A New Year's resolution is something that goes in one Year and out the other.
Happy New Year from the Roadway Church! Be safe and blessed in the upcoming year!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
As we come upon the New Year and all the celebrations that go along with it, I hope that you will take a moment to say a prayer for the "men in blue" who will be out protecting us and our families.
The Men in Blue
It takes a very special person to wear the blue.
Most people do not understand what we do
We made a commitment to protect and serve.
We work hard to provide the safety you deserve....
No normal shifts, not nine to five.
We work 24/7 to keep you alive.
Holidays and weekends don’t mean a thing.
We work night and day, just give us a ring.
Our loved ones and children pray every night.
That we will return at the break of daylight.
We carry guns and wear vests to help us get through.
You couldn’t imagine some of the things we must do.
We see accidents and blood and small children crying.
We also see death and it’s not just old people dying.
Abusive spouses and parents that don’t seem to care.
These are just a few of the things, to make you aware.
Drug dealers and drunks are a regular sight.
We go to the bars for fight after fight.
Responding to calls day after day.
Not allowing our personal lives to get in the way.
You complain all the time when you see us on a break.
We just drive around in cars and oh, the money we make.
Stop for a second and try to assess
Who’s always there to clean up the mess?
We do all we can to help and provide.
To make you feel safe and secure inside.
Please remember all of the things that we must do.
And next time you pray, include the men in blue.
Adam E. HuttonHarwich (MA) Police Department
"If you make the Lord your refuge,
if you make the Most High your shelter, no evil will conquer you;
no plague will come near your home." Psalm 91:9-10
Thursday, December 29, 2011
"Things turn out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out." Art Linkletter
Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:31-32
Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:31-32
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
The Giving Gift
A Holiday Short Story, by Brian Joseph
After he had unwrapped his gifts on Christmas morning the the 5 year old boy’s mother asked him which one of his presents he wanted to donate to a poor child who had less than him. “None”, the boy replied. His mom sat him on her lap and explained to him thatsharing with those who were less forunate was part of the holiday spirit and how a child who had less would probably be very happy to receive a gift. This took some convincing from mom but the boy eventually agreed to part with one of his gifts. Mom told him that he could have until the following morning to decide. The day after Christmas the boy put his four gifts in front of him and tried to decide which one to part with. It was a difficult decision. His eyes scanned over the toy flute, book of Aesop’s Fables, Popeye book bag, and the toy dump truck with doors that really opened. He decided that he part with the flute. “Where do we take it ?”, he asked his mother. His mother explained that there was a Salvation Army box two streets away and that the people who emptied this box would make sure that it got to a child who needed a gift. “How will they know it is for a child ?”, he asked. His mother told him that he could tape a note to the flute and she helped him to write one that read, “Please make sure this gets to a kid who doesn’t have a lot of toys”. After securely attaching the note to the flute the boy said, “I forgot to write my name, how will they know who this came from?” His mother explained that they wouldn’t need to know who it came from and how sometimes part of giving was doing it so that others wouldn’t know where it came from, like putting coins in the poor box at church. “Well, can I please write my name?” His mother said it would be okay and he wrote his name at the end of the note.
This parting with a gift the day after Christmas became a yearly ritual. When he was 8 years old the boy so treasured the gifts that he had that the decision needed to be made by eeny-meny-miny-mo and he had to part with a set of checkers. “I really love these mom”, the boy said. His mother said that he could select something else but he didn’t want to have to decide again. His mother left the room and returned with a piece of cardboard, the boy’s crayons, and his bottle cap collection. Together they created a board and set of checkers. “I bet no other kid in the world has checkers like these”, he said. That year he decided all on his own not to put his name on the note that he attached to the checkers box. Three months later when he saw a checkers set at his friend Jerry’s house he fought back the temptation to say , “that was mine”, after Jerry had told him that an army man had brought it to his door.
