Runaway Daughter

Longing to leave her poor Brazilian neighborhood, Christina wanted to see the world. Discontent with a home having only a pallet on the floor, a washbasin, and a wood-burning stove, she dreamed of a better life in the city.

One morning she slipped away, breaking her mother's heart. Knowing what life on the streets would be like for her young, attractive daughter, Maria hurriedly packed to go find her. On her way to the bus stop she entered a drugstore to get one last thing. Pictures. She sat in the photograph booth, closed the curtain, and spent all she could on pictures of herself.

With her purse full of small black-and-white photos, she boarded the next bus to Rio de Janiero. Maria knew Christina had no way of earning money. She also knew that her daughter was too stubborn to give up. When pride meets hunger, a human will do things that were before unthinkable. Knowing this, Maria began her search. Bars, hotels, nightclubs, any place with the reputation for street walkers or prostitutes. She went to them all.

And at each place she left her picture,taped on a bathroom mirror, tacked to a hotel bulletin board, fastened to a corner phone booth. And on the back of each photo she wrote a note.

It wasn't too long before both the money and the pictures ran out, and Maria had to go home. The weary mother wept as the bus began its long journey back to her small village. It was a few weeks later that young Christina descended the hotel stairs. Her young face was tired. Her brown eyes no longer danced with youth but spoke of pain and fear. Her laughter was broken.

Her dream had become a nightmare. A thousand times over she had longed to trade these countless beds for her secure pallet. Yet the little village was, in too many ways, too far away. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes noticed a familiar face. She looked again, and there on the lobby mirror was a small picture of her mother.

Christina's eyes burned and her throat tightened as she walked across the room and removed the small photo. Written on the back was this compelling invitation. 'Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, it doesn't matter. Please come home." She did.

Max Lucado, No Wonder They Call Him the Savior, Multnomah Press, 1986, pp. 158-9.

My Son Died, Don't You Care !?!

The day is over, you are driving home. You tune in your radio. You hear a little blurb about a little village in India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen before.

It's not influenza, but three or four fellows are dead, and it's kind of interesting. They're sending some doctors over there to investigate it. You don't think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home from church, you hear another radio spot. Only they say it's not three villagers, it's 30,000 villagers in the back hills of this particular area of India, and it's on TV that night.

CNN runs a little blurb; people are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.

By Monday morning when you get up, it's the lead story. For it's not just India; it's Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you're hearing this story everywhere and they have coined it now as 'the mystery flu."

The President has made some comment that he and everyone are praying and hoping that all will go well over there.

But everyone is wondering, 'How are we going to contain it?" That's when the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has been seen.

That night you are watching a little bit of CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest, when a weeping woman is translated from a French news program into English: 'There's a man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu. It has come to Europe."

Panic strikes.

As best they can tell, once you get it, you have it for a week and you don't know it. Then you have four days of unbelievable symptoms. Then you die.

Britain closes it's borders, but it's too late. Southampton, Liverpool, Northhampton, and it's Tuesday morning when the President of the United States makes the following announcement: 'Due to a national security risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones are overseas, I'm sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for this thing. Within four days our nation has been plunged into an unbelievable fear.

People are selling little masks for your face. Some are talking about what if it comes to this country, and preachers on Tuesday are saying, 'It's the scourge of God." It's Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from the parking lot and says, 'Turn on a radio, turn on a radio." While the church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it, the announcement is made, 'Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from the mystery flu." Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps across the country.

People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote. Nothing is working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It's as though it's just sweeping in from the borders.

Then, all of a sudden the news comes out. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made. It's going to take the blood of somebody who hasn't been infected, and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest, through all those channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple thing: 'Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken. That's all we ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the hospitals."

Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late on that Friday night, there is a long line, and they've got nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it.

Your spouse and your kids are out there, and they take your blood type and they say, 'Wait here in the parking lot and if we call your name, you can be dismissed and go home."

You stand around scared with your neighbors, wondering what in the world is going on, and that this is the end of the world. Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He's yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says with a grin, 'Daddy, that's me."

Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy. 'Wait a minute, hold it!" And they say, 'It's okay, his blood is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make sure he doesn't have the disease. We think he has got the right type."

Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses, crying and hugging one another - some are even laughing. It's the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and says, 'Thank you, sir. Your son's blood type is perfect. It's clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine."

As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing and crying. But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, 'May we see you for a moment?

We didn't realize that the donor would be a minor and we need . . . we need you to sign a consent form."

