Children at the Crossroads

Carl was a quiet man. He didn’t talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake.  Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.

Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us.  He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII.  Although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister’s residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.  He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened.

He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, “Would you like a drink from the hose?”   The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, “Yeah, sure,” with a malevolent little smile.   As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl’s arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl’s assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him.  Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn’t get there fast enough to stop it.  “Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?” the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.  Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head.  “Just some punk kids. I hope they’ll wise-up someday.”  His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.  Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, “Carl, what are you doing?”  “I’ve got to finish my watering. It’s been very dry lately,” came the calm reply.  Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.

A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose.  This time they didn’t rob him.  They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water.  When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done.  Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches.    As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack.  “Don’t worry old man, I’m not gonna hurt you this time.”  The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.

“What’s this?” Carl asked. “It’s your stuff,” the man explained. “It’s your stuff back.   Even the money in your wallet.”  “I don’t understand,” Carl said. “Why would you help me now?”    The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. “I learned something from you,” he said. “I ran with that gang and hurt people like you we picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it, but every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn’t hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate.”  He stopped for a moment. “I couldn’t sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back.”  He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say. “That bag’s my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess.” And with that, he walked off down the street.

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather.  In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn’t know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church.  The minister spoke of Carl’s garden as a lesson in life.  In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, “Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden.”

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: “Person needed to care for Carl’s garden.”    The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister’s office door.  Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. “I believe this is my job, if you’ll have me,” the young man said. 

The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl.  He knew that Carl’s kindness had turned this man’s life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, “Yes, go take care of Carl’s garden and honor him.”

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done.  During that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl’s memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn’t care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, “My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she’s bringing him home on Saturday.”  “Well, congratulations!” said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. “That’s wonderful! What’s the baby’s name?”

“Carl,” he replied.

That’s the whole gospel message simply stated.

Take 60 seconds give this a shot! Let’s just see if Satan stops this one.

All you do is:

1. Simply say a small prayer of thanks and pray about the person that offered this story to you.

2. Then send it on to five other people. Within hours five people have prayed for you, and you caused a multitude of people to pray to God for other people. 

Then sit back and watch the power of God work in your life for doing the thing that you know He loves.

GOOD FRIENDS ARE LIKE ANGELS, YOU DON’T HAVE TO SEE THEM TO KNOW THEY ARE THERE.

There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things ‘in order,’ she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. 

She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. ‘There’s one more thing,’ she said excitedly.. ‘What’s that?’ came the Pastor’s reply. ‘This is very important,’ the young woman continued. ‘I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand.’ The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing 
quite what to say. That surprises you, doesn’t it?’ the young woman asked. ‘Well, to be honest, I’m puzzled by the request,’ said the Pastor.. The young woman explained. ‘My grandmother once told me this story, and from that time on I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement. In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, ‘Keep your fork.’ It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming…like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie.. Something wonderful, and with substance!’ So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder ‘What’s with the fork?’ Then I want you to tell them: ‘Keep your fork ..the best is yet to come.’ The Pastor’s eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming. At the funeral people were walking by the young woman’s casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand.. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, ‘What’s with the fork?’ And over and over he smiled. During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died.. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork let it remind you, ever so gently, that the best is yet to come. Friends are a very rare jewel, Indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed, cherish the time you have, and the memories you share …. being friends with someone is not an opportunity, but a sweet responsibility. 

Sent to me via email.

One Sunday morning, an old cowboy entered a church just before services were to begin. Although the old man and his clothes were spotlessly clean, he wore jeans, a denim shirt and boots that were worn and ragged. In his hand he carried a worn-out old hat and an equally worn, dog-eared Bible.

The church he entered was in a very upscale and exclusive part of the city. It was the largest and most beautiful church the old cowboy had ever seen. The people of the congregation were all dressed with expensive clothes and fine jewelry. As the cowboy took a seat, the others moved away from him. No one greeted, spoke to, or welcomed him. They were all appalled by his appearance and did not attempt to hide it.

As the old cowboy was leaving the church, the preacher approached him and asked the cowboy to do him a favor. “Before you come back in here again, have a talk with God and ask him what he thinks would be appropriate attire for worship in church.” The old cowboy assured the preacher he would.

