the invisible letter

-- Author Unknown

Sally jumped up as soon as she saw the surgeon come out of the operating
room.  She said: "How is my little boy?  Is he going to be all right?
When can I see him?"  The surgeon said, "I'm sorry.  We did all we
could, but your boy didn't make it."  Sally said, "Why do little
children get cancer?  Doesn't God care anymore?  Where were you, God,
when my son needed you?"  The surgeon asked, "Would you like some time
alone with your son?  One of the nurses will be out in a few minutes,
before he's transported to the university."  Sally asked the nurse to
stay with her while she said goodbye to her son.

She ran her fingers lovingly through his thick red curly hair.  "Would
you like a lock of his hair?" the nurse asked.  Sally nodded yes.  The
nurse cut a lock of the boy's hair, put it in a plastic bag and handed
it to Sally.  The mother said, "It was Jimmy's idea to donate his body
to the University for Study.  He said it might help somebody else.  "I
said no at first, but Jimmy said, "Mom, I won't be using it after I die.
Maybe it will help some other little boy spend one more day with his
Mom."  She went on, "My Jimmy had a heart of gold.  Always thinking of
someone else.  Always wanting to help others if he could." 

Sally walked out of Children's mercy Hospital for the last time, after
spending most of the last six months there.  She put the bag with
Jimmy's belongings on the seat beside her in the car.  The drive home
was difficult.  It was even harder to enter the empty house.  She
carried Jimmy's belongings, and the plastic bag with the lock of his
hair to her son's room.  She started placing the model cars and other
personal things, back in his room exactly where he had always kept them.
She laid down across his bed and, hugging his pillow, cried herself to
sleep.

It was around midnight when Sally awoke.  Lying beside her on the bed
was a folded letter.  The letter said:
Dear Mom, I know you're going to miss me; but don't think that I will
ever forget you, or stop loving you, just 'cause I'm
not around to say I LOVE YOU.  I will always love you, Mom, even more
with each day.  Someday we will see each other again.  Until then, if
you want to adopt a little boy so you won't be so lonely, that's okay
with me.  He can have my room, and old stuff to play with.  But, if you
decide to get a girl instead, she probably wouldn't like the same things
us boys do.  You'll have to buy her dolls and stuff girls like, y'know.

"Don't be sad thinking about me.  This really is a neat place.  Grandma
and Grandpa met me as soon as I got here and showed me around some, but
it will take a long time to see everything.  The angels are so cool.  I
love to watch them fly.  And, you know what?  Jesus doesn't look like
any of his pictures.  Yet, when I saw Him, I knew it was Him.  Jesus
himself took me to see GOD!  And guess what, Mom? I got to sit on God's
knee and talk to Him, like I was somebody important.  That's when I told
Him that I wanted to write you a letter, to tell you goodbye and
everything.  But I already knew that wasn't allowed. 
 
"Well, y'know what Mom?  God handed me some paper and His own personal
pen to write you this letter.  I think Gabriel is the name of the angel
who is going to drop this letter off to you.  God said for me to give
you the answer to one of the questions you asked Him - 'Where was He
when I needed him?'  God said He was in the same place with me, as when
His son Jesus was on the cross.  He was right there, as He always is
with all His children. 

"Oh, by the way, Mom, no one else can see what I've written except you.
To everyone else this is just a blank piece of paper.  Isn't that cool?
I have to give God His pen back now.  He needs it to write some more
names in the Book of Life.  Tonight I get to sit at the table with Jesus
for supper. I'm sure the food will be great.  Oh, I almost forgot to
tell you.  I don't hurt anymore.  The cancer is all gone.  I'm glad
because I couldn't stand that pain anymore ... and God couldn't stand to
see me hurt so much, either.  That's when He sent The Angel of Mercy to
come get me.  The Angel said I was Special Delivery! How about that? 

Signed with Love,

God, Jesus & Me

three trees

-- Author unknown

Once there were three trees on a hill in the woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, "Someday I hope to be a treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems. I could be decorated with Intricate carving and everyone would see the beauty."

Then the second tree said, "Someday I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."

Finally the third tree said, "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me."

After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. When one came to the first tree he said, "This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter"... and he began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.

At the second tree a woodsman said, "This looks like a strong tree, I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.

When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down his dreams would not come true.

