Visiting Day
Posted by: bigguyhereagain <bigguyhereagain@...>
He lives for the weekends. He lives for these visits.
As the cars arrive, he watches intently. Then, finally, they arrive, for whom he would do anything. They embrace, eat a light supper and reminisce how things used to be. At many point, they break into singing, with interruptions of laughter and applause. But all too soon it is over. A tear comes to his eyes as his they depart.
Then the man with the keys closes the heavy doors. He hears the key turn in the lock marking the end of a special day. There he stands, alone again. He knows that most of his visitors will not contact him again until next week.
As the last car pulls away from the parking lot, Jesus retreats into loneliness as He waits until next Sunday -- Visiting Day. Is the time that we spend with Jesus an everyday thing, or do we just visit Him on Sunday?
door.
It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls,
career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear
across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his
busy life,Jack had little time to think about the past and often no
time
to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and
nothing could stop him.
Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The
funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old
newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.
"Jack, did you hear me?"
"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought
of
him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.
"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you
were
doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side
of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.
"I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.
"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make
sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.
"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in
this
business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me
things
he thought were important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack
said.
As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to
his
hometown.Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no
children of is own, and most of his relatives had passed away.
The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to
see the old house next door one more time.
Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like
crossing
over into another dimension, a leap through space and time.
The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories.
Every picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly.
"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked."The box is gone," he said.
"What box? " Mom asked.
"There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I
must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd never
tell me
was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.
It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack
remembered
it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had
taken it."Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said.
"I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."
It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from
work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox.
"Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the
main post office within the next three days," the note read.
Early the next day Jack retrieved the package.
The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred
years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return
address
caught his attention. "Mr. Harold Belser" it read.
Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There
inside was the gold box and an envelope.
Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.
"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack
Bennett.
It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the
letter.His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully
unlocked
the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running
his
fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover.
Inside he found these words engraved:
"Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser."
"The thing he valued most...was...my time."
Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and
cleared his appointments for the next two days.
"Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.
"I need some time to spend with my son," he said.
"Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your time!"
"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the
moments that take our breath away."
Have a great day-and thank you for your time.
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