My Stories

A man went to a barber shop to have his hair and his beard
cut as always. He started to have a good conversation with
the barber who attended him. They talked about so many
things and various subjects. Suddenly, they touched the
subject of God. The barber said:
"Look man, I don't believe that God exists as you say so."
"Why do you say that?" asked the client.
"Well, it's so easy, you just have to go out in the street
to realize that God does not exist. Tell me, if God exists,
would there be so many sick people? Would there be
abandoned children? If God exists, there would be no
suffering nor pain. I can't think of a God who permits all
of these things."
The client stopped for a moment thinking but he didn't want
to respond so as to prevent an argument. The barber
finished his job and the client went out of the shop. Just
after he left the barber shop he saw a man in the street
with a long hair and beard (it seems that it had been a long
time since he had his hair cut and he looked so untidy).
Then the client again entered the barber shop and he said
to the barber:

"know what? Barbers do not exist."
"How come they don't exist?"-asked the barber. "Well I am
here and I am a barber."
"No!" the client exclaimed. "They don't exist because if
they did there would be no people with long hair and beards
like that man who walks in the street."
"Ah, barbers do exist, what happens is that people do not
come to us."
"Exactly!"- affirmed the client. "That's the point. God
does exist, what happens is people don't go to Him and
do not look for Him that's why there's so much pain and
suffering in the world."

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on the end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots was perfectly made and never leaked. The other pot had a crack in it and by the time the water bearer reached his master's house it had leaked much of it's water and was only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you." "Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?" "I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again the pot apologized to the bearer for its failure.
The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But if we will allow it, God will use our flaws to grace his table. In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste. Don't be afraid of your flaws. Acknowledge them, and you too can be the cause of beauty. Know that in our weakness we find our strength.

Author Unknown

There was once an elderly, despondent woman in a nursing home. She wouldn't speak to anyone or request anything. She merely existed - rocking in her creaky old rocking chair.
The old woman didn't have many visitors. But every couple mornings, a concerned and wise young nurse would go into her room. She didn't try to speak or ask questions of the old lady. She simply pulled up another rocking chair beside the old woman and rocked with her.
Weeks or months later, the old woman finally spoke.

'Thank you,' she said. 'Thank you for rocking with me.'"

Amidst the morning mist of the swift returning tide
I set out on my daily run, my walkman on my side.
Lost within my private world apart from cares and woes
I ran along the moistened shore, the sand between my toes.

In the distance, I saw a boy, as busy as can be.
He was running, stooping, picking up, and tossing in the sea.
Just what he threw, I couldn't tell, I looked as I drew near.
It seemed to be a rock or shell - as I approached him I could hear:
"Back you go, where you belong. Your safe now hurry home.
Your family's waiting for you little starfish, hurry on!"
It seemed the evening tide had washed the starfish on the shore,
And the swift receding water left a thousand there or more.

And this self-appointed savior, was trying one-by-one
To toss them back into the sea, against the racing sun.
I saw his plight was hopeless, that most of them would die.
I called out from my private world, "Hey Kid, why even try?"

"Must be at least a thousand here, strewn along the beach,
And even if you had the time, most you'll never reach.
You really think it makes a difference, to waste your time this way?"
And then I paused and waited, just to hear what he would say.

He stooped and took another, and looked me in the eye.
"It makes a difference to this one sir, this starfish will not die!"
With that, he tossed the little life, back where there was hope.
He stooped to take another. I could tell this was no joke.

The words that he spoke to me cut like a surgeon's knife.
Where I saw only numbers, he saw only life.
He didn't see the multitude of starfish on the sand.
He only saw the little life he held there in his hand.

He didn't stop to argue, to prove that he was right.
He just kept tossing starfish in the sea with all his might.
So I too stooped, and I picked up, and I tossed into the sea,
And I thought, just what a difference, that this boy has made in me.

By Randy Poole

An elderly carpenter was ready to retire. He told
his employer-contractor of his plans to leave the
house building business and live a more leisurely
life with his wife enjoying his extended family.
He would miss the paycheck, but he needed to retire.
They could get by. The contractor was sorry to see
his good worker go and asked if he could build just
one more house as a personal favor. The carpenter
said yes, but in time it was easy to see that his
heart was not in his work. He resorted to shoddy
workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an
unfortunate way to end his career.

