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Stories and
Inspirational Messages:
Song is "Begin The Bequine"
by Ernesto Cortazar and can be found at
mp3.com
To play this song please stop the media player above first
and then start this one.
I
promise I didn't drink, Mom: Submitted by Paul Holtzberg
I went to a party, Mom; I remembered
what you said. You told me not to drink, Mom,
so I drank soda instead
I really felt proud inside, Mom,
the way you said I would. I didn't drink and drive, Mom,
even though the others said I should.
I know I did the right thing, Mom,
I know you are always right. Now the party is finally ending,
Mom, as everyone is driving out of sight.
As I got into my car, Mom, I knew
I'd get home in one piece. Because of the way you raised me,
so responsible and sweet.
I started to drive away, Mom, but
as I pulled out into the road, The other car didn't see me, Mom,
and hit me like a load.
As I lay there on the pavement,
Mom, I hear the policeman say, The other guy is drunk, Mom, and
now I'm the one who will pay.
I'm lying here dying, Mom. I wish
you'd get here soon. How could this happen to me, Mom?
My life just burst like a balloon.
There is blood all around me, Mom,
and most of it is mine. I hear the medic say, Mom, I'll
die in a short time.
I just wanted to tell you, Mom,
I swear I didn't drink. It was the others, Mom. The others
didn't think.
He was probably at the same party
as I. The only difference is, he drank
and I will die.
Why do people drink, Mom? It can
ruin your whole life. I'm feeling sharp pains now. Pains
just like a knife.
The guy who hit me is walking, Mom,
and I don't think it's fair. I'm lying here dying and all he
can do is stare.
Tell my brother not to cry, Mom.
Tell Daddy to be brave. And when I go to heaven, Mom, put
"Daddy's Girl" on my grave.
Someone should have told him, Mom,
not to drink and drive. If only they had told him, Mom,
I would still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter, Mom.
I'm becoming very scared. Please don't cry for me, Mom. When
I needed you, you were always there.
I have one last question, Mom, before
I say good bye. I didn't drink and drive, so why
am I the one to die? (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
Interesting
Question: Submitted by Dave Singer
Q1: If you knew a woman who was
pregnant, who had 8 kids already, three who were deaf, two who were
blind, one mentally retarded, and she had syphilis; would you recommend
that she have an abortion?
Read the next question before scrolling
down to the answer of this one.
Q2: It is time to elect the world
leader, and your vote counts. Here are the facts about the three leading
candidates:
Candidate (A) Associates with crooked
politicians, and consults with astrologists. He's had two mistresses. He
also chain smokes and drinks 8 to 10 martinis a day. Candidate (B) He was kicked out
of office twice, sleeps until noon, used opium in college and drinks a
quart of whiskey every evening. Candidate (C) He is a decorated
war hero. He's a vegetarian, doesn't smoke, drinks an occasional
beer and hasn't had any extramarital affairs.
Which of these candidates would
be your choice? Decide first, no peeking, then scroll down for the answer.
Candidate A is Franklin D. Roosevelt Candidate B is Winston Churchill Candidate C is Adolph Hitler and
by the way:
Answer to the abortion question
- if you said yes, you just killed Beethoven. Kind of makes you think !!
(TOP)(Back
to Stories Index)
The
New Wing: It Could Happen! Submitted by Carl Peikarski
When some doctors were told to contribute
to the construction of a new wing at a hospital, the allergists voted to
scratch it; the dermatologists preferred no rash moves; the gastroenterologists
had a gut feeling about it; the microsurgeons were thinking along the same
vein; the neurologists thought the administration "had a lot of nerve";
the obstetricians stated they were laboring under a misconception; the
ophthalmologists considered the idea short- sighted; the orthopedists issued
a joint resolution; the parasitologists said, "Well, if you encyst"; the
pathologists yelled, "Over my dead body!"; the pediatricians said, "Grow
up!"; the proctologists said, "We are in arrears"; the psychiatrists thought
it was madness; and finally, the surgeons decided to wash their hands of
the whole thing. The radiologists could see right through it; the internists
thought it was a hard pill to swallow; the plastic surgeons said, "This
puts a whole new face on the matter"; the podiatrists thought it was a
big step forward; the D.O.s thought they were being manipulated; the urologists
felt the scheme wouldn't hold water; the anesthesiologists thought the
whole idea was a gas; the cardiologists didn't have the heart to say no;
and the otologists turned a deaf ear to the idea.