You begin to sign and then you see that the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty. 'H-h-h-how many pints?," you ask. And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he says, 'We had no idea it would be a little child. We weren't prepared. We need it all!"

'But -but..." 'You don't understand. We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We - we need it all -we need it all!"

'But can't you give him a transfusion?"

'If we had clean blood we would. Can you sign? Would you sign?"

In numb silence you do. Then they say, 'Would you like to have a moment with your son?" You go into that room where he sits on a table saying, 'Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?"

Can you take his hands and say, 'Son, we love you, and we would never ever let anything happen to you that didn't just have to be. Do you understand that?"

When that old doctor comes back in and says, 'I'm sorry, we've -we've got to get started. People all over the world are dying." Can you leave? Can you walk out while he is saying, 'Dad? Mom? Why - why have you forsaken me?"

And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, some folks sleep through it, and some folks don't even come because they go to the lake, and some folks come with a pretentious attitude.

'MY SON DIED! DON'T YOU CARE?"

Is that what God may be saying? 'MY SON DIED. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?"

'Father, seeing it from your eyes breaks our hearts. Maybe now we can begin to comprehend the great love you have for us. Amen '

Source unknown

How Much Is that Preacher?

Good morning, madam. May I help you?

Yes, please, I'd like to buy a minister.

For yourself or your church?

Oh, for my church, of course. I'm already married.

Uh, yes. Did you have a particular model in mind?

I've got a description from the Candidate Committee right here. We want a man about 30, well educated, with some experience. Good preacher and teacher. Balanced personality. Serious, but with a sense of humor. Efficient, but not rigid. Good health. Able to identify with all age groups. And, if possible, sings tenor.

Sings tenor?

We're short of tenors in the choir.

I see. Well, that's quite a list. How much money did you want to spend?

The committee says $9,000. $9,500 tops.

Hmmm. Well, perhaps we'd better start in the bargain basement.

Tell me, how much is that model in the window?

You mean the one in the Pendleton plaid suit and the gray suede dune boots?

Yes, that one. He's a real dream.

That's our Princeton #467. Has a Ph.D. and AKC papers.

AKC?

American Koinonia Council. He sells for $16,000 plus house.

Wow! That's too rich for our blood. What about that model over there?

Ah, yes. An exceptional buy. Faith #502. He's a little older than 30, but has excellent experience. Aggressive. Good heart. Has a backing of sermons, two of which have been printed in Christian Leaders.

He's not too bad. Can you do something about his bald head? Mrs. Penner especially insists that our minister have some hair.

Madam, all our ministers come in a variety of hair styles.

I'll keep him in mind.

Now let me show you Olympia #222. Four years of varsity sports at Brass Ring College. Plays football, basketball, volleyball, and Ping-Pong. Comes complete with sports equipment.

What a physique! He must weigh 200 pounds!

Yes, indeed. You get a lot for your money with this one. And think what he can do for your young people.

Great. But how is he at preaching?

I must admit he's not St. Peter. But you can't expect good sermons and a church-wide athletic program too!

I suppose not. Still...

Let me show you our Fresno #801. Now here's a preacher. All his sermons are superb,well- researched, copious anecdotes, and they always have three points. And,he comes with a full set of the Religious Encyclopedia at no extra charge! You get the whole package for $8,300.

He's wearing awfully thick glasses.

For $220 more we put in contact lenses.

I don't know. He might study too much. We don't want a man who's in his office all the time.

Of course.

How about this minister over here?

Comes from a management background. Trained in business operations at Beatitude College. Adept with committees. Gets his work done by 11:30 every morning.

His tag says he's an IBM 400.

Madam, you have a discerning eye. Innovative Biblical Methods. This man will positively revitalize your church.

I'm not sure our church wants to be revitalized. Haven't you got something less revolutionary?

Well, would you like someone of the social worker type? We have this Ghetto #130.

The man with the beard? Good gracious, no. Mrs. Penner would never go for that.

How about our Empathy #41C? His forte is counseling. Very sympathetic. Patient. Good with people who have problems.

Everyone in our church has problems. But he might not get out and visit new people. We really need a man who does a lot of visitation. You see, all our people are very busy and...

Yes, yes, I understand. You want a minister who can do everything well.

That's it! Haven't you got somebody like that?

I'm thinking. In our back room we have a minister who was traded in last week. Excellent man, but he broke down after three years. If you don't mind a used model, we can sell him at a reduced price.

Well, we had hoped for someone brand-new. We just redecorated the sanctuary, and we wanted a new minister to go with it.

