Just sharing.

My Beloved

Another day begins for me
And my search goes on

Hoping for a chance
Noticing as she walks by with a glance

Was there something there
Perhaps the possibility of romance

The look I've seen is so many faces
The deepest darkest colors of Browns, blues and greens
If only I could know what it means

The gentle flutter of the eyes
The chuckle, smile, and surprise

If only I could know what it means
A name I hear so often, whispered in my dreams
If only I could know what it means

This mystery deepens the longing of my heart
I grow dependant on the thought

I'm lost, staring into the sky
I watch as 2 stars begin to collide

And again the thought springs to life
Is true love alive?

Will I find what I am looking for?
Or will it be another empty door?

Will I love you though trial and pain
And will you love me with a love that won't end

Will I cherish the sound of your name
And will you forgive me for the mistakes I've made
My search goes on

And by God's grace it will end
In the happiness and joy of finding life's lifelong friend

If you're out there, hear my prayer
One day we will be together somewhere
And there holding us together will be love hope and care

So I will cherish the vision I have of you
And continue to dream
Till then My Beloved
Peace and sweet dreams

My Love


If you call to me in truth, honesty, and love;
I will open up the gates of heaven up above;
I will bless your every need; I'll shower you with love,
I will grant your every prayer if you return my love.

For you are very dear to me,
I came that you might live;
I came to set you free from sin,
My life did freely give.

I love you with a love that has,
No beginning - nor no end;
I love you with a love so deep,
I love you child, - my friend.

I love you so each time I call,
And you don't hear my cry;
That in my heart once again,
A part of me does die.

Oh head my voice and understand,
Just why I cry for you;
I cry because until you come,
I can not rescue you.

And although I love you dearly,
If you don't return my love;
With me you'll never make your home,
In heaven up above.

Yes child I love you dearly your all to me and more;
For you I died upon the cross, it's you I came here for
So open up your heart to me, let me love you child of mine;
Let us join together now as one, and let our hearts entwine.

No Greater Love


It was a quiet morning in Korea. In a small valley, there was a little wooden building with a corrugated steel roof. It was an orphanage that housed many young children who had lost their parents in the war.

Suddenly, the quiet of the morning was shattered when a mortar shell fell and landed squarely on top of the orphanage. The roof was ripped apart by the blast and pieces of steel roofing were blasted all through the orphanage wounding many of the children. One little girl was hit in the leg by the flying metal and her leg was immediately amputated just below her knee. She was laying in the rubble of the orphanage quietly when they found her. A tourniquet was immediately applied and a runner was sent to the MASH hospital to fetch medical help for the children.

When the doctors and nurses arrived, they begin to triage the wounded children. When the doctor saw the little girl, he realized that her greatest need at the moment was blood. He immediately called for records from the orphanage to find someone with her blood type. A nurse who could read and speak Korean began to call out the names of all the children with the same blood type as the little girl.

After a few minutes there was a group of wide eyed children assembled. The doctor spoke to the group and the nurse translated, "Would one of you be willing to give this little girl your blood?" The children looked shocked, but no one said a word. Again the doctor pleaded, "Please will one of you give her your blood, because if you don't, she is going to die!" Finally a boy in the back raised his hand and the nurse laid him down on a bed to prepare him for the taking of his blood.

When the nurse ask for his arm in order to sterilize the skin, the boy began to whimper. "Relax", she said, "It won't hurt." When the doctor took his arm and inserted the needle, he began to cry. "Does it hurt?", the doctor asked. But the boy only cried louder. "I'm hurting him!", the doctor thought and he tried to ease his pain and comfort him, but to no avail. Finally, after what seemed like a long time, the blood was drawn and the needle was removed. The little boy just laid and sobbed for a few minutes.

After the blood was given to the wounded girl and her condition was stabilized, the doctor was curious. He took the Korean speaking nurse back over to the little boy and told the nurse to ask him, "Did it hurt?"

The boy said, "No, it did not hurt."

"Then why were you crying?", the doctor asked.

"Because I was afraid of dying", the boy said. The doctor was stunned! "Why did you think you would die?" With tears in his eyes the boy replied, "Because I thought that in order to save her you would have to take all of my blood!"

The doctor didn't know what to say! Then he asked, "But if you thought that you were going to die, why did you offer to give her your blood?" With tears streaming down his face, he said, "Because she was my friend and I loved her

[video=youtube_share;taBu2bxO820]https://youtu.be/taBu2bxO820[/video]

Offering


A young boy was sitting in church one day. It came time to pass the offering plate. At that second the boy knew he had to give to God. He dug dip into his pocket, and pulled out nothing. Sadly the youg man watched as the plate past him by. Still, he knew he had to give. Yet, he had nothing. The burden he felt grew stronger.

He rose from his seat and dashed to the back of the church. It created such a distraction, everyone turned to see what the matter was. The boy tugged the deacons shirt, whom carried the offering plates. "May I hold the plate?" the boy asked. Not knowing what to do, the man handed the plate to the child.

With that, the boy sat the plate on the ground and stepped inside. Then he said " Jesus, I give you me

The Old Fisherman



Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out patients at the clinic.

One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old, I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face--lopsided from swelling, red and raw.

Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning." He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face...I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..." For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."

I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us.

"No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.

When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.

He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.

At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him.

When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind."

I told him he was welcome to come again.

On his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.

Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious. When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning.

"Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"

Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had! My friend changed my mind.

"I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."

She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven.

"Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."

All this happened long ago -- and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.

The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." (1Samuel 16:7)

Parent's Certainly Are Misunderstood


You thought you were happily smiling at your child from a hard stadium seat or a hot packed auditorium,
But your child looked at your face and saw approval of him and joy in what he was doing.

You thought that you were just patting him on the back or on the head, or just ruffling his hair,
But your child cherished the warm loving touch and his heart was brightened.

You thought you were reading a bedtime story with all the funny and scary voices,
But your child enjoyed the fact you read every word even though he had heard them a hundred times before.

You thought you were letting your child help paint the house even though the paint got kind of runny and drippy in places,
But your child knew that you were working together as a family and felt a sense of accomplishment as a family.

You thought you were singing silly songs or counting the cows on a long boring trip,
But your child learned that it was fun being together no matter where you were.

You thought you were spending a few minutes of your time by throwing a ball in the back yard or baking some cookies,
But your child, who realized that your time is precious, knew you were investing it in him.

You thought that you asked your child's opinion about something that wasn't too important,
But your child thought you asked because his opinions and thoughts were important.

You thought you were being a good host by inviting your child's friends in for a cool snack on a warm summer day,
But your child knew that his friends were important to you and always welcome in your home.

