The Ragman
- Thread starter FineLinen
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MaGaZiNa
Guest
I'm not quite sure if this story has already been posted:
In His Heart
"Tomorrow morning," the surgeon began, "I'll open up your heart..."
"You'll find Jesus there," the boy interrupted.
The surgeon looked up, annoyed. "I'll cut your heart open," he continued, to see how much damage has been done..."
"But when you open up my heart, you'll find Jesus in there," said the boy.
The surgeon looked to the parents, who sat quietly.
"When I see how much damage has been done, I'll sew your heart and chest back up, and I'll plan what to do next."
"But you'll find Jesus in my heart. The Bible says He lives there. The hymns all say He lives there. You'll find Him in my heart."
The surgeon had had enough.
"I'll tell you what I'll find in your heart. I'll find damaged muscle, low blood supply, and weakened vessels. And I'll find out if I can make you well."
"You'll find Jesus there too. He lives there."
The surgeon left.
The surgeon sat in his office, recording his notes from the surgery, "...damaged aorta, damaged pulmonary vein, widespread muscle degeneration. No hope for transplant, no hope for cure. Therapy: painkillers and bed rest. Prognosis:, " here he paused, "death within one year." He stopped the recorder, but there was more to be said. "Why?" he asked aloud. "Why did You do this? You've put him here; You've put him in this pain; and You've cursed him to an early death. Why?"
The Lord answered and said, "The boy, My lamb, was not meant for your flock for long, for he is a part of My flock, and will forever be. Here, in My flock, he will feel no pain, and will be comforted as you cannot imagine. His parents will one day join him here, and they will know peace, and My flock will continue to grow."
The surgeon's tears were hot, but his anger was hotter. "You created that boy, and You created that heart. He'll be dead in months. Why?"
The Lord answered, "The boy, My lamb, shall return to My flock, for He has Done his duty: I did not put My lamb with your flock to lose him, but to retrieve another lost lamb." The surgeon wept..
The surgeon sat beside the boy's bed; the boy's parents sat across from him. The boy awoke and whispered, "Did you cut open my heart?"
"Yes," said the surgeon.
"What did you find?" asked the boy.
"I found Jesus there," said the surgeon.
In His Heart
"Tomorrow morning," the surgeon began, "I'll open up your heart..."
"You'll find Jesus there," the boy interrupted.
The surgeon looked up, annoyed. "I'll cut your heart open," he continued, to see how much damage has been done..."
"But when you open up my heart, you'll find Jesus in there," said the boy.
The surgeon looked to the parents, who sat quietly.
"When I see how much damage has been done, I'll sew your heart and chest back up, and I'll plan what to do next."
"But you'll find Jesus in my heart. The Bible says He lives there. The hymns all say He lives there. You'll find Him in my heart."
The surgeon had had enough.
"I'll tell you what I'll find in your heart. I'll find damaged muscle, low blood supply, and weakened vessels. And I'll find out if I can make you well."
"You'll find Jesus there too. He lives there."
The surgeon left.
The surgeon sat in his office, recording his notes from the surgery, "...damaged aorta, damaged pulmonary vein, widespread muscle degeneration. No hope for transplant, no hope for cure. Therapy: painkillers and bed rest. Prognosis:, " here he paused, "death within one year." He stopped the recorder, but there was more to be said. "Why?" he asked aloud. "Why did You do this? You've put him here; You've put him in this pain; and You've cursed him to an early death. Why?"
The Lord answered and said, "The boy, My lamb, was not meant for your flock for long, for he is a part of My flock, and will forever be. Here, in My flock, he will feel no pain, and will be comforted as you cannot imagine. His parents will one day join him here, and they will know peace, and My flock will continue to grow."
The surgeon's tears were hot, but his anger was hotter. "You created that boy, and You created that heart. He'll be dead in months. Why?"
The Lord answered, "The boy, My lamb, shall return to My flock, for He has Done his duty: I did not put My lamb with your flock to lose him, but to retrieve another lost lamb." The surgeon wept..
The surgeon sat beside the boy's bed; the boy's parents sat across from him. The boy awoke and whispered, "Did you cut open my heart?"
"Yes," said the surgeon.
"What did you find?" asked the boy.
"I found Jesus there," said the surgeon.
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Whisperingstarz
Listen 4 HIS Whisper
Hi MaGaZiNa
That was VERY touching! and beautiful!!
Thank you for sharing it.
Whisper
That was VERY touching! and beautiful!!
Thank you for sharing it.
Whisper
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We Mourn The Passing Of....
http://www.lovethissite.com/silence/
"To have a share in any earthly inheritance is to diminish the share of the other inheritors. In the inheritance of the saints, that which each has, goes to increase the possession of the rest." -George MacDonald (The Inheritance)-
http://www.ccel.org/m/macdonald/unspoken3/unspoken3.htm
http://www.lovethissite.com/silence/
"To have a share in any earthly inheritance is to diminish the share of the other inheritors. In the inheritance of the saints, that which each has, goes to increase the possession of the rest." -George MacDonald (The Inheritance)-
http://www.ccel.org/m/macdonald/unspoken3/unspoken3.htm
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"All that is needed to set the world right enough for me--and no empyrean heaven could be right for me without it--is, that I care for God as He cares for me; that my will and desires keep time and harmony with His music...." -George MacDonald (The Inheritance)-
http://www.lovethissite.com/harmony/
http://www.lovethissite.com/harmony/
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Charlie Coulson
A true account about "Charlie Coulson - The Christian Drummer Boy" taken from an old, out of print book called "Touching Incidents and Remarkable Answers to Prayers."
I was a surgeon in the United States Army during the Civil War. After the battle of Gettysburg, there were hundreds of wounded soldiers in my hospital. Many were wounded so severely that a leg or an arm, or sometimes both, needed to be amputated.
