An article in National Geographic several years ago provided a penetrating picture of God’s wings…

After a forest fire in Yellowstone National Park, forest rangers began their trek up a mountain to assess the inferno’s damage.

One ranger found a bird literally petrified in ashes, perched statuesquely on the ground at the base of a tree. Somewhat sickened by the eerie sight, he knocked over the bird with a stick. When he struck it, three tiny chicks scurried from under their dead mother’s wings.

The loving mother, keenly aware of impending disaster, had carried her offspring to the base of the tree and had gathered them under her wings, instinctively knowing that the toxic smoke would rise. She could have flown to safety but had refused to abandon her babies. When the blaze had arrived and the heat had scorched her small body, the mother had remained steadfast. Because she had been willing to die, those under the cover of her wings would live…

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge…” Psalm 91:4

By: Author Unknown
Submitted by: Jamie

Music by: Unknown Composer

No related posts.

Don’t see anything? Click here to get FREE Flash Player.

The beggar went on his way. He looked at the rags he was wearing and sighed.
Surely only kings and their families wore royal robes, he thought.

Slowly an idea crept into his mind. The audacity of it made him tremble. Would he dare?

He made his way back to the palace. He approached the guard at the gate. “Please,sire, I would like to speak to the king.”

“Wait here,” the guard replied.

In a few minutes, he was back. “His majesty will see you,” he said, and led the beggar in.

“You wish to see me?” asked the king.

“Yes, your majesty. I want so much to attend the banquet, but I have no royal
robes to wear. Please, sir, if I may be so bold, may I have one of your old
garments so that I, too, may come to the banquet?”

The beggar shook so hard that he could not see the faint smile that was on the king’s face.

“You have been wise in coming to me,” the king said. He called to his son, the young prince. “Take this man to your room and array him in some of your clothes.”

The prince did as he was told and soon the beggar was standing before a mirror, clothed in garments that he had never dared hope for.

“You are now eligible to attend the king’s banquet tomorrow night,” said the prince. “But even more important, you will never need any other clothes. These garments will last forever.”

The beggar dropped to his knees. “Oh, thank you,” he cried. But as he started to leave, he looked back at his pile of dirty rags on the floor. He hesitated. What if the prince was wrong? What if he would need his old clothes again. Quickly he gathered them up.

The banquet was far greater than he had ever imagined, but he could not enjoy himself as he should. He had made a small bundle of his old rags and it kept falling off his lap. The food was passed quickly and the beggar missed some of the greatest delicacies.

Time proved that the prince was right. The clothes lasted forever. Still the poor beggar grew fonder and fonder of his old rags.

As time passed people seemed to forget the royal robes he was wearing. They
saw only the little bundle of filthy rags that he clung to wherever he went. They even spoke of him as the old man with the rags.

One day as he lay dying, the king visited him. The beggar saw the sad look on the king’s face when he looked at the small bundle of rags by the bed.

Suddenly the beggar remembered the prince’s words and he realized that his bundle of rags had cost him a lifetime of true royalty. He wept bitterly at his folly.

And the king wept with him.

We have been invited into a royal family–the family of God. To feast at God’s dinner table, all we have to do is shed our old rags and put on the “new clothes” of faith which is provided by God’s Son, Jesus Christ.

But we cannot hold onto our old rags. When we put our faith in Christ, we must let go of the sin in our life, and our old ways of living. Those things must be discarded if we are to experience true royalty and abundant life in Christ.

“Behold, the old is passed away; the new has come!” (2 Corinthians 5:17)

Submitted by: vincent


Music: ‘Free As The Wind’ © Yuko Ohigashi

No related posts.

In that place between wakefulness and dreams,
I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features.
save for the one wall covered with small index card files . They were
like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical
order. But these files , which stretched from floor to ceiling and
seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files , the first to catch my attention was
one that read “People I Have Liked”. I opened it and began
flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that
I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my
life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and
small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred
within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their
content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of
shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see
if anyone was watching. A file named “Friends” was next to one
marked “Friends I Have Betrayed.”

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird.

“Books I Have Read”, “Lies I Have Told”, “Comfort I Have Given”,
“Jokes I Have Laughed At”. Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:
“Things I’ve Yelled at My Brothers.” Others I couldn’t laugh at:
“Things I Have Done in My Anger”, “Things I Have Muttered Under
My Breath at My Parents”. I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than
I hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.
Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each
of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed
this truth.

Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked “Songs I Have Listened To”,

I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were
packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found
the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of
music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file
represented.

When I came to a file marked “Lustful Thoughts”,

I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch,
not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at
its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had
been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me.