When I was in junior high school,
what my friends thought of me was real important to me. During those years
I grew much taller than most of my peers. Being so tall made me feel uncomfortable.
In order to keep the focus off me and my unusual height, I went along with
the crowd who would play practical jokes on other kids at school. Being
one of the class clowns gave me a way to make sure that the jokes were
directed at others, and not at me.
I would pull all kinds of pranks
that were hurtful, and sometimes even harmful, to others. Once before gym
class, my friends and I put Icy Hot in the gym shorts of one of the kids
on the basketball team. Not only was he terribly embarrassed, but he also
had to go to the school nurse's office. I thought it was going to be funny,
but it all ended up that no one thought it was - least of all my father.
My parents didn't always think that
my behavior was funny. They reminded me about The Golden Rule: to treat
others as I would like to be treated. Many times, I was disciplined for
the hurtful way that I was treating others. What I was doing was hurting
other kids, and in turn hurting my reputation as someone to be looked up
to. My friends were looking up to me because I was tall, but what did they
see?
My parents wanted me to be a leader
who was a good example to others - to be a decent human being. They taught
me to set my own goals, and to do the best at everything that I set out
to do. During the lectures I got from my father, he told me over and over
again to be the leader that I was meant to be - to be a big man in my heart
and actions, as well as in my body. I had to question myself whether or
not it was important to be the kind of leader and person my father believed
I was inside. I knew in my heart that he was right. So I tried my best
to follow my father's advice.
Once I focused on being the best
that I could be at basketball and became a leader in the game, I took my
responsibility to set a good example more seriously. I sometimes have to
stop and think before I act, and I make mistakes occasionally - everyone
is human. But I continue to look for opportunities where I can make a difference,
and to set a good example because of my father's advice. I now pass it
on to you.
"Be a leader, Shaq, not a follower.
Since people already have to look up to you, give them a ‘good' reason
to do so."
by Shaquille O'Neal from Chicken
Soup for the Kid's Soul Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen,
Patty Hansen and Irene Dunlap
(TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
The
Woodwork Angel:
My teeth screamed. I couldn't neglect
them any longer. I finally ignored my fear of dentists and decided to get
them fixed. But how? I was a college sophomore and barely supported myself
with part-time jobs.
Maybe I could fix the worst one.
I flipped open the Yellow Pages and called the first dentist within walking
distance. The receptionist told me to come right over. As I hurried across
the campus, I forgot the pain in worrying about how I would pay the bill.
In a few minutes I was in a chair
being examined by a dentist who said, "Hmm!" as he surveyed the wreckage
of my mouth. "Your teeth are in bad shape."
"I already know that," I snapped,
in a smart-aleck way to hide my fear.
"But don't worry, I'm going to fix
them."
"No, you're not. I can't afford
to pay you." I started climbing out of the chair.
"What are you doing?"
"I told you, I have no money."
"You're a student at the university,
aren't you?"
What difference did that make? "Yes..."
"You're going to graduate in a few
years, aren't you?"
"I hope so."
"And then you expect to get a job,
don't you?"
"That's my plan."
"Well, then you'll pay me. Meantime,
you concentrate on your classes and leave the dentistry to me."
I stared at him. He really meant
it. He calmly picked up his tools and fixed the aching cavity.
From that day on, I saw him every
week until my teeth were in good shape. And he kept them that way with
regular checkups. After graduation, I got a job and settled his bill in
a few months.
In the 40 years following, I've
learned to call this man a "woodwork angel." These are strangers who appear
out of nowhere - out of the woodwork - when I need help. They've lent and
given me money, materials or equipment; they've taught me skills and helped
me organize groups; sometimes they've rescued me from danger or making
a big mistake. So, dentist dear, wherever you are, bless you and thank
you again!
