tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40080580650964974002024-02-07T01:24:13.999-05:00'Noopy's BlogSherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-70843165105027898022012-06-22T11:51:00.000-04:002012-06-23T18:31:55.340-04:00The big picture<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had a thought this morning that I wanted to share. I was listening to a song on the radio, </span><span id="yui_3_3_0_1_134038009382056" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-style: italic; line-height: 16px;">Before</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-style: italic; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span id="yui_3_3_0_1_134038009382063" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><i>The Morning, </i>Josh Wilson</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. Then I could see in my mind, one of those big pictures that are made out of a bunch of little pictures. It was beautiful, but as I zoomed in I could see that the small pictures it was made of were not all beautiful. Some were awful; hunger, sickness, death. Sometimes I think that is how our lives really are, when we think that something is horrible and God doesn't care, what we are experiencing is just part of the bigger picture. I think I may have to learn how to make one of these with all of my thousands of pictures. It just might be interesting.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-12595215600574206212011-05-11T08:57:00.000-04:002011-05-11T08:57:08.977-04:00"Whack A Mole"<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I really need to write about my feelings so if you don’t like it when I vent, stop reading now.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Yesterday I was having a difficult day. My sister was in a situation over which I had no control. I could not help her in any way. I was frustrated. I posted on my Facebook that I needed to find an arcade with a “whack a mole” or a shooting range. Friends asked what was up and I told them that if my sister didn’t come up with enough money by Sunday then she was going to be living in her car. Well another person involved in her situation took all this personally and posted a reply. I realized that this person had taken this personally so I deleted the status that I had posted. Next she started attacking me by posting 3-4 times in under 5 minutes on my wall. She was saying that I wanted to shoot a mole; that I wanted to shoot her. I was so baffled by what she was saying that I asked what she was talking about and she stated that she had seen my post. Well I knew she had seen it, it was her reply that made me delete it as I did not want to be offensive. So after the 3<sup>rd</sup> or 4<sup>th</sup> post on my wall I deleted her and blocked her. I decided for safety to remove any one else associated with that situation except my sister. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Anyway let me be clear, “whack a mole” is a game. They used to have them in arcades. I loved to go play it when I was frustrated as a teen.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=Whack+A+Mole&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi&biw=1024&bih=606">Pictures of "whack a mole"</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Arcade? Oh that is where we used to spend our allowances before all these electronic games became things you can play in your home for free. Anyway it is a physical game where these little things pop up, they don’t even look like moles, and you whack them with a mallet. Really great for working out frustrations; kind of like a punching bag, but you don’t hurt your knuckles. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I learned a little later in life that when I do not have access to a “whack a mole” that throwing shoes works great, thanks Peg! I also learned that throwing breakables breaks them and then you have to clean them up. So the next best thing to “whack a mole”, scuffing my shoes or breaking something is a shooting range, where I can take my handgun or rent one and blow off some steam by shooting a inanimate targets. This is what I do when I am frustrated by a situation that I have no control over. It is how I deal. Well I had no access to those things yesterday and so I posted that I wish I had. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I did not intend to offend anyone or to make the situation worse. For that I apologize! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I am now fairly certain that there is no one on my friends list that would attack me for anything I happen to post, so I plan to post whatever I want and if you are offended you can leave, how is that? I am who I am and I am not perfect; I am a work in progress. I do not expect us to agree on everything but if we don’t, I believe we can discuss it like adults or keep our mouths shut (or our fingers still).</div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-7668896020136256642010-12-23T22:09:00.003-05:002010-12-23T22:10:09.311-05:00Inspirational 12/24/10 A Letter from Jesus<div style="color: #f1c232;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">A Letter from Jesus</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Author: Unknown</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">A letter from Jesus about Christmas:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">It has come to my attention that many of you are upset that folks are taking My name out of the season. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you want to celebrate My birth, just get along and love one another. If it bothers you that the town in which you live doesn’t allow a scene depicting My birth, take down a few of your Santa’s and Snowmen and put up a Nativity on your own front yard. If all of my followers did that, there wouldn’t be any need for a manger scene in any town square because you would see them all over town. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Stop worrying about the fact that people are calling the tree a ‘Holiday Tree’ instead of a Christmas tree. It was I who made ALL of the trees. You can remember me every time you see any tree.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you want to give Me a present in remembrance of My birth, here is my list:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Instead of writing protest letters objecting to the way My birth is being celebrated, write letters of love and hope to soldiers who are far away from home. They are afraid and lonely this time of the year. I know, because they tell me all the time. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Visit someone in a nursing home who will be alone this Christmas if you don’t go. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Instead of giving your kids a lot of presents that you can’t afford and they won’t play with in a few days, spend time with them. Tell them the story of My birth, and why I came to live with you down here. Hold them in your arms and remind them that I love them. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pick someone that has hurt you in the past and forgive him or her. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Do you know that someone in your town will attempt to take their own life this season because they feel alone and hopeless? Since you don’t know who that person is, give everyone you meet a warm smile; it could make all of the difference. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Instead of nit-picking your retailer who calls it a holiday instead of Christmas, be patient with the people who work there. Give them a smile, a kind word and there is nothing stopping you from wishing them Merry Christmas.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you really want to make a difference, support a Missionary who is spreading My love and Good News to people who have never heard My name. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">There are people in your town that will not only have no tree, but no presents to give or receive either. If you don’t know them personally, give to a local charity that believes in Me and they will deliver a meal and presents for you. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Finally, if you want to make a statement about your belief in and loyalty to Me, then behave like a Christian. Let people know who and who’s you are by your actions. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Don’t forget; I am God and can take care of Myself. Just love Me and do what I have told you to do. I’ll take care of the rest. Check out the list I have made and get to work; time is short. I’ll help you, but the ball is now in your court. And do have a most blessed Christmas with all those whom you love. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Remember: I LOVE YOU, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jesus</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying, This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me.” –Luke 22:19</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Daarop neem Hy brood, en nadat Hy gedank het, breek Hy dit en gee dit aan hulle en sê: Dit is my liggaam wat vir julle gegee word; doen dit tot my gedagtenis.” – Luke 22:19</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">*****************************************</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In His Service,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sherry and Jim Heard</span><br />
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</span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-14314129576368193622010-12-23T07:13:00.000-05:002010-12-23T07:13:10.449-05:00Inspirational 12/23/10 The Spirit Of The Season<div style="color: #f1c232;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Spirit Of The Season</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Author: Unknown</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
"The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. He had no decorations, no tree, no lights. It was just another day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to celebrate. There were no children in his life. His wife had gone.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through. Instead of throwing the man out, George, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the space heater and warm-up.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I see you're busy. I'll just go" "Not without something hot in your belly," George turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew. Made it myself.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">When you're done there's coffee and it's fresh."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Excuse me, be right back," George said.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">There in the driveway was an old 53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Mister can you help me!" said the driver with a deep Spanish accent.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"My wife is with child and my car is broken."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold; the car was dead. "You ain't going in this thing," George said as he turned away.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"But mister. Please help...."The door of the office closed behind George as he went in. George went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He walked around the building and opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Here, you can borrow my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night. George turned and walked back inside the office.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Glad I loaned em the truck. Their tires were shot too.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">That 'ol truck has brand new tires........" George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The thermos was on the desk, empty with a used coffee cup beside it.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He discovered the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Well, I can fix this," he said to himself. So he put a new one on.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either." He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">They were like new and he wasn't going to drive the car.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">As he was working he heard a shot being fired. He ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Help me."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. "Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The laundry company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease. "Something for pain," George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"These ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You hang in there. I'm going to get you an ambulance."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George said, but the phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your police car."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio. He went back in to find the policeman sitting up.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Thanks," said the officer. "You could have left me there.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The guy that shot me is still in the area."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George sat down beside him. "I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bullet passed right through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right as rain."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?" he asked.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"None for me," said the officer.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city." Then George added: "Too bad I ain't got no donuts."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The officer laughed and winced at the same time. The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George. "You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot you, too.