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A Bumpy Ride

2009-05-22T15:48:00.001-06:00

A bumpy ride

Church News

Published: Saturday, May 16, 2009

After a day at an amusement park, a father and his son were discussing the relative merits of the thrill rides they had experienced that day.

The son's favorite ride, he said, had been an antique wooden roller coaster that had been functioning at the park since the first half of the 20th century.

The father, however, preferred the more modern roller-coaster-type rides. Notwithstanding their loop-de-loops, corkscrew curves and high-banked turns, he found them smoother. The bumpiness of the old roller coaster's track was quite disagreeable to him.

Then the son made a rather curious observation: "The bumps helped me feel safer."

The father wondered how this could be. Upon consideration and further conversation, he eventually arrived at the answer: The bumps and jarring gave the son an assurance that the roller-coaster car was still in contact with the track and, if it remained so, it would eventually bring him safely to the end of the ride. Conversely, there were moments on the modern coasters when he had a most disquieting sense that the car had left the track.

In a limited way, the above incident could be an analogy for life.

While progressing along the path of mortality, we are bound to encounter bumps and jolts. While these are never pleasant, if we view them with an attitude of faith, they can bring us some degree of assurance that our Heavenly Father still cares about us. We thus can feel we are still on the track of His love.

"My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord; neither be weary of his correction," one of the Proverbs admonishes. "For whom the Lord loveth he correcteth; even as a father the son in whom he delighteth" (Proverbs 3:11-12).

This concept is reiterated in Helaman 15:3 as well as in latter-day revelation. At Kirtland, Ohio, the Lord told the Prophet Joseph Smith, "Whom I love I also chasten that their sins may be forgiven, for with the chastisement I prepare a way for their deliverance in all things out of temptation, and I have loved you" (Doctrine and Covenants 95:1).

One who, through personal experience, learned the verity of this truth was Thomas B. Marsh.

Elder Marsh was president of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles during the Missouri period of Church history when a spirit of faultfinding beset him, resulting in his eventual apostasy and excommunication from the Church. His subsequent statements gave enemies occasion to persecute the Saints.

In coming decades, Brother Marsh experienced much adversity. Ultimately, on Sept. 6, 1857, he spoke to a congregation in the Salt Lake Tabernacle, where he humbly acknowledged his wrongdoing and sought readmission into the Church.

Apologizing for the weakness of his delivery, he said: "My voice never was very strong, but it has been very much weakened of late years by the afflicting rod of Jehovah. He loved me too much to let me go without whipping. I have seen the hand of the Lord in the chastisement which I have received. I have seen and know that it has proved he loved me; for if he had not cared anything about me, he would not have taken me by the arm and given me such a shaking" (Journal of Discourses 5:206).

The bumps in the road will not always be a consequence of transgression. Even when we are faithful, we cannot expect that the way will always be smooth and easy. Our growth in mortality necessitates our passing through adversity.

LDS speakers and writers are fond of quoting this analogy from the great Christian apologist C.S. Lewis:

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing, and so you are not surprised. But presently, He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of — throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace" (Mere Christianity [New York: Macmillan, 1960], p. 174).

In time, we will see that the bumps were only momentary. We may survive a financial crisis, wiser and stronger for the experience. The grief at the loss of a loved one in death will fade, and we will be left with gratitude for the association and the hope of a joyful reunion in the hereafter.

At some point in our eternal journey, we may be moved to thank the Lord for loving us enough in the moment to inflict a bit of chastening or edifying discomfort.

Children & their "Title of Liberty"

2009-04-01T17:44:00.000-06:00

I had another one of those experiences recently that caused me to look long and hard at the concept of agency. Just when I thought I had this principle well internalized, one of my grown children made some choices that brought back some of the old emotional pain and futile "what ifs." You know the kind, "What if I had set a better example, been a better teacher?" "What if I had been better at consequences? What if I'd been better at providing experiences that develop the ability to look ahead in decision-making? What if we had held more quality family home evenings, had better communication in our family? Would that have made the difference?" Such questions are about as helpful as feathers on a fish. I can't go back and redo the past; all I can do is move forward from where I am. The real challenge is to accept the reality of how things are with faith in Christ and in His never-failing love for me and for my children. I find the AA serenity prayer a good guide in my parenting role: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Generally, all I can change is myself and the quality of my love and influence.

I have to conclude that I am building my house on sand if the strength of my faith depends on having things turn out the way I want or having children do what I think is best. When I want my will done I am inclined to label myself a failure when it isn't done. When I tune into God's perspective, I have not failed as long as I am seeking and submitting to God's will and pursuing the path of growth. I'm inclined to believe that if, through the course of all the trials and adversities and ups and downs of life, a person turns to Christ and develops a celestial character, everything in that life has been a success, no matter how bad it looked along the way. When I remember and apply that thought to both to my children and myself, peace returns.

If We Could Have Done Better, We Would Have!
One of the biggest traps, that mothers of grown children particularly seem to fall into, is the idea that we somehow should have done better, should have been closer to perfection in our interactions with our children. I submit that we all did the best we could in the framework of our personal emotional, physical, and spiritual challenges. Heaven only knows if we could have done better, we would have!

Interestingly enough, even if we had somehow succeeded in being "perfect parents" there is no doubt that our children would still be making imperfect choices. God the Father was a perfect parent and 1/3 of his children chose Satan's plan. The remaining 2/3 of us, with the exception of Jesus, make mistakes on a daily basis--at least during our mortal probation.

The Implication of Invitation
Christ, with his perfect example and perfect faith converted only a fraction of those he came in contact with to Christianity. What made the difference was what was in them, what they were seeking, what they chose. Jesus honored their agency, gave them the invitation, kept loving them even when they turned away from Him. He lamented over those who wouldn't be "gathered under His wings," but did not fail in his own mission because of their choices. There is great application in all that to missionary work, as well as to our efforts with our children. And perhaps, in our experiences in raising children, we can come to glimpse the feelings of a loving Savior who constantly invites us to the safety of His wings, but whose invitation is so often ignored. Thinking of this I wrote:

Chicks and Gatherings

Dear Savior, I understand so much better now

Your poignant words of chicks and gatherings . . .

"How often would I have gathered thy children together even as a hen gathers her chickens under her wings, and ye would not." (Matt. 23:37)

Still I question: "Why do some children--yours and mine--

Refuse safe places, prefer white water rapids to warm wings?"

God gave them agency, I cannot force,

But make the heart-felt choice to come to You myself.

As I beam to them my shining joy at being gathered

I pray I'll see them follow . . .

Beloved chicks, safe at last beneath divine warm wings.

The Power of Agency
Our stewardship is to do the best we can to come to Christ ourselves and teach our children true principles. Then in age-appropriate ways, if we get out of the way and make it perfectly clear to our children that they can and must choose for themselves and experience the consequences of their choices, they are much more likely to choose wisely than when they are feeling coerced. Case in point: James Jones's son Danny.

The first step of Danny's return to clear thinking and responsible living happened immediately following the conversation I recorded in my last article where James made it clear that he was giving up his efforts to control Danny and turning his life back over to him. Let's return to James's story and see what happened next:

"You aren't going to try to control me anymore? I can live my own life?" Danny snapped. I could feel a great burden lifting off my shoulders. It felt wonderful, like coming out of a deep, dark place into the light. Suddenly I knew again that . . . nobody is really responsible for anyone else's life. Only that person is responsible. Hadn't I learned that a hundred times?

"Yes! You can live your own life. You have been! You're living the exact life you have chosen to live, not the life I would have chosen for you." The words were comforting and revealing all over again.

"I can do what I want?" he asked incredulously.

"You have been doing exactly what you want." I was beginning to see clearly through the fog. I recognized at long last the lie that had driven me to nag and scold, to be angry, to drive Danny farther and farther away from us. It was as though an inner voice was saying 'Now hear this! You are in this painful dilemma with Danny because you have bought into the lie that caring and capable parents can and must control their children.' That assumption had influenced every nuance of how I felt and thought and perceived my role as a parent, even after I had experienced the impossibility of it all. Even after I had rejected the lie with my mind, somehow my heart had hung onto it. But no more.

Danny immediately called my bluff. Danny had insisted on seeing a girl that we strongly disapproved of. We had done everything we could to keep them apart the last couple of years. Of course, the harder we tried to keep him away from her, the more time he spent with her. They were like glue on glue. Danny and this girl I'll call Suzy would walk back and forth in front of the house. Danny told me they were saying, "Oh, if only our parents would let us marry, we could be so happy." I was running from one window to the next watching them and praying for Danny. Lillie and I were terrified, helpless, and angry over his stubbornness about this girl.

