Homeless? & More ... :) Shangy! >-->Homeless? ||__|| |__||| ..______________________________________||__||___________ . | [Home sweet Home] |__||| .____. . | .________. ||__|| |/\ *| . | wwwwwwwww | .'| |__||| |____| . | |)__|__(| (Moo) | .' | __||__||__. . /| | |\ | /| \\|(__)| | /__|__||/_/| /%| | '=======' |(oo)| | |_._____._|| |@/ | | \/ |o | |_|/^^^\|_|| |/ |_____________________|____| ,|____|_|*****|_|/________ . | , ____________ . . . __________. |. =/ o o /= . /_/-----/_/| __ =/ X . /= . ( ( ' ' ( (| /'--'\ =/___________/= . | . (_( ' ' (_(|/. .\ | / /=====/ /| '||' /_//____/_/ | || _ ,/| . (o|:.....|o) | || '\`o.O' _ |_|:_____|_|/' _||_ =(_*_)= ( ' ' /____\ ) ( _) . / \( -Steve- __________________________________________(/`-'\)_____. -Stewart- Well, that brings many thoughts to mind. I must say though because of God our Father, Christians are never homeless. Our home may be far away, but we do have one. Some day we will be home. For now, we are on a mission. Some of us have dwellings that we call home here on earth, others are not so fortunate. My brother moved years ago. He was telling me he was a bit homesick. He missed being home for Christmas. He said he dreaded Christmas because of this. I reminded him that where he was living was where his girlfriend, friends, pets and work was. That was his true home because that was where his heart is. He visited last year and I think he understood that this old town just wasn't his home any more. He missed seeing his family true, but his heart is in Texas not Ohio. He missed his home after just a few days here! I remind every one, that home is where the heart is. You have a home as long as you love somebody - home is where they are. If you are homesick, keep your love close to your heart and you won't miss them so much. No body is homeless unless they don't have somebody they love. God already loves us. It is simply up to us to love God back in return. :) Today we have stories dealing with being homeless or away from home. =================================== >A Helpful Village Story Editor: by Lauren Law Joyce Schowalter New York, USA "Mom, can I have a roommate?" my 16-year-old son asked when I answered my cell phone. He explained it was his football friend "Buddy", and I immediately said yes. In the fall of 2006 my son had told me that his friend "Buddy" was going to be homeless because his mother was being evicted. We had an extra bed in our home, and no child would be homeless if we could help it. When we saw his mother later that day, I told her our home was open to Buddy any time. A new living arrangement was made for her family then, but a few months later she remembered our offer under unfortunate circumstances. She gave our name to Social Services, who called and asked if we had room for Buddy. I told them we'd be glad to keep him. Now the challenge... Christmas was just two weeks away. Our own children (aged 17, 19, and 21) were going to have to wait till after Christmas for their gifts because we had a large tax bill due. But they had known that and were comfortable waiting. However now we had a wonderful predicament. People in our tiny town had heard that Buddy had joined our family, and questions came from near and far, "How can we help?" Before we knew it, Buddy had more than a dozen presents under the tree from families in the community and schoolteachers at the local high school. I looked at the abundance and felt a little lost for my own children. There was no money for us to provide for them in such a manner. The Friday before Christmas, there was a knock at our door. The president of the Gridiron Club said, "We've been talking about your family. We've wished we could do something for Buddy, but you've already done it. So we want to make sure your family has a Merry Christmas. This is for your family." He handed me an envelope with tears in his eyes and said, "Thank you for all that you do in our community." I was stunned later when I opened the envelope and found several hundred dollars inside. I explained to my husband that I was not as comfortable being on the "receiving" end as I was on the "giving" end. Yet I was so grateful for the gift that provided a different Christmas than we had originally planned. Our town is a commuter town for people working in other towns, and known as a very poor town with not a lot going for it. Yet there is greatness in a small town with its incredible people who take the time to look out for each other. In addition to Buddy's many gift boxes, he received $350 in gift certificates! I wish the world could know the blessing of living in a small community. This whole village of 5,000 will pull together to make sure that Buddy has a successful life. =======HeroicStories======= >-->SEEING ANGELS By: Joseph J. Mazzella ,-. ,-. ||,\ -=- /,|| F'\\\,o8o,///`J J'J`,\(".")