When he was 10 years old the laundrymat where his mother worked closed shortly after Thanksgiving and gifts were sparse. On Christmas he looked over his three inexpensive gifts. His mother came and sat beside him and told him that this year he didn’t have to part with a gift. At first this sounded great but when he woke up the morning after Christmas he thought about how much fun he had seen Jerry have with the checkers and how the giving gift could be secret and magical. He told his mother that he wanted to put his new football in the Salvation Army box. “You don’t have to do that”, his mother said. He told her that he wanted to.She got teary-eyed and gave him a big hug.
Six months later his mother’s birthday was approaching and the boy emptied his piggy bank and counted out three dollars and forty-nine cents. “What would you like for your birthday ?”, he asked his mother. She was silent for a moment and then she spoke, “I’ve noticed Billy playing catch football with his dad and it looks like a lot of fun. I think I would like a football.” That year his mother got a football for her birthday.
Many years later when he was a young man he talked to his mother about how in some ways it seemed strange that she had him give to the poor when he was a child since they themselves were poor. Then it happened. She gave him ‘the look’. It was a look that if it could be put into words would say, “Don’t you understand, haven’t you learned ?” The look said that and so much more. It was the same look that he had seen many times before. Words that appeared to be carefully chosen usually came shortly after ‘the look’. Certain instances were more memorable than others. There was the the time when he was 9 years old and he told his sister that she could never be president because she was a girl. That time “the look” was followed by his mother saying that people had all sorts of opinions about president Johnson but that she had never heard anyone comment on the importance of whether he stood or sat when he went to pee. This time he was 17 years old and ‘the look’ was followed with an explanation about what real poverty is and how the worst poverty to be in is poverty of the soul.
The giving gift tradition continued into adulthood. One Christmas his own 5 year old boy asked him, “What was the best gift you got for Christmas when you were a kid ?” He wanted to explain to his son that the best gift he ever received didn’t come in a box, it wasn’t wrapped and you couldn’t even hold it in your hand.
He tried to explain the giving gift as best as he could in words that a young child might understand. "Do you still do that Dad ?" His father explained that he had not missed a Christmas in over 30 years. The following day the father selected a new sweater and wrote directly on the white box, “Please give this to someone who needs it”. As he was getting ready for the drive to the Salvation Army box his son asked , “Can I come?” The father asked the boy to have his mother help him put on his boots, hat, and coat while Dad went to warm up the car. The father sat in the car waiting for ten minutes and thought about the Christmas of the first giving gift. He was just about to go back inside to see what was taking his son so long when the little boy came running out with a new play-doh set in his hands. “Dad, can you help me write the note ?”
There is joy in watching surprised looks on the faces of children as they open gifts. Material gifts can be precious but the greatest gifts that we can give to children aren’t wrapped in fancy paper and they can’t be purchased at the mall. The greatest gifts were meant to be passed on to others. The receivers of these gifts are often initially unaware of what they are actually receiving. The gifts of forgiveness, sharing, fairness, and caring are the most valuable gifts. These are the gifts that we can give away but still keep.
After he had unwrapped his gifts on Christmas morning the the 5 year old boy’s mother asked him which one of his presents he wanted to donate to a poor child who had less than him. “None”, the boy replied. His mom sat him on her lap and explained to him thatsharing with those who were less forunate was part of the holiday spirit and how a child who had less would probably be very happy to receive a gift. This took some convincing from mom but the boy eventually agreed to part with one of his gifts. Mom told him that he could have until the following morning to decide. The day after Christmas the boy put his four gifts in front of him and tried to decide which one to part with. It was a difficult decision. His eyes scanned over the toy flute, book of Aesop’s Fables, Popeye book bag, and the toy dump truck with doors that really opened. He decided that he part with the flute. “Where do we take it ?”, he asked his mother. His mother explained that there was a Salvation Army box two streets away and that the people who emptied this box would make sure that it got to a child who needed a gift. “How will they know it is for a child ?”, he asked. His mother told him that he could tape a note to the flute and she helped him to write one that read, “Please make sure this gets to a kid who doesn’t have a lot of toys”. After securely attaching the note to the flute the boy said, “I forgot to write my name, how will they know who this came from?” His mother explained that they wouldn’t need to know who it came from and how sometimes part of giving was doing it so that others wouldn’t know where it came from, like putting coins in the poor box at church. “Well, can I please write my name?” His mother said it would be okay and he wrote his name at the end of the note.