At this emotion-laden moment in our counseling session, Danny said, "Dad, you mean I can live my own life? You will let me make my own decisions?"

"You have been!"

"OK, then! If I really can make my own decisions and you won't control me anymore, then give me permission to marry Suzy!" Danny was raising the stakes. I was being challenged. "You want to marry her?"

"Yes! If I can live my own life, then give me permission to marry her!" [Danny was only seventeen]

I looked him square in the eye. "Danny, I give you my permission! Marry her! By all means, marry her--and as soon as possible!" I raised my hands to the heavens and cried loudly, "God bless you my children! You deserve each other! Go forth and be happy!" I liked this new feeling but Lillie was making funny little squeaking sounds like she couldn't breathe.

Danny was stunned. "Dad! You would really let me marry her?"

"Absolutely! Why not? You know everything! If you want her, you should have her!"

I had a big grin on my face; I was happy! "Go get the paper! I'll give you written permission this instant! Go! I mean it! Let's do it!"

"Dad, you've got to be kidding!"

"I'm not kidding! Just live far away from us."

Danny just stood there. He looked at the floor, then he looked at me, then at his mother, then at the floor again. He put his right hand up to his forehead, covered his eyes, and massaged his temples. Danny seemed to be in pain and confused. Then he began to mumble,"Marry her? Really marry her?"

For the first time, he was not pulling against my restraints. It takes two people to play tug-of-war. I had put my end of the rope down . . . and the game was over! It was his decision and he was considering what it would be like to be married to Suzy. He looked up as the realization suddenly hit him. It would be stupid to marry this girl! He said, "Marry her? No way! She's nuts, Dad! I don't even like her!"

Danny and I were communicating honestly for the first time since he was twelve. Now it was my turn to be stunned! I just stood there as the impact of what I had just heard sunk in. I stammered, "What? You don't even like her? What are you telling us? What do you mean, 'You don't even like her'? What are you saying? What has been going on these last two years?"

"Dad, I don't like her. She's an idiot! I'd never marry her! It's the truth, I'd be crazy to marry her."

I looked at my son in bewilderment and slowly sat down. I had just experienced in living color the reality of another principle: When the issue of free choice is at stake, other issues are subordinated.

Title of Liberty Engraved on Every Heart
What James is saying is that our need to choose eclipses all other needs. We hold our freedom to choose most dearly above all else--and so does God. God allows his children to commit all manner of wickedness rather than trample on their right to choose. Each individual has as part of his or her very soul, a love of personal liberty that many have been willing to die for. Helaman said of his stripling warriors, "Now they never had fought, yet they did not fear death; and they did think more upon the liberty of their fathers than they did upon their lives." (Alma 56:47) And so it is with our sons and daughters--they think more of liberty than they do of their lives. When they feel the need to defend their own liberty against infringement by well-meaning parents, they will often go to any length, as Danny did, to prove to themselves and everyone else that they can make their own choices. Perhaps our most important job is to remind our children that the words on Moroni's Title of Liberty (Alma 46:12) began with God and religion, then freedom--that we maintain true freedom only to the extent that we love God and live his laws. Still, if our expectation is that we can teach our children so welll that they will always do right and will have no need to repent we will be dashed. Instead, we teach them how to repent, how to come to Christ for a remission of their sins. In the list of things we are to teach children mentioned in D&C 68:25, repentance comes first! Considering the fallibility of the children of men, no wonder!

To Love is to Desire Growth

In her recent book, Tathea Anne Perry records a fictional conversation--which is symbolically a conversation between God and Satan. The following quotes from this conversation have great application to our topic of agency:

Man of Holiness: "The probation of the flesh has many purposes, but none greater than learning to use power righteously, and none more difficult or more dangerous or beset with as many traps and snares for the soul. He must learn to stay his hand, never to trespass on another's agency, no matter how much wiser he may believe his vision to be or how much greater his own light. He may see the path far ahead and every precipice that hovers on the lip of the abyss, every morass that would suck a man into its bowels and consume him utterly. He may plead and teach, exhort and implore, yet he must not rob another of his right to choose for himself, good or ill. Love does not excuse. Even I must watch and wait, because to do otherwise would begin the chain of ruin which would in the end destroy heaven itself. There must be opposition in all things; without the darkness, there is no light.

Asmodeus: "Man will never understand that! He will not accept loss! It is beyond his concept of morality with its urgency, its blindness to all but the individual and the moment. His small, finite mind cannot imagine so far! The strong will abuse the weak, most of all when the weak believe they love them. They will protect them unwisely because they glory in their own strength. They will trust their own wisdom above yours. Their pride will not allow admission of error in themselves or in those of their blood or their race. They will foster dependence because to be needed is the ultimate dominion. They will demand obedience because in it is the illusion of glory. Thus the weak will lean upon the strong, and both will be damned."

Man of Holiness: "It is the test of the strong that they should help the weak for as long as that need exists, that their patience should never tire or grow short. They should nourish the young, the tender, the frightened, and the weak until they too become strong and no longer need them. To love is to desire growth, that every soul may reach the greatness of all its possibilities."

Our quest is clear, our challenges great. May our love for our children be a Christlike love that desires growth, not ease, that nourishes while honoring the Title of Liberty engraved on every heart.

written by Darla Isackson, Meridian Magazine

Gold Wrapping Paper

2009-01-25T22:33:00.000-07:00

Some time ago a mother punished her five year old daughter for wasting a roll of expensive gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and she became even more upset when the child used the gold paper to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree.

Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift box to her mother the next morning and then said, "This is for you, Momma."

The mother was embarrassed by her earlier over reaction, but her anger flared again when she opened the box and found it was empty. She spoke to her daughter in a harsh manner.

"Don't you know, young lady, when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package?"

She had tears in her eyes and said, "Oh, Momma, it's not empty! I blew kisses into it until it was full."

The mother was crushed. She fell on her knees and put her arms around her little girl, and she begged her forgiveness for her thoughtless anger.

An accident took the life of the child only a short time later, and it is told that the mother kept that gold box by her bed for all the years of her life.

Whenever she was discouraged or faced difficult problems she would open the box and take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

2009-01-21T14:11:00.005-07:00

Our influence is surely felt in our respective families.

Sometimes we fathers forget that once we, too, were boys,

and boys at times can be vexing to parents. I recall

how much, as a youngster, I liked dogs. One day I took

my wagon and placed a wooden orange crate in it and went

looking for dogs. At that time dogs were everywhere to be

found: at school,walking along the sidewalks, or exploring

vacant lots, of which there were many. As I would find a

dog and capture it, I placed it in the crate, took

it home, locked it in the coal shed, and turned the latch

on the door. That day I think I brought home six dogs of

varying sizes and made them my prisoners after this

fashion. I had no idea what I would do with all

those dogs, so I didn't reveal my deed to anyone.

Dad came home from work and, as was his custom,

took the coal bucket and went to the coal shed

to fill it. Can you imagine his shock and utter

consternation as he opened the door and immediately

faced six dogs, all attempting to escape at once?

As I recall, Dad flushed a little bit, and then

he calmed down and quietly told me, "Tommy, coal

sheds are for coal. Other people's dogs rightfully

belong to them." By observing him, I learned a

lesson in patience and calmness. It is a good

thing I did, for a similar event occurred in my life

with our youngest son, Clark. Clark has always liked

animals, birds, reptiles - anything that is alive.

Sometimes that resulted in a little chaos in our home.

One day in his boyhood he came home from Provo Canyon

with a water snake, which he named Herman. Right off

the bat Herman got lost. Sister Monson found him in

the silverware drawer. Water snakes have a way of

being where you least expect them. Well, Clark moved

Herman to the bathtub, put a plug in the drain,

put a little water in, and had a sign taped to the back

of the tub which read, "Don't use this tub. It belongs

to Herman." So we had to use the other bathroom while

Herman occupied that sequestered place. But then one

day, to our amazement, Herman disappeared. His name should

have been Houdini. He was gone! So the next day

Sister Monson cleaned up the tub and prepared it for normal use.

Several days went by. One evening I decided it was time to take

a leisurely bath; so I filled the tub with a lot of warm water,

and then I peacefully lay down in the tub for a few moments of

relaxation. I was lying there just pondering, when the soapy

water reached the level of the overflow drain and began to flow

through it. Can you imagine my surprise when, with my eyes

focused on that drain, Herman came swimming out, right for my

face? I yelled out to my wife, "Frances! Here comes Herman!"