/,'F`L |F||\ \>PV-->BUTTERFLIES by Roger Dean Kiser _ " _ _ " _ (_\|/_) (_\|/_) _ " _ _ " _ (/|\) (/|\) (_\|/_) " _ (_\|/_) (/|\)_\|/_) (/|\) ejm97 (/|\) ] There was a time in my life when beauty meant something special to me. I guess that was when I was about 6 or 7 years old. It was just several weeks or maybe a month, before the orphanage turned me into an old man. I got up every morning at the orphanage, made my bed just like the little soldier I had become, got into one of the two straight lines and march to breakfast. I did this with the other 20 or 30 boys who also lived in my dormitory. One Saturday morning after breakfast, I returned to the dormitory and saw the house parent chasing the beautiful monarch butterflies. They lived by the hundreds in the azalea bushes strewn around the orphanage. I watched carefully as he caught these beautiful creatures. Then he took them each from the net, stuck straight pins through their head and wings, and pinned them onto a heavy cardboard sheet. How cruel it was to kill something of such beauty. I walked many times out into the bushes all by myself, just so the butterflies could land on my head, face and hands, and I could look at them up close. The telephone rang and the house parent laid the large cardboard paper down on the back cement step. When he went inside to answer the phone, I walked up to the cardboard and looked at the one butterfly that he had just pinned to the large paper. It was still moving about, so I reached down and touched it on the wing, causing one of the pins to fall out. It began flying around in a circle trying to get away, but it was still pinned by the one wing with the other straight pin. Finally, its little wing broke off and the butterfly fell to the ground quivering. I picked up the torn wing and the butterfly, and I spat on its wing trying to get it to stick back on, so it could fly away. I wanted it to be free before the house parent came back. However, its wing would not stay on. The next thing I knew, the house parent came walking back out the back door by the garbage room and started yelling at me. I told him that I did not do anything, but he did not believe me. He picked up the cardboard paper and started beating me on the top of the head. There were all kinds of butterfly pieces going everywhere and then he threw the cardboard down on the ground. I was then ordered to pick it up and put it in the garbage can in the back room of the dormitory. Then he just left. I sat there in the dirt by a big, old tree for the longest time trying to fit all the butterfly pieces back together, so I could bury them whole. But it was too hard to do. So I prayed for them and then put them in an old, torn up shoebox. I buried them in the bottom of the fort that I had built in the ground out by the large bamboos and near the blackberry bushes. Every year, when the monarch butterflies returned to the orphanage and tried to land on me, I always tried to shoo them away. They did not know that the orphanage was a bad place to live and a very bad place to die. ------------------- >One of my favorite authors -Roger Dean Kiser- is seeking help... On his site he writes: For almost ten years I have allowed my stories to be read, used and published, without charge, by any person, group or organization willing to help abused and neglected children all around the world. Because I took that position, and standing stead-fast, I no longer have any publishers who will publish my stories. I had hoped that because so many children’s lives had been saved, because of my work and efforts, that a few people would be willing to help me keep those efforts alive. As I am now on total disability I can no long afford to stay on line and keep my website operational. HOWEVER, we will continue our efforts to make sure that The American Orphan Foundation "Christmas in July Party" for orphan children in America continues and is successful. The American Orphan Foundation-Click link here http://www.geocities.com/american_orphan_foundation/?200719 As of May 31, 2007 “The American Orphan” web site will discontinue operation. Roger Dean Kiser, author 100 Northridge Drive Brunswick, GA 31525 trampolineone@earthlink.net ADDITIONAL NOTE: We did receive a $15.00 donation this afternoon. If we can get a little help we will try and keep