One God, One Creator, many views

"To clasp the hands in prayer is the beginning of an uprising against the disorder of the world." Karl Barth died today in 1968.

I came cloud walking through empty hallways, past moonlit windows, wrapped against the cold of night, because I heard a voice calling softly, because I knew I was needed. I sent my prayer hours ago, out over a sleeping world, through miles of imagined distance, to find you where you are waiting, waiting for an answer. Be comforted, the prayer said, be at peace in mind and heart. Someone sits through the night with you, someone keeps the watch unseen beside you. I heard you calling in the night, though you never spoke a word or even knew my name. Steve Charleston, Episcopal Bishop, Choctaw

Posted to today in Facebook by Shanti Maa Peace Mother Geeta Sacred Song - Mayan Shaman

OUR LADY OF GUADALUPE (VIRGEN DE GUADALUPE)
Feast Day: December 12, 2012

"Hear me and understand well, my son the least, that nothing should frighten or grieve you. Let not your heart be disturbed. Do not fear that sickness, nor any other sickness or anguish. Am I not here, who is your Mother? Are you not under my protection? Am I not your health? Are you not happily within my fold? What else do you wish? Do not grieve nor be disturbed by anything."
— Our Lady to Juan Diego

The celebration of Our Lady of Guadalupe takes place Wednesday December 12, 2012. While most people associate this feast with Hispanic customs and celebrations, it’s important to remember that Our Lady, under the title of Guadalupe, is the Patroness of the Americas! She is an aspect of Divine Mother who belongs to every community and every culture!

In the winter of 1531, a poor, 57-year-old Aztec Indian living five miles outside of Mexico City encountered a miraculous happening on his way to morning Mass. First he heard strange music coming from Tepeyac Hill, and then he heard a woman's voice calling his name. Juan Diego climbed the hill and encountered a young woman, appearing to be of his own people in physical appearance and dress. The woman identified herself as the Virgin Mary, and told Juan Diego to ask the bishop of Mexico City to build a church on the hill to assist in the conversion of the nation and be a source of consolation to the people.

Juan Diego obeyed the request, but the bishop was skeptical regarding the message, even though he perceived that Juan was a humble and well meaning Catholic. Juan reported the bishop's doubt to Our Lady at Tepeyac Hill, and she asked him to return to the bishop once again, bearing the same message. The bishop once again heard the story, and told Juan Diego to ask Our Lady for a sign that it was indeed herself that wished for the church to be built.

When he returned to the hill, Mary gave Juan Diego such a sign. Miraculously, roses appeared on the hill in the middle of winter, and Juan gathered them in his tilma, or cloak. Our Lady arranged the roses in his tilma with her own hands, and Juan returned to the bishop's presence. When Juan released the tilma, allowing the flowers to fall to the floor, it was revealed that a miraculous image of Our Lady had imprinted itself on his tilma (see above).

The bishop immediately fell to his knees, and came to believe in Juan Diego's message. A church was built on the spot of the apparition, as Mary had requested, and 8 million people converted to Catholicism in a short period of time upon hearing of or viewing the miraculous image of Our Lady.

The tilma of Juan Diego has been the subject of much modern research. The tilma, woven out of coarse cactus fiber, should have disintegrated after 20 years, but although over 500 years have passed the tilma is still in perfect condition. The pupils of Mary in the picture reflect the Indians and clergy present at the time of the first revelation of the image. No paint was used, and chemical analysis has not been able to identify the color imprint. Additionally, studies have revealed that the stars on Mary's mantle match exactly what a Mexican would have seen in the sky in December of 1531.

I fly high above the mountains riding on the swift air currents,
gently gliding without a ripple on the lake of the sky.

The warmth of the sun penetrates my powerful body
and warms my beating heart as the cool and refreshing air rushes at 

every motion of my wings.

Higher and higher I fly, the light misty clouds surround me,
enveloping my very being, guided only by the thermals of the heart.

Higher and higher I fly, what is behind me is now gone,
but the clarity of what is above and below me pierces my soul with vibrance.

