Care to laugh for a while? Here are some humorous philosophies to think about.
Modern Philosophies
Boy Under the Tree, The
by David Coleman and Kevin Randall
In the summer recess between freshman and sophomore years in college, I was invited to be an instructor at a high school leadership camp hosted by a college in Michigan. I was already highly involved in most campus activities, and I jumped at the opportunity.
About an hour into the first day of camp, amid the frenzy of icebreakers and forced interactions, I first noticed the boy under the tree. He was small and skinny, and his obvious discomfort and shyness made him appear frail and fragile. Only 50 feet away, 200 eager campers were bumping bodies, playing, joking and meeting each other, but the boy under the tree seemed to want to be anywhere other than where he was. The desperate loneliness he radiated almost stopped me from approaching him, but I remembered the instructions from the senior staff to stay alert for campers who might feel left out.
As I walked toward him I said, "Hi, my name is Kevin and I'm one of the counselors. It's nice to meet you. How are you?" In a shaky, sheepish voice he reluctantly answered, "Okay, I guess" I calmly asked him if he wanted to join the activities and meet some new people. He quietly replied, "No, this is not really my thing."
I could sense that he was in a new world, that this whole experience was foreign to him. But I somehow knew it wouldn't be right to push him, either. He didn't need a pep talk, he needed a friend. After several silent moments, my first interaction with the boy under the tree was over. At lunch the next day, I found myself leading camp songs at the top of my lungs for 200 of my new friends. The campers were eagerly participated. My gaze wandered over the mass of noise and movement and was caught by the image of the boy from under the tree, sitting alone, staring out the window. I nearly forgot the words to the song I was supposed to be leading. At my first opportunity, I tried again, with the same questions as before: "How are you doing? Are you okay?" To which he again replied, "Yeah, I'm alright. I just don't really get into this stuff." As I left the cafeteria, I too realized this was going to take more time and effort than I had thought -- if it was even possible to get through to him at all.
That evening at our nightly staff meeting, I made my concerns about him known. I explained to my fellow staff members my impression of him and asked them to pay special attention and spend time with him when they could. The days I spend at camp each year fly by faster than any others I have known. Thus, before I knew it, mid-week had dissolved into the final night of camp and I was chaperoning the "last dance." The students were doing all they could to savor every last moment with their new "best friends" -- friends they would probably never see again.
As I watched the campers share their parting moments, I suddenly saw what would be one of the most vivid memories of my life. The boy from under the tree, who stared blankly out the kitchen window, was now a shirtless dancing wonder. He owned the dance floor as he and two girls proceeded to cut up a rug. I watched as he shared meaningful, intimate time with people at whom he couldn't even look just days earlier. I couldn't believe it was him. In October of my sophomore year, a late-night phone call pulled me away from my chemistry book. A soft-spoken, unfamiliar voice asked politely, "Is Kevin there?"
"You're talking to him. Who's this?"
"This is Tom Johnson's mom. Do you remember Tommy from leadership camp?
The boy under the tree. How could I not remember? "Yes, I do," I said. "He's a very nice young man. How is he?"
An abnormally long pause followed, then Mrs. Johnson said, "My Tommy was walking home from school this week when he was hit by a car and killed." Shocked, I offered my condolences.
"I just wanted to call you," she said, "because Tommy mentioned you so many times. I wanted you to know that he went back to school this fall with confidence. He made new friends. His grades went up. And he even went out on a few dates. I just wanted to thank you for making a difference for Tom. The last few months were the best few months of his life."
In that instant, I realized how easy it is to give a bit of yourself every day. You may never know how much each gesture may mean to someone else. I tell this story as often as I can, and when I do, I urge others to look out for their own "boy under the tree."
Bridge, The
There was once a bridge which spanned a large river. During most of the day the bridge sat with its length running up and down the river paralleled with the banks, allowing ships to pass thru freely on both sides of the bridge. But at certain times each day, a train would come along and the bridge would be turned sideways across the river, allowing a train to cross it.
A switchman sat in a small shack on one side of the river where he operated the controls to turn the bridge and lock it into place as the train crossed. One evening as the switchman was waiting for the last train of the day to come, he looked off into the distance thru the dimming twilight and caught sight of the trainlights. He stepped to the control and waited until the train was within a prescribed distance when he was to turn the bridge. He turned the bridge into position, but, to his horror, he found the locking control did not work. If the bridge was not securely in position it would wobble back and forth at the ends when the train came onto it, causing the train to jump the track and go crashing into the river. This would be a passenger train with many people aboard.