Well, Herman was captured again, put in a foolproof box, and

we made a little excursion to Vivian Park in Provo Canyon and

there released Herman into the beautiful waters of the South

Fork Creek. Herman was never again to be seen by us.

-Thomas S. Monson

Mrs. Thompson and Teddy

2009-01-21T13:58:00.000-07:00

As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first
day of school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she
looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. However,
that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat,
was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that
he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy
and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be
unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take
delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and
then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to
review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last.
However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with
a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... he is a joy
to be around.."

His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student,
well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a
terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."

His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard
on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest,
and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."

Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and
doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he
sometimes sleeps in class."

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed
of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas
presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for
Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he
got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle
of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found
a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was
one-quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when
she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some
of the perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day
just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom
used to."

After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that
very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she
began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy.
As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she
encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had
become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that
she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her "teacher's
pets.."

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy,
telling her that she was the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He
then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was
still the best teacher he ever had in life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while
things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it,
and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured
Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever
had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This
time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go
a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and
favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.... The
letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.

The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another
letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be
married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he
was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the
place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course,
Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with
several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the
perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas
together

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs.
Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so
much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a
difference."

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said,
"Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could
make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."

Dr. Teddy Stoddard now ownes the Stoddard Cancer Wing at Iowa
Methodist in Des Moines.

by unknown

The Water Pot

2009-01-19T00:49:00.000-07:00

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole that he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."
"Why?" asked the bearer.
"What are you ashamed of?"
"I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.
The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."
Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.
The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we'd walk back from the stream, you watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table.

The Prayer of an Island Friend

2008-10-02T15:38:00.000-06:00

submitted by Shaelie 9/23/08 at 9:51 PM

A voyaging ship was wrecked during a storm at sea and only two of the men on it were able to swim to a small, desert like island. The two survivors, not knowing what else to do, agree that they had no Other recourse but to pray to God.

However, to find out whose prayer was more powerful, they agreed to divide the territory between them and stay on opposite sides of the island.

The first thing they prayed for was food. The next morning, the
first man saw a fruit-bearing tree on his side of the land, and he
was able to eat its fruit. The other man's parcel of land remained
barren.

After a week, the first man was lonely and he decided to pray for a
Wife. The next day, another ship was wrecked, and the only survivor was a woman who swam to his side of the land. On the other side of the island, there was nothing.

Soon the first man prayed for a house, clothes, more food. The next day, like magic, all of these were given to him. However, the
second man still had nothing.

Finally, the first man prayed for a ship, so that he and his wife
could leave the island. In the morning, he found a ship docked at
his side of the island. The first man boarded the ship with his
wife and decided to leave the second man on the island. He
considered the other man unworthy to receive God's blessings, since none of his prayers had been answered.

As the ship was about to leave, the first man heard a voice from
Heaven booming, "Why are you leaving your companion on the island?"

"My blessings are mine alone, since I was the one who prayed for
them," the first man answered. "His prayers were all unanswered and so he does not deserve anything."

"You are mistaken!" the voice rebuked him. "He had only one prayer, which I answered. If not for that, you would not have received any of my blessings."

"Tell me," the first man asked the voice, "what did he pray for that
I should owe him anything?"

"He prayed that all your prayers be answered."

When Your Hut is on Fire

2008-09-27T22:30:00.002-06:00

The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited
island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him. Everyday he scanned
the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Exhausted, he
eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect
himself from the elements, and to store his few possessions.

One day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little
hut in flames, with smoke rolling up to the sky. He felt the worst had
happened, and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief,
grief, and anger. He cried out, "God! How could you do this to me?"

Early the next day, he was awakened by the sound of a ship approaching
the island! It had come to rescue him! "How did you know I was here?"
asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they
replied.

The Moral of This Story:

It's easy to get discouraged when things are going bad, but we
shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives.... even in
the midst of our pain and suffering. Remember that the next time your
little hut seems to be burning to the ground. It just may be a smoke
signal that summons the Grace of God.

The Dragon

2008-09-23T23:08:00.004-06:00

There was once a great and noble King whose land was terrorized by a crafty dragon. Like a massive bird of prey the scaly beast delighted in ravaging villages with his fiery breath. Hapless victims ran from their burning homes only to be snatched into the dragon's jaws or talons. Those devoured instantly were deemed more fortunate than those carried back to the dragon's lair to be devoured at his leisure.

The king led his sons and knights in many valiant battles against the serpent. Each time they wounded the dragon, he retreated to his hidden lair deep in the mountains. While he healed, the kingdom would be at peace for a time. "Take courage," the King told his people. "One day the dragon will be slain."

Riding alone in the forest during a period of calm, one of the King's sons heard his name purred low and soft. In the shadows of the ferns and trees, curled among the boulders, lay the dragon. The creature's heavy-lidded eyes fastened on the prince, and the reptilian mouth stretched into a friendly smile.

"Don't be alarmed," said the dragon as gray wisps of smoke rose lazily from his nostrils. "I am not what your father thinks."

"What are you, then?" asked the prince, warily drawing his sword as he pulled in the reins to keep his fearful horse from bolting.

"I am pleasure," said the dragon. "Ride on my back and you will experience more than you ever imagined. Come now. I have no harmful intentions. I seek a friend, someone to share flights with me. Have you never dreamed of flying? Never longed to soar in the clouds?" The sunlight glistened with an iridescent sheen on the dragon's metallic green scales. "Bring your sword for security if you wish, but I give my word no harm will come to you."

Visions of soaring high above the forested hills drew the prince hesitantly from his horse. The dragon unfurled one great webbed wing to serve as a ramp to his ridged back. Between the spiny projections, the prince found a secure seat. Then the creature snapped his powerful wings twice and launched them into the sky. Once aloft the dragon wafted effortlessly on the wind streams. The prince's apprehension melted into awe and exhilaration.

From then on, he met the dragon often, but secretly, for how could he tell his father, brothers, or the knights that he had befriended the enemy? The prince felt separate from them all. Their concerns were no longer his concerns. Even when he wasn't with the dragon he spent less time with those he loved and more time alone.

The skin on the prince's legs became calloused from gripping the ridged back of the dragon, and his hands grew rough and hardened. He began wearing gloves to hide the malady. After many nights of riding, he discovered scales growing on the backs of his hands as well. With dread he realized his fate were he to continue, and so he resolved to return no more to the dragon.

But, after a fortnight, he again sought out the dragon, having been tortured with desire. And so it transpired any times over. No matter what his determination, the prince eventually found himself pulled back, as if by the cords of an invisible web. Silently, patiently, the dragon always waited.

One cold, moonless night their excursion became a foray against a sleeping village. Torching the thatched roofs with fiery blasts from his nostrils, the dragon roared with delight when terrified victims fled from their burning homes. Swooping in, the serpent belched again and flames engulfed a cluster of screaming villagers. The prince closed his eyes tightly in an attempt to shut out the carnage, but the agonized cries and smell of burning flesh assailed him. The dragon's long neck snaked and spasmed as he crunched bone and devoured his roasted prey. The prince retched and clung miserably to his spiny perch.

In the predawn hours, when the prince crept back from his dragon trysts, the road outside his father's castle usually remained empty. But, not tonight. Terrified refugees streamed into the protective walls of the castle. The prince walked among bedraggled women carrying wailing children with gashes from the dragon's talons. Some of the victims, too badly wounded or burned to walk, were brought in carts or dragged on makeshift pallets.

The prince's heart was torn. Their pain brought tears to his eyes and shame to his soul. "What have I become?" he asked himself. At that moment, we wanted even more desperately to be free of the dragon. Perhaps his father, in all his wisdom, could help. But the prince feared that the truth would make him abhorrent in his father's sight. Surely he would be disowned, exiled, or perhaps even condemned to death.

The castle bustled with frantic activity as people rushed about to care for the refugees that thronged in the courtyard. The prince attempted to slip through the crowd to close himself in his chambers, but some of the survivors stared and pointed toward him.

"He was there," one woman cried out, "I saw him on the back of the dragon." Others nodded their heads in angry agreement. Horrified, the prince saw that his father, the King, was in the courtyard holding a bleeding child in his arms. The King's face mirrored the agony of his people as his eyes found the prince's. The son fled, hoping to escape into the night, but the guards apprehended him as if he were a common thief. They brought him to the great hall where his father sat solemnly on the throne. The people on every side railed against the prince.

