Dear God !

A postal worker was sorting mail a week before Christmas when he came across a letter addressed to God. Since it would be destroyed he decided to open the letter and read it.



Dear God,
I am an 83 year old widow, living on a very small pension.
  Yesterday someone stole my purse.  It had $100 in it, which was all the money I had
until my next pension check. Next Sunday is Christmas,
  and I had invited two of my friends over for dinner.  Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with.
I have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope.
Can you please help me?
Sincerely,
Edna


 

The postal worker was touched. He showed the letter to all the other workers. Each one dug into his or her wallet and came up with a few dollars. By the time he made the rounds, he had collected $96, which they put into an envelope and sent to the woman. The rest of the day, all the workers felt a warm glow thinking of Edna' and the dinner she would be able to share with her friends.
Christmas came and went.

A few days later, another letter came from the old lady to God. All the workers gathered around while the letter was opened, It read.


Dear God,
How can I ever thank you enough for what you did for me?
Because of your gift of love, I was able to fix a glorious dinner for my friends.  We had
a very nice day and I told my friends of your wonderful gift.
By the way, there was $4 missing.  I think it must have been those thieving bastards at the Post Office.
Sincerely,
Edna

 

(On September 17, 1994, Alabama's Heather Whitestone was selected as Miss America 1995.)

Question: If you could live forever, would you and why?
Answer: "I would not live forever, because we should not live forever, because if we were supposed to live forever, then we would live forever, but we cannot live forever, which is why I would not live forever,"
--Miss Alabama in the 1994 Miss USA contest.

 

1. Faith is the ability to see through the experience and not to panic.

2.
If you worry, you didn't pray. If you pray, don't worry.

3.
As a child of God, prayer is kind of like calling home every day.

4. Ble
ssed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.

5.
When we get tangled up in our problems, be still. God wants us to be still so He can untangle the knot.

6.
Do the math. Count your blessings.

7.
God wants spiritual fruit, not religious nuts.

8.
Dear God: I have a challenge. It's me.

9.
Silence is often misinterpreted, but never misquoted.

10. Laugh every day, it's like inner jogging.

11.
The most important things in your home are the people.

12.
Growing older is inevitable, growing up is optional.

13. There is no key to happiness. The door is always open!

14.
A grudge is a heavy thing to carry around.

15.
He who dies with the most toys is still dead.

16.
We do not remember days, but moments. Life moves too fast, so enjoy your precious moments.

17.
Nothing is real to you until you experience it, otherwise it's just hearsay.

18.
It's all right to sit on your pity pot every now and again. Just be sure to flush when you are done.

19.
Surviving and living your life successfully requires courage. The goals and dreams you're seeking require courage and risk-taking. Learn from the turtle -- it only makes progress when it sticks its neck out.

20.
Be more concerned with your character than your reputation. Your character is what you really are while your reputation is merely what others think you are.

 

Tennessee Ten Commandments

Some people in Tennessee have trouble with all those "shalls" and "shall nots" in the Ten commandments.  
Folks just aren't used to talking in those terms.
So, some folks in middle Tennessee got together and translated the "King James"
into "Jackson County" language,.... no joke, read on...
The Hillbilly's Ten Commandments (posted on the wall at Cross Trails Church in Gainesboro, TN.)

(1) Just one God.
(2) Honor yer Ma &Pa.
(3) No tellin' tales or gossipin'.
(4) Git yourself to Sunday meetin'
(5) Put nothin' before God.
(6) No fooli n' around with another fellow's gal.
(7) No killin.'
(8) Watch yer mouth.
(9) Don't take what ain't yers.
(10) Don't be hankerin' for yer buddy's stuff.

Now that's kinda plain an' simple, don't ya think? Y'all have a nice day.

 

The Coal Basket

The story is told of an old man who lived on a farm in the mountains of Kentucky with his young grandson. Each morning, Grandpa was up early, sitting at the kitchen table reading from his old worn-out Bible. His grandson, who wanted to be just like him, tried to imitate him in any way he could. One day the grandson asked, "I try to read the Bible just like you, but I don't understand it, and, what I do understand, I forget as soon as I close the book. What good does reading the Bible do?”

The grandfather quietly turned from putting coal in the stove and said, "Take this coal basket down to the river and bring back a basket of water." The boy did as he was told, even though all the water leaked out before he could get back to the house. The grandfather laughed and said, "You will have to move a little faster next time," and sent him back to the river with the basket to try again. This time the boy ran faster, but again the basket was empty before he returned home. Out of breath, he told his grandfather that it was impossible to carry water in a basket, and he went to get a bucket instead. The old man said, "I don't want a bucket of water; I want a basket of water. You can do this. You're just not trying hard enough," and he went out the door to watch the boy try again.

At this point the boy knew it was impossible, but he wanted to show his grandfather that, even if he ran as fast as he could, the water would leak out before he got far at all. The boy scooped the water and ran hard, but, when he reached his grandfather, the basket was again empty. Out of breath, he said, "See Papa, it's useless."

"So you think it is useless?" The old man said, "Look at the basket!" The boy looked at the basket and for the first time he realized that the basket looked different. Instead of a dirty old coal basket, it was clean. "Son, that's what happens when you read the Bible. You might not understand or remember everything, but, when you read it, it will change you from the inside out. That is the work of God in our lives. To change us from the inside out and slowly transform us into the image of His son, Jesus"

Take time to read a portion of God's word each day, and remind a friend by sharing this story.

 

When God Paints. .

He uses all His colors!

Peace To All and May God Bless You.

 

Do not forget this movie!

Click here: Battle Hymn

 

God of windows, God of doors,
God of kitchens and dining room chairs,
God of pots and ladles and spoons,
God of nourishment, God of rest,
Help me share the gifts I've been given.
 
God of the lonely, the hungry, the sad,
God of the children, the aged, the infirm,
God of travelers, strangers, and friends,
God of neighbors, allies, and foes,
Grant me the grace to serve and be served.
 
God of my family, God of my self,
God of my home, my harvest, my hopes,
Make me a vessel to carry your love,
A quiet echo of your silent embrace.
Create in me a hospitable heart.
 

By Catherine Moore

'Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!' My father yelled at me. 'Can't you do anything right?' Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

'I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.' My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.

What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.

But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, 'I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.' I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons, too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. 'Can you tell me about him?' The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.

'He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him, that was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.' He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. 'You mean you're going to kill him?'

'Ma'am,' he said gently, 'that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog.'

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. 'I'll take him,' I said.

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.

'Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!' I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. 'If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it' Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.

'You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!' Dad ignored me. 'Did you hear me, Dad?' I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.

We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. 'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.'

'I've often thanked God for sending that angel,' he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article.

Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . .his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.

And if you don't send this to at least 4 people - who cares? But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.

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