A Glass of Milk, Paid in Full

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry. He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door.

Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water. She thought he looked hungry so brought him a large glass of milk.

He drank it slowly, and then asked, “How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she replied. “Mother has taught us never to accept pay for a kindness.”

He said, “Then I thank you from my heart.”

As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.

Year’s later that young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease.

Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes. Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room.

Dressed in his doctor’s gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once. He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to the case.

After a long struggle, the battle was won. Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge and the bill was sent to her room.

She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally she looked, and something caught her attention on the side of the bill. She began to read the following words:

“Paid in full with one glass of milk

Signed, Dr. Howard Kelly.”

Author Unknown

The Old Man and the Dog

The Old Man and the Dog 

 

     By Catherine Moore 
 
            "Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.   "Can't you do anything right?"
   
     Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
   
     "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."

      My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
     
     Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
     
     Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington  and  Oregon  He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often.
   
     The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his powers.
     
     The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
 
    Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
     
     At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived... But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
     
     My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
     
     Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue..
   
     Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.
   
     But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
     
     The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
   
     Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."
     
     I listened as she read.. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
     
     I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog  in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed..
   
     Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention.. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
     
     I pointed to the dog "Can you tell me about him?"
     
     The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.." He gestured helplessly.
     
     As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
     
     "Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
     
     I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said..
     
     I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.
     
     Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
     
     Anger rose inside me It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"
     
     Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.
   
     At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
   
     We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
   
     Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
     
     It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne.  Together he and Cheyenne  explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and  Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
     
     Dad and  Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne  made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel  Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
     
     Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed.. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
     
     The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it."
     
     "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
   
     For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article....
     
     Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. .. ..his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. 

MOTHER'S DAY

MOTHER'S DAY

 

INSPIRATIONAL STORIES

A man stopped at a flower shop to order some flowers to be wired to his mother who lived two hundred miles away.

As he got out of his car he noticed a young girl sitting on the curb sobbing.

He asked her what was wrong and she replied, “I wanted to buy a red rose for my mother and I don’t have enough money.”

The man smiled and said, “Come on in with me. I’ll buy you a rose.”

He bought the little girl her rose and ordered his own mother’s flowers.

As they were leaving he offered the girl a ride home. She said, “Yes, please! You can take me to my mother.”

She directed him to a cemetery, where she placed the rose on a freshly dug grave.

The man returned to the flower shop, canceled the wire order, picked up a bouquet and drove the two hundred miles to his mother’s house.

Author Unknown

The Brave Girl

The little girl  who had to use a basketball as her prosthetic body :

In 2000, Qian Hongyan, was injured tragically in a car accident when she was only 3 years old. To insure her survival, the doctors were forced to amputate her legs.

Qian’s family, living in Zhuangxia, China, was unable to afford modern prosthetic and instead used half a basketball to get around on. Once on the ball she uses two wooden props to help her move around. She struggled to live her life with a basketball as an under-prop, ‘walking’ between school and home by herself.

Qian Hongyan, who was forced to use half a basketball as her prosthetic body, inspired millions with her ambition to compete as a swimmer in the 2012 Paralympics in London. The girl’s story got widely reported in the country, and drew the attention of the Ministry of Public Security and China Rehabilitation Research Center.

Qian now has a pair of proper prosthetic legs, but still says she likes to use the basketball from time to time as it is easier for her to get in and out of the pool.

May God bless the brave little girl who has inspired millions the world over with her resolute will power.

Moral Lesson of the Story: 

"Count your blessings and your problems… If your problems outnumber your blessings, Count Again…. Chances are the things that you take for granted were not added up…"

The Professional Service

Professional Service

A woman was at work when she received a phone call that her daughter was very sick with a fever. She left her work and stopped by the pharmacy to get some medication for her daughter. When returning to her car she found that she had locked her keys in the car. She was in a hurry to get home to her sick daughter. 

She didn't know what to do, so she called her home and told the baby sitter what had happened, and that she did not know what to do. The baby sitter told her that her daughter was getting worse. She said, “You might find a coat hanger and use that to open the door.”