You thought the tears in you eyes went unnoticed when your child accomplished an important goal in his life,
But your child knew that he was deeply imbedded in your heart and you sensed his accomplishment.

You thought that the refrigerator was as good of a place as any for hanging all the art work and "well done" papers that came home from school,
But your child felt important when he came home from school each day with something to show you and tack up in his personal hall of fame.

You thought you gave your child some simple chore or job to do and told him, "Well done.", with a smile when he did it,
But your child learned responsibility and began to realize he could tackle even tougher things.

You thought you were helping a troubled restless child get some sleep by fixing a cup of hot cocoa,
But your child felt that you were opening your heart around a kitchen table and making all the problems a lot smaller.

You thought the vacation wasn't much of a success because the fish didn't bite and the sun didn't shine,
But your child still remembers everything that happened and he still laughs at all of the funny parts.

You thought you were just pointing out the words in the church hymn book with your child's finger as he tried to sing along,
But your child learned that singing praises to God in worship was important.

You thought you were just giving him a quick hug at a special moment or "just because",
But your child carried it with him for a long time, because what you really said was, "I'm proud of you!", or "I love you!"

You thought you were just giving him a little kiss on the cheek to tell him good bye as he left for school,
But your child felt warm and loved because he knew there would be another one waiting for him when he got home.

Come to think of it, there are a lot of times when parents really are misunderstood!

Perfection


Brooklyn, New York: Chush is a school that caters to learning-disabled children. Some children remain in Chush for their entire school career, while others can be mainstreamed into conventional schools.

At a Chush fundraising dinner, the father of a Chush child delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended.

After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he cried out, "Where is the perfection in my son Shaya?

Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God's perfection?"

The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father's anguish and stilled by the piercing query. "I believe," the father answered, "that when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that He seeks is in the way people react to this child."

He then told the following story about his son Shaya:

One afternoon Shaya and his father walked past a park where some boys Shaya knew were playing baseball. Shaya asked, "Do you think they will let me play?"

Shaya's father knew that his son was not at all athletic and that most boys would not want him on their team. But Shaya's father understood that if his son was chosen to play it would give him a comfortable sense of belonging.

Shaya's father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shaya could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his teammates. Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said, "We are losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning."

Shaya's father was ecstatic as Shaya smiled broadly. Shaya was told to put on a glove and go out to play short center field.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shaya's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shaya's team scored again and now with two outs and the bases loaded with the potential winning run on base, Shaya was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let Shaya bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shaya was given the bat. Everyone knew that it was all but impossible because Shaya didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, let alone hit with it. However, as Shaya stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shaya should at least be able to make contact.

The first pitch came in and Shaya swung clumsily and missed. One of Shaya's teammates came up to Shaya and together they held the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the next pitch. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shaya.

As the pitch came in, Shaya and his teammate swung the bat and together they hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shaya would have been out and that would have ended the game. Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman.

Everyone started yelling, "Shaya, run to first. Run to first!" Never in his life had Shaya run to first. He scampered down the baseline wide eyed and startled. By the time he reached first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman who would tag out Shaya, who was still running. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions were, so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman's head.

Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second." Shaya ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home.

As Shaya reached second base, the opposing short stop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base and shouted, "Run to third." As Shaya rounded third, the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming, "Shaya run home!" Shaya ran home, stepped on home plate and all 18 boys lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero, as he had just hit a "grand slam" and won the game for his team.

"That day," said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, "those 18 boys reached their level of God's perfection."

Faithfully in His Hands,

Audrey

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight." Proverbs 3:5-6

The Rules for Being Human

1. You will receive a body.
You may like it or hate it, but it will be yours for the entire period.

2. You will learn lessons.
You are enrolled in an informal school called Life. Each day in this
school, you will have the opportunity to learn lessons. You may like
the lessons or think them irrelevant and stupid.

3. There are no mistakes, only lessons.
Growth is a process of trial and error.
Experimentation.
The "failed" experiments are as much a part of the process as the
experiment that ultimately "works".

4. A lesson is repeated until learned.
A lesson will be presented to you in various forms until you have learned
it. You can then go on to the next lesson.

5. Learning lessons does not end.
There is no part of life that does not contain its lessons. If you are
alive, there are lessons to be learned.

6. "There" is no better than "here."
When your "there" has become a "here" you will simply obtain another
"there" that will again look better than "here."

7. Others are merely mirrors of you.
You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects
something you either love or hate about yourself.

8. What you make of life is up to you.
You have all the tools and resources you need. What you do with them is
up to you. The choice is yours.

9. Your answers lie inside you.
The answers to Life's questions lie inside you. All you need to do is
look, listen, and trust.

10. You will forget all this.

Perfection


Brooklyn, New York: Chush is a school that caters to learning-disabled children. Some children remain in Chush for their entire school career, while others can be mainstreamed into conventional schools.

At a Chush fundraising dinner, the father of a Chush child delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended.

After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he cried out, "Where is the perfection in my son Shaya?

Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God's perfection?"

The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father's anguish and stilled by the piercing query. "I believe," the father answered, "that when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that He seeks is in the way people react to this child."

He then told the following story about his son Shaya:

One afternoon Shaya and his father walked past a park where some boys Shaya knew were playing baseball. Shaya asked, "Do you think they will let me play?"

Shaya's father knew that his son was not at all athletic and that most boys would not want him on their team. But Shaya's father understood that if his son was chosen to play it would give him a comfortable sense of belonging.

Shaya's father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shaya could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his teammates. Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said, "We are losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning."

Shaya's father was ecstatic as Shaya smiled broadly. Shaya was told to put on a glove and go out to play short center field.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shaya's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shaya's team scored again and now with two outs and the bases loaded with the potential winning run on base, Shaya was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let Shaya bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shaya was given the bat. Everyone knew that it was all but impossible because Shaya didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, let alone hit with it. However, as Shaya stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shaya should at least be able to make contact.

The first pitch came in and Shaya swung clumsily and missed. One of Shaya's teammates came up to Shaya and together they held the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the next pitch. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shaya.

As the pitch came in, Shaya and his teammate swung the bat and together they hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shaya would have been out and that would have ended the game. Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman.

Everyone started yelling, "Shaya, run to first. Run to first!" Never in his life had Shaya run to first. He scampered down the baseline wide eyed and startled. By the time he reached first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman who would tag out Shaya, who was still running. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions were, so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman's head.

Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second." Shaya ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home.

As Shaya reached second base, the opposing short stop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base and shouted, "Run to third." As Shaya rounded third, the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming, "Shaya run home!" Shaya ran home, stepped on home plate and all 18 boys lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero, as he had just hit a "grand slam" and won the game for his team.

"That day," said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, "those 18 boys reached their level of God's perfection."

