Author unknown.
I spent a bit of time in Haiti, shortly after the earthquake, in order to minister to the many needy and destitute people there. It was heartbreaking seeing the pressing needs around us. We spent a lot of time talking with people and praying for them. I asked Jesus to show me that the prayers we prayed actually impact these people’s lives and bring about miracles. We’d see about 300 people a day while there. The doctors would see them and then if they thought there were signs of trauma or that the person needed spiritual or emotional help, they would send them to us and we would talk with them. One day I noticed a young girl. She was very small, petite and very pretty, and she was very pregnant. Jesus said, “You have to talk to her.” I was kind of going back and forth because my translator had already left for the day and I was really tired. I asked a nurse who was American, but Haitian by origin, and so spoke Creole, if she could help translate for me, and we started talking a bit. I was asking the young girl a bit about her life and I started telling her, “I do believe that something good can come from all this, if you have hope, and I know Jesus can take care of you.” She broke down and started crying. She said, “Can you really tell me that anything good can come from this? You can’t tell me that there is anything I can have hope in.” She explained that she was 16 years old and 8 months pregnant. Her whole family had been killed, including her husband who was just 17. She said, “For the last month I’ve slept on the streets. Some days I eat, some days I don’t. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to keep the baby. What am I going to do? How can you tell me there is hope?” I excused myself and tried to see if I could find her some tangible help. I asked the doctors, “Do we have any more food? Do we have any more medicine? Is there something we can give this girl?” We didn’t have anything left and I said, “Jesus, I can’t tell her anything,” and at that moment I didn’t have faith that the Lord could do something for her. Then Jesus told me very clearly, “You don’t need to have faith to do the impossible. You just need to have faith in Me, and then I’ll do the impossible. Go back and tell her that I’m going to bring someone into her life that will take care of her and take care of the baby and she’s going to have everything she needs.” I went back and told the girl what Jesus told me. The girl kind of calmed down and I said a prayer for her. The nurse who had been helping translate for me excused herself and said, ”I’ll be back.” Just then a doctor walked up to me. He said, “I’m leaving for the States in a couple of days and I wanted to give you something.” He gave a whole box full of baby clothes, medicine, and food. He also gave a cash donation. He said, “The Lord told me that you would know who this is for.” I said, “Yes, I do.” I gave these gifts to the young girl and she started crying and saying, “Thank You, Jesus. Thank You.” Then the nurse came back and said, “Some of my family live here in Haiti and they’re doctors. I just told them the girl’s situation and they’ll adopt this girl and they’ll take care of her. When she needs to have her baby they’ll go to the clinic and they’ll do everything and treat her as their own daughter.” This girl was overwhelmed, crying and hugging everyone and saying, “Thank You Jesus.” I was crying, too, and thanking Jesus. In literally 20 minutes an absolutely impossible situation had become completely solved. Jesus had gone above and beyond in doing it. There were a couple of doctors who had been working with us for those two weeks who didn’t have any faith. At one point one of the doctors said, “You know, I never would have thought that miracles are possible, but now I believe.” It was beautiful.