I ascend to the stars on the great wings of love.

Hanoochi: A Stars Poetry Collection
Original prayer/poem by Hanoochi ©

"The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:

'Prepare the way of the Lord,

make his paths straight.

Every valley shall be filled,

and every mountain and hill shall be made low,

and the crooked shall be made straight,

and the rough ways made smooth;

and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.'"

~from Luke 3:1-6 the words of the prophet Isaiah  (Advent 2012)

…the man, the boy, and the hotel

‎"Open your heart and you will open your mind. Fear subverts faith. Knowledge overcomes fear. The more that we come to know one another as brothers and sisters, no matter how different we may seem, the more we create peace and possibility. The challenge before us is to dare to listen. To step out from our bunkers into the open spaces between ourselves, as dangerous as that may seem, and encounter one another as we are. The other is us. The human family is our birthright. We are diverse by design. Open your heart and you will open your mind."
The Rt. Rev. Steven Charleston, Choctaw

…the man, the boy, and the hotel

~unknown

A man and a young teenage boy checked in to a hotel and were shown to their room. The two receptionists noted the quiet manner of the guests, and the pale appearance of the boy. Later the man and boy ate dinner in the hotel restaurant. The staff again noticed that the two guests were very quiet, and that the boy seemed disinterested in his food. After eating, the boy went to his room and the man went to reception and asked to see the manager. The receptionist initially asked if there was a problem with the service or the room, and offered to fix things, but the man said that there was no problem of that sort, and repeated his request. The manager was called and duly appeared. The man asked to speak privately and was taken into the manager's office.

The man explained that he was spending the night in the hotel with his fourteen-year-old son, who was seriously ill, probably terminally so. The boy was very soon to undergo therapy, which would cause him to lose his hair. They had come to the hotel to have a break together and also because the boy planned to shave his head, that night, rather than feel that the illness was beating him. The father said that he would be shaving his own head too, in support of his son. He asked that staff be respectful when the two of them came to breakfast with their shaved heads. The manager assured the father that he would inform all staff and that they would behave appropriately.

The following morning the father and son entered the restaurant for breakfast.

There they saw the four male restaurant staff attending to their duties, perfectly normally, all with shaved heads. 

‎"Dear God, since most of my prayers turn into a shopping list, I thought I would just own up and leave you one. Please don't think me rude. These really are things I need. When you get a chance, please pick up some more hope. I always seem to need that. And some extra love. Faith, patience and humor: the staples. Get me a little courage if you would, to make the tough calls when they come around. I could use a generous amount of wisdom but I will get by with what you can spare. And time, please, just enough to put this list to good use. Thank you, dear God, I am grateful."
The Rt. Rev. Steven Charleston, Choctaw

“Because the Teacher was wise, he taught the people everything he knew. He collected proverbs and classified them.  Indeed, the Teacher taught the plain truth, and he did so in an interesting way.  A wise teacher's words spur students to action and emphasize important truths. The collected sayings of the wise are like guidance from a shepherd.”

~ Ecclesiastes 12: 9-11 (NLT)

I.N.J.

Giving Thanks

“Although we all know that God is always with us to guide us throughout our lives and for that we are all thankful to Him. But the Thanksgiving Day is meant to inspire all of us to remember the Lord and give Him thanks for all that He has done for us. We thank Him for the sweet family, for the delicious dinner, for the turkey and for all other things that He has blessed us with. This 'giving thanks to the Lord' is the very spirit of the thanksgiving celebrations. God has always been there for us and on the Thanksgiving Day we let Him realize that we also care for Him and love Him.” ~ Ashthe

A Thanksgiving Story

 
Author: Andrea Nannette Mejia

It was the day before Thanksgiving ­ the first one my three children and I would be spending without their father, who had left several months before. Now the two older children were very sick with the flu, and the eldest had just been prescribed bed rest for a week.

It was a cool, gray day outside, and a light rain was falling. I grew wearier as I scurried around, trying to care for each child: thermometers, juice, diapers. And I was fast running out of liquids for the children. But when I checked my purse, all I found was about $2.50 ­ and this was supposed to last me until the end of the month. That's when I heard the phone ring.