One thought dominated my mind: “No one must ever see these cards!
No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!”
In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now.
I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and
began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card.
I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong
as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot.

Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying
sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore “People I Have Shared the
Gospel With”. The handle was brighter than those around it, newer,
almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than
three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it
contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep.

Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me.
I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwheming
shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No
one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here! Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He
began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch
His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His
face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go
to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room.

He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t
anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began
to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could
have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried
with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files.

Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one,
began to sign His name over mine on each card.

“No!” I shouted rushing to Him.
All I could find to say was “No, no,” as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine.
It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished.” I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

Unknown Author

Check out Inspirational Quotes – Personal Development – Motivational Quotes by Jim Rohn

Music: ‘Hope’ © Margi Harrell

Related posts:

1. The Cross Room The young man was at the end of his rope....
2. When You Walk In The Room The way we walk into a room says a lot...
3. Room At The Thanksgiving Table Have you ever noticed that dining room tables seat six,...

Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together they travelled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the family estate. The widowed elder man looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector. The son’s trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world.

As winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His beloved son was missing in action. The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his son again. Within days, his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic. Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season – a season that he and his son had so looked forward to – would visit his house no longer.

On Christmas morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. As he opened the door, he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hand. He introduced himself to the man by saying, “I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you.”

As the two began to talk, the solider told of how the man’s son had told everyone of his not to mention his father’s love of fine art. “I’m an artist,” said the soldier, “and I want to give you this.” As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man’s son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the young man’s face in striking detail.

Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the picture above the fireplace.

A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside thousands of dollars of paintings. And then the man sat in his chair and spent Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given.

During the days and weeks that followed, the man realized that even though his son was no longer with him, the boy’s life would live on because of those he had touched. He would soon learn that his son had rescued dozens of wounded soldiers before a bullet stilled his caring heart. As the stories of his son’s gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease the grief. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the pieces for which museums around the world clamoured.

He told his neighbours it was the greatest gift he had ever received.

The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation. With the collector’s passing, and his only son dead, those paintings would be sold at an auction. According to the will of the old man, all of the art works would be auctioned on Christmas day, the day he had received his greatest gift. The day soon arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world’s most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled this day; greatness would be achieved as many would claim “I have the greatest collection.”

The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum’s list. It was the painting of the man’s son.

The auctioneer asked for an opening bid. The room was silent. “Who will open the bidding with $100?” he asked.

Minutes passed. No one spoke. From the back of the room came, “Who cares about that painting? It’s just a picture of his son. Let’s forget it and go on to the good stuff.” More voices echoed in agreement. “No, we have to sell this one first,” replied the auctioneer. “Now, who will take the son?”

Finally, a friend of the old man spoke.
“Will you take ten dollars for the painting? That’s all I have. I knew the boy, so I’d like to have it.” “I have ten dollars. Will anyone go higher?” called the auctioneer. After more silence, the auctioneer said, “Going once, going twice. Gone.” The gavel fell. Cheers filled the room and someone exclaimed, “Now we can get on with it and we can bid on these treasures!”

The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced the auction was over. Stunned disbelief quieted the room. Someone spoke up and asked, “What do you mean it’s over? We didn’t come here for a picture of some old guy’s son What about all of these paintings? There are millions of dollars of art here! I demand that you explain what’s going on here!.”

The auctioneer replied, “It’s very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever takes the son..gets it all.”

Puts things into perspective, doesn’t it? Just as those art collectors discovered on that Christmas day, the message is still the same – the love of a Father – a Father whose greatest joy came from his son who went away and gave his life rescuing others. And because of that Father’s love..whoever takes the Son gets it all.

Dear friends, brothers and sisters in Christ, this story illustrated the love of our Father in Heaven, our GOD, for us. He sacrificed His beloved Son and whosoever would believe in Him will not perish but have everlasting life. The is the greatest gift of love to each one of us.

Written by: Author Unknown

Music: ‘solitude’ © Margi Harrell

No related posts.

A man had a little daughter — an only and much-beloved child. He lived for her — she was his life. So when shem became ill and her illness resisted the efforts of them best obtainable physicians, he became like a man possessed, moving heaven and earth to bring about her restoration to health. His best efforts proved unavailing and the child died.

The father was totally irreconcilable. He became a bitter recluse, shutting himself away from his many friends and refusing every activity that might restore his poise and bring him back to his normal self. But one night he had a dream. He was in Heaven, and was witnessing a grand pageant of all the little child angels. They were marching in an apparently endless line past the Great White Throne.

Every white-robed angelic child carried a candle. He noticed that one child’s candle was not lighted. Then he saw that the child with the dark candle was his own little girl. Rushing to her, while the pageant faltered, he seized her in his arms, caressed her tenderly, and then asked: “How is it, darling that your candle alone is unlighted? “Father, they often re-light it, but your tears always put it out.” Just then he awoke from his dream.

