Thursday February 12, 2009

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www.wishuponahero.com

February 11, 2009

Quilt Of Holes
As I faced my Maker at the last judgment, I knelt before the Lord along With all the other souls.

Before each of us laid our lives like the squares of a quilt in many piles; An angel sat before each of us sewing our quilt squares together into a Tapestry that is our life.

But as my angel took each piece of cloth off the pile, I noticed how ragged And empty each of my squares was. They were filled with giant holes. Each Square was labeled with a part of my life that had been difficult, the Challenges and temptations I was faced with in every day life. I saw Hardships that I endured, which were the largest holes of all.

I glanced around me. Nobody else had such squares. Other than a tiny hole Here and there, the other tapestries were filled with rich color and the Bright hues of worldly fortune. I gazed upon my own life and was Disheartened.

My angel was sewing the ragged pieces of cloth together, threadbare and Empty, like binding air.

Finally the time came when each life was to be displayed, held up to the Light, the scrutiny of truth. The others rose; each in turn, holding up their tapestries. So filled their lives had been. My angel looked upon me, And nodded for me to rise.

My gaze dropped to the ground in shame. I hadn't had all the earthly Fortunes. I had love in my life, and laughter. But there had also been Trials of illness, and wealth, and false accusations that took from me my World, as I knew it. I had to start over many times. I often struggled with The temptation to quit, only to somehow muster the strength to pick up and Begin again. I spent many nights on my knees in prayer, asking for help and Guidance in my life. I had often been held up to ridicule, which I endured Painfully, each time offering it U p to the Father in hopes that I would Not melt within my skin beneath the judgmental gaze of those who unfairly Judged Me.

And now, I had to face the truth. My life was what it was, and I had to Accept it for what it was.

I rose and slowly lifted the combined squares of my life to the light.

An awe-filled gasp filled the air. I gazed around at the others who Stared at me with wide eyes.

Then, I looked upon the tapestry before me. Light flooded the many holes, Creating an image, the face of Christ. Then our Lord stood before me, with Warmth and love in His eyes. He said, 'Every time you gave over your life To Me, it became My life, My hardships, and My struggles.

Each point of light in your life is when you stepped aside and let Me shine Through, until there was more of Me than there was of you.'

May all our quilts be threadbare and worn, allowing Christ to shine Through!

Happy Valentine's Day

Valentinus, Gift of Love

This is the fascinating story of the priest, St. Valentine. According to history, Valentinus (the Latin form) was thrown into a dungeon. Although his jailer, Asterius, was not harsh, the priest lived with only the bare necessities. His one comfort while in prison was his friendship with Asterius' blind daughter. She befriended the kindly priest by bringing him food and delivering messages. After a year in jail, Valentinus was summoned to appear before Claudius II. The emperor was so impressed by the young priest's dignity that Claudius attempted to convert him from Christianity to save him from execution.

Valentinus, however, refused and was ordered to be beaten with clubs, stoned and executed. In the last days of his life, Valentinus, through his faith, restored the sight of the jailer's daughter. He also converted Asterius and the girl to his faith.

On the eve of his execution the priest wrote a farewell message to the girl and signed it 'From Your Valentine.' His execution was carried out on Feb 14, 269 A.D in Rome. According to legend, a pink almond tree, a symbol of friendship and affection shared each anniversary of the priest's execution marks Valentine's Day.

Although, thought to be a day for lovers, Valentine's Day is actually a day to profess your love and affection for anyone. It is a time to renew and strengthen the friendship and relationship shared. Happy Valentine's everyone. Have a lovely loving day!

First Kiss

At the end of their first date, a young man takes his favorite girl home. Emboldened by the night, he decides to try for that important first kiss.

With an air of confidence, he leans with his hand against the wall and smiling, he says to her, "Darling, how 'bout a goodnight kiss?"

Horrified, she replies, "Are you mad? My parents will see us!"

"Oh come on! Who's gonna see us at this hour?"

"No, please. Can you imagine if we get caught?"

"Oh come on, there's nobody around, they're all sleeping!"

"No way. It's just too risky!"

"Oh please, please, I like you so much!!"

"No, no, and no. I like you too, but I just can't!"

"Oh yes you can. Please?"

"NO, no. I just can't."

"Pleeeeease? . . ."

Out of the blue, the porch light goes on, and the girl's sister shows up in her pajamas, hair disheveled. In a sleepy voice the sister says: "Dad says to go ahead and give him a kiss. Or I can do it. Or if need be, he'll come down himself and do it. But for crying out loud tell him to take his hand off the intercom button!"