One of these was a boy who had been in the service for only three months. Since he was too young to be a soldier, he had enlisted as a drummer. When my assistants came to give him Chloroform before the amputation, he turned his head and refused it. When they told him that it was the doctor's orders, he said, "Send the doctor to me." I came to his bedside and said, "Young man, why do you refuse the chloroform? When I picked you up on the battlefield, you were so far gone that I almost didn't bother to pick you up. But when you opened those large blue eyes, it occurred to me that you had a mother somewhere who might be thinking of you that very moment. I didn't want you to die on the field, so I had you brought here. But you' ve lost so much blood that you're just too weak to live through an operation without chloroform. You'd better let me give you some."
He laid his hand on mine, looked at me in the face and said, "Doctor, one Sunday afternoon, when I was nine and a half years old, I gave my life to Christ. I learned to trust Him then. I know I can trust Him now. He is my strength. He will support me while you amputate my arm and leg." I asked him
if he would at least let me give him a little brandy.
Again he looked at me and said, "Doctor, when I was about 5-years-old, my mother knelt by my side with her arms around me and said, 'Charlie, I am praying to Jesus that you will never take even one drink of alcohol. Your father died a drunkard, and I've asked God to use you to warn people against the dangers of drinking, and to encourage them to love and serve the Lord.' I am now 17-years-old, and I have never had anything stronger than tea or coffee. There is a very good chance that I am about to die and go into the presence of my God. Would you send me there with brandy on my breath?"
I will never forget the look that boy gave me. At that time I hated Jesus, but I respected that boy's loyalty to His Savior. And when I saw how he loved and trusted Him to the very end, something deeply touched my heart. I did for that boy what I had never done for any other soldier. I asked him if he wanted to see his chaplain.
Chaplain R. knew the boy well from having seen him often at the tent prayer meetings. Taking his hand he said," Charlie, I am sorry to see you like this." "Oh, I am all right, sir," answered Charlie. "The doctor offered me chloroform, but I told him I didn't want any. Then he wanted to give me brandy, which I didn't want either. So now, if my Savior calls me I can go to
Him in my right mind."
"You must not die, Charlie," said the chaplain, "but if the Lord does call you home, is there anything I can do for you after you're gone?" "Chaplain, please reach under my pillow and take my little Bible. My mother's address is inside.
Please send it to her and write a letter for me. Tell her that since I left home I have never let a single day pass, no matter if we were on the march, on the battlefield, or in the hospital, without reading a portion of God's word, and daily praying that He would bless her."
"Is there anything else I can do for you, my lad?" asked the chaplain. "Yes. Please write a letter to the Sunday School teacher of the Sands Street Church in Brooklyn, New York. Tell him that I've never forgotten his encouragement, good advice, and many prayers for me. They have helped me and comforted me through all the dangers of battle. And now, in my dying hour, I thank the Lord for my dear old teacher, and ask Him to bless and strengthen him. That is all."
Then turning to me, he said, "I'm ready, doctor. I promise I won't even groan while you take off my arm and leg, if you don't offer me chloroform." I promised, but I didn't have the courage to take knife in my hand without first going into the next room and taking a little brandy myself.
While cutting through the flesh, Charlie Coulson never groaned. But when I took the saw to separate the bone, the lad took the corner of his pillow in his mouth and all I could hear him whisper was, "O Jesus, blessed Jesus! Stand by me now." He kept his promise. He never groaned.
I couldn't sleep that night. Whichever way I tossed and turned I saw those soft blue eyes. The words, "Blessed Jesus. Stand by me now" kept ringing in my ears. A little after midnight, I finally left my bed and visited the hospital - something I had never done before unless there was an emergency. I had such
a strange and strong desire to see that boy. When I got there, an orderly told me that 16 of the badly wounded soldiers had died. "Was Charlie Coulson one of them?" I asked. "No,sir," he answered. "He's sleeping as sweet as a babe."
When I came to his bed, one of the nurses said, "at about 9 o'clock two members of the YMCA came through the hospital to sing a hymn. Chaplain R. was with them. He knelt by Charlie's bed and offered a fervent and soul-stirring prayer. Then, while still on their knees, they sang one of the sweetest of all hymns, 'Jesus, Lover Of My Soul.' Charlie sang along with them, too. I couldn't understand how that boy, who was in such horrible pain, could sing."
Five days after I performed the operation, Charlie sent for me, and it was from him that I heard my first Gospel sermon. "Doctor," he said,"my time has come. I don't expect to see another sunrise. I want to thank you with all my heart for your kindness to me. I know you are Jewish, and that you do not believe in Jesus, but I want you to stay and see me die trusting my Savior to the last moment of my life."
I tried to stay, but I just couldn't. I didn't have the courage to stand by and see a Christian boy die rejoicing in the love of that Jesus who I hated. So I hurriedly left the room.
About 20 minutes later, an orderly came and found me sitting in my office with my hands covering my face. He told me that Charlie wanted to see me. "I've just seen him," I answered, "and I can't see him again." "But Doctor, he says
he must see you once more before he dies." So I made up my mind to go and see Charlie, say an endearing word and let him die. However, I was determined that nothing he could say would influence me in the least bit, so far as his Jesus was concerned.
When I entered the hospital I saw he was sinking fast, so I sat down by his bed. Asking me to take his hand, he said, "Doctor, I love you because you are a Jew. The best friend I've found in the world was a Jew." I asked him who that was, and he answered, "Jesus Christ, and I want to introduce you to Him
before I die. Will you promise me, doctor that what I am about to say to you, you will never forget?" I promised, and he said, "5 days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ and asked Him to make His love known to you."