One of the Woodsmen said, "I don't need anything special from my tree so I'll
take this one," and he cut it down.

When the first tree arrived at the carpenters, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for.

The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end.

The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark.

The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams. Then one day, a man and woman came to the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.

Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said "Peace" and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the King of Kings in its boat.

Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible, because Jesus had been crucified on it.

The moral of this story is that when things don't seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you. If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts.

Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined. We don't always know what God's plans are for us. We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always best.

Keep this moving... share it with others, so it could inspire more people on His way.
Sometimes the heart sees what the eyes can't.

the mountain climber

-- Author Unknown

They tell the story of a mountain climber who, desperate to conquer the Aconcagua, initiated his climb after years of preparation. But he wanted the glory to himself, therefore, he went up alone. He started climbing and it was becoming later, and later. He did not prepare for camping, but decided to keep on going.

Soon it got dark. Night fell with heaviness at a very high altitude. Visibility was zero. Everything was black. There was no moon, and the stars were covered by clouds.

As he was climbing a ridge at about 100 meters from the top, he slipped and fell. Falling rapidly he could only see blotches of darkness that passed. He felt a terrible sensation of being sucked in by gravity. He kept falling... and in those anguishing moments good and bad memories passed through his mind. He thought certainly he would die.

But then he felt a jolt that almost tore him in half. Yes! Like any good mountain climber he had staked himself with a long rope tied to his waist. In those moments of stillness, suspended in the air he had no other choice but to shout: "HELP ME GOD. HELP ME!"

All of a sudden he heard a deep voice from heaven... "What do you want me to do?"

"SAVE ME."

"Do you REALLY think that I can save you?"

"OF COURSE, MY GOD."

"Then cut the rope that is holding you up."

There was another moment of silence and stillness. The man just held tighter to the rope. The rescue team says that the next day they found a frozen mountain climber hanging strongly to a rope...
TWO FEET OFF THE GROUND.

------------

How about you? How trusting are you in that rope? Why don't you let it go? I tell you, God has great and marvelous things planned for you.

CUT THE ROPE AND SIMPLY TRUST IN HIM.

the ant and the contact lens

A True Story -- By Josh and Karen Zarandona

Brenda was a young woman who was invited to go rock climbing. Although she was very scared, she went with her group to a tremendous granite cliff. In spite of her fear, she put on the gear, took hold of the rope, and started up the face of that rock. Well, she got to a ledge where she could take a breather. As she was hanging on there, the safety rope snapped against Brenda's eye and knocked out her contact lens.

Well, here she is, on a rock ledge, with hundreds of feet below her and hundreds of feet above her. Of course, she looked and looked and looked, hoping it had landed on the ledge, but it just wasn't there.

Here she was, far from home, her sight now blurry. She was desperate and began to get upset, so she prayed to the Lord to help her to find it.

When she got to the top, a friend examined her eye and her clothing for the lens, but there was no contact lens to be found. She sat down, despondent, with the rest of the party, waiting for the rest of them to make it up the face of the cliff.

She looked out across range after range of mountains, thinking of that verse that says, "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth." She thought, "Lord, You can see all these mountains. You know every stone and leaf, and You know exactly where my contact lens is. Please help me."

Finally, they walked down the trail to the bottom. At the bottom there was a new party of climbers just starting up the face of the cliff. One of them shouted out, "Hey, you guys! Anybody lose a contact lens?"

Well, that would be startling enough, but you know why the climber saw it? An ant was moving slowly across the face of the rock, carrying it on it's back.

Brenda told me that her father is a cartoonist. When she told him the incredible story of the ant, the prayer, and the contact lens, he drew a picture of an ant lugging that contact lens with the words, "Lord, I don't know why You want me to carry this thing. I can't eat it, and it's awfully heavy. But if this is what You want me to do, I'll carry it for You."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It would probably do some of us a lot of good to occasionally say,
"God, I don't know why you want me to carry this load. I can see no good in it
and it's awfully heavy. But, if you want me to carry it, I will."

God doesn't call the qualified, He qualifies the called.
GOD is my source of existence and my Savior.
He keeps me functioning each and every day.

"I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me." 
Philipians 4:13

8 year-old's explanation of God

By Danny Dutton
Written by an 8 year old from Chula Vista, CA, for his third grade homework assignment. The assignment was to explain God. I just wonder if any of us could do as well?

