Just One

One song can spark a moment,
One flower can wake the dream
One tree can start a forest,
One bird can herald spring.

One smile begins a friendship,
One handclasp lifts a soul.
One star can guide a ship at sea,
One word can frame the goal

One vote can change a nation,
One sunbeam lights a room
One candle wipes out darkness,
One laugh will conquer gloom.

One step must start each journey.
One word must start each prayer.
One hope will raise our spirits,
One touch can show you care.

One voice can speak with wisdom,
One heart can know what's true,
One life can make a difference,
You see, it's up to you!

Poet Unknown

Do You Realize The Influence You Have?

Are you guilty of holding someone back from accomplishing, or doing, or developing as they should, or could? Good Question, isn't it?

Maybe you have been in a role that influences other people and your actions and behaviours are stopping someone from being the person they can be, or maybe you are influencing them to the point where they question their own ability to succeed.

Now, there are several examples that come to mind. Let's take a parent, for example, who has a child or number of children. If one or both parents are the type of individuals who encourage children to develop and not only give them opportunity to do so, but are active with encouraging words and behaviours, then you are in a positive and helpful mode. But, what if, by design or unconsciously, you are stemming the growth and development of children or maybe only one of your children. Would you recognize if you were doing this? Would you change if you did realize that you are hindering, not helping?

Several years ago, I had to replace a receptionist for my unit. Before I advertised for the position, I was approached by another manager, within the same division, and asked if I would consider a transfer from his staff instead of opening a new competition. My natural question was to ask who he wanted me to consider and why?

His response not only surprised me, but also made me a little apprehensive to accept this transfer. Here is the reason why.

I was told that the employee had been causing a number of problems both from a work standard perspective and from a personal relationship viewpoint. It appeared from his description of this employee that she was having a lot of problems performing her duties, and had difficulties on a personal basis with her supervisor, and did not appear to respond to any attempts he, the manager, had made to resolve the issues. Now, after listening to his explanation, I really had severe doubts. What crossed my mind, after this discussion, was that he wanted me to take a performance problem off his hands. Do you think I came down with the last rain shower? Why would I want to assume anyone else's problem?

I told him I would think about it and would let him know the next day. As promised, after thinking more about this potential performance issue, I decided that, because a colleague asked me, I would agree speak with her privately before I made any decision.

And, what I found out during this interview, gave me food for thought. As it turned out after speaking with her for over an hour, was that the performance issue appeared to result from working for a supervisor who never extended a good morning greeting, never gave a word of encouragement, relished in finding fault, and was constantly changing the work load and its priority. The end result was a totally devastated employee who was insecure, hated to see a new work day start, and who had contemplated quitting every day before she went to work.

Now, I wasn't naïve enough to think that I couldn't be fooled, but the look on her face, the trembling hands, and the agitated manner in which she spoke led me to believe she was being truthful. I decided to accept her transfer to unit. What started out as a shy, withdrawn and frightened employee turned out to be one of the most productive and loyal employee's I ever had the privilege of working with. She couldn't do enough and was constantly asking for more and for more responsibility. I was more than happy to give her what she needed - praise for work well done, respect as a person, and encouragement to excel in anything she tackled. 

IF and WHEN

IF and WHEN were friends. Every week they met and had lunch. Their conversation usually centered on all the things they were going to achieve. They both had many dreams and they loved to talk about them. This particular Saturday when they met, WHEN sensed that IF was not in a great mood. As usual they sat at the table reserved for them and ordered their lunch. Once they placed their order, WHEN questioned IF. "IF what is wrong with you? You don't seem your usual cheery self?" IF looked at WHEN and replied, "I'm not sure, I just don't feel like I am making any progress. This last week I saw a course I wanted to take if only I had the time to take it."

WHEN knew exactly how IF felt. "Yeah," replied WHEN, "I too saw a course and I am going to register when I get enough money together." WHEN then said, "well what about that new job you were going to apply for. You were so excited about it last week, did you apply?"