He left the bridge turned across the river, and hurried across the bridge to the other side of the river where there was a lever switch he could hold to operate the lock manually. He would have to hold the lever back firmly as the train crossed. He could hear the rumble of the train now, and he took hold of the lever and leaned backward to apply his weight to it, locking the bridge. He kept applying the pressure to keep the mechanism locked. Many lives depended on this man's strength.
Then, coming across the bridge from the direction of his control shack, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. "Daddy, where are you?" His four-year-old son was crossing the bridge to look for him. His first impulse was to cry out to the child, "Run! Run!" But the train was too close; the tiny legs would never make it across the bridge in time. The man almost left his lever to run and snatch up his son and carry him to safety.
But he realized that he could not get back to the lever. Either the people on the train or his little son must die. He took a moment to make his decision. The train sped safely and swiftly on its way, and no one aboard was even aware of the tiny broken body thrown mercilessly into the river by the onrushing train. Nor were they aware of the pitiful figure of the sobbing man, still clinging tightly to the locking lever long after the train had passed.
They did not see him walking home more slowly than he had ever walked: to tell his wife how their son had brutally died.
Now if you comprehend the emotions which went this man's heart, you can begin to understand the feelings of our Father in Heaven when He sacrificed His Son to bridge the gap between us and eternal life. Can there be any wonder that He caused the earth to tremble and the skies to darken when His Son died? How does He feel when we speed along thru life without giving a thought to what was done for us thru Jesus Christ?
Bishop's Gift, The
Once a church had fallen upon hard times. Only five members were left: the pastor and four others, all over 60 years old.
In the mountains near the church there lived a retired Bishop. It occurred to the pastor to ask the Bishop if he could offer any advice that might save the church. The pastor and the Bishop spoke at length, but when asked for advice, the Bishop simply responded by saying, "I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you."
The pastor, returning to the church, told the church members what the Bishop had said. In the months that followed, the old church members pondered the words of the Bishop. "The Messiah is one of us?" they each asked themselves. As they thought about this possibility, they all began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off chance that that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance that each member himself might be the Messiah, they also began to treat themselves with extraordinary care.
As time went by, people visiting the church noticed the aura of respect and gentle kindness that surrounded the five old members of the small church. Hardly knowing why, more people began to come back to the church. They began to bring their friends, and their friends brought more friends. Within a few years, the small church had once again become a thriving church, thanks to the Bishop's gift.
Ass and the Mule, The
A Muleteer set forth on a journey, driving before him an Ass and a Mule, both well laden. The Ass, as long as he traveled along the plain, carried his load with ease, but when he began to ascend the steep path of the mountain, felt his load to be more than he could bear. He entreated his companion to relieve him of a small portion, that he might carry home the rest; but the Mule paid no attention to the request. The Ass shortly afterwards fell down dead under his burden. Not knowing what else to do in so wild a region, the Muleteer placed upon the Mule the load carried by the Ass in addition to his own, and at the top of all placed the hide of the Ass, after he had skinned him. The Mule, groaning beneath his heavy burden, said to himself: "I am treated according to my deserts. If I had only been willing to assist the Ass a little in his need, I should not now be bearing, together with his burden, himself as well."
Death of an Innocent
by Elizabeth Beeson
I went to a party, Mom,I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom,
So I drank soda instead.
I really felt proud inside, Mom,
The way you said I would.
I didn't drink and drive, Mom,
Even though the others said I should.
I know I did the right thing, Mom,
I know you are always right.
Now the party is finally ending, Mom,
As everyone is driving out of sight.
As I got into my car, Mom,
I knew I'd get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me,
So responsible and sweet.
I started to drive away, Mom,
But as I pulled out into the road,
The other car didn't see me, Mom,
And hit me like a load.
As I lay there on the pavement, Mom,
I hear the policeman say,
"The other guy is drunk," Mom,
And now I'm the one who will pay.
I'm lying here dying, Mom....
I wish you'd get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom?
My life just burst like a balloon.
There is blood all around me, Mom,
And most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom,
I'll die in a short time.
