Richness Of Living & More ... :) Shangy! >Here are the details on our Yahoo ShangyFunList: To Subscribe send a blank email to ShangyFunList-subscribe@yahoogroups.com Group home page: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ShangyFunList or Web Site: http://www.ShangralaFamilyFun.com/ShangyFunList.html Group email address: ShangyFunList@yahoogroups.com or email me here: bcrsystems@earthlink.net =========================== >-->Hot Off The 'Shangy' Press :) We had the same forward come in from our group ladies Viv and Jo Ann. Each one had a little bit different pics with them so I combined them together to make one great fun picture page. Turn up your sound and Check it out here: -=[ cats on a fence ]=- 8/98 * ,MMM8&&&. * MMMM88&&&&& . MMMM88&&&&&&& * MMM88&&&&&&&& MMM88&&&&&&&& 'MMM88&&&&&&' 'MMM8&&&' * |\___/| ) ( . ' =\ /= )===( * / \ | | / \ \ / _/\_/\_/\__ _/_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_ | | | |( ( | | | | | | | | | | | | | | ) ) | | | | | | | | | | | | | |(_( | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | jgs| | | | | | | | | | | | | | Signs You're Having A Bad Day! http://www.shangralafamilyfun.com/badday.html --- ...Thank You so much Jo Ann And Viv - This was a fun one to do! ================================================================ ___ /` _\ | / 0|--. - / \_|0`/ /.`'._/) - ~ -^_| /-_~ ^- ~_` - -~ _ - ~ -| | - ~ - ~ - jgs \ \, ~ - ~ \_| >A Lesson in Preparedness Story Editor: by Mike David Joyce Schowalter USA In the summer of 1990, my friends and I spent time at the Ulm bridge in tiny Ulm, Montana. Ulm is about 10 miles outside of Great Falls and anyone who has lived in Montana for any length of time will tell you that summer can be very hot. The Ulm bridge and surrounding water of the Missouri river provided much relief to teenagers, swimming under the bridge and playing football in a large shallow area next to the bridge. While playing football with my classmate and casual friend Zack Wilcox, about a dozen guys heard yells for help over near the bridge. A high school girl who couldn't swim had been dragged by the current and was hanging on to the bridge footing. The water was easily 30 feet deep and the girl, Tiffany, was crying as her friends and sister yelled. All the boys ran towards the edge of the deep water and promptly stopped. That is, everyone except Zack and I. I couldn't say what I was thinking, having no formal water rescue training, but I knew I needed to help. Unbeknownst to me, Zack was a certified lifeguard. We both swam as fast as we could towards Tiffany, about 20-25 yards away. Swimming that hard for that long a distance was a grueling challenge after water football, but we made it to Tiffany before she went under. Tiffany was visibly shaken and upset, having held herself up using the gritty, rough concrete of the bridge footing. Zack and I each took an arm and made her kick her legs as we made our way back to the bridge. I was completely gassed, actually thought I wouldn't make it, and stopped to tread water to catch my breath, but not Zack. Zack was swimming so hard he actually began pulling both Tiffany and I. I was re-energized by Zack's determination and began swimming hard again as well. After towing Tiffany 35 feet to the shore I collapsed on the sand as Tiffany cried and her older sister hugged her. Zack made sure she was OK and swam back to the football game. After a few minutes rest, I rejoined the game and gave Zack an "atta boy" for rescuing Tiffany. Like any humble person, Zack said it was a team effort and we both did a good job. I think about this moment occasionally. Since then, I've grown up and helped many people. Deep down, I suspect this event set me on a path of looking out for others versus watching from the sidelines when help was needed. Zack showed me what courage and preparedness are all about. =======HeroicStories======= >-->From InspiredBuffalo: _ _.-'`-._ _ ;.'________'.; _________n.[____________].n_________ |""_""_""_""||==||==||==||""_""_""_""] |"""""""""""||..||..||..||"""""""""""| |LI LI LI LI||LI||LI||LI||LI LI LI LI| |.. .. .. ..||..||..||..||.. .. .. ..