IF responded, "If my computer didn't break down last week, I would have applied. But, my computer is not working, so I could not type my resume."

"Don't worry about it IF, when you are ready another job will come through. I have been thinking about looking for another job also, but I will wait and when the weather gets nicer I will look then." WHEN then went on to tell IF about his week, hoping that it would cheer him up a bit.

The man at the next table couldn't help overhear WHEN and IF. They both were talking about when this and if that, finally he couldn't take it anymore. "Excuse me gentlemen," the man said. IF and WHEN both looked at the man and wondered what he wanted. The man continued, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help hearing your conversation. I think I know how you could solve your problems."

IF smiled and thought, how could a complete stranger know how to solve all of their problems. If only he knew. When he realized the challenges they faced there was no way he could solve their problems! Curious, IF asked the gentleman, "How do you think you can solve our problems?"

The gentleman smiled and said, "You only need listen to yourselves. It reminds me of an old proverb:
'If and When were planted, and Nothing grew'."

IF and WHEN looked puzzled. The gentleman smiled and said, "Start counting how many times you use the words 'if' and 'when'. Rather than thinking 'if and when', start doing, take action, stop talking about 'if and when'."

IF and WHEN both looked surprised, and suddenly realized that what the gentleman had said was so true. Both of them were guilty of thinking, acting and living their life for the "ifs and whens". The gentleman left and IF and WHEN's conversation changed. They made a pact that when they met for lunch next week, there would be no "ifs and whens"; they would only talk about what they  accomplished!

That Little Boy- A Word From Preacher Bill

In 1953 a 13 year old boy filled up the fuel tank of the first customer’s car at  Pat’s new Texaco Service Station and hardware store in Fort Supply, Oklahoma.

HE WAS EXCITED!

Now 60 years later that boy turned 73 as he watches a new building rise up where the old station once stood.

HE IS EXCITED!

It will be the new home of the Roadway Church where we will serve God and His people.

WE ARE EXCITED!

It is with great joy that we invite you to come and be a part of these refreshing times of worship, Praise and Fellowship

YOU WILL BE EXCITED!

In His service and Your friend always,

Preacher Bill

P.S. Walk ins welcome!

In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit. Ephesians 2: 21-22

Where Healing Begins~ A Tribute to Julie, Oklahoma City Bombing April 19, 1995

Here is an article I found that was written on the 10th anniversary of the Oklahoma City Bombing. I must say that it has profound message. Grab a kleenex and enjoy!

Tracy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where Healing Begins

As events continue to unfold, the father of an Oklahoma City bombing victim tells how he finds peace.

BY: Bud Welch

On the 10th anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing, we reprise the remarkable story of the relationship between the father of Julie Welch, who was killed there, and the father of Timothy McVeigh, who was executed for the killings.

I was expecting my daughter's call that morning, April 19, 1995. As i sat by the phone my coffee cup rattled on the tabletop. The next instant, i heard a thunderous sound and the floor shook beneath my feet. I ran to the kitchen window. Blue sky, spring sunshine. Just a peaceful Oklahoma day. It was hard to imagine anything terrible happening on a bright Wednesday like that. I hadn't put on my Texaco uniform that mornin; i was meetin gmy 23-year-old daughter, Julie, for lunch. Proud of her? Everyone who cam in for an oil change heardwhat a great kid i had. She'd caught me bragging on her just two days before. "Dad! People don't want to hear all that!"

Odd, that visit...Julie often stopped by my service station for a few minutes on her way home from her job at the Murrah Building in downtown Oklahoma City (her mother and I were divorced). Monday, though, it was as if...she didn't want to leave. She'd stayed for two hours, then threw her arms around me. Julie always gave me a hug when she left, but Monday she held me a long time.

"Good-bye, Daddy," she'd said.

That was odd, too. Nowadays Julie only called me Daddy when she had something really important to say. Well, maybe she'd tell me about it that afternoon. Every Wednesday I met Julie for lunch at the Athenian restaurant across from the Murrah Building.