I just wanted to tell you, Mom,
I swear I didn't drink.
It was the others, Mom.
The others didn't think.
He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank
And I will die.
Why do people drink, Mom?
It can ruin your whole life.
I'm feeling sharp pains now.
Pains just like a knife.
The guy who hit me is walking, Mom,
And I don't think it's fair.
I'm lying here dying
And all he can do is stare.
Tell my brother not to cry, Mom.
Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom,
Put "Daddy's Girl" on my grave.
Someone should have told him, Mom,
Not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, Mom,
I would still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter, Mom.
I'm becoming very scared.
Please don't cry for me, Mom.
When I needed you,
you were always there.
I have one last question, Mom.
Before I say good bye.
I didn't drink and drive,
So why am I the one to die?
I Am Third
There was a boy who was very popular among others his age. He was an excellent leader in his school groups.
One of his friends visited him and saw a homemade plaque in his room with the words "I Am Third" on it. His friend asked him what it meant and he replied, "It is the motto I try to use in my life. It means "God is first, Others are second, and I am Third.'"
The driving force in our lives should be trying to please God. Secondly, we should take into consideration the needs and pleasures of others. With our own pleasures subordinated, we will truly be the humble servants of God.
Whose Hands
by: Mark "PrexKobe" Galingan
A basketball in my hands is worth about $20.
A basketball in Michael Jordan's hands is worth about $43million.
It depends whose hands it's in.
A baseball in my hands is worth about $8.
A baseball in Mark Mcquire's hands is worth $18 million.
It depends whose hands it's in.
A tennis racket is useless in my hands.
A tennis racket in Venus Williams' hands is a Wimbledon Championship
It depends whose hands it's in.
A rod in my hands will keep away a wild animal.
A rod in Moses' hands will part the mighty sea.
It depends whose hands it's in.
A sling shot in my hands is a kid's toy.
A sling shot in David's hand is a mighty weapon.
It depends whose hands it's in.
Two fish and 5 loaves of bread in my hands is a couple of fish sandwiches.
Two fish and 5 loaves of bread in God's hands will feed thousands
It depends whose hands it's in.
Nails in my hands might produce a birdhouse.
Nails in Jesus Christ's hands will produce salvation for the entire world.
It depends whose hands it's in.
As you see now it depends whose hands it's in.
So put your concerns, your worries, your fears, your hopes,
your dreams, your families and your relationships in God's
hands because. "It depends whose hands it's in".
Would You Recommend Abortion?
Consider the following situations, if your point of view regarding abortion would change
[1] There's a preacher and wife who are very, very, poor. They already have 14 kids. Now she finds out she's pregnant with her 15th. They're living in tremendous poverty. Considering their poverty and the excessive world population, would you consider recommending abortion?
[2] The father is sick with sniffles, the mother has TB. They have 4 children. The 1st is blind, the 2nd is dead, the 3rd is deaf and the 4th has TB. She finds she's pregnant again. Given the extreme situation, would you consider recommending abortion?
[3] A white man raped a 13 year old black girl and she got pregnant. If you were her parents, would you consider recommending abortion?
[4] A teenage girl is pregnant. She's not married Her fiancee is not the father of the baby, and he's very upset. Would you consider recommending abortion?
If you have answered "yes" in any of these situations: In the first case, you have just killed John Wesley. One of the great evangelists of the 19th century.
In the second case, you have just killed Beethoven.
In the third case, you have killed Ethel Waters, the great Black gospel singer.
If you said yes to the fourth case, you have just declared The murder of Jesus.
A Dying Preacher's Wish
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."
A Parable of the Candles
There was a blackout one night. When the lights went out, I fumbled to the closet where we keep the candles for nights like this. I lit four of them. I was turning to leave with the large candle in my hand when I heard a voice, "Now, hold it right there."
"Who said that?"
"I did." The voice was near my hand.
"Who are you? What are you?"
"I'm a candle."
I lifted up the candle to take a closer look.
There was a tiny face in the wax.
"Don't take me out of here!"
"What?"
"I said, Don't take me out of this room."
"What do you mean? I have to take you out. You're a candle.
Your job is to give light. It's dark out there."
"But you can't take me out. I'm not ready," the candle explained with pleading eyes.
"I need more preparation."
I couldn't believe my ears. "More preparation?"
