Merged: Short stories.

[sercor::jhumzki]

---

Climb till your dream comes true
often your tasks will be many,
and more than you think you can do. . .
Often the road will be rugged
and the hills insurmountable, too. . .

But always remember, the hills ahead
Are never as steep as they seem,
And with FAITH in your heart start upward
And climb 'till you reach your dream,

For nothing in life that is worthy
Is ever too hard to achieve
If you have the courage to try it
And you have the FAITH to believe.

For FAITH is a force that is greater
Than knowledge or power or skill
And many defeats turn to triumph
If you trust in GOD"S wisdom and will

For Faith is a mover of mountains,
There's nothing that God cannot do,
So start out today with Faith in your heart
And "CLIMB "TILL YOUR DREAM COMES TRUE"!

[sercor::jhumzki]

The last to board the plane from Seattle to Dallas were a woman and three children. "Oh please don't sit next to me," I thought. "I've got so much work to do." But a moment later an eleven-year-old girl and her nine-year-old brother were climbing over me while the woman and a four-year-old boy sat behind. Almost immediately the older children started bickering while the child behind intermittently kicked my seat. Every few minutes the boy would ask his sister, "Where are we now?" "Shut up!" she'd snap and a new round of squirming and whining would ensue.

"Kids have no concept of important work," I thought, quietly resenting my predicament. Then in my mind a voice as clear as a song simply said, Love them. "These kids are brats, and I've got important work to do," I countered to myself. My inner voice simply replied, Love them as if they were your children.

Having heard the "Where-are-we-now?" question repeatedly, I turned to the in-flight magazine map, in spite of my important work.

I explained our flight path, dividing it into quarter-hour flight increments and estimated when we would land in Dallas.

Soon they were telling me about their trip to Seattle to see their father who was in the hospital. As we talked they asked about flying, navigation, science and grown-ups' views about life. The time passed quickly and my "important" work was left undone.

As we were preparing to land, I asked how their father was doing now. They grew quiet and the boy simply said, "He died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, me too. But it's my little brother I'm most worried about. He's taking it real hard."

I suddenly realized what we'd really been talking about was the most important work we ever face: living, loving and growing in spite of heartbreak. When we said good-bye in Dallas the boy shook my hand and thanked me for being his "airline teacher." And I thanked him for being mine.

[yeahn03]

wa man nahuman..

[MrBiddle]

It is the substance of things hoped for. And the evidence of things unseen.
Nice.


Man, I need to come out for some air! :-b

[sercor::jhumzki]

An army runner was saved from instant death by, well . . . you'll see.

As he made his way across the dead and dismembered bodies strewn across the ravaged battlefield back to his company with orders from the battalion commander, the sound of bullets and bombs had been silenced. With a relative sense of safety, he walked on being thankful that, at least for a while, there was a calm in the senseless storm.

Approximately two-thirds of the way across the devastated field, he was suddenly stopped by an unusual sight. It hovered right before him, at perfect eye level.

At first, he thought that he was suffering from fatigue and was seeing a mirage.

"It can't be," he said to himself, "not out here in the midst of a raging war!"

But it not only was real, it came right up to him and stopped no more than three inches from his face. He started to step forward when it lunged forward, pushing him a couple of steps backward.

And then it happened!

A gigantic shell hurled through the air and landed right in the very spot from which he had been literally pushed.

"I would have been killed!" he gasped. "I would have been killed!"

But that little object, probably less than an ounce in weight, kept him from losing his life. It was a definite miracle because he had not seen one since he had gone off to war . . . and surely not right out in the middle of an all-out war, in the midst of an awful battle.

But it was there, and it did save his life.

The Psalmist foretold it in Psalm 91: l when, under inspiration of God who sent that very little object to save a life, he said, "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty."

The strange little object? It was a butterfly!