At nine o'clock I'd sat down with that cup of coffee to wait for her call. Julie usually got to work at the Social Security office where she was a translator at 8:00 a.m. sharp. It was her first job after college. As a federal employee, Julie got only 30 minutes for lunch--and she wouldn't take 31! She always called to find out what I wanted for lunch, then phoned our order in to the Athenian so we could eat as soon as we arrived.

Chicken sandwich this time, I'd decided. The parking lot would be full by lunchtime: I'd see Julie's red Pontiac in her favorite spot beneath a huge old American elm tree. I'd watch for her to come out of the big glass doors--such a little person, just five feet tall ("Five feet one-half inch, Dad!"), 103 pounds.

But a big heart. I believed in loving your neighbor and all the rest I heard in church on Sundays. But Julie! She lived her faith all day, every day. Spent her free time helping the needy, taught Sunday school, volunteered for Habitat for Humanity--I kidded her she was trying to save the whole world single-handed.

The rumbling subsided. Bewildered, I stood staring out the kitchen window. The phone rang. I grabbed it.

"Julie?"

It was my brother Frank, calling from his car on his way out to the family farm where we'd grown up. "Is your TV on, Bud? Radio says there's been an explosion downtown."

Downtown? Eight miles away? What kind of explosion could rock my table way out here! On the local news channel I saw an aerial view of downtown from the traffic helicopter. Through clouds of smoke and dust the camera zoomed in on a nine-story building with its entire front-half missing. An announcer's voice "...the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building..."

Floors thrusting straight out into space. Tangled wreckage in rooms with no outer wall. And in place of those big glass doors, a mountain of rubble three stories high.

I didn't move. I scarcely breathed. My world stopped at that moment. They were appealing for people not to come into the downtown area, but nothing could have pulled me away from the telephone anyway. Julie would be calling. Her office was at the back of the building, the part still standing. Julie would find her way to a phone and dial my number.

All that day, all that night, all the next day and the next night, I sat by the phone while relatives and friends fanned out to every hospital. Twice the phone rang with the news that Julie's name was on the survivor's list! Twice it rang again with a correction: The lists were not of survivors, but simply of people who worked in the building.

Friday morning, two days after the explosion, I gave up my sleepless vigil and drove downtown. Because I had a family member still missing, police let me through the barricade. Cranes, search dogs and an army of rescue workers toiled among hills of rubble, one of them a mound of debris that had been the Athenian restaurant. Mangled automobiles, Julie's red Pontiac among them, surrounded a scorched and broken elm tree, its new spring leaves stripped away like so many bright lives.

Julie, where are you?

Rescuers confirmed that everyone else working in that rear office had made it out alive. The woman at the desk next to Julie's had come away with only a cut on her arm. But, at exactly nine o'clock, Julie had left her desk and walked to the reception room up front, to escort her first two clients back to her office.

They found the three bodies Saturday morning in the corridor, a few feet from safety.

From the moment I learned it was a bomb--a premeditated act of murder--that had killed Julie and 167 others, from babies in their cribs to old folks applying for their pensions, I survived on hate. When Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols were arrested, I seethed at the idea of a trial. Why should these monsters live another day?

Other memories blur together...Julie's college friends coming from all over the country to her funeral. Victims' family meeting. Laying flowers on my daughter's grave. No time frame for any of it. For me, time was stuck at 9:02 a.m., April 19, 1995.

One small event did stand out among the meaningless days. One night--two months after the bombing? four?--I was watching a TV update on the investigation, fuming at the delays, when the screen showed a stocky, gray-haired man stooped over a flower bed. "Cameramen in Buffalo today," a reporter said, "caught a rare shot of Timothy McVeigh's father in his..."

I sprang at the set. I didn't want to see this man, didn't want to know anything about him. But before i could switch it off, the man looked up, straight at the camera. It was only a glimpse of his face, but in that instant I saw a depth of pain like-- Like mine.
Oh, dear God, thought, this man has lost a child too.

