Important

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Things That Remind Us of God

God is a little like General Electric
He lights your path.

God is a little like Bayer Aspirin
He works wonders.

God is a little like Hallmark Cards
He cared enough to send the very best.

God is a little like Tide
He gets out the stains that others leave behind.

God is a little like VO-5 Hair Spray
He holds through all kinds of weather.

God is a little like Dial Soap
Aren’t you glad you know Him?
Don’t you wish everyone did?

God is a little like Sears
He has everything.

God is a little like Alka Seltzer
Oh, what a relief He is!

God is a little like Scotch Tape
You can’t see Him but you know He’s there!

God is a little like The Copper Top Battery
Nothing can outlast him.

God is a little like American Express
Don’t leave home without Him!

Slow Down

Author Unknown

About ten years ago, a young and very successful executive named Josh was
traveling down a Chicago neighborhood street. He was going a bit too fast in
his sleek, black, 12 cylinder Jaguar XKE, which was only two months old.

He was watching for kids darting out from between parked cars and slowed down
when he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no child darted out, but
a brick sailed out and “WHUMP”-it smashed into the Jag’s shiny black side
door! SCREECH…!!!! Brakes slammed!

Gears ground into reverse, and tires madly spun the Jaguar back to the spot
from where the brick had been thrown.

Josh jumped out of the car, grabbed the kid and pushed him up against a
parked car. He shouted at the kid, “What was that all about and who are you?

Just what the heck are you doing?” Building up a head of steam, he went on.
“That’s my new Jag, that brick you threw is gonna cost you a lot of money.
Why did you throw it?”

“Please, mister, please…I’m sorry! I didn’t know what else to do!” pleaded
the youngster. “I threw the brick because no one else would stop!” Tears were
dripping down the boy’s chin as he pointed around the parked car. “It’s my
brother, mister,” he said. “He rolled off the curb and fell out of his
wheelchair and I can’t lift him up.”

Sobbing, the boy asked the executive, “Would you please help me get him back
into his wheelchair? He’s hurt and he’s too heavy for me.” Moved beyond
words, the young executive tried desperately to swallow the rapidly swelling
lump in his throat. Straining, he lifted the young man back into the
wheelchair and took out his handkerchief and wiped the scrapes and cuts,
checking to see that everything was going to be OK. He then watched the
younger brother push him down the sidewalk toward their home.

It was a long walk back to the sleek, black, shining, 12 cylinder Jaguar XKE
- a long and slow walk. Josh never did fix the side door of his Jaguar. He
kept the dent to remind him not to go through life so fast that someone has
to throw a brick at him to get his attention..

It’s kind of stretching it, but sometimes in life we have it good and forget
about God. We need to continue to praise him and look to him during the good
times in life. Let us “Be still and know that I am God” Psalm 46:10

Special thanks to Kelly Carrier

Flowers on the Bus

We were a very motley crowd of people who took the bus every day that summer 33 years ago. During the early morning ride from the suburb, we sat drowsily with our collars up to our ears, a cheerless and taciturn bunch. One of the passengers was a small grey man who took the bus to the centre for senior citizens every morning. He walked with a stoop and a sad look on his face when he, with some difficulty, boarded the bus and sat down alone behind the driver. No one ever paid very much attention to him.

Then one July morning he said good morning to the driver and smiled short-sightedly down through the bus before he sat down. The driver nodded guardedly. The rest of us were silent.

The next day, the old man boarded the bus energetically, smiled and said in a loud voice: “And a very good morning to you all!” Some of us looked up, amazed, and murmured “Good morning,” in reply.

The following weeks we were more alert. Our friend was now dressed in a nice old suit and a wide out-of-date tie. The thin hair had been carefully combed. He said good morning to us every day and we gradually began to nod and talk to each other.

One morning he had a bunch of wild flowers in his hand. They were already dangling a little because of the heat. The driver turned around smilingly and asked: “Have you got yourself a girlfriend, Charlie?” We never got to know if his name really was “Charlie”, but he nodded shyly and said yes.

The other passengers whistled and clapped at him. Charlie bowed and waved the flowers before he sat down on his seat.

Every morning after that Charlie always brought a flower. Some of the regular passengers began bringing him flowers for his bouquet, gently nudged him and said shyly: “Here.” Everyone smiled. The men started to jest about it, talk to each other, and share the newspaper.

The summer went by, and autumn was closing in, when one morning Charlie wasn’t waiting at his usual stop. When he wasn’t there the next day and the day after that, we started wondering if he was sick or — hopefully — on holiday somewhere.

When we came nearer to the centre for senior citizens, one of the passengers asked the driver to wait. We all held our breaths when she went to the door.

Yes, the staff said, they knew who we were talking about. The elderly gentleman was fine, but he hadn’t been coming to the centre that week. One of his very close friends had died at the weekend. They expected him back on Monday. How silent we were the rest of the way to work.