He doesn't make grownups, just babies. I think because they are smaller and easier to make. That way he doesn't have to take up his valuable time teaching them to talk and walk. He can just leave that to mothers and fathers.

God's second most important job is listening to prayers. An awful lot of this goes on, since some people, like preachers and things, pray at times beside bedtime.  God doesn't have time to listen to the radio or TV because of this .

Because he hears everything, there must be a terrible lot of noise in his ears, unless he has thought of a way to turn it off.

God sees everything and hears everything and is everywhere which keeps Him pretty busy. So you shouldn't go wasting his time by going over your mom and dad's head asking for something they said you couldn't have.

Atheists are people who don't believe in God. I don't think there are any in Chula Vista. At least there aren't any who come to our church.

Jesus is God's Son. He used to do all the hard work like walking on water and performing miracles and trying to teach the people who didn't want to learn about God. They finally got tired of him preaching to them and they crucified him. But he was good and kind, like his father, and he told his father that they didn't know what they were doing and to forgive them and God said O.K.

His dad (God) appreciated everything that he had done and all his hard work on earth so he told him he didn't have to go out on the road anymore. He could stay in heaven. So he did. And now he helps his dad out by listening to prayers and seeing things which are important for God to take care of and which ones he can take care of himself without having to bother God. Like a secretary, only more important.

You can pray anytime you want and they are sure to help you because they got it worked out so one of them is on duty all the time.

You should always go to church on Sunday because it makes God happy, and if there's anybody you want to make happy, it's God.

Don't skip church or do something you think will be more fun like going to the beach. This is wrong. And besides the sun doesn't come out at the beach until noon anyway.

If you don't believe in God, besides being an atheist, you will be very lonely, because your parents can't go everywhere with you, like to camp, but God can.

It is good to know He's around you when you're scared, in the dark or when you can't swim and you get thrown into real deep water by big kids.

But... you shouldn't just always think of what God can do for you. I figure God put me here and he can take me back anytime he pleases. And this is what I know about God.

the broken mug

One of my favorite coffee mugs was broken this week. Not sure how it happened. Just found it sitting there on the counter with the handle broken off. A friend had given it to me because it has one of my favorite Bible verses on it. “I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God” (Philippians 3:14).
As I stood there looking with disappointment at my handle-less cup I realized that now the mug actually illustrates the verse. Before it was a very nice coffee cup with a really meaningful verse on it. Now it may represent what Paul had in mind when he penned the words.

“Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected, but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. Brothers, I do not count myself to have apprehended. But one thing I do: Forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:12-14).

Coffee mugs are made with a purpose. Mugs are made for drinking coffee, for drinking hot chocolate, for holding pens, for collecting change. They are not made to simply sit on a shelf and gather dust. When you use a mug there is the possibility that it will get damaged or broken.

Like the coffee mug we were created with a purpose. We were created for life. We were not created to sit and watch life go by. We were created to embrace life. Jesus said it this way,

“I have come that you may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10).
Paul said we were created to do “good works” (Ephesians 2:10).
The abundant life does not happen without risks.
Doing good works is not without dangers.
Life is for living.
When you live life, there are risks.
When you live you may get hurt.
When you live you may experience disappointments.
When you live you may get damaged.
When you live you may get broken.

When that happened to Paul, he chose to press on. He did not allow his life to end with a broken handle. He kept pushing forward. He continued to move forward toward the prize God had called him to.
My mug with no handle will most likely be reassigned to be a penholder or a change cup. It has served me well. Many good cups of coffee have been consumed from that mug. But it is time for this mug to move on to a new goal, a new purpose for being.
What about you?
Has life been unkind to you lately?
Have you considered retiring, sitting out the fight, being shelved?
Please don’t.
Take a lesson from my mug.
Even if your handle gets broken . . . press on.
Move forward.
Your handle is broken, but you are not dead.
Keep living.
God has something in store for you.

REALIZE GOD HAS A GOAL FOR YOUR LIFE.

RECOGNIZE THAT YOU HAVE NOT YET ARRIVED AT YOUR GOAL.

JUST A YOUNG BOY IN THE TEMPLE ONE DAY SHARED WITH THE DOCTOR'S,
THEY WERE SO AMAZED NEVER HAD THEY SEEN ONE SO YOUNG SPEAK SO SWIFT



THEY ASKED HIM MANY QUESTIONS, THE CONVERSATION WENT LIKE THIS



WHAT'S YOUR NAME SON?