"Banish him!" he heard one of his own brothers angrily cry out.

"Flay him!"

"Burn him alive!" other voices shouted.

As the King rose from his throne, bloodstains from the wounded shone darkly on his royal robes. The crowd fell silent in expectation of his decree. The prince, who could not bear to look into his father's face, stared at the flagstones of the floor.

"Take off your gloves and your tunic," the King commanded. The prince obeyed slowly, dreading to have his metamorphosis uncovered before the kingdom. Was his shame not already great enough? He had hoped for a quick death without further humiliation. Sounds of revulsion rippled through the crowd at the sight of the prince's thick, scaled skin and the ridge growing along his spine.

The King strode toward his son and the prince steeled himself, fully expecting a back-handed blow even though he had never been struck so by his father.

Instead, his father embraced him and wept as he held him tightly. In shocked disbelief, the prince buried his face against his father's shoulder.

"Do you wish to be freed of the dragon, my son?"

The prince answered in despair, "I have wished it many times, but there is no hope for me"

"Not alone," said the King. "You cannot win against the serpent alone."

"Father, I am no longer your son. I am half beast," sobbed the prince.

But his father replied, "My blood runs in your veins. My nobility has always been stamped within your soul. Nothing can take that from you."

With his face still hidden tearfully in his father's embrace, the prince heard the King instruct the crowd, "The dragon is crafty. Some fall victim to his wiles and some to his violence. There will be mercy for all who wish to be freed. Who else among you has ridden the dragon?"

The prince lifted his head to see someone emerge from the crowd. To his amazement, he recognized an older brother, one who had been lauded throughout the kingdom for his onslaughts against the dragon in battle and for his many good deeds. Others came, some weeping, others hanging their heads in shame. The sister who was known for her beautiful singing came, tearfully, removing her slippers to reveal spiked scales on her feet.

The King embraced them all.

"This is our most powerful weapon against the dragon," he announced. "Truth. No more hidden flights. Alone you cannot resist him. Together you will prevail, for you draw strength from one another. Those of you who think yourselves immune to the serpent's wiles, beware lest you be the next to fall. Those ensnared, you must desire freedom more than the dragon's flight. The struggle will be long and fierce. Over time, you will choose more often against the dragon than for him until finally you go to him no more."

"Will the scales then be gone as well?" asked the sister, looking at her bared feet.

"No, my child," the King answered gently. "But in time, they will fade. And one day, when the dragon is finally slain, all traces of the scales will disappear."

"Death to the dragon!" someone yelled from the crowd, and the great cheer rose up in chorus, "Death to the dragon! Long live the King!"

Ethics and Honesty

2008-09-15T14:03:00.000-06:00

David B. Haight, Ensign, Nov 1987, 13

I have prayed for an interest in your faith and prayers, that I might say clearly what is in my heart.

James Peter Fugal was an honest man! He herded sheep much of his life in the rolling hills of Idaho—both his own sheep and sheep for others.

On one bitterly cold winter night, he was herding sheep for another man when a blizzard set in. The sheep bunched together, as sheep do, in the corner of a fenced area, and many died. Many other sheep on surrounding ranches also died that same night because of the weather.

Though the death of the sheep was no fault of his, James Fugal felt responsible and spent the next several years working and saving to repay the owner for his lost sheep. This was the type of deep moral honor and accountability that was fostered by scripture-reading, God-fearing settlers on the early frontier.

This same desire to live Christian principles was evident in Aurelia Rogers, who was schooled on the plains and founded the Primary organization of the Church. She had a concern for the moral character and social development of children. Leaders of the Primary since Aurelia Rogers have proven to be worthy disciples and continue to teach wholesomeness, virtue, and love for one another as well as to instill a desire to understand and live by traditional values.

Recently, Sister Haight and I attended a ward sacrament meeting some distance from our home. After the sacrament, we found, to our delight, that the Primary would present the program, the theme being “We Believe in Being Honest.”

I marveled at the eagerness and interest of these young children as they spoke about the fundamental principles they were learning in Primary of telling the truth, respecting the property of others, being trustworthy, and standing for the right.

I thought of James Fugal, the humble sheepherder, and how wonderful it was that these children were being taught the same values that made him a man of such noble character.

As we enjoyed the thoughtful and timely Primary presentation that emphasized these timeless moral and spiritual values, my thoughts seemed to concentrate on the similarity of two important heavenly directed events which we, as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, have special reason to be grateful for: the framing of the Constitution of the United States of America and the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ—each, in a significant way, sustaining the other. In addition to heavenly direction, both would require a membership of honest, virtuous people if their divine purposes were to be realized.

We attribute the rise of the American nation and its survival to two vital factors. First, God aided the efforts of those who established the republic. James Madison, who is considered the father of the Constitution and to whom President Benson referred this morning, wrote, “It is impossible for the man of pious reflection not to perceive in [the Constitution] a finger of that Almighty hand which has been so frequently and signally extended to our relief in the [establishing of our republic]” (The Federalist, no. 37, New York City: Modern Library, n.d., p. 231).

Second, through righteous conduct and example of its citizens. This is best expressed by Alexander Hamilton, a soldier turned statesman, who wrote that “it seems to have been reserved to the people of this country, by their conduct and example, to decide the important question, whether societies of men are really capable or not of establishing good government from reflection and choice, or whether they are forever destined to depend for their political constitutions on accident and force” (The Federalist, no. 1, p. 33).

The important human attributes needed for this new nation to really become a cooperating and workable republic of separate states would be manifested by a people who demonstrated by their lives a belief and desire to live in a society of justice for all mankind. Likewise, the Lord, through the Prophet Joseph Smith, also recognized that, like the new nation, the restored gospel would have difficulty enduring without men and women of similar integrity and conduct.

On March 1, 1842, Joseph Smith, at the request of Mr. John Wentworth, editor of a Chicago newspaper, composed thirteen brief statements known as the Articles of Faith, which summarize some of the basic doctrines of the Church. As the concluding statement, the Prophet wrote this inspired code of conduct:

“We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things” (A of F 1:13).

What an inspiring description of good people, God-fearing people, people committed to deal justly with mankind! These would be the type of people who could raise up a nation and help it survive, and the kind of people to comprehend the true gospel of Jesus Christ with the needed faith to proclaim it to the inhabitants of the earth.

We here today, and people throughout the nation and the free world, are indebted to freedom-loving individuals everywhere who had the faith and integrity necessary to build the foundations of our societies upon fundamental moral values. Only in an atmosphere of freedom and trust could values like honesty and integrity truly flourish and thus encourage others to pursue their rights to liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Therefore, it is with great alarm that we read newspaper accounts and hear daily media reports that describe the decline of moral decency and the erosion of basic ethical conduct. They detail the corrupting influence of dishonesty, from small-time, childish stealing or cheating to major embezzlement, fraud, and misappropriation of money or goods.

Headlines and feature stories dramatically demonstrate the need for honesty and integrity in family relationships, in business affairs, and in the conduct of government officials and religious ministries. Recent cover stories from major national publications with titles such as “Lying in America” (U. S. News and World Report, 23 Feb. 1987) and “What Ever Happened to Ethics” (Time, 25 May 1987) emphasize the need for public concern over the direction in which we are moving.

Public virtue, which expects men to rise above self-interest and to act in the public interest with wisdom and courage, was so evident in leaders like George Washington, who, we used to declare, could never tell a lie, and Abraham Lincoln, known as “Honest Abe.” In the past few years we have seen “official after official—both on the national and the local political scene—put self-interest … above the larger public interest. …

“Men and women have … been removed from federal office and even gone to jail in our times because they exceeded the limits set by the framers [of our Constitution and God’s commandments]” (Charles A. Perry, “Religious Assumptions Undergird the Entire U. S. Constitution,” Deseret News, 27 Sept. 1987, p. A-19).

One reason for the decline in moral values is that the world has invented a new, constantly changing and undependable standard of moral conduct referred to as “situational ethics.” Now, individuals define good and evil as being adjustable according to each situation; this is in direct contrast to the proclaimed God-given absolute standard: “Thou shalt not!”—as in “Thou shalt not steal” (Ex. 20:15).

A recent Gallup Poll indicates that the vast majority of Americans want schools to do two things: teach our children to speak, think, write, and count; and help them develop standards of right and wrong to guide them through life. However, some teachers avoid questions of right and wrong or remain neutral or guide children into developing their own values, which is leaving many children morally adrift.