"Yeah, I've decided I need to research this job of light-giving so I won't go out and make a bunch of mistakes. You'd be surprised how distorted the glow of an untrained candle can be...."
"All right then," I said.
"You're not the only candle on the shelf.
I'll blow you out and take the others!"
But right then I heard other voices,
"We aren't going either!"
I turned to the other candles,
"You are candles and your job is to light dark places!""Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven. [Matthew 5:14-16]"
"Well, that may be what you think," said the first one,
"You may think we have to go, but I'm busy...
I'm meditating on the importance of light. It's really enlightening."...
"And you other two," I asked, "are you going to stay too?"
A short, fat, purple candle with plump cheeks spoke up. "I'm waiting to get my life together, I'm not stable enough."
The last candle had a female voice, very pleasant to the ear.
"I'd like to help, "she explained, "but lighting the darkness is not my gift...I'm a singer. I sing to other candles to encourage them to burn more brightly."
She began a rendition of "This Little Light of Mine" The other three joined in, filling the closet with singing....I took a step back and considered the absurdity of it all. Four perfectly healthy candles singing to each other about light but refusing to come out of the closet.
Shake It Off and Step Up
A parable is told of a farmer who owned an old mule. The mule fell into the farmer's well. The farmer heard the mule 'braying' ... what else would a mule do! After carefully assessing the situation, the farmer sympathized with the mule, but decided that neither the mule nor the well was worth the trouble of saving.
Instead, he called his neighbors together and told them what had happened ... and enlisted them to help haul dirt to bury the old mule in the well and put him out of his misery. Initially, the old mule was hysterical!
But as the farmer and his neighbors continued shoveling and the dirt hit his back ... a thought struck him. It suddenly dawned on him that every time a shovel load of dirt landed on his back ... HE SHOULD SHAKE IT OFF AND STEP UP! This he did, blow after blow. "Shake it off and step up ... shake it off and step up ... shake it off and step up," he repeated to encourage himself.
No matter how painful the blows, or distressing the situation seemed the old mule fought "panic" and just kept right on SHAKING IT OFF AND STEPPING UP! You're right! It wasn't long before the old mule, battered and exhausted, STEPPED TRIUMPHANTLY OVER THE WALL OF THE WELL!
What seemed like it would bury him, actually blessed him ... all because of the manner in which he handled his adversity. THAT'S LIFE! If we face our problems and respond to them positively, and refuse to give in to panic, bitterness, or self-pity ... the adversities that come along to bury us usually have within them the potential to benefit and bless us!
Remember that FORGIVENESS, FAITH, PRAYER, PRAISE, and HOPE ... all are excellent ways to "SHAKE IT OFF AND STEP UP" out of the wells in which we find ourselves! This story reminded me of life. The dirt is a symbolism of the tests and trials that we go through in life. The stepping up is the symbolism of growing and learning from our life experiences.
Soldier
In the natural; according to the world, a soldier is a person appointed to hold position on the battlefield. Taught and trained to perform both life and death. In the spiritual realm, a soldier is a spiritual warrior is a person who must hold position, while awaiting further direction. A person of character, who must maintain an attitude of win at all costs. Understanding that this person is going to encounter the enemy head on. Yet a soldier is able to perceive the actions of the enemy and plan ahead through prayer and supplication. To persevere even when the ground turns into mud and the steps one takes seem to lead to no where.
The soldier must march on, step by step, knowing that the enemy has a snare, a net, and a trap set for them, knowing that the enemies job is to kill him, steal all that he is, and to destroy him. The soldier is a chosen person, one who is able to stand and having done all to stand. There is nothing else for the soldier to do until the next change to charge is commanded. He must be able to suffer unwanted and undeserved pain, pain that will cause him to fall sometimes, yet the soldier knows that if he doesn't get up and keep fighting, its all over.
The soldier also must persevere when he is constantly being challenged by obstacles, the soldier must be able to observe, estimate and eliminate all avenues of escape before continuing on the march to home base. They must run, duck, ram, nudge, and fight their way through the attacks of the enemy, without hesitation. The soldier is armed with knowledge, wisdom, and understanding, thus making him able to accomplish all that has been set before him.