That was all, a momentary flash of recognition. And yet that face, that pain, kept coming back to me as the months dragged on, my own pain unchanged, unending.

January 1996 arrived, a new year on the calendar, but not for me. I stood at the cyclone fence around the cleared site of the Murrah Building, as I had so often in the previous nine months. The fence held small remembrances of Julie: a teddy bear, a photograph, a flower.

My eyes traveled past the mementos to the shattered elm tree where Julie had always parked. The tree was bare on that January day, but in my mind I saw it as it had looked the summer after the bombing. Incredibly, impossibly, those stripped and broken branches had thrust out new leaves.

The thought that came to me then seemed to have nothing to do with new life. It was the sudden certain knowledge that McVeigh's execution would not end my pain. The only question was what I let it do to me.

Julie, you wouldn't know me now!

Angry and bitter, hate cutting me off from Julie's way of love, from Julie herself. There in front of me, inside that cyclone fence, was what blind hate had brought about. The bombing on the anniversary of the Branch Davidian deaths in Waco, Texas, was supposed to avenge what McVeigh's obsessed mind believed was a government wrong...I knew something about obsession now, knew what brooding on a wrong can do to your heart.

I looked again at that tenacious old elm that had survived the worst that hate could do. And I knew that in a world where wrongs are committed every day, I could do one small thing, make one individual decision, to stop the cycle.

Many people didn't understand when I quit publicly agitating for McVeigh's execution. A reporter, interviewing victims' families on the first anniversary of the bombing, heard about my change of heart and mentioned it in a story that went out on the wire services. I began to get invitations to speak to various groups. One invitation, in the fall of 1998, three years after the bombing, came from a nun in Buffalo. Buffalo...what had I heard about that place? Then I remembered. Tim McVeigh's father.

Reach out.

To the father of Julie's killer? Maybe Julie could have, but not me. That was asking too much.

Except Julie couldn't reach out now.

The nun sounded startled when I asked if there was some way I could meet Mr. McVeigh. But she called back to say she'd contacted his church: He would meet me at his home Saturday morning, September 5.

That is how I found myself ringing the doorbell of a small yellow frame house in upstate New York. It seemed a long wait before the door opened and the man whose face had haunted me for three years looked out.

"Mr. McVeigh?" I asked. "I'm Bud Welch."

"Let me get my shoes on," he said.

He disappeared, and I realized I was shaking. What was I doing here? What on earth could we talk about? The man emerged with his shoes on and we stood there awkwardly.

"I hear you have a garden," I said finally. "I grew up on a farm."

We walked to the back of the house, where neat rows of tomatoes and corn showed a caring hand. For half an hour we talked weeds and mulch--we were Bud and Bill now--then he took me inside and we sat at the kitchen table, drinking ginger ale. Family photos covered a wall. He pointed out pictures of his older daughter, her husband, his baby granddaughter. He saw me staring at a photo of a good-looking boy in a suit and tie. "Tim's high school graduation," he said simply.

"Gosh," I exclaimed, "what a handsome kid!"
The words were out before I could stop them, any more than Bill could stop the tears that filled his eyes.

His younger daughter, Jennifer, 24 years old, came in, hair damp from the shower. Julie never got to be 24, but I knew right away that the two would have hit it off. Jennifer had just started teaching at an elementary school, her first job too. Some of the parents, she said, had threatened to take their kids out when they saw her last name.

Bill talked about his job on the night shift at a General Motors plant. Just my age, he'd been there 36 years. We were two blue-collar joes, trying to do right by our kids. I stayed nearly two hours, and when I got up to leave, Jennifer hugged me like Julie always had. We held each other tight, both of us crying. I don't know about Jennifer, but I was thinking that I'd gone to church all my life and had never felt as close to God as I did at that moment.

"We're in this together," I told Jennifer and her dad. "for the rest of our lives. We can't change the past, but we have a choice about the future."