Faithfully in His Hands,

Audrey

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight." Proverbs 3:5-6

The Issue of Money

Shortage of money is the number one common factor in the hundreds
of prayer requests that are received.

If money is not the central issue, a money shortage is usually
present in both marriage difficulties and health problems.

A sizable percentage of Christians deal with money
shortage issues.

Some think it doesn't belong in an inspirational email but let
your money get tight and get an unexpected check and see if that
doesn't inspire you.

I want to address the issue of money as briefly as I can.
For a few, my experience may shed a new light on your situation.
Some may have a radically different opinion, that is expected;
but for many, this will help change your view and possibly your
approach to your money situation.

I deal with more money shortage situations than most people
simply by virtue of being a Pastor of a church and a businessman.

People come to me, both for advice and money in both the church
and business worlds.

Hopefully the eight principles below will help.

Principle #1 - Hardly anyone has enough money.
-----------------------------------------------------------
At a recent meeting in my company, some thought I was bragging
when I said that I had enough money. I was absolutely serious.
I have always had enough money, but I have not always made a lot
of money.

When I earned less than minimum wage, I had enough money.
When I earned minimum wage, I had enough money.
I have enough money now.

Someone asked the multi-billionaire John D. Rockefeller
the question of "How much money is enough?"

His answer was, "One more dollar than I have."
He therefore, would never have enough, no matter how many
billions he had.

I have seen people earn more than double what they were earning
in the previous year and they still did not have enough money.

Money is one of those things where unless the spirit gets right,
you never have enough. Having enough money is primarily a matter
of spirit, not amount, understand this.



Principle #2 - You are rich when you have enough.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Don't be like Rockefeller or else you will forever be dissatisfied.

Often our change from poor to rich is more spiritual than financial.
It is why Paul could say if you have food and clothing then you
should be content.

Perhaps we should realize that instead of struggling so hard to
get more that we should simply want less. The problem with
wanting more is that it never stops, and most find that even when
they get "the stuff," it's not what they thought in terms of real
contentment.

Jesus said:
a. The Kingdom of God is within
b. It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle
than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.

Everyone wants the kingdom, yet everyone also wants to be rich.

I preached a sermon called, "The Roughest Verse in the Bible."
It was concerning this basic principle. You can listen to it on
WMA (best) http://www.theonlineword.com/s/5125.wma
MP3 http://www.theonlineword.com/mp3/5125.mp3

Just maybe, for many of you, you have enough already.



Principle #3 - Neither The New Testament of the Bible or any of
the teachings of Jesus promise nor promote material wealth.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Some will argue against this to an extreme, but I have looked for
it over and over in the New Testament of the Bible.
It simply is
not there unless you take a scripture and twist it to mean what
it really didn't say or you must make speculations about things
that aren't written in scripture.

No words in the New Testament promote wealth when looked at in
context. NONE!

"What about when Jesus told the disciples where to fish and they
had the great haul of fish?" you ask.

Read what they did with the increase after they got it. The
disciples ate from the fish then left the fish to follow Jesus.
When you read exactly what they did, the pattern becomes clear.

We can sometimes be masters at making scripture say what it never
meant because it is what people want to hear and it often justifies
our own agenda.

Jesus NEVER pointed us towards material wealth; he did quite the
opposite when you read what he actually said.

Many passages plainly point you away from riches but none plainly
point you towards it, not in the New Testament.

And no, the verse, "Beloved, I wish above all things that thou
mayest prosper and be in health," is not talking about riches.

Paul said in 1 Timothy 6:8, that if you have food and clothing
you should be content.
I thought about that verse as I was
alone one day. I had a BIG problem with it then, and I still
struggle to fully understand and accept it.

"What about shelter?" I thought.
How in the world does God expect you to be content with no house?
That just didn't make any sense to me.

So I asked God in a quiet moment, "How can a person be content
with no house?" God answered me and though I didn't like the
answer, the minute I heard it, I recognized the truth of it.

The answer was, "Did my son have a house?"

"Whoa!"

Jesus replied, "Foxes have holes and birds of the air have
nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."
(Mat 8:20 NIV)

Not only are we not happy with food and clothing, we often aren't
happy even in medium or large houses. We want mansions and guess
what? Given enough time, we often aren't happy in those either.



Principle #4 - Rich and poor are relative terms.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I went to the Amazon jungle. I wanted to see the rain forest
before man destroyed it. The children in the jungle were excited
to see an ink pen.

We trekked through the jungle all day with a native guide.
He said our hike would culminate by visiting the rich man's house.

I was expecting a huge mansion overlooking the river. When we
got to his house, it indeed sat on a hill, but it was hardly a
mansion. It was more like a shack on a hill.

His house was
distinguished by the fact that it had a generator. The rich man
had electricity. When the rest of the village was dark, he had
light, therefore everyone in the village considered him
"The Rich Man."

I learned a great lesson from that. He had no indoor plumbing,
no air conditioning, no marble counters or carpeted floors. His
house would not even meet minimum building codes in the poorest
neighborhoods in America. However, he had electricity when
everyone else was in the dark, therefore he was rich.

In many parts of the world, what we consider poverty is
considered great wealth. We have so much food in America that
eating too much causes America's biggest health problems.



Principle #5 - Happiness is not dependent on money.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The Amazon jungle was perhaps the poorest area that I have ever
visited. There was no industry. The huts did not even have
doors. Yet, in the midst of what many would consider extreme
poverty by American standards, again I saw something.

The people were quite happy.

The ability to sense spirit is something God gave me long ago.
When I sold newspapers as a boy through many of the neighborhoods
in Atlanta, the minute people opened the door, I could sense
whether the house was happy or sad.

I sold newspapers in the richest and poorest of neighborhoods.
Both had their share of happy and sad homes.

The guide told us as we walked through the village with the
doorless huts, "We marry around 13 or 14."

"13 or 14?" I repeated, amazed at such a young marrying age.

"What is the divorce rate?" I asked.

"Less than 5%," he replied.

Again I saw that material possessions don't guarantee happiness.
We have relatively huge wealth along with a relatively huge
divorce rate.



Principle #6 - One American family has contributed to more
financial disaster than any other.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The Joneses.

Because we often try to keep up with the Joneses, it strains our
finances to the limit and beyond. My father, often quoted,
"If your outgo exceeds your income then your upkeep will become
your downfall."

Too often we live way above our means. I have always had enough
money because I have always kept my expenses well below my income.
Whether you earn millions or minimum wage, the principle applies.

Years ago my wife began selling a nutritional system.
The system had a cassette tape explaining it. She went
throughout several Atlanta upper income neighborhoods putting
the tapes in mailboxes.