By Varda One from A 4th Course of
Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1997 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen, Hanoch McCarty & Meladee McCarty
(TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
WHERE
ARE OUR PRIORITIES? Submitted by Gene Richards Seek GOD First Ministries
Funny how a $20 bill looks so big
when we take it to church and so small when we take it to the store. Funny how big an hour serving GOD
looks and how small 60 minutes are when spent playing golf, fishing, or
socializing. Funny how laborious it is to read
a chapter in the Bible and how easy it is to read 300 pages of a best selling
novel. Funny how we question what the
Bible says but believe what the newspapers say. Funny how we can't think of anything
to say when we pray and don't have any difficulty thinking of things to
talk about to a friend. Funny how we need 2 or 3 weeks
to fit a church event into our schedule, but can adjust it for a social
event at the last minute. Funny how folks scramble to get
a back pew at church services but want to sit on the front row at a ball
game or concert. Funny how difficult it is to memorize
Scripture to share the simple gospel message but how easy it is to hear
and repeat gossip. Funny how the Bible teaches that
truth is worth dying for but some people will violate their sworn duty
to protect the untruthful.
(TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
Abraham
Lincoln and the Mashed Potatoes:
Uncle Bill is my "bragging relative."
I brag about him all the time because he has done things no one else I
know has ever accomplished.
I feel like I’m related to a celebrity
because he competed in the 1908 Olympics in four different sports, won
medals and set a world record that has never been broken in the 26-foot
rope climb (they discontinued the event many years later, so his record
is safe). I brag because even though he didn’t finish high school because
he had to work to support his family, he nevertheless received honorary
degrees from several universities for his scholarship.
His specialties were Abraham Lincoln
and the Civil War, and he was often asked to lecture about his favorite
subjects. We heard he was very well-received. He sent us his clippings;
we got pictures of him at a Civil War round-table panel with Adlai Sevenson,
the governor, and another newspaper clipping with two young men whom he
had saved one winter from drowning in Lake Michigan.
Uncle Bill was just different, and
the differences seemed greater to me because of the huge disparity in our
ages. He was actually my great-uncle and when he came from Chicago to visit
us once a year, I knew I would be prodded to exercise and to talk about
my studies. He loved nothing better than teaching and inspiring others,
but he had never had children and didn’t really know how to talk to kids
about what really mattered, like games and dances. I think he came West
for mother’s delicious home cooking, especially pot roast and mashed potatoes.
When I was in high school in San
Francisco, he wanted to speak before the student body on Lincoln’s birthday.
I was mortified, because with his long silver hair and rumpled dark suit
Uncle Bill didn’t look like any teacher I knew. I was afraid I would be
embarrassed, and I embarrassed easily in those days. But the principal
wanted him to speak, and so he came.
When the dreaded morning came, I
cringed in the auditorium seat.
Uncle Bill was wonderful! There
was just no other word for him. His flow of language, total knowledge of
his subjects, love of history and passion for the greatness of Lincoln
encouraged us to study and learn more about our country. He received a
standing ovation.
I basked in being his relative.
Mother, who had to work, couldn’t
attend the lecture at school, but that night she made Uncle Bill’s favorite
pot roast and mashed potatoes with gravy and apple pie for dessert. He
was a simple man, with simple tastes.
He worked and lectured in Chicago
until his late 70s, but the icy winters took their toll, so he moved to
Santa Barbara, California, where he could swim outdoors all year. He became
chaplain of the local veteran’s group. Although he had served his country
in the medical corps during both World Wars, he was a man of peace.
A few years later, during the Vietnam
War, a young man walked up to him and spat in his face because he was wearing
his old lieutenant colonel’s uniform. Shocked, my uncle said, "Young man
in my 84 years no one has ever questioned by integrity or physically attacked
me." He decked the man with a right to the jaw and marched on to the chapel.
A few bystanders saw the episode and reported it to the Santa Barbara newspaper.
Uncle Bill was praised and famous again.
At 85 he swam 100 laps at the local
pool. It took him a long time, he said, but then, what was time for? I
wondered if he thought about the Civil War as he swam, to keep from getting
bored.
In his late 80s, he and another
elderly man were unwisely carrying a refrigerator down a flight of stairs
when the other man fell, and the load tumbled Uncle Bill to the ground
and broke his hip. He was hospitalized for a long time, and his mind faded
as the hip only partially healed.
After the fall he was never really
the same. He began to live entirely in his past, and was observed catching
baseball games and giving signals to his invisible pitcher from the wheelchair
to which he was confined.
