Annual Thanksgiving post

THORNS

Sandra felt as low as the heels of her Birkenstocks as she pushed against a November gust and the florist shop door. Her life had been easy, like spring breeze. Then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a minor automobile accident stole her ease. During this Thanksgiving week she would have delivered a son. She grieved over her loss. As if that weren't enough, her husband's company threatened a transfer. Then her sister, whose holiday visit she coveted, called saying she could not come. What's worse, Sandra's friend infuriated her by suggesting her grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer.

"She has no idea what I'm feeling," thought Sandra with a shudder. Thanksgiving? Thankful for what? She wondered. For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear-ended her? For an airbag that saved her life, but took that of her child? "Good afternoon, can I help you? The shop clerk's approach startled her.

"I....I need an arrangement," stammered Sandra. “For Thanksgiving”. “Do you want beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call the Thanksgiving Special?"Asked the shop clerk. "I'm convinced that flowers tell stories," she continued. "Are you looking for something that conveys 'gratitude' this Thanksgiving?"

"Not exactly!" Sandra blurted out. "In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong." Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the shop clerk said, "I have the perfect arrangement for you." Then the door's small bell rang, and the shop clerk said, "Hi, Barbara...let me get your order." She politely excused herself and walked toward a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and long-stemmed thorny roses. Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped, there were no flowers. "Want this in a box?" asked the clerk.

Sandra watched for the customer's response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no flowers! She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed.

"Yes, please," Barbara replied with an appreciative smile. "You'd think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn't be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again." She said as she gently tapped her chest. "Uh," stammered Sandra, "that lady just left with, uh....she just left with no flowers!" "Right, said the clerk, "I cut off the flowers. That's the Special. I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet."

"Oh, come on, you can't tell me someone is willing to pay for that!" exclaimed Sandra.
"Barbara came into the shop three years ago, feeling much like you feel today," explained the clerk. "She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, her son was into drugs, and she was facing major surgery. That same year I had lost my husband," continued the clerk, "and for the first time in my life, had just spent the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow any travel."

"So what did you do?" asked Sandra. "I learned to be thankful for thorns," answered the
clerk quietly. "I've always thanked God for good things in life and never to ask Him why those good things happened to me, but when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important. I have always enjoyed the 'flowers' of life, but it took thorns to show me the beauty of God's comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we're afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others." Sandra sucked in her breath as she thought about the very thing her friend had tried to tell her. "I guess the truth is I don't want comfort. I've lost a baby and I'm angry with God."

Just then someone else walked in the shop. "Hey, Phil!" shouted the clerk to the balding, rotund man. "My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving arrangement...twelve thorny, long-stemmed stems!" laughed Phil as the clerk handed him tissue-wrapped
arrangement from the refrigerator. "Those are for your wife?" asked Sandra
incredulously. "Do you mind me asking why she wants something that looks like that?"

"No...I'm glad you asked," Phil replied. "Four years ago my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord's grace and guidance, we slogged through problem after problem. He rescued our marriage. Jenny here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she learned from "thorny" times, and that was good enough for me. I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific "problem" and give> thanks for what that problem taught us."

As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, "I highly recommend the Special!" "I don't know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life." Sandra said to the clerk. "It's all
too...fresh." "Well," the clerk replied carefully, "my experience has shown me that thorns make roses more precious. We treasure God's providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love. Don't resent the thorns." Tears rolled down Sandra's cheeks. For the first
time since the accident, she loosened her grip on resentment. "I'll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please," she managed to choke out.

"I hoped you would," said the clerk gently. "I'll have them ready in a minute." "Thank you. What do I owe you?" "Nothing, nothing, but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year's arrangement is always on me." The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra. "I'll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you would like to read it first." It read: "My God, I have never thanked You for my thorns. I have thanked You a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that my tears have made my rainbow."

Praise Him for your roses; thank Him for your
thorns.

Noah in today's World

If Noah lived in the United States, TODAY......

And the Lord spoke to Noah and said, In one year, I am going to make it rain and cover the whole earth with water until all flesh is destroyed. But I want you to save the righteous people and two of every kind of living thing on the earth. Therefore, I am commanding you to build an Ark. In fear and trembling, Noah took the plans and agreed to build the Ark. Remember said the Lord, you must complete the Ark and bring everything aboard in one year. Exactly one year later, fierce storm clouds covered the earth and all the seas of the earth went in a tumult. The Lord saw that Noah was
sitting in his front yard weeping. Noah, He shouted, where is the Ark?