| |LI LI LI LI||LI||LI||LI||LI LI LI LI| ,,;;,;;;,;;;,;;;,;;;,;;;,;;;,;;,;;;,;;;,;;,, ;;jgs;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; This was sent to me by a cousin from Wyoming. Maybe it needs to be sent to our government officials. Hmmmmmmmm! [a 1996 Prayer] When minister Joe Wright was asked to open the new sessions of the Kansas Senate, everyone was expecting the usual generalities, but this is what they heard: THE PRAYER Heavenly Father, we come before you today to ask Your forgiveness and to seek Your direction and guidance. We know Your Word says, "Woe to those who call evil good,," but that is exactly what we have done. We have lost our spiritual equilibrium and reversed our values. We confess: We have ridiculed the absolute truth of Your Word and called it Pluralism. We have worshipped other gods and called it multiculturalism. We have endorsed perversion and called it alternative lifestyle. We have exploited the poor and called it the lottery. We have rewarded laziness and called it welfare. We have killed our unborn and called it choice. We have shot abortionists and called it justifiable. We have neglected to discipline our children and called it building self-esteem. We have abused power and called it politics. We have coveted our neighbor's possessions and called it ambition. We have polluted the air with profanity and pornography and called it freedom of expression. We have ridiculed the time-honored values of our forefathers and called it enlightenment. Search us, Oh God, and know our hearts today; cleanse us from every sin and set us free. Guide and bless these men and women who have been sent to direct us to the center of your will. I ask it in the Name of Your Son, the living Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen. The response was immediate. At least one legislator walked out during the prayer in protest. In six short weeks, Central Christian Church, where Rev. Wright is pastor, logged more than 5,000 phone calls with only 47 of those calls responding negatively. The church is now receiving international requests for copies of this prayer from India, Africa, and Korea. Commentator Paul Harvey aired this prayer on "The Rest of the Story" on the radio and received a larger response to this program than any other he has ever aired. With the Lord's help, may this prayer sweep over our nation and wholeheartedly become our desire so that we again can be called one nation under God. -<>- sSSSSSs SS;; SSSS S< ?SSS S> SSS ___)(____ ( \/ ) \||, )( ( / ( RICHNESS OF LIVING \\/ /\ / \ \ \./ )==( / / / \//' ( '|\` \ / \ / ) ( / \ jgs / \ / \ `-........-' / ) / ) /_/|/_/| >By: Joseph J. Mazzella My aunt is really rich. She doesn’t have a big bank account, though. Still, I have known her to share the last penny in it to help someone in need. She doesn’t have a fancy, new car either, but she gets the most out of her old, used one giving rides to friends who can no longer drive themselves. Her home is no mansion. Yet, my childhood visits to it have filled my mind with treasured memories and my heart with priceless happiness. My aunt’s riches come instead from the places that high prices and inflation can never lessen. My aunt’s riches come from her loving soul, her generous spirit, and her joyous life. Every time I speak with her on the phone or get a card from her in the mail the richness of that life shines though. Her gentle laughter has brightened my day many times over the years. Her optimism and faith have strengthened my own as well. Her kindness, caring, and happiness have helped so many people, touched so many souls, and done so much good in this world. When it comes to the treasures of Heaven she will forever be one of the wealthiest people I know. When it comes to finding the joy in living she will always be rich beyond compare. I only pray that one day we all can live with such priceless love. Leo Buscaglia once wrote that, "We find the greatest riches where we find the joy in living; since we serve God and ourselves best in joy, it seems to be the only sensible goal in life." My dear aunt learned this a long time ago and she has spent her whole life teaching it to others as well. I am proud to have been one of her students and taken her course in the "Richness of Living 101." Thanks to her I daily choose more love, more joy, more laughter, and more life. Thanks to her I seek and share the treasures of Heaven always. Thanks to her I am far wealthier in oneness with God. May your own life grow rich as well in the things that truly matter. -<>- _____ `=====` (~~~~~~~\ , | , /~~~~~~~) ~~(~~ \ |\."