Too Busy for a Friend?

(I looove this concept!!)

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.
Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.
It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.
That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.
On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. "Really?" she heard whispered. "I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!" and, "I didn't know others liked me so much." were most of the comments.
No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another. That group of students moved on.
Several years later, one of the students was killed in Viet Nam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature.
The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.
As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her. "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. She nodded: "yes." Then he said: "Mark talked about you a lot."
After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.
"We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.
"Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it."
All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home."
Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album."
"I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary."
Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: "I think we all saved our lists."
That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be.
So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late.

Remember, you reap what you sow.

What you put into the lives of others comes back into your own.
May Your Day Be As Blessed As You Are Special

"There are two ways to live your life.

One is as though nothing is a miracle.

The other is as though everything is a miracle."

--Albert Einstein

Fighting-Fair

Some notes from a college course i took in Counseling:

Fighting Fair:
1. Fight by appointment (Can put arguements off, don't catch
each other off guard)
2. Keep it specific
3. Fight on neutral ground (In seculsion but not Isolation)
4. No "low-blows" (Below the belt: Watch critical areas; unfair or
weak areas, places difficult to forgive such as financial/ sexual
5. Identify the Belt area
6. Fight for Understanding- NOT the knock out.

The 212th Degree

Let me tell you why I believe so wholeheartedly in the importance of work, of conviction, of personal sincerity, and of using your potential.

This is why:

At 211 degrees, water is just hot water, inert, powerless.

At 212 degrees, water is live steam, with more power inherent within it that man has ever been able to harness with true and full efficiency, even with all this engineering knowledge and skill.

At 211 degrees, that water in a locomotive boiler gives it the power to haul a mile-long trani of cars across a mountain pass.

At 211 degrees the locomotive is as poweless as if the firebox were empty and cold. At 212 degrees it has the power to pull a mile-long train of cars rattling along the right-of-way at 70 miles an hour.

Most people today are walking around at 211 degrees who, for want of one more degree of temperature, is relatively powerless; and far less effective than he should be. Many a person is walking around at 211 degrees who, if he would but throw another log on the fire, another lump of coal; could raise his temperature to 212 degrees, and increase his power by infinity.

That one last degree out of 212 degrees seems insignificant by itself, yet it is of incomparable and everlasting importance. The person who will never lift his temperature to the boiling point may never achieve anything he so desires.

Someone once said, "Nothing great has ever been achieved without WORK."

That is more than just a phrase. It is a road map to achievement and to success and happiness. --Author Unknown

Give Thanks for the Hard Things in Life

There are those who give thanks for the pleasures
And comforts which come to their door;
But repine at the trials and hardships,
And complain that their burdens are sore.

There are souls who accept all the bounties
Bestowed by One gracious and just:
But lament if the road is o'ershadwed
Or obscured by the storm and the dust.

Shall we then, accept only the good things,
The ones which are easy to bear;
And revile at the fate which required us
To remove from the path thorn and snare?

Not alone for the easy and pleasant
should our praise and thanksgiving ascend;
For the Father in sending us trials,
But proves He's more truly our friend.

Not to each comes the same kind of troubles.
Yet hardships we surely must bear
If we are to prove our true metal,
And pure gold is always too rare

So let us give thanks for the heartaches,
For the Brier-stewn way and the tear;
They are stepping-stones higher and farther,
They are helping us grow year by year

And instead of lamenting and grieving
When difficult things come our way.
Let us fasten our armour the closer
And cheerfully, calmly obey.

Thank God for the beauty of labor;
The glory which follows the strife;
For the strength which is born of our weakness--
Thank God for the hard things in life.

--Nancy Smith Lowe

Easter Story: The bird cage sermon

There once was a man named George Thomas, pastor in a small New Eingland town. One Easter Sunday morning, he came to church carrying a rusty, bent old bird cage, and set it on the pulpit. Serveral eyebrows were raised, and as if in response, Pastor Thomas began to speak.

"I was walking through town yesterday when I say a young boy coming towards me, swinging the bird cage. On the bottom of the cage were three little wild birds, shivering with cold and fright. I stopped the lad and asked,
"what you got there son?"
"Just some old birds," came the reply.
"What are you going to do with them?" I asked.
"Take 'em home and have fun with them. I'm gonna tease 'em and pull out their feathers to make 'em fight. I'm gonna have a real good time."
"But you'll get tired of these birds sooner or later. What will you do then?"
"Oh, I got some cats. They like birds. I'll give 'em to them."