Those words went deep in my heart. I couldn't understand how, when I was causing him the most intense pain, he could forget about himself and think of nothing but the Savior and my unconverted soul. All I could say to him was, "Well, my dear boy, you'll soon be all right." With these words I left him,
and 12 minutes later he fell asleep safe in the arms of his Savior.
Hundreds of soldiers died in my hospital during the war, but I only followed one to the grave, and that was Charlie Coulson. I rode 3 miles to see him buried. I had him dressed in a new uniform, and placed in an officer's coffin, with a United States flag over it.
That boy's dying words made a deep impression on me. I was rich at that time so far as money was concerned, but I would have given every penny I possessed if I could have felt towards Christ as Charlie did. But that feeling cannot be bought with money. Alas, I soon forgot all about my Christian soldier's little sermon, but I could not forget the boy himself.
Looking back, I now know I was under deep conviction of sin at that time. But for nearly 10 years I remained unrepentant, until finally the dear boy's prayer was answered, and I surrendered my life to the love of Jesus.
About a year and a half after my conversion, I went to a prayer meeting one evening in Brooklyn. It was one of those meetings where Christians testify about the lovingkindness of God.
After several had spoken, an elderly lady stood up and said, "Dear friends, this may be the last time I have a chance to publicly share how good the Lord has been to me. My doctor told me yesterday that my right lung is nearly gone and my left lung is failing fast, so at the best I only have a short time to be with you. But what is left of me belongs to Jesus. It's a great joy to know that I shall soon meet my son with Jesus in heaven."
"Charlie was not only a soldier for his country, but also a soldier for Christ. He was wounded at the battle of Gettysburg, and was cared for by a Jewish doctor who amputated his arm and leg. He died 5 days after the operation. The chaplain of the regiment wrote me a letter and sent me my boy's Bible. I was told that in his dying hour my Charlie sent for that Jewish
doctor and said to him, "5 days ago while you amputated my arm and leg I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ for you."
As I heard this lady speak, I just couldn't sit still! I left my seat, ran across the room and taking her hand I said, "God bless you, my dear sister. Your boy's prayer has been heard and answered! I am the Jewish doctor that Charlie prayed for, and his Savior is now my Savior! The love of Jesus has won
my soul!"
[move]"And you, oh child, shall prepare the way for Him, to give His people a knowledge of salvation in the forgiveness of their sins, through the tender compassion of our God."[/move]
http://newhopemusic.com/holy.htm
A true account about "Charlie Coulson - The Christian Drummer Boy" taken from an old, out of print book called "Touching Incidents and Remarkable Answers to Prayers."
I was a surgeon in the United States Army during the Civil War. After the battle of Gettysburg, there were hundreds of wounded soldiers in my hospital. Many were wounded so severely that a leg or an arm, or sometimes both, needed to be amputated.
One of these was a boy who had been in the service for only three months. Since he was too young to be a soldier, he had enlisted as a drummer. When my assistants came to give him Chloroform before the amputation, he turned his head and refused it. When they told him that it was the doctor's orders, he said, "Send the doctor to me." I came to his bedside and said, "Young man, why do you refuse the chloroform? When I picked you up on the battlefield, you were so far gone that I almost didn't bother to pick you up. But when you opened those large blue eyes, it occurred to me that you had a mother somewhere who might be thinking of you that very moment. I didn't want you to die on the field, so I had you brought here. But you' ve lost so much blood that you're just too weak to live through an operation without chloroform. You'd better let me give you some."
He laid his hand on mine, looked at me in the face and said, "Doctor, one Sunday afternoon, when I was nine and a half years old, I gave my life to Christ. I learned to trust Him then. I know I can trust Him now. He is my strength. He will support me while you amputate my arm and leg." I asked him
if he would at least let me give him a little brandy.
Again he looked at me and said, "Doctor, when I was about 5-years-old, my mother knelt by my side with her arms around me and said, 'Charlie, I am praying to Jesus that you will never take even one drink of alcohol. Your father died a drunkard, and I've asked God to use you to warn people against the dangers of drinking, and to encourage them to love and serve the Lord.' I am now 17-years-old, and I have never had anything stronger than tea or coffee. There is a very good chance that I am about to die and go into the presence of my God. Would you send me there with brandy on my breath?"
I will never forget the look that boy gave me. At that time I hated Jesus, but I respected that boy's loyalty to His Savior. And when I saw how he loved and trusted Him to the very end, something deeply touched my heart. I did for that boy what I had never done for any other soldier. I asked him if he wanted to see his chaplain.
Chaplain R. knew the boy well from having seen him often at the tent prayer meetings. Taking his hand he said," Charlie, I am sorry to see you like this." "Oh, I am all right, sir," answered Charlie. "The doctor offered me chloroform, but I told him I didn't want any. Then he wanted to give me brandy, which I didn't want either. So now, if my Savior calls me I can go to
Him in my right mind."
"You must not die, Charlie," said the chaplain, "but if the Lord does call you home, is there anything I can do for you after you're gone?" "Chaplain, please reach under my pillow and take my little Bible. My mother's address is inside.
Please send it to her and write a letter for me. Tell her that since I left home I have never let a single day pass, no matter if we were on the march, on the battlefield, or in the hospital, without reading a portion of God's word, and daily praying that He would bless her."
"Is there anything else I can do for you, my lad?" asked the chaplain. "Yes. Please write a letter to the Sunday School teacher of the Sands Street Church in Brooklyn, New York. Tell him that I've never forgotten his encouragement, good advice, and many prayers for me. They have helped me and comforted me through all the dangers of battle. And now, in my dying hour, I thank the Lord for my dear old teacher, and ask Him to bless and strengthen him. That is all."