She only selected the fancy houses as she only had a limited
number of tapes.

Six people responded wanting the system. The system cost $100.

Of the six people who responded, not ONE had $100. Each had a
story of why they had to wait until payday or could only pay a
part now but none had $100.

"How could that be?" my wife asked. "I specifically only put
these tapes in BIG houses. They all had two fancy cars and
$200,000 plus houses. How could their finances be so tight that
they don't have $100?" she kept asking me.

Because they lived next to The Joneses,
who lived next to The Joneses, who lived next to The Joneses,
who lived next to ...



Principle #7 - Lack of a budget.
-----------------------------------------------------------
At the church, I have a financial expert teach a class each
month. It is a six-part series that we repeat each six months.
It teaches people how to manage their money.
We often tell
people in the church to give 10% of their money to the church,
but we give them no knowledge on how to manage the other 90%.

People came to me with testimonies about how the class changed
their financial lives. The first thing the expert did was to
have everyone create a budget.

NO ONE had a budget. No one could say exactly how much they
were spending. Sure, they all knew what the rent or mortgage
was, but it was often the "other" stuff that sunk them. No one
could tell you with any degree of accuracy exactly what they
were spending as a total.

The expert told the story of how one lady had come to him for a
loan. She wanted to buy a car. She was going to pay for the
car by the week at one of those "pay by the week" places.

She got angry at him when he would not lend her the money.
He had her to do a budget. When she did, she was shocked to see
that the weekly payments plus what she was spending on other
stuff added up to more than what she was earning. If he had
loaned her the money for the down payment on the car, it would
have been sure financial disaster.

WRITE IT DOWN exactly how much you spend each month on
EVERYTHING. You may be surprised. Just something as simple as
a two pack a day cigarette habit is $200.00 per month.



Principle #8 - Learn the principle of giving.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I cannot logically explain this, but I know it is true. It is
no accident that the U.S. is the most prosperous country on the
face of the earth, but we also give more than any other country
on earth.

Yes, I know the U.S. has flaws but that doesn't change the
principle or the result. We benefit from our benevolence;
we suffer for our malice.

God spoke a Word of Wisdom to me personally concerning money.

"Anything beyond sufficiency is insignificant."

It has taken me a long time to understand that but the longer I
live, the more convinced I am of that truth.

Money is similar to food. You need it; if you run short, it gets
very uncomfortable and even unhealthy. Yet excess consumption
has great dangers. Having excess food is wonderful if you do
the right thing. The problem is not in having the excess; the
excess is a blessing. The challenge is in doing the right thing
with the excess.

Even the Old Testament of the Bible listed lack of both money and
food as a curse and its abundance a blessing. The problem was
that it wasn't long after the abundance that the people became
corrupt. It is very hard to keep abundance in balance.

That's why Jesus said it was HARD for a rich man to enter the
kingdom of God.

Money has always been and always will be an issue.
It traps most in this world; it even traps most of us preachers.

"No servant can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one
and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise
the other. You cannot serve both God and Money."
The Pharisees, (ministers and priests) who loved money, heard all
this and were sneering at Jesus. He said to them, "You are the ones
who justify yourselves in the eyes of men, but God knows your hearts.
What is highly valued among men is detestable in God's sight.
(Luke 16:13-15 NIV)

The messages of this week have presented you with the principles
for abundance and some guidance for using the abundance.

I wrote an issue on what God specifically spoke to me concerning
how to handle the blessing of money.


Remember that a golden chain binds just as tight as an iron one.

Revealed Mystery


There is a mystery that I now share.
It is a story beyond compare.
A man came from the city of Galilee.
He laid down His life for you and me.

You see it started many years ago.
God's angelic creation became His foe.
Dark and evil are now this foe's heart.
Kicked out of Heaven through divine escort.

He moves upon the Earth scheming to fight.
He comes to the Elect as an Angel of Light.
Stealing, killing and destroying is his game.
He is the devil and Satan is his name.

God appointed a place in time, to relinquish
Satan's power and reveal his crime.
Death of a sinless man was the only way.
Salvation for all, His message would convey

The Rich Family In Church


I'll never forget Easter 1946. I was 14, my little sister Ocy was 12, and my older sister Darlene 16. We lived at home with our mother, and the four of us knew what it was to do without many things. My dad had died five years before, leaving Mom with seven school kids to raise and no money.

By 1946 my older sisters were married and my brothers had left home. A month before Easter the pastor of our church announced that a special Easter offering would be taken to help a poor family. He asked everyone to save and give sacrificially.

When we got home, we talked about what we could do. We decided to buy 50 pounds of potatoes and live on them for a month. This would allow us to save $20 of our grocery money for the offering. When we thought that if we kept our electric lights turned out as much as possible and didn't listen to the radio, we'd save money on that month's electric bill. Darlene got as many house and yard cleaning jobs as possible, and both of us babysat for everyone we could. For 15 cents we could buy enough cotton loops to make three pot holders to sell for $1.

We made $20 on pot holders. That month was one of the best of our lives.

Every day we counted the money to see how much we had saved. At night we'd sit in the dark and talk about how the poor family was going to enjoy having the money the church would give them. We had about 80 people in church, so figured that whatever amount of money we had to give, the offering would surely be 20 times that much. After all, every Sunday the pastor had reminded everyone to save for the sacrificial offering.

The day before Easter, Ocy and I walked to the grocery store and got the manager to give us three crisp $20 bills and one $10 bill for all our change. We ran all the way home to show Mom and Darlene. We had never had so much money before.

That night we were so excited we could hardly sleep. We didn't care that we wouldn't have new clothes for Easter; we had $70 for the sacrificial offering.

We could hardly wait to get to church! On Sunday morning, rain was pouring. We didn't own an umbrella, and the church was over a mile from our home, but it didn't seem to matter how wet we got. Darlene had cardboard in her shoes to fill the holes. The cardboard came apart, and her feet got wet.

But we sat in church proudly. I heard some teenagers talking about the Smith girls having on their old dresses. I looked at them in their new clothes, and I felt rich.

When the sacrificial offering was taken, we were sitting on the second row from the front. Mom put in the $10 bill, and each of us kids put in a $20.

As we walked home after church, we sang all the way. At lunch Mom had a surprise for us. She had bought a dozen eggs, and we had boiled Easter eggs with our fried potatoes! Late that afternoon the minister drove up in his car. Mom went to the door, talked with him for a moment, and then came back with an envelope in her hand. We asked what it was, but she didn't say a word. She opened the envelope and out fell a bunch of money. There were three crisp $20 bills, one $10 and seventeen $1 bills.