Bill and I keep in touch by telephone, two guys doing our best. What that best will be, neither of us knows, but that broken elm tree gives me a hint. They were going to bulldoze it when they cleared away the debris, but I spearheaded the drive to save the tree, and now it will be a part of a memorial to the bomb victims. It may still die, damaged as it is. But we've harvested enough seeds and shoots from it that new life can one day take its place. Like the seed of caring Julie left behind, one person reaching out to another. It's a seed that can be planted wherever a cycle of hate leaves an open wound in God's world.

The Blow Dryer and the Lent

I am always searching for a good story to share on here and i spend a great deal of time reading story after story until i find just the right one. Well today i did not even have to go looking for a story to share as i had my own kind of epiphany before i ever left the house.

Today began like most days, I did not want to get out of bed. It has been even more of a struggle lately as the unseasonably cold weather has made it really hard to get motivated.

I drug myself out of bed and started my normal routine. I showered and applied my war paint and then started what has became the huge task of blow drying and straightening my hair. I know this does not sound like any big deal, but to me it had become a dreaded part of my routine. What usually took me10 minutes suddenly became 30 minutes and had me flustered to the point I was just going to cut my hair and call it good.

In fact I had a hair appointment last week and seriously thought about going ahead with my plan to cut my hair. I know the obvious answer to this problem without having to part with my hair would have been to get up a little earlier, but honestly.... that just isn't going to happen!

I got to the beauty shop where i knew i was in capable hands of someone who could help me out of the problems, but i just could not follow through with my plan. I had worked hard to grow my hair out and it has become a part of me that i actually like. I also like the idea that my hair is the one part of me that the fuller it is the better it looks. After all i am a product of the 80's! So, i just had her trim my hair to maintain my style and went on my way.

I have spent every morning this past week doing my same old routine and have either spent the 30 minutes blow drying my hair to make it look its best or just letting my hair do the curly thing as this was truly the easiest way and was alot less stress for me! That was until my epiphany this morning.

I had entered the bathroom and reluctantly took my blow dryer out of the cabinet and plugged it in and decided i better glance at the clock to see what kind of job i was going to do on my hair. Curly or Straight? That was the question. I decided that i was fixing to be late for work if i did the complete job on my hair so i decided to do a partial job and dry the front and let the rest go. It would work if i just didn't let anyone see me from behind! LOL! That is when it happened. I dropped the blow dryer breaking off a fragment of the pretty burgundy plastic and knocked the lent out of the filter causing me to have to clean up a mess. I muttered a few things under my breath as i was already running behind and this was just another road block that was putting me further behind.

I got it all picked up and continued with my hair only to discover that it took 10 minutes to dry my hair. Now go figure. The same hair and the same blow dryer that i have been using forever. I was baffled until i realized that the slight bump that chipped the structure of my blow dryer and caused the lent to come loss had actually opened up the flow of air and had actually made a huge difference in what had become such a dreaded chore in my life.

I realized right then and there that our lives are much like this. We get into a set routine and do the same things over and over and over not realizing that over time we are "collecting lent". Sometimes it just takes a slight bump to remind us that we have some "build up" in our "filter" that needs to be released so that we can function at a higher level.

I am thankful for the maintenance man upstairs that is so willing to rid me of my "lent"!

By: Tracy Wilson

In you I trust, O my God. Do not let me be put to shame, nor let my enemies triumph over me. No one whose hope is in you will ever be put to shame, but they will be put to shame who are treacherous without excuse. Show me your ways, O LORD, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long. Remember, O LORD, your great mercy and love, for they are from of old. ~ Psalm 25:2-3-6

Let A Sleeping Dog Lie

I snapped this photos of Hooker the other day when my mom was here, and they reminded me of something.

A few weeks ago, I found out firsthand what the phrase “let a sleeping dog lie” means. It was a cold day and Hooker was curled up on her bed in a comfortable, protected corner of our porch. She looked so peaceful and cozy, but it was getting dark and I wanted to make sure she stayed warm…so I brought an old blanket out of the house and carefully draped it over her body.