It was the secretary from our former church, and she told me that they had been thinking about us and had something to give us from the congregation. I told her that I was going out to pick up some more juice and soup for the children, and I would drop by the church on my way to the market.

I arrived at the church just before lunch. The church secretary met me at the door and handed me a special gift envelope. "We think of you and the kids often," she said, "and you are in our hearts and prayers. We love you." When I opened the envelope, I found two grocery certificates inside. Each was worth $20. I was so touched and moved, I broke down and cried.

"Thank you very much," I said, as we hugged each other. "Please give our love and thanks to the church." Then I drove to a store near our home and purchased some much-needed items for the children.

At the check-out counter I had a little over $14.00 worth of groceries, and I handed the cashier one of the gift certificates. She took it, then turned her back for what seemed like a very long time. I thought something might be wrong. Finally I said, "This gift certificate is a real blessing. Our former church gave it to our family, knowing I'm a single patent trying to make ends meet."

The cashier then turned around, with tears in her loving eyes, and replied, "Honey, that's wonderful! Do you have a turkey?"

"No. It's okay because my children are sick anyway."

She then asked, "Do you have anything else for Thanksgiving dinner?"

Again I replied, "No."

After handing me the change from the certificate, she looked at my face and said, "Honey, I can't tell you exactly why right now, but I want you to go back into the store and buy a turkey, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie or anything else you need for a Thanksgiving dinner."

I was shocked, and humbled to tears. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes! Get whatever you want. And get some Gatorade for the kids."

I felt awkward as I went back to do more shopping, but I selected a fresh turkey, a few yams and potatoes, and some juices for the children. Then I wheeled the shopping cart up to the same cashier as before. As I placed my groceries on the counter, she looked at me once more with giant tears in her kind eyes and began to speak.

"Now I can tell you. This morning I prayed that I could help someone today, and you walked through my line." She reached under the counter for her purse and took out a $20 bill. She paid for my groceries and then handed me the change. Once more I was moved to tears.

The sweet cashier then said, "I am a Christian. Here is my phone number if you ever need anything." She then took my head in her hands, kissed my cheek and said, "God bless you, honey."

As I walked to my car, I was overwhelmed by this stranger's love and by the realization that God loves my family too, and shows us his love through this stranger's and my church's kind deeds.

The children were supposed to have spent Thanksgiving with their father that year, but because of the flu they were home with me, for a very special Thanksgiving Day. They were feeling better, and we all ate the goodness of the Lord's bounty ­ and our community's love. Our hearts were truly filled with thanks.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” ~ James 1:17

I.N.J.

Embracing the Universe

 

Embracing the Universe 

Living a spiritual life makes our little, fearful hearts as wide as the universe, because the Spirit of Jesus dwelling within us embraces the whole of creation.  Jesus is the Word, through whom the universe has been created.  As Paul says:  "In him were created all things in heaven and on earth:  everything visible and everything invisible - all things were created through him and for him - in him all things hold together" (Colossians 1:16-17).  Therefore when Jesus lives within us through his Spirit, our hearts embrace not only all people but all of creation.  Love casts out all fear and gathers in all that belongs to God.

Prayer, which is breathing with the Spirit of Jesus, leads us to this immense knowledge. ~ Henri J. M. Nouwen

 General Revelation of the One God/One Creator

this season of your heart...

“Enter quietly now this season of your heart, this time of colder winds and falling leaves, when old memories burn like wood smoke on the breeze, when what is to come is buried in the sleeping earth all around you. Listen to the crisp air as it rattles the old bone branches. There is a message here for you, something you know by instinct, the hint of mortality, the whisper of age. Let these autumn twilights speak your language, let them have their say, for this is the changing time, the season of your heart, when God covers you with warming wings before the snow can find you.”

~Bishop Seven Charleston, Choctaw

One kind word can warm three winter months.