This parting with a gift the day after Christmas became a yearly ritual. When he was 8 years old the boy so treasured the gifts that he had that the decision needed to be made by eeny-meny-miny-mo and he had to part with a set of checkers. “I really love these mom”, the boy said. His mother said that he could select something else but he didn’t want to have to decide again. His mother left the room and returned with a piece of cardboard, the boy’s crayons, and his bottle cap collection. Together they created a board and set of checkers. “I bet no other kid in the world has checkers like these”, he said. That year he decided all on his own not to put his name on the note that he attached to the checkers box. Three months later when he saw a checkers set at his friend Jerry’s house he fought back the temptation to say , “that was mine”, after Jerry had told him that an army man had brought it to his door.
When he was 10 years old the laundrymat where his mother worked closed shortly after Thanksgiving and gifts were sparse. On Christmas he looked over his three inexpensive gifts. His mother came and sat beside him and told him that this year he didn’t have to part with a gift. At first this sounded great but when he woke up the morning after Christmas he thought about how much fun he had seen Jerry have with the checkers and how the giving gift could be secret and magical. He told his mother that he wanted to put his new football in the Salvation Army box. “You don’t have to do that”, his mother said. He told her that he wanted to.She got teary-eyed and gave him a big hug.
Six months later his mother’s birthday was approaching and the boy emptied his piggy bank and counted out three dollars and forty-nine cents. “What would you like for your birthday ?”, he asked his mother. She was silent for a moment and then she spoke, “I’ve noticed Billy playing catch football with his dad and it looks like a lot of fun. I think I would like a football.” That year his mother got a football for her birthday.
Many years later when he was a young man he talked to his mother about how in some ways it seemed strange that she had him give to the poor when he was a child since they themselves were poor. Then it happened. She gave him ‘the look’. It was a look that if it could be put into words would say, “Don’t you understand, haven’t you learned ?” The look said that and so much more. It was the same look that he had seen many times before. Words that appeared to be carefully chosen usually came shortly after ‘the look’. Certain instances were more memorable than others. There was the the time when he was 9 years old and he told his sister that she could never be president because she was a girl. That time “the look” was followed by his mother saying that people had all sorts of opinions about president Johnson but that she had never heard anyone comment on the importance of whether he stood or sat when he went to pee. This time he was 17 years old and ‘the look’ was followed with an explanation about what real poverty is and how the worst poverty to be in is poverty of the soul.
The giving gift tradition continued into adulthood. One Christmas his own 5 year old boy asked him, “What was the best gift you got for Christmas when you were a kid ?” He wanted to explain to his son that the best gift he ever received didn’t come in a box, it wasn’t wrapped and you couldn’t even hold it in your hand.
He tried to explain the giving gift as best as he could in words that a young child might understand. "Do you still do that Dad ?" His father explained that he had not missed a Christmas in over 30 years. The following day the father selected a new sweater and wrote directly on the white box, “Please give this to someone who needs it”. As he was getting ready for the drive to the Salvation Army box his son asked , “Can I come?” The father asked the boy to have his mother help him put on his boots, hat, and coat while Dad went to warm up the car. The father sat in the car waiting for ten minutes and thought about the Christmas of the first giving gift. He was just about to go back inside to see what was taking his son so long when the little boy came running out with a new play-doh set in his hands. “Dad, can you help me write the note ?”
