Anecdote - A Silent Sermon

    Grandfather would tuck his Bible under his arm and walk through the small town he lived in to Sunday school and church services. For the last five years of his life he could not hear, and he never heard a word of any sermon, yet he continued to go.
    One day I asked him, “Grandpa, Why do you keep on going to Sunday school and church when you can’t hear a word that the preacher says?”
    ‘I keep on going?” he replied, “even if I don’t hear, because I want people to know whose side I’m on.”
    Do people know whose side you’re on? Do you want them to know? It is time for Christians to take a stand for Christ. We must be different from the world if we are to help it. Until we make it clear who it is we serve, no one will ever pay attention to us.
    An evaluation of some Christians’ lives would lead one to believe that God “really isn’t that big a deal.” Make sure the world knows whose side you’re on.
    “. . . as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”

Quotes from Dr. Henrietta C. Mears

Quotations from the Teacher

    Dr. Henrietta C. Mears, the Founder of Gospel Light Publications, had a personal file that covered over 30 years of teaching God’s Word. She was known affectionately as “Teacher” by those she personally taught and influenced. Some of her  thoughts, gathered here from her files, came from a mind thoroughly dedicated to Christ.  She said:

“If I had my life to live over again, I would just believe God.”

“Time cannot be saved, it can only be spent, and if not spent wisely and well, it is wasted.”

“Live the Gospel first! Tell about it afterward!”

“A man generally lives up to what is expected of him.”

“Not your responsibility, but your response to God’s ability counts.”

“Jesus lived that He might die, and died that we might live!”

“It is not what we think but what God says that is important!”

“How terrible it would be if God really gave us everything for which we asked.”

“Christ did not bear the cross --- He used it.”

“Some people grow under responsibility; others swell.”

“What you are is God’s gift to you. What you can become is your gift to Him.”

“If you haven’t learned to follow, you can’t lead.”

“Redemption was not an after-thought with God.” (Ephesians 1:4)”

“You teach a little bit by what you say. You teach most by what you are.”

“ The recognition of our duties is more important than the recognition of our rights.”

“A man who walks with God always gets to his destination.”

“I know not the way He leads me, but well do I know my Guide.”

            Thank You Teacher!

Anecdote - Finding What He Looked For

    Jim Smith went to church one Sunday morning. He heard the organist miss a note during the prelude, and he winced. He saw a teenager talking when everybody was supposed to be bowed in silent prayer. He felt like the usher was watching to see what he put in the offering plate and it made him boil. He cau7ght the preacher making a slip of the tongue five times in the sermon by actual count. As he slipped out thro’ the side door during the closing hymn, he mutter to himself, “Never again! What a bunch of clods and hypocrites!”

    Ron Jones went to church one Sunday morning. He heard the organist play and arrangement of “A Mighty Fortress” and he thrilled to the majesty of it. He heard a young girl take a moment in the service to speak her simple moving message of the difference her faith makes to her life. He was glad to see that his church was sharing in a special offering for the hungry of Nigeria. He especially appreciated the sermon that Sunday --- it answered a question that had bothered him for a long time. He thought, as he walked out the doors of the church, “How can a man come here and not feel the presence of God?”

    Both men went to the same church on the same Sunday morning. Each found what he was looking for. What will you be looking for this Sunday?