The next Monday Charlie was waiting at the stop, stooping a bit more, a little bit more grey, and without a tie. He seemed to have shrinked again. Inside the bus was a silence akin to that in a church. Even though no one had talked about it, all those of us, who he had made such an impression on that summer, sat with our eyes filled with tears and a bunch of wild flowers in our hands.

Jean Hendrichson

Invitation, The (it doesn’t)

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets square your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from Gods presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of a lake and shout at the silver of the moon, ‘YES’

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interests me where or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder

What Prayer Can Do

I was a college student in Illinois that Thanksgiving, and I couldn’t wait to
get home to Massachusetts for the holidays. A friend’s mother offered me a
lift as far as upstate New York, where my parents were going to pick me up.
Mrs. Case and I drove all through the chilly night. Just after sunrise on
Thanksgiving morning, the engine quit and we rolled to a stop on a deserted
highway somewhere in western New York.

Mrs. Case said calmly, “God doesn’t get you just halfway. Let’s pray,
Richard.” After we prayed a little, she turned the key again. The engine
coughed and started. The car lurched down the road. We barely made it to a
garage at the next exit. I found the owner in back.

“Lucky you caught me,” he said. “We’re closed today. I just came in to clean
up.” He checked the engine, then gave us a funny look. “Who pushed you in
from the highway?” We told him no one. He shook his head. “That’s
impossible,” he insisted. “A part is burned out and the engine can’t run
without it.” He didn’t have the part, and he told us no other shops were open
that day. “I doubt anybody has it in stock anyway.” he said.

Seeing our stricken expressions, he said, “Won’t hurt to try, I suppose.” He
went to make a call. In a few minutes, he was back. “My buddy’s shop is
closed, but he just happened to be there doing some paperwork. Strange, huh?
He’s got the part you need.”

Mrs. Case delivered me to where my parents were waiting with their car. At
home in time for Thanksgiving dinner, I said a special thank you, because now
I knew: God doesn’t get you just halfway.

Richard King, Blossburg, Pennsylvania

To A Good Friend (the ideal)

The ideal good friend is still the person who gives you
the better of the two choices,

holds your hand when you’re scared,
helps you fight off those who try to take advantage of you,

thinks of you at times when you are not there,
reminds you of what you have forgotten,

helps you put the past behind you,
but understands when you need to hold on
to it a little longer,

stays with you so that you have confidence,
goes out of their way to make time for you,

helps you clear up your mistakes,
helps you deal with pressure from others,

smiles for you when he/she is sad,
helps you become a better person.

Thank you for being a good friend.
No matter where we go or who we become,
never forget those who helped us get there.

Pass this on to those friends
of the past, and those of the future…and those
you have met along the
way…

There’s never a wrong time to pick up a phone
or send a message telling your friends
how much you miss them or how
much you love them.

You know who you are,
pass it on to someone who you want to remind.

Send this to all your friends and maybe those
who aren’t, but just watch and
see who sends it back, you might be suprised.

Paradox

The paradox of our time in history is that
we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers;
wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints;
we spend more, but have less;
we buy more, but enjoy it less.
We have bigger houses and smaller families;
more conveniences, but less time;
we have more degrees, but less sense;
more knowledge, but less judgment;
more experts, but more problems;
more medicine, but less wellness.
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our
values.
We talk too much,listen too little;
love too seldom, and hate too often.
We learned how to make a living, but not a life;
we’ve added years to life, not life to years.
We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have
trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor.
We’ve conquered outer space, but not inner space;
we’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul;
we’ve split the atom, but not our prejudice;
we have higher incomes, but lower morals;
we’ve become long on quantity, but short on quality.

These are the times of tall men, and short character;
steep profits, and shallow relationships.
These are the times of world peace, but domestic
warfare;
more leisure, but less fun;
more kinds of food, but less nutrition.
These are the days of two incomes, but more divorce;
of fancier houses, but broken homes.
It is a time when there is much in the show window and
nothing in the stockroom;
a time when technology can bring this letter to
you,and a time when you can choose either to make a
difference or just hit delete.

–Author Unknown

I Am Not Ashamed

I am not ashamed of my eyes, for these are the eyes the LORD has given me to
see HIS creation and HIS children.

I am not ashamed of my ears, for these are the ears the LORD had given me to
hear the sounds of HIS creation, HIS truth, and HIS word.

I am not ashamed of my mouth, for it is the mouth the LORD has given me to
spread HIS love to others.

I am not ashamed of my hands, for these are the hands the LORD has given me
to do HIS work.

I am not ashamed of my arms, for these are the arms the LORD has given me to
love others with and to hold and comfort with.

I am not ashamed of my legs, for these are the legs that the LORD has given
me to walk in HIS ways.

I am not ashamed of who I am, because this is the body the LORD has given me
to do HIS work while I’m here. If I am ashamed it should be only because of
the way that I use the tools that were given me, and that is always
changeable. We can change it to be something we are proud of and not ashamed
of.

©1998 Rebecca (WhtDove)

Angel Connection, The

http://poetrybyginny.com/ANGELCONNECTION.htm

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