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now give me the cash!"</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The cop was reaching for his gun.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Put that thing away," George said to the cop. "We got one too many in here now."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve. If you need the money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now put that pee shooter away."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my job.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">My rent is due. My car got repossessed last week..."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Being stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this thing out."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Shut up and drink your coffee." the cop said.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn. "Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Who did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"That guy works here," the wounded cop continued.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Yep," George said. "Just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, "Why?"</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas, boy. And you too, George, and thanks for everything."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your problems." George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Here you go. Something for the little woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young man.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"It means something to you."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"And now it means something to you," replied George.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I got my memories. That's all I need."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George reached into the box again. A toy airplane, a racing car and a little metal truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. "Here's something for that little man of yours." The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier. "And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that, too.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Count it as part of your first week's pay." George said.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Now git home to your family."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The young man turned with tears streaming down his face.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good." "Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the day after." George turned around to find that the stranger had returned.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?"</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Well, after my wife passed away I just couldn't see what all the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by myself and besides I was getting a little chubby."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will become a rich man and share his wealth with many people.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man." George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how do you know all this?" asked the old man.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha again." The stranger moved toward the door.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">George watched as the man's old leather jacket and his torn pants turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You see, George, it's My birthday. Merry Christmas."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“And that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.” - Ephesians 4:24<span> </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“en julle met die nuwe mens moet beklee wat na God geskape is in ware geregtigheid en heiligheid.“ - Ephesians 4:24<span> </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">Who Started Christmas? <br />
Author: Unknown</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;"><br />
This morning I heard a story on the radio of a woman who was out Christmas shopping with her two children. After many hours of looking at row after row of toys and everything else imaginable and after hours of hearing both her children asking for everything they saw on those many shelves, she finally made it to the elevator with her two kids. She was feeling what so many of us feel during the holiday season time of the year.<br />
<br />
Overwhelming pressure to go to every party, every house-warming, taste all the holiday food and treats, getting that perfect gift for every single person on our shopping list, making sure we don't forget anyone on our card list, and the pressure of making sure we respond to everyone who sent us a card.<br />
<br />
Finally the elevator doors opened and there was already a crowd in the car. She pushed her way into the car and dragged her two kids in with her and all the bags of stuff. When the doors closed she couldn't take it anymore and stated, "Whoever started this whole Christmas thing should be found, strung up and shot."<br />
<br />
From the back of the car everyone heard a quiet calm voice respond, "Don't worry we already crucified him." For the rest of the trip down the elevator it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;"><br />
Don't forget this year to keep the One who started this whole Christmas thing in your every thought, deed, purchase, and word. If we all did it, just think of how different this whole world would be.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">“Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name.” - Psalms 100:4 </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">“Gaan sy poorte in met lof, sy voorhowe met lofgesang; loof Hom, prys sy Naam.” - Psalms 100:4 </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. <br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: <a href="http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational" target="_blank">http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational</a></span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-50371147075643933622010-12-20T23:14:00.002-05:002010-12-20T23:14:31.919-05:00Inspirational 12/21/10 The Greatest Gift<div style="color: #f1c232;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The Greatest Gift </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Author: Joseph Frith </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Story Editor: Joyce Schowalter</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>It was the Christmas season, and as I drove home from work I thought how this year was unlike any Christmas I'd ever experienced. Springfield, Illinois, is completely opposite from the Roanoke Valley of Virginia I'd always called home.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>My wife and I met on the Internet, and shortly after we married I moved west to her home in Illinois. Two wonderful daughters, Jamie and Audrey, came with the marriage, and I was happy... but still, for the first time at Christmas, my family and friends were 800 miles away.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>A few weeks earlier my wife, Betsy, had asked me about my Christmas traditions. I told her we always had ham for Christmas dinner. "What else?" I told her about Mom's applesauce cake; every year Mom baked at least six cakes, mostly for gifts. Each year she said they were too much trouble, yet she kept making them. The first Christmas after she died there was no applesauce cake -- then my sister started making them.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Talking about mom's cake reminded me of my grandmother, who lived with us while I grew up and was like a second mother to me. I told my wife about Grandma's boiled custard. If it had been any thicker you'd have had to eat it with a spoon, and it was so rich that a small cup was enough.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Long after she stopped "doing for the grandchildren," only getting presents for her great-grandkids, she still made custard for me, saying, "I know how much you love it and your Christmas wouldn't be the same without it." Sadly, she never wrote down the recipe, so when she passed away no one knew how to make it.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>When I got home and walked into the house, an aroma and a flood of memories hit me: applesauce cake! My wife came from the kitchen. I started to ask how she knew the right recipe. "I got the recipe from your sister; I hope it turned out OK." I told her if it tasted as good as it smelled it would be perfect.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>After dinner on Christmas day, Betsy asked, "Who wants cake?" Of course we all did. She asked me to go to the living room and the girls would bring the cake in. A minute later Jamie handed me a plate and Audrey set a cup on the tray next to me.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Inside the cup -- it couldn't be -- custard! It was golden yellow and almost too thick to pour. Looking up through tears I saw my wife standing in the doorway. She said, "I found the recipe on the Internet; I hope it tastes like your grandmother's". And it did, it tasted just like I remembered.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Late that night, after everyone else was in bed, I sat in the living room lit only by the Christmas tree. I realized that the greatest gift I'd gotten that day hadn't been under the tree: it had been in my wife's heart.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><br />
“The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.” –Proverbs 18:10 <br />
<br />
“Die Naam van die HERE is ‘n sterk toring; die regverdige hardloop daarin en word beskut.” –Proverbs 18:10</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: <a href="http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational" target="_blank">http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational</a></span></span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-67819785915167066842010-12-19T22:38:00.002-05:002010-12-19T22:38:55.973-05:00Inspirational 12/20/10 The True Meaning Of Christmas<div style="color: #f1c232;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The True Meaning Of Christmas</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Author: Jim Strong</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just a week before Christmas I had a visitor. This is how it happened...</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">I just finished the household chores for the night and was preparing to go to bed, when I heard a noise in the front of the house. I opened the door to the front room and to my surprise, Santa himself stepped out from behind the Christmas tree. He placed his finger over his mouth so I would not cry out.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">"What are you doing?" I started to ask. The words choked up in my throat, and I saw he had tears in his eyes. His usual jolly manner was gone. Gone was the eager, boisterous soul we all know.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>He then answered me with a simple statement. "TEACH THE CHILDREN!" I was puzzled; what did he mean?</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He anticipated my question, and with one quick movement brought forth a miniature toy bag from behind the tree. As I stood bewildered, Santa said, "Teach the children! Teach them the old meaning of Christmas. The meaning that now-a-days Christmas has forgotten."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a FIR TREE and placed it before the mantle. "Teach the children that the pure green color of the stately fir tree remains green all year round, depicting the everlasting hope of mankind, all the needles point heavenward, making it a symbol of man's thoughts turning toward heaven."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He again reached into his bag and pulled out a brilliant STAR. "Teach the children that the star was the heavenly sign of promises long ago. God promised a Savior for the world, and the star was the sign of fulfillment of His promise."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He then reached into his bag and pulled out a CANDLE. "Teach the children that the candle symbolizes that Christ is the light of the world, and when we see this great light we are reminded of He who displaces the darkness."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once again he reached into his bag and removed a WREATH and placed it on the tree. "Teach the children that the wreath symbolizes the real nature of love. Real love never ceases. Love is one continuous round of affection."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He then pulled from his bag an ornament of HIMSELF. "Teach the children that I, Santa Clause symbolize the generosity and good will we feel during the month of December."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He then brought out a HOLLY LEAF. "Teach the children that the holly plant represents immortality. It represents the crown of thorns worn by our Savior. The red holly represents the blood shed by Him.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Next he pulled from his bag a GIFT and said, "Teach the children that God so loved the world that he gave His One and Only Son" "Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift. Teach the children that the wise men bowed before the holy babe and presented him with gold, frankincense and myrrh. We should always give gifts in the same spirit of the wise men."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a CANDY CANE and hung it on the tree. "Teach the children that the candy cane represents the shepherds' crook. The crook on the staff helps to bring back strayed sheep to the flock. The candy cane is the symbol that we are our brother's keeper."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He reached in again and pulled out an ANGEL. "Teach the children that it was the angels that heralded in the glorious news of the Savior's birth. The angels sang 'Glory</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly I heard a soft twinkling sound, and from his bag he pulled out a BELL. "Teach the children that as the lost sheep are found by the sound of the bell, it should ring mankind to the fold. The bell symbolizes guidance and return."</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Santa looked back and was pleased. He looked back at me and I saw that the twinkle was back in his eyes. He said, "Remember, teach the children the true meaning of Christmas and do not put me in the center, for I am but a humble servant of the One that is, and I bow down to worship Him, our Lord, our God.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
