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NathanStinson

Changing the World, One story at a time
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&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;GRAINS OF SAND: BRIGHT NEW LEAF
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Lonely and afraid, the Little Leaf clings to the tree as the bitter wind tries with all its strength to tear it away from the stem to which it hangs so desperately. &nbsp;Below, the ground has started to whiten with newly fallen snow, but still the leaf clutches tightly, protesting in a still, small voice, rejecting the pleas of those who had descended before, to let go and join them.

Determined to remain there all through the winter and be there when spring came, the leaf hung on, even though it was afraid of the loneliness. &nbsp;It had watched as the birds had flown away and as, one by one, all other leaves had lost their hold and had drifted to the ground to turn an ugly brown, and then be swept away and sometimes burned. &nbsp;And so it hung there out of reach of everyone.

People jeered at it and pointed, and some threw stones to tear it loose from its hold on the tree, but soon gave up and went away.

Then one day, when God was not to busy, He saw the little leaf, smiled at its determination, but was sad because He knew that at least it would have to let go and be lost forever. &nbsp;So He whispered on the voice of the wind, and told it that, if it let go, He would catch it and take it home with Him, and promised that if it believed in Him, it would live forever and be born again in the spring, a lovely, new, shining leaf.

And the little leaf answered, "I believe you God, and I have waited for you to come. &nbsp;I knew you would for you have told us so". &nbsp;And with a great wrench, it tore itself loose from the branch and fell slowly towards the ground. &nbsp;Then a gentle breeze came and picked it up and placed it in God's hand, and He took it home as He had promised. &nbsp;It rested there until spring, along with others of kinds.

In the morning of the new day, there, shining on the tree, a bright new leaf appeared and on the breath of the wind came the echo of His promise, "and whosoever believeth in Me, should not perish, but have everlasting life...........

In Memory of Dorthea Jackson
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NathanStinson

Changing the World, One story at a time
<SPAN id=postcolor>Brownies with a Difference

Contributed by Tracy Finn--Posted September 3rd, 1999!

Many parents are hard pressed to explain to their youth why some music, movies, books, and magazines are not acceptable material for them to bring into the home or to listen to or see. One parent came up with an original idea that is hard to refute.

The father listened to all the reasons his children gave for wanting to see a particular PG-13 movie. It had their favorite actors. Everyone else was seeing it. Even church members said it was great. It was only rated PG-13 because of the suggestion of sex--they never really showed it. The language was pretty good--the Lord's name was only used in vain three times in the whole movie. The teens did admit there was a scene where a building and a bunch of people were blown up, but the violence was just the normal stuff. It wasn't too bad. And, even if there were a few minor things, the special effects were fabulous and the plot was action packed. However, even with all the justifications the teens made for the 13' rating, the father still wouldn't give in. &nbsp;He didn't even give his children a satisfactory explanation for saying, "No." He just said, "No!"

A little later on that evening the father asked his teens if they would like some brownies he had baked. He explained that he'd taken the family's favorite recipe and added a little something new. The children asked what it was. The father calmly replied that he had added dog poop. However, he quickly assured them, it was only a little bit. All other ingredients were gourmet quality and he had taken great care to bake the brownies at the precise temperature for the exact time. He was sure the brownies would be superb. Even with their father's promise that the brownies were of almost perfect quality, the teens would not take any. The father acted surprised. After all, it was only one small part that was causing them to be so stubborn. He was certain they would hardly notice it. Still the teens held firm and would not try the brownies. The father then told his children how the movie they wanted to see was just like the brownies.

Our minds trick us into believing that just a little bit of evil won't matter. But, the truth is even a little bit of poop makes the difference between a great treat and something disgusting and totally unacceptable. The father went on to explain that even though the movie industry would have us believe that most of today's movies are acceptable fare for adults and youth, they are not. Now, when this father's children want to see something that is of questionable material, the father merely asks them if they would like some of his special dog poop brownies. That closes the subject.</SPAN>
 
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NathanStinson

Changing the World, One story at a time
After a brief respite I am finally back! :)

&nbsp;

I decided to come back with an oldie but goodie:)

&nbsp;

&nbsp;


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<TD width="100%"><B>Paid In Full</B></TD></TR>
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<TD width="100%">A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many&nbsp;
months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom,&nbsp;
and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was&nbsp;
all he wanted.