The soldier is to complete the mission, encounter and overcome all obstacles and distractions, while keeping focus on the goal, total and complete annihilation of the devices of the enemy. With each objective completed, raises the soldier to another level of battle, with greater challenges and new unknown territories that he must traverse, in order to get to the new level of conflict, thus increasing his strength and perseverance.
The soldier knows that the aim has been reached when he arrives and receives word that the enemy has been obliterated. This is the life of a soldier in the Army of THE LORD, for GOD he will live and for GOD will he die.
No Time
I knelt to pray but not for long,
I had too much to do.
I had to hurry and get to work
For bills would soon be due.
So I knelt and said a hurried prayer,
And jumped up off my knees.
My Christian duty was now done
My soul could rest at ease.
All day long I had no time
To spread a word of cheer.
No time to speak of Christ to friends,
They'd laugh at me I'd fear.
No time, no time, too much to do,
That was my constant cry,
No time to give to souls in need
But at last the time the time to die.
I went before the Lord,
I came, I stood with downcast eyes.
For in his hands God held a book;
It was the book of life.
God looked into his book and said
"Your name I cannot find.
I once was going to write it down...
But never found the time"
Jenny
Jenny was so happy about the house they had found. For once in her life it was on the right side of town. She unpacked her things with such great ease. As she watched her new curtains blow in the breeze. How wonderful it was to have her own room. School would be starting; she'd have friends over soon. There'd be sleep-overs, and parties; she was so happy It's just the way she wanted her life to be.
On the first day of school, everything went great. She made new friends and even got a date! She thought, "I want to be popular and I'm going to be, Because I just got a date with the star of the team!" To be known in this school you had to have clout, And dating this guy would sure help her out. There was ""Perhaps my parents were right....maybe I am too young. Boy, how could I ever, ever be so dumb.""only one problem stopping her fate. Her parents had said she was too young to date. "Well I just won't tell them the entire truth. They won't know the difference; what's there to lose?" Jenny asked to stay with her friends that night.
Her parents frowned but said, "All right." Excited, she got ready for the big event But as she rushed around like she had no sense, She began to feel guilty about all the lies, but what's a pizza, a party, and a moonlight ride? Well the pizza was good, and the party was great, but the moonlight ride would have to wait. For Dan was half drunk by this time. But he kissed her and said that he was just fine. Then the room filled with smoked and Dan took a puff. Jenny couldn't believe he was smoking that stuff. Now Dan was ready to ride to the point but only after he'd smoked another joint.
They jumped in the car for the moonlight ride, Not thinking that he was too drunk to drive. They finally made it to the point at last, And Dan started trying to make a pass. A pass is not what Jenny wanted at all (and by a pass, I don't mean playing football.) "Perhaps my parents were right....maybe I am too young. Boy, how could I ever, ever be so dumb." With all of her might, she pushed Dan away: "Please take me home, I don't want to stay."
Dan cranked up the engine and floored the gas. In a matter of seconds they were going too fast. As Dan drove on in a fit of wild anger, Jenny knew that her life was in danger. She begged and pleaded for him to slow down, But he just got faster as they neared the town. "Just let me get home! I'll confess that I lied. I really went out for a moonlight ride." Then all of a sudden, she saw a big flash. "Oh God, Please help us! We're going to crash!" She doesn't remember the force of impact. Just that everything all of a sudden went black. She felt someone remove her from the twisted rubble, And heard, "call an ambulance! These kids are in trouble! Voices she heard...a few words at best. But she knew there were two cars involved in the wreck. Then wondered to herself if Dan was all right, and if the people in the other car was alive.
She awoke in the hospital to faces so sad. "You've been in a wreck and it looks pretty bad." These voices echoed inside her head, As they gently told her that Dan was dead. They said "Jenny, we've done all we can do. But it looks as if we'll lose you too." "But the people in the other car!?" Jenny cried. "We're sorry, Jenny, they also died." Jenny prayed, "God, forgive me for what I've done I only wanted to have just one night of fun." "Tell those people's family, I've made their lives dim, and wish I could return their families to them."
"Tell Mom and Dad I'm sorry I lied, And that it's my fault so many have died. Oh, nurse, won't you please tell them that for me?" The nurse just stood there-she never agreed. But took Jenny's hand with tears in her eyes. And a few moments later Jenny died. A man asked the nurse, "Why didn't you do your best to bid that girl her one last request?" She looked at the man with eyes so sad. "Because the people in the other car were her mom and dad." This story is sad and unpleasant but true, so young people take heed, it could have been you.