[sercor::jhumzki]

As we rolled five-year-old Mary into the MRI room, I tried to imagine what she must be feeling. She had suffered a stroke that left half of her body paralyzed, had been hospitalized for treatment of a brain tumor, and had recently lost her father, her mother and her home. We all wondered how Mary would react.

She went into the MRI machine without the slightest protest, and we began the exam. At that time, each imaging sequence required the patient to remain perfectly still for about five minutes. This would have been difficult for anyone - and certainly for a five-year-old who had suffered so much. We were taking an image of her head, so any movement of her face, including talking, would result in image distortion.

About two minutes into the first sequence, we noticed on the video monitor that Mary's mouth was moving. We even heard a muted voice over the intercom. We halted the exam and gently reminded Mary not to talk. She was smiling and promised not to talk.

We reset the machine and started over. Once again we saw her facial movement and heard her voice faintly. What she was saying wasn't clear. Everyone was becoming a little impatient, with a busy schedule that had been put on hold to perform an emergency MRI on Mary.

We went back in and slid Mary out of the machine. Once again, she looked at us with her crooked smile and wasn't upset in the least. The technologist, perhaps a bit gruffly, said, "Mary, you were talking again, and that causes blurry pictures."

Mary's smile remained as she replied, "I wasn't talking. I was singing. You said no talking." We looked at each other, feeling a little silly.

"What were you singing?" someone asked.

"Jesus Loves Me," came the barely perceptible reply. "I always sing `Jesus Loves Me' when I'm happy."

Everyone in the room was speechless. "Happy? How could this little girl be happy?" The technologist and I had to leave the room for a moment to regain our composure as tears began to fall.

Many times since that day, when feeling stresses, unhappy or dissatisfied with some part of my life, I have thought of Mary and felt both humbled and inspired. Her example made me see that happiness is a marvelous gift - free to anyone willing to accept it.

[sercor::jhumzki]

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 relationship experience in 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 his angels. "Keep them busy in the nonessentials of life and invent unnumbered schemes to occupy their minds," he answered. "Tempt them to spend, spend, spend, then borrow, borrow, borrow. Persuade the wives to go to work for long hours and the husbands to work 6 or 7 days a week, 10 - 12 hours a day, so they can afford their lifestyles. Keep them from spending time with their children. As their family fragments, soon, their homes will offer no escape from the pressures of work." "Over stimulate their minds so that they cannot hear that still small voice. Entice them to play the radio or cassette player whenever they drive, to keep the TV, VCR, CDs and their PCs going constantly in their homes. And see to it that every store and restaurant in the world plays non-biblical, contradicting 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 their driving moments with billboards. Flood their mailboxes with junk mail, sweepstakes, mail order catalogs, and every kind of newsletter and promotional offering free products, services, and false hopes."

"Even in their recreation, let them be excessive. Have them return from their recreation exhausted, disquieted, and unprepared for the coming week. Don't let them go out in nature to reflect on God's wonders. Send them to Amusement parks, sporting events, concerts, and movies instead.

"And when they meet for spiritual fellowship, involve them in gossip and small talk so that they leave with troubled consciences and unsettled emotion." "Let them be involved in soul-winning. But crowd their lives with so many good causes they have no time to seek power from Christ. Soon they will be working in their own strength, sacrificing their health and family for the good of the cause."

It was quite a convention in the end. And 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.

How about this definition of Busy:
B-being
U-under
S-Satan's
Y-yoke

If we're too busy for God - then we're busier than God wants us to be! SLOW DOWN...........

[sercor::jhumzki]

Here is a true story about a nine year old boy who lived in a rural town in Tennessee. His house was in a poor area of the community. A church there had a bus ministry that came knocking on his door one Saturday afternoon. The kid came to answer the door and greeted the bus pastor.

The bus pastor asked if his parents were home and the small boy told him that his parents take off every weekend and leave him at home to take care of his little brother. The bus pastor couldn't believe what the kid said and asked him to repeat it. The youngster gave the same answer and the bus pastor asked to come in and talk with him. They went into the living room and sat down on an old couch with the foam and springs exposed. The bus pastor asked the kid, "Where do you go to church?"