January 30, 2008

Recipe For A Miracle


1 cup Tension

2 cups Stress

1 teaspoon of Guilt

2 heaping cups of Limited Time

3/4 tablespoon of Urgency

A dash of "No Other Choice"

3 heaping cups of Faith



Fold ingredients gently into a bowl. Mix vigorously and add a few tears. You'll sweat a little as you knead the dough.


Pack it firmly between your hopes and dreams and form into a perfect little ball.


Sprinkle it with a little faith (I recommend Hebrews 11), rolling the ball in the flour until fully covered.


Place it under a veil of belief and allow it to rise.


Put it in an oven that has been pre-set at the perfect temperature for the heat of trials and tribulations.


Allow it to brown under the warmth of God's love. Remove after due season and allow to cool in the confidence of His promise.


Garnish with your praises. Arrange neatly on a platter of thankfulness and serve to friends, families and, oh yes, strangers . . . invite them too!


Pass on the recipe to all who request it and let them know that with this recipe, they have the makings of a miracle!

January 23, 2009

Classroom Justice


The rules at a particular university were such that if the professor was not present in the classroom by 15 minutes past the hour, the class was considered a "walk" and the students were free to leave - with no penalties for missing a class.

The class rooms were equipped with the type wall clocks that "jumped" ahead each minute, in a very noticeable fashion. As it turned out, these clocks were also not of the most sophisticated construction. Some enterprising student discovered that if one were to hit the clock with chalkboard erasers, it would cause the clock to "jump" ahead 1 minute.

It became almost daily practice for students to take target practice at the clock - since this particular professor was not the most punctual, and many of the students considered him severely "absent-minded." A few well aimed erasers, and lo and behold, 15 minutes passed on the clock, and class dismissed itself.

Well, when the day for the next exam rolled around, the professor strolled into the room, passed out the exams, and told the students "You have 1 hour on-the-clock to complete the exam."

The professor then proceeded to collect all the erasers from around the room he could find, and then gleefully took aim at the clock. When he had successfully "jumped" the clock forward 1 hour, he closed the exam and collected all the exam papers.

January 22, 2009

Drug Problem
The other day, someone at a store in our town read that a Meth lab had been found in an old farmhouse in the adjoining county and he asked me a rhetorical question.

'Why didn't we have a drug problem when you and I were growing up?'

I replied, I had a drug problem when I was young: I was drug to church on Sunday morning. I was drug to church for weddings and funerals. I was drug to family reunions and community socials no matter the weather.

I was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful to adults. I was also drug to the woodshed when I disobeyed my parents, told a lie, brought home a bad report card, did not speak with respect, spoke ill of the teacher or the preacher, or if I didn't put forth my best effort in everything that was asked of me.

I was drug to the kitchen sink to have my mouth washed out with soap if I uttered a profanity.

I was drug out to pull weeds in mom's garden and flowerbeds and cocklebur's out of dad's fields.

I was drug to the homes of family, friends and neighbors to help out some poor soul who had no one to mow the yard, repair the clothesline, or chop some firewood; and, if my mother had ever known that I took a single dime as a tip for this kindness, she would have drug me back to the woodshed.

Those drugs are still in my veins and they affect my behavior in everything I do, say, or think. They are stronger than cocaine, crack, or heroin; and, if today's children had this kind of drug problem, America would be a better place.

God bless the parents who drug us to where we should be.

January 21, 2009

Skiing Tips
So you want to go skiing? Here's a a list of things you can do to help prepare yourself...


Paste a small, wide rubber band around the top half of your head before you go to bed.


If you wear glasses, begin wearing them with glue smeared on the lenses.


Throw away a hundred dollar bill.


Find the nearest ice rink and walk across the ice 20 times in your ski boots, carrying 2 pairs of skis, accessory bag and poles. Sporadically drop things.


Place a small, but angular pebble in your shoes. Line them with crushed ice and tighten a C-clamp around your toes.


Buy a new pair of gloves. Immediately throw one away.


Secure one of your ankles to a bed post and ask a friend to run into you at a high speed.


Go to McDonald's and *insist* on paying $8.50 for a hamburger. Be sure you are in the longest line!


Clip a lift ticket to the zipper of your jacket and ride a motorcycle fast enough to make the ticket lacerate your face.


Drive slowly for 5 hours--anywhere--as long as it's in a snowstorm and you're following an 18 wheeler.