Lord, please forgive me cried Noah. I did my best, but there were big problems. First I had to get a permit for construction and your plans did not meet the codes. I had to hire an engineering firm and re-draw the plans. Then I got into a fight with OSHA over whether or not the Ark needed a fire sprinkler system and flotation devices. The my neighbor objected, claiming I was violating zoning ordinances by building the Ark in my front yard, so I had to get a variance from the city planning commission.

Then I had problems getting enough wood for the Ark, because there was a ban on cutting trees to protect the Spotted Owl. I finally convinced the U.S. Forestry Service that I needed the wood to save the owls. However, the Fish and Wildlife Service wouldn't let me catch any owls. So, no owls. The carpenters formed a union and went out on strike. I had to negotiate a settlement with the National Labor Relations Board before anyone would pick up a saw or hammer. Now I have 16 carpenters on the Ark, but still no owls. When I started rounding up the other animals. I got sued by the Animal Rights group. They objected to me only taking two of each kind aboard. Just when I got the suit dismissed, the EPA notified me that I could not complete the Ark without filing an environmental impact statement on your proposed flood. They didn't take very kindly to the idea that they had no jurisdiction over the conduct of the Creator of the Universe.

Then the Army Corp of Engineers demanded a map of the proposed new flood plain. I sent them a globe. Right now, I am trying to resolve a complaint filed with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission that I am practicing discrimination by not taking godless, unbelieving people aboard. The IRS has seized my assets, claiming that I am building the Ark in preparation to flee the country to avoid paying taxes. I just got a
notice from the state that I owe them some kind of user tax and failed to register the Ark as a recreational watercraft.

Finally, the ACLU got the courts to issue an injunction against further construction of the Ark, saying that since God is flooding the earth, it is a religious event and therefore, unconstitutional. I really don't think I can finish the Ark for another five or six years,
Noah wailed. The sky began to clear, the sun began to shine and the seas began to calm. A rainbow arched across the sky. Noah looked up hopefully. You mean you are not going to destroy the earth, Lord? Noah, said the Lord sadly, I don't have to. The government already has.

Touch of the Master's Hand

The Touch of the Masters Hand

by Myra Welsh

T’was battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who’ll start the bidding for me?"
"A dollar, a dollar," then, two! Only two?
"Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?
"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three . . . "But no,
From the room, far back, a grey haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As a caroling angel sings.


The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?
Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice;
And going and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand

What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of a master’s hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of potage," a glass of wine;
A game, and he travels on.
He is "going" once, and "going" twice,
He’s "going" and almost "gone."
But the Master comes and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.



--
Meet Myra Brooks Welch
Myra Brooks Welch, a resident of La Verne, California, was called "The poet with the singing soul." Hers was a very musical family. As a young woman, Myra’s special love was playing the organ.
In 1921, she heard a speaker address a group of students. She said she became filled with light, and "Touch of the Master’s Hand wrote itself in 30 minutes!" She sent it anonymously to her church news bulletin. She felt it was a gift from God, and didn’t need her name on it. It’s popularity spread like magic. Finally, several years later, the poem was read at a religious international convention - "author unknown." A young man stood up and said, "I know the author, and it’s time the world did too. It was written by my mother, Myra Welch."
Then her name, as well her other beautiful works of poetry became known worldwide. All of her poetry told of the rejoicing she had in God’s love.
What the world did not see, was the woman who created these masterpieces: Myra in her wheelchair, battered and scarred from severe arthritis, which had taken away her ability to make music. Instead, her musical soul spoke through her poetry.
She took one pencil in each of her badly disabled hands. Using the eraser end, she would slowly type the words, the joy of them outweighing the pain of her efforts. Her words, a joyous expression of the wonders of life, as seen by a singing soul, touched by the Master’s Hand.

ANGELS

This was written by a Hospice of Metro Denver physician....

I just had one of the most amazing experiences of my life, and wanted to share it with my family and dearest friends:


I was driving home from a meeting this evening about 5, stuck in traffic on Colorado Blvd.., and the car started to choke and splutter and die - I barely managed to coast, cursing, into a gas station, glad only that I would not be blocking traffic and would have a somewhat warm spot to wait for the tow truck. It wouldn't even turn over.

Before I could make the call, I saw a woman walking out of the quick mart building, and it looked like she slipped on some ice and fell into a gas pump, so I got out to see if she was okay.

When I got there, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than that she had fallen; she was a young woman who looked really haggard with dark circles under her eyes.