The young boy surprised the visitor by replying, "I've never been to church in my whole life."

The bus pastor thought to himself about the fact that his church was less than three miles from the child's house. "Are you sure you have never been to church?" he asked again.

"I'm sure I haven't," came his answer.

Then the bus pastor said, "Well, son, more important than going to church, have you ever heard the greatest love story ever told?" and then he proceeded to share the Gospel with this little nine year old boy.

The young lad's heart began to be tenderized and at the end of the bus pastor's story, the bus pastor asked if the boy wanted to receive this free gift from God.

The youngster exclaimed, "OF COURSE!"

The kid and the bus pastor got on their knees and the lad invited Jesus into his little heart and received the free gift of salvation. They both stood up and the bus pastor asked if he could pick the kid up for church the next morning.

"Sure," the nine year old replied.

The bus pastor got to the house early the next morning and found the lights off. He let himself in and snaked his way through the house and found the little boy asleep in his bed. He woke up the little boy and his brother and helped get them dressed. They got on the bus and ate a doughnut for breakfast on their way to church.

Keep in mind that this boy had never been to church before. The church was a real big one. The little kid just sat there, clueless of what was going on. A few minutes into the service, these tall unhappy guys walked down to the front and picked up some wooden plates. One of the men prayed and the kid, with utter fascination, watched them walk up and down the aisles. He still didn't know what was going on. All of a sudden, like a bolt of lightning, it hit the kid what was taking place. These people must be giving money to Jesus. He then reflected on the free gift of life he had received just twenty-four hours earlier. He immediately searched his pockets, front and back, and couldn't find a thing to give Jesus. By this time the offering plate was being passed down his aisle and, with a broken heart, he just grabbed the plate and held on to it. He finally let go and watched it pass on down the aisle. He turned around to see it passed down the aisle behind him. And then his eyes remained glued on the plate as it was passed back and forth, back and forth all the way to the rear of the sanctuary.

Then he had an idea. This little nine year old boy, in front of God and everybody, got up out of his seat. He walked about eight rows back, grabbed the usher by the coat and asked to hold the plate one more time. Then he did the most astounding thing I have ever heard of. He took the plate, sat it on the carpeted church floor and stepped into the center of it. As he stood there, he lifted his little head up and said, "Jesus, I don't have anything to give you today, but just me. I give you me!"

[sercor::jhumzki]

Bill Andrews was a big, awkward, homely guy. He dressed oddly with ill-fitting clothes. There were several fellows who thought it smart to make fun of him. One day one fellow noticed a small tear in his shirt and gave it a small rip. Another worker in the factory added his bit, and before long there was quite a ribbon dangling. Bill went on about his work and as he passed too near a moving belt the shirt strip was sucked into the machinery. In a split second the sleeve and Bill were in trouble. Alarms were sounded, switches pulled, and trouble was avoided.

The foreman, however, aware of what had happened, summoned the men and related this story: "In my younger days I worked in a small factory. That's where I first met Mike Havoc. He was big and witty, was always making jokes, and playing little pranks. Mike was a leader. Then there was Pete Lumas who was a follower. He always went along with Mike. And then there was a man named . . . Jake. He was a little older than the rest of us -- quiet, harmless, apart. He always ate his lunch by himself. He wore the same patched trousers for three years straight. He never entered into the games we played at noon, wrestling, horse shoes and such. He appeared to be indifferent, always sitting quietly alone under a tree instead.

"Jake was a natural target for practical jokes. He might find a live frog in his dinner pail, or a dead rodent in his hat. But he always took it in good humor. "Then one Fall when things were slack, Mike took off a few days to go hunting. Pete went along, of course. And they promised all of us that if they got anything they'd bring us each a piece. So we were all quite excited when we heard that they'd returned and that Mike had got a really nice big buck. We heard more than that. Pete could never keep anything to himself, and it leaked out that they had a real whopper to play on Jake. Mike had cut up the critter and had made a nice package for each of us. And, for the laugh, for the joke of it, he had saved the ears, the tail, the hoofs -- it would be so funny when Jake unwrapped them.