./| / ~~)~~ ~(~~ \/ _:':_ \/ ~~)~ ~~( /= =\ )~~_____ "\== Y ==/"'` `. /`-._^_.-'\ ,- . \ / ` \ / \ \ \ \.___./ /_ _\ / / jgs/TT `, \ / ,' (,-----' / ""' '"" '------' >What If What if God couldn't take the time to bless us today because we couldn't take the time to thank Him yesterday? What if God decided to stop leading us tomorrow because we did not follow Him today? What if we never saw another flower bloom because we grumbled when God sent the rain? What if God didn't walk with us today because we failed to recognize it as His day? What if God took away the Bible tomorrow because we would not read it today? What if God took away His message because we failed to listen to His messenger? What if the door of the church was closed because we did not open the door of our heart? What if God stopped loving and caring for us because we failed to love and care for others? What if God would not hear us today because we would not listen to Him yesterday? What if God answered our prayers the way we answer His call for service? What if God met our needs the way we give Him our lives??? -- Author Unknown --- _/\. /_ .^\ / ^. \ _.'^ . ^'. /_. / _\ --.`_~^ - .. /_/ ^ \`\_ ~ ~_ -~_`^ -~ ~^ _~~^~ _ ~^~_~ ^ -/.'_ / | '. \ /\_ '--.. '---.. .". /`-/___^ ^ \ `\ .'^.\_ '-. ~. / | \ '.'. ^ `--^--'|##|'---`-' /_. \ _\ -.__ ~ '. '---. / I \ _ ___ .;;``\/. ' /_/ ^'. _ ^~./ I \ ~^-, .;;;;`\;;, \// . /_, / _ --.. _ ~ ^~ - / I \ - ~/;;;' `-----;._ .' \ ' ~- ^ ; ,;";, ;. |;;' /_.' ^. ' ~ '-. '. ; /_|_|_\ ; : \;;' _/'^ . ^ _ '-. '. '. | [_______] | ; |;' / _/ | '\. '. ; : ; | (| ' ' |) | : /;;' _ /_/ ^.' ^ \ \ '. : ; | \/~\/ | \;,=" ' . .' -/ | ' : : ;: |.--"\=/"--.()))" ._ ,;;; `\ /`-/ -^.' ^\ \ : ; : (_\ | _;=",./ |;;, |. \ .' --'-,^ .'--` ; : : ; / |_,="` |-; --. `;;,__/'._//.-' \\|###| ' : : _((()/ | \ | .~~._ `''-.. ' `/ ' _.=" ||\__/ \__/|| ^~ `\ ' . ' =" ||`;;;;;;;`||.--~~~^^^~-. .--^, `\ .. .-~~-.| \';;;;;'/ | .--~. -' ___ `\ |/. _.-'~^~' | `-===-' | ^~~. ,;;;;`\ ://, . ;' ,~~^. |^ , ~ - _ ~ .~~-. /::, `\~. `-. ~. `~ ^ -~^ - ^ ; _/;;, | : ~. '-._ .__. ~.__ .-~~~--._ .-/;;, \ ^. jgs '._ `=._ ^~._ .__, ;^~ _.-' ~~. .--~~-.__.^ ~. '. ...we'd all be up a creek without a paddle! -<>- ____ ___________//__\\__________ /___________________________\ I___I___I___I___I___I___I___I < ,wWWWWwwWWWWw, > < WW( 0 )( 0 )WW > < '-' '-' > < ,._.--""--._., > < ' \ .--. / ` > < './__\_\.' > ___<.-.____________.-.>___ (___/ \__________/ \___) | \,_,/ \,_,/ | .-|/^\ /^\ /^\ /^\ /^\ /^\ |-. / (|/\| | | | | | | | | | /\|) \ '.___/| | | | | | | | | | \___.' || | | | | | | | | | | | | || | | | | | | | | | | | | || | | | | | | | | | | | | || | | | | | | | | | | | | || | | | | | | | | | | | | || | | | | | | | | | | | | || | | | | | | | | | | | | || | | | | | | | | | | | | || | | | | | | | | | | | | jgs |\_/ \_/ \_/ \_/ \_/ \_/ | | | `""""""""""""""""""""""""` Perhaps you can relate. One man was to meet his wife downtown and spend some time shopping with her. He waited patiently for 15 minutes. Then he waited impatiently for 15 minutes more. After that, he became angry. Seeing one of those photograph booths nearby (the kind that accepts coins into a slot and takes four shots while you pose on a small bench), he had an idea. He assumed the most ferocious expression he could manage, which wasn't difficult under the circumstances, and in a few moments he was holding four small prints that shocked even him! He wrote his wife's name on the back of the photographs and handed them to a clerk behind the desk. "If you see a small, dark lady with brown eyes and an apologetic expression, apparently looking for someone, would you please give her this?" he said. He then returned to his office content that, if a picture is worth a thousand words, then four photos must be a full-blown lecture! His wife saved those pictures. She carries them in her purse now. Shows them to anyone who asks if she is married... How are you with patience? One person calls it "wait-training." It seems that there is always something we are waiting for. We wait on traffic and we wait in lines. We wait to hear about a new job. We wait to complete school or to retire. We wait to grow up or for maturity in a child. We wait for a decision to be made. We wait for someone to change his or her mind. Patience is an essential quality of a happy life. After all, some things are worth waiting for. Every day presents plenty