Poems, Stories & Tidbits

    After living a "decent" life, my time on earth came to an end.  The first thing I remember is sitting on a bench in the waiting room of what I thought to be a courthouse.  The doors opened and I was instructed to come in and have a seat by the defense table. As I looked around I saw the "prosecutor." He was a villainous looking gent who snarled as he stared at me. He definitely was the most evil person I have ever seen. I sat down and looked to my left and there sat my lawyer, a kind and gentle looking man whose appearance seemed familiar to me.  The corner door flew open and there appeared the judge in full flowing robes.  He commanded an awesome presence as he moved across the room. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. As he took his seat behind the bench, he said, "Let us begin."
    The prosecutor rose and said, "My name is Satan and I am here to show you why this man belongs in hell. "He proceeded to tell of lies that I told, things that I stole, and in the past when I cheated others. Satan told of other horrible perversions that were once in my life and the more he spoke, the further down in my seat I sank. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't look at anyone, even my own lawyer, as the Devil told of sins that even I had completely forgotten about.
    As upset as I was at Satan for telling all these things about me, I was equally upset at my representative who sat there silently not offering any form of defense at all. I know I had been guilty of those things, but I had done some good in my life - couldn't that at least equal out part of the harm I've done? Satan finished with a fury and said, "This man belongs in hell, he is guilty of all that I have charged and there is not a person who can prove otherwise.
    When it was his turn, my lawyer first asked if he might approach the bench.  The judge allowed this over the strong objection of Satan, and beckoned him to come forward. As he got up and started walking,  I was able to see him in his full splendor and majesty. I realized why he seemed so familiar.  This was Jesus representing me, my Lord and my Savior.
    He stopped at the bench and softly said to the judge, "Hi Dad," and then he turned to address the court. "Satan was correct in saying that this man had sinned,  I won't deny any of these allegations. And yes the wage of sin is death, and this man deserves to be punished."
    Jesus took a deep breath and turned to his Father with outstretched arms and proclaimed, "However, I died on the cross so that this person might have eternal life and he has accepted me as his Savior, so he is mine."   My Lord continued with, "His name is written in the book of life and no one can snatch him from me. Satan still does not understand yet. This man is
not to be given justice, but rather mercy." As Jesus sat down, he quietly paused, looked at his Father and replied, "There is nothing else that needs to be done. I've done it all."
    The judge lifted his mighty hand and slammed the gavel down. The following words bellowed from his lips... "This man is free. The penalty for him has already been paid in full. Case dismissed."   As my Lord led me away, I could hear Satan ranting and raving, "I won't give up, I'll win the next one."   I asked Jesus as he gave me my instructions where to go next,  "Have you
ever lost a case?" Christ lovingly smiled and said, "Everyone that has come to me and asked me to represent them has received the same verdict as you... Paid in Full."
    In this world of terrible hurt, pain, suffering and extreme self centered focus to the exclusion of everyone and everything else, that there are times when logic, thought, discussion, etc. do nothing. It is in these times I have learned that I have only one place to turn to ease the pain.

    Years ago, while in prayer, I asked God to send me my wife.   For the Bible says "you have not because you ask not".  I
told the Lord not just that I wanted a wife but even explained  to him the kind of wife I was looking for. I told him I wanted
someone that was kind, tender, gentle, compassionate, loving, sincere, peaceful, generous, affectionate, understanding,
passionate, warm, intelligent, humorous, sensual, and trustful.  I even mentioned things I wanted her to be physically. And as
time passed, I would add more  things to this list of my heart  desire for a wife.
    Then one night in prayer God spoke to my heart and said ...."Son I  can not give you what you've asked me for."  I said, "Why not Lord?"  He replied, "For I am a just God and a  God of righteousness and all I do is just and right."  I said, "Lord, I don't  understand  why I cannot have what I have asked  you for." He replied, "Then I will explain."  "It would not be just and right for me to grant to you your wish  for I cannot give unto you something that you are not yourself.
    It would not be fair for me to grant unto you a person that is  loving if you can sometimes be hateful, or someone that is kind
if you can also be mean, someone that is a forgiver and yet you  can still carry a grudge, someone that is  sensitive and you are
yet so insensitive...............etc.
    He said unto me, "Instead of wasting time trying to find someone  or hoping that I will give you someone with all these qualities you  seek, you should rather allow me to take this time to allow you to become all it is that you are looking for.  For I cannot give to you that which you are not."
    And if you allow me to work upon your spirit and to shape and mold your heart as I choose then when you see the one I have for you,  you will be able to say like Adam said......"She is bone of my  bone and she is flesh of my flesh" for you will see yourself in her for you both will be one flesh.  Keep this in mind.  This is for all: the recently married; the soon to get married; and the ones that are still looking.