Then turning to me, he said, "I'm ready, doctor. I promise I won't even groan while you take off my arm and leg, if you don't offer me chloroform." I promised, but I didn't have the courage to take knife in my hand without first going into the next room and taking a little brandy myself.
While cutting through the flesh, Charlie Coulson never groaned. But when I took the saw to separate the bone, the lad took the corner of his pillow in his mouth and all I could hear him whisper was, "O Jesus, blessed Jesus! Stand by me now." He kept his promise. He never groaned.
I couldn't sleep that night. Whichever way I tossed and turned I saw those soft blue eyes. The words, "Blessed Jesus. Stand by me now" kept ringing in my ears. A little after midnight, I finally left my bed and visited the hospital - something I had never done before unless there was an emergency. I had such
a strange and strong desire to see that boy. When I got there, an orderly told me that 16 of the badly wounded soldiers had died. "Was Charlie Coulson one of them?" I asked. "No,sir," he answered. "He's sleeping as sweet as a babe."
When I came to his bed, one of the nurses said, "at about 9 o'clock two members of the YMCA came through the hospital to sing a hymn. Chaplain R. was with them. He knelt by Charlie's bed and offered a fervent and soul-stirring prayer. Then, while still on their knees, they sang one of the sweetest of all hymns, 'Jesus, Lover Of My Soul.' Charlie sang along with them, too. I couldn't understand how that boy, who was in such horrible pain, could sing."
Five days after I performed the operation, Charlie sent for me, and it was from him that I heard my first Gospel sermon. "Doctor," he said,"my time has come. I don't expect to see another sunrise. I want to thank you with all my heart for your kindness to me. I know you are Jewish, and that you do not believe in Jesus, but I want you to stay and see me die trusting my Savior to the last moment of my life."
I tried to stay, but I just couldn't. I didn't have the courage to stand by and see a Christian boy die rejoicing in the love of that Jesus who I hated. So I hurriedly left the room.
About 20 minutes later, an orderly came and found me sitting in my office with my hands covering my face. He told me that Charlie wanted to see me. "I've just seen him," I answered, "and I can't see him again." "But Doctor, he says
he must see you once more before he dies." So I made up my mind to go and see Charlie, say an endearing word and let him die. However, I was determined that nothing he could say would influence me in the least bit, so far as his Jesus was concerned.
When I entered the hospital I saw he was sinking fast, so I sat down by his bed. Asking me to take his hand, he said, "Doctor, I love you because you are a Jew. The best friend I've found in the world was a Jew." I asked him who that was, and he answered, "Jesus Christ, and I want to introduce you to Him
before I die. Will you promise me, doctor that what I am about to say to you, you will never forget?" I promised, and he said, "5 days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ and asked Him to make His love known to you."
Those words went deep in my heart. I couldn't understand how, when I was causing him the most intense pain, he could forget about himself and think of nothing but the Savior and my unconverted soul. All I could say to him was, "Well, my dear boy, you'll soon be all right." With these words I left him,
and 12 minutes later he fell asleep safe in the arms of his Savior.
Hundreds of soldiers died in my hospital during the war, but I only followed one to the grave, and that was Charlie Coulson. I rode 3 miles to see him buried. I had him dressed in a new uniform, and placed in an officer's coffin, with a United States flag over it.
That boy's dying words made a deep impression on me. I was rich at that time so far as money was concerned, but I would have given every penny I possessed if I could have felt towards Christ as Charlie did. But that feeling cannot be bought with money. Alas, I soon forgot all about my Christian soldier's little sermon, but I could not forget the boy himself.
Looking back, I now know I was under deep conviction of sin at that time. But for nearly 10 years I remained unrepentant, until finally the dear boy's prayer was answered, and I surrendered my life to the love of Jesus.
About a year and a half after my conversion, I went to a prayer meeting one evening in Brooklyn. It was one of those meetings where Christians testify about the lovingkindness of God.
After several had spoken, an elderly lady stood up and said, "Dear friends, this may be the last time I have a chance to publicly share how good the Lord has been to me. My doctor told me yesterday that my right lung is nearly gone and my left lung is failing fast, so at the best I only have a short time to be with you. But what is left of me belongs to Jesus. It's a great joy to know that I shall soon meet my son with Jesus in heaven."
"Charlie was not only a soldier for his country, but also a soldier for Christ. He was wounded at the battle of Gettysburg, and was cared for by a Jewish doctor who amputated his arm and leg. He died 5 days after the operation. The chaplain of the regiment wrote me a letter and sent me my boy's Bible. I was told that in his dying hour my Charlie sent for that Jewish
doctor and said to him, "5 days ago while you amputated my arm and leg I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ for you."
As I heard this lady speak, I just couldn't sit still! I left my seat, ran across the room and taking her hand I said, "God bless you, my dear sister. Your boy's prayer has been heard and answered! I am the Jewish doctor that Charlie prayed for, and his Savior is now my Savior! The love of Jesus has won
my soul!"
[move]"And you, oh child, shall prepare the way for Him, to give His people a knowledge of salvation in the forgiveness of their sins, through the tender compassion of our God."[/move]
http://newhopemusic.com/holy.htm
Upvote
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Whisperingstarz
Listen 4 HIS Whisper
Hi Everyone... Here's hoping you all had a wonderful Christmas, and will have
a Happy, safe, blessed New Year..........all year long..
Whisper
It's a Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from the parking lot yelling, "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 announcement is made: "Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from a '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. It's 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, "It's 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.
Then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, "May we see you for 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 has been left blank.
"H-how many pints?", you ask.
And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he says, "We had no idea it would be little child. We weren't prepared. I'm sorry sir, we need it all!"
"But, but...you don't understand."
"We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We need it all!"
"But can't you give him a transfusion?"