of opportunities for wait training. We can resent waiting, accept it or even get good at it! But one thing is certain - we cannot avoid it. How is your wait training coming along? --By Steve Goodier -<>- >Links: The Knack http://buffaloschips.com/61607.htm The little Car That Couldn't http://buffaloschips.com/61608.htm Thermal Airport http://buffaloschips.com/061609.htm The Translator Catherine Tate http://buffaloschips.com/61610.htm Subscribe send a blank email to: the-inspired-buffalo-subscribe@yahoogroups.com ============================================================ _____ / \ / ````` \ /|`o o'|\ /|| . ||\ |*\\ _ //*| |*/ \ / \*| // / \ \\ /(__/\___/\__)\ | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |\ /| | >If You Are Real By T. Suzanne Eller (excerpted from Real Teens, Real Stories, Real Life ISBN 1589195000) copyright, 2002, T. Suzanne Eller The small church was crowded. All around me people worshiped a god that I didn't believe existed. Why was I there? My neighbor asked me to come. To be honest, I thought they would leave me alone if I did. I wasn't sure what to expect. I had attended services with my family a few times, but it was more of a ritual or a way to celebrate holidays. What I hadn't anticipated was the wetness pressed against my eyelids as I clenched them shut. My motto? Never let them see you cry. I wasn't about to break down in front of people I didn't know. I wasn't crying because I felt the presence of God or that I sensed his love for me. I fought tears because I was mad, so angry that I shook inside. How dare the preacher stand there and talk about the love of God. It was easy for him and people like him to spout off about a God who existed, who had a purpose for every person. Well, maybe their God had taken a personal interest in them but he didn't live at my house. The mother I am about to share with you is the not the mom I have now. You see, she had an encounter with God, and he brought her out of the darkness of emotional pain and healed her. In order to share my story, I have to share a little bit of hers as well. My mom left home at 16 years old, pregnant and newly married to a boy who thought he was a man. She lost her first baby to cystic fibrosis when the toddler was less than two years old. She had her second child at 18 and left her husband at the age of 21. He came to visit her one night and forced her to have sex. She discovered two weeks later she was pregnant. I was that baby. Mom married a good man who loved her and the two little kids that came as a package deal. But in spite of this turn of events, my mom was fragile. Like stained glass, she was pretty on the outside, but the broken pieces of her life created the portrait. Growing up, I never knew what to expect. Would it be the mom who brought home suckers to surprise us, or the woman who spouted horrific things as she ran out the door and threatened to kill herself? There was physical abuse and apologies. There were humiliating punishments, harsh words, and tearful requests for forgiveness. Please don't get me wrong. It wasn't always bad in my home, but when it was it was loud and chaotic and frightening. I feared one day that my mom would pull the trigger or hurt herself. I hated the words that came out of her mouth when she was angry. One day my mom chased me through the house, brandishing an umbrella as she screamed at me. I ran out the door and into the rain. I was wearing a T-shirt and jeans and no shoes. The cold rain pelted me as I ran down Latimer Street. I pushed through the wetness, pumping my arms as I ran as fast as I could. Finally I stopped, bending down to catch my breath as my tears meshed with the raindrops. I slowly turned around and walked home, sat on the curb, and wept until my throat closed. I was stuck. I couldn't run away. I had no money, no place to go. I was 13 years old. Where could I go? I started smoking at the bus stop, pushing boundaries with my teachers, and drinking with my best friend. My attempts to be tough must have appeared hilarious to others. I was skinny to a fault and looked younger than my age. Being tough didn't come natural. My heart was gentle and I hated conflict and fighting, yet every single time I let my guard down someone hurt me. Angry words all sharp and pointy, a knife in my soul. That's when the hardness crept in. Never let them see you cry. Never give