Stories of love and inspiration...

All The Good Things by Sister Helen P. Mrosia

He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, but had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his
occasional mischieviousness delightful.

Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. What
impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving - "Thank you for
correcting me, Sister!" I didn't know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice-teacher's mistake. I
looked at him and said, "If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"

It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, "Mark is talking again." I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it.

I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room. As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing he winked at me. That did it! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape and shrugged my
shoulders. His first words were, "Thank you for correcting me, Sister."

At the end of the year I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my
classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to my instructions in the
"new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in the third.

One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were
frowning, frustrated with themselves - and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I
asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.
Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish the assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed me the
papers. Charlie smiled. Marked said, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend."

That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said
about that individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. "Really?" I heard
whispered. "I never knew that meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't know others liked me so much!"

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it
didn't matter.

The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.

That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we
were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip - the weather, my experiences in general. There was a
light lull in the conversation.

Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance and simply says, "Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something
important. "The Eklunds called last night," he began. "Really?" I said. "I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark
is."

Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said. "The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you
could attend."

To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark.

I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that
moment was, Mark, I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me.

The church was packed with Mark's friends. Chuck's sister sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water.

I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who had acted as pallbearer came up to me. "Were
you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. "Mark talked about you a lot," he said.

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to Chucks farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were
there, obviously waiting for me. "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They
found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and
refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of
Mark's classmates had said about him. "Thank you so much for doing that" Mark's mother said. "As you can see, Mark
treasured it."

Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's in the top
drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put this in our wedding album." "I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary." Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an eyelash. "I think we all saved our lists."

That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

THE END

I think this story is so meaningful. A word of encouragement, a sincere compliment now and then may cost us nothing
at all, but may mean so much to another person. God has called us all to be encouragers! Hebrews 10:24-25 (NKJ)
states "Let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves
together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much the more as you see the Day approaching."

Max Lucado is one of the most inspirational writers ever. Here are some excerpts from a truly great writer.. I
would definitely recommend his books to anyone who wants to be inspired. Thanks Mr Lucado for inspiring me! Words are so powerful...you can use them idly or to hurt others, or you can use them to edify and build others up like Max Lucado did. (Luke 6:45) "For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks..."

The Beggar and the Bread

A beggar came and sat before me. "I want bread," he said.

"How wise you are," I assured him. "Bread is what you need. And you
have come to the right bakery." So I pulled my cookbook down from my
shelf and began to tell him all I knew about the bread.

I spoke of flour and wheat, of grain and barley. My knowledge impressed
even me as I cited the measurements and recipe. When I looked up, I was
surprised to see he wasn't smiling. "I just want bread," he said.

"How wise you are." I applauded his choice. "Follow me, and I'll show
you our bakery." Down the hallow halls I guided him, pausing to point
out the rooms where the dough is prepared and the ovens where the
bread is baked.

"No one has such facilities. We have bread for every need. But here
is the best part," I proclaimed as I pushed open two swinging doors.
"This is our room of inspiration." I knew he moved as we stepped into
the auditorium full of stained-glass windows.

The beggar didn't speak. I understood his silence. With my arm around
his shoulder, I whispered, "It overwhelms me as well." I then leaped to
the podium and struck my favorite pose behind the lectern. "People come
from miles to hear me speak. Once a week my workers gather, and I read
to them the recipe from the cookbook of life."

By now the beggar had taken a seat on the front row. I knew what he
wanted. "Would you like to hear me?"

"No," he said, "but I would like some bread."

"How wise you are," I replied. And I led him to the front door of the
bakery. "What I have to say next is very important," I told him as we
stood outside, "Up and down this street you will find many bakeries.
"But take heed; they don't serve the true bread. I know of one who adds
two spoons of salt rather than one. I know of another whose oven is
three degrees too hot. They may call it bread," I warned, "but it's not
according to the book."

The beggar turned and began walking away. "Don't you want bread?" I
asked him.

He stopped, looked back at me, and shrugged, "I guess I lost my
appetite."

I shook my head and returned to my office. "What a shame," I said to
myself. "The world just isn't hungry for true bread anymore."

Christ (the bread of life) leaves us to distribute the bread. We
can't force people to eat the bread, but we can make sure they have it.
Yet, for some reason we are [sometimes] reluctant to do so. - Max Lucado

Let us learn how to give people Christ and not make them turned off by all the objects that represent Him. -Acts 1:8

His Voice

Once there was a man who dared God to speak.

Burn the bush like you did for Moses, God.
And I will follow.

Collapse the walls like you did for Joshua, God.
And I will fight.