When the blanket touched her body, she instantly woke up, whipped her head around, looked at me with dazed expression and glazed eyes… And suddenly snarled/barked at me like she wanted to eat me for dinner.

She immediately came to, realized who I was and what I was doing, and her face softened and melted into its usual sweetness. Once I made sure she was herself again, I sat down and loved on her and told her I was sorry for startling her. And she laid her head in my lap and wagged her tail and snorted, like she always does when she’s happy.

Poor Hooker. She’d been a stray when Josh found her. She’d seen a lot. She’d experienced a lot.

There’s no telling what goes on in those dreams of hers.

So we came to an agreement that day. I promised always to love her and cherish her…and always to say her name and give her a little heads up before covering her up with a dog blanket in the middle of one of her deep dog sleeps.

After that, I had a long talk with the kids, explaining to them the difference between waking up a dog like Hooker…and waking up a dog like Charlie, who sleeps 23.9 hours a day and doesn’t care who does what to him while he sleeps.

I think we all get it now.

Ree Drummond~ The Pioneer Woman
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And so it is with us. God sometimes gives us things to deal that we do not want and is totally not what we were expecting. It is in those moments we have to accept that warm blanket of protection that he wants to give us to see us through. He is our protector whether we are curled up in the corner asleep or wide awake.

The God of my rock; in him will I trust: he is my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my high tower, and my refuge, my savior; thou saved me from violence. I will call on the LORD, who is worthy to be praised: so shall I be saved from mine enemies. 2 Samuel 22:3-4

"Cape Tribulation"

On June 10, 1770, British navigator James Cook’s ship hit a reef off the northeast coast of Australia. He sailed the ship out into deeper water only to hit the reef again, and this time the collision almost sank the ship. This experience moved Cook to write in the ship’s log: “The north point [was named] Cape Tribulation because here began all our troubles.”

Many of us have experienced a trial that has seemed to trigger a string of other trials. The loss of a job, the death of a loved one, an unwanted divorce, or a decline in health could all be part of the list.

Even though a crisis may seem to be our “Cape Tribulation,” God is still sovereign and He most certainly is in control. It is His purpose to use tribulation to build resilience into us. James writes: “My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience” (James 1:2-3). The word translated “patience” means to have staying power or the ability to endure.

In the midst of your life-changing trial, remember that God is still at work. He wants to use your “Cape Tribulation” experience to build your character. He has promised His grace to see you through (2 Cor. 12:9).

 He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater

  He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace. 

—Annie Johnson Flint. © Renewal 1969. Lillenas Publishing

Faith grows best in the winter of trial. —Rutherford

Good Day or Bad? You Can Decide!

At the beginning of my 8:00 a.m. class one Monday at University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV), I cheerfully asked my students how their weekend had been. One young man said that his weekend had not been very good. He’d had his wisdom teeth extracted. The young man then proceeded to ask me why I always seemed to be so cheerful. His question reminded me of something I'd read somewhere before: “Every morning when you get up, you have a choice about how you want to approach life that day,” I said to the young man. “I choose to be cheerful". “Let me give you an example,” I continued.
The other sixty students in the class ceased their chatter and began to listen to our conversation. “In addition to teaching here at UNLV, I also teach out at the community college in Henderson, about seventeen miles down the freeway from where I live. One day a few weeks ago I drove those seventeen miles to Henderson. I exited the freeway and turned onto College Drive. I only had to drive another quarter-mile down the road to the college. But just then my car died. I tried to start it again, but the engine wouldn’t turn over. So I put my flashers on, grabbed my books, and marched down the road to the college.
“As soon as I got there I called AAA and asked them to send a tow truck. The secretary in the Provost's office asked me what had happened. ‘This is my lucky day,’ I replied, smiling. “‘Your car breaks down and today is your lucky day?’ She was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
“‘I live seventeen miles from here.’ I replied. ‘My car could have broken down anywhere along the freeway. It didn't. Instead, it broke down in the perfect place: off the freeway, within walking distance of here. I'm still able to teach my class, and I've been able to arrange for the tow truck to meet me after class. If my car was meant to break down today, it couldn't have been arranged in a more convenient fashion.’ “The secretary's eyes opened wide, and then she smiled. I smiled back and headed for class.” So ended my story to the students in my economics class at UNLV.
I scanned the sixty faces in the lecture hall. Despite the early hour, no one seemed to be asleep. Somehow, my story had touched them. Or maybe it wasn't the story at all. In fact, it had all started with a student's observation that I was cheerful. A wise man once said, “Who you are speaks louder to me than anything you can say.” I suppose it must be so.
Author: Lee Ryan Miller 