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Quote of the day:
Our Lord … tells us that the little things we do—feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, showing hospitality to the stranger, visiting the sick, and the other nameless ministries of love of which we take no account—if done in the right spirit, are accepted as though they had been actually done to Christ himself! … The best thing we can do with our love is not to watch for a chance to perform some one fine act that will shine before the world—but to fill all the days and hours with little kindnesses which will make countless hearts nobler, stronger, and happier.—J. R. Miller Think about it: About six years ago we moved to a new neighborhood. Since arriving, we’ve tried to be friendly with our neighbors and show kindness. We greet them with a smile, ask how they are, and several times we prepared pizza and delivered it to them as a sign of friendship. We thought we were doing well in showing our neighbors we care. But then we met Nilda. Nilda’s two adult grandchildren are both disabled with a genetic degenerative disease. In order to help with their care, she decided to move in with her daughter’s family. Caring for physically disabled people creates a lot of work and stress, and no one would blame this family for focusing on their own problems and challenges. But not so with Nilda. She is the most hospitable person I have ever known, and there always seem to be at least one, if not two, sets of visitors at their home. As previous visitors get up and start leaving, new visitors enter the house—there is a constant flow of people. Drinks and cakes are always handy, or snacks and simple dishes are prepared in minutes. In spite of the challenges and difficulties this family is facing, there’s a joyful and optimistic atmosphere. Even our dog, who occasionally visits her with us, doesn’t leave without a bowl of water and a special dog treat or two. In fact, our dog recognizes Nilda at a distance and can’t wait to see what yumminess she has on hand this time. Nilda pays attention to the smallest details about her visitors. I don’t know if a few paragraphs can do justice to the joy, kindness, loving concern, help, and hospitality that she bestows on others, but the above quote reminded me of Nilda when I read it. Why don’t we make Nilda our example for the coming year? -- Irena Žabičková
Back in 1980, Deb was a single mother with two infants living in San Bernardino County, California. She occasionally needed reliable babysitters.
Fortunately, her parents lived only about 30 miles away in Alta Loma. Deb would usually drop off the children at her parents' house, go do what she needed to do, then pick them up in the evening. One night, Deb had retrieved her babies from her parents' place and was heading home. It was relatively late, about 11:30 p.m. Deb was driving her "old clunker." Among the car's many deficiencies, the gas gauge was broken, requiring her to guess when the old thing needed fuel. Occasionally, her guessing was off. "Halfway home, the car started to putter," Deb remembers, "and I realized I was on empty. I pulled off the first off ramp I could, and it just happened to be one that was slightly uphill. Almost at the top of the exit, my car died and there was absolutely nothing around except empty fields and distant lights at a truck stop about a quarter of a mile down the road. With no cars in sight, Deb didn't know what to do. The kids were asleep and walking miles while carrying two kids in the middle of the night was not a good option. This was before cell phones, so she could not call for help. "I put my head on the steering wheel while saying a short and panicky prayer," she says. "I hadn't even finished when I heard a few taps on my window." When she looked up, she saw a clean-cut young man standing there, who Deb estimated to be about 21 years old. He motioned for her to roll down her window. "I remember I was surprised," Deb says, "but I wasn't even the slightest bit afraid, even though I normally would have been terrified." The young man was dressed well and had a faint smell of soap. He didn't ask if she needed help. Instead, he told her to put the car in neutral and he would help her over that last, small hill toward a place where she could get gas. "I thanked him and followed his instructions. The car started moving. I steered it toward the lights of the truck stop and turned around to yell 'thank you' again to him," Deb says. "He was so nice! My car kept moving, but the young man was nowhere in sight. I mean, this area was completely remote. There was absolutely nowhere he could have gone that quickly, even if there was somewhere to go. I don't even know where he came from to begin with." Deb's car continued to roll down the hill until it reached the truck stop. She was able to get the gas she needed, and the kids remained sound asleep. "I've always trusted in God to take care of us, but in relating that story many times to my children, who are now 30 and 32, they know for a fact that angels do exist and are sent to us if we just believe. "I always thought it was so amazing that we were sent someone who I would trust instinctively without question. Since that incident, I've come to believe that we probably encounter angels all the time, and take for granted who they really are. I think they come in all shapes and sizes, young and old ... and sometimes when we least expect them." (From V https://www.liveabout.com/angel-encounters-true-stories-2593644) December is by far my busiest month of the year. The days are filled with organizing events, recycling toys to give to needy kids, buying gifts, decorating the house, and planning Christmas get-togethers and Christmas Eve dinner. Then there’s New Year’s celebration to ring out the old and ring in the new.