them a chance to know you care. One day it all came to a head. My mom pulled us around her in her bedroom. She put a gun to her head and threatened to shoot herself. I was scared, but not because I thought she would die, but because under my breath I whispered, "just do it". Who was this person I was becoming? Two years later I stood in the little church. The pastor sang, strumming on the guitar as people knelt at the altar. "He loves you," he said. "He has a plan for your life." Yeah, right. I pointed my chin at the sky, my eyes closed, and I challenged this God of which he spoke. "If you are real," I whispered, "and I don't believe you are, but if you exist and you know me and you love me like he says, I need to know." I expected nothing, yet I received everything as a tender touch reached past my hardened heart. I've had trouble explaining this moment to people over the years. "Did you see God?" No. "Did you feel God's presence?" Yes, but so subtle and deep inside of me, touching areas that I had closed long ago to anybody, that I knew it was God. Tears broke and streamed down my cheeks and for the first time in a long time I wept. I felt as if He had wrapped me in a warm blanket, enclosing me in his love. I stumbled from the church. I ran home and told my mom that I had just got "saved", though I really didn't understand what had occurred. Did everything magically change? No. My circumstances were still the same, but everything was different on the inside of me. I made mistakes, huge blunders as I tried to learn what it meant to follow Jesus as my Savior. I wasn't perfect, but I understood his love. I knew I wanted to know more. The people of that little church ministered to me in ways they will never understand. There were times I wept at the altar and then went home to chaos. There were times I fell in my walk with Christ and their gentle encouragement helped me to keep going. It is amazing what can happen when God restores a broken life. It can be beautiful like the portrait that my mom is now, the shattered pieces of her life assembled together in a beautiful picture of God's mercy. Today I am a mom, an author, a speaker, and a wife. I have the opportunity to minister to teens and women across the nation, sharing the story of my life and the beauty of purpose and the fact that God loved us from the beginning. My mother and father were saved when I was in my junior year of high school. I found a note from my dad under my pillow one day. I still carry it with me, the tattered pieces a reminder of what God has done. My quiet father, who very rarely shared the depth of his emotions, said in that letter, "I have watched you and I see that you have something that is of great worth, a treasure. I know that it is real and I admire you for your faith and your love for God." We have never spoken of that letter, but it came at a time when I prayed for a sign. "God, show me that you hear my prayers. Heal my family. Let me know that you are listening." The folded piece of paper under my pillow was heaven sent and priceless. For years my mom and I have been best of friends. She is compassionate, loving, and whole, and the memories of our past are forgiven and forgotten. Today I am still running after the same God that touched my life when I was 15. I always tell my teen audiences that one day I'll be an old woman running after God with my walker. You see, he's done a million things for me. He's been with me through difficult times, but my love for him will always be wrapped around that first moment when he reached down to an angry, hurting, skinny 15-year old teenager and silently whispered that he loved me. I still can't help but whisper back, "I love you too". T. Suzanne Eller (Suzie) tseller @daretobelieve.org Write Suzie and let her know your thoughts on her story! =======HeartWarming======= >-->IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER - by Erma Bombeck _,,,_ .' `'. / ____ \ | .'_ _\/ / ) a a| / ( > | ( ) ._ / ) _/-.__.'`\ ( .-'`-. \__ ) `/ `-./ `. | \ \ \ jgs | \ \ \ \ |\ `. / / \ (written after she found out she was dying from cancer). I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day. I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage. I would have talked less and listened more. I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded. I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace. I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth. I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband. I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed. I would have sat on the lawn with my grass stains. I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life. I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime. Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle. When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner." There would have been more "I love you's." More "I'm sorry's." But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute ... look at it and really see it .. live it and never give it back. Stop sweating the small stuff. Don't worry about who doesn't like you, who has more, or who's doing what. Instead, let's cherish the relationships we have with those who do love us. Let's think about what God HAS blessed us with. And what we are doing each day to promote ourselves mentally, physically, emotionally. I hope you all have a blessed day. ================================================================== >-->From Heartwarmers: >THE MOST THOUGHTFUL GIFT by Molly Lemmons Daddy spent a good deal of his life in his overalls. He was a builder of houses in the Oklahoma City area when we were growing up and his "carpenter overalls" were his trademark. He always said "a man needs a good pair of overalls to be happy." He wore them in his garden, he wore them hunting, and he wore them fishing. BUT he did not wear them to church. And he probably would have worn them there, too, but for mother¹s stern frown if he even entertained such a thought. When I was 11 years old, my older sister and brother and I were surprised with mother¹s announcement that she was ³that way² (she would never say the word ³pregnant.") Soon after, our baby sister, Polly Pat was born. Daddy even wore his overalls to the hospital the night the baby was born. Another sister followed in three years, and that completed our family. Yep, you guessed it -- Daddy wore his overalls to the hospital that night, too. The two younger sisters accompanied us two older sisters everywhere and we often pretended they were our baby dolls. Our little brother was left out of this experience and often bawled about his fate as being the only boy out of five children! But we four sisters created a bond like no other, even in spite of our age differences. As mother always said, "You girls seem to have caught up with one another in age!" And indeed, it seems we have. Now that we are grown, we have maintained this closeness, honed by the care giving necessary to give to precious parents as they age. After ten years of ill health, mother died in 1997. Daddy, now alone and lost without his mate of 64 years agreed to go to an assisted living facility. His eyesight almost gone, he feared going completely blind and being a burden on his children. The next year and a half, daddy lived there and maintained a fairly good life, his incredible mind his greatest asset. I visited him every day and watched him struggle to walk the long halls, paper clips in his overall pockets. He'd put 70 of them in one pocket and when he made a round, he'd put one in the other pocket. When he had finished, and all the paper clips were moved, he knew he¹d gone a mile. His overalls were torn and frayed, so even though I bought him new ones, he always preferred the "worn out" ones. Daddy died in 2002, and the night he died, I left the manor where he lived and returned home. I didn¹t go back to his room. I just left it all there. I later learned that Polly Pat had gone to the home and cleaned out his room, gathering up his clothes, his overalls included, and disposing of them -- or so I thought. The following Christmas after daddy¹s death, Polly Pat came to visit and called us all together. She had a surprise for us she said. When we gathered in the living room of Ellen Sue, my baby sister's house, Polly Pat handed each of us a gift. I opened mine first and was so overwhelmed that I could only cry -- tears of joy, sorrow, and loneliness, all combined! There, in my hands, was a quilt made from daddy¹s overalls! She had made one for all five of us out of the overalls she took from daddy¹s closet the night he died. I got the part of the overalls on which the hammer hook hung, and the bib and straps. I also got the little pocket in which