Fill a blender with ice, leave the lid off, hit the pulse button and let the spray blast your face. Leave the ice on your face until it melts. Let it drip into your clothes.


Dress up in as many clothes as you can and then proceed to take them off because you have to go to the bathroom.


Slam your thumb in a car door. Don't go see a doctor.


Repeat all of the above daily until it's time for the REAL thing!

January 16, 2009

You Know You're A Mom When . . .


You count the sprinkles on each kid's cupcake to make sure they're equal.


You want to take out a contract on the kid who broke your child's favorite toy and made him/her cry.


You have time to shave only one leg at a time.


You hide in the bathroom to be alone.


You child throws up, and you catch it.


Someone else's kid throws up at a party, and you keep eating.


You consider finger paint to be a controlled substance.


You mastered the art of placing large quanitities of pancakes and eggs on a plate without anything touching.


Your child insists that you read Once Upon a Potty out loud in the lobby of the doctor's office, or, better yet, in the lobby of a Grand Central Station... and you do it.


You hire a sitter because you haven't been out with your husband in ages, then spend half the night talking about and checking on the kids.


You hope ketchup is a vegetable because it's the only one your child eats.


You cling to the high moral ground on toy weapons, while your child chews his toast into the shape of a gun.


You can't bear the thought of your son's first girlfriend.


You hate the thought of his wife even more.


You donate to charities in the hope that your child won't get that disease.


You find yourself cutting your husband's sandwiches into unusual shapes.


You fast-forward through the scene when the hunter shoots Bambi's mother.


You use your own saliva to clean your child's face.


You obsess when your child clings to you upon parting during his first month at school, then obsess when he skips in without looking back the second time.


You can't bear to give away baby clothes--it's so final.


You hear your mother's voice coming out of your mouth when you say, "Not in your good clothes!"


You stop criticizing the way your mother raised you.


You read that the average five-year-old asks 437 questions a day and feel proud that your kid is above average.


You say at least once a day, I'm not cut out for this job, but you know you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

January 15, 2009

The Crooked Smile

As we rolled five-year-old Mary into the MRI room, I tried to imagine what she must be feeling. She had suffered a stroke that left half of her body paralyzed, had been hospitalized for treatment of a brain tumor, and had recently lost her father, her mother and her home. We all wondered how Mary would react.

She went into the MRI machine without the slightest protest, and we began the exam. At that time, each imaging sequence required the patient to remain perfectly still for about five minutes. This would have been difficult for anyone - and certainly for a five-year-old who had suffered so much. We were taking an image of her head, so any movement of her face, including talking, would result in image distortion.

About two minutes into the first sequence, we noticed on the video monitor that Mary's mouth was moving. We even heard a muted voice over the intercom. We halted the exam and gently reminded Mary not to talk. She was smiling and promised not to talk.

We reset the machine and started over. Once again we saw her facial movement and heard her voice faintly. What she was saying wasn't clear. Everyone was becoming a little impatient, with a busy schedule that had been put on hold to perform an emergency MRI on Mary.

We went back in and slid Mary out of the machine. Once again, she looked at us with her crooked smile and wasn't upset in the least. The technologist, perhaps a bit gruffly, said, "Mary, you were talking again, and that causes blurry pictures."

Mary's smile remained as she replied, "I wasn't talking. I was singing. You said no talking." We looked at each other, feeling a little silly.

"What were you singing?" someone asked.

"Jesus Loves Me," came the barely perceptible reply. "I always sing `Jesus Loves Me' when I'm happy."

Everyone in the room was speechless. "Happy? How could this little girl be happy?" The technologist and I had to leave the room for a moment to regain our composure as tears began to fall.

Many times since that day, when feeling stresses, unhappy or dissatisfied with some part of my life, I have thought of Mary and felt both humbled and inspired. Her example made me see that happiness is a marvelous gift - free to anyone willing to accept it.

By James C. Brown, M.D.

January 12, 2009

Little Things
When I was in college, I shared an American Thanksgiving supper with friends. We spent the day cooking together – turkey, potatoes, green beans, yams and, of course, dinner rolls. I was in charge of the rolls. Looking back, that may have been a mistake.

I love to eat raw dough. Most any kind will do – cookie dough, cake batter, biscuit dough, bread dough – you get the idea. So I rolled out the yeast dough, sliced off a corner and ate it, rolled some more, sliced and ate, rolled, sliced, ate…. I don't know how much of the dough I consumed before the rolls hit the oven, but I remember it as a wonderful afternoon. Until about a half-hour later.