I visited him often, although he
no longer recognized me. When I identified myself as a relative he was
gallant, and would tell me he had just taken his mother (my great-grandmother)
for a drive around the lake. She had been dead for more than 40 years.
I dreaded his 90th birthday at the
convalescence hospital. He seemed utterly senile; his once muscular body
sagged and several teeth were missing.
All the nurses, and the patients
who could remember the words, sang "Happy Birthday." Uncle Bill smiled
and tried to struggle to his feet. Two orderlies held him up as he straightened
his old body as best he could and, staying nearly vertical, began reciting
the Gettysburg address.
The room fell silent. All eyes were
on him, even those that were half-blind with cataracts.
Each word was a ringing declaration
of faith, of hope, of pain for those fallen in the Civil War. His voice
had power; his memory was precise. I had never felt the words so emotionally
and I began to cry. I noticed others crying, too.
When Uncle Bill finished, he received
a long stirring ovation. When the applause ended, he collapsed back into
his wheelchair.
Someone asked him what he wanted
for his birthday present after such an inspiring speech. "Pot roast and
mashed potatoes with gravy!" he said. "I’m hungry right now!"
Pot Roast with Gravy Makes 6 to 8 servings 4-pound boned and rolled beef roast
(chuck, rump or eye of round) 1 onion, chopped 1 bay leaf 1 teaspoon salt 2 tablespoons oil or beef drippings Freshly ground black pepper Mashed potatoes, for serving Gravy: 1 tablespoon drippings 3 cups beef broth divided 6 tablespoons flour
1. Pat the roast dry, and brown
it in oil or beef drippings, in a heavy pot over medium-high heat. Remove the roast and lightly brown
the onion in the drippings. Return the beef to the pot along with 1/4 cup
water, bay leaf, salt and pepper. Cover the pot tightly, reduce the heat
to low and simmer slowly for 3 hours, turning meat every half hour or so
and adding a tablespoon or two of water if needed. 2. When the beef is tender, lift
it out of the pan and onto a heated platter, cover loosely with foil and
keep warm in a low oven. Skim all but 1 tablespoon fat from the drippings.
Add 2 cups beef broth to the pan and heat, stirring to scrape any browned
bits. In a jar, shake together 1 cup beef broth with the flour, and stir
slowly into the simmering broth, whisking until thickened. Simmer 2 to
3 minutes while you add more seasoning to taste. 3. Slice the pot roast and serve
with mashed potatoes and gravy.
By Bobbie Probstein from Chicken
Soup for the Soul Cookbook Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark
Victor Hansen & Diana von Welanetz Wentworth
(TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
The Hand:
A Thanksgiving Day editorial in
the newspaper told of a school teacher who asked her class of first-graders
to draw a picture of something they were thankful for. She thought of how
little these children from poor neighborhoods actually had to be thankful
for. But she knew that most of them would draw pictures of turkeys or tables
with food. The teacher was taken aback with the picture Douglas handed
in...a simple childishly drawn hand.
But whose hand? The class was captivated
by the abstract image. "I think it must be the hand of God that brings
us food," said one child. "A farmer," said another, "because he grows the
turkeys." Finally when the others were at work, the teacher bent over Douglas'
desk and asked whose hand it was. "It's your hand, Teacher," he mumbled.
She recalled that frequently at
recess she had taken Douglas, a scrubby forlorn child, by the hand. She
often did that with the children. But it meant so much to Douglas. Perhaps
this was everyone's Thanksgiving, not for the material things given to
us but for the chance, in whatever small way, to give to others.
from Condensed Chicken Soup for
the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen & Patty
Hansen
(TOP)(Back
to Stories Index)
IT
BEGINS IN THE HEART: Submitted by Dave Singer
As I was making my daily journey
to the Post Office the other day, I patiently waited for a car to vacate
a parking space near the door. As the rear of the vehicle came toward me,
I noticed a bumper sticker, which read, in big, bold letters, "THANK ME.
I VOTED CLINTON-GORE."
Pondering the message of the brave,
stubborn soul in the car ahead of me, I considered all the things I could
be thankful for as a result of the Clinton-Gore regime. Indeed, I discovered
the list was long and varied.