The woman looked around and luckily found an old rusty coat hanger that had been thrown down on the ground, possibly by someone else who at so me time or other had locked their keys in their car. Then she looked at the hanger and said, “I don’t know how to use this.” She bowed her head and asked God to send her some help.

Within five minutes an old rusty car pulled up, with a dirty, greasy, bearded man who was wearing an old biker skull rag on his head. The woman thought, “Great, God. This is what you sent to help me?” But, she was desperate, so she was also very thankful. The man got out of his car and asked her if he could help.

She said, “Yes, my daughter is very sick. I stopped to get her some medication, and I locked my keys in my car. I must get home to her. Please, can you use this hanger to unlock my car?”

He said, “Sure.” He walked over to the car, and in less than one minute the car was opened. She hugged the man and through her tears she said, “Thank You So Much! You are a very nice man.”

The man replied, “Lady, I am not a nice man. I just got out of prison today. I was in prison for car theft and have only been out for about an hour.” The woman hugged the man again, and with sobbing tears cried out loud, “Oh, Thank You God! You even sent me a Professional!”

Author: Unknown

Burned Biscuits

When I was a kid, my mom liked to make breakfast food for dinner every now and then. And I remember one night in particular when she had made breakfast after a long, hard day at work. On that evening so long ago, my mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage and extremely burned biscuits in front of my dad. 

I remember waiting to see if anyone noticed! Yet all my dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my mom and ask me how my day was at school... I don't remember what I told him that night, but I do remember watching him smear butter and jelly on that biscuit and eat every bite! When I got up from the table that evening, I remember hearing my mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits.

 And I'll never forget what he said: "Honey, I love burned biscuits." Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, "Your Mamma put in a hard day at work today and she's real tired. And besides - a burned biscuit never hurt anyone!" 

Life is full of imperfect things ... and imperfect people. I'm not the best at hardly anything, and I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like everyone else. But what I've learned over the years is that learning to accept each other’s faults - and choosing to celebrate each other’s differences - is one of the most important keys to creating a healthy, growing, and lasting relationship. 

And that's my prayer for you today. That you will learn to take the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of your life and lay them at the feet of God. Because in the end, He's the only One who will be able to give you a relationship where a burned biscuit isn't a deal-breaker! We could extend this to any relationship.

     In fact, understanding is the base of any relationship, 
         be it a husband-wife or parent-child or friendship! 

"Don't put the key to your happiness in someone else's pocket - keep it in your own." 

                                         God Bless You.

John 15:12

This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you.

Parrott Attitude

Parrott Attitude

A young woman named Jessie received a parrot as a gift many years ago. Over time the parrot developed an extremely bad attitude.

It got to the point that every word out of the bird's mouth was rude and obnoxious.  Jessie tried and tried to change the bird's attitude by consistently saying only polite words, playing soft music and anything else she could think of to 'clean up' the bird's attitude and by then 'foul language.'

Finally, Jessie was fed up and yelled at the parrot. The parrot yelled back. Jessie lost it and shook the parrot. The parrot became uncontrollable and even more rude. Jessie, in desperation, threw up her hands, grabbed the bird and put him in the freezer. For a few minutes the parrot squawked, kicked and screamed.  Then suddenly there was total quiet. Not a peep was heard for over a minute.

Fearing that she'd hurt the parrot, Jessie quickly opened the door to the freezer.
The parrot calmly stepped out onto Jessie's outstretched arms and said "I believe I may have offended you with my rude language and actions. I'm sincerely remorseful for my inappropriate transgressions and I fully intend to do everything I can to correct my rude and unforgivable behavior."

Jessie was stunned at the change in the bird's attitude. 

As she was about to ask the parrot what had made such a dramatic change in his behavior, the bird spoke-up, very softly, "May I ask what the turkey did?"

Moral of the story:
" The rod of corrections imparts wisdom,
But a child left to himself disgraces his mother."

Note: The later part is just to let you smile, for i know you have hard times and needed a smile. ;-)