There is joy in watching surprised looks on the faces of children as they open gifts. Material gifts can be precious but the greatest gifts that we can give to children aren’t wrapped in fancy paper and they can’t be purchased at the mall. The greatest gifts were meant to be passed on to others. The receivers of these gifts are often initially unaware of what they are actually receiving. The gifts of forgiveness, sharing, fairness, and caring are the most valuable gifts. These are the gifts that we can give away but still keep.
Where is your Bethleham?
by Marilyn Ehle
Joseph went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem… He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. Luke 2:4, 5
As the crow flies, it was a journey of approximately 100 kilometers but traveling over hills, through villages and around rivers would likely have made the trip even longer. Christmas pictures always show Mary riding a donkey but we really have no idea of their mode of travel. In any case, whether on foot or on the back of a swaying brown animal, it wasn’t an easy journey, especially for a women nearing the end of her pregnancy.
Why did she go? True, government officialdom decreed a census and that everyone must go to one’s “own city,” the place their families called home, for this official registration and counting. Perhaps Mary was also quite ready to leave the village of Nazareth where tongues were wagging about her pregnancy and unmarried status.
But Mary and Joseph knew they were going far from family and into a city whose streets would be clogged with traveling strangers. They were assured of no warm welcome, no cozy place to birth the expected child. Perhaps they hoped for a small house or a distant relative or a way for Joseph to earn money for their keep, but in almost every way, they were traveling into the unknown. The journey was long and hard, the destination uncertain.
Nearly nine months before their arrival in Bethlehem, Mary spoke life-changing words to God, words that were to comfort her in the many uncertain years ahead. “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.” With those simple words of faith, she could endure the long journey on the back of a donkey, the cold streets of Bethlehem, the staring faces of strangers, and even the crude stable with its straw-lined manger.
Joseph went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem… He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. Luke 2:4, 5
As the crow flies, it was a journey of approximately 100 kilometers but traveling over hills, through villages and around rivers would likely have made the trip even longer. Christmas pictures always show Mary riding a donkey but we really have no idea of their mode of travel. In any case, whether on foot or on the back of a swaying brown animal, it wasn’t an easy journey, especially for a women nearing the end of her pregnancy.
Why did she go? True, government officialdom decreed a census and that everyone must go to one’s “own city,” the place their families called home, for this official registration and counting. Perhaps Mary was also quite ready to leave the village of Nazareth where tongues were wagging about her pregnancy and unmarried status.
But Mary and Joseph knew they were going far from family and into a city whose streets would be clogged with traveling strangers. They were assured of no warm welcome, no cozy place to birth the expected child. Perhaps they hoped for a small house or a distant relative or a way for Joseph to earn money for their keep, but in almost every way, they were traveling into the unknown. The journey was long and hard, the destination uncertain.
Nearly nine months before their arrival in Bethlehem, Mary spoke life-changing words to God, words that were to comfort her in the many uncertain years ahead. “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.” With those simple words of faith, she could endure the long journey on the back of a donkey, the cold streets of Bethlehem, the staring faces of strangers, and even the crude stable with its straw-lined manger.
Where is your Bethlehem? Has the path been long, the people uncaring, the circumstances burdensome? When we submit ourselves as servants to a loving God, we can—in quietness and confidence—add “May it be to me as you have said” no matter the place or position in which we find ourselves.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
A WONDERFUL CHRISTMAS MORNING
I have read this story before and stumbled acrossed it again today. This story really puts a lump in my throat and humbles me to think that there are people out there that have lived this very story. We sometimes forget just how good we have it! There are truly people who have nothing.
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; their sister 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 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, 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 whoever 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 a 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 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 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 boy’s pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There 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, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled 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 was 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 most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.
Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.