“And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS.” –Luke 1:31</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“En kyk, jy sal swanger word en ‘n Seun baar, en jy moet Hom Jesus noem.” –Luke 1:31</span></div><div style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span>*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. <br />
<br />
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232; margin-bottom: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Rifle - A Christmas Story<br />
Author: Unknown<br />
<br />
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those that squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned that the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving. It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible; instead he bundled up and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on. When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood - the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" "You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?" "I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smokehouse and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. "Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunnysacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?" Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said, and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children - sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out. "We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us." In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it, I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he were on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes. Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away. Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, 'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunnysacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children. For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.</span> </div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.” - Luke 6:38 </span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Gee, en aan julle sal gegee word. 'n Goeie maat wat ingedruk en geskud en oorlopend is, sal hulle in jul skoot gee, want met dieselfde maat waarmee julle meet, sal weer vir julle gemeet word.” - Luke 6:38 </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. <br />
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To subscribe please send an email to: <br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: <a href="http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational" target="_blank">http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational</a> </span></span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-9985693135875344602010-12-15T22:06:00.002-05:002010-12-15T22:06:51.789-05:00Inspirational 12/16/10 Teach The Children<div style="color: #f1c232;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Teach The Children</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Author: Unknown</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">I just finished the household chores for the night and was preparing to go to bed, when I heard a noise in the front of the house. I opened the door to the front room and to my surprise, Santa himself stepped out from behind the Christmas tree. He placed a finger over his mouth so I would not cry out. "What are you doing?" I started to ask. The words choked up in my throat, and I saw he had tears in his eyes. His usual jolly manner was gone.<br />
<br />
Gone was the eager, boisterous soul we all know. He then answered me with a simple statement. "TEACH THE CHILDREN!" I was puzzled; what did he mean? He anticipated my question, and with one quick movement brought forth a miniature toy bag from behind the tree. As I stood bewildered, Santa said, "Teach the children! Teach them the old meaning of Christmas, the meaning that now-a-days Christmas has forgotten."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a FIR TREE and placed it before the mantle. "Teach the children that the pure green color of the stately fir tree remains green all year round, depicting the everlasting hope of mankind, all the needles point heavenward, making it a symbol of man's thoughts turning toward heaven.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He again reached into his bag and pulled out a brilliant STAR.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
"Teach the children that the star was a heavenly sign of promises long ago. God promised a Savior for the world, and the star was a sign of fulfillment of His promise."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He then reached into his bag and pulled out a CANDLE. "Teach the children that the candle symbolizes that Christ is the light of the world, and when we see this great light we are reminded of He who displaces the darkness."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Once again he reached into his bag and removed a WREATH and placed it on the tree. "Teach the children that the wreath symbolizes the real nature of love. Real love never ceases. Love is one continuous round of affection."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He then pulled from his bag an ornament of HIMSELF. "Teach the children that I, Santa Claus symbolize the generosity and good will we feel during the month of December."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He then brought out a HOLLY LEAF. "Teach the children that the holly plant represents immortality. It represents the crown of thorns worn by our Savior. The red holly represents the blood shed by Him."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Next he pulled from his bag a GIFT and said, "Teach the children that God so loved the world that he gave..." "Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift. Teach the children that the wise men bowed before the holy babe and presented him with gold, frankincense and myrrh. We should always give gifts in the same spirit of the wise men."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a CANDY CANE and hung it on the tree. "Teach the children that the candy cane represents the shepherds' crook. The crook on the staff helps to bring back strayed sheep to the flock. The candy cane is the symbol that we are our brother's keeper."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He reached in again and pulled out an ANGEL. "Teach the children that it was the angels that heralded in the glorious new of the Savior's birth. The angels sang "Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace and good will toward men."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Suddenly I heard a soft twinkling sound, and from his bag he pulled out a BELL. "Teach the children that as the lost sheep are found by the sound of the bell, it should ring mankind to the fold. The bell symbolizes guidance and return."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Santa looked back at me and I saw that the twinkle was back in his eyes. He said, "Remember, teach the children the true meaning of Christmas and do not put me in the center, for I am but a humble servant of the One that is, and I bow down to worship Him, our Lord, our God."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.” - John 1:3<span> </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Alle dinge het deur Hom ontstaan, en sonder Hom het nie een ding ontstaan wat ontstaan het nie.” - John 1:3<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. <br />
<br />
To subscribe please send an email to: <br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: <a href="http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational" target="_blank">http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational</a> </span></span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-79817937638785434812010-12-14T21:09:00.002-05:002010-12-14T21:09:19.563-05:00Inspirational 12/15/10 Teach The Children<div style="color: #f1c232;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Teach The Children</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Author: Unknown</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">I just finished the household chores for the night and was preparing to go to bed, when I heard a noise in the front of the house. I opened the door to the front room and to my surprise, Santa himself stepped out from behind the Christmas tree. He placed a finger over his mouth so I would not cry out. "What are you doing?" I started to ask. The words choked up in my throat, and I saw he had tears in his eyes. His usual jolly manner was gone.<br />
<br />
Gone was the eager, boisterous soul we all know. He then answered me with a simple statement. "TEACH THE CHILDREN!" I was puzzled; what did he mean? He anticipated my question, and with one quick movement brought forth a miniature toy bag from behind the tree. As I stood bewildered, Santa said, "Teach the children! Teach them the old meaning of Christmas, the meaning that now-a-days Christmas has forgotten."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a FIR TREE and placed it before the mantle. "Teach the children that the pure green color of the stately fir tree remains green all year round, depicting the everlasting hope of mankind, all the needles point heavenward, making it a symbol of man's thoughts turning toward heaven.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He again reached into his bag and pulled out a brilliant STAR.</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
"Teach the children that the star was a heavenly sign of promises long ago. God promised a Savior for the world, and the star was a sign of fulfillment of His promise."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He then reached into his bag and pulled out a CANDLE. "Teach the children that the candle symbolizes that Christ is the light of the world, and when we see this great light we are reminded of He who displaces the darkness."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Once again he reached into his bag and removed a WREATH and placed it on the tree. "Teach the children that the wreath symbolizes the real nature of love. Real love never ceases. Love is one continuous round of affection."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He then pulled from his bag an ornament of HIMSELF. "Teach the children that I, Santa Claus symbolize the generosity and good will we feel during the month of December."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He then brought out a HOLLY LEAF. "Teach the children that the holly plant represents immortality. It represents the crown of thorns worn by our Savior. The red holly represents the blood shed by Him."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Next he pulled from his bag a GIFT and said, "Teach the children that God so loved the world that he gave..." "Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift. Teach the children that the wise men bowed before the holy babe and presented him with gold, frankincense and myrrh. We should always give gifts in the same spirit of the wise men."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a CANDY CANE and hung it on the tree. "Teach the children that the candy cane represents the shepherds' crook. The crook on the staff helps to bring back strayed sheep to the flock. The candy cane is the symbol that we are our brother's keeper."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He reached in again and pulled out an ANGEL. "Teach the children that it was the angels that heralded in the glorious new of the Savior's birth. The angels sang "Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace and good will toward men."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Suddenly I heard a soft twinkling sound, and from his bag he pulled out a BELL. "Teach the children that as the lost sheep are found by the sound of the bell, it should ring mankind to the fold. The bell symbolizes guidance and return."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Santa looked back at me and I saw that the twinkle was back in his eyes. He said, "Remember, teach the children the true meaning of Christmas and do not put me in the center, for I am but a humble servant of the One that is, and I bow down to worship Him, our Lord, our God."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.” - John 1:3<span> </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Alle dinge het deur Hom ontstaan, en sonder Hom het nie een ding ontstaan wat ontstaan het nie.” - John 1:3<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. <br />
<br />
To subscribe please send an email to: <br />
Sherrys_Inspirational-subscribe@googlegroups.com<br />
<br />
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<br />