the web site operational as long as possible. It costs us about $50.00 per month to keep the web site on line. For stories Roger has written "Stories from the Life and Times of Roger Dean Kiser" and "THE BEST of Roger Dean Kiser-Vol 1 and Vol 2"are now available on CD at: http://www.geocities.com/trampolineone/survive/srv080.htm Also Please Visit his web site here to make a donation: http://www.rogerdeankiser.com/ If we all act as 'angels' for Roger his kindness and generous heart will not go unrewarded. ==================================================================== >-->From AndyChaps Archives: Thoughts From Phyllis ** <> One week before my daughter was killed, I had been quite blue and depressed. I was not feeling well and wrote a poem for myself, in an attempt to put my life in perspective and to encourage myself. As I re-read it, I felt that I had given myself a very good lesson. Later that day when I was talking with Amy on the phone, I read it to her! We agreed that the message was true. She said that felt badly that I was thinking such gloomy thoughts and as always, proceeded to cheer my heart with her wonderful conversation and expressions of love. It is a great comfort to me to know that she had a deep faith in God and lived her life in service to others. I thought that now, at the anniversary of her death, I would share this poem with you all. It is my personal poem, remember, written for myself and never intended for others. Now, however, that our country has been so violently attacked, bringing our insecure hold on life to our thoughts, it is appropriate to share it. So, with deep love and concern that, just as Christians in ancient times were concerned that they would die "unshriven," I offer it so that we too will be aware that our conversation with God is a conversation that will continue unchanged at the moment of our movement from this life to the next. If we are not depending on Him now, we really cannot expect Him to suddenly push His way forward and be our Help at the moment we need Him to accept us into Heaven. I do not want anyone to be depressed by my words, rather, I know that you love and revere and serve our Great God and I hope that you each will be encouraged and "cheered on" to a closer relationship with Our Beloved Lord. Here is my poem, my gift to you. As you read it please remember I wrote it to myself a year and a week ago. Make provision for your end, ere you round that final bend Entry to that Promised Land requires, no riches in your hand You will carry every deed, not your treasures, now please heed: What awaits beyond that wall is our dear God who loves us all And in His love He will lift you above your sin to life renewed. Forgive, erasing all that’s past; He'll draw you in to peace at last. Then praise and thankfulness will fill your grateful heart, at last all still. All strife at rest, all sickness cured, at last find reason for all you've endured No purpose for this life, we live, except our love for God, to give. And one day soon, you'll see His face and Know your own eternal place. Be brave! As He is with you here, soon all in Him will be made clear. Phyllis Halle September 24, 2001 (C) <> It is with Greatafulness that I offer thanksgiving to the authour of this as she allowed me to post her thoughts and this poem for all of us who are hurting. May God bless you and strenghen you, dear sister Phyllis as well as all those who so bsadly need these words at this time. Still Shalom Always Andy ====================================================================== >-->From InspiredBuffalo: NO TIME TO PRAY by Darren Hewer !|| !|||| ,/|||| !|'''| `\ | )\ \ ejm / \ \ \ Please consider Luke 11:1: "One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, "Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples." Martin Luther was an important and busy guy. The previous sentence may be a gross understatement, considering that Luther is often credited with starting the Protestant Reformation. Even if he wasn't the originator, he was certainly the most prolific and fiery of its early supporters. Despite his hectic work schedule, copious writing, preaching, teaching, and other plentiful tasks, he still diligently made time to pray. He is quoted as saying "I have so much to do (today) that I should spend the first three hours in prayer." Jesus too was an important and busy guy. (That sentence is clearly an even larger understatement than the one about Martin Luther!) As Savior of the world, Jesus spent His days traveling, teaching, arguing with religious leaders, healing