Thank you for reminding us that
the government that gave us the Internal Revenue Service and welfare also
lusts for control of the greatest healthcare system in the world.
Thank you for reminding that the
FBI, who has a file on millions of Americans, including myself, can give
those files to people powerful enough to demand them.
Thank you for giving us a President
who supports partial-birth abortions.
Thank you for introducing us to
Jennifer Flowers, Paula Jones, Monica Lewinsky and about two dozen other
names that we might not have met and known otherwise.
Thank you for allowing a WAR HERO
and the author of one of the most successful military campaigns in history
to leave the presidency because, no matter how successful he was, in all
our moral outrage, we just wouldn't tolerate someone who would lie to the
American people by promising "no new taxes" and then going back on his
word. We certainly can't have a liar in the White House, now can we?
Thank you for giving us a President
who discusses his choice of underwear with teenagers. We always wondered
if presidents wore boxers or briefs.
Thank you for installing a man who
reminds us of those good old days of pot smoking (without inhaling, of
course) and war PROTESTING.
Thank you for showing us that the
ridiculous plot of the movie, "Wag the Dog," could really be plausible
after all.
Thank you for showing all the men
and women in America that sexual harassment in the workplace, and on the
job, is okay as long as it involves powerful middle-age executives and
young women half their age under their power. It is, after all, a "private
matter."
Thank you for revealing that the
agenda of the National Organization of Women only includes some women.
Women like Anita Hill and not women like Paula Jones, Monica Lewinsky,
et al.
Thank you for reintroducing the
concept of "impeachment" to a new generation that missed the discussion
surrounding it the last time it was brought up.
Thank you for curing me of my addiction
to the evening news.
Thank you for reminding us that,
when all is said and done, "CHARACTER" really, really DOES matter.
And, in comparison to recent days:
Thank you for making Dan Quayle
look like a Rhodes Scholar. Thank you for making Jimmy Carter look competent.
Thank you for making Gerald Ford look graceful. Thank you for making Richard
Nixon look honest. Thank you for making Lyndon Johnson look truthful. Thank
you for making John Kennedy look moral. Thank you for making Al Gore look
positively presidential. Thank you for reminding us of the importance of
term limits.
And really, thank you not once,
but twice! Why, if not for YOU, instead of the current, interesting discussion
all over the television networks and newspapers, we would be focused on
a whole slew of trivial matters such as global defense, the economy, nukes
in North Korea, genocide in Africa, the containment of terrorism, and all
those other boring topics.
So, thank you, thank you, thank
you! Oh, and if you voted for Ross Perot, thank you, too. You deserve just
as much of the credit as my friend with the bumper sticker.
Since Bill Clinton took office,
here are some of the "GOOD" things that have happened:
*72 House and Senate witnesses have
plead the fifth. *17 witnesses have fled the country
to avoid testifying. *19 foreign witnesses have refused
to be interviewed by US investigative bodies. *19 prosecutions from Whitewater
investigations. *14 convictions from Whitewater
investigations. *8 imprisonments from Whitewater
investigations. *55 total charges in all Clinton
scandals. *32 total convictions (so far)
in all Clinton scandals. *14 total imprisonment's (so far)
in all Clinton scandals. *938 overnight stays at the White
House for Clinton donors. *$40 million-cost of Clinton's
trip to China. *62 House of Representative seats
that have changed from Democrat to Republican. *12 Senate seats that have changed
from Democrat to Republican. *13 Governorships that have changed
from Democrat to Republican *1,200 state legislative seats
that have changed from Democrat to Republican *353 elected Democrats who
have switched parties since Clinton took office.
Yes, it's been an interesting six
years for "the most ethical administration in the history of the Republic."
But then ... everybody knows it's ALL the fault of the "Vast right-wing
conspiracy." Go figure...!
They lie on the table side by side The Holy Bible and the T.V. guide. One is well worn and cherished
with pride. Not the Bible, but the T.V. guide. One is used daily to help folks
decide. No, not the Bible, but the T.V.
guide. As the pages are turned, what shall
they see. Oh, what does it matter, turn on
the T.V. Then confusion reigns, they can't
all agree On what they should watch on the
old T.V. So they open the book in which
they confide. No, not the Bible, but the T.V.
guide. The Word of God is seldom read. Maybe a verse before they fall
into bed. Exhausted and sleepy and tired
as can be. Not from reading the Bible, from
watching T.V. So then back to the table side
by side, Lie the Holy Bible and the T.V.
guide. No time for prayer, no time for
the Word, The plan of Salvation is seldom
heard. But forgiveness of sin, so full
and free, Is found in the Bible, not on T.V.