When the carpenter finished his work and the builder came to inspect the house, the contractor handed the front-door key to the carpenter. "This is your house, " he said, "my gift to you."

What a shock! What a shame! If he had only known he
was building his own house, he would have done it all
so differently. Now he had to live in the home he had
built none too well.

So it is with us. We build our lives in a distracted
way, reacting rather than acting, willing to put up
less than the best. At important points we do not give
the job our best effort. Then with a shock we look at
the situation we have created and find that we are now
living in the house we have built. If we had realized
that we would have done it differently.

Think of yourself as the carpenter. Think about your
house. Each day you hammer a nail, place a board, or
erect a wall. Build wisely. It is the only life you will
ever build. Even if you live it for only one day more,
that day deserves to be lived graciously and with dignity.
The plaque on the wall says, "Life is a do-it-yourself
project." Your life tomorrow will be the result of your
attitudes and the choices you make today.

Find Angel

In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry
babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was
gone.The boys ranged from three months to seven years;
theirsister was two.

Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they
feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the
gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their
beds. He did manage to leave 15 dollars a week to buy
groceries. Now that he had decided to leave, there would
be no more beatings, but no food either. If there was
a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that
time, I certainly knew nothing about it.

I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then
put on my best homemade dress. I loaded them into the
rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job. The seven
of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our
small town. No luck.The kids stayed, crammed into the car
and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whomever
would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything.
I had to have a job. Still no luck.
The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town,
was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been
converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel.
An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked
out of the window from time to time at all those kids.
She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night
until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour and
I could start that night.
I raced home and called the teenager down the street that
baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and
sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive
with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep.
This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a
deal. That night when the little ones and I knelt to say
our prayers we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job.
And so I started at the Big Wheel.
When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter
up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money -
fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks
went by, heating bills added another strain to my meager
wage. The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of
penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them
with air on the way to work and again every morning
before I could go home. One bleak fall morning, I dragged
myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the
back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just
those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up
residence in Indiana? I wondered. I made a deal with the
owner of the local service station. In exchange for his
mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I
remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than
it did for him to do the tires.
I was now working six nights instead of five and it still
wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would
be no money for toys for the kids. I found a can of red
paint and started repairing and painting some old toys.
Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something
for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a
worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the
boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee
in the Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and
Jim, and a state trooper named Joe. A few musicians were
hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping
nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat
around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and
then left to get home before the sun came up. When it was
time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning
I hurried to the car. I was hoping the kids wouldn't wake up
before I managed to get home and get the presents from the
basement and place them under the tree.
(We had cut down a small cedar tree by the side of the road
down by the dump.)
It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared
to be some dark shadows in the car - or was that just a trick
of the night? Something certainly looked different, but it was
hard to tell what. When I reached the car I peered warily
into one of the side windows. Then my jaw dropped in amazement.
My old battered Chevy was full to the top with boxes of all
shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door,
scrambled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat. Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was
a whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside
another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.
Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes: There were candy
and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an
enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.
There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and
flour. There was a whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning
items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little
doll. As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly
rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was
sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the
fac es of my littleones that precious morning.
Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December.
And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.

Hospital Windows - Author Unknown
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.
The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.
And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and
swans played on the water while children sailed their model
boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every
color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape,
and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite
detail, the man on the other side of the room would close
his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade
passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band -
he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the
window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed.
One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their
baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window,
who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and
called the hospital attendants to take the body away. As soon
as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be
moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the
switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.
Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to
take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would
have the joy of seeing it for himself.
He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the
bed. It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what
could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described
such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse
responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.
She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

====

If you are blind, could you draw for others? (like Claude Monet)
If you are deaf, could you compose for others? (like Beethoven)
If you are exhausted after work, could you fix delicious food for your family? (like a mother)
If you have trouble in your job, could you meet your family with smile and hugs when you get back home? (like a father)
Love people around you...

Administrator of Find Angel.
With my best wishes to you, Angels! Have a happy Easter.