Many of our youth have either lost the knowledge of what is right and what is wrong or were never taught these basic values. President Harold B. Lee’s classic statement that “the most important of the Lord’s work that you will ever do will be the work you do within the walls of your own home” is most certainly true today. “Ours is the responsibility as parents to teach our children chastity … [and not only to be morally clean but to be] faithful [and] valiant, striving to live [all of] the Lord’s commandments” (Strengthening the Home, Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1973, pp. 4, 7–8).

Some adults, including public officials and civic leaders, have also been led astray by longings for luxury and leisure.

The devastation that comes to the families and loved ones of those convicted of crimes such as stealing, fraud, misrepresentation, child abuse, sexual transgression, or other serious crimes is immeasurable. So many sorrows, heartaches, and even broken homes result from a false belief that people can set their own rules and do what they want to do as long as they don’t get caught.

Individuals may deceive and even go undetected or unpunished, but they will not escape the judgments of a just God. No man can disobey the word of God and not suffer for so doing. No sin, however secret, can escape retribution and the judgment that follows such transgression.

We declare: “There is only one cure for the evils of this world, … and that is faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and … obedience to [His] commandments” (Mark E. Petersen, Improvement Era, Dec. 1963, p. 1110).

We run the risk of losing both our domestic freedom and eternal salvation if we circumvent by greed and avarice the ethical and moral strictures inherent in the Constitution of this land and the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The continued survival of a free and open society is dependent upon a high degree of divinely inspired values and moral conduct, as stated by the Founding Fathers. People must have trust in their institutions and in their leaders. A great need today is for leadership that exemplifies truth, honesty, and decency in both public and private life.

Honesty is not only the best policy, it is the only policy!

Someone said, “We have committed the Golden Rule to memory. May we now commit it to life.” The Savior’s teaching, “Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them” (Matt. 7:12) should be the basis for all human relationships.

The Lord is very clear about the conduct he expects from the inhabitants of this earth. Nephi declared: “And again, the Lord God hath commanded that men should not murder; … should not lie; … should not steal; … should not take the name of the Lord … in vain; … should not envy; … should not have malice; … should not contend one with another; … should not commit whoredoms; … for whoso doeth them shall perish.

“For none of these iniquities come of the Lord; for he doeth that which is good among the children of men; … and … inviteth … all to come unto him and partake of his goodness” (2 Ne. 26:32–33).

The time is now to rededicate our lives to eternal ideals and values, to make those changes that we may need to make in our own lives and conduct to conform to the Savior’s teachings.

From the beginning to the end of His ministry, Jesus asked His followers to adopt new, higher standards in contrast to their former ways. As believers, they were to live by a spiritual and moral code that would separate them not only from the rest of the world but also even from some of their traditions. He asks nothing less of those who follow Him today.

Do we really believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, and virtuous? On this test may hinge the survival of our society, our constitutional government, and our eternal salvation.

I so declare, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The Snake

2008-09-10T23:14:00.002-06:00

A young girl was trudging along a mountain path, trying to reach her grandmother’s house. It was bitter cold and wind cut like a knife. When she was within sight of her destination, she heard a rustle at her feet. Looking down, she saw a snake. Before she could move, the snake spoke to her. He said, “I’m about to die. It is too cold for me up here, and I am freezing. There is no food in these mountains, and I am starving. Please put me under your coat and take me with you.” “No,” replied the girl. IF I pick you up, you will bite me, and your bite is poisonous.” “No, no.” said the snake. “If you help me you will be my best friend, I will treat you differently.”

The little girl sat down on a rock for a moment to rest and think things over. She looked at the beautiful markings on the snake and had to admit that it was the most beautiful snake she had ever seen. Suddenly, she said, “I believe you, I will save you. All living things deserve to be treated with kindness.” The little girl reached over, put the snake gently under her coat and proceeded toward her grandmother’s house.

Within a moment, she felt a sharp pain in her side. The snake had bitten her. “How could you do this to me?” She cried, “You promised that you would not bite me if I would protect you from the bitter cold?” The snake hissed, “You knew what I was when you picked me up,” and slithered away.

-Ann Landers

A Simple Question

2008-09-10T22:59:00.002-06:00

Lauren sat in the back of the gyms bleachers near some classmates. They laughed and giggled throughout the school assembly and she felt completely alone and ignored. Seeing some students from her early morning seminary class, she moved a few benches over and happily sat by them. They quickly said hi and went back to there previous conversations, leaving her out. Lauren quietly moved down to an area no one else was sitting within 10 feet and leaned against the wall. She was used to this. Although she had grown up in her small ward, none of the kids ever reached out to her and she was left out of all the ‘clicks. She hadn’t had friends in school since three years before when they started making poor choices and she decided to try and find new friends, but was unwelcome in every group she tried. Her family was going through some extremely hard times and she was feeling unwelcome and unloved everywhere she went.

As she leaned against the wall, she offered up a familiar prayer to her Heavenly Father. “Why am I still here? I know you care about me and love me but no one else does. I need someone here who wants to be my friend, or who at least cares for me.” Her mind traveled back to a familiar thought. Suicide seemed like the only way out. She had prayed for over a year now that the Lord would not let her wake up in the morning, but he never granted her wish. She didn’t know how much longer she could take this isolation. She began to pray again and told the lord, “if I can think of one person who cares about me on this earth, I will not do it. But if I can’t, then I will tonight.” She thought as hard as she could, about seminary teachers, church leaders, schoolmates, church friends, and her family. She could not think of one person. Lauren then decided to do it. She would do it that night, and she came up with the plan to carry it out.

She sighed and leaned against the wall, suddenly, someone tapped her shoulder. She turned around and it was James, a boy from her seminary class. “Are you ok?” he asked. Her heart leapt a thousand times in the air. She smiled and said, “Yes, I’m ok.” He asked if she was sure and if she wanted to talk about whatever was bothering her. She said not now but promised to talk to him later. He smiled and said ok, then returned to the other seminary students. Lauren’s heart felt like it was about to explode. Someone in this world cares for me. Someone wants to know that I am ok. Someone loves me, she thought. She prayed to her Heavenly Father and thanked him for letting her know that someone cared so she didn’t take her life. She had a friend.

Now a college student, Lauren loves life more than ever and is so thankful that the Lord never granted her nightly prayers of so many years ago. Most of all she is thankful for James, and that he followed the prompting to go talk to her. Life truly is a wonderful, precious gift and should be treasured every minute of every day. Follow those simple prompting to say hello to someone, you never know what effect you could have on their life.

Grandma's at War, Thomas S. Monson

2008-09-10T22:41:00.002-06:00

There are many ways in which we can misuse our opportunities. Some time ago I read a tender story written by Louise Dickinson Rich which vividly illustrates this truth. She wrote:

“My grandmother had an enemy named Mrs. Wilcox. Grandma and Mrs. Wilcox moved, as brides, into next-door houses on the main street of the tiny town in which they were to live out their lives. I don’t know what started the war between them—and I don’t think that by the time I came along, over thirty years later, they remembered themselves what started it. This was no polite sparring match; this was total war. …

“Nothing in town escaped repercussion. The 300-year-old church, which had lived through the Revolution, the Civil War, and the Spanish War, almost went down when Grandma and Mrs. Wilcox fought the Battle of the Ladies’ Aid. Grandma won that engagement, but it was a hollow victory. Mrs. Wilcox, since she couldn’t be president, resigned [from the Aid] in a huff. What’s the fun of running a thing if you can’t force your enemy to eat crow? Mrs. Wilcox won the Battle of the Public Library, getting her niece, Gertrude, appointed librarian instead of Aunt Phyllis. The day Gertrude took over was the day Grandma stopped reading library books. They became ‘filthy germy things’ overnight. The Battle of the High School was a draw. The principal got a better job and left before Mrs. Wilcox succeeded in having him ousted or Grandma in having him given life tenure of office.

“When as children we visited my grandmother, part of the fun was making faces at Mrs. Wilcox’s grandchildren. One banner day we put a snake into the Wilcox rain barrel. My grandmother made token protests, but we sensed tacit sympathy.

“Don’t think for a minute that this was a one-sided campaign. Mrs. Wilcox had grandchildren, too. Grandma didn’t get off scot free. Never a windy washday went by that the clothesline didn’t mysteriously break, with the clothes falling in the dirt.