As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his&nbsp;
father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his&nbsp;
graduation, his father called him into his private study. His father&nbsp;
told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how&nbsp;
much he loved him. He handed his son a beautifully wrapped gift box.&nbsp;

Curious, and somewhat disappointed, the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible, with the young man's name&nbsp;
embossed in gold. Angry, he rose his voice to his father and said&nbsp;
"with all your money, you give me a Bible?" and stormed out of the&nbsp;
house.&nbsp;

Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his father was very old, and thought perhaps he should go to him. He&nbsp;
had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make&nbsp;
arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had&nbsp;
passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things.&nbsp;

When he arrived at his father's house, a sudden feeling of sadness&nbsp;
and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father's&nbsp;
important papers and saw the still gift-wrapped Bible, just as he&nbsp;
had left it years ago. With tears, he opened the Bible and began&nbsp;
to turn the pages. His father had carefully underlined a verse,&nbsp;
Matt.7:11, "And if ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts to&nbsp;
your children, how much more shall your Heavenly Father which is&nbsp;
in Heaven, give to those who ask Him?"&nbsp;

As he read those words, a car key dropped from the back of the&nbsp;
Bible. It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who&nbsp;
had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his&nbsp;
graduation, and the words PAID IN FULL.&nbsp;

How many times do we miss God's blessings because we can't see past our own desires?&nbsp;

-- Unknown
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NathanStinson

Changing the World, One story at a time
oh? I didn't know someone else had stories:)

thats neato

next one!


I Love You
The hospital was unusually quiet that bleak January evening, quiet
and still like the air before a storm. I stood in the nurses' station
on the seventh floor and glanced at the clock. It was 9 P.M. I threw
a stethoscope around my neck and headed for Room 712, last room on
the hall. Room 712 had a new patient. Mr. Williams. A man all alone.
A man strangely silent about his family. As I entered the room,
Mr. Williams looked up eagerly, but drooped his eyes when he saw
it was only me, his nurse. I pressed the stethoscope over his chest
and listened. Strong, slow, even beating. Just what I wanted to hear.
There seemed little indication he had suffered a slight heart attack
a few hours earlier.

He looked up from his starched white bed. "Nurse, would you- " He
hesitated, tears filling his eyes. Once before he had started to
ask me a question, but changed his mind. I touched his hand, waiting.
He brushed away a tear.

"Would you call my daughter? Tell her I've had a heart attack. A
slight one. You see, I live alone and she is the only family I have."

His respiration suddenly speeded up. I turned his nasal oxygen up
to eight liters a minute.

"Of course I'll call her," I said, studying his face.

He gripped the sheets and pulled himself forward, his face tense
with urgency. "Will you call her right away- as soon as you can?"
He was breathing fast- too fast.

"I'll call her the very first thing," I said, patting his shoulder.
I flipped off the light. He closed his eyes, such young blue eyes
in his 50-year-old face. Room 712 was dark except for a faint
night light under the sink. Oxygen gurgled in the green tubes
above his bed. Reluctant to leave, I moved through the shadowy
silence to the window. The panes were cold. Below a foggy mist
curled through the hospital parking lot. Nurse," he called, "could
you get me a pencil and paper?" I dug a scrap of yellow and a pen
from my pocket and set it on the bedside table.

I walked back to the nurses' station and sat in a squeaky swivel
chair by the phone. Mr. Williams's daughter was listed on his chart
as the next of kin. I got her number from information and dialed.
Her soft voice answered.

"Janie, this is Sue Kidd, a registered nurse at the hospital. I'm
calling about your father. He was admitted tonight with a slight
heart attack and --

"No!" she screamed into the phone, startling me. He's not dying
is he?"

"His condition is stable at the moment," I said, trying hard to
sound convincing. Silence. I bit my lip.

"You must not let him die!" she said. Her voice was so utterly
compelling that my hand trembled on the phone.

"He is getting the very best care."

"But you don't understand," she pleaded.

"My daddy and I haven't spoken since my 21st birthday, we had a
fight over my boyfriend. I ran out of the house. I-I haven't been
back. All these months I've wanted to go to him for forgiveness.
The last thing I said to him was, 'I hate you." Her voice cracked
and I heard her heave great agonizing sobs.

I sat, listening, tears burning my eyes. A father and a daughter,
so lost to each other. Then I was thinking of my own father, many
miles away. It has been so long since I had said, "I love you."

As Janie struggled to control her tears, I breathed a prayer.