ON MY MOTHER'S SIDE MY NAME IS JESUS
BUT ON MY FATHER'S SIDE THEY CALL ME EMMANUEL


HOW OLD ARE YOU?



ON MY MOTHER'S SIDE NOW I'M 12 YEARS
BUT ON MY FATHER'S SIDE I'VE JUST ALWAYS BEEN



WHERE ARE YOU FROM?



ON MY MOTHER'S SIDE I'M FROM BETHLEHEM
BUT ON MY FATHER'S SIDE IT'S THE NEW JERUSALEM



WHAT'S YOUR PLAN?



ON MY MOTHER'S SIDE I'LL BE CRUCIFIED
BUT ON MY FATHER'S SIDE IN 3 DAYS I WILL RISE
AND I'LL SIT AT MY FATHER'S SIDE



HE WAS THE SON OF GOD YET THE SON OF MAN
AND I CAN'T HELP BUT WONDER HOW JOSEPH MUST HAVE FELT
THROUGH AN OLD THIN DOOR THAT DAY HE HEARD HIS SON REPLY
HE SAID "YOU SEE I'M THE KING OF KINGS,

THAT'S ON MY FATHER'S SIDE"

The Most Beautiful Heart

One day a young man was standing in the middle of the townproclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley.A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen.The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about hisbeautiful heart.

Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said,"Why your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine." The crowdand the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was beatingstrongly, but full of scars, it had places where pieces had beenremoved and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite rightand there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some placesthere were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing.The people stared How can he say his heart is more beautiful they thought!The young man looked at the old man's heart and saw its state andlaughed. "You must be joking," he said. "Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears."

"Yes," said the old man, "Yours is perfect looking but I wouldnever trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person towhom I have given my love - I tear out a piece of my heart andgive it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heartwhich fits into the empty place in my heart, but because thepieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish,because they remind me of the love we shared.

Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the otherperson hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me. These are theempty gouges - giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too, and I hope someday they may return andfill the space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?"The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks.He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young andbeautiful heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the oldman with trembling hands. The old man took his offering, placedit in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heartand placed it in the wound in the young man's heart. It fit, butnot perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but morebeautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowedinto his.

They embraced and walked away side by side.

- Author Unknown 

The Blessing of Thorns

Sandra felt as low as the heels of her shoes as she pushed against a November gust and the florist shop door. Her life had been easy, like a spring breeze. Then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a minor automobile accident stole her ease.

During this Thanksgiving week she would have delivered a son. She grieved over her loss. As if that weren't enough, her husband's company threatened a transfer. Then her sister, whose annual holiday visit she coveted, called saying she could not come.

What's worse, Sandra's friend infuriated her by suggesting her grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer. "She has no idea what I'm feeling," thought Sandra with a shudder.

"Thanksgiving? Thankful for what?" she wondered aloud. For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear- ended her? For an airbag that saved her life but took that of her child?

"Good afternoon, can I help you?"

The shop clerk's approach startled her.

"I....I need an arrangement, "stammered Sandra. "For Thanksgiving?

Do you want beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call the Thanksgiving Special?" asked the shop clerk.

"I'm convinced that flowers tell stories," she continued.

"Are you looking for something that conveys 'gratitude' this Thanksgiving?

"Not exactly!" Sandra blurted out. "In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. " Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the shop clerk said, "I have the perfect arrangement for you."

Then the door's small bell rang, and the shop clerk said, "Hi Barbara...let me get your order." She politely excused herself and walked toward a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and long-stemmed thorny roses.

Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped...there were no flowers.

"Want this in a box?" asked the clerk.

Sandra watched for the customer's response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no flowers!?! She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed. "Yes, please," Barbara replied with an appreciative smile.

"You'd think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn't be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again," she said as she gently tapped her chest.

"Uhh," stammered Sandra, "that lady just left with, uhh... she just left with no flowers!"

"Right...I cut off the flowers. That's the Special... I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet.

"Oh, come on, you can't tell me someone is willing to pay for that?" exclaimed Sandra.

"Barbara came into the shop three years ago feeling very much like you feel today," explained the clerk. "She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, her son was into drugs, and she was facing major surgery."