~ Japanese Proverb

Carl’s Garden

Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well. Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity. 

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up. 

He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened. He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, "Would you like a drink from the hose?" The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent little smile.

As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled. Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him. 

Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop it. "Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet. 

Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. "Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday." His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water. 

Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?" 

"I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately", came the calm reply.

Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place. 

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

The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack. 

"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time." The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl. 

"What's this?" Carl asked. 

"It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet." 

"I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help me now?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday." 

"Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?"

"Carl," he replied.

My prayer today is that we can all be a little more like ‘Carl.’ I too will be retiring

soon. My last day will be Friday December 21, 2012. My wife Jo and I will be

relocating to Southeast Tennessee to tend our garden and start a new season

of ministry. I am sure the new Chaplain will continue putting out a Quote of

the Week. If you want to keep up with my musing and seeing my quotes you

may follow me on my blog: www.aministryofpresence.blogspot.com

“Then I realized that it is good and proper for a man to eat and drink, and to find

satisfaction in his toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God

has given him--for this is his lot.  Moreover, when God gives any man wealth

and possessions, and enables him to enjoy them, to accept his lot and be happy

in his work--this is a gift of God. He seldom reflects on the days of his life,

because God keeps him occupied with gladness of heart.”
Ecclesiastes 5: 18-20

Out of the mouths of babes...

A kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they were drawing.  She would occasionally walk around to see each child’s work.  As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was.  The little girl replied, “I’m drawing God.”

            The teacher paused and said, “But no one knows what God looks like.” Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing, the little girl replied, “They will in a minute.”

Lex Parsimoniae Latin for Occam’s razor

…”one should not increase, beyond what is necessary, the number of entities required to explain anything.” Or “Out of the mouths of babes…”

NEED WASHING??
A little girl had been shopping with her Mom in Target. She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful red haired, freckle faced image of innocence.

It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout. We all stood there, under the awning, just inside the door of the Target.
We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature messed up their hurried day.

I am always mesmerized by rainfall. I got lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories of running, splashing so carefree as a child came pouring in as a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day..

Her little voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in, 'Mom let's run through the rain,'
she said.
'What?' Mom asked.

'Let's run through the rain!' She repeated.

'No, honey. We'll wait until it slows down a bit,' Mom replied.

This young child waited a minute and repeated: 'Mom, let's run through the rain.'

'We'll get soaked if we do,' Mom said.

'No, we won't, Mom. That's not what you said this morning,' the young girl said as she tugged at her Mom's arm.
'This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?'

'Don't you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said, 'If God can get us through this, he can get us through anything!''

The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you couldn't hear anything but the rain. We all stood silently. No one left. Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she would say.

Now some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said… But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child's life; a time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith.

'Honey, you are absolutely right. Let's run through the rain. If GOD let's us get wet, well maybe we just need washing,' Mom said.

Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and yes, through the puddles. They got soaked. 

They were followed by a few who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars. And yes, I did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.

Circumstances or people can take away your material possessions, they can take away your money, and they can take away your health. But no one can ever take away your precious memories... So, don't forget to make time and take the opportunities to make memories everyday.

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.

“But when the chief priests and the scribes saw the wonderful things that he did, and the children crying out in the temple, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” they were indignant, and they said to him, “Do you hear what these are saying?” And Jesus said to them, “Yes; have you never read, ‘Out of the mouth of infants and nursing babies you have prepared praise’?” (Matthew 21:15-16 ESV)

The Moment brings good medicine

Click on photo get an enlarged version.

Empathy

Frederick William Schmidt

I wrote a piece on empathy not long ago from a spiritual point of view. The link appears below. This brief piece from Seth Godin that appeared this morning offers a telling reflection on the same subject. I think it might be worth tattooing on my arm (figuratively speaking):

"I know what you should do

Actually, I don't.

I know what I would do in this situation, but I'm not you.

I know what your customer should do, but I'm not her.

I know (and you know, and we all know) what we would do in a given situation, but that's not the same thing.

