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

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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

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“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

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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

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There had been rumors in the city about strange calls that made the receiver vanish, go blind, get deaf and even die.

One Monday morning while a minister was studying his cell phone rang and he picked it up and saw an unknown number, not sure who it was he did not answer, the phone rang again and it was the same number, still not convinced he refused to answer the phone.

The phone kept on ringing, and remembering the rumors in town, the minister picked up the phone and screamed FIRE and the voice at the other end trembling answered timidly, its me James your son in the Lord.

Submitted by: Ivy

Music by: Unknown Composer

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One morning I went into my daughters room to wake her up to get ready for school. I laid my head on her chest and gave her a hug. She sighed, and her breath rolled down my face.

“Whew! You’ve got some serious morning breath!” I said. She laughed and we proceeded with the morning routine.

As we headed out the door to leave, a gust of wind came up and almost blew us off the porch. In the innocence of a second grade voice, my daughter said, “Wow mom! God’s got great morning breath!”

Written by: Charles Hanson Towne
Submitted by: Julie Gracie

Music: ‘Hope’ © Margi Harrell

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A ten year old public school boy was finding fifth grade math to be the challenge of his life. Science? A piece of cake. Geography? No big deal. Spelling? Ha! Give me a break…but MATH? It was devastating! To not only him, but his mom and dad, too! And not that they weren’t doing everything and anything to help their son…Private tutors, peer assistance, CD-ROMS, Textbooks, even HYPNOSIS! Nothing worked.

Finally, at the insistence of a family friend, they decided to enroll their son in a private school. Not just ANY private school, but a Catholic school. Nuns. Daily mass. The whole shootin’ match. Well, the first day of school finally arrived, and dressed in his salt-and-pepper cords and white wool dress shirt and blue cardigan sweater, the youngster ventured out into the great unknown. His mother and father were convinced they were doing the right thing. They were both there waiting for their son when he returned home.

And when he walked in with a stern, focused and very determined expression on his face, they hoped they had made the right choice. He walked right past them and went straight to his room – and quietly closed the door.

For nearly two hours he toiled away in his room – with math books strewn about his desk and the surrounding floor. He only emerged long enough to eat, and after quickly cleaning his plate, he went straight back to his room, closed the door, and worked feverishly at his studies until bedtime.

This pattern continued ceaselessly until it was time for the first quarter report card. After school, the boy walked into the home with his report card – unopened – in his hand. Without a word, he dropped the envelope on the family dinner table and went straight to his room. His parents were petrified. What lay inside the envelope? Success? Failure? DOOM?!? Patiently, cautiously the mother opened the letter, and to her amazement, she saw a bright red “A” under the subject, MATH. Overjoyed, she and her husband rushed into their son’s room, thrilled at the remarkable progress of their young son!

“Was it the nuns that did it?”, the father asked.

The boy only shook his head and said, “No.”

“Was it the one-on-one tutoring? The peer-mentoring?”, asked the mother.

Again, the boy shrugged, “No.”

“The textbooks? The teacher? The curriculum?”, asked the father.

“Nope,” said the son. “It was all very clear to me from the very first day of school, that these folks in Catholic school meant business!”

“How so?”, asked his mom.

“When I walked into the lobby, and I saw that guy they’d nailed to the plus sign, I knew they meant business!”

Unknown Author

Music: ‘Memories’ © Margi Harrell

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An atheist was taking a walk through the woods, admiring all that the accident of evolution had created. “What majestic trees! What powerful rivers! What beautiful animals!” he said to himself.

As he walked alongside the river he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. He turned to look, just in time to see a 7-foot grizzly charge towards him. He ran as fast as he could up the path. He looked over his shoulder & saw the bear closing in on him. He tried to run even faster, so scared that tears were coming to his eyes. He looked over his shoulder again, and the bear was even closer.

His heart was pumping frantically as he tried to run even faster, but he tripped and fell on the ground. He rolled over to pick himself up and saw the bear right on top of him raising his paw to kill him.

At that instant, he cried out, “Oh my God!”

Just then, time stopped… The bear froze; the forest was silent; even the river stopped moving. A bright light shone upon the man, and a voice came out of the sky, saying, “You deny My existence all of these years; teach others I don’t exist; even credit My creation to a cosmic accident, and now do you expect Me to help you out of this predicament? Am I to count you as a believer?”

The atheist, ever so proud, looked into the light and said, “It would be rather hypocritical to ask to be a Christian after all these years. But could you make the bear a Christian?”

“Very well,” said the voice.

As the light went out, the river ran, the sounds of the forest continued, and the bear put his paw down. The man breathed a sigh of relief. Then the bear brought both paws together, bowed his head and said: “Lord, I thank you for this food, which I am about to receive.”

Author Unknown

Music by: Unknown Composer

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There were two brothers, 8 and 10 years old, who were exceedingly mischievous. Whatever went wrong in the neighborhood, it turned out they had had a hand in it. Their parents were at their wits’ end trying to control them. Hearing about a priest nearby who worked with delinquent boys, the mother suggested to the father that they ask the priest to talk with the boys. The father agreed.

The mother went to the priest and made her request.

He agreed, but said he wanted to see the younger boy first and alone.

So the mother sent him to the priest.

The priest sat the boy down across from him at a huge impressive desk.

For about five minutes they just sat and stared at each other.

Finally, the priest pointed his forefinger at the boy and asked, “Where is God?”

The boy looked under the desk, in the corners of the room, all around, but said nothing.

Again, louder, the priest pointed at the boy and asked, “Where is God?”

Again the boy looked all around but said nothing.

A third time, in a louder, firmer voice, the priest leaned far across the desk and put his forefinger almost to the boy’s nose, and asked, “Where is God?”

The boy panicked and ran all the way home.

Finding his older brother, he dragged him upstairs to their room and into the closet, where they usually plotted their mischief.

He finally said, “We are in BIG trouble.”

The older boy asked, “What do you mean, ‘BIG trouble’?”

His brother replied, “God is missing and they think we did it!”

Submitted by: Ivy

Music by: Unknown Composer

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An old preacher was dying. He sent a message for his doctor and his lawyer, both church members, to come to his home.

When they arrived, they were ushered up to his bedroom. As they entered the room the preacher held out his hands and motioned for them to sit, one on each side of his bed. The preacher grasped their hands, sighed contentedly, smiled and stared at the ceiling. For a time, no one said anything.

Both the doctor and the lawyer were touched and flattered that the preacher would ask them to be with him during his final moments. They were also puzzled; the preacher had never given them any indication that he particularly liked either of them. They both remembered his many long, uncomfortable sermons about greed, covetousness and avaricious behavior that made them squirm in their seats.

Finally, the doctor said, “Preacher, why did you ask us to come?” The old preacher mustered up his strength, then said weakly, “Jesus died between two thieves … and that’s how I want to go.”

Submitted by: Samantha

Music: ‘Dreams’ © Margi Harrell

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