"If we had clean blood we would. Can you sign? Would you sign?" In numb silence, you do.
Then they say, "Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?"
Can you walk back? Can you walk back to that room where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?"
Can 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. Can you leave?" Can you walk out while he is saying, "Daddy? Mommy? Daddy?
"Why, why have you forsaken me?"
And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son...some folks sleep through it...some folks don't even come because they go to the lake or the seashore...some folks come with a pretentious smile and just "pretend" to care. Would you want to jump up and say,
"MY SON DIED FOR YOU! DON'T YOU CARE?"
Is that what GOD wants to say?
"MY SON DIED FOR YOU. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?"
"FATHER, Seeing it from YOUR eyes breaks our hearts.
Maybe now we can begin to comprehend the great Love YOU have for us."
*You can now spread the GOSPEL ..... or just delete this email. If you are not ashamed of GOD or what HE has done for you pass this on. PLEASE spread the word! FOR GOD SO LOVED THIS WORLD, HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON....
a Happy, safe, blessed New Year..........all year long..
Whisper
It's a Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from the parking lot yelling, "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 announcement is made: "Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from a '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. It's 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, "It's 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.
Then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, "May we see you for 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 has been left blank.
"H-how many pints?", you ask.
And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he says, "We had no idea it would be little child. We weren't prepared. I'm sorry sir, we need it all!"
"But, but...you don't understand."
"We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We need it all!"
"But can't you give him a transfusion?"
"If we had clean blood we would. Can you sign? Would you sign?" In numb silence, you do.
Then they say, "Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?"
Can you walk back? Can you walk back to that room where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?"
Can 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. Can you leave?" Can you walk out while he is saying, "Daddy? Mommy? Daddy?
"Why, why have you forsaken me?"
And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son...some folks sleep through it...some folks don't even come because they go to the lake or the seashore...some folks come with a pretentious smile and just "pretend" to care. Would you want to jump up and say,
"MY SON DIED FOR YOU! DON'T YOU CARE?"
Is that what GOD wants to say?
"MY SON DIED FOR YOU. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?"
"FATHER, Seeing it from YOUR eyes breaks our hearts.
Maybe now we can begin to comprehend the great Love YOU have for us."
*You can now spread the GOSPEL ..... or just delete this email. If you are not ashamed of GOD or what HE has done for you pass this on. PLEASE spread the word! FOR GOD SO LOVED THIS WORLD, HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON....
Upvote
0
Whisperingstarz
Listen 4 HIS Whisper
Everything I need to know about life, I learned from Noah's Ark...
One: Don't miss the boat.
Two: Remember that we are all in the same boat.
Three: Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.
Four: Stay fit. When you're 600 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.
Five: Don't listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.
Six: Build your future on high ground.
Seven: For safety's sake, travel in pairs.
Eight: Speed isn't always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.
Nine: When you're stressed, float a while.
Ten: Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.
Eleven: No matter the storm, when you are with God, there's always a rainbow waiting.
One: Don't miss the boat.
Two: Remember that we are all in the same boat.
Three: Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.
Four: Stay fit. When you're 600 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.
Five: Don't listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.
Six: Build your future on high ground.
Seven: For safety's sake, travel in pairs.
Eight: Speed isn't always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.
Nine: When you're stressed, float a while.
Ten: Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.
Eleven: No matter the storm, when you are with God, there's always a rainbow waiting.
Sorry... I had a great picture to go with it, but I haven't
posted enough to be able to add one. 
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M
MaGaZiNa
Guest
Gosh, :*(, bummer about the picture!! That bites that we have to have a certain amount to post one.
Upvote
0
M
MaGaZiNa
Guest
The Filling Station
>====================
>
>The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve.
>He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away.
>He had no decorations, no tree, no lights. It was just another
>day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a
>reason to celebrate. There were no children in his life.
>His wife had gone.
>
>He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling
>for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the
>door opened and a homeless man stepped through. Instead of
>throwing the man out, George, Old George as he was known by
>his customers, told the man to come and sit by the space
>heater and warmup.
>
>"Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger.
>"I see you're busy. I'll just go"
>
>"Not without something hot in your belly," George turned and
>opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger.
>"It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew. Made it myself.
>When you're done there's coffee and it's fresh."
>
>Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell.
>"Excuse me, be right back," George said.
>
>There in the driveway was an old 53 Chevy. Steam was rolling
>out of the front. The driver was panicked.
>
>"Mister can you help me!" said the driver with a deep Spanish
>accent. "My wife is with child and my car is broken."
>
>George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked
>from the cold; the car was dead. "You ain't going in this
>thing," George said as he turned away.
>
>"But mister. Please help...."The door of the office closed
>behind George as he went in. George went to the office wall
>and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside.
>He walked around the building and opened the garage, started the
>truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting.
>
>"Here, you can borrow my truck," he said. "She ain't the best
>thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good."
>
>George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it
>sped off into the night. George turned and walked back inside
>the office.
>
>"Glad I loaned em the truck. Their tires were shot too.
>That 'ol truck has brand new tires........" George thought he
>was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The thermos
>was on the desk, empty with a used coffee cup beside it.
>
>"Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought.
>George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start.
>It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage
>where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it
>for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers.
>He discovered the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom
>hose on the radiator.
>
>"Well, I can fix this," he said to himself. So he put a new one
>on. "Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter
>either." He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln.
>They were like new and he wasn't going to drive the car.
>
>As he was working he heard a shot being fired. He ran outside
>and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground.
>Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Help me."
>George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training
>he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound
>needed attention.
>
>"Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The laundry
>company had been there that morning and had left clean shop
>towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound.
>
>"Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to
>make the policeman feel at ease. "Something for pain," George
>thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. "These
>ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the
>policeman the pills.