He who gives to the poor will lack nothing, but he who closes his eyes to them receives many curses. Proverbs 8:27
Father, I ask you to bless our friends, relatives reading this story right now. Show them a new revelation of your love and power or let them be the ones bringing love and joy in someone else’s life. Amen.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Labor of Love
"It was a Labor of Pain
It was a Cold Sky Above
But for the Girl on the Ground in the Dark
With Every Beat of Her Beautiful Heart
It was a Labor of Love"
It was a Cold Sky Above
But for the Girl on the Ground in the Dark
With Every Beat of Her Beautiful Heart
It was a Labor of Love"
For the Mobile Followers you can click on the following link to view the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5gW9FUqp90
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
For the Man Who Hated Christmas
By Nancy W. Gavin
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past ten years. It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it – overspending and the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma – the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was on the wrestling team at the school he attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.
Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids – all kids. He so enjoyed coaching little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came.
That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes, and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed a small, white envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done, and that this was his gift from me.
Mike's smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year. And that same bright smile lit up succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition – one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.The white envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, and our children – ignoring their new toys – would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the small, white envelope never lost its allure.
The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree. And the next morning, I found it was magically joined by three more. Unbeknownst to the others, each of our three children had for the first time placed a white envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing to take down that special envelope.
Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit will always be with us.
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past ten years. It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it – overspending and the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma – the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was on the wrestling team at the school he attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.
Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids – all kids. He so enjoyed coaching little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came.
That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes, and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed a small, white envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done, and that this was his gift from me.
Mike's smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year. And that same bright smile lit up succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition – one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.The white envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, and our children – ignoring their new toys – would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the small, white envelope never lost its allure.
The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree. And the next morning, I found it was magically joined by three more. Unbeknownst to the others, each of our three children had for the first time placed a white envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing to take down that special envelope.
Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit will always be with us.
Monday, December 19, 2011
"Its not the load that breaks you down,
Its the way you carry it"
Lena Horne
Its the way you carry it"
Lena Horne
"Bear one another's burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ. For if anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself. But each one must examine his own work, and then he will have reason for boasting in regard to himself alone, and not in regard to another. For each one will bear his own load." Galations 6: 2-5
Friday, December 16, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE
MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE.
I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS, NOT EVEN A TREE.
NO STOCKINGS BY THE MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.
WITH MEDALS AND... BADGES, AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT CAME THROUGH MY MIND.
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.
THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT AND ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED
A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.
WAS THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?
I REALIZED THE FAMILIES THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.
SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.
THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.
I COULDN'T HELP WONDER
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.
THE VERY THOUGHT
BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES
AND STARTED TO CRY.
THE SOLDIER AWAKENED
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
'SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY,
MY CORPS.'
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED
FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL
I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, 'CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY,
ALL IS SECURE.'
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
'MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,!
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.'
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
I apologize for neglecting the website these last few weeks. It seems that i have been meeting myself coming and going and it just has not worked out that i have had time to stop and think about a "thought for the day". It really bothers me that i have been less than efficient and i find that i myself have missed the lift that this brings to me.
The CHRISTmas season is very hectic. The commercialization of CHRISTmas has made it stressful trying to find the perfect present for our family and friends and the economy has made it even more stressful trying to finance these gifts. Keep in mind while you are bustling around this CHRISTmas season that we were all given the PERFECT present when he died for us so that we may live and that is truly the ONLY gift that we need.
Maybe the PERFECT present this CHRISTmas season is simply sharing that with someone who has not received their PERFECT gift yet.
When life gets to be more than you can stand.....KNEEL!
The CHRISTmas season is very hectic. The commercialization of CHRISTmas has made it stressful trying to find the perfect present for our family and friends and the economy has made it even more stressful trying to finance these gifts. Keep in mind while you are bustling around this CHRISTmas season that we were all given the PERFECT present when he died for us so that we may live and that is truly the ONLY gift that we need.
Maybe the PERFECT present this CHRISTmas season is simply sharing that with someone who has not received their PERFECT gift yet.
When life gets to be more than you can stand.....KNEEL!
Friday, December 9, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
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