Empathy requires something extremely difficult: accepting the fact that we are not and never will be in the other person's shoes. There's no rational, universal course because individuals have different goals, different worldviews and different experiences."

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/whatgodwantsforyourlife/2012/10/the-empathetic-spirit/

I don't see any way that I could improve on this.  Please take the time to go to the link. Then reflect.

I.N.J.

Living Life in the Small Things that Count

It all begins with small numbers. A few more drops of precipitation, a little more wind, a slight rise in the sea level, a couple of degrees difference in the elevation of the moon. Great forces are born in small numbers, in the increments of existence, the mathematics of our physical being. And as with the natural, so with the spiritual; a tiny bit more kindness, a single hope, a small increase in giving, a few more prayers, another moment of patience. Great souls are not instant in being, but being made up of instants. Life without and within, lived in the small things that count.

Retired Bishop Steven Charleston Episcopal, Choctaw

A Defining Moment

 

Desmond Tutu, the former Archbishop of Cape Town and a leading anti-apartheid campaigner, was once asked to describe a turning point in his life. He replied with this inspirational story:

“The biggest defining moment in my life was when I saw Trevor Huddleston (the former president of the anti-apartheid movement), and I was maybe nine or so. I didn't know it was Trevor Huddleston  but I saw this tall, white priest in a black cassock doff his hat to my mother who was a black domestic worker. I didn't know then that it would affect me so much, but it blew your mind that a white man would doff his hat to a black domestic worker. And subsequently I discovered, of course, that this was quite consistent with his theology that every person is of significance, of infinite value, because they are created in the image of God. And the passion with which he opposed apartheid and any other injustice is something that I sought then to emulate.”

“The master answered, 'You did well. You are a good and loyal servant. Because you were loyal with small things, I will let you care for much greater things. Come and share my joy with me.” ~Matthew 25:21 (NCV)

TRUTH

A blind boy sat on the steps of a building with a hat by his feet.  He held up a sign which said: “I am blind, please help.”  There were only a few coins in the hat.

A man was walking by. He took a few coins from his pocket and dropped them into the hat. He then took the sign, turned it around, and wrote some words. He put the sign back so that everyone who walked by would see the new words.

Soon the hat began to fill up.  A lot more people were giving money to the blind boy.

That afternoon the man who had changed the sign came to see how things were.   The boy recognized his footsteps and asked, “Were you the one who changed my sign this morning?  What did you write?”

The man said, “I only wrote the truth. I said what you said but in a different way.  I wrote: Today is a beautiful day, but I cannot see it.”

Both signs told people that the boy was blind. But the first sign simply said the boy was blind. The second sign told people that they were so lucky that they were not blind. Should we be surprised that the second sign was more effective?

Moral of the Story:  Be thankful for what you have.  Be creative. Be innovative. Think differently and positively. When life gives you a 100 reasons to cry, show life that you have 1000 reasons to smile.   Face your past without regret. Handle your present with confidence.  Prepare for the future without fear.   Keep the faith and drop the fear.

The most beautiful thing is to see a person smiling.  And even more beautiful, is knowing that you are the reason behind it!!! ~unknown

“Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

John 8:32 (TNIV)

I.N.J.

Choices

"One who seeks a flaw will always find it. Just as one who seeks what is good will always find it. What you seek will determine your path. Seek wisely...."

~ John Two-Hawks http://www.johntwohawks.com/

You Have Two Choices

Jerry is the manager of a restaurant. He is always in a good mood.

When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would always reply: 
'If I were any better, I would be twins!' Many of the waiters at his restaurant quit their jobs when he changed jobs, so they could follow him around from restaurant to restaurant.

Why？ 
…because Jerry was a natural motivator.

If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was always there, telling him how to look on the positive side of the situation. Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and asked him： 
'I don't get it! No one can be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?'

Jerry replied, 'Each morning I wake up and say to myself, I have two choices today. I can choose to be in a good mood or I can choose to be in a bad mood.

I always choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be victim or I can choose to learn from it. I always choose to learn from it. 
Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I always choose the positive side of life.' 
'But it's not always that easy,' I protested. 'Yes it is,' Jerry said. 'Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk every situation is a choice.