But there are a few special days, like an island of refuge floating quietly in this sea of perpetual movement—the days between Christmas in the Gregorian calendar and New Year’s—December 26th through 30th. These days are my personal time of reflection. Not that I have five days of retreat, because there’s still a lot to do to finish the year! But during these days is when I take stock of the year that is ending and contemplate the new one before me. First, I pull out my agenda to go over the most significant events of the year. I thank God for the obvious blessings, as well as the “blessings in disguise” that came in the form of difficulties and lessons learned the hard way! I’m always amazed at how much can happen in 12 months, and how long ago some of the events seem! If I didn’t take time to look back in reflection, some important threads of the tapestry of my life would be lost in forgetfulness, and I might miss the bigger picture of how events are unfolding. Over the years I’ve a made a collection of year-end reviews. Then I look forward to the year ahead. Some years seem to be already pretty much planned out, others are more nebulous, but in any case, I know there will always be surprises. I dedicate the year to God and write a prayer as I feel led. I also try to find an appropriate Bible verse that will go along with the prayer. This year, my verse is Matthew 6:33 from the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus said, “Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”1 I hope to review it often and to study what it means to “seek God’s kingdom first” in my actions. I’d also like to contemplate what “righteousness” means to Him, which I suspect is more about love, faith, and grace than my puny efforts toward perfection. And lastly, to have faith for “all these things” that my heavenly Father promises to provide. Every year I look forward to these days between Christmas and the New Year, when I can lay aside time to step back from December’s activities, take stock of the past year, count my many blessings, and commit the coming year to His precious care. Sally García The rumbling of a garbage truck awoke me before 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning in the garage apartment my 10-year-old son and I called home. A messy divorce had left me struggling financially, and I was forced to move with Levi into a less-than-desirable part of town. Drug dealers loitered out front late into the night. God, will You be able to keep us safe here? I worried.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard banging on the front door. Who could it be so early? I threw on a sweat suit and unlocked the door, opening it only partway. There stood a hulking teenager wearing a leather Chicago Bulls jacket. “Yes?” I asked warily. “Lady, you got a bad gas leak!” I opened the door a bit wider and stuck my head out. The stench of natural gas was overpowering, and I covered my mouth and nose to keep from gagging. “You gotta get out,” he said. His deep brown eyes pleaded with me. “The whole place could blow.” Levi! I ran to his bedroom. “Wake up,” I said, shaking him. “Mom, it’s Saturday,” he groaned. “No school.” “Honey, there’s a gas leak. We’ve got to get out of here. Now!” I tossed him a pair of jeans, and Levi dressed quickly while I grabbed the cordless phone. We rushed outside, where the young man in the Bulls jacket was waiting. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said. “Call 911.” Of course! I was wasting time. The fumes grew stronger by the minute. I dialed. “Emergency,” I said to the operator, giving all the information. Help was on the way. “We’ll be fine now,” I assured the young man, but he stayed to watch the street fill with fire trucks and police cars. I was called over to answer questions while the rescuers shut the gas off and checked the area. One firefighter came out of the garage with a sniffer, a device that detects flammable vapors in the air. “The gas meter’s punctured,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “It’s lucky you woke up when you did, ma’am.” The young man who’d warned me was leaning on our car talking to Levi. There are some good people around here too, I realized, walking over to join them. “Time to get going,” the young man said. “Later, Levi. Take care of your mom.” He shook my hand and walked down the street. “Come back anytime,” I called after him, waving. The firefighter in charge told us it was safe to go back inside. “That young man probably saved our lives,” I said. The fireman stared at me blankly. “The one who was with my son and me,” I added. “You saw him.” The crew looked at one another uncomfortably. I tried again. “He was over six feet tall, a black kid in his late teens, wearing a Bulls jacket.” “I’m a Bulls fan,” one of the policemen said. “I’d have noticed a kid in a Bulls jacket.” “We didn’t see any teenagers around here,” another officer insisted. “Just you two. And you’re darned lucky you got out when you did.” I stood in the midst of the dispersing crowd, trying to make sense of what had happened. Levi took my hand. “I saw him, Mom, so don’t worry,” he said. And for the first time in ages, I promised God I’d try not to. -- By Kathy Oldaker The noise was enough to make Father Bonaventure almost regret having given this party. The wild Indians are certainly running true to form, he thought. The children were indeed Indians—members of the Papago [Tohono O'odham] tribe, and they had gone wild with joy. This was their first Christmas party, given for them by the Franciscan priests at the San Xavier Reservation mission south of Tucson, Arizona.