Horror gripped the heart of the
World War I soldier as he saw his lifelong friend fall in battle. Caught
in a trench with continuous gunfire whizzing over his head, the soldier
asked his lieutenant if he might go out into the "No Man's Land" between
the trenches to bring his fallen comrade back.
"You can go," said the Lieutenant,
"but I don't think it will be worth it. Your friend is probably dead and
you may throw your own life away." The Lieutenant's words didn't matter,
and the soldier went anyway.
Miraculously he managed to reach
his friend, hoist him onto his shoulder, and bring him back to their company's
trench. As the two of them tumbled in together to the bottom of the trench,
the officer checked the wounded soldier, then looked kindly at his friend.
"I told you it wouldn't be worth it," he said. "Your friend is dead, and
you are mortally wounded."
"It was worth it, though, sir,"
the soldier said.
"How do you mean, `worth it?' "
responded the Lieutenant. "Your friend is dead!"
"Yes sir," the private answered.
"But it was worth it because when I got to him, he was still alive, and
I had the satisfaction of hearing him say, `Jim, I knew you'd come.' "
From This Little Light of Mine from
A Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield,
Mark Victor Hansen & Barry Spilchuk
(TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
The
Bill of No Rights Submitted by Dave Singer
The following was written by State
Representative Mitchell Kaye from GA.
'We, the sensible people of the
United States, in an attempt to help everyone get along, restore some semblance
of justice, avoid any more riots, keep our nation safe, promote positive
behavior, and secure the blessings of debt free liberty to ourselves and
our great-great-great-grandchildren, hereby try one more time to ordain
and establish some common sense guidelines for the terminally whiny, guilt
ridden, delusional, and other liberal bed-wetters.
We hold these truths to be self-evident:
that a whole lot of people are confused by the Bill of Rights and are so
dim that they require Bill of No Rights.
ARTICLE I: You do not have the right
to a new car, big screen TV or any other form of wealth. More power to
you if you can legally acquire them, but no one is guaranteeing anything.
ARTICLE II: You do not have the
right to never be offended. This country is based on freedom, and that
means freedom for everyone - not just you! You may leave the room, turn
the channel, express a different opinion, etc., but the world is full of
idiots, and probably always will be.
ARTICLE III: You do not have the
right to be free from harm. If you stick a screwdriver in your eye, learn
to be more careful, do not expect the tool manufacturer to make you and
all your relatives independently wealthy.
ARTICLE IV: You do not have the
right to free food and housing. Americans are the most charitable people
to be found, and will gladly help any one in need, but we are quickly growing
weary of subsidizing generation after generation of professional couch
potatoes who achieve nothing more than the creation of another generation
of professional couch potatoes.
ARTICLE V: You do not have the right
to free health care. That would be nice, but from the looks of public housing,
we're just not interested in public health care.
ARTICLE VI: You do not have the
right to physically harm other people. If you kidnap, rape, intentionally
maim, or kill someone, don't be surprised if the rest of us want to see
you fry in the electric chair.
ARTICLE VII: You do not have the
right to the possessions of others. If you rob, cheat or coerce away the
goods or services of other citizens, don't be surprised if the rest of
us get together and lock you away in a place where you still won't have
the right to a big screen color TV or a life of leisure.
ARTICLE VIII: You don't have the
right to demand that our children risk their lives in foreign wars to soothe
your aching conscience. We hate oppressive governments and won't lift a
finger to stop you from going to fight if you'd like. However, we do not
enjoy parenting the entire world and do not want to spend so much of our
time battling each and every little tyrant with a military uniform and
a funny hat.
ARTICLE IX: You don't have the right
to a job. All of us sure want all of you to have one, and will gladly help
you along in hard times, but we expect you to take advantage of the opportunities
of education and vocational training laid before you to make yourself useful.