>
>"You hang in there. I'm going to get you an ambulance." George
>said, but the phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your
>buddies on that there talk box out in your police car."
>
>He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the
>dashboard destroying the two way radio. He went back in to find
>the policeman sitting up.
>
>"Thanks," said the officer. "You could have left me there.
>The guy that shot me is still in the area."
>
>George sat down beside him. "I would never leave an injured man
>in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the
>bandage to check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is.
>Bullet passed right through 'ya. Good thing it missed the
>important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right
>as rain."
>
>George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?"
>he asked.
>
>"None for me," said the officer.
>
>"Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city." Then George
>added: "Too bad I ain't got no donuts."
>
>The officer laughed and winced at the same time. The front door
>of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun.
>
>"Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled.
>His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never
>done anything like this before.
>
>"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.
>
>"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George. "You need to put
>the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt."
>
>The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot
>you, too. Now give me the cash!"
>The cop was reaching for his gun.
>
>"Put that thing away," George said to the cop. "We got one too
>many in here now."
>
>He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas
>Eve. If you need the money, well then, here. It ain't much but
>it's all I got. Now put that pee shooter away."
>
>George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young
>man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The
>young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and
>began to cry.
>
>"I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy
>something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my job.
>My rent is due. My car got repossessed last week..."
>
>George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of
>squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we
>make it through the best we can."
>
>He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair
>across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things." George
>handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Being stupid is one of
>the things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't
>the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this
>thing out."
>
>The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop.
>"Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."
>
>"Shut up and drink your coffee." the cop said.
>
>George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car
>and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the
>door, guns drawn.
>
>"Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.
>
>"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"
>
>"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who
>did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man.
>
>Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the
>dark. Just dropped his gun and ran."
>
>George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.
>"That guy works here," the wounded cop continued.
>
>"Yep," George said. "Just hired him this morning. Boy lost his
>job."
>
>The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher.
>The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered,
>"Why?"
>
>Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas, boy. And you too, George,
>and thanks for everything."
>
>"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That
>ought to solve some of your problems." George went into the
>back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box.
>
>"Here you go. Something for the little woman. I don't think
>Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day."
>
>The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he
>ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young man.
>"It means something to you."
>
>"And now it means something to you," replied George.
>"I got my memories. That's all I need."
>
>George reached into the box again. A toy airplane, a racing
>car and a little metal truck appeared next. They were toys
>that the oil company had left for him to sell. "Here's
>something for that little man of yours."
>
>The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150
>that the old man had handed him earlier. "And what are you
>supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that, too.
>Count it as part of your first week's pay." George said.
>"Now git home to your family."
>
>The young man turned with tears streaming down his face.
>"I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is
>still good."
>
>"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the
>day after."
>
>George turned around to find that the stranger had returned.
>"Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"
>
>"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger.
>"You say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?"
>
>"Well, after my wife passed away I just couldn't see what all
>the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a
>good pine tree. Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just
>wasn't the same by myself and besides I was getting a little
>chubby."
>
>The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do
>celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and
>warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child
>will bear a son and he will become a great doctor.
>
>The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being
>killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will
>become a rich man and share his wealth with many people.
>
>That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any
>man."
>
>George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how
>do you know all this?" asked the old man.
>
>"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of
>thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha
>again." The stranger moved toward the door.
>
>"If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to
>go home where there is a big celebration planned."
>
>George watched as the man's old leather jacket and his torn
>pants turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill
>the room.
>
>"You see, George, it's My birthday. Merry Christmas."
>
>Author Unknown
>====================
>
>The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve.
>He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away.
>He had no decorations, no tree, no lights. It was just another
>day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a
>reason to celebrate. There were no children in his life.
>His wife had gone.
>
>He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling
>for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the
>door opened and a homeless man stepped through. Instead of
>throwing the man out, George, Old George as he was known by
>his customers, told the man to come and sit by the space
>heater and warmup.
>
>"Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger.
>"I see you're busy. I'll just go"
>
>"Not without something hot in your belly," George turned and
>opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger.
>"It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew. Made it myself.
>When you're done there's coffee and it's fresh."
>
>Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell.
>"Excuse me, be right back," George said.
>
>There in the driveway was an old 53 Chevy. Steam was rolling
>out of the front. The driver was panicked.
>
>"Mister can you help me!" said the driver with a deep Spanish
>accent. "My wife is with child and my car is broken."
>
>George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked
>from the cold; the car was dead. "You ain't going in this
>thing," George said as he turned away.
>
>"But mister. Please help...."The door of the office closed
>behind George as he went in. George went to the office wall
>and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside.
>He walked around the building and opened the garage, started the
>truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting.
>
>"Here, you can borrow my truck," he said. "She ain't the best
>thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good."
>
>George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it
>sped off into the night. George turned and walked back inside
>the office.
>
>"Glad I loaned em the truck. Their tires were shot too.
>That 'ol truck has brand new tires........" George thought he
>was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The thermos
>was on the desk, empty with a used coffee cup beside it.
>
>"Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought.
>George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start.
>It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage
>where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it
>for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers.
>He discovered the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom
>hose on the radiator.
>
>"Well, I can fix this," he said to himself. So he put a new one
>on. "Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter
>either." He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln.
>They were like new and he wasn't going to drive the car.
>
>As he was working he heard a shot being fired. He ran outside
>and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground.
>Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Help me."
>George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training
>he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound
>needed attention.
>
>"Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The laundry
>company had been there that morning and had left clean shop
>towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound.
>
>"Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to
>make the policeman feel at ease. "Something for pain," George
>thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. "These
>ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the
>policeman the pills.
>
>"You hang in there. I'm going to get you an ambulance." George
>said, but the phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your
>buddies on that there talk box out in your police car."