The pastor was silent a moment.

"How much do you want for those birds, son?"
"Huh! Why you don't want those birds, mister. They're just plain old fieldbirds. They don't sing-- they ain't even pretty!"

"How much?"

The boy sized up the pastor as if he were crazy and said, "Ten dollars?" The pastor reached in his big pocket and took out a ten dollar bill. He placed it in the boy's hand. In a flash, the boy was gone. The pastor picked up the cage and gently carried it to the end of the alley where there was a tree and a grassy spot. Setting the cage down, he opened the door, and by softly tapping the bars, persuaded the birds out, setting them free.

Well, that explained the empty bird cage on the pulpit, and then the pastor began to tell this story.

One day Satan and Jesus were having a conversation. Satan had just come from the Garden of Eden and he was gloating and boasting.

"Yes sir, I just caught a world full of poeole down there. Set me a trap, used a bait I knew they couldn't resist. Got 'em all!"

"What are you going to do with them?" Jesus asked.
"Oh, I'm gonna have fun! I'm gonna teach them how to marry and divorce each other, how to hate and abuse each other, how to invent guns and bombs and kill each other. I'm gonna have fun!"
"And what will you do with them when you grow tired of that?"
"Oh, kill 'em... Damn 'em."
"How much do you want for them?"
"Oh, you don't want these peple. They ain't no good. Why, you take them, and they'll just hate you. They'll spit on you, and curse you and kill you! You don't want those people!"

"How Much?"

Satan looked at Jesus and sneered, "all your tears, and all your blood...."

Jesus paid the price.

He picked up the cage.

He opened the door.

Discouragement: Satans Tool + The Imp of Discouragement

Discouragement: Satans Tool
A Chinese legend describes how the Father of Sin decided to have a sale and dispose of all the tools he owned to anyone who would pay the price.

The implements were laid out in a row for inspectioin. Among them were tools labeled: Malice; Hatred; Envy; Jealousy; and Deceit. Every one had a price tag on it . Apart from the others lay a harmless looking wedge-shaped tool, very worn from use, that was priced a great deal higher thatn any of the rest.

One of the buyers asked the Devil what it was. "That", he said, "is discouragement, and it's in fine shape."

"But why have you priced it so high?"

"Because it's more useful than any of the others. I can pry open and get inside a man's conscience with that wedge when I couldn't get near him with any other. And, believe me, once I get inside I can use that man to whatever suits me best. Of course, you'll notice it's a little worn; that's because I use it with nearly everbody, for very few of you mortals know that it belongs to me."

However the price was so high that this particualar tool was never sold.

The Devil still owns it and is still using it today.


**********

The "Imp" of Discouragement!

In this street of life, walking in the darkness of the shadow, hungry old Satan was out hunting with his dogs, the little imps of human weakness.

A man came walking through life's street.
Satan said to the little devil, with a bitter face, "Go, get him for me."
Quickly the imp crossed the street, silently and lightly hopped to the man's shoulder. Close in this ear he whispered:
"You are discouraged."
"No", said the man, "I am not discouraged."
"You are discouraged."
The man replied this time, "I do not think I am."
Louder and more decidedly the litle imp said again: "I tell you you are discouraged."
The man dropped his head and replied: "Well, I suppose I am."
The imp hopped back to Satan, and said promptly: "I have gotten him, he is discouraged."
Another man passed. Again old Satan said, "Get him for me."
The proud little demon of discouragement repeated his tactics.
The first time that he said, "You are discourged." the man relied emphatically, "No."
The second time the man replied: "I tell you I am not discouraged."
The third time he said: "I am not discouraged. You lie."
The man walked down the street, his head up, going toward the light.
The imp of discouragement returned to his master crestfallen.
"I couildn't get him. Three times I told him he was disocuraged.
The third time he called me a liar, and that discouraged me."

