A Mother's Dream
A mother and father had an adorable little girl. She was the light of their lives. Then one night she was taken from them by a terrible illness. The mother never recovered. She became so depressed she could not eat or sleep. For seven years she mourned the loss of her child. Then she began to have a dream. In the dream she saw children playing. They were laughing, skipping, so happy. Except for one little girl. She struggled towards the happy children, but could not catch up to them because she was carrying two buckets of water. They were so heavy that she struggled even to walk. The mother had this dream many times.
Finally, one night, she was able to talk to the child. She asked why she was carrying the buckets of water that kept her from playing with the other children. The little girl looked up at her with big eyes and said, "Mommy, these are your tears. You are so sad." The mother realized then that she had to let the child go. A month later, she had the same dream, only this time all the children were laughing and playing.
Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down: 73 in a 55 mph zone. The flashing red in his rearview mirror insisted he pull over quickly, but Jack let the car coast. Fourth time in a few months. How could a guy get caught so often? When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour, Jack pulled over, but only partially. Let the cop worry about the potential traffic hazard. Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror. He slumped into his seat; the collar of his trench coat covering his ears. He tapped the steering wheel, doing his best to look bored, his eyes on the mirror. The cop was stepping out of his car, the big pad in hand.
Bob? Bob from church? Jack sunk further into his trench coat. This was worse than the coming ticket. A cop catching a guy from his own church. A guy who happened to be a little too eager to get home after a long day at the office. A guy he was about to play golf with tomorrow. Jack was tempted to leave the window shut long enough to gain the psychological edge but decided on a different tack. Jumping out of the car, he approached a man he saw every Sunday, a man he'd never seen in uniform.
"Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this."
"Hello, Jack." No smile.
"Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife and kids."
"Yeah, I guess." Bob seemed uncertain. Good thought, Jack.
"I've seen some long days at the office lately. I'm afraid I bent the rules a bit ~ just this once." Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement. "Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes tonight. Know what I
"I know what you mean. I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct," Bob said.
Ouch. This was not going in the right direction. Time to change tactics.
"What'd you clock me at?" asked Jack.
"Seventy-one. Would you sit back in your car, please?" Bob said.
"Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as I saw you. I was barely nudging 65."
The lies seemed to come easier with every ticket replied Bob.
"Please, Jack, sit in the car."
Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard. He was in no rush to open the window. The minutes ticked by. Bob scribbled away on the pad. Why hadn't he asked for a driver's license? Whatever the reason, it would be a month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near this cop again. A tap on the door jerked his head to the left. There was Bob, a folded paper in hand. Jack rolled down the window a mere
two inches, just enough room for Bob to pass him the slip.
"Thanks." Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice.
Bob returned to his car without a word. Jack watched his retreat in the mirror, bottom teeth scratching his upper lip. When Bob vanished inside his car, Jack unfolded the sheet of paper. How much was this one going to cost?
Wait a minute. What was this? Some kind of joke? Certainly not a ticket. Jack began to read:
Once upon a time I had a daughter. She was six when killed by a car. You guessed it ~ a speeding driver. A fine and three months in jail, and the man was free. Free to hug his daughters. All three of them. I only had one, and I'm
going to have to wait until heaven before I ever hug her again. A thousand times I've tried to forgive this man. A thousand times I thought I had. Maybe I did, but I need to do it again. Even now. Pray for me. And be careful. My son is all I have left.
Jack shifted uncomfortably in his trench coat. Then he twisted around in time to see Bob's car pull away and head down the road. Jack watched until it disappeared. A full 15 minutes later, he, too, pulled away and drove slowly home, praying for forgiveness and hugging his surprised wife and kids when he arrived.
Unfolding of a Rose
A young, new preacher was walking with an older, more seasoned preacher in the garden one day and feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do, he was inquiring of the older preacher. The older preacher walked up to a rosebush and handed the young preacher a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing off any petals. The young preacher looked in disbelief at the older preacher and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the Will of God for his life and for his ministry. Because of his high respect for the older preacher, he proceeded to Try to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal intact...it wasn't long before he realized how impossible it was to do so. Noticing the younger preacher's inability to unfold the rosebud while keeping it intact, the older preacher began to recite the following poem...
It is only a tiny rosebud,
flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
God opens this flower so sweetly,
When in my hands they fade and die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
Then how can I think I have wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So I'll trust in Him for His leading
Each moment of every day.
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust in Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.
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