sickness, driving out demons, and proclaiming the salvation available to the world through Himself as God's one and only Son. (Among other things!) Yet "Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed" (Luke 5:16). Mark gives us an example: "Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed" (Mark 1:35). The question for us is: If Martin Luther and Jesus Himself made time to pray, how can we possibly say we're too busy? Jesus begins his teaching on prayer during the Sermon on the Mount by saying "WHEN you pray," not "IF you pray" (Matthew 6:5). It's tough sometimes, because prayer doesn't come naturally for everyone. Speak honestly to God: praise, frustrations, triumphs, fears, and deepest longings. After all, God already knows you better than you know yourself... there's nothing to hide! Remember that prayer doesn't have to be long or complicated. It doesn't need to be "holy sounding" either. You know what I mean, those prayers with all the right-sounding words that somehow end up sounding hollow. Use the Lord's Prayer (Matthew 6:9-13 or Luke 11:2-6) as a guide, but not as a formula. Don't just pray it rigidly, try to pray spontaneously, from the heart. Just never use the excuse that you're "too busy." If Martin Luther and Jesus had time for prayer, you do too! TO Subscribe send a blank email to: the-inspired-buffalo-subscribe@yahoogroups.com ========================================================================== >-->NOT PERFECT By: Joseph J. Mazzella | | *tock* | | *tock* | <-*) | |(() | |"/ | |' PhS I was looking out on the woods that surround my house today as I walked through the melting snow. It seemed so strange to see how the trees looked in the middle of winter. Their black, gray, and brown trunks were twisted, wet, and gnarled. They were full of chipped bark and dead limbs. They seemed almost ugly and as far from perfect as you could get. Still, I knew that in just a few months they would be alive again with bright, green leaves and in a few months after that they would be full of beautiful colors that would delight the heart and uplift the soul. Thinking about this made me smile and reminded me that you don't have to be perfect in order to live a blessed life. God knows that I am far from perfect myself. I make mistakes every single day of my life. I am still a gnarled, empty, tree trunk much of the time. I do try, however, moment by moment and choice by choice to live a good life. I do try each day to choose and to share love and joy. I do try to grow in oneness with God more and more as I travel the path of life. I think, in fact, one of the best moments in my life was the moment that I decided to stop trying to be perfect and to just live in love and joy while sharing all the gifts that God gave me. We all need to stop trying to be perfect. We all need to stop judging ourselves and just love ourselves. We all need to give up on living a perfect life and enjoy living a good and beautiful life. Anne Frank wrote, "Everyone has inside of him a piece of good news. The good news is that you don't know how great you can be! How much you can love! What you can accomplish! And what your potential is! Let us all live the good news within us then. Let us all grow some bright, green leaves of love in our lives. Let us all share the beautiful colors of peace and joy from our hearts and souls with everyone everywhere. We might not be perfect, but we can still bless the world with the best within us and with the gifts God gives us. ======================================================================= >-->From Our Friend Tony in Australia :) ) ) ) ) ) ) ( ( ( ( ( ( ) ) ) ) ) ) (~~~~~~~~~) (~~~~~~~~~) | POWER | | POWER | | | | | I _._ I _._ I /' `\ I /' `\ I | N | I | N | f | |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~| f | |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~| .' | ||~~~~~~~~| | .' | | |~~~~~~~~| | /'______|___||__###___|____|/'_______|____|_|__###___|___| unknown Why is it do you think? That we call ourselves Christians but sadly, although we teach and preach about the power within and all around us yet, we don't use it....There's an old saying "use it or lose it"...I often wonder, do you? Did I ever have it? Yes I did! I know I did! But there are times when I think " maybe it was just in my imagination???" Let's just talk, and maybe think quietly about the Power we have within...Pray first...then read on... Do you as Christians ever doubt the power we have within us? The Power of the Holy Spirit is ours for the taking ! To be implanted in our hearts It’s a gift