ARTICLE X: You do not have the right
to happiness. Being an American means that you have the right to pursue
happiness - which by the way, is a lot easier if you are unencumbered by
an overabundance of idiotic laws created by those of you who were confused
by the Bill of Rights.
If you agree, we strongly urge you
to forward this to as many people as you can. No, you don't have to, and
nothing tragic will befall you should you not forward it. We just think
it is about time common sense allowed to flourish - call it the age of
reason revisited. (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
God
Lives Under His Bed: Submitted by Reid & Rebecca
McChesney
A great story of someone maybe we
should all try to be a little more like: My brother Kevin thinks God lives
under his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one night.
He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped outside his
closed door to listen. "Are you there, God?" he said. "Where are
you? Oh, I see. Under the bed." I giggled softly
and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often
a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long
after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different
world Kevin lives in. He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a
result of difficulties during labor.
Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2),
there are few ways in which he is an adult. He reasons and communicates
with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will
probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus
is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas, and that
airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them. I remember
wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with
his monotonous life? Up before dawn each day, off to work at the
workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, returning to
eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.
The only variation in the entire
scheme are laundry days, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine
like a mother with her newborn child. He does not seem dissatisfied.
He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple
work. He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the
stove before dinner, and stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty
laundry for the next day's laundry chores.
And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays!
That's the day my dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink,
watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each
passenger inside. "That one's goin' to Chi-car-go!" Kevin
shouts as he claps his hands. His anticipation is so great he can
hardly sleep on Friday nights.
I don't think Kevin knows anything
exists outside his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips. He doesn't
know what it means to be discontent. His life is simple. He
will never know the entanglements of wealth or power, and he does not care
what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. He
recognizes no differences in people, treating each person as an equal and
a friend. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one
day they may not be.
His hands are diligent. Kevin
is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher
or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it. He does not
shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it
is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin know how to relax.
He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others.
His heart is pure. He still
believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you
are wrong, you apologize instead of argue. Free from pride and unconcerned
with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or
sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts
God. Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ,
he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God-to really be friends
with him-in a way that is difficult for an "educated" person to grasp.
God seems like his closest companion. In my moments of doubt and
frustrations with my Christianity, I envy the security Kevin has in his
simple faith. It is then that I am most willing to admit that he
has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions. It
is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap-I am.
My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances-they all become disabilities
when I do not submit them to Christ. Who knows if Kevin comprehends
things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life
in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness
and love of the Lord.
And one day, when the mysteries
of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is
to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy
who believed that God lived under his bed. Kevin won't be surprised at
all. ~Author Unknown
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A
NEW "FOOTPRINTS": Submitted by Jim and Julie Parr
Now imagine you and the Lord Jesus
are walking along the beach together. For much of the way the Lord's
footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying in the pace.
But your prints are in a disorganized stream of zig zags, starts, stops,
turnarounds, circles, departures, and returns. For much of the way
it seems to go like this. But gradually, your footprints come in
line with the Lord's, soon paralleling His consistently. You and
Jesus are walking as true friends.
This seems perfect, but then an
interesting thing happens; your footprints that once etched the sand next
to the Master's are now walking precisely in His steps. Inside His
large footprints is the smaller "sandprint," safely enclosed. You
and Jesus are becoming one; this goes on for many miles. But
gradually you notice another change. The footprints inside the larger
footprints seem to grow larger. Eventually it disappears altogether.
There is only one set of footprints. They have become one;
again this goes on for a long time. But then something awful happens.
The second set of footprints is back. This time it seems even worse
than before. Zig zags all over the place. Stop...start.
Deep gashes in the sand. A veritable mess of prints. You're amazed
and shocked. But this is the end of your dream.
Now you speak: "Lord, I understand
the first scene with the zig zags, fits, starts and so on. I was
a new Christian, just learning. But You walked on through
the storm and helped me learn to walk with You". "That is correct," replied
the Lord. "Then, when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours,
I was actually learning to walk in Your steps. I followed You very
closely." "Very good. You have understood everything so far."
"Then the smaller footprints grew and eventually filled in with Yours.