Brent's Story
When I was expecting my second child my doctor told me that I was having a girl who was due the first week in December. I was surprised on Nov. 3, 1990, a month early, when I gave birth to my SON, Brent, and in total shock when his twin brother, Nicholas, was born 18 minutes later.
They were typical twins, complete opposites. Brent was the fearless leader and Nick was the cautious, protective follower. Brent was all sunshine. He totally embraced life, believing that he knew everything and could do anything, that nothing was beyond his grasp. He found only the positive in even the worst situations and would do or give anything he could to help others or make them happy, very often putting their needs and happiness before his own. He understood and enjoyed the true spirit of giving. It is with these thoughts that I made the most difficult decision of my life, but one that I have never regretted.
On April 13, 1998 Nick came home from school and announced that Brent had been hit by a car. Nothing could have prepared me for the shock of finding my 8 year old son, laying in the street 90 feet from the crosswalk. We found out later that a woman, already an hour late for work, accelerated through a red light and barely missed Nick but hit Brent.
Brent was such a fighter and loved life so much it never entered my mind that he wouldn’t survive—even when he was airlifted to the hospital or when my family was led to a private waiting room, away from others. When we were told that he was brain-dead I understood what it meant but didn’t want to accept it. When we were finally allowed to see Brent I could actually feel that he was no longer with us. I knew that “the organ donor people” would want to speak to me and I didn’t want to see them, but I did.
Lisa from [OneLegacy] was extremely compassionate and patient. She made sure that we understood what had happened to Brent, the organ donation program and procedures and the options that we had. My husband and I had agreed on organ donation for ourselves but never imagined we’d have to consider it for one of our five sons.
We needed time to think about it. While discussing it with my family, my sister Terry pointed out that Brent was such a giving child she was sure he would want to leave this last gift. It reminded me of when Brent learned that my friend’s toddler was blind and asked if he could give him one of his eyes so the child could see. I also asked myself how I’d feel if one of my children NEEDED an organ—I’d certainly hope it would be available.
We decided to donate Brent’s major organs and have never regretted it. In fact, it gives me a sense of peace knowing that Brent did not die for nothing. Brent’s organs helped five people. We have met and communicate often with one of Brent’s organ recipients and occasionally write and speak to another. I feel very close to them because we share something very special – Brent.
I believe that losing a twin is worse than losing a child. I doubt that Nick will ever feel whole again but knowing that five people are still alive because of his twin has helped him to find some peace.
Brent once wrote that he wanted to help people when he grew up. He didn’t get the chance to grow up but he did get the chance to help some very special people by giving the most precious of gifts.
Sandpiper, The
by: Ruth Peterson
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sand castle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
"Hello!," she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.
"I'm building," she said.
"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not really caring.
"Oh, I don't know. I just like the feel of the sand."
"That sounds good," I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.
"That's a joy!" the child said.
"It's what?"
"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy." The bird went gliding down the beach.
"Good-bye joy," I muttered to myself. "Hello pain," and turned to walk on. I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.
"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.
"Ruth," I answered. "I'm Ruth Peterson."
"Mine's Wendy ... and I'm six."
"Hi, Wendy!"
She giggled. "You're funny," she said. In spite of my gloom I laughed too, and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me. "Come again, Mrs. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."
The days and weeks that followed belonged to others ... a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. "I need a sandpiper," I said to myself, gathering up my coat.
The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared. "Hello, Mrs. P!" she said. "Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
"I don't know ... you say something."
"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.
The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."
"Then let's just walk."
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. "Where do you live?" I asked.
"Over there!" She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
"That's strange during winter," I thought.
"Where do you go to school?"
"I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation." She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to the beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home. "Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me. I'd rather be alone today."
She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. "Why?" she asked.
I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" I then thought, "My God, why was I saying this to a little child?"
"Oh," she said quietly. "Then this is a bad day."
"Yes, and yesterday and the day before that and ...oh, go away!"
"Did it hurt?"
"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, and with myself.
"When she died?"
"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself that I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn-looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.
"Hello," I said. "I'm Ruth Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she is."
"Oh yes, Mrs. Peterson, please come in." Wendy talked of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please accept my apologies."