free to all Christian believers and followers paid for by the Blood of Christ! Corinthians 2:3…. Do we begin again to commend ourselves? or need we, as some others, epistles of commendation to you, or letters of commendation from you? 2Ye are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read of all men: 3Forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart. 4And such trust have we through Christ to God-ward: 5Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think any thing as of ourselves; but our sufficiency is of God This of course ....is part of Paul’s message to the Corinthian Church. I love to read Pauls writings, don't you?I look around and it;s almost as if Paul is writing to USW today in our 'modern ' society and yes, he is talking about giving ourselves credit or merit when really, we never give God enough credit..this was happening in the Church many years ago and happens today in most churches also…But just as Paul never lost heart, neither should we…..The church, just like all other organisations ‘that deal in human emotions, has its ‘show ponies’ and things haven’t changed have they? We still have people who like to ‘pray’ louder than the neighbor sitting next to them, or sing louder, or shout louder “Amens” but are they expressing themselves for the right reasons and for the ‘right’ ears? (Gods ears)…We are really nothing but ‘empty vessels”…..In old times, out in the kitchen where food was prepared, all the containers that stored the ingredients were stored in clay or earthenware jars and bottles…..oh yes! They had metallic containers! Of gold and silver and even glass…..but they weren’t designed to “store” or to ‘keep’ food in, they were designed to ‘show it off’, The food was prepared in earthenware cooking utensils in ovens etc and then placed in more ‘presentable’ containers for presentational purposes….. Isn’t this a bit like some of us???We bring out the “best” for special occasions but for the rest if the time, the old ‘dented and bented’ does the job..?I think a lot of us are like that, and some of us don’t realize it…. We need to do as Paul did, our hearts are dented pots and pans, we need to keep them filled with the Gospel, we need to realize that we should be as much concerned about the destiny of others as we are our own, whatever problems arise in our own lives, whatever setbacks occur we need to cling more to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and understand and accept, that we are ‘merely vessels’ for God to pour His Spirit into, that we might share it with others….we are not to lose heart…. Amidst all the pain and setbacks and happenings to a lot of us in the last few weeks, we need to band together as Christian Brothers and Sisters, we need to reach out to others with the messages of the Gospels, yes, our circumstances will change, WE change, but God…BUT GOD! never changes…. We are His empty vessels, we are His Ministers and as such, and as Paul did, we WILL suffer, we WILL share in times of trouble, in a world like ours, it becomes more and more inescapable, but the key to all this is in four words…. .NOT OURS…..BUT HIS! But life is stressful, no denying it, life HAS got its element of pain and sufferings……but we must learn to rejoice in them, not complain and whine….Paul says in 2 Cor 4 verses 1-2 1Therefore seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not; 2But have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling the word of God deceitfully; but by manifestation of the truth commending ourselves to every man’s conscience in the sight of God What is he saying to us here? He is saying that because we may not be as skilled as the next person or as ‘presentable’ maybe(depends on how you view that word) its like the clay pot and the gold pot, its not the pot that’s important, it’s the contents….of the vessel…in 4:3-4 he says…… 3But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost: 4In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them.. You cant blame yourselves Paul is telling you, if others reject the word of the Gospels.. Satan may have blinded them to the message, or hidden it in ‘flowery’ verses of translations that don’t belong….The Word tells us that we should not “add nor ’take away” This “AGE” is temporal, it will change, God wont……..This AGE, is far from perfect, we have seen that with recent and ongoing happenings, evil forces are at work against the Gospel, expect it, put on the WHOLE armor of God…..Because amidst all the dark thoughts brought about by ‘natural’ emotions, we WILL find ourselves