"That same year I had lost my husband, "continued the clerk," and for the first time in my life, I had to spend the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow any travel.

"So what did you do?" asked Sandra. "I learned to be thankful for thorns," answered the clerk quietly. "I've always thanked God for good things in life and never thought to ask Him why those good things happened to me, but when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important.

I always enjoyed the 'flowers' of life, but it took thorns to show me the beauty of God's comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we're afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others.

"Sandra sucked in her breath as she thought about the very thing her friend had tried to tell her. "I guess the truth is I don't want comfort.

I've lost a baby and I'm angry with God."

Just then someone else walked in the shop.

"Hey, Phil!" shouted the clerk to the balding, rotund man.

"My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving arrangement ....twelve thorny, long-stemmed stems!" laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue-wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator.

"Those are for your wife?" asked Sandra incredulously. "Do you mind me asking why she wants something that looks like that?

"No...I'm glad you asked," Phil replied. "Four years ago my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord's grace and guidance, we slogged through problem after problem.

He rescued our marriage. Jenny here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she learned from "thorny" times, and that was good enough for me. I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific "problem" and give thanks to Him for what that problem taught us."

As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, "I highly recommend the Special!"

"I don't know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life." Sandra said to the clerk. "It's all too... fresh."

"Well," the clerk replied carefully, "my experience has shown me that thorns make roses more precious. We treasure God's providential care more during trouble than at any other time.

Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love. Don't resent the thorns."

Tears rolled down Sandra's cheeks. For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on resentment. "I'll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please," she managed to choke out.

"I hoped you would," said the clerk gently. "I'll have them ready in a minute."

"Thank you. What do I owe you?" asked Sandra.

"Nothing." said the clerk.

"Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year's arrangement is always on me. "The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra.

"I'll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you'd like to read it first."

It read:

"Dear God, I have never thanked you for my thorns. I have thanked you a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to you along the path of pain.

Show me that, through my tears, the colors of your rainbow look much more brilliant."

A Piece of Cake

A little boy is telling his grandma how everything is goingwrong.....school, family problems, severe health problems, etc.Meanwhile, Grandma is baking a cake. She asks her grandson if hewould like a snack,which, of course, he does.

"Here, have some cooking oil."

"Yuck" says the boy.

"How about a couple raw eggs?"

"Gross, Grandma!"

"Would you like some flour then? Or maybe baking soda?"

"Grandma, those are all yucky!"

"Yes, all those things seem bad all by themselves, but when they are puttogether in the right way, they make a wonderfully delicious cake!

God works the same way. Many times we wonder why he would let us go throughsuch bad and difficult times, but God knows that when He puts thesethings all in His order, they always work for good!

We just have to trust Him and, eventually, they will all make something wonderful!"God is crazy about you. He sends you flowers every spring and a sunriseevery morning.

Whenever you want to talk, He'll listen. He can liveanywhere in the universe, and He chose your heart. If you like, sendthis on to the people you care about. I did.

Hope your day is a "piece of cake!" 

Red Marbles

During the waning years of the depression in a small southeasternIdaho community, I used to stop by Brother Miller's roadside stand forfarm fresh produce as the season made it available. Food and money were still extremely scarce and bartering was used extensively.

One particular day Brother Miller was bagging some new potatoes forme. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean,hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for mypotatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am apushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.

Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Brother Miller and the ragged boynext to me. "Hello Barry, how are you today?" "H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas.....sure look good." "They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?" "Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time." "Good.

Anything I can help you with?" "No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas." "Would you like to take some home?" "No, Sir. Got nuthin ' to pay for 'em with." "Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?" "All I got's my prize marble here." "Is that right? Let me see it". " Here 'tis." " She's a dandy. I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?" "Not 'zackley.....but, almost." "Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble." "Sure will."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. Witha smile she said: "There are two other boys like him in our community,all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain withthem for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back with their redmarbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after alland he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or anorange one, perhaps."

I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A shorttime later I moved to Utah but I never forgot the story of this man,the boys and their bartering.

Several years went by each more rapid than the previous one. Justrecently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idahocommunity and while I was there learned that Brother Miller had died.They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friendswanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon our arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet therelatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Aheadof us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and theother two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts ...veryprofessional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed, by herhusband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on thecheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her mistylight blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly andplaced his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left themortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentionedthe story she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening she tookmy hand and led me to the casket. "Those three young men, that just left,were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciatedthe things Jim 'traded' them.

Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mindabout color or size...they came to pay their debt. "We've never had a greatdeal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but, right now, Jimwould consider himself the richest man in Idaho."

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceasedhusband. Resting underneath were three, magnificently shiny, redmarbles.

We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. 

Fireman Billy

In Phoenix, AZ. a 26-year-old mother stared down at her son who was dying of terminal leukemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent she wanted her son to grow up and fulfill all his dreams. Now that was no longer possible. The leukemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son's dreams to come true. She took her son's hand and asked, "Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up? Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?"

"Mommy, I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up."Mom smiled back and said, "Let's see if we can make your wish come true."Later that day she went to her local fire department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son's final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her six-year-old son a ride around the block on a fire engine.

Fireman Bob said, "Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! And if you'll give us his sizes, we'll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat - not a toy one - with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots. They're all manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast."

Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy, dressed him in his fire fighter's uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven. There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Billy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the paramedic's van, and even the fire chief's car. He was also videotaped for the local news program.

Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible.

One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition.

The chief replied, "We can do better than that. We'll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favor? When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the P.A. system that there is not a fire? It's just the fire department coming to see one of its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room?"

About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital and extended its ladder up to Billy's third floor open window, sixteen firefighters climbed up the ladder into Billy's room. With his mother's permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they loved him. With his dying breath, Billy looked up at the fire chief and said, Chief, am I really a fireman now?

"Billy, you are, and the Head Chief, Jesus, is holding your hand," the chief said. With those words, Billy smiled and said, "I know, He's been holding my hand all day, and the angels have been singing." He closed his eyes one last time.