Still the waves like you did on Galilee, God.
And I will listen.

And so the man sat by a bush, near a wall, close to the sea
and waited for God to speak.

And God heard the man, so God answered.

He sent fire, not for a bush, but for a church.
He brought down a wall, not of brick, but of sin.
He stilled a storm, not of the sea, but of a soul.

And God waited for the man to respond.

And He waited...
And he waited...
And waited.

But because the man was looking at bushes, not hearts;
bricks and not lives, seas and not souls,
he decided that God had done nothing.

Finally he looked to God and asked, Have you lost your power? And God
looked at him and said, Have you lost your hearing?

How far do you want God to go in getting your attention? - Max Lucado

"When you were in trouble, you called, and I saved you. I answered you with thunder" - Psalm 81:7

A Different Kind of Hero

Behold a hero of the west: the cowboy.

He rears his horse to a stop on the rim of the canyon. He shifts his
weight in his saddle, weary from the cattle trail. One finger pushes his
hat up on his head. One jerk of the kerchief reveals a sun-leathered
face.

A thousand head of cattle pass behind him. A thousand miles of trail
lie before him. A thousand women would love to hole him. But none do.
None will. He lives to drive cattle, and he drives cattle to live. He
is honest in poker and quick with a gun. Hard riding. Slow talking. His
best friend is his horse, and his strength is his grit.

He needs no one. He is a cowboy. The American hero.

Behold a hero in the Bible: the shepherd.

On the surface he appears similar to the cowboy. He, too, is rugged.
He sleeps where the jackals howl and works where the wolves prowl.
Never off duty. Always alert. Like the cowboy, he makes his roof the
stars and the pasture his home.

But that is where the similarities end.

The shepherd loves his sheep. It's not that the cowboy doesn't
appreciate
the cow; it's just that he doesn't know the animal. He doesn't even want
to. Have you ever seen a picture of a cowboy caressing a cow? Have you
ever seen a shepherd caring for a sheep? Why the difference?

Simple. The cowboy leads the cow to slaughter. The shepherd leads the
sheep to be shorn. The cowboy wants the meat of the cow. The shepherd
wants the wool of the sheep. And so they treat the animal differently.

The cowboy drives the cattle. The shepherd leads the sheep.
A herd has a dozen cowboys. A flock has one shepherd.

The cowboy wrestles, brands, herds, and ropes. The shepherd leads,
guides, feeds and anoints.

The cowboy knows the name of the trail hands. The shepherd knows each
sheep by name.

The cowboy whoops and hollers at the cows. The shepherd calls each
sheep by name.

Aren't we glad Christ didn't call himself the Good Cowboy? But some
do perceive God that way. A hard-faced, square-jawed ranch hand from
heaven who drives his church against its will to places it doesn't
want to go.

But that's a wrong image. Jesus called himself the Good Shepherd. The
Shepherd who knows His sheep by name and lays down his life for them.
The Shepherd who protects, provides, and possess his sheep.-Max Lucado

"He is our God and we are the people He takes care of and the sheep that he tends" - Psalm 95:7

The Yay-Yuck Man

The Crowds or the Christ

Bob loved to make people happy.
Bob lived to make people happy.
If people weren't happy, Bob wasn't happy. So every day Bob set out
to make people happy. Not an easy task, for what makes some people
happy makes other people angry.

Bob lived in a land where everyone wore coats. The people never
removed their coats. Bob never asked Why? he only asked Which?
"Which coat should I wear?"

Bob's mother loved blue. So to please her he wore a blue coat. When
she would see him wearing blue she would say, "Yay, Bob! I love it
when you wear blue." So he wore the blue coat all the time. And since
he never left his house and since he saw no one but his mother, he
was happy, for she was happy and she said "Yay, Bob" over and over.

Bob grew up and got a job. The first day of his first job he got up
early and put on his best blue coat and walked down the street.

The crowds on the street, however, didn't like blue. They liked
green. Everyone on the street wore green. As he walked past,
everyone looked at his blue coat and said, "Yuck!"

Yuck! was a hard word for Bob to hear. He felt guilty that he had
caused a "yuck" to come out of a person's mouth. He loved to hear
"yay!" He hated to hear "yuck!"

When the people saw his coat and said "yuck," Bob dashed into a
clothing store and bought a green coat. He put it on over his blue
coat and walked back out in the street. "Yay!" the people shouted as
he walked past. He felt better because he had made them feel better.

When he arrived at his workplace, he walked into his boss's office
wearing a green coat. "Yuck!" said his boss.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Bob, quickly removing the green coat and
revealing the blue. "You must be like my mother."