A party? Father smiled to himself. It's more like an uprising. The children came from poor families who labored on farms that never produced enough to buy proper food and clothes. "Let the kids have their fun," Father concluded, clenching his fists to control his impatience. Games were being played with prizes for the winners, but now Father began to receive reports that Luis Pablo, just going on eight, was trying to take away prizes from boys who had won them. Time and again Father had to force Luis to return a pencil or a scarf or a book. "Luis!" Father said severely, "why can't you behave?" "I want to win something." "Then win something," said Father. "Don't steal it." But the boy had no luck at all. Whatever the game, he lost. Father watched him sadly. It was a shame, for these defeats had driven Luis to the brink of violence. Father was both puzzled and angry. At the end of the party the children formed a line and to each Father presented a bag of hard candy—the only gift the mission could afford in bulk. When Luis' turn came he asked, "Can I have three bags?" "You cannot," said Father sternly. "One bag to each." "But I mean empty bags." "Oh! Well, why not?" Father gave Luis three empty bags and the boy left. Later, alone in his office, the priest glanced out the window and saw Luis sitting on the school steps. Luis had three bags open beside him and carefully, by precise count, was dividing his candy into them. Then Father Bonaventure suddenly remembered: At home Luis had two brothers and a sister; they were all too young to come to the Christmas party. So this was the reason. Father went to the party room and scooped the remaining candy into a large bag. He had intended to give the candy to the Sisters, but he knew that they would not object to what he was about to do. He went outside and presented the bag to Luis. "Here's your prize," he said. "Prize?" Luis asked, astonished. "What for?" "All during the party I was watching to see which one of you had the true spirit of Christmas," Father said. "You win." Then the priest turned and entered the school quickly because he did not want the boy to see his tears. We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi there!” He pounded his fat baby hands on the highchair tray. His eyes were wide with excitement and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled with merriment.
I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man with a tattered rag of a coat, dirty, greasy, and worn. His pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. “Hi there, baby! Hi there, big boy! I see ya, buster,” the man said to Erik. My husband and I exchanged looks, What do we do? Erik continued to laugh and answer, “Hi, hi there!” Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, “Do ya know patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo!” Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence, all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his comments. We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door. Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik, I prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby’s “pick me up” position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man’s. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby expressed their love. Erik in an act of total trust, tenderness, and submission lay his tiny head upon the man’s ragged shoulder. The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor gently, so gently, cradled my baby’s bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.” Somehow I managed, “I will,” from a throat that contained a stone. He pried Erik from his chest, unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, “God bless you, ma’am. You’ve given me my Christmas gift.” I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, “My God, my God, forgive me.” I had just witnessed Christ’s love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment, a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking, “Are you willing to share your son for a moment?”—when He shared His for all eternity. The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, “To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children.” -- Author unknown I had been on the streets for two years, after running away from my home and parents. Life had been dismal at home, and I longed to break free and find adventure, so at the age of 16, I stuffed my backpack with the essentials … and left. I was excited and afraid at the same time. I had nowhere to go, and very little money, but anything would be better than the life I'd had at home with a drunk and abusive father and a psychotic mother.