She dropped something as I helped her up, and I picked it up to give it to her. It was a nickel At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the ancient Suburban crammed full of stuff with 3 kids in the back (1 in a car seat), and the gas pump reading $4.95. I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, and she just kept saying "I don't want my kids to see me crying," so we stood on the other side of the pump from her car. She said she was driving to California and that things were very hard for her right now.

So I asked, "And you were praying?" That made her back away from me a little, but I assured her I was not a crazy person and said, "He heard you, and He sent me."

I took out my card and swiped it through the card reader on the pump so she could fill up her car completely, and while it was fueling walked to the next door McDonald's and bought 2 big bags of food, some gift certificates for more, and a big cup of coffee. She gave the food to the kids in the car, who attacked it like wolves, and we stood by the pump eating fries and talking a little.

She told me her name, and that she lived in Kansas City. Her boyfriend left 2 months ago and she had not been able to make ends meet. She knew she wouldn't have money to pay rent Jan 1, and finally, in desperation, had finally called her parents, with whom she had not spoken in about 5 years.

They lived in California and said she could come live with them and try to get on her feet there. So she packed up everything she owned in the car. She told the kids they were going to California for Christmas, but not that they were going to live there.

I gave her my gloves, a little hug and said a quick prayer with her for safety on the road. As I was walking over to my car, she said, "So, are you like an angel or something?"

This definitely made me cry. I said, "Sweetie, at this time of year angels are really busy, so sometimes God uses regular people." It was so incredible to be a part of someone else's miracle.

And of course, you guessed it, when I got in my car it started right away and got me home with no problem. I'll put it in the shop tomorrow to check, but I suspect the mechanic won't find anything wrong.

the gardener

He would always greet you
with a big smile and a firm handshake.

Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could
really say they knew him very well.

Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone
sight of him walking down the street often worried us.

He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII.

Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may
not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its
ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for
caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded
in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just
signed up.

He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always
feared finally happened.

He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members
approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply
asked, 'Would you like a drink from the hose?'

The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, 'Yeah, sure,' with
a malevolent little smile.

As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm,
throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing
everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch
and his wallet, and then fled.

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad
leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came
running to help him.

Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he
couldn't get there fast enough to stop it.

'Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?' the minister kept asking as he
helped Carl to his feet.

Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head.
'Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday.'

His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the
hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.

Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, 'Carl, what are
you doing?' 'I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry
lately,' came the calm reply.

Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could
only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.

A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was
unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose

This time they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand
and drenched him head to foot in the icy water.

When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off
down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one
another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done.

Carl just watched them.. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun,
picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling
when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He
stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches.

As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall
leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced
himself for the expected attack.

'Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time.'

The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred
hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag
from his pocket and handed it to Carl.

'What's this?' Carl asked. 'It's your stuff,' the man explained. 'It's
your stuff back.. Even the money in your wallet.' 'I don't understand,'
Carl said. 'Why would you help me now?'

The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. 'I
learned something from you,' he said. 'I ran with that gang and hurt
people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we
could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead
of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't
hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate.'

He stopped for a moment. 'I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff,
so here it is back.'

He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was
to say. 'That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out,
I guess.' And with that, he walked off down the street.

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He
took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening
his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at
the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years
ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended
his funeral in spite of the weather.

In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't
know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church.

The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life.

In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, 'Do your best and
make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl
and his garden.'

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: 'Person needed to
care for Carl's garden.'

The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when
a knock was heard at the minister's office door.

Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed
hands holding the flyer. 'I believe this is my job, if you'll have
me,' the young man said.

The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl
He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the
minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, 'Yes, go
take care of Carl's garden and honor him.'

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the
flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done.

During that time, he went to college, got married, and became a
prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to
Carl's memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl
would have kept it.

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't
care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy
smile, 'My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him
home on Saturday.'

'Well, congratulations!' said the minister, as he was handed the
garden shed keys. 'That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?'

'Carl,' he replied

Prodigal Son in the Key of F


Feeling footloose and frisky, a featherbrained fellow forced his father to fork over his farthings. Fast he flew to foreign fields and frittered his family's fortune, feasting fabulously with floozies and faithless friends. Flooded with flattery, he financed a full-fledged fling of "funny foam" and fast food.
Fleeced by his fellows in folly, facing famine and feeling faintly fuzzy, he found himself a feed-flinger in a filthy foreign farmyard. Feeling frail and fairly famished, he fain would have filled his frame with foraged food from the fodder fragments.

"Fooey," he figured, "my father's flunkies fare far fancier," the frazzled fugitive fumed feverishly, facing the facts. Finally, frustrated from failure and filled with foreboding (but following his feelings) he fled fairly fast from the filthy foreign farmyard.