- Author Unknown 

Take My Son: An Inspirational-Story

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Let A Miracle Happen

By Aletha Jane Lindstrom

"There's a new student waiting in your room," my principal
announced, hurrying past me on the stairs. "Name's Mary. I need to
talk to you about her. Stop in the office later."
I nodded and glanced down at the packs of pink, red and white paper,
and the jars of paste and boxes of scissors I held in my
arms. "Fine," I said. "I've just come from the supply room. We're
making valentine envelopes this morning. It'll be a good way for her
to get acquainted."
This was my third year of teaching fourth-graders, but I was already
aware how much they loved Valentine's Day (now just a week away),
and making these bright containers to tape to the
fronts of their desks was a favorite activity. Mary would surely be
caught up in the excitement and be chatting cheerfully with new
friends before the project was finished. Humming to myself, I
continued up the stairs.
I didn't see her at first. She was sitting in the back of the room
with her hands folded in her lap. Her head was down and long, light-
brown hair fell forward, caressing the softly shadowed cheeks.
"Welcome, Mary," I said. "I'm so glad you'll be in our room. And
this morning you can make an envelope to hold your valentines for
our party on Valentine's Day."
No response. Had she heard me?
"Mary," I said again, slowly and distinctly.
She raised her head and looked into my eyes. The smile on my face
froze. A chill went through me and I stood motionless. The eyes in
that sweet, little-girl face were strangely empty - as if the
owner of a house had drawn the blinds and gone away. Once before I
had seen such eyes: They had belonged to an inmate of a mental
institution, one I'd visited as a college student. "She's found life
unendurable," the resident psychiatrist had explained, "so she's
retreated from the world." She had, he went on, killed her husband
in a fit of insane jealousy.
But this child - she could have been my own small, lovable niece
except for those blank, desolate eyes. Dear God, I thought, what
horror has entered the life of this innocent little girl?
I longed to take her in my arms and hug the hurt away. Instead, I
pulled books from the shelf behind her and placed them in her
lap. "Here are texts you'll be using, Mary. Would you like to
look at them?" Mechanically, she opened each book, closed it and
resumed her former position.
The bell rang then, and the children burst in on a wave of cold,
snowy air. When they saw the valentine materials on my desk, they
bubbled with excitement.
There was little time to worry about Mary that first hour. I took
attendance, settled Mary into her new desk and introduced her.
The children seemed subdued and confused when she failed to
acknowledge the introduction or even raise her head.
Quickly, in order to divert them, I distributed materials for the
envelopes and suggested ways to construct and decorate them. I
placed materials on Mary's desk, too, and asked Kristie, her nearest
neighbor, to offer help.
With the children happily engrossed, I escaped to the office.
"Sit down," my principal said, "and I'll fill you in." The child,
she said, had been very close to her mother, living alone with her
in a Detroit suburb. One night, several weeks ago, someone had
broken into their home and shot and killed the mother in Mary's
presence. Mary escaped, screaming, to a neighbor's. Then the child
went into shock. She hadn't cried or mentioned her
mother since.
The principal sighed and then went on. "Authorities sent her here to
live with her only relative - a married sister. The sister enrolled
Mary this morning. I'm afraid we'll get little help from her. She's
divorced, with three small children to support. Mary is just one
more responsibility."
"But what can I do?" I stammered. "I've never known a child like
this before." I felt so inadequate.
"Give her love," she suggested, "lots and lots of love. She's lost
so much. There's prayer, too - and faith, faith that will make her a
normal little girl again if you just don't lose hope."
I returned to my room to discover that the children were already
shunning this "different" child. Not that Mary noticed. Even kindly
little Kristie looked affronted. "She won't even try," she told me.
I sent a note to the principal to remove Mary from the room for a
short time. I needed to enlist the children's help before recess,
before they could taunt her about being "different."
"Mary's been hurt badly," I explained gently, "and she's so quiet
because she's afraid she'll be hurt again. You see, her mother just
died, and there's no one else who loves her. You must be
very patient and understanding. It may be a long time before she's
ready to laugh and join in your games, but you can do a lot to help
her."
Bless all children. How loving they can be once they understand.
On Valentine's Day, Mary's envelope overflowed. She looked at each
card without comment and replaced it in her container. She didn't
take them home, but at least she looked at them.
She arrived at school insufficiently dressed for the bitterly cold
weather. Her raw, chapped hands - without mittens - cracked and
bled. Although she seemed oblivious to sore hands and the cold, I
sewed buttons on her thin coat, and the children brought caps,
scarves, sweaters and mittens. Kristie, like a little mother, helped
Mary bundle up before she went outdoors, and she
insisted on walking to and from school with her.
In spite of our efforts, we seemed to be getting no closer to Mary
as the cold, dreary March days dragged by. Even my faith was wearing
thin. My heart ached so desperately, wanting this child
to come alive, to be aware of the beauty the wonder, the fun - and,
yes - even the pain of living.
Dear God, I prayed, please let one small miracle happen. She needs
it so desperately.
Then on a late March day, one of the boys excitedly reported a robin
in the schoolyard. We flocked to the window to see it.
"Spring's here!" the children cried. "Let's make a flower border for
the room!"
Why not? I thought. Anything to lift our spirits. This time the
papers we selected were beautiful pastel colors - with brown strips
to weave into baskets. I showed the children how to weave the
baskets and how to fashion all the flowers we welcome in early
spring. Remembering the valentine incident, I expected nothing from
Mary; nevertheless, I placed the beautifully colored papers on her
desk and encouraged her to try. Then I left the children to do their
own creating, and I spent the next half-hour sorting scraps of paper
at the back of the room.
Suddenly, Kristie came hurrying to me, her face aglow. "Come see
Mary's basket," she exclaimed. "It's so pretty! You'll never believe
it!"
I caught my breath at its beauty. The gently curled petals of
hyacinths, the daffodils' fluted cups, skillfully fashioned crocuses
and violets - work one would expect from a child much older.
"Mary," I said. "This is beautiful. How did you ever manage?"
She looked at me with the shining eyes of any normal little girl.
"My mother loved flowers," she said simply. "She had all of these
growing in our garden."
Thank you, God, I said silently. You've given us the miracle. I
knelt and put my arms around the child. Then the tears came, slowly
at first, but soon she was sobbing her heart out against my
shoulder. The other children had tears in their eyes, too, but
theirs - like mine - were tears of joy.
We fastened her basket in the very center of the border at the front
of the room. It remained there until school ended in June.
On the last day, Mary held it carefully as she carried it out the
door. Then she came running back, pulled a crocus from her basket
and handed it to me. "This is for you," she said, and she gave me a
hug and a kiss.
Mary moved away that summer. I lost track of her, but I'll never
forget her. And I know God is caring for her.
I've kept the crocus in my desk ever since - just to remind me of
Mary and of the enduring power of love and faith.