My first night out I stayed in a bus stop shelter. It protected me from the wind, but not the cold. I shuddered and shivered all night long, till at last the dawn came. The next night, I didn't fare much better, but by and by, I got used to it, and soon slept in many odd places—under bridges, in deserted alleyways, at storefronts, and at bus stops—always dodging the cops. I would collect strips of cardboard during the day and use them as blankets at night. This was my life for two years. This story began on Christmas Eve. I had been staying in an abandoned building, and was on my way to pick up a batch of cardboard boxes that I had spotted during the day, when an older woman crossed the street in front of me. Suddenly, a car sped around the corner and knocked her over onto the sidewalk almost in front of me. The driver sped off. I rushed to her side, and tried my best to comfort her. Surprisingly, the woman wasn't seriously injured, but she was very shook up, and her leg was paining her. I held her hand and told her not to worry, and that help was coming—though I did not know where it would come from. I stayed with her for about ten minutes, until another car came by. I jumped out onto the road and waved my arms frantically to slow the car down. The car did slow down, and after hearing what had happened, the driver got out his cell phone and called for an ambulance. Afterwards, a policeman questioned me as to what had happened, and gave me the name of the hospital the woman had been taken to. I went back to my "home," but I couldn't forget what had happened. The next day, I inquired at the hospital, and the receptionist gave me the room number where the lady was in. The woman was very happy to see me and thanked me over and over. And so it was that on that Christmas, I found a friend, someone who took me in as her own, and cared for me as a real mom. She had been very lonely, as her husband had recently died, and she said that I was a godsend in her life, as much as she was in mine. More importantly, she taught me about Jesus, and she led me in a prayer to receive Him into my heart. The Lord gave us to each other that Christmas, and both of our lives were enriched as a result. I later became involved in helping homeless people in our city, and lived a full and happy life, helping others. -- By Joseph Bartin In 1994, two Americans answered an invitation from the Russian Department of Education to teach morals and ethics (based on Biblical principles) in the public schools. They were invited to teach at prisons, businesses, the fire and police departments, and a large orphanage. About 100 boys and girls who had been abandoned, abused, and left in the care of a government-run program were in the orphanage. The Americans relate the following story:
It was nearing the holiday season, 1994, time for our orphans to hear the traditional story of Christmas for the first time. We told them about Mary and Joseph arriving in Bethlehem. Finding no room in the inn, the couple went to a stable, where the baby Jesus was born and placed in a manger. Throughout the story, the children and orphanage staff sat and listened in amazement. Some sat on the edges of their stools, trying to grasp every word. Completing the story, we gave the children three small pieces of cardboard to make a crude manger. Each child was given a small paper square, cut from yellow napkins I had brought with me. No colored paper was available in the city. Following instructions, the children tore the paper and carefully laid strips in the manger for straw. Small squares of flannel, cut from a worn-out nightgown an American lady was throwing away as she left Russia, were used for the baby’s blanket. A doll-like baby was cut from tan felt we had brought from the United States. The orphans were busy assembling their manger as I walked among them to see if they needed any help. All went well until I got to one table where little Misha sat. He looked to be about six years old, and had finished his project. As I looked at the little boy’s manger, I was startled to see not one, but two babies in the manger. Quickly, I called for the translator to ask the lad why there were two babies in the manger. Crossing his arms in front of him and looking at this completed manger scene, the child began to repeat the story very seriously. For such a young boy, who had only heard the Christmas story once, he related the happenings accurately—until he came to the part where Mary put the baby Jesus in the manger. Then Misha started to ad lib. He made up his own ending to the story as he said, “And when Mary laid the baby in the manger, Jesus looked at me and asked me if I had a place to stay. I told Him I have no mama and I have no papa, so I don’t have any place to stay. Then Jesus told me I could stay with Him. But I told Him I couldn’t, because I didn’t have a gift to give Him like everybody else did. But I wanted to stay with Jesus so much, so I thought about what I had that maybe I could use for a gift. I thought maybe that if I kept Him warm, that would be a good gift. So I asked Jesus, ‘If I keep You warm, will that be a good enough gift?’ “And Jesus told me, ‘If you keep Me warm, that will be the best gift anybody ever gave Me.’ So I got into the manger, and then Jesus looked at me and He told me I could stay with Him—for always.” As little Misha finished his story, his eyes brimmed full of tears that splashed down his little cheeks. Putting his hand over his face, his head dropped to the table and his shoulders shook as he sobbed and sobbed. The little orphan had found Someone who would never abandon nor abuse him, Someone who would stay with him—for always. -- Author unknown |
AuthorThe goal of the blog is to provide interesting, motivational, soul feeding material. All to help remind us that God loves us all and wants a personal relationship with each of us and will take care of us in times of trouble. I aspire to be a force for good by providing you with positive input. I encourage you to share the blog with others. Archives
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