doing/saying/feeling things that aren’t normal to us, lets keep our lamps trimmed, lest keep our vessels(hearts) full of the Gospel…..Gods light is shining! Lets look beyond today and tomorrow! Lets look beyond all that’s been happening and focus more upon the Faithfulness of God..Lets remember that its not the “vessel’ that’s important, its the contents “of” the vessel…….. Much Love in Christ to all And welcome to the newcomers I have missed saying ‘hello to!, please remember, you are ‘led’ here by the Spirit of God, just as we all were, stay forever, or for a season, but share what you have with us, and allow us to share what WE have with you……… Bro Tony ----- ..Wonderful Tony - Thank you! ========================================================================== >-->From Heartwarmers: /\_ _ __ __ _ \( ! )/_/ __ \_\( % )>o<})# )/_/ _(%>o<(_!_)>o<#)_ /_/(_% ( | (_#_)/_/ ( ! (~>O<~) % ) _ _({>O<}(_|_)%>O<%)_> /_/(_!_)# )( (_%_) _(#>o<#)>o< )_ /_/(_#_)(_|_)\_\ \/ hjw GARDENING, WITH PEN IN HAND by Eva Shaw, Ph.D. I am asking you to look at keeping a garden journal. It's good for the soul, it's good therapy, and it's a good way to grow. Just today I've received a new one -- a hard cover that's stripped like garden onions, with a silky marigold-colored ribbon to mark the progression of my journaling. The journal is pristine, clean and fresh, much like my cutting garden was less than a year ago. Soon, the journal will be spilling over with words like my new garden. Gardens and journals are much the same -- they start with dreams. The one in my front yard was a birthday present from my husband. He hauled bricks, sweated over cement, wheeled in topsoil, all in the name of love. I choose the flowers. I dug in the dirt to create a bit of paradise joining with nature. I planted sweet peas for fragrance, and since their season is short, they tell me to cherish life, reminding me that we do not know the number of our days. I planted bulbs by the dozen. I loved their surprise factor. I can never remember just where I've planted them and BAM! They pop up in unexpected places. They take me to a time when as a child I was ill, feverish and miserable. Mama arranged a handful of King Alfred daffodils in a crystal vase and placed them near my bedside. It was my first grown up bouquet and formed a part of me that continues, now these years later, to share her "flowers make you feel better" philosophy as I give bouquets away. Daisies are in the garden because they're part of my history. When Joe and I were first married, barely making ends meet, he splurged one payday showering me with a small bouquet of daisies. In our 31 years together, I've received more expensive gifts, but the daisy remembrance is wrapped in the velvet of precious memories. I must ask him if he remembers. I am sure he does. Sunflowers are in my cutting garden although I cannot get myself to cut these beauties as they tower over the garden fence and flaunt their faces to the world. They tell me it's good to be sturdy and stand out from the crowd. A journal is like a garden where we "plant" our ideas, some perhaps too dear to share and some that are better left as secrets. We can place words on paper to write out, scratch out, rewrite and ponder at silent moments. There are no rules to journaling as there are no right or wrong ways to garden. Someday when I'm older, I may want to think back and marvel at my (possibly misspent) youthful middle age, juggling writing projects with a garden full of marauding slugs barely waiting until twilight to pay a visit. Taking time to write in a garden journal feels odd, especially if we're not practiced at jotting down thoughts, plans and even jumbled ideas. Knotty memories may shoot up and we may wonder if they're weeds or the sprouts of something to be cherished. Sometimes we have to wait and see. In our garden journal we need not censor or explain. The book can be for our eyes only, to be hidden away from others. That's the "job" of a journal. Journaling about the garden isn't great literature. It's simply a reflection of me. Oh, how I wish my grandmothers had kept journals. So if for nothing but the future, I'll write. Someday, perhaps from this beautiful new journal, a yet unborn child will say, "I'm planting sweet peas. Great Grandmother Eva adored them." This reader will know that in 2005, only lavender sweet peas produced flowers. That "fact" will disappear unless it's in my journal. I'm going to press flowers between the pages, a snapshot of my garden, maybe a bit of poetry, a photograph of my Welsh terrier, Buttons. I will