The next Sunday, he showed back up for the services wearing the same ragged jeans, shirt, boots, and hat. Once again he was completely shunned and ignored. The preacher approached the cowboy and said, “I thought I asked you to speak to God before you came back to our church.”

“I did,” replied the old cowboy.  ”And what was his reply?” asked the preacher.

“Well, sir, God told me that he didn’t have a clue what I should wear. He said he’d never been in this church.”

Sent to me via email.

Read: Job 37
Verses 1-2, ESV: “At this also my heart trembles and leaps out of its place. Keep listening to the thunder of his voice and the rumbling that comes from his mouth.”
 
Most of humanity has seemingly lost, or has never discovered, an awareness of God as majestic and holy; an awareness that rightly stirs the spirit, stimulates the mind, and stuns the heart. If that awareness was in place, people would love, worship, serve, and fear this God who causes such wonder, and it would cause our comparative self-awareness to humble our pride. Even those professing to know and love the Lord often seem to forget Him, or to treat Him casually. He is the Lord; He is worthy of more than the tepid response that we often give Him, and He will ultimately receive the honor He is due.

 Submitted by Dean Sisk, Senior Pastor, Belle Aire Baptist church, Murfreesboro, TN

Endure to the End

Those people who keep their faith until the end will be saved.  Matthew 10:23

Are you close to quitting?  Please don’t do it.  Are you discouraged as a parent?  Hang in there.  Are you weary with doing good?  Do just a little more.  Are you pessimistic about your job?  Roll up your sleeve and go at it again.  No communication in your marriage?  Give it one more shot …

Remember, a finisher is not one with no wounds or weariness.  Quite to the contrary, he, like the boxer, is scarred and bloody.  Mother Teresa is credited with saying, “God didn’t call us to be successful, just faithful.”  The fighter, like our Master, is pierced and full of pain.  He, like Paul, may even be bound and beaten.  But he remains.

The Land of Promise, says Jesus, awaits those who endure.  It is not just for those who make the victory laps or drink champagne.  No sir.  The Land of Promise is for those who simply remain to the end.

 From the Book … No Wonder They Call Him the Savior.  Grace for the Moment by Max Lucado.

This story was sent to me via email last week.  I thought it was great and wanted to share.

Now this is the Living Bible:

His name is Tim. He has wild hair, wears a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans, and no shoes. This was literally his wardrobe for his entire four years of college.

He is brilliant. Kind of profound and very, very bright. He became a Christian while attending college.
 

Across the street from the campus is a well-dressed, very conservative church.. They want to develop a ministry to the students but are not sure how to go about it..

One day Tim decides to go there. He walks in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt, and wild hair. The service has already started and so Tim starts down the aisle looking for a seat.

The church is completely packed and he can’t find a seat. By now, people are really looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one says anything.

Tim gets closer and closer and closer to the pulpit, and when he realizes there are no seats, he just squats down right on the carpet.

By now the people are really uptight, and the tension in the air is thick.

About this time, the minister realizes that from way at the back of the church, a deacon is slowly making his way toward Tim.

Now the deacon is in his eighties, has silver-gray hair, and a three-piece suit. A godly man, very elegant, very dignified, very courtly. He walks with a cane and, as he starts walking toward this boy, everyone is saying to themselves that you can’t blame him for what he’s going to do.

How can you expect a man of his age and of his background to understand some college kid on the floor?

It takes a long time for the man to reach the boy.

The church is utterly silent except for the clicking of the man’s cane.
All eyes are focused on him. You can’t even hear anyone breathing. The minister can’t even preach the sermon until the deacon does what he has to do.

And now they see this elderly man drop his cane on the floor. With great difficulty, he lowers himself and sits down next to Tim and worships with him so he won’t be alone..

Everyone chokes up with emotion…

When the minister gains control, he says,

‘What I’m about to preach, you will never remember. What you have just seen, you will never forget.’

‘Be careful how you live. You may be the only Bible some people will ever read!’

I asked the Lord to bless you
As I prayed for you today.
To guide you and protect you
As you go along your way….
His love is always with you,
His promises are true,
And when we give Him all our cares,
You know He will see us through.

AMEN