Mom put the money back in the envelope. We didn't talk, just sat and stared at the floor. We had gone from feeling like millionaires to feeling like poor white trash. We kids had such a happy life that we felt sorry for anyone who didn't have our Mom and Dad for parents and a house full of brothers and sisters and other kids visiting constantly. We thought it was fun to share silverware and see whether we got the spoon or the fork that night.

We had two knifes that we passed around to whoever needed them. I knew we didn't have a lot of things that other people had, but I'd never thought we were poor.

That Easter day I found out we were. The minister had brought us the money for the poor family, so we must be poor. I didn't like being poor. I looked at my dress and worn-out shoes and felt so ashamed--I didn't even want to go back to church. Everyone there probably already knew we were poor!

I thought about school. I was in the ninth grade and at the top of my class of over 100 students. I wondered if the kids at school knew that we were poor. I decided that I could quit school since I had finished the eighth grade. That was all the law required at that time. We sat in silence for a long time.

Then it got dark, and we went to bed. All that week, we girls went to school and came home, and no one talked much. Finally on Saturday, Mom asked us what we wanted to do with the money. What did poor people do with money? We didn't know. We'd never known we were poor. We didn't want to go to church on Sunday, but Mom said we had to. Although it was a sunny day, we didn't talk on the way.

Mom started to sing, but no one joined in and she only sang one verse. At church we had a missionary speaker. He talked about how churches in Africa made buildings out of sun dried bricks, but they needed money to buy roofs. He said $100 would put a roof on a church. The minister said, "Can't we all sacrifice to help these poor people?" We looked at each other and smiled for the first time in a week.

Mom reached into her purse and pulled out the envelope. She passed it to Darlene. Darlene gave it to me, and I handed it to Ocy. Ocy put it in the offering.

When the offering was counted, the minister announced that it was a little over $100. The missionary was excited. He hadn't expected such a large offering from our small church. He said, "You must have some rich people in this church." Suddenly it struck us! We had given $87 of that "little over $100."

We were the rich family in the church! Hadn't the missionary said so? From that day on I've never been poor again. I've always remembered how rich I am because I have Jesus

Ruth


Ruth went to her mailbox and there was only one letter. She picked it up and looked at it before opening, but then she looked at the envelope again. There was no stamp, no postmark, only her name and address. She read the letter:

Dear Ruth,

I'm going to be in your neighborhood Saturday afternoon and I'd like to stop by for a visit.

Love Always,
Jesus

Her hands were shaking as she placed the letter on the table. "Why would the Lord want to visit me? I'm nobody special. I don't have anything to offer." With that thought, Ruth remembered her empty kitchen cabinets. "Oh my goodness, I really don't have anything to offer. I'll have to run down to the store and buy something for dinner."

She reached for her purse and counted out its contents. Five dollars and forty cents. "Well, I can get some bread and cold cuts, at least." She threw on her coat and hurried out the door. A loaf of French bread, a half-pound of sliced turkey, and a carton of milk...leaving Ruth with a grand total of twelve cents to last her until Monday.

Nonetheless, she felt as she headed home, her meager offerings tucked under her arm. "Hey lady, can you help us, lady?" Ruth had been so absorbed in her dinner plans, she hadn't even noticed two figures huddled in the alleyway. A man and a woman, both of them dressed in little more than rags.

"Look lady, I ain't got a job, ya know, and my wife and I have been living out here on the street, and, well, now it's getting cold and we're getting kinda hungry and, well, if you could help us, lady, we'd really appreciate it." Ruth looked at them both.

They were dirty, they smelled bad and, frankly, she was certain that they could get some kind of work if they really wanted to. "Sir, I'd like to help you, but I'm a poor woman myself. All I have is a few cold cuts and some bread, and I'm having an important guest for dinner tonight and I was planning on serving that to Him."

"Yeah, well, OK lady, I understand. Thanks anyway."

The man put his arm around the woman's shoulders, turned and headed back into the alley. As she watched them leave, Ruth felt a familiar twinge in her heart. "Sir, wait!" The couple stopped and turned as she ran down the alley after them. "Look, why don't you take this food. I'll figure out something else to serve my guest." She handed the man her grocery bag. "Thank you lady. Thank you very much!" "Yes, thank you!" It was the man's wife, and Ruth could see now that she was shivering.

"You know, I've got another coat at home. Here, why don't you take this one." Ruth unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it over the woman's shoulders. Then smiling, she turned and walked back to the street...without her coat and with nothing to serve her guest. "Thank you lady! Thank you very much!"

Ruth was chilled by the time she reached her front door, and worried too. The Lord was coming to visit and she didn't have anything to offer Him. She fumbled through her purse for the door key. But as she did, she noticed another envelope in her mailbox. "That's odd. The mailman doesn't usually come twice in one day." She took the envelope out of the box and opened it.

Dear Ruth,

It was so good to see you again. Thank you for the lovely meal. And thank you, too, for the beautiful coat.

Love Always,
Jesus

The air was still cold, but even without her coat, Ruth no longer noticed.

Slow Down


About ten years ago, a young and very successful executive named Josh was traveling down a Chicago neighborhood street. He was going a bit too fast in his sleek, black, 12 cylinder Jaguar XKE, which was only two months old.

He was watching for kids darting out from between parked cars and slowed down when he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no child darted out, but a brick sailed out and "WHUMP"-it smashed into the Jag's shiny black side door! SCREECH...!!!! Brakes slammed!

Gears ground into reverse, and tires madly spun the Jaguar back to the spot from where the brick had been thrown.

Josh jumped out of the car, grabbed the kid and pushed him up against a parked car. He shouted at the kid, "What was that all about and who are you?

Just what the heck are you doing?" Building up a head of steam, he went on. "That's my new Jag, that brick you threw is gonna cost you a lot of money. Why did you throw it?"

"Please, mister, please...I'm sorry! I didn't know what else to do!" pleaded the youngster. "I threw the brick because no one else would stop!" Tears were dripping down the boy's chin as he pointed around the parked car. "It's my brother, mister," he said. "He rolled off the curb and fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up."

Sobbing, the boy asked the executive, "Would you please help me get him back into his wheelchair? He's hurt and he's too heavy for me." Moved beyond words, the young executive tried desperately to swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. Straining, he lifted the young man back into the wheelchair and took out his handkerchief and wiped the scrapes and cuts, checking to see that everything was going to be OK. He then watched the younger brother push him down the sidewalk toward their home.

It was a long walk back to the sleek, black, shining, 12 cylinder Jaguar XKE - a long and slow walk. Josh never did fix the side door of his Jaguar. He kept the dent to remind him not to go through life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at him to get his attention..