add garden-variety quotes to stir me and thoughts I cannot do without. What will I write? What will YOU write? I'm a simple person and will scribble, "Today I've started this garden journal. With paper and pen I will tell myself about my garden." It's my hope you write about the breezes on your face, the soil on your fingers and the sunshine on your back, among other miracles. I pray you'll take up gardening with pen in hand. -- Eva Shaw, Ph.D. ___________________________________________ Eva is a woman who lives to write, garden and mentor. She teaches writing online, speaks nationally on grief and recovery and is the author of the just released, What to Do When a Loved One Dies: A practical and compassionate guide for dealing with death on life's terms. =================================================================== >-->From SermondFodder: Unlikely Confession - Cop Pulled Over By Drunk VERNON, Vt. -- It was the cop who was pulled over -- by a drunken driver, no less. Vernon Police Chief Ian McCollin said he slowed down to take a look at a man edging toward a stop sign. McCollin said the man rolled down his window and made an astonishing request. The man said he was looking for a police officer to have himself arrested because he was drunk. McCollin radioed for backup due to the unusual nature of the traffic stop. The driver, identifying himself as Bryan Condo, said he was also driving on a suspended license. McCollin said Condo blew four times the legal limit on an alcohol breath test. He said Condo was a perfect gentleman as he was arrested for second-offense DUI and driving with a suspended license. McCollin added that getting pulled over by a drunk is one for the books. - from Richard L. H. from Doc's Daily Chuckle. To join go to: http://hundred-acre-woods.com/magic-list/DocsDailyChuckle/ ======================================================================= >A Serving of Compassion Story Editor: Joyce Schowalter by Rena Fagel Virginia, USA A word I use often lately is "busy". I seem to cram more necessary tasks into every available minute of my day. So with that as background, on Thursday, July 6, 2006, I headed out to pick up dinner for my husband (I don't cook). Many suburban restaurants in my town of 55,000 now offer curbside pickup, where you pull into a specially designated parking space and wait for the server to bring your food to you. I headed to the one where my husband had phoned his order. As I waited in my parking spot at the restaurant, I saw an old man coming out of the restaurant's door. He had a labored walk, and carried a single-hand walker (the kind that has four legs which sprout at the bottom of a cane). As he came through the door, for no reason I could discern, he fell. This happened very quickly. As I registered that he had fallen and saw the confusion on his face, I started to get out the car and go to him. But the curbside server beat me to it. "Bill" was immediately down on his knees in front of the man, quietly telling him to remain still and asking if he was hurt. The old man was clearly still coming to grips with what had happened and didn't answer for a few seconds. He looked up into the face of the server with slight confusion on his face. The server talked to him some more, in a soothing fashion. When Bill had elicited from the man that he thought he was uninjured, Bill told the man to stay where he was and he'd pick him up. And pick him up he did. Carefully, but firmly. There was not a hint of discomfort or awkwardness about Bill as he righted the man back to a standing position. Bill then quietly inquired further as to whether the man remained uninjured. When the responses he received were safe, he walked with the man to his car. As I watched them, their backs to me, the server maintained a respectful but protective distance from the man. He lightly kept his right hand in contact with the small of the man's back, clearly mindful of the fall the man had taken and concerned for him. When they got to the man's car, the server ensured that the man got into it comfortably and safely. It's a pity sometimes that words can't convey the nuances of an event or an experience. That server was so incredibly respectful and careful of the fallen man's dignity. It was evident in his every move, in the tone of his voice, and in the care and concern he provided through his thoughtful actions. I was impressed and touched. I tipped that server *heavy* when he brought out my order and I told him why. Then I headed home. I had just witnessed common, everyday compassion, and it was foremost in my mind. ======HeroicStories======= >-->Why Are We Here? ________ ,o88~~88888888o, ,~~?8P 88888 8, d d88 d88 d8_88 b d d888888888 b 8,?88888888 d8.b o. 8 8~88888888~ ~^8888\ db 8 ? 