You choose how you react to situations. 
You choose how people will affect your mood. 
You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. 
It's your choice how you live your life.'

Several years later, I heard that Jerry accidentally did something you are never supposed to do in the restaurant business. He left the back door of his restaurant open And then in the morning, he was robbed by three armed men. While Jerry trying to open the safe box, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him.

Luckily, Jerry was found quickly and rushed to the hospital.

After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jerry was released from the hospital with fragments of the bullets still in his body....

I saw Jerry about six months after the accident.

When I asked him how he was, he replied, 'If I were any better, I'd be twins. Want to see my scars?' I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the robbery took place.

'The first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the back door,' Jerry replied. 'Then, after they shot me, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or could choose to die. I chose to live.'

'Weren't you scared' I asked?

Jerry continued, 'The paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine.

But when they wheeled me into the Emergency Room and I saw the expression on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'He's a dead man. I knew I needed to take action.'

'What did you do?' I asked.

'Well, there was a big nurse shouting questions at me,' said Jerry. 'She asked if I was allergic to anything.' 'Yes,' to bullets, I replied.

Over their laughter, I told them: 'I am choosing to live. Please operate on me as if I am alive, not dead.'

'Jerry lived thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude.

I learned from him that every day you have the choice to either enjoy your life or to hate it.

The only thing that is truly yours - that no one can control or take from you - is your attitude,

so if you can take care of that, everything else in life becomes much easier.

“I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live.”  Deuteronomy 30:19

I.N.J. 

Mom's Journey is Over - The Victory is Won

Native American Prayer

I give you this thought to keep –

I am with you still – I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

 I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning hush,

I am the swift, uplifting rush

of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not think of me as gone –

I am with you still – in each new dawn.

If you don’t already know, my mother Freda H. Wilcoxson died peacefully in her home with family at the bedside on October 4, 2012. The prayer above was sent to me by our good friends Pete and Gail Pharr and has deep and comforting meaning to me. I have been humbled by the huge number of Facebook posts, texts, e-mails, and phone calls that I have received.  They have provided great support and comfort. I am, with my family, deeply touched by your thoughts, love, and prayers. I am certain that mom is looking on you with joy in her heart.

I hope that this prayer will help you through your personal losses. All of you are a part of my family. With God’s help and each other we can walk through the worst of times and the most joyous of occasions. God bless you.

The Memorial service will be held on:

Monday October 15, 2012 at 4pm

The Episcopal Church of the Messiah,

260 North Woodland St.,

Winter Garden, FL 34787,

407-656-3212

“I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they'll 'say something about it' or not. I hate if they do, and if they don't.”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