It's kind of stretching it, but sometimes in life we have it good and forget about God. We need to continue to praise him and look to him during the good times in life. Let us "Be still and know that I am God" Psalm 46:10

Sometimes You Have To Travel


For years I'd thought Timbuktu was just a made-up name for the ends of the earth. When I found out it was a real place in Africa, I developed an inexplicable fascination for it. It was in 1986 on a fact-finding trip to West Africa for Mission Aviation Fellowship that this fascination became an irresistible urge. Timbuktu wasn't on my itinerary, but I knew I had to go there.

Once I arrived, I discovered I was in trouble. I'd hitched a ride from Bamako, Mali, 500 miles away, on the only seat left on a Navajo six-seater airplane chartered by UNICEF. Two of their doctors were in Timbuktu and might fly back on the return flight, which meant Id be bumped,but I decided to take the chance.

Now here I was, standing by the plane on the windswept outskirts of the famous Berber outpost. There was not a spot of true green anywhere in the desolate brown Saharan landscape. Dust blew across the sky, blotting out the sun as I squinted in the 110-degree heat, trying to make out the m&d-walled buildings of the village of 20,000.

The pilot approached me as I started for town. He reported that the doctors were on their way and I'd have to find another ride to Bamako.

Try the marketplace. Someone there might have a truck. But be careful, he said. Westerners don't last long in the desert if the truck breaks down, which often happens.

I didn't relish the thought of being stranded, but perhaps it was fitting that I should wind up like this, surrounded by the Sahara. Since I arrived in Africa the strain of the harsh environment and severe suffering of the starving peoples had left me feeling lost in a spiritual and emotional desert.

The open-air marketplace in the center of town was crowded. Men and women wore flowing robes and turbans as protection against the sun. Most of the Berbers robes were dark blue, with 30 feet of material in their turbans alone. The men were well-armed with scimitars and knives. I felt that eyes were watching me suspiciously.

Suspicion was understandable in Timbuktu. Nothing could be trusted here. These people had once been prosperous and self-sufficient. Now even their land had turned against them. Drought had turned rich grasslands to desert. Unrelenting sun and windstorms had nearly annihilated all animal life. People were dying by the thousands.

I went from person to person trying to find someone who spoke English, until I finally came across a local gendarme who understood my broken French.

I need a truck, I said. I need to go to Bamako.

Eyes widened in his shaded face. No truck, he shrugged. Then he added, No road. Only sand.

By now, my presence was causing a sensation in the marketplace. I was surrounded by at least a dozen small children, jumping and dancing, begging for coins and souvenirs. The situation was extreme, I knew. I tried to think calmly. What am I to do?

Suddenly I had a powerful desire to talk to my father. Certainly he had known what it was like to be a foreigner in a strange land. But my father, Nate Saint, was dead. He was one of the five missionary men killed by Auca Indians in the jungles of Ecuador in 1956. I was a month shy of my fifth birthday at the time, and my memories of him were almost like movie clips: a lanky, intense man with a serious goal and a quick wit. He was a dedicated jungle pilot, flying missionaries and medical personnel in his Piper Family Cruiser. Even after his death he was a presence in my life.

I'd felt the need to talk with my father before, especially since I'd married and become a father myself. But in recent weeks this need had become urgent. For one thing I was new to relief work. But it was more than that. I needed Dad to help answer my new questions of faith. In Mali, for the first time in my life, I was surrounded by people who didnt share my faith, who were, in fact, hostile to the Christian faith, locals and Western relief workers alike.

In a way it was a parallel to the situation Dad had faced in Ecuador. How often I'd said the same thing Dad would have said among the Indians who killed him: My God is real. Hes a personal God who lives inside me, with whom I have a very special, one-on-one relationship. And yet the question lingered in my mind: Did my father have to die? All my life, people had spoken of Dad with respect; he was a man willing to die for his faith.

But at the same time I couldnt help but think the murders were capricious, an accident of bad timing. Dad and his colleagues landed just as a small band of Auca men were in a bad mood for reasons that had nothing to....

If Dad's plane had landed one day later, the massacre may not have happened. Couldn't there have been another way? It made little impact on the Aucas that I could see. To them it was just one more killing in a history of killings. Thirty years later it still had an impact on me.

And now, for the first time, I felt threatened because of who I was and what I believed. God, I found myself praying as I looked around the marketplace, I'm in trouble here. Please keep me safe and show me a way to get back. Please reveal Yourself and Your love to me the way You did to my father.

No bolt of lightning came from the blue. But a new thought did come to mind. Surely there was a telecommunications office here somewhere; I could wire Bamako to send another plane. It would be costly, but I could see no other way of getting out.

Wheres the telecommunications office? I asked another gendarme.

He gave me instructions, then said, Telegraph transmits only. If station in Bamako has machine on, message goes through. If not. He shrugged. No answer ever comes. You only hope message received.

Now what? The sun was crossing toward the horizon. If I didn't have arrangements made by nightfall, what would happen to me? This was truly the last outpost of the world. More than a few Westerners had disappeared in the desert without a trace.

Then I remembered that just before Id started for Timbuktu, a fellow worker had said, Theres a famous mosque in Timbuktu. It was built from m&d in the 1500s. Many Islamic pilgrims visit it every years. But theres also a tiny Christian church, which virtually no one visits. Look it up if you get a chance.

I asked the children, Where is Eglise Evangelique Chretienne?

The youngsters were willing to help, though they were obviously confused about what I was looking for. Several times elderly men and women scolded them harshly as we passed, but they persisted. Finally we arrived, not at the church, but at the open doorway of a tiny m&d-brick house. No one was home, but on the wall opposite the door was a poster showing a cross covered by wounded hands. The French subscript said, "And by His stripes we are healed."

Within minutes, my army of waifs pointed out a young man approaching us in the dirt alleyway. Then the children melted back into the labyrinth of the walled alleys and compounds of Timbuktu. The young man was handsome, with dark skin and flowing robes. But there was something inexplicably different about him.

His name was Nouh Ag Infa Yatara; that much I understood. Nouh signaled he knew someone who could translate for us. He led me to a compound on the edge of town where an American missionary lived. I was glad to meet the missionary, but from the moment Id seen Nouh Id had the feeling that we shared something in common.

How did you come to have faith? I asked him.

The missionary translated as Nouh answered. This compound has always had a beautiful garden. One day when I was a small boy, a friend and I decided to steal some carrots. It was a dangerous task. Wed been told that Toubabs (white men) eat nomadic children. Despite our agility and considerable experience, I was caught by the former missionary here. Mr. Marshall didnt eat me; instead he gave me the carrots and some cards that had Gods promises from the Bible written on them. He said if I learned them, he would give me an ink pen!

You learned them? I asked.