888888 ,888P ? `8888b,_ d888P ` 8888888b ,888' ~-?8888888 _.P-~ seal ~~~~~~ So we were lying on our backs on the grass in the park next to our hamburger wrappers, my 14-year-old son and I, watching the clouds loiter overhead, when he asked me, "Dad, why are we here?" And this is what I said. "I've thought a lot about it, son, and I don't think it's all that complicated. I think maybe we're here just to teach a kid how to bunt, turn two and eat sunflower seeds without using his hands. "We're here to pound the steering wheel and scream as we listen to the game on the radio, 20 minutes after we pulled into the garage. We're here to look all over, give up and then find the ball in the hole. "We're here to watch, at least once, as the pocket collapses around John Elway, and it's fourth-and-never. Or as the count goes to 3 and 1 on Mark McGwire with bases loaded, and the pitcher begins wishing he'd gone on to med school. Or as a little hole you couldn't get a skateboard through suddenly opens in front of Jeff Gordon with a lap to go. "We're here to wear our favorite sweat-soaked Boston Red Sox cap, torn Slippery Rock sweatshirt and the Converses we lettered in, on a Saturday morning with nowhere we have to go and no one special we have to be. "We're here to rake on a jack-high nothin' hand and have nobody know it but us. Or get in at least one really good brawl, get a nice shiner and end up throwing an arm around the guy who gave it to us. "We're here to shoot a six-point elk and finally get the f-stop right, or to tie the perfect fly, make the perfect cast, catch absolutely nothing and still call it a perfect morning. "We're here to nail a yield sign with an apple core from half a block away. We're here to make our dog bite on the same lame fake throw for the gazillionth time. We're here to win the stuffed bear or go broketrying. "I don't think the meaning of life is gnashing our bicuspids over what comes after death but tasting all the tiny moments that come before it. We're here to be the coach when Wendell, the one whose glasses always fog up, finally makes the only perfect backdoor pass all season. We're here to be there when our kid has three goals and an assist. And especially when he doesn't. "We're here to see the Great One setting up behind the net, tying some poor goaltender's neck into a Windsor knot. We're here to watch the Rocket peer in for the sign, two out, bases loaded, bottom of the career. We're here to witness Tiger's lining up the 22-foot double breaker to win and not need his autograph afterward to prove it. "We're here to be able to do a one-and-a-half for our grandkids. Or to stand at the top of our favorite double-black on a double-blue morning and overhear those five wonderful words: 'Highway's closed. Too much snow.' "We're here to get the Frisbee to do things that would have caused medieval clergymen to burn us at the stake. "I don't think we're here to make SportsCenter. The really good stuff never does. Like leaving Wrigley at 4:15 on a perfect summer afternoon and walking straight into Murphy's with half of section 503. Or finding ourselves with a free afternoon, a little red 327 fuel-injected 1962 Corvette convertible and an unopened map of Vermont's backroads. "We're here to get the triple-Dagwood sandwich made and the football kicked off at the very second your sister begins tying up the phone until Tuesday. "None of us are going to find ourselves on our deathbeds saying, 'Dang, I wish I'd spent more time on the Hibbings account.' We're going to say, 'That scar? I got that scar stealing a home run from Consolidated Plumbers!' "See, grown-ups spend so much time doggedly slaving toward the better car, the perfect house, the big day that will finally make them happy when happy just walked by wearing a bicycle helmet two sizes too big for him. We're not here to find a way to heaven. The way is heaven. Does that answer your question, son?" And he said, "Not really, Dad." And I said, "No?" And he said, "No, what I meant is, why are we here when Mom said to pick her up 40 minutes ago?" Grace & peace - John A. Bright Pastor, Painter-Bethel Charge UMC, Eastern Shore of Virginia ==================================================================== >-->FUN Places to Net Visit :) [AOL & Others may have to Cut and Paste these links] >Hot Off The 'Shangy' Press! 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