“I don’t know how Grandma could have borne her troubles so long if it hadn’t been for the household page of her daily Boston newspaper. This household page was a wonderful institution. Besides the usual cooking hints and cleaning advice, it had a department composed of letters from readers to each other. The idea was that if you had a problem—or even only some steam to blow off—you wrote a letter to the paper, signing some fancy name like Arbutus. That was Grandma’s pen name. Then some of the other ladies who had the same problem wrote back and told you what they had done about it, signing themselves One Who Knows or Xanthippe or whatever. Very often, the problem disposed of, you kept on for years writing to each other through the column of the paper, telling each other about your children and your canning and your new dining-room suite. That’s what happened to Grandma. She and a woman called Sea Gull corresponded for a quarter of a century. Sea Gull was Grandma’s true friend.

“When I was about sixteen, Mrs. Wilcox died. In a small town, no matter how much you have hated your next-door neighbor, it is only common decency to run over and see what practical service you can do the bereaved. Grandma, neat in a percale apron to show that she meant what she said about being put to work, crossed the lawn to the Wilcox house, where the Wilcox daughters set her to cleaning the already-immaculate front parlor for the funeral. And there on the parlor table in the place of honor was a huge scrapbook; and in the scrapbook, pasted neatly in parallel columns were Grandma’s letters to Sea Gull over the years and Sea Gull’s letters to her. Though neither woman had known it, Grandma’s worst enemy had been her best friend. That was the only time I remember seeing my grandmother cry. I didn’t know then exactly what she was crying about, but I do now. She was crying for all the wasted years which could never be salvaged.”

The Window

2008-09-10T22:38:00.003-06:00

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.   Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.    

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.   The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.    

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.    One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by.  Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it. In his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

  Days and weeks passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.     As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the other bed. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.    Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside.   He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.   It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.    The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.

The Smell of God's Love

2008-09-10T22:35:00.003-06:00

A cold March wind danced around the dead of night in Dallas as the Doctor walked into the small hospital room of Diana Blessing. She was still groggy from surgery. Her husband, David, held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news. That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24-weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency Cesarean to deliver couple's new daughter, Dana Lu Blessing.

At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature. Still, the doctor's soft words dropped like bombs. "I don't think she's going to make it," he said, as kindly as he could. "There's only a 10-percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one"

Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Dana would likely face if she survived. She would never walk, she would never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation, and on and on. "No! No!" was all Diana could say.

She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four. Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away.

But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because Dana's underdeveloped nervous system was essentially 'raw', the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn't even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love.

All they could do, as Dana struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl.

There was never a moment when Dana suddenly grew stronger.
But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there. At last, when Dana turned two months old, her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time.

And two months later, though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero, Dana went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.

Five years later, when Dana was a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life. She showed no signs whatsoever of any mental or physical impairment. Simply, she was everything a little girl can be and more. But that happy ending is far from the end of her story.

One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Dana was sitting in her mother's lap in the bleachers of a local ball park where her brother Dustin's baseball team was practicing. As always, Dana was chattering nonstop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby when she suddenly fell silent. Hugging her arms across her chest, little Dana asked, "Do you smell that?"

Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, "Yes, it smells like rain." Dana closed her eyes and again asked, "Do you smell that?" Once again, her mother replied, "Yes, I think we're about to get wet. It smells like rain." Still caught in the moment, Dana shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced, "No, it smells like Him. It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest."

Tears blurred Diana's eyes as Dana happily hopped down to play with the other children. Before the rains came, her daughter's words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along.

During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Dana on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.

The Room Of My Actions

2008-09-10T22:33:00.002-06:00

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no features except for the one wall covered by small index card files. These files stretched from floor to ceiling and went endlessly in both directions. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read, “Boys I Have Liked” I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names on each one. I then realized where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system of my life. Here was written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in every detail.

A sense of wonder and curiosity mixed with horror stirred within me as I began opening files and looking at their contents. Some brought joy and sweet memories, others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I looked over m y shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named, “Friends” was next to the on marked, “Friends I Have Betrayed”. The titles ranged from the mundane to the weird. “Books I Have Read”, “Lies I Have Told”, “Comfort I Have Given”, “Jokes I Have Laughed At”, “People I Have Hurt”. Some were almost funny in their exactness. “Things I Have Done in Anger”, “Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath At My Parents”. Often there were many more cards than I expected sometimes, fewer than I had hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the volume of life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my young life to write each of these thousands or millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth, each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked, “Songs I Have Listened To”, I realized the files grew to contain the contents. The cards were packed tightly, yet after two or three yards I hadn’t found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much of the quality music, but more by the amount of time I knew it represented. When I came to a file marked, “Lustful Thoughts”, I felt a chill run through my body, I pulled the file out inch by inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at the details. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. A rage broke through me. “No one must see these cards. Not one must ever see this room. I have to destroy them.” In a frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. I took it out and pounded it on the floor. Not a single card would come out. I desperately pulled out a card and tried to rip it, But it was as strong as steel.

Leaning my forehead against the wall. I let out a sigh, then I saw it. The title, “People I Have Shared the Gospel With” The handles were brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to cry. Sobbing so deep it hurt my stomach. I fell on my knees and cried out in shame.

The rows of shelves whirled around me. No one must ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not here. OH, anyone but Jesus! I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. In the moments that I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw sorrow deeper than my own. HE seemed to go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read everyone? Finally He turned and looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this wasn’t a pity that angered me. I dropped my head and began to cry again. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files.

Starting at one end of the room, He took out a card and one by one He began to sign His name over mine, “No!” I shouted, rushing at Him. All I could find to say was “No, No,” as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on those cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name JESUS covered mine. It was written in his blood.

He gently took the cards back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign all the cards. I do not think I will ever understand how He did it so quickly. But the next instance it seemed, I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished”. I stood up and He led me out of the room.

There was no lock on the door. There are still cards to be written.

Satan's Convention

2008-09-10T22:31:00.002-06:00

Satan called a worldwide convention. In his opening address to his evil angels, he said, “We can’t keep the Christians from going to church. We can’t keep them from reading their Bibles and knowing the truth. We can’t even keep them from conservative values. But we can do something else. We can keep them from forming an intimate abiding experience with Christ. If they gain that connection with Jesus, our power over them is broken. So let them go to church, let them have their conservative lifestyles, but steal their time, so they can’t gain that experience in Jesus Christ.”

“This is what I want you to do angels. Distract them from gaining hold of their Savior and maintaining that vital connection throughout their day!” “How shall we do this?” Shouted the Angels. “Keep them busy in the nonessentials of life and invent unnumbered shams to occupy their minds.” He answered. “Tempt them to spend, spend, spend, then borrow, borrow, borrow. Convince the wives to go to work and the husband to work six or seven days a week. Over stimulate their minds so they cannot hear that still small voice. Entice them to play the radio or cassette player whenever they drive, to keep the TV, the VCR, and their CD’s going constantly in their homes. And see to it that every store and restaurant in the world plays music constantly. This will jam their minds and break that union with Christ. Fill their coffee tables with magazines and newspapers. Pound their minds with the news 24 hours a day. Invade any other moments with order catalogues, every kind of newsletter and promotional offerings, free products, services and false hopes. Even in their recreation, let hem be excessive. Have them return from their recreation exhausted and unprepared for the coming week. Don’t let them go out in nature. Send them to amusement parks, sporting events, and concerts instead. And when they meet for spiritual fellowship, involve them in gossip and small talk so that they leave with troubled consciences and unsettled emotions. Let them be involved in soul-winning. But crowd their lives with so many good causes that they have no time to seek the power from Christ. Soon they will be working their own strength, sacrificing their health and family unity for the good of the cause.”

It was quite a convention in the end. And all the evil angels went eagerly to their assignments causing Christians everywhere to get busy, busy, busy, and rush here and there. Has the devil been successful at his scheme? You be the judge. Have you allowed him into your home? Think about that and make any necessary changes.

The Athiest Professor

2008-09-10T22:27:00.002-06:00

An atheist professor was teaching a college class and he told the class that he was going to prove that there was not a God. He said, "God if you are real, then I want you to knock me off this platform. I'll give you 15 minutes!"

Ten minutes went by. He kept taunting God, saying, "Here I am God, I'm still waiting" He got down to the last couple of minutes and a BIG 240-pound football player happened to walk by the door and heard what the professor said.

The football player walked in the classroom and in the last minute, he walked up, hit the professor full force, and sent him flying off the platform.