he kept his Bible. As I looked at the bib with the peanut butter stains on it, I remembered how he loved to snack on peanut butter and the pocket reminded me of how he always carried his Bible in his overalls. I threw my arms around my sister and hugged her in grateful thanks for the most thoughtful gift she could have given me. The many hours of love and devotion she put into her handiwork to give us such a therapeutic gift, released tears -- not just of healing, but tears of thanksgiving for Polly Pat, the little baby girl that came along when I was eleven years old. -- Molly Lemmons ___________________________________________ Molly's collection of stories ran for three years in the Mustang, Oklahoma newspaper. The columns, published into a book, called Kind of Heart, is nostalgia about growing up in Oklahoma City in the 1950s. Upon its release, it was reviewed and recommended by then-Governor Frank and First Lady Cathy Keating. You can learn more about her heartwarming book here: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0891374744/heart/ref=nosim ======================================================================== __.------. (__ ___ ) .)e )\ / /_.------ _/_ _/ __.' / ' `-.__ / <.--' `\ / \ \c | / / ) GoT x \ | /\ |c / \.- \ \__/ ) /( ( \ <>'\ / _/ _\- `-. \/_|_ /<> / /--/,-\ _ \ <>.`. \/`--\_._) - / `-/\ `.\ / `. / ) `\ \ \ \___/----' | / `( ___________ \ ./\_ _ \ ______________ / | ) '| __________________ | / \ \ ___________a:f / | |____.) / \ a88a\___/88888a. \_ :)8888888888888888888a. /` `-----' `Y88888888888888888 \____| `88888888888P' >-->This Story Doesn't Wash! by Rubel Shelly The criminal-tragic tale of two fugitives suspected in the murder of a prison guard in my home state last week ended on a tip from a cab driver. He had dropped off the pair at a motel, without making a connection between them and the ongoing national manhunt. Then he got to thinking about them. "The cover story they gave me didn't really seem to 'wash' too much," Mike Wagers said. "I could kinda see through that. But I had no indication that these guys were really dangerous or they were on the run." During the 115-mile trip from Kentucky into Ohio, there had been some conversation. What Wagers called their "cover story" was the explanation they somehow felt compelled to give about hiring a cab for such a long trip. They told him they were on their way to an Amway convention. "They didn't strike me as the Amway type because, to be honest, they weren't very pushy about their product," continued Wagers. "And I've dealt with [Amway distributors] before, so that was my only real suspicion." Now don't any of you who sell Amway products get defensive! I have no quarrel with people who sell Amway or Chevrolets or widget baskets promoting their products. Sure, the word "pushy" has negative connotations. And some people cross that line with their sales pitches. But, the way you create a market for a product is advertising. Promotion. And word-of-mouth ads are the best of all. Wonder if the claim some of us make to be disciples of Jesus ever sounds hollow? The name "Christian" seems like a bad fit? If anybody ever thought about it later and mumbled, "I'm not sure that person's claim 'washes' with me!" Christians almost certainly hurt our cause when we are too abrupt and pushy in our evangelistic efforts. I don't like in-your-face recruiters. Intrusive sales people. Or brassy Christians who think the gospel justifies rudeness. But is it too much to expect that we speak well of our faith? The church? And Jesus? Disciples (i.e., students) of Jesus are always learning about him. Making the effort to imitate him. And it's unthinkable to me that we would never get his name into conversations or tell people the difference it makes to know him. Give him credit for something good that has happened to us or through us. Explain why we think or act a certain way in terms of commitments made to him. If it shocks a cabby that Amway dealers aren't talking about their wares, it should certainly stun people when Christians have nothing to say about Jesus. Honor Christ and let him be the Lord of your life. Always be ready to give an answer when someone asks you about your hope. (1 Peter 3:15 CEV) --------- (c) 2005 Used by permission. From Rubel Shelly's "FAX of Life" printed each Tuesday. 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