I suppose that I was actually growing so much that I was becoming more
like You in every way." "Precisely." "But this is my question,
Lord. Was there a regression of something? The footprints
went back to two, and this time it was worse than the first." The
Lord smiles, then laughs. "You didn't know?" He says.
"That was when we danced." FOR HE WILL TURN YOUR MOURNING INTO DANCING!!!!!!!
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Paid
in Full:
A little boy came up to his mother
in the kitchen one evening while she was fixing supper, and he handed her
a piece of paper that he had been writing on. After his mom dried her hands
on an apron, she read it, and this is what it said:
For cutting the grass: $5.00 For cleaning up my
room this week: $1.00 For going to the store
for you: .50 Baby-sitting my kid
brother while you went shopping: .25 Taking out the garbage: $1.00 For getting a good
report card: $5.00 For cleaning up and
raking the yard: $2.00 Total owed: $14.75 Well, his mother looked at him
standing there, and the boy could see the memories flashing through her
mind. She picked up the pen, turned over the paper he'd written on, and
this is what she wrote: For the nine months
I carried you while you were growing inside me: No Charge. For all the nights
that I've sat up with you, doctored and prayed for you: No
Charge. For all the trying
times ,and all the tears that you've caused through the years: No Charge. For all the nights
that were filled with dread, and for the worries I knew were ahead: No
Charge. For the toys, food,
clothes, and even wiping your nose: No Charge When you add it up,
the cost of my love is: No Charge. When the boy finished reading what
his mother had written, there were big tears in his eyes, and he looked
straight up at his mother and said, "Mom, I sure do love you." And then
he took the pen and in great big letters he wrote: "Paid in Full" Author Unknown
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Special
Mission In Life:
In 1949, my father had just returned
home from the war. On every American highway you could see soldiers in
uniform hitchhiking home to their families, as was the custom at that time
in America. Sadly, the thrill of his reunion with his family was soon overshadowed.
My grandmother became very ill and had to be hospitalized. It was her kidneys,
and the doctors told my father that she needed a blood transfusion immediately,
or she would not live through the night. The problem was that Grandmother's
blood type was AB negative, a very rare type even today, but even harder
to get then because there were no blood banks or air flights to ship blood.
All the family members were "typed," but not one member was a match. So
the doctors gave the family no hope; my grandmother was dying.
My father left the hospital in tears
to gather up all the family members, so that everyone would get a chance
to tell Grandmother good-bye. As my father was driving down the highway,
he passed a soldier in uniform hitchhiking home to his family. Deep in
grief, my father had no inclination at that moment to do a good deed. Yet
it was almost as if something outside himself pulled him to a stop, and
he waited as the stranger climbed into the car.
My father was too upset to even
ask the soldier his name, but the soldier noticed my father's tears right
away and inquired about them. Through his tears, my father told this total
stranger that his mother was lying in a hospital dying because the doctors
had been unable to locate her blood type, AB negative, and if they did
not locate her blood type before nightfall, she would surely die. It got
very quiet in the car. Then this unidentified soldier extended his hand
out to my father, palm up. Resting in the palm of his hand were the dog
tags from around his neck. The blood type on the tags was AB negative.
The soldier told my father to turn the car around and get him to the hospital.
My grandmother lived until 1996,
47 years later, and to this day no one in our family knows the soldier's
name. But my father has often wondered, was he a soldier or an angel in
uniform? Sometimes, we never know who God will bring into our lives to
carry out a special mission nor do we know whose lives God will have us
touch. Author unknown
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WE
HAVE TAUGHT THE CHILDREN WELL Submitted by JActon1156
Children play less today before
being confronted with the choices of violence, drugs, or sex. One
reason is, it's more open. Not that it wasn't here before,
because it has always been, but tolerated today because we want to cover
our own sins of trying to live our own lives without rules and accountability.
We say whatever we want, when we want, where we want, in the name of free
speech.
So do our children.
We have sex with whoever we want,
promote it in our living with no rules.
So do our children.
We get high to ease the trouble
or make getting in trouble easier.
So do our children.
We spend all our money on the toys
of life without thought of helping the needy, and now we can't tell who
the needy are.
So do our children.
We gang up and vote our sin into
law and a way of living.
So do our children.
We use violence to get what we want,
a lawsuit here and there, everyone else to blame.
Last Revised July 22, 2006
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