How Much does a Prayer Weigh?

Louise Redden, a poorly dressed lady with a look of defeat on her face, walked into a grocery store. She approached the owner of the store in a most humble manner and asked if he would let her charge a few groceries. She softly explained that her husband was very ill and unable to work, they had seven children and they needed food.

John Longhouse, the grocer, scoffed at her and requested that she leave his store.

Visualizing the family needs, she said: "Please, sir! I will bring you the money just as soon as I can."

John told her he could not give her credit, as she did not have a charge account at his store.

Standing beside the counter was a customer who overheard the conversation between the two. The customer walked forward and told the grocer that he would stand good for whatever she needed for her family.

The grocer said in a very reluctant voice, "Do you have a grocery list?"

Louise replied, "Yes sir"

"O.K." he said, "put your grocery list on the scales and whatever your grocery list weighs, I will give you that amount in groceries."

Louise, hesitated a moment with a bowed head, then she reached into her purse and took out a piece of paper and scribbled something on it. She then laid the piece of paper on the scale carefully with her head still bowed.

The eyes of the grocer and the customer showed amazement when the scales went down and stayed down.

The grocer, staring at the scales, turned slowly to the customer and said begrudgingly, "I can't believe it."

The customer smiled and the grocer started putting the groceries on the other side of the scales. The scale did not balance so he continued to put more and more groceries on them until the scales would hold no more. The grocer stood there in utter disgust. Ê

Finally, he grabbed the piece of paper from the scales and looked at it with greater amazement. It was not a grocery list, it was a prayer which said:

"Dear Lord, you know my needs and I am leaving this in your hands."

The grocer gave her the groceries that he had gathered and stood in stunned silence. Louise thanked him and left the store. The customer handed a fifty-dollar bill to the grocer and said, "It was worth every penny of it."

It was some time later that the grocer discovered the scales were broken; therefore, only God knows how much a prayer weighs.

The Faith of a Child

Sally was only eight years old when she heard Mommy and Daddy talking about her little brother, Georgi. He was very sick and they had done everything they could afford to save his life. Only a very expensive surgery could help him now . . . and that was out of the financial question. She heard Daddy say it with a whispered desperation, "Only a miracle can save him now."

Sally went to her bedroom and pulled her piggy bank from its hiding place in the closet. She shook all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Tying the coins up in a cold-weather-kerchief, she slipped out of the apartment and made her way to the corner drug store.

She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her attention. . . but he was too busy talking to another man to be bothered by an eight-year-old. Sally twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. She cleared her throat. No good. Finally she took a quarter from its hiding place and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!

"And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice.

"Well, I want to talk to you about my brother," Sally answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's sick . . . and I want to buy a miracle."

"I beg your pardon," said the pharmacist.

"My Daddy says only a miracle can save him now . . . so how much does a miracle cost?"

"We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I can't help you."

"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. Just tell me how much it costs."

The well-dressed man stooped down and asked, "What kind of a miracle does you brother need?"

"I don't know," Sally answered. A tear started down her cheek. "I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my folks can't pay for it . . . so I have my money.

"How much do you have?" asked the well-dressed man.

"A dollar and eleven cents," Sally answered proudly. "And it's all the money I have in the world."

"Well, what a coincidence," smiled the well-dressed man. A dollar and eleven cents . . . the exact price of a miracle to save a little brother. He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents."

That well-dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, renowned surgeon, specializing in solving Georgi's malady. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn't long until Georgi was home again and doing well. Mommy and Daddy were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.

"That surgery," Mommy whispered. "It's like a miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?

Sally smiled to herself. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost... one dollar and eleven cents... plus the faith of a little child.

The Best is Yet to Come

The sound of Martha’s voice on the other end of the telephone always brought a smile to her pastor’s face. She was not only one of the oldest members of the congregation, but one of the most faithful. Aunt Martie, as all of the children called her, just seemed to ooze faith, hope, and love wherever she went. This time, however, there seemed to be an unusual tone to her words “Preacher, could you stop by this afternoon? I need to talk with you.”

“Of course, I’ll be there around three. Is that ok?”

It didn’t take long to discover the reason for what had been sensed in her voice before. As they sat facing each other in the quiet of her small living room. Martha shared the news that her doctor had just discovered a previously undetected tumor.

“He says I probably have six months to live.” Martha’s words were naturally serious, yet there was a definite calm about her.

“I’m so sorry to …” but before her pastor could finish, Martha interrupted.

“Don’t be. The Lord has been good. I have lived a long life. I’m ready to go. You know that.”

“I know,” her pastor responded with a reassuring nod.

“But I do want to talk with you about my funeral. I have been thinking about it, and there are things that I know I want.”

