help find Gay’s daughter. Romney set up a command center at the LaGuardia Marriott and hired a private detective firm to assist with the search.

    He established a toll-free number for tips, coordinating the effort with the NYPD, and went through his Rolodex and called everyone Bain did business with in New York, and asked them to help find his friend’s missing daughter. Romney’s accountants at Price Waterhouse Cooper put up posters on street poles, while cashiers at a pharmacy owned by Bain put fliers in the bag of every shopper.

    Romney and the other Bain employees scoured every part of New York and talked with everyone they could – prostitutes, drug addicts – anyone. That day, their hunt made the evening news, which featured photos of the girl and the Bain employees searching for her.

    As a result, a teenage boy phoned in, asked if there was a reward, and then hung up abruptly. The NYPD traced the call to a home in New Jersey, where they found the girl in the basement, shivering and experiencing withdrawal symptoms from a massive ecstasy dose.

    Doctors later said the girl might not have survived another day. Romney’s former partner credits Mitt Romney with saving his daughter’s life, saying, “It was the most amazing thing, and I’ll never forget this to the day I die.”

    So, here’s my epiphany: Mitt Romney simply can’t help himself. He sees a problem, and his mind immediately sets to work solving it, sometimes consciously, and sometimes not-so-consciously. He doesn’t do it for self-aggrandizement, or for personal gain. He does it because that’s just how he’s wired.

    Many people are unaware of the fact that when Romney was asked by his old employer, Bill Bain, to come back to Bain & Company as CEO to rescue the firm from bankruptcy, Romney left Bain Capital to work at Bain & Company for an annual salary of one dollar. When Romney went to the rescue of the 2002 Olympics held in Salt Lake City, he accepted no salary for three years, and wouldn’t use an expense account. He also accepted no salary as Governor of Massachusetts. It would be interesting to see if he intends to not accept a salary should he become President of The United States.

    Character Counts!

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    Dash of hope


    My poem, The Dash, is based on that little line on a tombstone, between the dates of birth and death. Ultimately, that dash is a symbol which represents every day we've spent alive on earth. Therefore, how you spend your "dash" is all that really matters. Following is an amazing story about someone whose dash truly made a difference.

    Recently I heard about a little girl named Hope Stout. After learning more about her life, I couldn't help but feel it was not by coincidence, nor happenstance, that she had been named "Hope." It had to be attributed to fate. The compassion and generosity housed in her young heart made a lasting impression on me and countless others, and her legacy of love continues to bless lives every day. Though I never had the opportunity to meet her, I wish I had. It seems as though she was wise beyond her tender years and very, very special. When I tell people her story, I always say, "if this doesn't inspire you, I don't think there's much that could..."

    Hope was a twelve-year old girl who was offered a "wish" in early December 2003 by the "Make-A-Wish" Foundation after being informed that she had a rare type of bone cancer. However, when she found out that more than 150 children in her area were waiting for their wishes to be granted, she unselfishly used her wish to ask that those children have their wishes granted. She also asked that it be done by January 16, 2004. Unfortunately, however, the organization informed her that her noble request could not be granted as the funds were simply unavailable. They calculated that they would need to raise more than one million dollars in thirty days in order to grant her wish. Disappointed, but not discouraged, she turned her dismay into an enthusiasm that inspired caring individuals to spearhead fundraising to help grant the wishes of the other children, and eventually hers as well. Newspaper columnists and reporters for radio and TV stations shared the story of this caring young girl who had touched the hearts of so many and as word spread, the community was challenged. Committees were formed and schools, corporations and various organizations assisted in raising money to help bring Hope's dream to fruition.

    Though she lost her battle in 2004, knowing that her wish was going to come true, Hope lives on. Her heartfelt efforts were not in vain as they continue to help others, not only physically, but spiritually and emotionally as well. At the initial fundraiser and gathering to celebrate her life, "A Celebration of Hope" on January 16, 2004, the announcement was made that they had indeed received donations totaling more than one million dollars on behalf of Hope Stout. Her wish had been granted!

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    Bad Stop

    The prayer request came from a woman who asked for prayer for
    her daughter. Her daughter worked in loss prevention and had a
    "Bad Stop"and was about to lose her job.

    I had no idea of what a "Bad Stop" was so I researched it.

    A "Bad Stop" is usually false arrest by store personnel of a
    suspected shoplifter.

    While trying to find out what a "Bad Stop" was, I discovered
    an interesting statistic. The majority of the money lost by
    stores from theft comes from employees, not shoplifters.
    46.8% was theft by employees and 31.6% from shoplifters.
    Another 14.4% was from administrative errors.

    It emphasized one of the great facts of life.