"Not at all! She's a delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it. "Where is she?"
"Wendy died last week, Mrs. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you."
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.
"She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called ... happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly." Her voice faltered. "She left something for you ... if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something ... anything ... to say to this lovely young woman.
She handed me a smeared envelope, with MRS. P. printed in bold, childish letters. Inside was a drawing with bright crayon hues ... a yellow beach, a blue sea, a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten how to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.
The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words ... one for each year of her life ... that speak to me of inner harmony, courage and undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand ... who taught me the gift of love.
Cross, The
In 1967 while I was taking a class in photography at the University of Cincinnati, I became acquainted with a young man named Charles Murray, who was also a student at the school and training for the summer Olympics of 1968 as a high diver. Charles was very patient with me as I would speak to him for hours about Jesus Christ and how He had saved me. Charles was not raised in a home that attended any kind of church, so all that I had to tell him was a fascination to him. He even began to ask questions about forgiveness of sin. Finally the day came that I put a question to him. I asked if he had realized his own need of a redeemer and if he was ready to trust Christ as his own Saviour. I saw his countenance fall and the guilt in his face. But his reply was a strong 'no'. In the days that followed he was quiet and often I felt that he was avoiding me, until I got a phone call from him. He wanted to know where to look in the New Testament for some verses that I had given him about salvation. I gave him the references to several passages and asked if I could meet with him. He declined my offer and thanked me for the scripture. I could tell that he was greatly troubled, but I did not know where he was or how to help him.
Because he was training for the Olympic Games, Charles had special privileges at the University pool facilities. Sometime between 10:30 and 11:00 that evening he decided to go swim and practice a few dives. It was a clear night in October and the moon was big and bright. The University pool was housed under a ceiling of glass panes so the moon shone brightly across the top of the wall in the pool area. Charles climbed to the highest platform to take his first dive. At that moment the Spirit of God began to convict him of his sins. All the scripture he had read, all the occasions of witnessing to him about Christ flooded his mind. He stood on the platform backwards to make his dive, spread his arms to gather his balance, looked up to the wall and saw his own shadow caused by the light of the moon. His shadow was in the shape of a cross. He could bear the burden of sin no longer. His heart broke and he sat down on the platform and asked God to forgive him and save him. He trusted Jesus Christ twenty some feet in the air. Suddenly, the lights in the pool area came on. The attendant had come in to check the pool. As Charles looked down from his platform he saw an EMPTY pool which had been drained for repairs.
He had almost plummeted to his death, but the cross had stopped him from disaster.
Galatians 6:14
Shay and God's Plan
At a fund-raising dinner for a school that serves learning-disabled children, the father of one of the school's students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question. "Everything God does is done with perfection. Yet, my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is God's plan reflected in my son?" The audience was stilled by the query. The father continued. "I believe," the father answered, "that when God brings a child like Shay into the world, an opportunity to realize the Divine Plan presents itself. And it comes in the way people treat that child." Then, he told the following story: Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, "Do you think they will let me play?" Shay's father knew that most boys would not want him on their team. But the father understood that if his son were allowed to play it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging. Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his teammates. Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said, "We are losing by six runs, and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and I'll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning." In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. At the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the outfield. Although no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base. Shay was scheduled to be the next at-bat. Would the team actually let Shay bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that this was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball. However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have ended the game. Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman. Everyone started yelling, "Shay, run to first. Run to first." Never in his life had Shay ever made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled. Everyone yelled "Run to second, run to second!" By the time Shay was rounding first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman for a tag. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions had been, so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman's head. Shay ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home. As Shay reached second base, the opposing shortstop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base, and shouted, "Run to third!" As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams were screaming, "Shay! Run home." Shay ran home, stepped on home plate and was cheered as the hero, for hitting a "grand slam" and winning the game for his team. "That day," said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face," the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of the Divine Plan into this world."
Wolves Within, The
An old Grandfather, whose grandson came to him with anger at a schoolmate who had done him an injustice, said, "Let me tell you a story. I too, at times, have felt a great hate for those that have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do. But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times."
He continued, "It is as if there are two wolves inside me; one is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way."
"But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit."
The boy looked intently into his Grandfather's eye and asked, "Which one wins, Grandfather?"
The Grandfather solemnly said, "The one I feed."