The two talked quietly for a long time. They talked about Martha’s favorite hymns, the passages of Scripture that had meant so much to her through the years, and the many memories they shared at Central Church. When it seemed that they had covered just about everything, Aunt Martie paused, looked up with a twinkle in her eye, and then added, “One more thing, preacher. When they bury me, I want my old Bible in one hand and a fork in the other.”

“A fork? Why do you want to be buried with a fork?”

“I have been thinking about all of the church dinners and banquets that I attended through the years,” she explained. “One thing sticks in my mind. At those really nice get-togethers, when the meal was almost finished, a server would come by to collect the dirty dishes. I can hear the words now. Sometimes, at the best ones, somebody would lean over my shoulder and whisper, ‘You can keep your fork.’ And do you know what that meant? Dessert was coming! It didn’t mean a cup of Jell-O or pudding or even a dish of ice cream. You don’t need a fork for that. It meant the good stuff, like chocolate cake or cherry pie! When they told me I could keep my fork, I knew the best was yet to come!

“That’s exactly what I want people to talk about at my funeral. Oh, they can talk about all the good times we had together. That would be nice. But when they walk by my casket and look at my pretty blue dress, I want them to turn to one another and say, ‘Why the fork?’ And I want you to tell them that I kept my fork because the best is yet to come!”

Victory Over Loss and Anger

It had been the worst year in her life -- a year since Kathy's husband had suddenly died in an automobile accident leaving her full of grief, anger, bitterness, turmoil. At first she couldn't believe her husband had died. Then when she did accept it, she felt angry -- angry at the drunken truck driver who had caused David's death, angry at God for letting it happen. Then she had felt guilty. "Why wasn't I more loving toward David when he was alive?" she accused herself.

Grieving set in, and for some reason she couldn't cry. She would just get the children off to school and sit there like a zombie, staring off into space. "God," she exclaimed angrily one day, "how could you have let this happen? David was such a good man, a good father! Now my children are fatherless and I'm alone. It's not fair!"

Kathy went on with the routine of living, but the anger, bitterness, and depression sat like a heavy burden on her. She resigned her position as Sunday school teacher and dropped out of church completely.

Her pastor came to see her, but she was almost rude to him. Seeing he couldn't talk to her, he finally said, "Well, Kathy, we miss you, and we'll be praying for you." Christian friends called and she brushed them off in similar fashion.

Kathy was troubled by the drop in her children's report card marks. They didn't seem very happy either. She began to realize she would have to pull herself together for their sakes.

Then one day, Kathy went out for lunch with a Christian co-worker. As they talked, she shared with Anne what she had been suffering. "I went through all that, too," Anne said, "when my husband left me for another woman. But I finally got tired of feeling sorry for myself and being full of turmoil. I finally decided to 'let go and let God' -- to really trust him with my life and realize that he could work all things together for my good! I forgave Jerry. I forgave myself. And for the first time in a long time, I experienced real peace!"

When Kathy got home that day, she fell to her knees and followed Anne's example -- and she too found peace and meaning for her life. It wasn't easy. It was a commitment she had to make again and again, but turning things over to God, really trusting him with her life, was more than just a slogan; it was the way back to life again.

***

Quite often when we feel that we have dealt with our grief over loss -- that we have turned it over the Lord -- we can be hit by reoccurrences that get us down. After all, we are all only human, and it is easy to backslide into feeling depressed and very sorry for ourselves because of our losses. We quite making that daily commitment to trust God and focus on the future. So how do we climb out of the pit again? Here are some suggestions.

All those old feelings coming back make you feel sorry for yourself again. This in turn depresses you -- may even make you angry again too. The Bible tells us not to fret -- to sit around and worry and stew and make ourselves anxious (Psalm 37:1). Why? Because fretting brings us back to square one -- doubting God and making ourselves miserable. Stop looking inward, and go back to looking upward!

Go back to the source of your first victory over grief and anger -- the Lord. He is still there for you. He loves you. He hasn't left you -- you have left Him! Jesus said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and heavily laden, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28). When you bring that burden to Him, leave it with Him! It works for me every time I really do that!

Those old feelings revive something else in us -- remorse about our own shortcomings, blaming others and God, too. So we must forgive ourselves and others, and trust in God again.

Rejoice in the Lord. Rejoicing in the Lord lifts our spirits, draws us back to Him by thankfulness, reminds us of how much better it is to look forward than backward (Philippians 4:4-9). Again, look up!

-Muriel Larson.

http://www.heartlight.org/articles/200705/20070503_victoryoverloss.html

(c) 1996-2006, Heartlight, Inc.

DON'T HOPE, FRIEND... DECIDE!

While waiting to pick up a friend at the airport in Portland, Oregon, I had one of those life changing experiences that you hear other people talk about. You know, the kind that sneaks up on you unexpectedly? Well, this one occurred a mere two feet away from me! Straining to locate my friend among the passengers deplaning through the jetway, I noticed a man coming toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped right next to me to greet his family.

