PAY PHONE TO GOD
THE DEADLY MAKE OVER
A CHRISTMAS STORY
"A few months before I was
born, my dad met a stranger who was new to our small
The stranger was quickly accepted and was around to welcome me into the world a few months later. As I grew up I never questioned his place in our family. In my young mind, each member had a special niche.
My brother, Bill, five years my senior, was my example. Fran, my younger sister, gave me an opportunity to play 'big brother' and develop the art of teasing. My parents were complementary instructors - Mom taught me to love the Word of God, and Dad taught me to obey it.
But, the stranger was our storyteller. He could weave the most fascinating tales. Adventures, mysteries and comedies were daily conversations. He could hold our whole family spell-bound for hours each evening. If I wanted to know about politics, history, or science, he knew it all. He knew about the past, understood the present, and seemingly could predict the future. The pictures he could draw were so lifelike that I would often laugh or cry.
He was like a friend to the whole family. He took Dad, Bill and me to our first major league baseball game. He was always encouraging us to see the movies and he even made arrangements to introduce us to several movie stars. My brother and I were deeply impressed by John Wayne in particular.
The stranger was an incessant talker. Dad didn't seem to mind - but sometimes Mom would quietly get up - while the rest of us were enthralled with one of his stories of faraway places - go to her room, read her Bible and pray. I wonder now if she ever prayed that the stranger would leave.
You see, my dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions. But, this stranger never felt obligation to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our house - not from us, from our friends, or adults. Our longtime visitor, however, used occasional four-letter words that burned my ears and made Dad squirm. To my knowledge the stranger was never confronted.
My dad was a teetotaler who didn't permit alcohol in his home - not even for cooking. But the stranger felt like we needed exposure and enlightened us to other ways of life. He offered us beer and other alcoholic beverages often.
He made cigarettes look tasty, cigars manly, and pipes distinguished.
He talked freely (probably too much too freely) about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing. I know now that my early concepts of the man-woman relationship were influenced by the stranger.
As I look back, I believe it was the grace of God that the stranger did not influence us more. Time after time he opposed the values of my parents. Yet he was seldom rebuked and never asked to leave.
More than thirty years have passed
since the stranger moved in with the young family on
But, if you were to walk into my parents' den today, you would still see him sitting over in a corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and look at his pictures.
His name? We always just called him T.V.
Something to be said about living
in the high hills of
Warren Swain was in
The next week
cost you $100." Recalling last
week,
The next weekend
THE DEADLY MAKE OVER
A middle aged woman had a heart attack and was taken to the
hospital. While on the operating table, she had a near
death
experience. Seeing God, she asked Him if this was
"it."
God said, "No. I am sending you back. You have another 40 years,
2 months and 8 days to live."
Upon recovery, the woman decided to stay in the hospital and have
a face liposuction, breast augmentation, a tummy tuck, etc. She
even had her hairdresser come to the hospital to change her hair
color before she was released from the hospital. She
figured that,
since she had such a long life ahead of her, she had better make
the most of it.
She left the hospital after all the operations, and while crossing
the street she was hit by an ambulance and was immediately killed.
Arriving in front of God, the woman demanded, "I thought you said
I had another forty years left to live. What
happened?"
God replied, "Oh shoot, I didn't recognize you."
A CHRISTMAS STORY
by Rian
B. Anderson
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who 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 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. 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.
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.
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.
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. 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.
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 smoke house
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 gunny sacks 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."
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.
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 fire place by a very small fire that
hardly gave off any
heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.
"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.
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.
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. 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
was 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.
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." 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 gunny sacks and I knew whatI had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and
a little candy for
those children. I hope you understand."
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.
Jesus and Satan were having
an ongoing argument about who
was better on the computer. They had been going at it for
days, and God was tired of hearing all of the bickering.
Finally God said, "Cool it! I am going to set up
a test
that will run two hours, and I will judge who does the
better job."
So Satan and Jesus sat down at the keyboards and typed
away. They moused. They did
spreadsheets. They wrote
reports. They sent faxes. They sent emails. They
downloaded. They did some genealogy reports. They made
cards. They did every known job. But 10
minutes before
their time was up, lightning suddenly flashed across the
sky, thunder clapped, the rain poured, and, of course, the
electricity went off.
Satan stared at his blank screen and screamed every curse
word known in the underworld. Jesus just sighed. The
electricity finally flickered back on, and each of them
restarted their computers. Satan started searching
frantically and screamed, "It's gone! It's
all gone! I
lost everything when the power went off!"
Meanwhile, Jesus quietly started printing out all of his
files from the past two hours of diligent work. Satan
observed this and became irate. "Wait! He cheated!
How did he do it?"
God shrugged and said, "Jesus saves."
Two friends were walking through the desert. In a specific point of the journey, they had an argument, and one fried slapped the other one in the face. The one who got slapped was hurt but without saying anything, wrote in the sand:
TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE
They kept on walking until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath. The one who got slapped and hurt started drowning, and the other friend saved him. When he recovered from the fright, he wrote on a stone:
TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SAVED MY LIFE.
The friend who saved and slapped his best friend, asked him “Why, after I hurt you, did you write in the sand, and now you write on a stone?” The other friend, smiling, replied, “When a friend hurts us, we should write it down in the sand, where the winds of forgiveness get in charge of erasing it away, and when something great happens, we should engrave it in the stone of the memory of the heart, where no wind car erase it.”
Learn to write in the sand.