Far away, the father focused on the fretful familiar form in the field and flew to him and fondly flung his forearms around the fatigued fugitive. Falling at his father's feet, the fugitive floundered forlornly, "Father, I have flunked and fruitlessly forfeited family favor."

Finally, the faithful Father, forbidding and forestalling further flinching, frantically flagged the flunkies to fetch forth the finest fatling and fix a feast. Faithfully, the father's first-born was in a fertile field fixing fences while father and fugitive were feeling festive. The foreman felt fantastic as he flashed the fortunate facts of a familiar family face that had forsaken fatal foolishness. Forty-four feet from the farmhouse, the first-born found a farmhand fixing a fatling.

Frowning and finding fault, he found father and fumed, "Floozies and foam from frittered family funds and you fix a feast following the fugitive's folderol?" The first-born's fury flashed, but fussing was futile. The frugal first-born felt it was fitting to feel "favored" for his faithfulness and fidelity to family, father, and farm. In foolhardy fashion, he faulted the father for failing to furnish a fatling and feast for HIS friends. His folly was not in feeling fit for feast and fatling for friends; rather his flaw was in his feeling fretful about the fairness of the festival for the found fugitive.

His fundamental fallacy was a fixation on favoritism, not forgiveness. Any focus on feeling "favored" will fester and friction will force the faded facade to fall. Frankly, the father felt the frigid first-born's frugality of forgiveness was formidable and frightful. But the father's former faithful fortitude and fearless forbearance to forgive both fugitive and first-born flourished.....
The farsighted father figured, "Such fidelity is fine, but what forbids fervent festivity for the fugitive that is found? Unfurl the flags and finery, let fun and frolic freely flow. Former failure is forgotten, folly is forsaken. Forgiveness forms the foundation for future fine fortune."

Four facets of the Father's fathomless fondness for faltering fugitives are
1. Forgiveness
2. Forever faithful friendship
3. Fadeless love
4. A facility for forgetting flaws

The Bird Cage

received this story on an email from a friend recently

The Bird Cage
By Roger W. and Brooke S.
Apr 13, 2004

There once was a man named George Thomas, a preacher in a small Texas town.

One Sunday morning he came to the Church building carrying a rusty, bent, old bird cage, and set it by the pulpit.
Eyebrows were raised and, as if in response, the Preacher began to speak. . . .

"I was walking through town yesterday when I saw a young boy coming toward me swinging this bird cage. On the bottom of the cage were three little and wild birds, shivering with cold and fright.

I stopped the lad and asked, "What do you have there, son?"

"Just some old birds," came the reply.

"What are you going to do with them?" I asked.

"Take 'em home and have fun with 'em," he answered.
"I'm gonna tease 'em and pull out their feathers to make 'em fight. I'm gonna have a real good time."

"But you'll get tired of those birds sooner or later.
What will you do then?"

"Oh, I got some cats," said the little boy.
"They like birds. I'll take 'em to them."

The preacher was silent for a moment.
"How much do you want for those birds, son?"

"Huh?? !!! Why, you don't want them birds, mister.
They're just plain old field birds.
They don't sing. They ain't even pretty!"

"How much?" the preacher asked again.

The boy sized up the preacher as if he were crazy and said, "$10?"

The preacher reached in his pocket and took out a ten dollar bill.
He placed it in the boy's hand. In a flash, the boy was gone.
The preacher picked up the cage and gently carried it to the end of the alley where there was a tree and a grassy spot.
Setting the cage down, he opened the door,
and by softly tapping the bars persuaded the birds out,
setting them free.

Well, that explained the empty bird cage on the pulpit, and then the preacher began to tell this story:

One day Satan and Jesus were having a conversation.
Satan had just come from the Garden of Eden,
and he was gloating and boasting.
"Yes, sir, I just caught a world full of people down there.
Set me a trap, used bait I knew they couldn't resist.
Got 'em all!"

"What are you going to do with them?" Jesus asked.

Satan replied, "Oh, I'm gonna have fun!
I'm gonna teach them how to marry and divorce each other,
how to hate and abuse each other, how to drink and smoke and curse. I'm gonna teach them how to invent guns and bombs
and kill each other. I'm really gonna have fun!" "And what will you do when you are done with them?"

Jesus asked.. "Oh, I'll kill 'em," Satan glared proudly.

"How much do you want for them?" Jesus asked.

"Oh, you don't want those people. They ain't no good.
Why, you'll take them and they'll just hate you.
They'll spit on you, curse you and kill you.

You don't want those people!!"