</span></span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-20069768577777463992010-12-13T21:13:00.002-05:002010-12-13T21:13:29.263-05:00Inspirational 12/14/10 Santa Claus - The Real Story<div style="color: #f1c232;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Santa Claus - The Real Story </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Author: Anonymous</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
I remember my first Christmas party with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: <br />
<br />
"There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!" </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
My grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites I told her everything. She was ready for me. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
"No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's go." </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second cinnamon bun. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
'Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobbie Decker. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Bobbie Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobbie Decker didn't have a cough, and he didn't have a coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobbie Decker a coat. I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, "I replied shyly.”It's ... for Bobbie." The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons, and write, "To Bobbie, From Santa Claus" on it -- Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobbie Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobbie's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus", she whispered, "get going." I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobbie. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Forty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my grandma, in Bobbie Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span><br />
“Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.” - Luke 6:38<span> </span></span></span> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Gee, en aan julle sal gegee word. ‘n Goeie maat wat ingedruk en geskud en oorlopend is, sal hulle in jul skoot gee, want met dieselfde maat waarmee julle meet, sal weer vir julle gemeet word.” - Luke 6:38<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. <br />
<br />
To subscribe please send an email to: <br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: <a href="http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational" target="_blank">http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational</a> </span></span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-60009906355232837092010-12-12T21:21:00.000-05:002010-12-12T21:21:23.244-05:00Inspirational 12/13/10 Christmas Love<div style="color: #f1c232;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Christmas Love </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Author: Candy Chand</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience. </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I had cut back on nonessential obligations -- extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas. </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he'd been memorizing songs for his school's "Winter Pageant." I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there'd be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation. All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise. So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in 10 minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song. Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as "Christmas", I didn't expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment -- songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer. So, when my son's class rose to sing, "Christmas Love", I was slightly taken aback by its bold title. Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads. Those in the front row -- center stage -- held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing, "C is for Christmas", a child would hold up the letter C. Then, "H is for Happy", and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, "Christmas Love". </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her -- a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter "M" upside down -- totally unaware her letter "M" appeared as a "W". The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one's mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her "W". Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together. A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood -- the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities. For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear: CHRIST WAS LOVE. </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>And, I believe, He still is.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Copyright © 2000 by Candy Chand, All rights reserved </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Candy Chand - <a href="mailto:PATCAN85@aol.com">PATCAN85@aol.com</a></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Send Candy an email and let her know what you thought of her story!</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Candy Chand lives in Rancho Murieta, CA, with her husband and two children. Her first book, an inspirational title, Under God's Wings: Miraculous True Stories of Christian Faith and Hope, is available at bookstores nationwide, and on Amazon.com at: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/1580624286/qid=1102300660/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/102-2807887-2096915?v=glance&s=books">Under God's Wings</a></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/1580624286/qid=1102300660/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/102-2807887-2096915?v=glance&s=books">http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/1580624286/qid=1102300660/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/102-2807887-2096915?v=glance&s=books</a></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to sparate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” - Romans 8:39<span> </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Rom 8:39<span> </span>of hoogte of diepte of enige ander skepsel ons sal kan skei van die liefde van God wat daar in Christus Jesus, onse Here, is nie.” - Romans 8:39<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: <a href="http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational" target="_blank">http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational</a> </span></span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-19505899144072942372010-12-09T21:07:00.000-05:002010-12-09T21:07:13.874-05:00Inspirational 12/10/10 I Corinthians Christmas<div style="color: #f1c232;"></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">I Corinthians Christmas</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Author: Unknown</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">If I decorate my house perfectly with plaid bows, strands of twinkling lights and shiny balls, but do not show love to my family, I'm just another decorator.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">If I slave away in the kitchen, baking dozens of Christmas cookies, preparing gourmet meals and arranging a beautifully adorned table at mealtime, but do not show love to my family, I'm just another cook.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">If I work at the soup kitchen, carol in the nursing home and give all that I have to charity, but do not show love to my family, it profits me nothing.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">If I trim the spruce with shimmering angels and crocheted snowflakes, attend a myriad of holiday parties and sing in the choir's cantata but do not focus on Christ, I have missed the point.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love stops the cooking to hug the child. Love sets aside the decorating to kiss the husband. Love is kind, though harried and tired. Love doesn't envy another's home that has coordinated Christmas china and table linens.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love doesn't yell at the kids to get out of the way, but is thankful they are there to be in the way. Love doesn't give only to those who are able to give in return but rejoices in giving to those who can't.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love never fails.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Video games will break, pearl necklaces will be lost, and golf clubs will rust. But giving the gift of love will endure. Merry Christmas!</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.” –I Corinthians 13:13</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“En nou bly geloof, hoop, liefde—hierdie drie; maar die grootste hiervan is die liefde.” –I Corinthians 13:13</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. <br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: <a href="http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational" target="_blank">http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational</a> </span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-38189393963158231812010-12-08T21:06:00.002-05:002010-12-08T21:06:39.737-05:00Inspirational 12/09/10 Christmas Hardships<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Christmas Hardships<br />
Author: Dr. Ralph F. Wilson, The Workman Quarterly, Winter 1988 </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Do you really expect me to go to Bethlehem?” Joseph banged down his chisel on the scarred bench. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ephraim, his cousin, had just entered the low workshop. “You don’t have a choice, Joseph. If you don’t go the Romans will confiscate your house and your precious tools. Just try to carve a yoke with your fingernails.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“What are we, cowards?” the carpenter retorted. “Mark my words, Ephraim, this ‘Enroll-in-your-ancestral-city’ business is nothing more than a way to squeeze more taxes out of us. If we give into those foreign tyrants now they’ll just be back for more money.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“What’s more,” Joseph continued, “you’re crazy if you think I’d take Mary on a trip this month. She’d probably have the baby on the way!” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Couldn’t you just leave her with your mother for a couple of weeks? She’d be all right. Nobody says the women have to go. It’s the heads of households who have to register.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Register, hah! Be taxed, you mean.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“So why not leave her at home?” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joseph brushed the woodchips aside and motioned for his cousin to sit down. The carpenter spoke in a low but earnest voice. “Mary’s aunt has made life miserable for her ever since she found out Mary was pregnant. Some people were willing to let it go. Not Tabitha.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“She got my wife all stirred up about it,” Ephraim volunteered. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Not just your wife. Most of the women in this town go out of their way to avoid her. At the village well they whisper, “Little slut!” just loud enough for her to hear. Many’s the day she’s come running home in tears.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“People sure can be cruel,” Ephraim said. “At least you and Mary went ahead and got married.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joseph bit his lip, but didn’t say more. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ephraim got up. “Well, you are going to Bethlehem, aren’t you? You’d be a fool to get the Romans on your back. You know what they did to old Ben.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joseph stood up slowly. “Yes, I’ll go. But Mary’ll have to come along. There’s no way I’d leave her in Nazareth by herself!” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">However, when Joseph talked to Mary about it, she didn’t seem nearly as sure as her husband. “How could I walk all that way?” she said. “I waddle now. I just can’t make it.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Mary, we’ll bring old Jake. You can ride him when you get tired.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Have you ever ridden on Jake?” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Well, no.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“That animal is the most bony, jolting mule in Nazareth. I’d rather walk!” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">She did ride, though ... some of the way. Joseph would finally stop for the day when Mary just couldn’t take any more. He’d help her down off Jake, then he’d fix a fire while she would unload their heavy blankets and try to find some shelter under a tree or large rock. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mary would always be the center of attention among the few women traveling that time of year. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I remember when I was carrying Levi,” one would start. “Made my feet swell. I couldn’t do anything for months.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“That’s nothing,” replied another, “my sister got so big everyone thought she was carrying twins. But her time came there was only one baby. Died though.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joseph glanced over at Mary in the flickering firelight. He could see fear flit across her face. Her hands moved to her swollen belly so she could feel the baby’s reassuring kick. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The women didn’t notice. The first one went on, “Oh, the pain’s so awful! I’m glad I’m too old to have any more babies.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joseph put his arm around Mary’s shoulders and pulled her close. Only one more night on the road before Bethlehem. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">They reached the sleepy village of Joseph’s ancestors just about dusk the fifth day. Joseph went to the inn and nearby houses trying to find a place to sleep. “God,” he whispered as he combed the town, “can’t You find us a decent place to have this baby?” Nothing. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">All at once he saw Mary’s face tighten. She tried to suppress a groan as she fought with the pain. It was a long moment before she relaxed, but he could see worry written all over her. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joseph went back to the innkeeper again. “Are you sure there isn’t any room? My wife’s about to have a baby. We’ve got to find a place out of this wind tonight!” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The innkeeper thought a while. “Did you try the house at the end of the street? They sometimes take people in.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I tried an hour ago.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Any relatives in town? Any second cousins?” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“No.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mary was shivering now, in obvious discomfort. “Joseph,” she said weakly, “I’ve got to lie down somewhere.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Well, there’s the stable in the back,” offered the innkeeper at long last. “Of course, it’s full of animals from all the visitors in town for that blasted Roman census. But if you can find a place in the corner, I guess that’d be okay.” He paused. “Just don’t keep the animals awake all night.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was the other way around. The dozen donkeys in the strange barn never stopped moving. And the smell was overpowering to Mary who had been fighting nausea as her pains got stronger. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the wee hours of the morning Joseph knocked on the innkeeper’s door again. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“What do you want this time of night?” the innkeeper snarled when he finally came to the door. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Is there a midwife in town?” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, it’s you. A midwife? Yes, old Martha lives in a little house about three blocks from here. You go down the main road, turn left at the two-story house, and go to the alley. You can’t miss it. You go down the alley and across the pasture. She lives in a shack just behind the third house after that.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I ... I really don’t think I should leave my wife. Her pains are coming awfully fast now.... Could you go?” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Jonathan!” the innkeeper yelled into his darkened house. “Get up and fetch old Martha. A lady’s having a baby in the barn. Hurry!” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He turned to Joseph as he closed the door. “Have some pity, man. My whole family’s awake now.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pretty soon the door opened again and a young lad ran off in the chilly air. After a while he returned, walking slowly so he wouldn’t outdistance the old midwife whose arthritis certainly didn’t to take to cold winter nights. The boy was shivering by the time he got to the stable. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Here’s Martha, sir,” he muttered quickly, and darted back into the warmth of his house. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The old lady put them at ease right away. She had Joseph fetch water and cloths from the innkeeper. It must have been nearly two in the morning by the time the baby came, and another hour before Joseph dug into his robe for a few coins to give the old woman as she hobbled away. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then he returned to his wife and took her hand as they looked into the puffy face of their son. Alone at last. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I’m so tired, Joseph,” Mary said, settling back into the blanket-covered straw. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The baby finally stopped crying and drifted off to sleep. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joseph stirred a few minutes later as some men peered from the darkness into the lamp-lit stable. He nudged Mary awake and reached for his staff. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“What do you want?” Joseph said to the men in a forced whisper. “Don’t wake the baby.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“We’re shepherds,” one called out. The baby started crying. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“We saw angels out on the hills an hour ago.” The entire story tumbled out as the shepherds edged into the stable to see the baby. Joseph relaxed his grip on the staff. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The shepherd continued, “And the angel told us, ‘To you is born this day in the City of David a Savior which is Messiah the Lord.’ The angel even told us about the swaddling cloths and the manger here.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“The angel told you about the manger, too?” Joseph interrupted. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, yes. That’s how we knew where to look.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joseph glanced over at Mary. Her eyes met his. He squeezed her hand. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“This baby is the Messiah, isn’t he?” Joseph said quietly. “After all these hassles I had started to question. But...” He paused. “It’s almost like God planned the whole thing: the trip neither of us wanted to take.” He chuckled. “He must have seen you on bony old Jake.” Joseph laughed out loud. “Even this smelly old barn and its manger.” </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He stood up, still chuckling. “What do you know? In spite of the problems--no, in the midst of the problems--God’s been at work all along.”</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.” -Luke 2:7<span> </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“en sy het haar eersgebore Seun gebaar en Hom toegedraai in doeke en Hom in die krip neergelê, omdat daar vir hulle geen plek in die herberg was nie.” -Luke 2:7<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
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</div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-89583638819466255802010-12-07T20:04:00.002-05:002010-12-07T20:04:59.392-05:00Inspirational 12/08/10 White Roses & A Doll<div style="color: #f1c232;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">White Roses & A Doll </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Author: V. A. Bailey</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
I hurried into the local department store to grab some last minute Christmas gifts. I looked at all the people and grumbled to myself. I would be in here forever and I just had so much to do. Christmas was beginning to become such a drag. I kinda wished that I could just sleep through Christmas. But I hurried the best I could through all the people to the toy department. <br />
<br />
Once again I kind of mumbled to myself at the prices of all these toys. And wondered if the grandkids would even play with them. I found myself in the doll aisle. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy about 5 holding a lovely doll. He kept touching her hair and he held her so gently. I could not seem to help myself. I just kept looking over at the little boy and wondered who the doll was for. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
I watched him turn to a woman and he called his aunt by name and said, “Are you sure I don’t have enough money?” She replied a bit impatiently, “You know that you don’t have enough money for it.” The aunt told the little boy not to go anywhere that she had to go get some other things and would be back in a few minutes. And then she left the aisle. The boy continued to hold the doll. After a bit I asked the boy who the doll was for. He said, “It is the doll my sister wanted so badly for Christmas. She just knew that Santa would bring it”. I told him that maybe Santa was going to bring it. He said, “No, Santa can’t go where my sister is. I have to give the doll to my Mamma to take to her”. I asked him where his sister was. He looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, “She has gone to be with Jesus. My Daddy says that Mamma is going to have to go be with her.” </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
My heart nearly stopped beating. Then the boy looked at me again and said, “I told my Daddy to tell Mamma not to go yet. I told him to tell her to wait till I got back from the store.” </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Then he asked me if I wanted to see his picture. I told him I would love to. He pulled out some pictures he’d had taken at the front of the store. He said, “I want my Mamma to take this with her so she won’t ever forget me. I love my Mamma so very much and I wish she did not have to leave me. But Daddy says she will need to be with my sister.” </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
I saw that the little boy had lowered his head and had grown so very quiet. While he was not looking I reached into my purse and pulled out a handful of bills. I asked the little boy, “Shall we count that money one more time?”. He grew excited and said, “Yes, I just know it has to be enough.” So I slipped my money in with his and we began to count it. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
Of course it was plenty for the doll. He softly said, “Thank you Jesus for giving me enough money.” Then the boy said, “I just asked Jesus to give me enough money to buy this doll so Mamma can take it with her to give to my sister. And he heard my prayer. I wanted to ask him for enough to buy my Mamma a white rose, but I didn’t ask him, but he gave me enough to buy the doll and a rose for my Mamma. She loves white roses so very, very much.” </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
In a few minutes the aunt came back and I wheeled my cart away. I could not keep from thinking about he little boy as I finished my shopping in a totally different spirit than when I had started. And I kept remembering a story I had seen in the newspaper several days earlier about a drunk driver hitting a car and killing a little girl and the Mother was in serious condition. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
The family was deciding on whether to remove the life support. Now surely this little boy did not belong with that story. Two days later I read in the paper that the family had disconnected the life support and the young woman had died. I could not forget the little boy and just kept wondering if the two were somehow connected. Later that day, I could not help myself and I went out and bought some white roses and took them to the funeral home where the young mother was. And there she was holding a lovely white rose, the beautiful doll, and the picture of the little boy in the store. I left there in tears, my life changed forever. The love that little boy had for his little sister and his mother was overwhelming. And in a split second a drunk driver had ripped the life of that little boy to pieces. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
“Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.”</span> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“And thou, child, shalt be called the prophet of the Highest: for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways;” –Luke 1:76</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
“En jy, kindjie, sal ‘n profeet van die Allerhoogste genoem word, want jy sal voor die aangesig van die Here uitgaan om sy weë reg te maak;” –Luke 1:76</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">I see the countless Christmas trees around the world below</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">With tiny lights like heaven’s stars reflecting on the snow.<br />
The sight is so spectacular---please wipe away that tear.<br />
For I am spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
I hear the many Christmas songs that people hold so dear,<br />
But the sounds of music can’t compare </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">With the Christmas choir up here.<br />
I have no words to tell you the joy their voices bring<br />
For it is beyond description to hear the angels sing.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">I know how much you miss me---I see the pain inside your heart.<br />
But I am not so far away; We really aren’t apart.<br />
So be happy for me dear ones; You know I hold you dear;<br />
And be glad I’m spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">I send you each a special gift from my heavenly home above.<br />
I send you each a memory of my undying love.<br />
After all “love” is the gift more precious than pure gold.<br />
It was always most important in the stories Jesus told.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
Please love and keep each other as my Father said to do,<br />
For I can’t count the blessing or love He has for you.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">So have a Merry Christmas and wipe away that tear.<br />
Remember I’m spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">A note from the author “Wanda Bencke”:<br />