Yeast, it seems, likes a dark, moist, warm environment. In me, it found one and did what yeast does best – it grew. And grew. And grew.

After a while my stomach was distended and I felt like the Pillsbury Dough Boy with a burping disorder.

It was soon time for supper and I felt too full to eat anything. All of that scrumptious food and I couldn't eat.

That day I gained a new respect for the power of yeast; it doesn't take much to make a big difference.

January 10, 2009

A Dream That Will Catch Your Heart
written by Steve Goodier


That all-too-quotable Yogi Berra once said, "If you don't know where you are going, you might wind up someplace else." (I think that happened to me once.)

But even if you know where you want to end up, do you REALLY WANT to be there? I'm not talking about traveling now, but where we're going with our lives. Is the dream you are following really that important to you?

Most people are not lazy. They simply have uninspiring goals. They don't accomplish what they set out to do because they lose interest. The dream they are following is simply not that important to them.

But then I think of Dennis Oehler. He ran the 100-meter dash in 11.73 seconds. Record-holder Maurice Greene ran it in 9.79 seconds, almost two seconds faster. So what's the big deal? Maurice Greene has two legs. Dennis Oehler has one. One leg -- and a huge dream.

The truth is -- we are always highly motivated when something means a great deal to us. If I fell into a deep lake and I didn't know how to swim, I would become highly motivated in an instant. Climbing from the lake would mean more to me than anything else in the world. My effort would be no less than astounding and I would suddenly become one of the most excited and enthusiastic persons imaginable.

And that goes for anything that is truly important to us. If we want something badly enough, we will find necessary energy, excitement and drive to grasp it.

Writer Tim Redmond says this about following worthwhile dreams: "There are many things that will catch my eye, but there are only a few that catch my heart...it is those I consider to pursue."

Is your dream big enough -- important enough -- to catch your heart?

~ Steve Goodier ~

December 23, 2008

Dear Santa,

I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find any more free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:
I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze; but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.

I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy. If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper
where I can hide to talk on the phone.

On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools. I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.

If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely. It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours Always,
MOM

P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa for many years to come.

December 22, 2008

There is one Christmas Carol that has always baffles us.
What in the world do leaping lords, French hens,
Swimming swans, and especially the partridge who won't come out of the pear tree have to do with Christmas?

From 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England were not permitted to practice their faith openly. Someone during that era wrote this carol as a catechism song for young Catholics.
It has two levels of meaning: the surface meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of their church. Each element in the carol has a code word for a religious reality which the children could remember.

-The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ.

-Two turtle doves were the Old and New Testaments.

-Three French hens stood for faith, hope and love.

-The four calling birds were the four gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke & John.

-The five golden rings recalled the Torah or Law, the first five books of the Old Testament.

-The six geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.

-Seven swans a-swimming represented the sevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit--Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership and Mercy.

-The eight maids a-milking were the eight beatitudes.

-Nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit--Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness and Self-Control.

-The ten lords a-leaping were the ten commandments.

-The eleven pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples.

-The twelve drummers drumming symbolized the twelve points of belief in the Apostles' Creed.

So there is your history for today. This knowledge was shared with me and I found it interesting and enlightening and now you know how that strange song became a Christmas Carol...

December 19, 2008

Pick of the week

Who Started This Christmas Stuff?


A woman who was out Christmas shopping with her two children. After many hours of looking at row after row of toys and everything else imaginable; and after hours of hearing both her children asking for everything they saw on those many shelves, she finally made it to the elevator with her two kids. She was feeling what so many of us feel during the holiday season time of the year. Overwhelming pressure to go to every party, every housewarming, taste all the holiday food and treats, getting that perfect gift for every single person on our shopping list, making sure we don't forget anyone on our card list, and the pressure of making sure we respond to everyone who sent us a card.

Finally the elevator doors opened and there was already a crowd in the car. She pushed her way into the car and dragged her two kids in with her and all the bags of stuff. When the doors closed she couldn't take it anymore and stated, "Whoever started this whole Christmas thing should be found, strung up and shot."

From the back of the car everyone heard a quiet calm voice respond, "Don't worry we already crucified Him." For the rest of the trip down the elevator it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

Don't forget this year to keep the One who started this whole Christmas thing in your every thought, deed, purchase, and word. If we all did it, just think of how different this whole world would be.