The professor got up, obviously shaken and said, "Where did you come from, and why did you do that?"

The football player replied, "God was busy; He sent me!"

Not Enough Money

2008-09-10T22:26:00.005-06:00

On the last day before Christmas, I hurried to go to the supermarket to buy the remaining gift I didn't manage to buy earlier. When I saw all the people there, I started to complain to myself, "It is going to take forever here and I still have so many other places to go. Christmas really is getting more and more annoying every year. How I wish I could just lie down, go to sleep and only wake up after it..." Nonetheless, I made my way to the toy section, and there I started to curse the prices, wondering if kids really play with such expensive toys.

While looking in the toy section, I noticed a small boy of about 5 years old, pressing a doll against his chest. He kept on touching the hair of the doll and looked so sad. I wondered who this doll was for. Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him, "Granny, are you sure I don't have enough money?" The old lady replied, "You know that you don't have enough money to buy this doll, my dear."

Then she asked him to stay here for 5 minutes while she went to look around. She left quickly. The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand.
Finally, I started to walk toward him and I asked him who did he want to give this doll to.

"It is the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for this Christmas. She was so sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her." I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus will bring it to her, after all, and not to worry.

But he replied to me sadly. "No, Santa Claus can not bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mother so that she can give it to her when she goes there." His eyes were so sad while saying this. "My sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that Mummy will also go to see God very soon, so I thought that she could bring the doll with her to give it to my sister."

My heart nearly stopped. The little boy looked up at me and said, "I told daddy to tell mummy not to go yet. I asked him to wait until I come back from the supermarket."

Then he showed me a very nice photo of him where he was laughing. He then told me, "I also want mummy to take this photo with her so that she will not forget me." I love my mummy and I wish she doesn't have to leave me but daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister." Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly.

I quickly reached for my wallet and took a few notes and said to the boy, "What if we checked again, just in case if you have enough money?" "Ok," he said. "I hope that I have enough." I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll, and even some spare money. The little boy said, "Thank you God for giving me enough money."

Then he looked at me and added, "I asked yesterday before I slept for God to make sure I have enough money to buy this doll so that mummy can give it to my sister. He heard me." "I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mummy, but I didn't dare to ask God too much. But He gave me enough to buy the doll and the white rose." "You know, my mummy loves white roses."

A few minutes later, the old lady came again and I left with my trolley. I finished my shopping in a totally different state from when I started. I couldn't get the little boy out of my mind. Then I remembered a local newspaper article 2 days ago, which mentioned of a drunk man in a truck who hit a car where there was one young lady and a little girl. The little girl died right away, and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the life-assisting machine, because the young lady would not be able to get out of the coma. Was this the family of the little boy?

Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the newspaper that the young lady had passed away. I couldn't stop myself and went to buy a bunch of white roses and I went to the mortuary where the body of the young woman was exposed for people to see and make last wishes before burial.

She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rose in her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest. I left the place crying, feeling that my life had been changed forever. The love that this little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to that day, hard to imagine.

The Starfish

2008-09-10T22:26:00.004-06:00

One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a figure in the distance. As he got close, he realized the figure was that of a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean. Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?” The youth replied, “Throwing starfish into the ocean. The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.” “Son,” the man said, “don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t possibly make a difference!” After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said, “I made a difference for that one.”

A Little Boy and his Fishing Pole

2008-09-10T22:24:00.002-06:00

Howard County Sheriff Jerry Marr got a disturbing call one Saturday afternoon a few months ago.

His 6-year-old grandson Mikey had been hit by a car while fishing with his dad. The father and son were near a bridge by the Kokomo Reservoir when a woman lost control of her car, slid off the bridge and hit Mikey at a rate of about 50 mph.   

Sheriff Marr had seen the results of accidents like this and feared the worst. When he got to Saint Joseph Hospital, he rushed through the emergency room to find Mikey conscious and in fairly good spirits.  "Mikey, what happened?" Sheriff Marr asked.   Mikey replied, "Well, Papaw, I was fishin' with Dad, and some lady runned me over, I flew into a mud puddle, and broke my fishin' pole and I didn't get to catch no fish!"   

As it turned out, the impact propelled Mikey about 500 feet, over a few trees and an embankment and in the middle of a mud puddle. His only injuries were to his right femur bone which had broken in two places. Mikey had surgery to place pins in his leg. Otherwise the boy is fine.   Since all the boy could talk about was that his fishing pole was broken, the Sheriff went out to Wal-mart and bought him a new one while he was in surgery so he could have it  when he came out.   

The next day the Sheriff sat with Mikey to keep him company in the hospital. Mikey was enjoying his new fishing pole and talked about when he could go fishing again as he cast into the trash can.   

When they were alone, Mikey matter-of-factly said, "Papaw, did you know Jesus is real?"   "Well," the Sheriff replied, a little startled. "Yes, Jesus is real to all who believe in him and love him in their hearts."  "No," said Mikey. "I mean Jesus is REALLY real."   "What do you mean?" asked the Sheriff.  

"I know he's real 'cause I saw him, "said Mikey, still casting into the trash can.  

"You did?" said the Sheriff.   

"Yep," said Mikey. "When that lady runned me over and broke my fishing pole, Jesus caught me in his arms and laid me down in the mud puddle."

A Gallon of Milk

2008-09-10T22:23:00.002-06:00

A young man had been to Wed. night Bible Study. The pastor had shared about listening to God and obeying the Lord's voice. The young man couldn’t help but wonder, "Does God still speak to people?" After service, he went out with some friends for coffee and pie and they discussed the message. Several different ones talked about how God had led them in different ways.   

It was about ten o'clock when the young man started driving home. Sitting in his car, he just began to pray, "God...If you still speak to people speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey."  As he drove down the main street of his town, he had the strangest thought to stop and buy a gallon of milk. He shook his head and said out loud, "God is that you?" He didn't get a reply and started on toward home. But again, the thought, buy a gallon of milk. The young man thought about Samuel and how he didn't recognize the voice of God, and how little Samuel ran to Eli.   "Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk."

It didn't seem like too hard a test of obedience. He could always use the milk. He stopped and purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home.   As he passed Seventh Street, he again felt the urge, "Turn down that street." This is crazy he thought and drove on past the intersection.  Again, he felt that he should turn down Seventh Street. At the next intersection, he turned back and headed down Seventh. Half jokingly, he said out loud, "Okay, God, I will."  He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. He pulled over to the curb and looked around. He was in a semi-commercial area of town. It wasn't the best but it wasn't the worst of neighborhoods either. The businesses were closed and most of the houses looked dark like the people were already in bed.

Again, he sensed something, "Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street."  The young man looked at the house. It was dark and it looked like the people were either gone or they were already asleep. He started to open the door and then sat back in the car seat. "Lord, this is insane. Those people are in bed and asleep, and if I wake them up, they are going to be mad and I will look stupid."  Again, he felt like he should go and give the milk.

Finally, he opened the door. "Okay God, if this is you, I will go to the door and I will give them the milk. If you want me to look like a crazy person, okay. I want to be obedient. I guess that will count for something, but if they don't answer right away, I am out of here. He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man's voice yelled out, "Who is it? What do you want?" Then the door opened before the young man could get away. The man was standing there in his jeans and t-shirt. He looked like he just got out of bed. He had a strange look on his face and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep. "What is it?"

The young man thrust out the gallon of milk. "Here I brought this to you."  The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway, speaking loudly in Spanish. Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen, the man following her, holding a baby. The baby was crying. The man had tears streaming down his face. The man began speaking and half-crying, "We were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk." His wife in the kitchen yelled out, "I asked him to send an Angel with some. Are you an Angel?"   The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had on him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back toward his car and the tears were streaming down his face. He knew that God still answers  prayers.

The Monk

2008-09-10T22:18:00.001-06:00

The Monk

A peasant with a troubled conscience went to a monk for advice. He said he had circulated a vile story about a friend, only to find that the story was not true. “If you would make peace with your conscience,” said the monk, “You must first fill a bag with goose downs, go to every door in the village, and drop in each one of them a feather.” The peasant did as he was told. Then he came back to the monk and said he had done penance for his folly. “Not yet,” replied the monk. “Take a bag, go two rounds again. And gather up every down that you have dropped.” “But the wind must have blown them all away.” Said the peasant. “Yes, my son.” Said the monk. “And so it is with your vile words. Words and goose downs are quickly dropped, but try as hard as you will, you can never get them back.”