>
>He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the
>dashboard destroying the two way radio. He went back in to find
>the policeman sitting up.
>
>"Thanks," said the officer. "You could have left me there.
>The guy that shot me is still in the area."
>
>George sat down beside him. "I would never leave an injured man
>in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the
>bandage to check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is.
>Bullet passed right through 'ya. Good thing it missed the
>important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right
>as rain."
>
>George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?"
>he asked.
>
>"None for me," said the officer.
>
>"Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city." Then George
>added: "Too bad I ain't got no donuts."
>
>The officer laughed and winced at the same time. The front door
>of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun.
>
>"Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled.
>His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never
>done anything like this before.
>
>"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.
>
>"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George. "You need to put
>the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt."
>
>The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot
>you, too. Now give me the cash!"
>The cop was reaching for his gun.
>
>"Put that thing away," George said to the cop. "We got one too
>many in here now."
>
>He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas
>Eve. If you need the money, well then, here. It ain't much but
>it's all I got. Now put that pee shooter away."
>
>George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young
>man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The
>young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and
>began to cry.
>
>"I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy
>something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my job.
>My rent is due. My car got repossessed last week..."
>
>George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of
>squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we
>make it through the best we can."
>
>He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair
>across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things." George
>handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Being stupid is one of
>the things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't
>the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this
>thing out."
>
>The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop.
>"Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."
>
>"Shut up and drink your coffee." the cop said.
>
>George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car
>and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the
>door, guns drawn.
>
>"Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.
>
>"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"
>
>"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who
>did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man.
>
>Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the
>dark. Just dropped his gun and ran."
>
>George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.
>"That guy works here," the wounded cop continued.
>
>"Yep," George said. "Just hired him this morning. Boy lost his
>job."
>
>The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher.
>The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered,
>"Why?"
>
>Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas, boy. And you too, George,
>and thanks for everything."
>
>"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That
>ought to solve some of your problems." George went into the
>back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box.
>
>"Here you go. Something for the little woman. I don't think
>Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day."
>
>The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he
>ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young man.
>"It means something to you."
>
>"And now it means something to you," replied George.
>"I got my memories. That's all I need."
>
>George reached into the box again. A toy airplane, a racing
>car and a little metal truck appeared next. They were toys
>that the oil company had left for him to sell. "Here's
>something for that little man of yours."
>
>The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150
>that the old man had handed him earlier. "And what are you
>supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that, too.
>Count it as part of your first week's pay." George said.
>"Now git home to your family."
>
>The young man turned with tears streaming down his face.
>"I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is
>still good."
>
>"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the
>day after."
>
>George turned around to find that the stranger had returned.
>"Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"
>
>"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger.
>"You say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?"
>
>"Well, after my wife passed away I just couldn't see what all
>the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a
>good pine tree. Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just
>wasn't the same by myself and besides I was getting a little
>chubby."
>
>The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do
>celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and
>warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child
>will bear a son and he will become a great doctor.
>
>The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being
>killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will
>become a rich man and share his wealth with many people.
>
>That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any
>man."
>
>George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how
>do you know all this?" asked the old man.
>
>"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of
>thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha
>again." The stranger moved toward the door.
>
>"If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to
>go home where there is a big celebration planned."
>
>George watched as the man's old leather jacket and his torn
>pants turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill
>the room.
>
>"You see, George, it's My birthday. Merry Christmas."
>
>Author Unknown
Upvote
0
Whisperingstarz
Listen 4 HIS Whisper
I haven't seen him about for awhile ... he did say he and his family were going traveling... but I did see him on once or twice since then...
Whisper
Whisper
Upvote
0
Whisperingstarz
Listen 4 HIS Whisper
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark
except for a single light in a ground floor window.
Under these circumstances, many drivers would
just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive
away.
But, I had seen too many impoverished people who
depended on taxis as their only means of transportation.
Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to
the door. This passenger might be someone who
needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute",
answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something
being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman
in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress
and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like
somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small
suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had
lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with
sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks
utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard
box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said.
I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to
assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the
curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's
nothing", I told her.
"I just try to treat my
passengers the way I would want my mother treated".
"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said. When we
got in the cab, she gave me an address,
then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.
"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry.
I'm on my way to a hospice".
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were
glistening. "I don't have
any family left," she continued. "The doctor says
I don't have very long."
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city.
She showed me the building where she had once worked as
an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her
husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had
me pull up in front of
a furniture warehouse that had once been a
ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a
particular building or corner and would sit
staring into the darkness,saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon,
she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We
drove in silence to the address she had given
me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a
driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as
we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent,
watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her. I opened the
trunk and took the small suitcase to the door.
The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into
her purse.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.
She held onto me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little
moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim
morning light.
Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the
closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift.
I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of
that day, I could hardly talk.
What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or
one who was impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had
honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done
anything more important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that
our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware -
beautifully wrapped in what others may consider
a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT
YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID,
BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM
FEEL.
Author Unknown
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark
except for a single light in a ground floor window.
Under these circumstances, many drivers would
just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive
away.
But, I had seen too many impoverished people who
depended on taxis as their only means of transportation.
Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to
the door. This passenger might be someone who
needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute",
answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something
being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman
in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress
and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like
somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small
suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had
lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with
sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks
utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard
box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said.
I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to
assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the
curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's
nothing", I told her.
"I just try to treat my
passengers the way I would want my mother treated".
"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said. When we
got in the cab, she gave me an address,
then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.
"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry.
I'm on my way to a hospice".
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were
glistening. "I don't have
any family left," she continued. "The doctor says
I don't have very long."
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city.