Christmas Love

Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience. But once again, despite my plans, chaos prevailed. I had cut back on nonessential obligations -- extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and yes, even the all American pastime, overspending. Yet, still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and, of course, the true meaning of Christmas.

My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old filled with hopes, dreams and laughter. For weeks, he'd been memorizing songs for his school's "Winter Pageant." I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd be working the night of the production.

Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there'd be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation. All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise.

So, just as I promised, on the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in 10 minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song.

Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as "Christmas," I didn't expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment -- songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer. The melodies were fun, cute and lighthearted, but nowhere to be found was even the hint of an innocent babe, a manger, or Christ’s sacred gift of hope and joy. So, when my son's class rose to sing, "Christmas Love", I was slightly taken aback by its bold title.

Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters and bright snowcaps upon their heads. Those in the front row -- center stage -- held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing "C is for Christmas," a child would hold up the letter C. Then, "H is for Happy," and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, "Christmas Love."

The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her -- a small, quiet girl in the front row who was holding the letter "M" upside down. She was entirely unaware, that reversed, her letter "M" appeared as a "W." Fidgeting from side to side, she soon moved entirely away from her mark.

The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at the little one's mistake. But in her innocence, she had no idea they were laughing at her as she stood tall, proudly holding her "W".

One can only imagine the difficulty in calming an audience of young, giggling students. Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together. A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen.

In that instant, we understood -- the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos there was a purpose for our festivities. For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear:
CHRIST WAS LOVE

And, I believe, He still is.


~ Candy Chand ~


Christmas Love is a true story written by author Candy Chand. Her new book, Christmas Love, is available at stores nationwide and on Amazon

Turkey Poem


When I was a young turkey,
new to the coop,
My big brother Tom
took me out on the stoop,
Then he sat me down,
and he spoke real slow,
And he told me there was
something that I just had to know.

His look and his tone
I will always remember,
When he told me of the horrors
of, well...... Black November!
Come about August,
now listen to me,
Each day you'll get six meals
instead of your three.
And soon you'll be thick,
where once you were thin,
and you'll grow a big rubbery
thing under your chin;

And then one morning,
when you're warm in your bed,
In comes the farmer's wife,
to hack off your head;
Then she'll pluck out all your
feathers until you're bald 'n pink,
And scoop out your insides
and leave you in the sink;
And then comes the worst part
he said not bluffing,
She'll spread your hind quarters
and pack your bottom with stuffing!

Well, the rest of his words
were too grim to repeat,
I sat on the stoop like a
winged piece of meat,
And decided on the spot
that to avoid being cooked,
I'd have to lay low to
remain overlooked.
I began a new diet of
nuts and granola,
High-roughage salads,
juice and diet cola;
And as they ate pastries,
chocolates and crepes,
I stayed in my room
doing Jane Fonda tapes.

I maintained my weight
of two pounds and a half,
And tried not to notice when
the bigger birds laughed;
But it was I who was
laughing, under my breath,
As they chomped and they
chewed, ever closer to death.
And sure enough when
Black November rolled around,
I was the last turkey left in
the Turkey compound;

So now I'm a pet in the
farmer's wife's lap;
I haven't a worry,
so I eat and I nap.
She held me today,
while sewing and humming,
And smiled at me and said
"Christmas is coming."

Pick of the week 12/06/08

A Picture of Grace
by Dr. Charles F. Stanley

One of the more memorable seminary professors I had demonstrated the concept of grace to his students in a practical way. At the end of the semester, he would hand out an exam with the caution to read it all the way through before answering any questions. As we read the exam, it became unquestionably clear to each of us that we had not studied nearly enough. The further we read, the worse it became. About halfway through, audible groans could be heard throughout the lecture hall. By the time we flipped to the last page, we were all ready to turn in the test completely blank. It was impossible to pass.

On the last page, however, there was a note that read: “You have a choice. You can complete the exam as given or sign your name at the bottom and, in so doing, receive an A for this assignment.” We sat there stunned. Wow! Was he serious? Just sign the paper and get an A? Slowly the point dawned on us, and one by one, we handed in our tests and slowly filed out of the room. It took the rest of the afternoon for me to get over it. I had the urge to go back and check with my professor one more time to make sure he was serious.