Oh yes! Only government men and the headmaster of the school had a Bic pen! But when I showed off my pen at school, the teacher knew I must have spoken with a Toubab, which is strictly forbidden. He severely beat me.

When Nouhs parents found out he had portions of such a despised book defiling their house, they threw him out and forbade anyone to take him in; nor was he allowed in school. But something had happened: Nouh had come to believe that what the Bible said was true. Nouh's mother became desperate. Her own standing, as well as her family's, was in jeopardy. Finally she decided to kill her son. She obtained poison from a sorcerer and poisoned Noauh's food at a family feast. Nouh ate the food and wasn't affected. His brother, who unwittingly stole a morsel of meat from the deadly dish, became violently ill and remains partially paralyzed. Seeing God's intervention, the family and the townspeople were afraid to make further attempts on his life, but condemned him as an outcast.

After sitting a moment, I asked Nouh the question that only hours earlier I'd wanted to ask my father: Why is your faith so important to you that yourre willing to give up everything, perhaps even your life?

I know God loves me and I'll live with Him forever. I know it! Now I have peace where I used to be full of fear and uncertainty. Who wouldn't want to give up everything for this peace and security?

It couldn't have been easy for you as a teenager to take a stand that made you despised by the whole community, I said. Where did your courage come from?

Mr. Marshall couldn't take me in without putting my life in jeopardy. so he gave me some books about other Christians who'd suffered for their faith. My favorite was about five young men who willingly risked their lives to take God's good news to stone age Indians in the jungles of South America. His eyes widened. I've lived all my life in the desert. How frightening the jungle must be! The book said these men let themselves be speared to death, even though they had guns and could have killed their attackers!

The missionary translator said, I remember the story. As a matter of fact, one of those men had your last name.
Yes, I said quietly, the pilot was my father.
Your father? Nouh cried. The story is true!
Yes, I said, it's true.

The missionary and Nouh and I talked through the afternoon. When they accompanied me back to the airfield that night, we found that the doctors werent able to leave Timbuktu after all, and there was room for me on the UNICEF plane.

As Nouh and I hugged each other, it seemed incredible that God loved us so much that Hed arranged for us to meet at the ends of the earth. Nouh and I had gifts for each other that no one else could give.

I gave him the assurance that the story which had given him courage was true. He, in turn, gave me the assurance that God had used Dad's death for good.

Dad, by dying, had helped give Nouh a faith worth dying for. And Nouh, in return, had helped give Dad's faith back to me

The Bond Servant


In those days, many had to seek work as hired servants for wealthy land owners. I was a poor peasant girl. I needed to find work and to be taken care of. Word spread throughout the village of one wealthy land owner who was very hard to work for but was fair and good to his servants. He always treated them well and didn't abuse them. The work was hard but he took good care of his servants as long as they were good workers. Those who slacked off were sent away without any further compensation.

I came upon the stately mansion. It was the most awesome mansion I had ever seen! As far as the eye could see were the vast fields, vineyards, and livestock. I was excited yet very much afraid to enter those gates. Many spoke of the owner's son. He was a very firm taskmaster but also kind, gentle and understanding. He required that when you work for him it was for a total of seven years. After that time, you were set free with a very handsome settlement in which you could take care of yourself for quite sometime!

I entered the gates, trembling. I was brought to the owner's son. He was very specific what he expected from me, but in turn, he would treat me fairly and pay me a just wage. My work began in the fields. We would put in a very long, hard day but at the end of the day, he would feed us a very good meal and our quarters were very comfortable compared to most servant's camps.

Once in a while, the owner's son would walk among the fields just to check on us. Those of us who were working hard were encouraged. Those who were not working hard were warned and then later sent away if their work did not improve.

At the end of the seven years, each servant was given a graduation ceremony of sorts. There would be a special party where the master's son would congratulate them and give them a total of $15,000 compensation to help them along the way. They were set free and on their own. Although the subject rarely came up, all servants were given a chance at that time to become the master's bond sevants -- servants for life -- completely sold out to the master, never to be free. In turn, the master would take care of them for the rest of their lives. Very few even considered this kind of servitude.

As the end of my seven years approached, I asked many of the other servants if they had ever considered becoming a bond servant. They laughed and said, "No way!!! Only a crazy person would even consider something like that!" Once in a while I would see one of the owner's bond servants. They were different. They would come out to the fields to bring a message from the master, but they didn't mingle amoung us. Everytime the master's son would come to the field, my heart would leap for joy! He was such a kind, gentle person, yet strong and unwavering. He was a very powerful man -- much like his father. At times when I would see him, it would almost take my breath away. My heart would beat faster and faster and I would cling to his every word, although he rarely spoke directly to me. One time, he stopped and asked me my name. I told him that I really didn't have a name. He just smiled.

It was time for my "graduation." I was being set free that night. The master's son called me up and congratulated me on a fine job. He was about to give me my compensation when I said in a very low voice, "I don't want to leave -- I want to be your bond servant." The crowd of servants gasped!!! He silenced them and asked me to repeat myself. I said, "I don't want to leave you master. I want to stay with you forever. I want to be your bond servant!" He asked me if I had any idea what kind of decision I was making. I told him I did, but he asked me to think about it overnight and let him know in the morning.

When the morning came, he approached me again, "Have you made your decision?" I said, "Yes, my lord. I want to be your bond servant." He smiled and escorted me to a block of wood. He told me to lay down. The block of wood was put behind my left ear. One of the other bond servants took a nail and pounded it into my earlobe to make a hole. He inserted an earring of fine gold. This was the seal of our committment. The pain in my ear was very intense but the joy in my heart was overwhelming.

As I began to leave, the master's son called me over to him. He comforted me in my pain and told me to pack my bags. I said, "But master, where am I going?" He told me that I would no longer live in the servant's camp, but would live in the master's house. I was his property now and he would always take care of me -- no matter what! He even gave me a name!

The mansion was more awesome than I could ever imagine. I even had my own room! I still worked very hard for the master and his son, but the atmosphere was so different. I lived in his house. I began to know every intimate detail of his life. I saw exactly how he lived. Every once in a while he would come to my room and just chat with me. I waited on him hand and foot and took care of his every need. I began to know exactly what he liked and what he didn't like.

As the years passed by, I became very old and feeble. One day while I was taking a message for him to the field, I felt faint. I had to sit down. The master's son rushed out to check on me. He took one look at me and picked me up in his arms and carried me back to his father's house. He put me in my bed and waited on me hand and foot. He wouldn't let me lift a finger. I asked him why he was doing this and he replied, "I made a comittment to you years ago that if you became my bond servant, I would take care of you for the rest of your life, even when you are old and feeble. It is now my turn to wait on you!"