First, he motioned to his youngest son (maybe six years old) as he laid down his bags. They gave each other a long, and movingly loving hug. As they separated enough to look in each other's face, I heard the father say, "It's so good to see you, son. I missed you so much!" His son smiled somewhat shyly, diverted his eyes, and replied softly, "Me too, Dad!"

Then the man stood up, gazed in the eyes of his oldest son (maybe 9) and while cupping his son's face in his hands he said, "You're already quite the young man. I love you very much Zach!" They too hugged a most loving, tender hug. His son said nothing. No reply was necessary.

While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one and a half) was squirming excitedly in her mother's arms, never once taking her little eyes off the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man said, "Hi babygirl!" as he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her face all over and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side to side. The little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his shoulder and remained motionless in total pure contentment.

After several moments, he handed his daughter to his oldest son and declared, "I've saved the best for last!" and proceeded to give his wife the longest, most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for several seconds and then quietly said, "I love you so much!". They stared into each other's eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding both hands. For an instant, they reminded me of newlyweds but I knew by the age of their kids that they couldn't be. I puzzled about it for a moment, then realized how totally engrossed I was in the wonderful display of unconditional love not more than an arm's length away from me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I were invading something sacred, but was amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask, "Wow! How long have you two been married?"

"Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of those." he replied without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife's face.

"Well then, how long have you been away?" I asked. The man finally looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile and told me, "Two whole days!"

Two days?! I was stunned! I was certain by the intensity of the greeting I just witnessed that he'd been gone for at least several weeks, if not months, and I know my expression betrayed me. So, I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with some semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend), "I hope my marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!"

The man suddenly stopped smiling. He looked me straight in the eye, and with an intensity that burned right into my soul, he told me something that left me a different person. He told me, "Don't hope friend...decide." Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again, shook my hand and said, "God bless!". With that, he and his family turned and energetically strode away together.

I was still watching that special man and his exceptional family walk just out of sight when my friend came up to me and asked, "What'cha looking at?" Without hesitating, and with a curious sense of certainty, I replied, "My future!"

- Michael D. Hargrove

Help Somebody

It was a cold winter's day that Sunday. The parking lot to the church was filling up quickly. I noticed as I got out of my car that fellow church members were whispering among themselves as they walked to the church.

As I got closer I saw a man leaned up against the wall outside the church. He was almost laying down as if he was asleep. He had on a long trench coat that was almost in shreds and a hat topped his head, pulled down so you couldn't see his face.

He wore shoes that looked 30 years old, too small for his feet, with holes all over them, his toes stuck out. I assumed this man was homeless, and asleep, so I walked on by through the doors of the Church.

We all enjoy fellowship for a few minutes, and then someone brought up the man who was laying outside. People snickered and gossiped, but no one bothered to ask him to come in, including me. A few moments later church began. We all waited for the Preacher to take his place, and to give us The Word, when the doors to the church opened. In came the homeless man, walking down the aisle with his head down.

People gasped and whispered and made faces. He made his way down the aisle and up onto thepulpit. When he took off his hat and coat my heart sank. There stood our preacher... he was the "homeless man."

No one said a word... the room was silent and still.

Then the preacher took his Bible and laid it on the stand.

"Folks, I don't think I have to tell you what I'm preaching about today." Then he started singing the words to this song...

"If I can help somebody as I pass along,
If I can cheer somebody with a word or song,
If I can show somebody that he's traveling wrong,
Then my living shall not be in vain."

Love is Action, Not Feeling

"If I never saw this kid again, Lord, I wouldn't be sorry!" I thought.

Tears clouded my eyes as I stood in our laundry room. Clenched in both hands were new jeans and a shirt belonging to my 16-year-old stepson, Brett. The clothing was already destroyed from burn holes and vomit stains after a drunken binge.

Exhausted and defeated, I sank to the floor. The clothes were just one more thing Brett had ruined. He had already kicked a large hole in his bedroom wall; his bedcovers were torn. Numerous windows in our house needed repair due to his breaking in to steal money when he chose to live on the street. Yet none of this could compare to the emotional damage Brett had inflicted on our once quiet home.

I knew that Brett's needs were deep, and I had often prayed for wisdom and love. The second greatest commandment, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself," had taken on new meaning when Brett came to live with us when he was 12 years old. If I were to love my neighbor, was I not to love my own troubled stepson even more?

During those four years I had dealt with Brett as patiently as possible, but inside I was churning. "I don't want him in my house another day, Lord," I cried as I knelt on the laundry room floor. "I just can't stand him!"