When I talked with him about the exam afterward, he shared some of the reactions he had received over the years. There were always some students who did not follow instructions and began to take the exam without reading it all the way through. Some of them would sweat it out the entire two hours of class time before reaching the last page. Their ignorance caused them unnecessary anxiety. Then there were those who would read the first two pages, become angry, turn in their paper blank, and storm out of the room. They never realized what was available. As a result, they lost out totally. One fellow, however, topped them all. He read the entire test, including the note at the end, but decided to take the exam anyway. He did not want any gifts—he wanted to earn his grade. And he did. He made a C+, which was amazing considering the difficulty of the test. But he could easily have received an A.

This story vividly illustrates the way many people react to God’s solution to the problem of sin. Many are like the first group. They wonder if the Lord hears their pleas for forgiveness or if they have pushed Him too far. They do all they know to receive His pardon. Many people spend their lives trying to earn what they later realize was freely available the entire time. Many people respond like the second group of students. They look at God’s standard—moral and ethical perfection—and throw their hands up in surrender. Why even try? I could never live up to all that stuff, they tell themselves, while completely abandoning God’s commandments. Such people live the way they please, not expecting anything from the Lord when they die. Often they come to deny God’s existence. What a shock it will be for them when they stand before the Lord and realize what was available to them, had they only asked!

Then there is the guy who took the test anyway. Some people are unwilling to simply receive God’s gift of forgiveness. Striking out to do it on their own, they strive to earn enough points through righteous living to win the Father’s pardon. They constantly work to “even the score” with the Lord through their good works. “Sure, I have my faults,” they say. “But God does not expect anyone to be perfect.” However, when it comes to forgiveness, there is no room for boasting in one’s own ability. The Bible does not teach that we can contribute to the process through self-effort.

Scripture says, “It is appointed for men to die once and after this comes judgment” (Heb. 9:27). Thankfully, the Father provides a solution for the problem of sin through Jesus’ death and resurrection. For His grace to cover all our wrongdoing, we simply have to receive the gift of Christ’s forgiveness. If you have not already accepted God’s mercy, admit that you have rebelled against Him. Surrender your life to His control. He will wipe away the guilt of your sin and give you a fresh start in life.

Pick of the Week 11/26/08

Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation

~ ~ ~ President Abraham Lincoln, October 3, 1863 . . . .

"It is the duty of nations as well as men to own their dependence upon the overruling power of God: to confess their sins and transgressions in humble sorrow, yet with assured hope that genuine repentance will lead to mercy and pardon; and to recognize the sublime truth, announced in the Holy Scriptures and proven by all history, that those nations are blessed whose God is the Lord.

"We know that by His divine law, nations, like individuals, are subjected to punishments and chastisements in this world. May we not justly fear that the awful calamity of civil war, which now desolates the land, may be a punishment inflicted upon us for our presumptuous sins, to the needful end of our national reformation as a whole people?

"We have been the recipients of the choicest bounties of heaven; we have been preserved these many years in peace prosperity; we have grown in numbers, wealth, and power as no other nation has ever grown.

"But we have forgotten God. We have forgotten the gracious hand which preserved us in peace and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us, and we have vainly imagined, in the deceitfulness of our hearts, that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. Intoxicated with unbroken success, we have become too self-sufficient to feel the necessity of redeeming and preserving grace, too proud to pray to the God that made us.

"It has seemed to me fit and proper that God should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November as a day of Thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens."

Pick of the week November 21, 2008

Born of the Spirit

"Just as you can hear the wind but can't tell where it comes from or where it is going, so you can't explain how people are born of the Spirit.

John 3:8 NLT

"

Who died on November 22, 1963?
"Many will correctly answer, ""President John F. Kennedy."" But also on that day another person died who was mightier in God's kingdom. His name was C. S. Lewis.

His initials stood for Clive Staples, but to his friends he was known as "Jack." Born near Belfast, Ireland, in 1898, he was raised as an Anglican. But at the age of ten his world was shaken when his mother died of cancer. Jack wanted nothing to do with a God so cruel as to take his mother. By his early teenage years he had become an atheist.

Jack's spiritual pilgrimage back to God began in 1926 with a conversation with a cynical friend whose belief in the Trinity challenged Lewis' atheistic presuppositions.

Through the influence of various philosophers he read and conversations with his intellectual colleagues, including J. R. R. Tolkien, he began to realize that an absolute Spirit or God existed and that the events of the Bible had really happened.

By 1931, he had passed from merely believing in God to trusting in him as his Savior.

In 1941, Lewis burst on the literary scene with The Screwtape Letters. Books then began to flow from his pen at an amazing rate.

C. S. Lewis is considered the most influential Christian author of the twentieth century—quite a leap from the atheism of his youth.