When your 15 and nothing is filled with hope and all you keep reaching for is evil, tainted and dark, it's real easy to lose everything in the blink of an eye.
All I had was my so called "friends" to lean on.I kept screaming in his face and he just kept screaming back. "I hate you so much,I'd like to VOMIT when I see your face"I screamed. "Get out of my house before I wake up or you're THROUGH!" We never did get along very well ever since I had turned about 10.I was his baby girl until I grew up and stopped getting his beer and obeying his every word.I had this friend,Tasha was her name.We used to sit in the electrical room and smoke ciggarettes I used to steal from my parents, I thought I was cool....I smelled like a dirty, ash filled shoe.I went out at 6 pm and didn't bother to grace any one in my family with my presence until about 4 am.I loved drinking until his voice faded from my mind.My boyfriend held my hips as I passed the joint and lost all reality.It was simple....I couldn't think about how much I hated him or myself for that matter if I couldn't think at all.My "friends" kept telling me that everything I was doing was reasonable and if I hurt him,he deserved it.I believed everything they said...after all they were supplying my drugs, my pretend wolrd of "O.K".
*Story not end, click "Read More" for the rest part.

I would walk in on him comforting my mother, who by this point was drowning in her tears because of me.I didn't care though, I was dilusional and happy with it.One night we found an abandoned apartment and decided this little secluded haven was perfect for partying that night.I smoked myself stupid and drank myself into oblivion.I guess thats why it didn't matter so much when the cops came and arrested us all.I guess when you're 15 and stoned out of your mind being arrested can be funny but oh was I wrong when I sobered up.Long story short the cops decided to give the punishment rights to my parents....I'd rather be in jail.Three days of the silent treatment,complete with the cold shoulder until my plane took off, was pure agony.Thursday morning at 6am my plane took off to my grandmothers house in Flordia,banned from the family,exiled.I was angry and then I didn't understand why I was being sent away for one little mistake.Over the almost seven months I spent in complete solitude I started to realize just how many people I hurt and just how bad.My mother was completely scarred by me.After a passing birthday of sitting in a lonely driveway and eating my birthday cake all alone, I started to feel like I had lost all sense of myself.Which wasn't a big surprise, considering the person I was before I was sent away was a pretend diluted version of who I really was.They finally called.I heard my mothers voice,I mean really heard her voice for the first time in almost 7 months.I felt this rush of pain flow over me.The pain of hurting her over and over again for no reason what-so-ever.All the therapy, all the talking and talking and talking had finally paid off.I was finally ready to go home.When I walked back into that house I cringed.I could feel everything...every cry,every angry fight they had over me and the bilgerance of my mother....still standing up for me.Even after all I had done, she still stood by,faith never failing,her love never waivering. I had hurt the one person who EVER truly loved me...not because she thought she had to but because she just did.Every thing I once found important didn't seem so special anymore.Now I feel lucky to be able to spend the little bit of time I do with her.Every second I can be held by her like I'm her baby again is precious and no amount of drugs or "friends" can ever stray me from that again.
I had finaly grown up and realized that blurring or numbing my pain with drugs and fake friends to surrond myself with wasn't helping me.It in fact was killing me.If they hadn't sent me away when they did...I'm sure my tombstone would have been beautiful.
I am an angel...my wings just got burnt while falling to the ground....

Forwarded Email from Mary Owen:
A minister passing through his church
in the middle of the day,
Decided to pause by the altar
and see who had come to pray.
Just then the back door opened,
a man came down the aisle,
The minister frowned as he saw
the man hadn't shaved in a while.
His shirt was kinda shabby
and his coat was worn and frayed,
the man knelt, he bowed his head,
Then rose and walked away.
In the days that followed,
each noon time came this chap,
each time he knelt just for a moment,
A lunch pail in his lap.