Chest heaving, I poured out my despair. Then God tenderly spoke to me in my weakness. Matthew 25:35-40 rose in my thoughts---Jesus' declaration that when we invite a stranger, feed the hungry, clothe the naked or visit those in prison, we are doing it as unto Him. For the first time I saw this story in light of the action words. Jesus was saying, "Act. Meet these people's needs. Through your actions you are loving them and Me."

God's encouragement to me that day helped me to gather strength and continue parenting Brett. Still, Brett did not change his behavior.

When Brett was nearly 18, he landed again in Juvenile Hall, this time on suicide watch. Through prayer, my husband, Dave, and I sensed God's leading to send Brett to a boarding school with a high success rate for helping troubled teens.

The psychological training at Brett's school was rigorous. Out of more than 20 people in his class, Brett was one of only five graduates.

At the graduation ceremony the graduates stood one by one to thank those who had helped them. Each graduate held a long-stemmed, white rosebud to give to the person who had meant the most to him or her.

Brett spoke lovingly to his mother and father and for the first time took responsibility for the heartaches he had caused.

Finally Brett spoke to me. "You did so much," he said. "You were always there, no matter what. My mom and dad, I was their kid. But you just got stuck with me. All the same you always showed me such love. And I want you to know that I love you for it."

Stunned, I stood as Brett placed the white rosebud in my hand and hugged me hard.

At that moment I realized the truth in God's words to me. Although I had struggled with silent anger toward my stepson, Brett had seen only my actions.

Love is action. We may not always have positive feelings about certain people in our lives. But we can love them.

-Sally Arnett

THE FATHER'S EYES

Bob Richards, the former pole-vault champion, shares a moving story about a skinny young boy who loved football with all his heart. Practice after practice, he eagerly gave everything he had. But being half the size of the other boys, he got absolutely nowhere. At all the games, this hopeful athlete sat on the bench and hardly ever played.

This teenager lived alone with his father, and the two of them had a very special relationship. Even though the son was always on the bench, his father was always in the stands cheering. He never missed a game.

This young man was still the smallest of the class when he entered high school. But his father continued to encourage him but also made it very clear that he did not have to play football if he didn't want to.

But the young man loved football and decided to hang in there He was determined to try his best at every practice, and perhaps he'd get to play when he became a senior. All through high school he never missed a practice nor a game but remained a bench-warmer all four years.

His faithful father was always in the stands, always with words of encouragement for him.
When the young man went to college, he decided to try out for the football team as a "walk-on." Everyone was sure he could never make the cut, but he did. The coach admitted that he kept him on the roster because he always puts his heart and soul to every practice, and at the same time, provided the other members with the spirit and hustle they badly needed.

The news that he had survived the cut thrilled him so much that he rushed to the nearest phone and called his father. His father shared his excitement and was sent season tickets for all the college games.

This persistent young athlete never missed practice during his four years at college, but he never got to play in a game. It was the end of his senior football season, and as he trotted onto the practice field shortly before the big playoff game, the coach met him with a telegram.

The young man read the telegram and he became deathly silent. Swallowing hard, he mumbled to the coach, "My father died this morning. Is it all right if I miss practice today?" The coach put his arm gently around his shoulder and said, "Take the rest of the week off, son. And don't even plan to come back to the game on Saturday."

Saturday arrived, and the game was not going well. In the third quarter, when the team was ten points behind, a silent young man quietly slipped into the empty locker room and put on his football gear. As he ran onto the sidelines, the coach and his players were astounded to see their faithful teammate back so soon. "Coach, please let me play. I've just got to play today," said the young man. The coach pretended not to hear him. There was no way he wanted his worst player in this close playoff game. But the young man persisted, and finally feeling sorry for the kid, the coach gave in. "All right," he said. "You can go in."

Before long, the coach, the players and everyone in the stands could not believe their eyes. This little unknown, who had never played before was doing everything right. The opposing team could not stop him. He ran, he passed, blocked, and tackled like a star. His team began to triumph. The score was soon tied. In the closing seconds of the game, this kid intercepted a pass and ran all the way for the winning touchdown.

The fans broke loose. His teammates hoisted him onto their shoulders. Such cheering you never heard. Finally, after the stands had emptied and the team had showered and left the locker room, the coach noticed that this young man was sitting quietly in the corner all alone The coach came to him and said,"Kid, I can't believe it. You were fantastic! Tell me what got into you? How did you do it?"

He looked at the coach, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Well, you knew my dad died, but did you know that my dad was blind?" The young man swallowed hard and forced a smile, "Dad came to all my games, but today was the first time he could see me play, and I wanted to show him I could do it!"

Like the athlete's father, God is always there cheering for us. He's always reminding us to go on. He's even offering us His hand for He knows what is best, and is willing to give us what we need and not simply what we want. God has never missed a single game. What a joy to know that life is meaningful if lived for the Highest. Live for HIM for He's watching us in the game of life!