The lesson was crystal clear, and its effects were immediate. From that hour on he was not a recluse, but mingled freely and cheerfully with his former friends and associates. No longer would his darling’s candle be extinguished by his useless tears.

“For You have delivered my soul from death. Have you not kept my feet from falling, That I may walk before God In the LIGHT of the living?” (Psalms 56:13NKJ) Jesus Loves You!

Unknown Author

Music: ‘Hope’ © Margi Harrell

Related posts:

1. A Candle Light yourself a candle A story it will tell Always...
2. When Days Are Dark When days are dark and nights are long and your...
3. God’s Dark The Dark is kind and cozy, The Dark is soft...

Don’t see anything? Click here to get FREE Flash Player.

It was an unusually cold day for the month of May. Spring had arrived and everything was alive with color. But a cold front from the north had brought winter’s chill back to Indiana. I sat with two friends in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town squire. The food and the company were both especially good that day.

As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be caring all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read “I’ll work for food.” My heart sank. I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him.

Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back into my car.

Deep within me, the spirit of God kept speaking to me: “don’t go back to the office until you’ve at least driven once more around the square.” And so with some hesitancy, I headed back into town.

As I turned the square’s third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the storefront church, going through his sack. I stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from god: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town’s visitor. Looking for the pastor? I asked. Not really, he replied, just resting. Have you eaten today? Oh, I ate something early this morning. Would you like to have lunch with me? Do you have some work I could do for you? No work, I replied. I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to! Take you to lunch. Sure he replied with a smile.

As he began to gather his things. I asked him some surface questions. Where you headed? St. Louis. Where you from? Oh, all over; mostly Florida. I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark and clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said “Jesus is the never ending story.”

Then Daniel’s story began to unfold. He had seen rough times earl in life. He’d made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a big tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God.

Nothing’s been the same since, he said, I felt the lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now. 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 the spirit leads. I sat amazed.

My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a minute and then I asked: what’s it like? What? To walk into town carrying all your things on your back and to show you a 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 tough 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 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 and was not too heavy

Unknown Author

Music: Unknown Author

Related posts:

1. An Inspiring Story In Brooklyn, New York, Chush is a school that caters...
2. The Auction – An Inspiring Story The upstate NY man was rich in almost every way....
3. A Love Story In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six...

Don’t see anything? Click here to get FREE Flash Player.

A minister passing through his church in the middle of the day, decided to pause by the altar and see who had come to pray. Just then the back door opened, a man came down the aisle. The minister frowned as he saw the man hadn’t shaved in a while. His shirt was kinda’ shabby and his coat was worn and frayed. The man knelt, he bowed his head, then rose and walked away.

In the days that followed, each noon time came this chap, each time he knelt just for a moment, a lunch pail in his lap. Well, the minister’s suspicions grew, with robbery a main fear, He decided to stop the man and ask him, “Watcha’ doin’ here?”

The old man said, he worked down the road. Lunch was half an hour. Lunchtime was his prayer time, for finding strength and power.”I stay only moments, see, ‘cause the factory is so far away. As I kneel here talking’ to the Lord, this is kinda’ what I say:

“I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD, HOW HAPPY I’VE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER’S FRIENDSHIP AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN. I DON’T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY. SO, JESUS, THIS IS JIM CHECKIN’ IN.”

The minister feeling foolish, told Jim, that was fine. He told the man he was welcome to come and pray just anytime. Time to go, Jim smiled, said “Thanks.” He hurried to the door. The minister knelt at the alter, he’d never done it before. His cold heart melted, warmed with love, he met with Jesus there. As the tears flowed, in his heart, he repeated old Jim’s prayer:

“I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD, HOW HAPPY I’VE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER’S FRIENDSHIP AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN. I DON’T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY. SO, JESUS, THIS IS ME CHECKIN’ IN.”

Past noon one day, the minister noticed that old Jim hadn’t come. As more days passed without Jim, he began to worry some. At the factory, he asked about him, learning he was ill. The hospital staff was worried, but he’d given them a thrill. The week that Jim was with them, brought changes in the ward. His smiles, a joy contagious. Changed people, his reward. The head nurse couldn’t understand why Jim was so glad, when no flowers, calls or cards came, not a visitor he had.