 Author Unknown

    A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.  When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier.  The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.
    About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door.  A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.  He said,"Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many
lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly.  He often talked about you, and your love for art.
    The young man held out his package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this."  The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in
awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture.  "Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift."  The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.
    The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection. On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel.  "We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?" There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted. "We want to see the famous paintings.
    Skip this one." But the auctioneer persisted. "Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?" Another voice shouted angrily. "We didn't come to see this painting.. We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get
on with the real bids!" But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?"  Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. "I'll give $10 for the painting."
    Being a poor man, it was all he could afford. "We have $10, who will bid $20?" "Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters." "$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?" The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections. The auctioneer pounded the gavel.  "Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!"  A man sitting on the second row shouted. "Now let's get on with the collection!"
    The auctioneer laid down his gavel. "I'm sorry, the auction is over." "What about the paintings?" "I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time.  Only the painting of the son would be auctioned.  Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings. The man who took the son gets every thing!
    God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is, "The son, the son, who'll take the son?"  Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.
--author unknown

The day is over, you are driving home.  You tune in your radio.
    You hear a little blurb about a little village in India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen before.  Its not influenza, but three of four people are dead, and its kind of interesting, and they are sending some doctors over there to investigate it. You don’t think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home from church, you hear a another radio spot.  Only they say its not three villagers, its 30,000 villagers in the back hills of this particular area of India, and it’s on TV that night.  CNN runs a little blurb; people are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.
    By Monday morning when you get up, it’s the lead story. For its not just India; its Pakistan, Iran and before you know it, you’re hearing this story everywhere and they have coined it now as “the mystery flu.”  The President has made some comment that he and everyone are praying and hoping that all will go well over there.  But everyone is wondering, How are we going to contain it?
    That’s when the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe.  He is closing their borders.  No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has been seen. And that’s why that night you are watching a little bit of CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when a weeping woman is translated from a French news program into English; There’s a man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu. It has come to Europe. Panic strikes.  As best they can tell, once you get it you have it for a week before you know it.  Then you have four days of unbelievable symptoms.  And then you die.  Britain closes its borders, but it’s too late. South Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton and it’s Tuesday morning when the President of the United States makes the following announcement:
    “Due to a national security risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled.  If your loved ones are overseas, I’m sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for this thing.” Within four days our nation has been plunged into an unbelievable fear. People are talking about “What if it comes to this country”?  And preachers on Tuesday are saying It’s the scourge of God. Its Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from the parking lot and says “Turn on a radio, turn on a radio!” And while the church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it, the following announcement is made.  Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from the mystery flu. Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps across the country. People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote.  Nothing is working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts.  It’s as though it’s just sweeping in from the borders. And then all of a sudden the news comes out. The code has been broken.  A cure can be found.  A vaccine can be made.  Its going to take the blood of somebody who hasn’t been infected and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest, through all those channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple thing:  Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken. That’s all we ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly and safely, to the hospitals. Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late on that Friday night, there is a long line and they’ve got nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it.
Your wife and your kids are out there, and they take your blood type and they say, “wait here in the parking lot and if we call your name you can be dismissed and go home.” You stand around, scared, with your neighbors, wondering what in the world is going on and if this is the end of the World.
    Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He’s yelling a name and waving a clipboard.
What?  He yells it again!  And your son tugs on your jacket and says,” Daddy, that’s me.”
Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy.  “Wait a minute. Hold on!” And they say, “Its okay, his blood is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make sure he doesn’t have the disease. We think he has got the right type.” Five tense minutes later out come the doctors and nurses crying and hugging one another - some are even laughing.  It’s the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week and an old doctor walks up to you and says, “Thank you sir.  Your son’s blood type is perfect.  It’s clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine.” As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing and crying. But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, “May we see you for a moment?  We didn’t realize that the donor would be a minor and we need.....We need you to sign a consent form.”  You begin to sign and then you see that the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty.  “H-h-h-ow many pints?”  And that is when the old doctor’s smile fades and he says, “We had no idea it would be a little child.  We weren’t prepared.  We need it all!” “But-but . . . . I don’t understand. He’s my only son!”
    “We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We . . .we need it all!” “But can’t you give him a transfusion?” “If we had clean blood we would. Please, will you please sign?” In numb silence you do.  Then they say, “would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?” Could you walk back?  Could you walk back to that room where he sits on a table “Daddy?  Mommy?  What’s going on?” Could you take his hands and say, “Son, your mommy and I love you and we would never ever let anything happen to you that didn’t just have to be.  Do you understand that?” And when that old doctor comes back in and says, “I’m sorry, we’ve got to get started.  People all over the world are dying.” Could you leave?  Could you walk out while he is saying,  “Dad? Mom? Dad? Why . . . why have you forsaken me?” And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son and some folks sleep through it, and some folks don’t even bother to come because they have better things to do, and some folks come with just a pretentious smile and just pretend to care. Would you want to jump up and say, “EXCUSE ME! MY SON DIED FOR YOU! DON’T YOU EVEN CARE?  DOES IT MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?” I wonder, is that what God wants to say?  “MY SON DIED FOR YOU! DOES IT MEAN NOTHING? DON’T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?” Father, seeing it from your eyes should break our hearts. Maybe now we can begin to comprehend the great love you have for us. So that’s the gospel in a nutshell.