"Mike distributed his packages during the noon hour. We each got a nice piece, opened it, and thanked him. The biggest package of all he saved until last. It was for Jake. Pete was all but bursting; and Mike looked very smug. Like always, Jake sat by himself; he was on the far side of the big table. Mike pushed the package over to where he could reach it; and we all sat and waited. Jake was never one to say much. You might never know that he was around for all the talking he did. In three years he'd never said a hundred words. So we were all quite astounded with what happened next. "He took the package firmly in his grip and rose slowly to his feet. He smiled broadly at Mike -- and it was then we noticed that his eyes were glistening. His adam's apple bobbed up and down for a moment and then he got control of himself.

"I knew you wouldn't forget me," he said gratefully; "I knew you'd come through! You're big and you're playful, but I knew all along that you had a good heart." He swallowed again, and then took in the rest of us. "I know I haven't seemed too chummy with you men; but I never meant to be rude. You see, I've got nine kids at home -- and a wife that's been an invalid -- bedfast now for four years. She ain't ever going to get any better. And sometimes when she's real bad off, I have to sit up all night to take care of her. And most of my wages have had to go for doctors and medicine.

The kids do all they can to help out, but at times it's been hard to keep food in their mouths. Maybe you think it's funny that I go off by myself to eat my dinner. Well, I guess I've been a little ashamed, because I don't always have anything between my sandwich. Or like today -- maybe there's only a raw turnip in my pail. But I want you to know that this meat really means a lot to me. Maybe more than to anybody here because tonight my kids," he wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, "...tonight my kids will have a really..." He tugged at the string.

"We'd been watching Jake so intently we hadn't paid much notice to Mike and Pete. But we all noticed them now, because they both dove at once to try to grab the package. But they were too late. Jake had broken the wrapper and was already surveying his present. He examined each hoof, each ear, and then he held up the tail. It wiggled limply. It should have been so funny, but nobody laughed -- nobody at all. But the hardest part was when Jake looked up and said thank you while trying to smile.

Silently one by one each man moved forward carrying his package and quietly placed it in front of Jake for they had suddenly realized how little their own gift had really meant to them...until now...." This was where the foreman left the story and the men. He didn't need to say anymore; but it was gratifying to notice that as each man ate his lunch that day, they shared part with Bill Andrews and one fellow even took off his shirt and gave it to him.

[sercor::jhumzki]

A Native American and his friend were in downtown New York City, walking near Times Square in Manhattan. It was during the noon lunch hour and the streets were filled with people. Cars were honking their horns, taxicabs were squealing around corners, sirens were wailing, and the sounds of the city were almost deafening. Suddenly, the Native American said, "I hear a cricket."

His friend said, "What? You must be crazy. You couldn't possibly hear a cricket in all of this noise!"

"No, I'm sure of it," the Native American said, "I heard a cricket."

"That's crazy," said the friend.

The Native American listened carefully for a moment, and then walked across the street to a big cement planter where some shrubs were growing. He looked into the bushes, beneath the branches, and sure enough, he located a small cricket. His friend was utterly amazed.

"That's incredible," said his friend. "You must have super-human ears!"

"No," said the Native American. "My ears are no different from yours. It all depends on what you're listening for."

"But that can't be!" said the friend. "I could never hear a cricket in this noise."

"Yes, it's true," came the reply. "It depends on what is really important to you. Here, let me show you."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a few coins, and discreetly dropped them on the sidewalk. And then, with the noise of the crowded street still blaring in their ears, they noticed every head within twenty feet turn and look to see if the money that tinkled on the pavement was theirs.

"See what I mean?" asked the Native American. "It all depends on what's important to you."