The Language of Tears

A close friend of mine recently had her first child. I had the opportunity to visit with them a few months ago and to meet her new little one. At three months old, her baby makes all the typical sweet coos and sounds that endear newborns to their adult admirers. He would even offer a tiny laugh when I would make a silly face at him. And then, seemingly out of the blue, he would cry. What amazed me was how his mother knew just what the cries indicated. Sometimes it was anger at being put on his stomach; sometimes it was a cry for food; other times, it was the weary crying of his fighting off inevitable sleep. What was amazing to me was that as I listened carefully, I could begin to hear the difference between the various cries of his limited, yet profound vocabulary. On a cross-country air flight, I was overwhelmed by the plaintive cries of a young child in the row behind me. I immediately thought of my friend. Like my friend’s newborn, I thought of how the child was trying to communicate with his mother through the only means available to him. With each piercing wail, the tears streamed down my own eyes. And I thought about how my own tears were the only way I could express the place of deep sorrow that arose in me as I listened to wave after wave of his sobs. There is something about a baby’s cries that connects to someplace deep inside of me. For most, especially when sitting on a crowded plane as we were, the sound of a baby crying pierces ears like a scratch on a chalkboard or the siren of an emergency vehicle. But for me, the cries of all young children vocalize all that I cannot say and all that I feel inside. From plaintive wail to frustrated, angry cries, whether they emerge from my friend’s child, a child beside me on the plane, or in the schoolyard across from my home, these cries articulate the deepest yearnings of my own heart. In this particular case, the young child’s cries connected to deep losses I had suffered. His cries told stories of grief and heartache I bore in my own spirit on behalf of friends and loved ones. His tears expressed for me the bitter sorrow over lost opportunity, frittered years, idle moments when opportunity might have been seized rather than squandered. And so, I cried with the child—the child vocalizing all that I could not say, but that which I deeply felt. Many times, our response to tears is to admonish them away. “Don’t cry,” “be thankful” or “look on the bright side” are dismissive statements, as much as they are meant to comfort. Yet, there are so many moments in life that cannot be expressed or soothed by words. They are too deep, too visceral to be simply captured by a clever turn of phrase. Instead, tears are the necessary articulation of our hearts, speaking out the groans too deep to be uttered. Indeed, tears are a language of their own. Whenever I am tempted to dismiss them or to try to overcome them, I am encouraged towards their free expression because of the way in which my Christian faith values them. Throughout the sacred pages of Scripture, there are tears. The tears of the grieving, the weary, and even the joyful—tears speak what the mouth cannot say. The psalmist speaks of God gathering up tears in a bottle, writing them in a book, as if they tell a unique story. The apostle Paul speaks of the Spirit groaning with utterances too deep for words. The ancient Hebrew prophet, Jeremiah, is often called “the weeping prophet” and Isaiah characterizes the “suffering servant” as “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.” Christians believe that it was this suffering servant, Jesus, who wept at the tomb of his friend Lazarus, moved by the weeping of Mary, Martha and all those who had gathered to mourn his loss. He didn’t just shed a single tear; he wept, crying out in anguish over the death of Lazarus. In a world that values strength, stoicism, and in contrast to those traditions that espouse detachment, I find myself comforted that there is room for my tears, value in grief, and a God who comes near to the brokenhearted. Furthermore, if as Christians affirm, Jesus presents a living picture of what God is like, then tears are not foreign to God. God is not removed from human pain, but has borne under it in the flesh, in Jesus. Our tears are understood, welcomed and honored by a God who feels. And this gives me great hope for the all too frequent days when tears are as much a part of my days as laughter. And it helps me better understand Jesus’ own words of blessing on those who mourn: Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted. If all of this is true, then let the tears flow freely, just as they do when the young child cries. Margaret Manning is a member of the writing and speaking team at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Seattle, Washington. 2012 Released on 10/09/12 In ‘A Slice of Infinity’ newsletter RZIM

Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: ² a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; ³ a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; ⁴ a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance

...against wisdom evil does not prevail.

“It is better to lead from behind and to put others in front, especially when you celebrate victory when nice things occur. You take the front line when there is danger. Then people will appreciate your leadership.” 
Nelson Mandela 

This is a fictional story that was written for Home Life Magazine by Elizabeth Silance Ballard in 1979. It became one of the most requested stories in the magazine’s history. A tissue may come in handy when reading.

As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big 'F' at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, 'Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... he is a joy to be around...’

His second grade teacher wrote, 'Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle.'

His third grade teacher wrote, 'His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest, and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken.   Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, 'Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class.'

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself… She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume… But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, 'Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to.'

After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her 'teacher's pets...'

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.... The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.

The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, 'Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference.'

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back... She said, 'Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you.'

For wisdom is a reflection of eternal light,
a spotless mirror of the working of God,
and an image of his goodness.
Although she is but one, she can do all things,
and while remaining in herself, she renews all things;
in every generation she passes into holy souls
and makes them friends of God, and prophets;
for God loves nothing so much as the person who lives with wisdom.
She is more beautiful than the sun,
and excels every constellation of the stars.
Compared with the light she is found to be superior,
for it is succeeded by the night,
but against wisdom evil does not prevail.
She reaches mightily from one end of the earth to the other,
and she orders all things well. 
Wisdom of Solomon 7:26-8:1

I.N.J.