Lysandra Kay Bencke was my thirteen year old handicapped daughter. On Christmas day 1997, Lysandra had a seizure and was in a coma for five days before she passed away. During those five days I wrote “Christmas in Heaven.”</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">“And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” -Luke 2:13-14 KJV</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">“A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” -John 13:34-35</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">“En skielik was daar saam met die engel ‘n menigte van die hemelse leërskare wat God prys en sê: Eer aan God in die hoogste hemele en vrede op aarde, in die mense ‘n welbehae!” -Luke 2:13-14</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">“‘n Nuwe gebod gee Ek julle, dat julle mekaar moet liefhê; soos Ek julle liefgehad het, moet julle ook mekaar liefhê. Hieraan sal almal weet dat julle my dissipels is, as julle liefde onder mekaar het.” -John 13:34-35</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational </span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-9546605466401402192010-12-05T21:48:00.000-05:002010-12-05T21:48:16.166-05:00Inspirational 12/06/10 It's Really Christmas Now<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's Really Christmas Now</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Author: Kitsy Jones</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Sunday before Christmas last year, my husband, a police officer in Arlington, Texas, and I were just leaving for church when the phone rang. Probably someone wanting Lee, who has already worked a lot of extra hours, to put in some more, I thought. I looked at him and commanded, “We're going to church!”<br />
<br />
“I’ll leave in five minutes and be there in about twenty,” I heard him tell the caller. I seethed, but his next words stopped me short.<br />
<br />
“A Wish with Wings was broken into last night, and the presents are gone,” he told me. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.” I was dumbfounded.<br />
<br />
A Wish with Wings - Lee serves on the administrative board - is an organization in our area that grants wishes for children with devastating illnesses. Each year Wish also gives a Christmas party, where gifts are distributed. Some 170 donated gifts had been wrapped and were ready for the party, which was to be held that evening, less than nine hours away.<br />
<br />
In a daze, I dressed our two children - Ben, just seventeen months, and five-year-old Kate - and we went to church. In between services, I told friends and the pastors about what had happened. The president of our Sunday school gave me forty dollars to buy more presents. One teacher said her class was bringing gifts to donate to another charitable organization and they would be happy to give some of them to Wish. ‘A dent,’ I thought.<br />
<br />
At 10:30 A.M., I phoned Lee at the Wish office. He was busy making other calls, so I packed up the kids and headed in his direction. I arrived at a barren scene. Shattered glass covered the front office where the thief had broken the door. The chill that pervaded the room was caused not only by the cold wind coming through the broken door but also by the dashed hopes of the several people who stood inside - including Pat Skaggs, the founder of Wish, and Adrena Martinez, the administrative assistant.<br />
<br />
Looking out at the parking lot, I was startled to see a news crew from a local television station unloading a camera. Then I learned that Lee's first phone calls had been to the local radio and TV stations.<br />
<br />
A few minutes later, a family who had heard a radio report arrived with gifts, already wrapped. Other people soon followed. One was a little boy who had brought things from his own room.<br />
<br />
I left to get lunch for my kids and some drinks for the workers. When I got back, I found the volunteers eating pizzas that had been donated by a local pizza place. More strangers had arrived, offering gifts and labor. A glass repair company had fixed the door and refused payment. We began to feel hope: Maybe we could still have the party!<br />
<br />
Lee was fielding phone calls, sometimes with a receiver in each ear. Ben was fussing, so I headed home with him, hoping he could take a nap and I could find a baby-sitter.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the city came alive. Two other police officers were going from church to church to spread the news. Lee told me later of a man who came directly from church, complete with coat and tie, and went to work on the floor, wrapping presents. A third officer, whose wife is a deejay for a local radio station, put on his uniform and stood outside the station collecting gifts while his wife made a plea on the air. The fire department agreed to be a drop-off point for gifts. Lee called and asked me to bring our van so it could be used to pick them up.<br />
<br />
The clock was ticking. It was mid-afternoon, and 6:00 P.M. - the scheduled time of the party - was not far away. I couldn't find a sitter, and my son started running a fever of 103 degrees, so I took him with me to the Wish building just long enough to trade cars with Lee.<br />
<br />
Nothing I had ever witnessed could have prepared me for what I saw there - people lined up at the door, arms laden with gifts. One family in which the father had been laid off brought the presents from under their own tree. It was like a scene from ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.<br />
<br />
Inside, Lee was still on the phone. Outside, volunteers were loading vans with wrapped gifts to be taken to the party site, an Elks lodge six miles away. By 5:50 P.M. - just before the first of the more than 100 children arrived - enough presents had been delivered to the lodge. Somehow, workers had matched up the donated items with the youngsters’ wishes, so many received just what they wanted. Their faces shown with delight as they opened the packages. For some, it would be their last Christmas.<br />
<br />
Those presents, however, were only a small portion of what came in during the day. Wish had lost 170 gifts in the robbery, but more than 1,500 had been donated! Lee decided to spend the night at the office to guard the surplus, so I packed some food and a sleeping bag and drove them down to the office. There, gifts were stacked to the ceiling, filling every available inch of space except for a small pathway that had been cleared to the back office.<br />
<br />
Lee spent a quiet night, but the phone started ringing again at 6:30 A.M. The first caller wanted to make a donation, so Lee started to give him directions. "You'd better give me the mailing address," the caller said. “I’m in Philadelphia.” The story had been picked up by the national news. Soon calls were coming from all over the country.<br />
<br />
By midday, the Wish office was again filled with workers, this time picking up the extra gifts to take to other charitable organizations so they could distribute them before Christmas, just two days away. Pat and Adrena, whose faces had been tear-stained twenty-four hours earlier, were now filled with joy.<br />
<br />
When Lee was interviewed for the local news, he summed up everyone's feeling: “It's really Christmas now.” We had all caught the spirit - and the meaning - of the season. </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Reprinted by permission of Kitsy Jones © 1998, from A Second Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Jennifer Read Hawthorne and Marci Shimoff.<br />
<br />
“And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” –Luke 2:13-14</span> </div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
“En skielik was daar saam met die engel ‘n menigte van die hemelse leërskare wat God prys en sê: Eer aan God in die hoogste hemele en vrede op aarde, in die mense ‘n welbehae!” –Luke 2:13-14</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational </span></span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-75776079629650620992010-12-02T23:04:00.000-05:002010-12-02T23:04:18.919-05:00Inspirational 12/03/10 A Kind of a Christmas Story<div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal;">A Kind of a Christmas Story</span></span></b></strong></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal;">Author: Randy Keith</span></span></b></strong><br />
<br />
<span class="b">I was born in 1936. As a boy in 1945 I lived in a typical small southern town. All of us were involved in what was to be called the war to end all wars. Of course we all now know that the man who called it that was not a prophet of God. Some were actually fighting while some of us were still at home but we were all emotionally involved in that terrible war.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="b">In May that year a revival was started in what I think was the second largest church in the town. As a church its personality was one of stiff, albeit friendly and maybe even Christian, competition with the largest church in town. Of course they wanted to become as large or larger, but certainly never as “moderate”. Some in the smaller church would even suggest that the biggest church was “liberal” in their worship and interpretation of God’s word. People didn’t think of that as a very nice thing to say about folks in that area in that era. We now refer to the area as the “Bible Belt” of the country (some in a not so nice way) and I am convinced that in that era even sinners were more attuned to the voice of God than many so-called Christians are today.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="b">You would think, looking back with a little knowledge about human nature, that this was a perfect time for revival. Folks were already praying hard for our nation and especially for our soldiers in the war. I doubt, though, that this revival will ever be referred to as an example of what you want your revivals to be like. I believe most of the members liked the evangelist’s preaching. However, although my memory isn’t too clear on this point, for the entire two weeks I don’t remember a single “sinner” going forward during the “altar call” to get saved. Except for members rededicating their lives to Christ” there was certainly little activity. Naturally everyone was always glad for the Christians to rededicate their lives, but in this area of the country, a revival’s success was usually measured by the number of folks who got saved.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="b">I personally don’t remember too much about the proceedings. I don’t remember a word that was preached. However, I was already more than a little concerned about “where I’d spend eternity”. I was being raised by God-fearing parents and was certainly very much aware that there was a wonderful place called Heaven where any one with a lick of sense wanted to live after they died. I knew as much or more about the alternative and was not too excited with my current prospects. With every revival service the feeling that I should respond to the “invitation” grew stronger. My heart would race and my ears would burn so hot I figured everyone could see them and knew that I was already feeling the heat from my future abode, but I just couldn’t get my feet to move.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="b">After the regular service on the last Thursday evening before the revival closed there was a prayer meeting in a small Sunday School room in the basement of the church. Fewer than ten people were in attendance but I won’t tax my memory with the identity of but three of them. My mother and I were there and Jesus was there. I already knew about Him. When I left that little room that night I knew Him. No, most folks wouldn’t call it a very successful revival as revivals went in those days, but it was the most successful revival of my life. No, it wasn’t Christmas, but for one little boy it is the night Jesus was born because that night He was born in my heart. That manger scene means nothing without the birth of Jesus in your heart.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="b">I was nine years old then and except for some time off for “bad behavior” that is the birth of Jesus I have tried to celebrate in my heart and life daily ever since. After all these years our relationship is still not what it should be from my side. I have come to love Jesus more with the passage of time. Although I still love Him with imperfect love, I am secure in the knowledge of his perfect love for me. I am trying each day … well, nearly each day, to understand and apply a little more of His love to my life. It may sound a bit selfish to some that I seem to just concern myself with His love for me. However, while you can’t do anything to stop Him from loving you just as much as He loves me, at the same time I can do nothing to cause you to appropriate His love for you.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="b">I can tell you that this story is true.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="b">It is my story of His story. His story is history. Your story is still future. If you have not already done so there is still time to celebrate the birth of Jesus today for the first time, or again.</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>Please Read: (KING JAMES VERSION)</span></span></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>Romans 3:23 </span></span></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>“</span></span></span>For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God;<span class="b">”</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>You are a sinner. (All means you.)</span></span></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>Romans 6:23 </span></span></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>“</span></span></span>For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.<span class="b">”</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>Because of that you deserve to die, but instead God offers you a free gift of eternal life.</span></span></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>Romans 10:9-10 </span></span></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>“</span></span></span>That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.<span class="b">”</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>The way to receive that free gift.</span></span></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>and </span></span></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>St. John</span></span></span><span class="b"> 3:16 </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>“</span></span></span>For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.<span class="b">”</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="b"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span>A bonus verse. Confirmed! Everlasting Life! Hallelujah! </span></span></span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><span>If you haven't already done so, please ask Jesus to come into your heart today!</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><span><br />