"Please God, let this daughter find forgiveness."

"I'm coming. Now! I'll be there in 30 minutes," she said. Click.

She had hung up. I tried to busy myself with a stack of charts on
the desk. I couldn't concentrate.

Room 712; I knew I had to get back to 712. I hurried down the hall
nearly in a run. I opened the door. Mr. Williams lay unmoving. I
reached for his pulse. There was none. "Code 99, Room 712. Code 99.
Stat." The alert was shooting through the hospital within seconds
after I called the switchboard through the intercom by the bed.
Mr. Williams had had a cardiac arrest. With lightning speed I
leveled the bed and bent over his mouth, breathing air into his
lungs (twice). I positioned my hands over his chest and compressed.
One, two, three. I tried to count. At fifteen I moved back to his
mouth and breathed as deeply as I could.

Where was help? Again I compressed and breathed, Compressed and
breathed. He could not die! "O God," I prayed. "His daughter is
coming. Don't let it end this way." The door burst open. Doctors
and nurses poured into the room pushing emergency equipment. A
doctor took over the manual compression of the heart. A tube was
inserted through his mouth as an airway. Nurses plunged syringes
of medicine into the intravenous tubing. I connected the heart
monitor.

Nothing.
Not a beat.

My own heart pounded. "God, don't let it end like this. Not in
bitterness and hatred. His daughter is coming. Let her find peace."

"Stand back," cried a doctor.

I handed him the paddles for the electrical shock to the heart. He
placed them on Mr. Williams' chest. Over and over we tried. But
nothing. No response. Mr. Williams was dead. A nurse unplugged the
oxygen. The gurgling stopped. One by one they left, grim and silent.
How could this happen? How? I stood by his bed, stunned. A cold wind
rattled the window, pelting the panes with snow. Outside- everywhere
seemed a bed of blackness, cold and dark.

How could I face his daughter? When I left the room, I saw her
against a wall by a water fountain. A doctor who had been inside
712 only moments before stood at her side, talking to her, gripping
her elbow. Then he moved on, leaving her slumped against the wall.
Such pathetic hurt reflected from her face. Such wounded eyes. She
knew. The doctor had told her that her father was gone. I took her
hand and led her into the nurses' lounge. We sat on little green
stools, neither saying a word. She stared straight ahead at a
pharmaceutical calendar, glass-faced, almost breakable-looking.

"Janie, I'm so, so sorry," I said. It was pitifully inadequate.

"I never hated him, you know. I loved him," she said.

God, please help her, I thought. Suddenly she whirled toward me.
"I want to see him."

My first thought was, Why put yourself through more pain? Seeing
him will only make it worse.

But I got up and wrapped my arm around her. We walked slowly down
the corridor to 712. Outside the door I squeezed her hand, wishing
she would change her mind about going inside. She pushed open the
door. We moved to the bed, huddled together, taking small steps
in unison. Janie leaned over the bed and buried her face in the
sheets. I tried not to look at her at this sad, sad good-bye. I
backed against the bedside table. My hand fell upon a scrap of
yellow paper. I picked it up. It read:

My dearest Janie,
I forgive you.
I pray you will also forgive me.
I know that you love me.
I love you too,
Daddy

The note was shaking in my hands as I thrust it toward Janie. She
read it once. Then twice. Her tormented face grew radiant. Peace
began to glisten in her eyes. She hugged the scrap of paper to her
breast. "Thank You, God," I whispered, looking up at the window. A
few crystal stars blinked through the blackness. A snowflake hit
the window and melted away, gone forever. Life seemed as fragile
as a snowflake on the window. But thank You, God, that relationships,
sometimes fragile as snowflakes, can be mended together again- but
there is not a moment to spare. I crept from the room and hurried
to the phone. I would call my father. I would say, "I love you."

-- Unknown
 
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NathanStinson

Changing the World, One story at a time
Changing The World

When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world. I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my nation. When I found I couldn't change the nation, I began to focus on my town. I couldn't change the town and as an older man, I tried to change my family.

Now, as an old man, I realize the only thing I can change is myself, and suddenly I realize that if long ago I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family. My family and I could have made an impact on our town. Their impact could have changed the nation and I could indeed have changed the world.

So live each day as though you were walking with Jesus. Our future will be better for it and you WILL make a difference.
 
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This site stays free and accessible to all because of donations from people like you.
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