Of course. But with a little exterior work, and a fresh suit, this man will look like he just came out of the box. No one will ever know. Let me bring him out and you can look him over.

All right. Honestly, this minister shopping is exhausting. It's so hard to get your money's worth. Tell me, do you also give Green Stamps with the contract?

Uh,no. But if there's any dissatisfaction after six months we send a new congregation for the balance of the years. That usually takes care of most problems!?!?

No Time To Play

My precious boy with the golden hair Came up one day beside my chair and fell upon his bended knee And said, 'Oh, Mommy, please play with me!"

I said, 'Not now, go on and play; I’ve got so much to do today."He smiled through tears in eyes so blue When I said, 'We'll play when I get through."

But the chores lasted all through the day And I never did find time to play. When supper was over and dishes done, I was much too tired for my little son.

I tucked him in and kissed his cheek And watched my angel fall asleep. As I tossed and turned upon my bed, Those words kept ringing in my head,

'Not now, son, go on and play, I’ve got so much to do today."I fell asleep and in a minute's span, My little boy is a full-grown man.

No toys are there to clutter the floor; No dirty fingerprints on the door; No snacks to fix; no tears to dry; The rooms just echo my lonely sigh.

And now I've got the time to play; But my precious boy is gone away. I awoke myself with a pitiful scream And realized it was just a dream

For across the room in his little bed, Lay my curly-haired boy, the sleepy-head. My work will wait 'til another day For now I must find some time to play.

Dianna (Ars. Joe) Neal

Two Bears

Two hunters came across a bear so big that they dropped their rifles and ran for cover. One man climbed a tree while the other hid in a nearby cave. The bear was in no hurry to eat, so he sat down between the tree and the cave to reflect upon his good fortune.

Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, the hunter in the cave came rushing out, almost ran into the waiting bear, hesitated, and then dashed back in again. The same thing happened a second time. When he emerged for the third time, his companion in the tree frantically called out, 'Woody, are you crazy? Stay in the cave till he leaves!" 'Can't," panted Woody, 'there's another bear in there."

Hell or High Water

A young fellow wanted to be a star journalist but lived in a small town (not much possibility). One day the dam upstream broke and the town was flooded. He got in a rowboat and headed out to look for a story. Found a lady sitting on her rooftop. He tied up the boat and told her what he was after. (They both watched as various items floated by).

She says, 'Now there's a story." 'No, that's not a story." Finally a hat floats by and then does a 180 degree turn, goes upstream a ways and does another 180 degree turn, etc.

The fellow says, 'There's a story."

'Oh no, that's not a story. 'That's my husband Hayford. He said that he was going to mow the lawn come hell or high water!"

Light Bulb

Thomas A. Edison was working on a crazy contraption called a 'light bulb" and it took a whole team of men 24 straight hours to put just one together. The story goes that when Edison was finished with one light bulb, he gave it to a young boy helper, who nervously carried it up the stairs.

Step by step he cautiously watched his hands, obviously frightened of dropping such a priceless piece of work. You've probably guessed what happened by now; the poor young fellow dropped the bulb at the top of the stairs. It took the entire team of men twenty-four more hours to make another bulb.

Finally, tired and ready for a break, Edison was ready to have his bulb carried up the stairs. He gave it to the same young boy who dropped the first one. That's true forgiveness.

James Newton, Uncommon Friends

Until You Know the Whole Story

Once there was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although poor, he was envied by all, for he owned a beautiful white horse. Even the king coveted his treasure. A horse like this had never been seen before, such as its splendor, its majesty, its strength.

People offered fabulous prices for the steed, but the old man always refused. 'This horse is not a horse to me," he would tell them. 'It is a person how could you sell a person? He is a friend, not a possession. How could you sell a friend?" The man was poor and the temptation was great. But he never sold the horse.



One morning he found that the horse was not in the stable. All the village came to see him. 'You old fool," they scoffed, 'we told you that someone would steal your horse. We warned you that you would be robbed. You are so poor. How could you ever hope to protect such a valuable animal? It would have been better to have sold him. You could have gotten whatever price you wanted. No amount would have been too high. Now the horse is gone, and you've been cursed with misfortune."


The old man responded, 'Don't speak too quickly. Say only that the horse is not in the stable. That is all we know; the rest is judgment. If I've been cursed or not, how can you know? How can you judge?"



The people contested, 'Don't make us out to be fools! We may not be philosophers, but great philosophy is not needed. The simple fact is that your horse is gone is a curse."
The old man spoke again. 'All I know is that the stable is empty, and the horse is gone. The rest I don't know. Whether it be a curse or a blessing, I can't say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say what will come next?"