Well, the minister's suspicions grew,
with robbery a main fear,
He decided to stop the man and ask him,
"What are you doing here?"
The old man said, he worked down the road.
Lunch was half an hour.
Lunchtime was his prayer time,
For finding strength and power.
"I stay only moments, see,
because the factory is so far away;
as I kneel here talking to the Lord,
This is kinda what I say:
"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD,
HOW HAPPY I'VE BEEN,
SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER'S FRIENDSHIP
AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN.
DON'T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY,
BUT I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY.
SO, JESUS, THIS IS JIM
CHECKING IN TODAY."
The minister feeling foolish,
told Jim, that was fine.
He told the man he was welcome
To come and pray just anytime.
Time to go, Jim smiled, said "Thanks."
He hurried to the door.
The minister knelt at the altar,
he'd never done it before.
His cold heart melted, warmed with love,
and met with Jesus there.
As the tears flowed, in his heart,
he repeated old Jim's prayer:
"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD,
HOW HAPPY I'VE BEEN,
SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER'S FRIENDSHIP
AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN.
I DON'T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I
THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY.
SO, JESUS, THIS IS ME CHECKING IN TODAY."
Past noon one day, the minister noticed
that old Jim hadn't come.
As more days passed without Jim,
he began to worry some.
At the factory, he asked about him,
learning he was ill.
The hospital staff was worried,
But he'd given them a thrill.
The week that Jim was with them,
Brought changes in the ward.
His smiles, a joy contagious.
Changed people, were his reward.
The head nurse couldn't understand
why Jim was so glad,
when no flowers, calls or cards came,
Not a visitor he had.
The minister stayed by his bed,
He voiced the nurse's concern:
No friends came to show they cared.
He had nowhere to turn.
Looking surprised, old Jim spoke
up and with a winsome smile;
"the nurse is wrong, she couldn't know,
that in here all the while everyday at noon
He's here, a dear friend of mine, you see,
He sits right down, takes my hand,
Leans over and says to me:
"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, JIM,
HOW HAPPY I HAVE BEEN,
SINCE WE FOUND THIS FRIENDSHIP,
AND I TOOK AWAY YOUR SIN.
ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR YOU PRAY,
I THINK ABOUT YOU EACH DAY,
AND SO JIM, THIS IS JESUS
CHECKING IN TODAY."
If this blesses you, pass it on ...
Many people will walk in and out of your life,
but only true friends will leave
footprints in your heart.
May God hold you in the palm of His hand
and Angels watch over you.
This is too good not to share -
So this is me ... Just Checking In

The older I get, the more I enjoy Saturday mornings. Perhaps
it's the quiet solitude that comes with being the first to
rise, of maybe it's the unbounded joy of not having to be at
work. Either way, the first few hours of a Saturday morning
are most enjoyable.

A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the kitchen, with a
steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in
the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning turned
into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from
time to time.

Let me tell you about it. I turned the volume up on my radio
in order to listen to a Saturday morning talk show.I heard an
older sounding chap with a golden voice. You know the kind,
he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business
himself.

He was talking about "a thousand marbles" to someone named
"Tom". I was intrigued and sat down to listen to what he had
to say. "Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your
job. I'm sure they pay you well but it's a shame you have to
be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a
young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a
week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter's
dance recital. " He continued, "Let me tell you something Tom,
something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my
own priorities." And that's when he began to explain his
theory of a "thousand marbles."
"You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic.
The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know,
some live more and some live less, but on average, folks
live about seventy-five years." "Now then, I multiplied 75
times 52 and I came up with 3900 which is the number of
Saturdays that the average person has in their entire
lifetime.
"Now stick with me Tom, I'm getting to the important part.
"It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about
all this in any detail", he went on, "and by that time I
had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. "I
got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only
had about a thousand of them left to enjoy. "So I went to
a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended
up having to visit three toy stores to round-up 1000 marbles.
"I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear
plastic container right here in my workshop next to the radio.
Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and
thrown
it away.
"I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused
more on the really important things in life. There is nothing
like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get
your priorities straight. "Now let me tell you one last thing
before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for
breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of
the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday then
God has blessed me with a little extra time to be with my
loved ones...... "It was nice to talk to you Tom, I hope you
spend more time with your loved ones, and I hope to meet you
again someday. Have a good morning!"
You could have heard a pin drop when he finished. Even the
show's moderator didn't have anything to say for a few moments.
I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to
do some work that morning, then go to the gym. Instead, I went
upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss. "C'mon honey, I'm
taking you and the kids to breakfast." "What brought this on?"
she asked with a smile. "Oh, nothing special," I said. " It has
just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with
the kids. Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we're out? I
need to buy some marbles."
How many marbles do you have?