"Double yuck!" responded the boss. He got up from his chair, walked
to the closet, and produced a yellow coat. "We like yellow here," he
instructed.

"Whatever you say, sir," Bob answered, relived to know he wouldn't
have to hear his boss say "yuck" anymore. He put the yellow coat over
the green coat, which was over the blue coat. And so he went to work.

When it was time for him to go home, he replaced the yellow coat with
the green and walked through the streets. Just before he got to his
house, he put the blue coat over the green and the yellow coats and
went inside.

Bob learned that life with three coats was hard. His movements were
stiff, and he was always hot. There were also times when the cuff of
one coat would peck out and someone would notice, but before the person
could say "yuck" Bob would tuck it away.

One day he forgot to change his coat before he went home, and when
his mother saw green she turned purple with disgust and started to say,
"Yuck." But before she could, Bob ran and put his hand on her mouth and
held the word in while he traded coats and then removed his hand so she
said, "Yay!"

It was at this moment that Bob realized he had a special gift. He
could change his colors with ease. With a little practice, he was
able to shed one coat and replace it with another in a matter of
seconds. Even Bob didn't understand his versatility, but he was
pleased with it. For now he could be any color anytime and please
every person.

His skill at changing coats quickly elevated him to high positions.
Everyone liked him because everyone thought he was just like them. With
time he was elected major over the entire city.

His acceptance speech was brilliant. Those who loved green thought he
was wearing green. Those who loved yellow thought he was wearing yellow,
and his mother just knew he was wearing blue. Only he knew that he
was constantly changing from one to the other.

It wasn't easy, but it was worth it, because at the end everyone said,
"Yay!"

Bob's multicolored life continued until one day some yellow-coated
people stormed into his office. "We have found a criminal who needs
to be executed," they announced, shoving a man towards Bob's desk.
Bob was shocked at what he saw. The man wasn't wearing a coat at all,
just a T-shirt.

"Leave him with me," Bob instructed, and the yellow coats left.
"Where is your coat?" asked the major.
"I don't wear one."
"You don't have one?"
"I don't want one"
"You don't want a coat" But everyone wears a coat. It..it..it's the
way things are here."
"I'm not from here."
"What coat do they wear where you are from?"
"No coat."
"None?"
"None."
Bob looked at the man with amazement. "But what if people don't
approve?"
"It's not their approval I seek."

Bob had never heard such words. He didn't know what to say. He'd never
met a person without a coat. The man with no coat spoke again.

"I am here to show people they don't have to please people. I am here
to tell the truth."

If Bob had ever heard of the world truth, he'd long since rejected
it. "What is truth?" he asked.

But before the man could answer, people outside the mayor's office
began to scream, "Kill him! Kill him!"

A mob had gathered outside the window. Bob went to it and saw the
crowd was wearing green. Putting on his green coat, he said, "There
is nothing wrong with this man."

"Yuck!" they shouted. Bob fell back at the sound.

By then the yellow coats were back in his office. Seeing them, Bob
changed his colors and pleaded, "The man is innocent."

"Yuck!" they proclaimed. Bob covered his ears at the word.

He looked at the man and pleaded, "Who are you?"

The man answered simply, "Who are you?"

Bob did not know. But suddenly he wanted to. Just them his mother,
who'd heard the crisis, entered the office. Without realizing it,
Bob changed to blue. "He is not one of us," she said.

"But, but,..."

"Kill him!"

A torrent of voices came from all directions. Bob again covered his
ears and looked at the man with no coat.

The man was silent. Bob was tormented. "I can't please them and set you
free!" he shouted over their screams.

The man with no coat was silent,
"I can't please you and them!"
Still the man was silent.
"Speak to me!" Bob demanded.
The man with no coat spoke one word. "Choose."
"I can't!" Bob declared. He threw up his hand and screamed, "Take
him, I wash my hand of the choice."

But even Bob knew in making no choice he had made one. The man was
led away, and Bob was left alone. Alone with his coats.

Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.

We all have a choice to make whether we know it or not. The choice to please God or to please man. The only approval that we should see should be that of God.

As you go through the day and week, remember that there has to be a difference in the way you live your life and the way the world live theirs.

Looking for the Messiah

Once there was a man whose life was one of misery. The days were
cloudy, and the nights were long. Henry didn't want to be unhappy,
but he was. With the passing of the years, his life had changed.
His children were grown. The neighborhood was different. The city
seemed harsher.

He was unhappy. He decided to ask his minister what was wrong.