The minister stayed by his bed, he voiced the nurse’s concern: No friends came to show they cared. He had nowhere to turn. Looking surprised, old Jim spoke up and with a winsome smile “The nurse is wrong, she couldn’t know, that all the while Everyday at noon. He’s here, a dear friend of mine, you see, He sits right down, takes my hand, leans over and says to me:

“I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, JIM, HOW HAPPY I HAVE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND THIS FRIENDSHIP, AND I TOOK AWAY YOUR SIN. I ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR YOU PRAY, I THINK ABOUT YOU EACH DAY, AND SO JIM, THIS IS JESUS CHECKIN’ IN.”

Submitted by: Maria


Music: ‘Aprial Rain’ © Bruce Deboer

No related posts.

Don’t see anything? Click here to get FREE Flash Player.

“Can I see my baby?” the happy new mother asked.

When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears.

Time proved that the baby’s hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother’s arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks.

He blurted out the tragedy. “A boy, a big boy … called me a freak.”

He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music. “But you might mingle with other young people,” his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart.

The boy’s father had a session with the family physician. Could nothing be done? “I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be procured,” the doctor decided.

Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such a sacrifice for a young man. Two years went by.

Then, “You are going to the hospital, Son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it’s a secret,” said the father.

The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college became a series of triumphs. Later he married and entered the diplomatic service.

“But I must know!” He urged his father, “Who gave so much for me? I could never do enough for him.”

“I do not believe you could,” said the father, “but the agreement was that you are not to know … not yet.”

The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come … one of the darkest days that a son must endure. He stood with his father over his mother’s casket.

Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal that the mother had no outer ears.

“Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut,” he whispered gently, “and nobody ever thought Mother less beautiful, did they?”

Real beauty lies not in the physical appearance, but in the heart. Real treasure lies not in what that can be seen, but what that cannot be seen. Real love lies not in what is done and known, but in what that is done but not known.

Music: Unknown Author

Related posts:

1. Friendship Is A Gift Among the great and glorious gifts our heavenly Father sends...
2. The Finest Gift – Sidney Madwed Encouragement Quotes “The finest gift you can give anyone is encouragement. Yet,...
3. We are in BIG trouble There were two brothers, 8 and 10 years old, who...

Got a letter from Grandma the other day.

She writes: Today I went up to a local Christian bookstore and saw a “Honk if you love Jesus” bumper sticker.

I was feeling particularly sassy that day because I had just come from a thrilling choir performance, followed by a thunderous prayer meeting, so I bought the sticker and put it on my bumper. I was stopped at a red light at a busy intersection, just lost in thought about the Lord and how good He is, and I didn’t notice that the light had changed. It is a good thing someone else loves Jesus, because if he hadn’t honked, I’d never have noticed! I found that lots of people love Jesus!

Why, while I was sitting there, the guy behind me started honking like crazy, and then he leaned out of his window and screamed, “For the love of God! Go! Go! Jesus Christ, go!” What an exuberant cheerleader he was for Jesus!

Everyone started honking! I just leaned out of my window and started wavin and smiling at all these loving people. I even honked my horn a few times to share in the love! There must have been a man from Florida back there because I heard him yell something about a “sunny beach”…

I saw another guy waving in a funny way with only his middle finger stuck up in the air. Then I asked my teenage grandson in the back seat what that meant, and he said that it was probably a Hawaiian good luck sign, or something. Well, I’ve never met anyone from Hawaii, so I leaned out of the window and gave him the good luck sign back. My grandson burst out laughing…Why, even he was enjoying this religious experience!

A couple of the people were so caught up in the joy of the moment that they got out of their cars and started walking towards me. I bet they wanted to pray or ask what church I attended, but this is when I noticed that the light had changed. So, I waved to all of my brothers and sisters, grinned, and drove on through the intersection.

I noticed that I was the only car that got through before the light changed again, and I felt kind of sad that I had to leave them after all of the love that we had shared, so I slowed the car down, leaned out of the window, and gave them all the Hawaiian good luck sign one last time as I drove away.

Praise the Lord for such wonderful folks!

Love, Grandma

Unknown Author

Music: ‘Memories’ © Margi Harrell

No related posts.

Life without purpose is barren indeed
There can’t be a harvest unless you plant seed
There can’t be attainment unless there’s a goal
And man’s but a robot unless there’s a soul.

If we send no ships out, no ships will come in,
And unless there’s a contest, nobody can win.
For games can’t be won unless they are played,
And prayers can’t be answered unless they are prayed.

So whatever is wrong with your life today
You’ll find a solution if you kneel down and pray.
Not just for pleasure, enjoyment and health,
Not just for honors and prestige and wealth.

But pray for a purpose to make life worth living
And pray for the joy of unselfish giving.
For great is your gladness and rich your reward,
When you make your life’s purpose the choice of the Lord.

Submitted by: Dan


Music: ‘Memories’ © Margi Harrell

No related posts.