"How much? He asked again.
Satan looked at Jesus and sneered,
"All your blood, tears and your life."

Jesus said, "DONE!" Then He paid the price.
The preacher picked up the cage and walked from the pulpit.

taxi story

A NYC Taxi driver wrote:

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. 'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. 'It's nothing', I told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.'

'Oh, you're such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?'

'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly..

'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice..'The doctor says I don't have very long.' I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

'What route would you like me to take?' I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now'.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse.

'Nothing,' I said

'You have to make a living,' she answered.

'There are other passengers,' I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.

'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said. 'Thank you.'

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life..

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

this story made me think of this quote by Winston Churchill:

“To every man there comes in his lifetime that special moment when he is figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered a chance to do a very special thing, unique to him and fitted to his talents. What a tragedy of that moment finds him unprepared or unqualified for the work which would be his finest hour.”

King Arthur Story- What Does Woman Really Want?

King Arthur, in his youth, was caught poaching in the forests of the neighboring kingdom and was caught by its king. He might well have been killed immediately, for that was the punishment for transgressing the laws of property and ownership. But the neighboring king was touched by Arthur's youth and winsome character. He offered Arthur freedom if he could find the answer to a very difficult question within one year. The question? What does woman really want?

This would stagger the wisest of men and seemed insurmountable for the youth. But it was better than hanging, so Arthur returned home and began questioning everyone he could find. Harlot and nun, princess and queen, wise man and court fool - all were approached, but none could give a convincing answer. Each advised, however, that there was one who would know the old witch. The cost would be high, for it was proverbial in the realm that the old witch charged ruinous prices for her services.

The last day of the year arrived, and Arthur finally was driven to consult the hag. She agreed to provide an answer that would satisfy, but the price had to be discussed first. And her price was marriage to Gawain, the noblest knight of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend. Arthur gazed at the old witch in horror: she was ugly, had but one tooth, gave forth a stench that would sicken a goat, made obscene sounds, and was humpbacked - the most loathsome creature he had ever encountered.

Arthur quailed at the prospect of asking his lifelong friend to assume his terrible burden for him. But Gawain, hearing of the bargain, asserted that this was not too much to offer for the life of his companion and the preservation of the Round Table.

The wedding was announced, and the old hag gave of her wisdom: What does woman really want? She wants sovereignty over her own life! Everyone knew on the instant of hearing this that great feminine wisdom had been spoken and King Arthur would be safe. The neighboring ruler did, indeed, give Arthur his freedom when he heard the answer.

But the wedding! All the court was there, and none was more torn between relief and distress than Arthur himself. Gawain was courteous, gentle, and respectful; the old witch exhibited her worst manners, wolfed the food from her plate without aid of utensils, and emitted hideous noises and smells. Never before or since had the court of Arthur been subject to such a strain. But courtesy prevailed. and the wedding was accomplished.

Over the wedding night we shall draw a curtain of circumspection, except for one astonishing moment. When Gawain was prepared for the wedding bed and waiting for his bride to join him, she appeared as the loveliest maiden a man could ever wish to see! Gawain in his amazement asked what had happened. The maiden replied that because Gawain had been courteous to her, she would show him her hideous aspect half of the time and her gracious aspect the other half of the time: which did he choose for the day and which for the night?

This was a cruel question to put before a man, and Gawain made rapid calculations. Did he want a lovely maiden to show forth during the day, when all of his friends could see, and a hideous hag at night in the privacy of their chamber; or did he want a hag during the day and a maiden in the intimate moments of their life?

The noble Gawain replied that he would let his bride choose for herself. At this, she announced that she would be fair damsel to him both day and night, since he had given her respect and sovereignty over her own life.

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;
all the King's horses and all the kings men
couldn't put Humpty together again.

(the following verses were written by Sheldon Cheshire)

The King full of grace, appeared at the scene,
And put back the egg like had never 'for bein".
On the shell, not a crack and the egg looked like new.
But the inside, still scrambled, Humpty asked what to do.
"Oh Master," he said, "on the outside I'm well,
But the inside's an omlet, I'm sorry I fell.
Is there something to do that would restore my yolk?
Cause I don't feel quite whole if my insides are broke".

"My child," said the King, "that's just what I do,
But not by myself, I also need you.
You must be sincere, you must be contrite.
Just don't fall again--please try with your might".
"I won't said the egg. I'll try not to fall."
Then Humpty was whole--inside and all.

So if you ever fall and your insides feel broke.
Just remember our fellow and his scrambled up yolk.
Most, remember the King and how he heals the fall,
Passed below all mankind, then, He rose above all.