    There are two days in every week about which we should not worry, two days which should be kept free from fear and apprehension.  One of these days is Yesterday with all its mistakes and cares, its faults and blunders, its aches and pains.  Yesterday has passed forever beyond our control.  All the money in the world cannot bring back Yesterday.  We cannot undo a single act we performed; we cannot erase a single word we said.  Yesterday is gone forever.

    The other day we should not worry about is Tomorrow with all its possible adversities, its burdens, its large promise and its poor performance. Tomorrow is also beyond our immediate control.  Tomorrow's sun will rise, either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds, but it will rise.  Until it does, we have no stake in Tomorrow, for it is yet to be born.

    This leaves only one day, Today.  Any person can fight the battle of just one day.  It is when you and I add the burdens of those two awful eternities Yesterday and Tomorrow that we break down.  It is not the experience of Today that drives a person mad, it is the remorse or bitterness of something which happened Yesterday and the dread of what Tomorrow may bring.

Let us, therefore, live but one day at a time.

  I once made a remark about the hidden books of the Bible.  It was a lulu, kept people looking so hard for  facts, and for others it was a revelation.  Some were in a jam, especially since the names of the books are not capitalized, but the truth finally struck home to numbers of readers.  To others, it was a real job. We want it to be a most fascinating few moments for you. Yes, there will be some really easy ones to spot.  Others may require judges to help them.  I will quickly admit it usually takes a minister to find one of the 17, and there will be loud lamentations when it is found.  A little lady say she brews a cup of tea so she can concentrate better.  See how well yo can compete.  Relax now, for there really are 17 books of the Bible in these sentences.  (One preacher found 16 books in 20 minutes.  It took him three weeks to find the seventeenth one.)

    Panting hard, I scrambled upright and approached the girl, who was crouched behind a tree, sobbing.  In the darkness, I could barely see her outline, but I could certainly sense her trembling shock.  Not wanting to frighten her further, I at first spoke to her from a distance.  "It's OK," I said soothingly.  "The man ran away.  You're safe now. " here was a long pause and then I heard the words, uttered in wonder, in amazement.  "Dad, is that you?"  And then, from behind the tree, stepped my youngest daughter, Katherine.

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