Value EVERY Minute

To realize the value of one year: Ask a student who has failed a final exam.

To realize the value of one month: Ask a mother who has given birth to a premature baby.

To realize the value of one week: Ask an editor of a weekly newspaper.

To realize the value of one hour: Ask the lovers who are waiting to meet.

To realize the value of one minute: Ask the person who has missed the train, bus or plane.

To realize the value of one second: Ask a person who has survived an accident.

To realize the value of one millisecond: Ask the person who has won a silver medal in the Olympics.

Time waits for no one.

Treasure every moment you have.

You will treasure it even more when you can share it with someone special.

Author Unknown


"Life is a gift we're given each and every day. Dream about tomorrow, but live for today"

You Better Slow Down

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round,
or listened to rain slapping the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight,
or gazed at the sun fading into the night?

You better slow down, don't dance so fast,
time is short, the music won't last.

Do you run through each day on the fly,
When you ask "How are you?", do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed,
with the next hundred chores running through your head?

You better slow down, don't dance so fast,
time is short, the music won't last.

Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow,
and in your haste not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die,
'cause you never had time to call and say "hi"?

You better slow down, don't dance so fast,
time is short, the music won't last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere,
you miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
it's like an unopened gift thrown away.

Life is not a race, so take it slower,
hear the music before the song is over.

By: David L. Weatherford

Church Cook Out- Fort Supply Lake- April 6, 2013

Here are a few random pictures from the cook out at the lake Sunday! Some of the best times are spent just hanging out with friends! Even if it was a bit on the cool side!

                                                                       Barb and Ray

                                                            Jimmy Wilson and Roger Biehler

                                                                     Mindy Hunter

                                                                         Teresa Latta

Marty Weder and His Boys

The Dirty Old Coin

The story is told of an unemployed young graduate who woke up one morning under a bridge and checked his pocket. All he had left was a few dollar bills adding up to less than ten bucks. He was frustrated as he could find no work and no one was there to help him. He said a prayer dedicating his last remaining money to the Lord and decided to use it to buy food, then wait on the Lord for an answer to his situation.

He bought food and as he sat down to eat, an old man and two children came along --- the older of the two was a boy probably 12 years old and the other a little girl who looked as beautiful as an angel. The old man asked him to help them with food as they had not eaten for almost a week.

The young graduate looked at the children --- they were so lean that he could see their bones coming through their skin and their eyes were receding. With the last bit of compassion he had he gave them all the food. The old man and children prayed that God would bless and prosper the young graduate and then gave him a dirty old coin. The young graduate said, "You need this coin more than I do --- just keep it." The old man insisted that the young graduate put it in his pocket --- and finally he did.

The Old man and children sat down to eat and with no money, no job and no food, the young graduate went back under the bridge to lay down. As he was about to fall asleep he saw an old newspaper on the ground. He picked it up and saw an advertisement inviting people with old coins to come to a particular store. He decided to go there with the dirty old coin the man gave him.