To the World With Love,<br />
Randy Keith </span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><span>“No man, when he hath lighted a candle, putteth it in a secret place, neither under a bushel, but on a candlestick, that they which come in may see the light.” - Luke 11:33</span></span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><span>“</span></span><span style="font-size: large;">En niemand steek ‘n lamp op en sit dit in ‘n verborge plek of onder die maatemmer nie, maar op die staander, sodat die wat binnekom, die lig kan sien.” - Luke 11:33</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. <br />
<br />
To subscribe please send an email to: <br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational </span></span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-20193792891227749842010-12-01T21:54:00.000-05:002010-12-01T21:54:21.704-05:00Inspirational 12/02/10 The Big Wheel<div style="color: #f1c232;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Big Wheel</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Author: Unknown</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it. I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whoever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job - still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town; was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel. An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night. I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal. That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money--fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage. The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing; just those beautiful brand new tires.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Had angels taken up residence in Indiana? I wondered. I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires. I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys; then hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys’ pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair. On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up. When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was a whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll. As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop....</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">***A note from Sherry***</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you get an opportunity to be one of these angels this season and even throughout the year please take it. It is a blessing that can not be described to be an anonymous angel!</span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” - Matthew 25:40 </span></div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="i-list" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">“En die Koning sal antwoord en vir hulle sê: Voorwaar Ek sê vir julle, vir sover julle dit gedoen het aan een van die geringstes van hierdie broeders van My, het julle dit aan My gedoen.” - Matthew 25:40 <span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. <br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: http://groups.google.com/groups/Sherrys_Inspirational </span></div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-67631788007250716172010-11-30T21:44:00.000-05:002010-11-30T21:44:38.050-05:00Inspirational 12/01/10 The Dime<div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The Dime<br />
Author: Unknown</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><br />
Bobby was getting cold sitting out in his back yard in the snow. Bobby didn't wear boots; he didn't like them and anyway he didn't own any. The thin sneakers he wore had a few holes in them and they did a poor job of keeping out the cold. Bobby had been in his backyard for about an hour already. And, try as he might, he could not come up with an idea for his mother's Christmas gift. He shook his head as he thought,<br />
<br />
"This is useless, even if I do come up with an idea, I don't have any money to spend."<br />
<br />
Ever since his father had passed away three years ago, the family of five had struggled. It wasn't because his mother didn't care, or try, there just never seemed to be enough. She worked nights at the hospital, but the small wage that she was earning could only be stretched so far.<br />
<br />
What the family lacked in money and material things, they more than made up for in love and family unity. Bobby had two older and one younger sister, who ran the house hold in their mother's absence. All three of his sisters had already made beautiful gifts for their mother. Somehow it just wasn't fair. Here it was Christmas Eve already, and he had nothing.<br />
<br />
Wiping a tear from his eye, Bobby kicked the snow and started to walk down to the street where the shops and stores were. It wasn't easy being six without a father, especially when he needed a man to talk to. Bobby walked from shop to shop, looking into each decorated window. Everything seemed so beautiful and so out of reach.<br />
<br />
It was starting to get dark and Bobby reluctantly turned to walk home when suddenly his eyes caught the glimmer of the setting sun's rays reflecting off of something along the curb. He reached down and discovered a shiny dime. Never before has anyone felt so wealthy as Bobby felt at that moment. As he held his new found treasure, warmth spread throughout his entire body and he walked into the first store he saw. His excitement quickly turned cold when the salesperson told him that he couldn't buy anything with only a dime.<br />
<br />
He saw a flower shop and went inside to wait in line. When the shop owner asked if he could help him, Bobby presented the dime and asked if he could buy one flower for his mother's Christmas gift. The shop owner looked at Bobby and his ten cent offering. Then he put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and said to him, "You just wait here and I'll see what I can do for you." As Bobby waited he looked at the beautiful flowers and even though he was a boy, he could see why mothers and girls liked flowers. The sound of the door closing as the last customer left jolted Bobby back to reality. All alone in the shop, Bobby began to feel alone and afraid.<br />
<br />
Suddenly the shop owner came out and moved to the counter. There, before Bobby's eyes, lay twelve long stem, red roses, with leaves of green and tiny white flowers all tied together with a big silver bow. Bobby's heart sank as the owner picked them up and placed them gently into a long white box. "That will be ten cents young man." the shop owner said reaching out his hand for the dime.<br />
<br />
Slowly, Bobby moved his hand to give the man his dime. Could this be true? No one else would give him a thing for his dime! Sensing the boy's reluctance, the shop owner added, "I just happened to have some roses on sale for ten cents a dozen. Would you like them?" This time Bobby did not hesitate, and when the man placed the long box into his hands, he knew it was true. Walking out the door that the owner was holding for Bobby, he heard the shop keeper say, "Merry Christmas, son."<br />
<br />
As he returned inside, the shop keeper's wife walked out. "Who were you talking to back there and where are the roses you were fixing?"<br />
<br />
Staring out the window, and blinking the tears from his own eyes, he replied, "A strange thing happened to me this morning. While I was setting up things to open the shop, I thought I heard a voice telling me to set aside a dozen of my best roses for a special gift. I wasn't sure at the time whether I had lost my mind or what, but I set them aside anyway. Then just a few minutes ago, a little boy came into the shop and wanted to buy a flower for his mother with one small dime. When I looked at him, I saw myself, many years ago. I too, was a poor boy with nothing to buy my mother a Christmas gift. A bearded man, whom I never knew, stopped me on the street and told me that he wanted to give me ten dollars. When I saw that little boy tonight, I knew who that voice was, and I put together a dozen of my very best roses."<br />
<br />
The shop owner and his wife hugged each other tightly, and as they stepped out into the bitter cold air, they somehow didn't feel cold at all.<br />
<br />
May this story instill the spirit of Christmas in you enough to pass this act along.</span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">“Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.” - James 1:27 </span></div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div class="I-List" style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">“Reine en onbesmette godsdiens voor God en die Vader is dít: om wese en weduwees in hulle verdrukking te besoek en jouself vlekkeloos te bewaar van die wêreld.” - James 1:27 </span></div><div style="color: #f1c232;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="I-List">The Dog Who Ate Christmas</div><div class="I-List">By Theresa Willingham</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">Our dog recently ate 7 ounces of Baker's chocolate and a half-ounce of gourmet ground coffee and swallowed a marble, to boot. None of these things is part of recommended canine diet. Chocolate is toxic to dogs - a 1-ounce square of Baker's chocolate can kill a 10-pound dog, and it's a wonder 7 ounces didn't do in our 15-pound dachshund. Coffee holds the same dangers.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">The whys and wherefores of this accident are irrelevant. Everyone feels badly enough already. The upshot of the whole thing is that the vet bills totaled more than $1,200. Coming on the heels of a rough year and a recent layoff, our little dog effectively ate Christmas.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">On the way home from the vet with our pooch, groggy and sore after surgery to remove the offending blue marble, we joked gently about all the things that $1,200 could buy.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">"Dexter ate a 24-inch flat screen LCD TV," my husband said, laughing.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">"He ate a lot of video games," my son chimed in.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">"He ate a used car," one of my daughters added.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">"A very old and very used one," her father started to correct her. But then we remembered we'd sold our old car for $300 and agreed that Dexter had eaten the equivalent of four old minivans.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">Once home, everyone fawned over our sick little dog without reproach, glad he was home and on the mend, the $1,200 and abandoned Christmas gift ideas irrelevant.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">Because, truth be told, we're still in debt to Dexter for all he's done for us in the last couple of years.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">We adopted him as something of immersion therapy for our then-10-year-old son, who was suffering from an increasingly unreasonable and debilitating fear of dogs. Like many phobias, cynaphobia, the medical term for fear of dogs, doesn't require any negative experiences to exist. Our son's fears had grown to such proportions he couldn't walk down the street or ride his bike without heart-racing anxiety on just seeing a dog.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">When we adopted Dexter from a breed rescue group, he was a year and a half old, weighed 13 pounds and stood a foot high at the shoulders. Our daughters were delighted. Our son wouldn't come out of his room for three days. He crawled across the tops of chairs to get to the table to eat and then crawled back across them to return to his room.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">On the fourth day, he sat on a stool and observed the dog, who looked back questioningly with those irresistible dark brown eyes of his. At the end of a week, our son was carrying the dog around the house. After a few weeks, he was more comfortable with other dogs. Now, two years later, he still doesn't care for large dogs, but he's not fearful and he roams the neighborhood with a confidence that's carried over to other areas of his life. He's playing piano, riding horses, doing well in his studies and generally a happy-go-lucky kid with a dog.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">And that's just what Dexter did for our son.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">Each person in the family has a special and unique relationship with the dog. He plays gently and obligingly with our son. With my rambunctious, outgoing daughter, he races and wrestles. He leans against my quiet daughter like a cat, savoring her strokes. And while originally suspicious of men, Dexter adores my husband. They play wild games of chase and spend warm devoted moments snoozing.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">I had never owned a dog before and was concerned about how long I could be away from home; picking up after the dog in addition to the rest of the family, who at least could flush; annual shots; tags and whatever other dog ownership issues were bound to occur.