She showed me the building where she had once worked as
an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her
husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had
me pull up in front of
a furniture warehouse that had once been a
ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a
particular building or corner and would sit
staring into the darkness,saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon,
she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We
drove in silence to the address she had given
me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a
driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as
we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent,
watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her. I opened the
trunk and took the small suitcase to the door.
The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into
her purse.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.
She held onto me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little
moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim
morning light.
Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the
closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift.
I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of
that day, I could hardly talk.
What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or
one who was impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had
honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done
anything more important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that
our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware -
beautifully wrapped in what others may consider
a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT
YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID,
BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM
FEEL.
Author Unknown
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0
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Consider making a one-time or monthly donation. We appreciate your support!
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M
MaGaZiNa
Guest
Just wanna say hi to everyone! I am so exhausted..this past week was finals week...my goodness, why must they torture us with sooOOoo much stress!!?
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Zina: this stress must stop immediately! Take a few moments, turn on your audio and enjoy the following.....MaGaZiNa said:
http://www.dayspring.com/movies/webmovies/names.html
Greetings everyone.
I have missed you and hope to return again with a few more stories for your viewing pleasure.
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Bad Day
If you think YOU'RE having a bad day, the following true story should help put everything in perspective.
Seems a couple got a brand new, top of the line, Jeep Cherokee for Christmas and drove it to visit relatives in Michigan. The guys decided to do that male bonding ritual of duck hunting. So they load up the Cherokee with decoys, food, beer, guns, warm clothes, etc. and head off for the lake. Now it's a little known fact that when duck hunting in cold climates like that, it's common to drive the truck out onto the ice.
It's also a little known fact that, to break a hole in the ice for the decoys, a stick of dynamite is commonly used. (We are talking Michigan.) Now this particular stick of dynamite had a short fuse, estimated at 20 seconds or so. Normally you put the dynamite on the ice, light the fuse, and run away. But with only 20 seconds they didn't want to do that, they might slip while running. So the guy lights the fuse and throws the stick of dynamite out onto the ice.
Next thing you know, their well-trained Labrador Retriever dashes out onto the ice and, just as he's done several times before, picks up the stick (of lit dynamite) in his mouth and starts running back to the group of guys. The guys start yelling at the dog but, as he's played fetch so many times before, he just keeps bringing the stick back to his master. One of the guys thinks fast and loads his shotgun, and shoots the dog. As it's loaded with bird shot the dog isn't hurt much, but is confused. The guy shoots the dog again. The dog gets scared and runs, stick in his mouth, under the Cherokee.
The Cherokee is now at the bottom of the lake. The insurance company won't pay up because it was destroyed due to an illegal use of explosives.
The first payment of $475 was due December 15. Only 59 more to go...
Please Note:
That is a funny story (if you have a slightly macabre sense of humor, at least), however.....
I'm afraid it not true. Read all about it at:
http://www.snopes.com/critters/cruelty/dynamite.htm
If you think YOU'RE having a bad day, the following true story should help put everything in perspective.
Seems a couple got a brand new, top of the line, Jeep Cherokee for Christmas and drove it to visit relatives in Michigan. The guys decided to do that male bonding ritual of duck hunting. So they load up the Cherokee with decoys, food, beer, guns, warm clothes, etc. and head off for the lake. Now it's a little known fact that when duck hunting in cold climates like that, it's common to drive the truck out onto the ice.
It's also a little known fact that, to break a hole in the ice for the decoys, a stick of dynamite is commonly used. (We are talking Michigan.) Now this particular stick of dynamite had a short fuse, estimated at 20 seconds or so. Normally you put the dynamite on the ice, light the fuse, and run away. But with only 20 seconds they didn't want to do that, they might slip while running. So the guy lights the fuse and throws the stick of dynamite out onto the ice.
Next thing you know, their well-trained Labrador Retriever dashes out onto the ice and, just as he's done several times before, picks up the stick (of lit dynamite) in his mouth and starts running back to the group of guys. The guys start yelling at the dog but, as he's played fetch so many times before, he just keeps bringing the stick back to his master. One of the guys thinks fast and loads his shotgun, and shoots the dog. As it's loaded with bird shot the dog isn't hurt much, but is confused. The guy shoots the dog again. The dog gets scared and runs, stick in his mouth, under the Cherokee.
The Cherokee is now at the bottom of the lake. The insurance company won't pay up because it was destroyed due to an illegal use of explosives.
The first payment of $475 was due December 15. Only 59 more to go...
Please Note:
That is a funny story (if you have a slightly macabre sense of humor, at least), however.....
I'm afraid it not true. Read all about it at:
http://www.snopes.com/critters/cruelty/dynamite.htm
Upvote
0
This site stays free and accessible to all because of donations from people like you.
Consider making a one-time or monthly donation. We appreciate your support!
- Dan Doughty and Team Christian Forums
Jesus Is The Only
http://www.dayspring.com/movies/webmovies/names.html
"A LOVING PERSONALITY DOMINATES THE BIBLE, walking among the trees of the garden and breathing fragrance over every scene. Always a Living Person is present, speaking, pleading, loving, working, and manifesting Himself wherever His people have the receptivity necessary to receive the manifestation." -A. W. Tozer-
Father's Love Letter
http://www.fathersloveletter.com/fllpreviewlarge.html
http://www.dayspring.com/movies/webmovies/names.html
"A LOVING PERSONALITY DOMINATES THE BIBLE, walking among the trees of the garden and breathing fragrance over every scene. Always a Living Person is present, speaking, pleading, loving, working, and manifesting Himself wherever His people have the receptivity necessary to receive the manifestation." -A. W. Tozer-
Father's Love Letter
http://www.fathersloveletter.com/fllpreviewlarge.html
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