Jesus and the Donuts

2008-09-10T22:14:00.000-06:00

Jesus and the Donuts

There was a certain Professor of Religion named Dr. Christianson, a studious man who taught at a small college in the Western United states. Dr. Christianson taught the required survey course in Christianity at this particular institution. Every student was required to take this course his or her freshman year regardless of his or her major. Although Dr. Christianson tried hard to communicate the essence of the gospel in his class; he found that most of his students looked upon the course as nothing but required drudgery.

Despite his best efforts, most students refused to take Christianity seriously.

This year, Dr. Christianson had a special student named Steve. Steve was only a freshman, but was studying with the intent of going on to seminary for the ministry. Steve was popular, he was well liked, and he was an imposing physical specimen. He was now the starting center on the school football team, and was the best student in the professor's class.

One day, Dr. Christianson asked Steve to stay after class so he could talk with him. "How many push-ups can you do?" Steve said, "I do about 200 every night." "200? That's pretty good, Steve," Dr. Christianson said. "Do you think you could do 300?" Steve replied, "I don't know... I've never done 300 at a time."

"Do you think you could?" again asked Dr. Christianson. "Well, I can try," said Steve. "Can you do 300 in sets of 10? I have a class project in mind and I need you to do about 300 push-ups in sets of ten for this to work. Can you do it? I need you to tell me you can do it," said the professor. Steve said, "Well... I think I can...yeah, I can do it."

Dr. Christianson said, "Good! I need you to do this on Friday. Let me explain what I have in mind."

Friday came and Steve got to class early and sat in the front of the room. When class started, the professor pulled out a big box of donuts. Now these weren't the normal kinds of donuts, they were the extra fancy BIG kind, with cream centers and frosting swirls. Everyone was pretty excited it was Friday, the last class of the day, and they were going to get an early start on the weekend with a party in Dr. Christianson's class. Dr. Christianson went to the first girl in the first row and asked, "Cynthia, do you want to have one of these donuts?" Cynthia said, "Yes." Dr. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Cynthia can have a donut?" "Sure." Steve jumped down from his desk to do a quick ten. Then Steve again sat in his desk. Dr. Christianson put a donut on Cynthia's desk. Dr. Christianson then went to Joe, the next person, and asked, "Joe, do you want a donut?" Joe said, "Yes." Dr. Christianson asked, "Steve would you do ten push-ups so Joe can have a donut?" Steve did ten push-ups, Joe got a donut.

And so it went, down the first aisle, Steve did ten pushups for every person before they got their donut, this continued till Dr. Christianson came down the second aisle, to Scott. Scott was on the basketball team, and in as good condition as Steve. He was very popular and never lacking for female companionship. When the professor asked, "Scott do you want a donut?" Scott's reply was, "Well, can I do my own pushups?" Dr. Christianson said,

"No, Steve has to do them." Then Scott said, "Well, I don't want one then."

Dr. Christianson shrugged and then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, Would you do ten pushups so Scott can have a donut he doesn't want?" With perfect obedience Steve started to do ten pushups. Scott said, "HEY! I said I didn't want one!" Dr. Christianson said, "Look, this is my classroom, my class, my desks, and these are my donuts. Just leave it on the desk if you don't want it." And he put a donut on Scott's desk.

Now by this time, Steve had begun to slow down a little. He just stayed on the floor between sets because it took too much effort to be getting up and down. You could start to see a little perspiration coming out around his brow. Dr. Christianson started down the third row. Now the students were beginning to get a little angry. Dr. Christianson asked Jenny, "Jenny, do you want a donut?" Sternly, Jenny said, "No." Then Dr. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten more Push-ups so Jenny can have a donut that she doesn't want?" Steve did ten....Jenny got a donut.

By now, a growing sense of uneasiness filled the room. The students were beginning to say "No" and there were all these uneaten donuts on the desks. Steve also had to really put forth a lot of extra effort to get these pushups done for each donut. There began to be a small pool of sweat on the floor beneath his face, his arms and brow were beginning to get red because of the physical effort involved. Dr. Christianson asked Robert, who was the most vocal unbeliever in the class, to watch Steve do each push up to make sure he did the full ten pushups in a set because he couldn't bear to watch all of Steve's work for all of those uneaten donuts. He sent Robert over to where Steve was so Robert could count the set and watch Steve closely. Dr. Christianson started down the fourth row.

During his class, however, some students from other classes had wandered in and sat down on the steps along the radiators that ran down the sides of the room. When the professor realized this, he did a quick count and saw that now there were 34 students in the room. He started to worry if Steve would be able to make it. Dr. Christianson went on to the next person and the next and the next.

Near the end of that row, Steve was really having a rough time. He was taking a lot more time to complete each set. Steve asked Dr. Christianson, "Do I have to make my nose touch on each one?" Dr. Christianson thought for a moment, "Well, they're your pushups. You are in charge now. You can do them any way that you want." And Dr. Christianson went on.

A few moments later, Jason, a recent transfer student, came to the room and was about to come in when all the students yelled in one voice, "NO! Don't come in! Stay out!" Jason didn't know what was going on. Steve picked up his head and said, "No, let him come." Professor Christianson said, "You realize that if Jason comes in you will have to do ten pushups for him?" Steve said, "Yes, let him come in. Give him a donut" Dr. Christianson said,

"Okay, Steve, I'll let you get Jason's out of the way right now. Jason, do you want a donut?" Jason, new to the room hardly knew what was going on. "Yes," he said, "give me a donut." "Steve, will you do ten push-ups so that Jason can have a donut?" Steve did ten pushups very slowly and with great effort. Jason, bewildered, was handed a donut and sat down.

Dr. Christianson finished the fourth row, then started on those visitors seated by the heaters. Steve's arms were now shaking with each push-up in a struggle to lift himself against the force of gravity. Sweat was profusely dropping off of his face and, by this time, there was no sound except his heavy breathing, there was not a dry eye in the room. The very last two students in the room were two young women, both cheerleaders, and very popular.

Dr. Christianson went to Linda, the second to last, and asked, "Linda, do you want a doughnut?" Linda said, very sadly, "No, thank you." Professor Christianson quietly asked, "Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Linda can have a donut she doesn't want?" Grunting from the effort, Steve did ten very slow pushups for Linda. Then Dr. Christianson turned to the last girl, Susan. "Susan, do you want a donut?" Susan, with tears flowing down her face, began to cry. "Dr. Christianson, why can't I help him?"

Dr. Christianson, with tears of his own, said, "No, Steve has to do it alone, I have given him this task and he is in charge of seeing that everyone has an opportunity for a donut whether they want it or not.

When I decided to have a party this last day of class, I looked at my grade book. Steve, here is the only student with a perfect grade. Everyone else has failed a test, skipped class, or offered me inferior work. Steve told me that in football practice, when a player messes up he must do push-ups. I told Steve that none of you could come to my party unless he paid the price by doing your push ups. He and I made a deal for your sakes. Steve, would you do ten push-ups so Susan can have a donut?" As Steve very slowly finished his last pushup, with the understanding that he had accomplished all that was required of him, having done 350 pushups, his arms buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor.

Dr. Christianson turned to the room and said. "And so it was, that our Savior, Jesus Christ, on the cross, plead to the Father, 'into thy hands I commend my spirit.' With the understanding that He had done everything that was required of Him, he yielded up His life. And like some of those in this room, many of us leave the gift on the desk, uneaten."

Two students helped Steve up off the floor and to a seat, physically exhausted, but wearing a thin smile. "Well done, good and faithful servant," said the professor, adding "Not all sermons are preached in words."

Turning to his class the professor said, "My wish is that you might understand and fully comprehend all the riches of grace and mercy that have been given to you through the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He spared not only His Begotten Son, but gave Him up for us all for the whole Church, now and forever. Whether or not we choose to accept His gift to us, the price has been paid.

Author Unknown

False Advertising (your appearance matters)

2008-09-10T15:08:00.002-06:00

Don’t judge me you plead, By my clean shaven head.
Don’t judge by my oversize pants.
Don’t judge by the rhinestone That’s set in my nose,
Or my somewhat belligerent stance.
Don’t judge by the slogan proclaimed on my shirt.
Don’t judge by the comrades I choose.
Don’t judge by the music my boom box emits
Don’t judge by the language I use.
How then shall I judge you, My foolish young friend?
It’s time you start realizing
That if outward things Don’t proclaim who you are,
Then you’re guilty of false advertising.
---Lafond Hall