Pushing Against the Rock

There was a man who was asleep one night in his cabin when suddenly his room filled with light and the savior appeared. The lord told him he had a work for him to do, and showed him a large rock, explaining that he was to push against the rock with all his might. This the man did, and for many days he toiled from sun-up to sun-down; his shoulder set squarely against the cold massive surface of the rockpushing with all his might. Each night the man returned to his cabin sore and worn out, feeling that his whole day had been spent in vain.

Seeing that the man was showing signs of discouragement, Satan decided to enter the picture - placing thoughts in the man's mind, such as "Why kill yourself over this, you're never going to move it" or "Boy you've been at it a long time and you haven't even scratched the surface", etc.-giving the man the impression that the task was impossible and that he was an unworthy servant because he wasn't moving the massive stone.

These thoughts discouraged and disheartened the man and he started to ease up in his efforts. "Why kill myself?" he thought. "I'll just put in my time, putting forth the minimum of effort and that will be good enough." And that he did, or at least planned on doing until one day he deciced to take his troubles to the Lord. "Lord", he said, "I have labored hard and long in your service, putting forth all my strength to do that which you have asked me. Yet, after all this time, I have not even budged that rock half a millimeter. What is wrong? Why am i failing?" To this the Lord responded compassionately, "My friend...when long ago I asked you to serve me and you accepted, I told you to push against the rock with all your strength, and that you have done. But never once did I mention to you that I expected you to move it. At least not by yourself. Your task was to push, and now you come to me, your strength spent, thinking that you have failed and ready to quit. But is that really so? Look at yourself. Your arms are strong and muscled; your back sinewed and brown. Your hands are calloused from constant pressure and your legs have become massive and hard. Through opposition you have grown much and your ability now far surpasses that which you used to have. Yet still, you haven't succeeded in moving the rock; and you come to me now with a heavy heart and your strength spent. I, my friend, will move the rock. Your calling was to be obedient and to push, and to excercise your faith and trust in my wisdom... and this you have done." -Author Unknown-


"It is the effort.... Not the acheivement that makes us perfect"

Scars of Life

I don't know who wrote this but it was emailed to me by a
friend. I love the analogy the author makes to the tug-of-war
of life we sometimes experience

SCARS OF LIFE

Some years ago, on a hot summer day in South Florida , a
little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming
hole behind his house. In a hurry to dive into the cool
water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes,
socks, and shirt as he went. He flew into the water, not
realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an
alligator was swimming toward the shore.

His father, working in the yard, saw the two as they got
closer and closer together. In utter fear, he ran toward
the water, yelling to his son as loudly as he could.

Hearing his voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a
U-turn to swim to his father. It was too late. Just as he
reached his father, the alligator reached him.

From the dock, the father grabbed his little boy by the
arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began an
incredible tug-of-war between the two.

The alligator was much stronger than the father, but the
father was much too passionate to let go.

A farmer happened to drive by, heard his screams, raced from
his truck, took aim and shot the alligator.

Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the
little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the
vicious attack of the animal. And, on his arms, were deep
scratches where his father's fingernails dug into his flesh
in his effort to hang on to the son he loved.

The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the
trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy
lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said
to the reporter, 'But look at my arms. I have great scars
on my arms, too. I have them because my Dad wouldn't let
go.'


You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars,
too. No, not from an alligator, but the scars of a painful
past. Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us
deep regret. But, some wounds, my friend, are because God
has refused to let go. In the midst of your struggle, He's
been there holding on to you.

The Scripture teaches that God loves you. You are a child of
God. He wants to protect you and provide for you in every
way. But sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous
situations, not knowing what lies ahead. The swimming hole
of life is filled with peril - and we forget that the enemy
is waiting to attack. That's when the tug-of-war begins -
and if you have the scars of His love on your arms, be very,
very grateful. He did not and will not ever let you go.

* * * *

God has blessed us , so that we can be a blessing to others.
You just never know where a person is in his/her life and
what they are going through. Never judge another person's
scars, because you don't know how they got them.


Right now, someone needs to know that God loves them, and
you love them, too - enough to not let them go. Always Tell
Your Family And Friends How Much You Love Them!!!

FRIENDS ARE ANGELS
WHO LIFT US TO OUR FEET
WHEN OUR WINGS HAVE
TROUBLE REMEMBERING HOW TO FLY.