It is a morbid and depressing fact that when it comes to adultery, there are too many casualties among pastors. Ministers are just as vulnerable as others. No area, no country, no denomination is immune. The damage done in each case is irreparable: the breakdown, as far as ministry is concerned, final. This is a distasteful subject, but we cannot shirk it. The matter demands faithful treatment. Let him who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall.
Erroll Hulse

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Beatitudes for a Housewife Wednesday

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#1 · January 31, 2006, 4:02 pm

Posted by: bigguyhereagain <bigguyhereagain@...>

"Beatitudes for a Housewife"
 
 
Blessed is she whose daily tasks are a labor of love; for her willing hand and happy heart translate duty into privilege, and her labor becomes a service to God and all mankind.
 
Blessed is she who opens the door to welcome both stranger and well-loved friend; for gracious hospitality is a test of brotherly love.
 
Blesses is she who mends stockings and toys and broken hearts, for her understanding is a balm to humanity.
 
Blessed is she who children love, for the love of a child is more to be valued that a fortune or fame.
 
Blessed is she who sings at her work; for music lightens the heaviest load and brightens the dullest chore.
 
Blessed is she who dusts away doubt and fear and sweeps out the cobwebs of confusion; for her faith will triumph over all adversity.
 
Blessed is she who serves laughter and smiles with every meal; for her buoyancy of spirit is an aid to mental and physical digestion.
 
Blessed is she who preserves the sanctity of the  Christian home; for hers is a sacred trust that crowns her with dignity.
Author unknown
"Flying A Kite"
 
Her skin was the color of rich, hot chocolate and her brown eyes twinkled with intelligence and humor.  Her name was Michelle and she spent her days in a purple wheelchair because she had been born with Cerebral Palsy.  She rolled into my classroom — and my heart—when she was just three years old.  Her courage was an inspiration to me and her spirit touched my heart.
Michelle and her mother once gave me a figurine of a beautiful black child sitting in a wheelchair.  I displayed the cherished gift on a shelf in my den at home.  It always reminded me of the little girl I loved so much.
When Michelle was seven, she was to undergo open-heart surgery for the third time.  The night before surgery, I sat in the chair beside her bed and held her hand.
“I’m tired, Bicki,” she said weakly.
 
“Why don’t you close your eyes and try to get some sleep?”
 
“No, not sleepy.  Tired.”
I thought of the tiny, imperfect heart that had to work so hard, the grand mal seizures, terrible headaches and tight, spastic muscles that made her every move difficult and painful.  I was heart-broken at the wisdom of the little soul who understood the difference between sleepy and tired at such a young age.
“Will I go to Heaven soon?”
I placed my hand on her forehead, “I don’t know, that’s up to God.”
She glanced at the stars through the window of her room.  “How will I get all the way up there?  An airplane?”
 
“No, God will send a special angel to show you the way.  You won’t have to take your wheelchair or your leg braces or any of your medicine because you won’t need any of that in Heaven.  You’ll be able to run and play just like your brother.”
Her eyes filled with hope.  “Do you think I could fly a kite?”
 
I swallowed a tear and smiled, “I’m sure if you ask God for a kite, he would find one for you.”
“Oh, I hope so Bicki!”
It was very early in the morning while I was doing my prayer time when the figurine of Michelle, for no apparent reason, fell from my bookshelf to the floor.  The impact of the fall separated the figure of the girl from the wheelchair.  I was devastated and vowed to have it repaired.  Later that same day, Michelle’s mother called to tell me that her daughter’s heart had simply stopped beating and she had peacefully slipped away in the early hours before dawn.
I have since thrown the ceramic wheelchair away and the little girl sits on the edge of the shelf with her legs dangling over the side.  She’s smiling toward the sky.  I always think of Michelle on warm, windy days.  I imagine her running through the clouds with a kite dancing above her.
Vicki L. Kitchner
 
 
Have a Blessed Day
Dave and Barbara
 
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