"Ever think of stopping?" I asked.
"Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me. But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads."
I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He
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was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: "What's it like?"
"What?"
"To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?"
"Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments. Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts of other folks like me."
My concept was changing, too.
We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door he paused. He turned to me and said, " 'Come ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in.' "
I felt as if we were on holy ground.
"Could you use another Bible?" I asked. He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite.
"I've read through it 14 times," he said.
"I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see."
I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful.
"Where you headed from here?" I asked.
"Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon."
"Are you hoping to hire on there for a while?"
"No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next."
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He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him back to the town square where we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.
"Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked. "I like to keep messages from folks I meet."
I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture, Jeremiah 29:11. "I know the plans I have for you," declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a future and a hope."
"Thanks, man," he said. "I know we just met and we're really just strangers, but I love you."
"I know," I said. "I love you, too."
"The Lord is good."
"Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?" I asked.
"A long time," he replied.
And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed.
He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, "See you in the New Jerusalem."
"I'll be there!" was my reply.
He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bedroll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned and said, "When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
"You bet," I shouted back.
"God bless."
"God bless."
And that was the last I saw of him.
Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I
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bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw thema pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them. I remembered his words: "If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry.
"See you in the New Jerusalem," he said.
Yes, Daniel I know I will.
Richard Ryan
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8
ECLECTIC WISDOM
Wisdom comes more from living than from studying.
Anonymous
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God's Jobs
Danny Sutton, eight years old, wrote this for his third-grade Sunday school teacher, who asked her students to explain God:
One of God's main jobs is making people. He makes these to put in the place of the ones who die so there will be enough people to take care of things here on earth. He doesn't make grownups, he just makes babies. I think because they are smaller and easier to make. That way he doesn't have to take up his valuable time teaching them to walk and talk. He can just leave that up to the mothers and fathers. I think it works out pretty good.
God's second most important job is listening to prayers. An awful lot of this goes on, 'cause some people, like preachers and things, pray other tintes besides bedtimes, and Grandpa and Grandma pray every time they eat, except for snacks. God doesn't have time to listen to the radio or watch TV on account of this. 'Cause God hears everything, there must be a terrible lot of noise in his ears unless he has thought of a way to turn it down.
God sees and hears everything and is everywhere, which keeps him pretty busy. So you shouldn't go wasting his time asking for things that aren't important,
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or go over parents' heads and ask for something they said you couldn't have. It doesn't work anyway.
Dan Sutton, Christ Church
St. Michael's, Maryland
Submitted by Vanessa Hewko
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The Wisdom of One Word
A single conversation across the table with a wise man is worth a month's study of books.
Chinese Proverb
Isn't it amazing how one person, sharing one idea, at the right time and place can change the course of your life's history? This is certainly what happened in my life. When I was 14, I was hitchhiking from Houston, Texas, through E1 Paso on my way to California. I was following my dream, journeying with the sun. I was a high school drop-out with learning disabilities and was set on surfing the biggest waves in the world, first in California and then in Hawaii, where I would later live.
Upon reaching downtown E1 Paso, I met an old man, a bum, on the street corner. He saw me walking, stopped me and questioned me as I passed by. He asked me if I was running away from home, I suppose because I looked so young. I told him, ''Not exactly, sir," since my father had given me a ride to the freeway in Houston and given me his blessings while saying, "It is important to follow your dream and what is in your heart, Son."
The bum then asked me if he could buy me a cup of coffee. I told him, "No, sir, but a soda would be great." We
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walked to a corner malt shop and sat down on a couple of swiveling stools while we enjoyed our drinks.
After conversing for a few minutes, the friendly bum told me to follow him. He told me that he had something grand to show me and share with me. We walked a couple of blocks until we came upon the downtown E1 Paso Public Library. We walked up its front steps and stopped at a small information stand. Here the bum spoke to a smiling old lady, and asked her if she would be kind enough to watch my things for a moment while he and I entered the library. I left my belongings with this grandmotherly figure and entered into this magnificent hall of learning.
The bum first led me to a table and asked me to sit down and wait for a moment while he looked for something special amongst the shelves. A few moments later, he returned with a couple of old books under his arms and set them on the table. He then sat down beside me and spoke. He star
ted with a few statements that were very special and that changed my life. He said, "There are two things that I want to teach you, young man, and they are these:
"Number one is to never judge a book by its cover, for a cover can fool you." He followed with, "I'll bet you think I'm a bum, don't you, young man?"
I said, "Well, uh, yes, I guess so, sir."
"Well, young man, I've got a little surprise for you. I am one of the wealthiest men in the world. I have probably everything any man could ever want. I originally come from the Northeast and have all the things that money can buy. But a year ago, my wife passed away, bless her soul and since then I have been deeply reflecting upon life. I realized there were certain things I had not yet experienced in life, one of which was what it would be like to live like a bum on the streets. I made a commitment to
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myself to do exactly that for one year. For the past year, I have been going from city to city doing just that. So, you see, don't ever judge a book by its cover, for a cover can fool you.