Excerpt from FRONT PORCH TALES by Phillip Gulley

Tasting Tears

    When my wife and I first married, we lived upstairs in an old house owned by a mortician who gave us a rent break every time I helped him bury someone.  Eventually, they tore the house down, since in America it’s easier to throw something away than to fix it.
    We moved into an old farmhouse with thousand-dollar heating bills and wraparound porches.  The house sat in the middle of five hundred acres of corn and beans.  Came with a barn, a chicken coop turned garage, and a smokehouse.  Since I don’t smoke, we put our bicycles there.  The house also came with a whole tribe of barn cats, one of whom slipped through the screen door, unpacked his cat suitcase, and set up housekeeping. We named him Whittier, after the Quaker poet, and trained him to hide every time the landlord came around checking for violations.
    Our neighbor had a cat named Cream Rinse.  How that name came into being is an entirely different story. Let me just say it made no difference to the cat who, like most cats, didn’t come when he was called anyway.  The cat I had as a child came when I called it, but only when I ran a can opener at the same time.  What’s more important to know is that Cream Rinse and Whittier were nearly identical in appearance, except for a small white spot on Whittier’s chin.
    We didn’t have any children at the time and considered Whittier our “baby.” So when I was lying in the bathtub one morning and heard my wife wail and gnash her teeth, I knew something had happened to Whittier. Sure enough, there had been a feline-auto encounter of the worst kind on the road in front of our house.  Being the one with the burial experience, it fell to me to entomb him out back underneath the walnut tree.  Except I didn’t have a shovel, so I had to borrow our neighbor’s at six o’clock in the morning, which woke her up.  Being the mother of Cream Rinse, she was most understanding.
    Three days later, I was sitting on the porch swing reading “Dear Abby” (Dear Abby, I have neighbors who borrow my lawn tools at all hours of the day. What should I do?), and Whittier jumped on my lap, white spot and all. Resurrection! Hallelujah! Turns out Whittier had gone to visit relations for a few days, and it was Cream Rinse I’d buried. Perhaps you’re wondering how I could have made such a mistake.  I will simply mention that when dealing with flattened feline, one doesn’t look too closely for identifying characteristics.
    Now came the hard part.  I had to tell my neighbor it was her cat who’d used up his nine lives.  And I had to do it without laughing, it being unwise to chuckle when giving death notices. I’d learned that from my old landlord. But certain aspect of this seemed so humorous, a chortle and a titter slipped right out.  Which confirmed her suspicion that I was an unfeeling clod?
    Turns out Cream Rinse had gotten his name from Saturday night baths. So they had a history, and she had some tears to shed.
    Been times I’ve wondered how others can be so happy when I’m so miserable.  Then other times I’ve wondered how I can smile when other folks are crying buckets.  And how little those tears mean to me sometimes.
    Of all the traits we need to cultivate, empathy is the toughest. That’s when somebody’s crying but someone else tastes tears.  Most of us don’t taste anyone’s tears but our own.  And we wonder why our souls dry up.
    So today I aspire toward empathy, for tasting tears other than my own. And I’m going to start with my neighbor, whom Jesus commanded me to love, whether she loans me their lawn tools or not.

Excerpts from SEA EDGE by W. Phillip Keller

Sunrise and Sunset

    Sunrise over the sea is this hour of early dawn when the shore lies stripped of all human life. The clash and clamor of all human intrusion is stilled. The feverish activity of modern man is absent.
    Peace pervades the realm of the sea, sky and shore.
    Slowly the eastern sky turns from gray to gold, to burning red. The low light casts the coast into sharp silhouettes. Headlands, hills, trees, rocks and birds along the beach stand sharp against the light, cast in brittle black.
    Every dawn breaks anew upon my soul with the promise that today can be cherished. It is a special treasure of time entrusted to me for the Master’s use.
    Gradually as the sun moves in grandeur across the sky, the hours of the day are flooded with light, warmed with pleasure. Then slowly as evening descends the burning orb of fire settle softly into the sea, as though settling down gently for the night.
    The brilliant banners of tattered clouds, tinged with intense red, rose and pulsing scarlet hues, remind us that the day is done, What has been done has been done!

    It must be hard indeed for skeptics, atheists and agnostics to view sunrises and sunsets. The splendor of their glory, that comes from our Father’s loving heart, are to the unbeliever nothing more than mere chemical and physical responses to external stimuli. No wonder their world is so bleak, their despair so deep, their future so forlorn.
    But for God’s child sunrise and sunset are very special. They are intense interludes of quiet communion with the living Christ. They are moments of majesty in which our Father displays His love and might. They are scenes of spiritual exaltation in which His glorious Spirit lifts us to wondrous heights of pure joy in His presence.

    So dawn follows darkness. Sunset follows day. Our short sojourn here is marked off in the steady rhythm of the seasons, tides, moons and sunsets. Each is a beautiful reminder----“O my father, You are nigh! Your glory fills the whole earth! All is well with my soul! In Your presence there is joy forevermore!”