I have never regretted the day I made the decision to become his bond-servant. I know that no matter what happens, he will be there for me. And this earring of fine gold never fails to remind me of that relationship. I always wondered about the other sevants -- how long did their money last? And what ever became of them when they were old? Who took care of them when they could no longer take care of themselves?

"Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knowth not what his lord doeth: but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father, I have made known unto you." (John 15:15)

Revolving 09s


I was faced with making a total career change, going from a
straight-salary job as an accountant working in an air-
conditioned office to a straight-commission job making cold
calls on businesses selling security alarm devices.

Making cold calls ~ in person, not on the phone ~ is one of the
scariest kinds of work most people can imagine! It was
definitely a leap of faith, added to by the fact that it was
May, and the brutal heat and humidity of an Oklahoma summer was looming.

Before starting this job, I was sent to Dallas for a couple of
days of sales training. We were taught to walk in the door of
everything that even looked like a business and ask for the
owner. It was explained that only by making lots of calls and
presentations could we make the law of averages work in our
favor, find those relatively few people who were ready to buy,
make our sales, and be successful.

That's all part of basic
sales skills and techniques, and there was a lot of memorizing
and practicing scripts, learning to overcome objections, close
the sale, etc. That's standard sales "stuff" that every
salesperson has learned.

Then the instructor said something that I have thought of
and repeated many times since, and which I will present here in
a hopefully repeatable version:

"As you make sales calls, you will encounter an average of two
'Revolving 09s' every day.

You need to look forward to meeting
these people and be glad when you meet them because it means
you're that much closer to meeting the people who will buy your
product. You have to get by these people and not let them ruin
your day or affect your attitude."

What is a 'Revolving 09' you may ask? Well, a psychological
study was done that rated people on a scale of 1 thru 9 on how
well they got along with other people. A 01 could get along
with absolutely anybody. A 09 couldn't get along with his own
mother.

"And," the instructor continued, "I've added the word
'Revolving' to indicate that whichever way you turn them,
they're a perfect rear end!"

I DID meet a number of those people over the following months
and years, but I always recalled that story and realized that,
indeed, I had to deal with those calls, protect my attitude, and
just go on to the next call.

Their negativism or hostility was
something that I had to shake off just like the proverbial water
off a duck's back. Most of the time, I did and I ended up
doing pretty well with that career.

It led to starting my own
burglar alarm business a couple of years later, which I ran for
many years, and from which I still draw a significant residual
income.

I would like to add two additional thoughts:

First, often those people ARE hurting, and we may not know why.
It's easy to think their hostility is directed at us, when it's
really not.

I very clearly remember a fellow I called on one day in his
automotive body shop. At first he seemed very much like one of
those "Revolving 09s," but it also seemed like there was
something really troubling him.

Although it was none of my
business, I asked, and he said that he had just found out that
his young grandson had grabbed a defective electrical cord and
been killed! It wasn't really me who was causing his
apparently hostile reaction.

He was just lost in grief and
couldn't deal with trying to talk with anyone at that time. I
called on him another time, and although he didn't purchase my
product, we had a pleasant conversation.

Second, what we were taught in that sales training was basically
your Choice #2 ~ Ignore Them. Our job was to sell, not to try
to change their attitude, and there were a lot more places to
call on, so we were taught to just leave.

That's fine in that type of sales work, but obviously it IS far
better when we can do Choice #3 ~ Return Love for Hate,
particularly in personal or business situations where we have
ongoing contact with those people.

However, even in a casual or
one-time contact, we do have the choice to pray for them. We
may not know what's bugging them or why they're acting that way, but God does, and He can fix it.

We are commanded to "Pray
without ceasing," and it only takes a moment to say a quick
prayer for that person, ask God to bless them and deal with
whatever in their life needs dealing with.

Is that a good practice?
Yes.
Do I always do that?
No, nowhere close.

Should we all do that,
and would the world be a better place if we did?

Absolutely!

The Bridge

There was once a bridge which spanned a large river. During the day the bridge sat with its length running up and down the river paralleled with the banks, allowing ships to pass thru freely. But at certain times each day, a train would come and the bridge would be turned sideways across the river, allowing a train to cross it.

A switchman sat in a small shack on one side of the river where he operated the controls to turn the bridge and lock it into place when a train crossed.

One evening as the switchman was waiting for the light of the day to come, he looked off into the distance thru the dim twilight and caught sight of the trainlights. He stepped to the controls and waited until the train was within a prescribed distance within the bridge. He turned the bridge into position, but, to his horror, found the locking control did not work. If the bridge was not secure in position, it would wobble back and forth at the ends when the train came on to it, causing the train to jump the track and go crashing into the river. This would be a passenger train with many people aboard.

He left the bridge turned across the river, and hurried across bridge to the other side of the river where there was a lever switch that could hold to operate the lock manually. He would have to hold the switch back firmly as the train crossed.

He could hear the rumble of the train now. He took hold of the lever and kept applying the pressure to keep mechanism locked. Many lives depended on this man's strength.

Then, coming across the bridge from the direction of his control room, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. "Daddy, where are you?"

His four-year-old son was crossing the bridge to look for him. His first impulse was to cry out to the child, "Run! Run!" But the train was close; the tiny legs would never make it across the bridge in time.

He almost left his lever to run and snatch up his son and carry him but he realized that he would not be able to get back to the lever in time. Either the people on the train or his little son must die.

He took a moment to make his decision. The train sped safely about, on its way, and no one aboard was even aware of the tiny broken body, thrown mercilessly into the river by the onrushing train. Nor were they aware of the pitiful figure of the sobbing man, still clinging tightly to the locking lever long after the train had passed. They did not see him walk home more slowly than he had ever walked: to tell his wife how the child had brutally died.

Now if you comprehend the emotions which went this man's heart, you can begin to understand the feelings of our Father in Heaven when He allowed His Son to bridge the gap between us and eternal life.

Can there be any wonder that He caused the earth to tremble and the skies to darken as His Son died? How does He feel when we speed along thru life without any thought to what was done for us thru Jesus Christ?

When was the last time you thanked Him for the sacrifice of His Son?

Toddler's Property Laws

1. If I like it, it's mine.
2. If it's in my hand, it's mine.
3. If I can take it from you, it's mine.
4. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
5. If it's mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way.
6. If I'm doing or building something, all the pieces are mine.
7. If it looks like mine, it is mine.
8. If I saw it first, it's mine.
9. If you are playing with something and you put it down,
it automatically becomes mine.
10 If it's broken, it's yours.

Good for a few chuckles but very real. However if we are mature Christians we should not behave in this manner. We should at least share with others following the Command to love others as we love ourselves. At the very highest level we should even put others' interests ahead of our own.

Blessings to all.