"Am I unhappy for some sin I have committed?"
"Yes," the wise pastor replied. "You have sinned."
"And what might that sin be?"
"Ignorance", came the reply. "The sin of ignorance. One of your
neighbors is the Messiah in disguise, and you have not seen him."

The old man left the office stunned. "Messiah is one of my
neighbors?" He began to think who it might be.

Tom the butcher? No, he's too lazy. Mary, my cousin down the street?
No, too much pride. Aaron the paperboy? No, too indulgent. The man was
confounded. Every person he knew had defects. But one was the Messiah.

He began to look for Him.

He began to notice things he hadn't seen. The grocer often carried
sacks to the cars of the older ladies. Maybe he is the Messiah. The
officer at the corner always had a smile for the kids. Could it be?
And the young couple who lived moved next door. How kind they are to
their cat. Maybe one of them...

With time he saw things in people had never seen. And with time his
outlook began to change. The bounce returned to his step. His eyes took
on a friendly sparkle. When others spoke he listened. After all, he
might be listening to the Messiah. When anyone asked for help, he
responded; after all this might be the Messiah needing assistance.

The change of attitude was so significant that someone asked him why
he was so happy. "I don't know," he answered. "All I know is that things
changed when I started looking for God."

Now, that's curious. The old man saw Jesus because he didn't know what
he looked like. The people in Jesus day missed him because they thought
they did. - Max Lucado

When we start to look for Jesus in people, how outlook on life will differ.
I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me... - Galatians 2:20a

The Cave People

Long ago, or maybe not so long ago, there was a tribe in a dark, cold
cavern.

The cave dwellers would huddle together and cry against the chill.
Loud and long they wailed. It was all they did. It was all they knew
to do. The sounds in the cave were mournful, but the people didn't know
it, for they had never known joy. The spirit in the cave was death, but
the people didn't know it, for they had never known life.

But then, one day, they heard a different voice. "I have heard your
cries," it announced. "I have felt your chill and seen your darkness.
I have come to help."

The cave people grew quiet. They had never heard this voice. Hope
sounded strange to their ears. "How can we know you have come to help?"

"Trust me," he answered. "I have what you need."

The cave people peered through the darkness at the figure of the
stranger. He was stacking something, then stopping and stacking more.
"What are you doing?" one cried, nervous.
The stranger didn't answer.
"What are you making?" one shouted even louder.
Still no response.
"Tell us!" demanded a third.

The visitor stood and spoke in the direction of the voices. "I have
what you need." With that he turned to the pile at his feet and lit it.
Wood ignited, flames erupted and light filled the cavern.

The cave people turned away in fear. "Put it out!" they cried. "It
hurts to see it."

"Light always hurts before it helps," he answered. "Step closer. The
pain will soon pass."

"Not I," declare a voice.
"Not I," agreed a second.
"Only a fool would risk exposing his eyes to such light."

The stranger stood next to the fire. "Would you prefer the darkness?
Would you prefer the cold? Don't consult your fears. Take a step of
faith."

For a long time no one spoke. The people hovered in groups covering
their eyes. The fire builder stood next to the fire. "It's warm here,"
he invited.

"He's right," one from behind him announced. "It's warmer." The
stranger turned and saw a figure slowly stepping toward the fire. "I
can open my eyes now," she proclaimed. "I can see."

"Come closer," invited the fire builder.

She did. She stepped into the ring of light. "It's so warm!" She
extended her hands and sighed as her chill began to pass.

"Come, everyone! Feel the warmth," she invited.

"Silence, woman!" cried one of the cave dwellers. "Dare you lead us
into your folly? Leave us. Leave us and take your light with you."

She turned to the stranger. "Why won't they come?"

"They choose the chill, for though it's cold, it's what they know.
They'd rather be cold than change."
"And live in the dark?"
"And live in the dark."

The now-warm woman stood silent. Looking first at the dark, then at
the man.

"Will you leave the fire?" he asked.

She paused, then answered, "I cannot. I cannot bear the cold," Then she
spoke again. "But nor can I bear the thought of my people in darkness."

"You don't have to," he responded, reaching into the fire and removing a
stick. "Carry this to your people. Tell them the light is here, and the
light is warm. Tell them the light is for all who desire it."

And so she took the small flame and stepped into the shadows.

You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. - Matthew 5:12

All the above stories are copyrighted by the authors. Contact me if there are any copyright infrngements. Thanx to the
authors for these inspirational and powerful stories. Amen! Hope these stories have edified you in one way or another.
Do email me if you wish to share your thoughts on these stories or wish to contribute any of your own.

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