"Number two is to learn how to read, my boy. For there is only one thing that people can't take away from you, and that is your wisdom." At that moment, he reached forward, grabbed my right hand in his and put them upon the books he'd pulled from the shelves. They were the writings of Plato and Aristotleimmortal classics from ancient times.
The bum then led me back past the smiling old woman near the entrance, down the steps and back on the streets near where we first met. His parting request was for me to never forget what he taught me.
I haven't.
Dr. John E Demartini
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The Secret of Life
As the Lord God was creating the world
he called upon his archangels.
The Lord asked his archangels to help
him decide where to put the Secret of Life.
"Bury it in the ground," one angel replied.
"Put it on the bottom of the sea," said another.
"Hide it in the mountains," another suggested.
The Lord replied, "If I see to do any of those
only a few will find the Secret of Life.
The Secret of Life must be accessible to
EVERYONE!"
One angel replied, "I know: put it in each
man's heart.
Nobody will think to look there."
"Yes!" said the Lord. "Within each man's heart."
And so it was
The SECRET OF LIFE lies within all of us.
Author Unknown
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The Secrets of Heaven and Hell
The old monk sat by the side of the road. With his eyes closed, his legs crossed and his hands folded in his lap, he sat. In deep meditation, he sat.
Suddenly his zazen was interrupted by the harsh and demanding voice of a samurai warrior. "Old man! Teach me about heaven and hell!"
At first, as though he had not heard, there was no perceptible response from the monk. But gradually he began to open his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth as the samurai stood there, waiting impatiently, growing more and more agitated with each passing second.
"You wish to know the secrets of heaven and hell?" replied the monk at last. "You who are so unkempt. You whose hands and feet are covered with dirt. You whose hair is uncombed, whose breath is foul, whose sword is all rusty and neglected. You who are ugly and whose mother dresses you funny. You would ask me of heaven and hell?"
The samurai uttered a vile curse. He drew his sword and raised it high above his head. His face turned to crimson, and the veins on his neck stood out in bold relief as he prepared to sever the monk's head from its shoulders.
"That is hell," said the old monk gently, just as the sword began its descent.
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In that fraction of a second, the samurai was overcome with amazement, awe, compassion and love for this gentle being who had dared to risk his very life to give him such a teaching. He stopped his sword in mid-flight and his eyes filled with grateful tears.
"And that," said the monk, "is heaven."
Fr. John W. Groff Jr.
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What Courage Looks Like
I know what courage looks like. I saw it on a flight I took six years ago, and only now can I speak of it without tears filling my eyes at the memory.
When our L1011 left the Orlando airport that Friday morning, we were a chipper, high-energy group. The early-morning flight hosted mainly professional people going to Atlanta for a day or two of business. As I looked around, I saw lots of designer suits, CEO-caliber haircuts, leather briefcases and all the trimmings of seasoned business travelers. I settled back for some light reading and the brief flight ahead.
Immediately upon takeoff, it was clear that something was amiss. The aircraft was bumping up and down and jerking left to right. All the experienced travelers, including me, looked around with knowing grins. Our communal looks acknowledged to one another that we had experienced minor problems and disturbances before. If you fly much, you see these things and learn to act blasé about them.
We did not remain blasé for long. Minutes after we were airborne, our plane began dipping wildly and one wing lunged downward. The plane climbed higher but that didn't help. It didn't. The pilot soon made a grave announcement.
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"We are having some difficulties," he said. "At this time, it appears we have no nose-wheel steering. Our indicators show that our hydraulic system has failed. We will be returning to the Orlando airport at this time. Because of the lack of hydraulics, we are not sure our landing gear will lock, so the flight attendants will prepare you for a bumpy landing. Also, if you look out the windows, you will see that we are dumping fuel from the airplane. We want to have as little on board as possible in the event of a rough touchdown."
In other words, we were about to crash. No sight has ever been so sobering as seeing that fuel hundreds of gallons of it, streaming past my window out of the plane's tanks. The flight attendants helped people get into position and comforted those who were already hysterical.
As I looked at the faces of my fellow business travelers, I was stunned at the changes I saw in their faces. Many looked visibly frightened now. Even the most stoic looked grim and ashen. Yes, their faces actually looked gray in color, something I'd never seen before. There was not one exception. No one faces death without fear, I thought. Everyone lost composure in one way or another.
I began searching the crowd for one person who felt the peace and calm that true courage or great faith gives people in these events. I saw no one.
Then a couple of rows to my left, I heard a still, calm voice, a woman's voice, speaking in an absolutely normal conversational tone. There was no tremor or tension. It was a lovely, even tone. I had to find the source of this voice.
All around, people cried. Many wailed and screamed. A few of the men held onto their composure by gripping armrests and clenching teeth, but their fear was written all over them.
Although my faith kept me from hysteria, I could not
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