    Most of our problems, heartaches, pains and losses come from
    the inside, not the outside.

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    Hospital window


    Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.

    One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window.
    The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

    The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

    Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

    The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

    The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

    As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

    One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by.

    Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it. In his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

    Days and weeks passed.

    One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

    As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

    Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.

    It faced a blank wall.

    The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.

    The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.

    She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

    Epilogue:

    There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations.

    Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled.

    If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy.

    "Today is a gift, that's why it is called the Present."

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    Go Therefore and Do What is Necessary

    Dr Leong Tien Fock

    Evangelism is the cutting edge of Christian mission, which is based on the Great Commission. Yet the Great Commission as expressed in Matthew 28:18-20 does not mention evangelism. What does this mean?

    Making disciples not converts

    As stressed in Matthew’s version of the Great Commission, the goal of mission is making disciples, not converts. Of course we cannot make disciples without first making converts. And since evangelism is indispensable to making converts, evangelism has a crucial role in mission. But Jesus wants us to look beyond making converts. So Matthew’s version of the Great Commission shifts our focus from making converts to making disciples, forcing us to see that mission is more than evangelism.

    The commission is to go and make disciples of all nations by baptizing them, and then teaching them to observe everything that Christ has commanded. So by definition a disciple of Christ is one who follows Jesus by learning to observe everything He has commanded in every aspect of life. Obviously this means we cannot go and baptize just anybody who is willing to be baptized. It is thus implicit in the commission that we go and do what is necessary so that we get to baptize people who would follow Jesus. And “what is necessary” certainly includes evangelism, but since we have in mind disciples and not just converts, we need to be mindful how we do evangelism.

    Preparing the ground

    In the parable of the sower Jesus provides some basic insights into the kind of evangelism that contributes to making disciples. Corresponding to the four kinds of soil where the sower sowed his seeds (Matthew 13:1-9), there are four kinds of hearers who hear the Gospel message (Matthew 13:18-23). The first kind does not even understand the message, and it is not because of mental deficiency. The second kind receives it with enthusiasm but falls away when it is no longer convenient to be identified with it. As for the third kind, preoccupation with the things of this world chokes the message and renders it unfruitful. Only the fourth kind, in contrast to the other three, results in following Jesus.

    The message is the same, but the results differ because of the different kinds of hearers. Like the sower in the parable, we need to sow widely. We need to share the Gospel to whoever is willing to hear, who may turn out to be of the first, second, third, or fourth kind of soil. Those who are not even willing to hear do not even have soil to begin with, and no sower would sow his precious seeds on a slab of concrete. All this means success in making disciples depends on the kinds of hearers out there.

    However we are not to assume that the proportion of the kinds of soil (or no soil) out there is the same in all places or at all times. The proportion may differ significantly in different places and may change with time. Also, we are not to assume that one kind of hearers cannot be changed into another kind. So a hearer of the third, second or even first kind can be changed into the fourth kind. There are factors beyond the control of the Church that can cause the change. But since the Church is called to be salt of the earth and light of the world (Matthew 5:13-16), the Church is called to do what is the necessary in preparing the ground so that the proportion of the fourth kind of soil would increase.

    Our focus here is to present the Biblical basis for the need to prepare the ground rather than to discuss the different means to do it, other than highlighting the Church’s calling as salt and light. The Church is light through godly living and faithful service that expose the evil of the world and point people to Christ. This quickens their conscience to recognize what is good and what is evil. As salt the Church influences them to do good by stimulating their conscience through words and deeds to shun evil, which is a prelude to their repentance from sin and faith in Christ.

    Sowing the seeds

    In other words evangelism is not an activity detached from our own following of Jesus by observing everything He has commanded, even in the “secular” aspects of our life. It is an outflow of a life that seeks first God’s kingdom and His righteousness so that God’s will is done everywhere on earth, and not just in the Church, as it is in heaven (Matthew 6:33, 10). This means social concern and loving service to the community outside the Church is also integral to Christian mission. This is all the more crucial given the current situation where more and more people are becoming the “no soil” kind of hearers.

    It must now be clarified that the work of preparing the ground and sowing the seeds is not limited to people “out there.” For people of the first three kinds of soil who have heard the Gospel message may be “in here” as regular church-goers as a result of our sowing widely. When they have changed to the fourth kind of soil they will respond afresh to the Gospel message. But it must be emphasized that it is not our business to identify who they are. And we cannot assume that unless one is “following Jesus” according to what we can observe, he is not of the fourth kind. In fact one who is of the second kind, because of his current enthusiasm, may be mistaken as “following Jesus.” What this means is that we need to be salt and light not just “out there” but also “in here” and everywhere else. Otherwise we are not really following Jesus.

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