                

Random Quotes

“I was married by a judge. I should have asked for a jury.”
       ~ George Burns

“If I were two faced, would I be wearing this one?”
        ~ Abraham Lincoln

“I am not young enough to know everything”
        ~ Oscar Wilde

“I recently found out that my credit card was stolen but I decided not to report it because the thief was spending less than my wife.”
        ~ Anon

    
An elderly woman walked into the local country church. The friendly usher greeted her at the door and helped her up the flight of stairs.
“Where would you like to sit?” he asked politely.
“The front row please,” she answered.
“You really don’t want to do that,” the usher said. “The pastor is really boring.”
“Do you happen to know who I am?” the woman inquired.
“No,” he said.
“I’m the pastor’s mother,” she replied indignantly.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Good,” he answered.

Poem by Unknown - "Thank God for You"

THANK GOD FOR YOU

Good friend of mine,
Seldom is friendship such as thine;
How very much I wish to be
As helpful as you’ve been to me. . .

Of many prayer guests, one thou art
On whom I ask God to impart
Rich blessings from His storeroom rare.
And grant to you His gracious care. . .

When I recall, from time to time,
How you inspired this heart of mine;
I find myself inclined to pray
God bless my friend this very day

So often at the throne of Grace
There comes a picture of your face;
And then instinctively, I pray
That God will guide you all the way. . .

Some day, I hope with you to stand
Before the throne, at God’s right hand,
And to say to you at journey’s end,
“Praise God you’ve been to me a friend---
THANK GOD FOR YOU”

Poem by Unknown - “The Most Beautiful Flower”

The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read

Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.

Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,

For the world was intent on dragging me down.

And if that weren't enough to ruin my day,

A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.

He stood right before me with his head tilted down

And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,

With its petals all worn---not enough rain, or too little light.

Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,

I faked a small smile and then shifted away.

But instead of retreating he sat next to my side

And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise,

"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too.

That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."

The weed before me was dying or dead.

Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red.

But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.

So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."

But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,

He held it mid-air without reason or plan.

It was then that I noticed for the very first time

That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.

I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun

As I thanked him for picking the very best one.

You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play,

Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.

I sat there and wondered how he managed to see

A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.

How did he know of my self-indulged plight?

Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see

The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.

And for all of those times I myself had been blind,

I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that's mine.

And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose

And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose

And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand...

About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

Poem by Unknown - "Where?"

There was a little boy,
On the week's first day,
Coming home from Sunday School
And wandering on the way.

He scuffed his shoes into the grass
And found a caterpillar.
He found a fluffy milkweed pod
And blew out all the filler.

A bird's nest in a tree above,
So wisely placed on high,
Was just another wonder
That caught his eager eye.

A neighbor watched his crooked course
And hailed him from the lawn.
He asked him where he'd been that day
And what was going on.

"I've been to Sunday School," he said
As he turned a piece of sod,
And picking up a worm, he smiled,
"I've learned a lot from God!"

"That's a fine way," the neighbor said,
"For a boy to spend his time.
"Now if you can tell me where God is,
I'll give you a brand new dime."

Quick as a flash the answer came,
The boy said without complaint,
"I'll give you a dollar, Mister,
If you can tell me where God ain't!"

Poem by Mary Dow Brine - "Somebody's Mother"

The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day.
The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street, with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of “school let out,”
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her---
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go.”
Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong’
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
“She’s somebody’s mother, you understand,
For all she’s aged and poor and slow.
“And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
“If ever she’s poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away.”
And “somebody’s mother” bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was “God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy!”

Poem by Anonymous - The Life that Counts

The life that counts must toil and fight;

Must hate the wrong and love the right;

Must stand for truth, by day by night—

This is the life that counts.

The life that counts must hopeful be;

In darkest night make melody;

Must wait the dawn on bended knee—

This is the life that counts.

The life that counts must aim to rise

Above the earth to sunlit skies;

Must fix its gaze in Paradise ---

This is the life that counts.

The life that counts must helpful be;

The cares and needs of others see;

Must seek the slaves of sin to free ---

This is the life that counts.

The life that counts is linked with God;

And turns not from the cross --- the rod;

But walks with joy where Jesus trod ---

This is the life that counts.

Anonymous

Poem by John Milton - "On His Blindness"

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in the dark world and wide,

And that one talent which is death to hide

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent.

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest he returning chide,---

Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?

I fondly ask:---But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies; God doth not need

Either man’s work, or his own gifts: who best

Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state

Is kingly, thousands at his bidding speed

And post o’er land and ocean without rest:---

They also serve who only stand and wait.