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">But I found that walks took on new meaning with a little dog trotting at my side. An occasionally bizarre meaning, as we sometimes stopped every few feet so Dexter could check what the girls called his "pee mail" at every post and trunk. But I walk more briskly and more often now.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">And coming home has never been so rewarding! No one else in the family greets me so ecstatically and with such genuine joy. Whether I've been gone 15 minutes or a day, Dexter is enormously and unapologetically glad to see me. He's a cuddler, shamelessly squeezing between the desk and my lap while I work, cruising from lap to lap while we watch TV at night. He won't crawl into his bed until the last family member is in his or hers, and he lies curled up beside us until morning, when he starts his equal opportunity doting all over again.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">He has taught us patience, charity and the value of forgiveness. He never holds grudges, whether his tail is accidentally stepped upon, or he's ordered out of the kitchen for being underfoot. He certainly didn't like the vet's office during the chocolate Incident. But when we came to take him home, he clearly didn't associate us with his aches and pains. Through the haze of drugs after his surgery, he wagged his tail vigorously when he saw us.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">Dogs aren't for the shallow and self-absorbed. They're childlike but without the rowing cognizance and independence of children. We are always their heroes; they're always our friends. Even with three children and a quarter-century marriage, I didn't fully understand unconditional love until Dexter came into our lives. The obligation to live up to such devotion and loyalty can be a daunting task and a humbling experience.</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">Yes, our dog ate Christmas.<span> </span>But the gifts he's given us are priceless and more enduring than anything we could ever put under the tree and more than we could ever repay. </div><div class="I-List">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div><div class="I-List">Theresa Willingham is an occasional columnist for the North of Tampa regional edition of the Times. © Copyright 2002-2004, St. Petersburg Times</div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">“For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope: for a living dog is better than a dead lion.” - Ecclesiastes 9:4<span> </span></div><div class="I-List"><br />
</div><div class="I-List">“Want solank as iemand by al die lewendes behoort, is daar hoop; want ‘n lewendige hond is beter as ‘n dooie leeu.” - Ecclesiastes 9:4<span> </span></div><div class="I-List">*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard <br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message. <br />
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Author: Unknown<br />
<br />
It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so. </span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it. Overspending -- the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma -- the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else. </span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. </span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended, and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them, taking every weight class. As each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. </span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, I wish just one of them could have won; he said. They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them. Mike loved kids-all kids-and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. </span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. </span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
For each Christmas, I followed the tradition -- one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. </span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. </span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. </span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us. </span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
May we all remember Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the true Christmas spirit this year and always.</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #ffcc33;"><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #ffcc33;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">“Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.” - Luke 6:38 </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #ffcc33;"><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #ffcc33;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">“Gee, en aan julle sal gegee word. 'n Goeie maat wat ingedruk en geskud en oorlopend is, sal hulle in jul skoot gee, want met dieselfde maat waarmee julle meet, sal weer vir julle gemeet word.” - Luke 6:38 </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #ffcc33;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">*****************************************<br />
In His Service,<br />
Sherry and Jim Heard<br />
Sherry’s Inspirational list<br />
<br />
MISSION STATEMENT: Our mission is to be the channel, not the source, through which we pray God’s blessings may flow to others. Our ministry is not to provide counseling, advice, or doctrinal interpretation. For this we refer you to local spiritual leaders who may know and deal with your needs more personally. It is our prayer that God may truly bless your day through the inspiration we seek to channel your way. In Him, Sherry and Jim Heard</span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
<br />
When forwarding / copying, please include the entire message.</span> <span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />
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We invite you to visit our website at: http://groups.google.com/group/Sherrys_Inspirational</span> </div>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-9324986066025972172010-11-21T19:59:00.000-05:002010-11-21T20:01:29.165-05:00We are the Body<span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family: verdana;">We are the Body<br />By: Sherry Heard<br />Today in service some of the things that were said sparked a conversation on the way home. If we, as Christ followers, are the body of Christ then why would one organ criticize another? Think of it this way, the Baptists are the hands, the Pentecostals are the lungs, the (insert your favorite group of Christ followers here) are the feet. Now the feet can carry the entire body around. Without the lungs there is no oxygen and the hands do the work. Each is important, each performs a function, each is necessary. If we criticize each other then we become a cancer to the whole body. Support each other, love each other, and embrace our differences. We are all created in His image, but not all created the same. Our God is a God of variety that is why there is so much variety in people and nature. If we were all the same then there would be only lungs, hands or feet. That would be useless; one without the others can not accomplish much. We need each other and we need to work together to accomplish the work that God has for us. I do not want to be a cancer. Just because something is not OK for me does not mean it is not OK for everyone. If God reveals something to me, then that is for me. That is where the personal relationship comes in. We must have that personal, daily relationship. Something that comes from the pulpit is for the people in that service on that day. Something that comes to you individually in your own quiet time with God, now that is for you. Not for everyone. There may be people you wish to share that information with, but that does not mean it is for them unless it rings true in their spirit. I am speaking of believers criticizing other believers. God is great at convicting believers in their own spirit with His still small voice. </span></span>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-79177449033386484972010-03-30T21:11:00.000-04:002010-03-30T21:12:44.585-04:00Breakfast with Amy Grant<o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Today we had breakfast with Amy Grant thanks to The Fish 104.7 radio station in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Atlanta</st1:place></st1:city>. As we were on our way I had some time to think and had a moment where the book we have been studying on Wednesday nights (Crazy Love by Frances Chan) came in and messed me up all over again. We got up early, no oversleeping today; got cleaned up, no pony tail; left with plenty of time to spare, arrived early; were excited when we caught our first glimpse of Amy, even got a little tongue tied. How many of these things do we let slide on Sunday mornings? How often do we think or say that we “have to” go to church, instead of that we “get to” go to church? Is it because we know God is there waiting for us every day? Do we begin to take Him for granted? Do we start just throwing on any old thing, pulling our hair back into a pony tail and leaving at the last minute because it is just church? To take it one step further, what about each day, do we take the time to stop and worship Him or do we put it off as one more thing we can do later? Just some thoughts I had today when I got to meet another sinner saved by grace, who happens to have an amazing voice. <span style=""> </span></span></p>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008058065096497400.post-28821970394550464082010-03-03T21:34:00.001-05:002010-03-03T21:35:54.899-05:0003/03/10 Crazy Love – Overwhelmed by a Relentless God – Francis Chan #3<span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" ><br />Luke 8:14, the thorns are distractions that take you away from what God has given you.<br /><br /><br />Luk 11:34 The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thine eye is single, thy whole body also is full of light; but when thine eye is evil, thy body also is full of darkness.<br />Luk 12:16 And he spake a parable unto them, saying, The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully:<br /><br /><br />Every day that we live is a gift from God almighty. Pray each day for the ability to complete the purpose God has for the day.<br /><br /><br />Does your prayer life look like a child in their father's lap?<br /><br /><br />Do we KNOW God's love or do we just know OF it?<br /><br /><br />Trying not to annoy your parents and other negatives should not translate to God.<br /><br /><br />Your kids are always on your mind, like we are always on God's mind.<br />Mat 7:11 If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?<br /><br /><br />When you miss your prayer time and you feel guilty, then it becomes guilt driven.<br /><br /><br />Core scripture at SAG:<br />Mat 22:37 Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.<br /><br /><br />There is not a specific requirement for you to pray in the morning or evening or read a certain number of chapters.<br /><br /><br />He doesn't want just one hour, He wants it all. Don't just spent one hour and forget Him the rest of the day. Don't compartmentalize God.<br /><br /><br />Psa 8:3 When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;<br />Psa 8:4 What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?<br />Psa 8:5 For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.<br />Psa 8:6 Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet:<br />v6 He puts us in charge of HIS works.<br />A father giving a child all that he has. God gives us access.<br /><br /><br />Jer 1:4 Then the word of the LORD came unto me, saying,<br />Jer 1:5 Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.<br /><br /><br />God formed you. God don't make no junk.<br /><br /><br />Jer 1:6 Then said I, Ah, Lord GOD! behold, I cannot speak: for I am a child.<br />Jer 1:7 But the LORD said unto me, Say not, I am a child: for thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee, and whatsoever I command thee thou shalt speak.<br />Jer 1:8 Be not afraid of their faces: for I am with thee to deliver thee, saith the LORD.<br /><br /><br />God says I got your back.<br /><br /><br />Jer 1:9 Then the LORD put forth his hand, and touched my mouth. And the LORD said unto me, Behold, I have put my words in thy mouth.<br />Jer 1:10 See, I have this day set thee over the nations and over the kingdoms, to root out, and to pull down, and to destroy, and to throw down, to build, and to plant.<br /><br /><br />God is more interested in spending time with me, than all the other things going on.<br /><br /><br />Rom 8:31 What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?<br />Rom 8:32 He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?<br />Rom 8:33 Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God's elect? It is God that justifieth.<br /><br /><br />I want every day to be struck by the Love of God, the crazy love and be broken and GET IT.<br /><br /><br />Isa 64:6 But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away.<br /><br /><br />Eph 1:18 The eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that ye may know what is the hope of his calling, and what the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints,<br /><br /><br />When you are totally consumed with the thought that He absolutely loves you.<br /><br /><br />Look around you, don't miss it!<br /><br /><br />Doesn't matter what you think about yourself, it matters what God thinks.<br /><br /><br />It isn't Jesus plus good works or Jesus plus traditions, it is Just Jesus.<br /><br /><br />www.juststopandthink.com<br /><br /><br /></span>Sherry Heardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794857752538127586noreply@blogger.com0