On arriving at the store, he gave the proprietor the dirty old coin. The proprietor screamed loudly and brought out a big book and showed the young graduate a photograph. This same old coin was worth $67,000 dollars. It was part of a Spanish treasure ship that had never been found. The young graduate was overjoyed as the proprietor gave him a certified check for the full amount. He immediately cashed it at the bank and went in search of the old man and little children to thank them.

By the time he got to where he left them eating, they had gone. He asked around about the three people and found a lady who said, "The old man said a young man looking like you would ask about them --- and when you do I'm supposed to give you this note." She handed the young graduate the note which he quickly opened. He was hopeful it would be an address of where they were headed.

But it was not an address and this is what the note said: "You gave us your all and we have rewarded you back with the coin," signed God the Father, The Son and The Holy Ghost.
Author Unknown

True Sportsmanship

A True Story by Marianne Holman
-- Church News, February 21, 2009

During the 2008 Washington State 4A track and field championship, Andrea Nelson, a Laurel in the Woodridge Ward, Spokane Washington North Stake, received her best time in the 3,200-meter race. Although it was Andrea's best time, her second-place finish was still seconds behind the event winner, a senior from another school and the defending state champion.

Within a few minutes after the event, the judges made a ruling that left runners, spectators, and coaches confused. The first-place runner was disqualified due to officials believing she had taken three consecutive steps on the inside line of the track. As the announcement was made, many were upset because of the clear and fair win the first-place athlete had earned.

As the award ceremony took place, Andrea received the first place award, but she said that wasn't the way she wanted to win the state championship. At the conclusion of the award ceremony, Andrea hopped off the podium and ran over to the first-place finisher. She took her medal and placed it around the neck of the disqualified first-place runner, telling her she was the one that deserved the medal.

After Andrea gave her medal away, the second-place finisher decided to do the same. She took her medal and placed it around Andrea's neck, giving her the second-place title. Each of the top eight medalists, one by one, placed her medal around the runner who placed directly before her until each of other top finishers had a medal.

Andrea's example of good sportsmanship carried on throughout the state track meet. Ten days after the meet, the Washington Interscholastic Athletic Association ruled the disqualification void, and declared the first-place finisher the official winner of the 3,200 meter race. They announced that she had been mistaken for her teammate who had stepped outside the boundaries.

Andrea had done what she felt was the right thing to do. Despite the chance to be a state champion, she decided that doing what felt right was more important the being Number One.

During the next cross-country season in November of 2008, Andrea went on to win the Washington State cross-country 3A championship, a title she had received the year before. Andrea's good example of sportsmanship, integrity, and values echoes the 2009 Mutual theme found in 1 Timothy 4:12: "Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity."

What Comes Around Goes Around

His name was Fleming, and he was a poor Scottish farmer. One day, while trying to make a living for his family, he heard a cry for help coming from a nearby bog. He dropped his tools and ran to the bog.

There, mired to his waist in black muck, was a terrified boy, screaming and struggling to free himself. Farmer Fleming saved the lad from what could have been a slow and terrifying death.

The next day, a fancy carriage pulled up to the Scotsman's sparse surroundings. An elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced himself as the father of the boy Farmer Fleming had saved.

"I want to repay you," said the nobleman. "You saved my son's life." "No, I can't accept payment for what I did," the Scottish farmer replied, waving off the offer.

At that moment, the farmer's own son came to the door of the family hovel. "Is that your son?" the nobleman asked.

"Yes," the farmer replied proudly.

"I'll make you a deal. Let me provide him with the level of education my son will enjoy. If the lad is anything like his father, he'll no doubt grow to be a man we both will be proud of.

And that he did.

Farmer Fleming's son attended the very best schools and in time, he graduated from St. Mary's Hospital Medical School in London, and went on  to become known throughout the world as the noted  Sir Alexander Fleming,the discoverer of Penicillin.

Years afterward, the same nobleman's son who was saved from the bog was stricken with pneumonia. What saved his life this time? Penicillin.

The name of the nobleman? Lord Randolph Churchill. His son's name? Sir Winston Churchill.

     By unknown Author