The people of the village laughed. They thought that the man was crazy. They had always thought he was a fool; if he wasn't, he would have sold the horse and lived off the money. But instead, he was a poor woodcutter, an old man still cutting firewood and dragging it out of the forest and selling it. he lived hand to mouth in the misery of poverty. Now he had proven that he was, indeed, a fool.



After fifteen days, the horse returned. He hadn't been stolen; he had run away into the forest. Not only had he returned, he had brought a dozen wild horses with him. Once again the village people gathered around the woodcutter and spoke. 'Old man, you were right and we were wrong. What we thought was a curse was a blessing. Please forgive us."



The man responded, 'Once again, you go too far. Say only that the horse is back. State only that a dozen horses returned with him, but don't judge. How do you know if this is a blessing or not? You see only a fragment. Unless you know the whole story, how can you judge? You read only one page of a book. Can you judge the whole book? You read only one word of a phrase. Can you understand the entire phrase?



'Life is so vast, yet you judge all of life with one page or one word. All you have is a fragment! Don't say that this is a blessing. No one knows. I am content with what I know. I am not perturbed by what I don't."



'Maybe the old man is right," they said to one another. So they said little. But down deep, they knew he was wrong. They knew it was a blessing. Twelve wild horses had returned with one horse. With a little bit of work, the animals could be broken and trained and sold for much money.



The old man had a son, an only son. The young man began to break the wild horses. After a few days, he fell from one of the horses and broke both legs. Once again the villagers gathered around the old man and cast their judgments.



'You were right," they said. 'You proved you were right. The dozen horses were not a blessing. They were a curse. Your only son has broken his legs, and now in your old age you have no one to help you. Now you are poorer than ever."



The old man spoke again. 'You people are obsessed with judging. Don't go so far. Say only that my son broke his legs. Who knows if it is a blessing or a curse? No one knows. We only have a fragment. Life comes in fragments."



It so happened that a few weeks later the country engaged in war against a neighboring country. All the young men of the village were required to join the army. Only the son of the old man was excluded, because he was injured. Once again the people gathered around the old man, crying and screaming because their sons had been taken. There was little chance that they would return. The enemy was strong, and the war would be a losing struggle. They would never see their sons again.



'You were right, old man," they wept. 'God knows you were right. This proves it. Your son's accident was a blessing. His legs may be broken, but at least he is with you. Our sons are gone forever."



The old man spoke again. 'It is impossible to talk with you. You always draw conclusions. No one knows. Say only this: Your sons had to go to war, and mine did not. No one knows if it is a blessing or a curse. No one is wise enough to know. Only God knows."


In the Eye of the Storm by Max Lucado, Word Publishing, 1991, pp. 144-147

The Cookie Thief

A woman was waiting at an airport one night. With several long hours before her flight. She hunted for a book in the airport shop, Bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop.

She was engrossed in her book, but happened to see, That the man beside her, as bold as could be, Grabbed a cookie or two from the bag between, Which she tried to ignore, to avoid a scene.
She read, munched cookies, and watched the clock, As the gutsy 'cookie thief!" diminished her stock. She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by, Thinking, 'If I wasn't so nice, I'd blacken his eye!"

With each cookie she took, he took one, too. When only one was left, she wondered what he'd do. With a smile on his face and a nervous laugh, He took the last cookie and broke it in half.

He offered her half, as he ate the other. She snatched it from him and thought, 'Oh brother,This guy has some nerve, and he's also rude, Why, he didn't even show any gratitude!"

She had never known when she had been so galled, And sighed with relief when her flight was called. She gathered her belongings and headed for the gate, Refusing to look back at the 'thieving ingrate."

She boarded the plane and sank in her seat, Then sought her book, which was almost complete. As she reached in her baggage, she gasped with surprise. There was her bag of cookies in front of her eyes!

'If mine are here," she moaned with despair, 'Then the others were his and he tried to share!" Too late to apologize, she realized with grief, That she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief!

Night Light

In Him there is no darkness at all.
1 John 1:5

A little boy was afraid to go to bed one night, because he couldn't see anything in the darkness. While his father was tucking him in, he said, "Do you love me when it's dark, Dad?"

"Of course, son."
"Do you love me even when you can't see me and I can't see you?"
"More than ever!"

Little children often need reassurance when the sun goes down, and sometimes adults do too. At night in the dark, worries seem to loom larger, problems greater, and fear stronger. Prayer can help put you at ease before going to sleep.