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.

THREE DAYS TO SEE


What would you look at if you had just three days of sight? Helen Keller, blind and deaf from infancy, gives her answer in this remarkable essay.

I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight, silence would teach him the joys of sound.
Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I asked a friend, who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, what she had observed. “Nothing in particular,” she replied.

How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after the winter’s sleep. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song.
At time my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. And I have imagined what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say for just three days.

On the first day, I should want to see the people whose kindness and companionship have made my life worth living. I do not know what it is to see into the heart of a friend through that “window of the soul,” the eye. I can only “see” through my fingertips the outline of a face. I can detect laughter, sorrow, and many other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces.

For instance, can you describe accurately the faces of five different friends? As an experiment, I have questioned husbands about the colour of their wives’ eyes, and often they express embarrassed confusion and admit that they do not know. I should like to see the books which have been read to me, and which have revealed to me the deepest channels of human life. In the afternoon I should take a long walk in the woods and intoxicate my eyes on the beauties of the world of Nature. And I should pray for the glory of a colorful sunset. That night, I should not be able to sleep.
On my second day, I should like to see the pageant of man’s progress, and I should go to the museums. I should try to probe into the soul of man through his art. The things I knew through touch I should now see. The evening of my second day I should spend at a theatre or at the movies.

The following morning, I should again greet the dawn, anxious to discover new delights, new revelations of beauty. Today this third day, I shall spend in the workaday world, amid the haunts of men going about the business of life.
At midnight permanent night would close on me again. Only when darkness had again descended upon me should I realize how much I had left unseen.
I am sure that if you faced the fate of blindness you would use your eyes as never before. Everything you saw will become dear to you. Your eyes will touch and embrace every object that came within your range of vision. Then, at least, you would really see, and a new world of beauty would open itself before you.
I who am blind can give one hint to those who see: Use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind. And the same method can be applied to the other senses. Hear the music of voices, the song of a bird, the mighty strains of an orchestra, as if you would be stricken deaf tomorrow. Touch each object as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail. Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow you could never smell and taste again. Make the most of every sense; glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty, which the world reveals to you through the several means of contact which nature provides. But of all the senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful.

By Helen Keller

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helen_Keller

Sports- "Only an Equipment Manger"

My favorite team the BYU Cougars just lost a close game to their biggest rival. After the game, there was a lot of bitterness and bad behavior exhibited

by fans of both teams.

I prefer to look at the better side of sports, the "rest of the story" as Paul Harvey used to say. In this light, I would like to share one of my favorite stories about Floyd Johnson, former equipment manager of BYU sports teams.

This is a post of an article written by Dick Harmon, sportswriter for the Deseret News shortly after Floyd Johnson passed away in 2002.



Floyd Johnson remembered

Contributed by Dick Harmon on Saturday February 16, @ 10:43PM

BYU lost its Lord of the Rings.
This special Hobbit, the candle that lit so many ways for good, is gone at 83, his golden rings of legend remain.

Floyd Johnson, the equipment manager at BYU for half of a century, died last Thursday, Valentines Day. The funeral is Wednesday.


Upon learning of Johnson’s passing, Philadelphia NBC affiliate sports anchor Vai Sikahema, on assignment in Utah for the Olympics, called to find when services would be. Sikahema, a former NFL all-pro and Cougar punt returner, could hardly talk. “I’m telling my station, my producers that whenever it is, whereever I have to be, I’m taking that day off from the Olympics. I’ve got to be there.”


Johnson’s life and death carries that kind of weight on so many lives. “Our institution just lost an institution,” said former athletic director Glen Tuckett.
“He impacted on the lives of more BYU athletes than any coach, any player or administrator,” said former forward Mark Durrant.


“If anyone epitomized what BYU stands for, it was Floyd Johnson,” Tuckett said, who nicknamed him Brother J.


Johnson was more than an equipment manager, dishing out uniforms, fixing cleats, mending jerseys, repairing facemasks and doing laundry. He dished out self respect, fixed souls, mended feelings, repaired spirits and while mending human beings.


You see, Johnson was a chaplain before the school hired and named one. He was never a coach, never was a player. But, as former basketball guard Nathan Call put it, Johnson was a man in the background who watched, took note and never missed anything with how coaches and players dealt with life on and off the court. Then, he made a difference to help fix it. He’d affectionately call freshmen “doe heads” and he immediately became a father/grandfather away from home.


The God “Brother J” worshiped must have grabbed him upon birth and stamped him with an imprint licensing him to radiate energy and enduring love. It oozed from him, leaked from him like light from a creaky barn door. He was a man without guile, a person who could look right into your soul without squinting.
He was a man of faith, who believed in unseen powers and preached mountains do move, seas do part and things that die can live once more.


As thousands of BYU athletes came through the locker rooms over the years, Johnson impacted their lives far from lights and headlines. He’d get people one-on-one and say things people aren’t supposed to just say in a few sentences carrying the impact delivered.


BYU never knew what it had in the back rooms. The sponsoring church sent mission presidents all over the world, many of them corporate CEOs, lawyers, doctors to train and look over young people. In the equipment room, they had a humble master of made men. He was offended when Cougar coaches would counsel young men to choose athletic careers over LDS missions. To him, balls that dribble would fade in and out, but the work in God’s Army was tattoo a mark of service and devotion on life that would never fade away.


They never paid him much money. His house, his car were simple. But his work was priceless. Johnson was like a sponge. He soaked in love and put it out for others to squeeze. He led the campus in hugs given and received and is the career leader in life assists. He knew your name. He never forgot it. He managed the department’s player speaker bureau, spreading out athletes at podiums and classrooms throughout the state.


“He was very perceptive,” Call said. “You didn’t think he knew how you were feeling, but he did. One time I was down and discouraged at practice and he put his arm around me and offered encouragement and he knew exactly what I was experiencing. He reminded me of my grandparents -- somebody who’s there for you.”
Former KBYU broadcaster Jay Monsen calls Johnson the greatest missionary he’d ever known.


Johnson was never ashamed to talk of things people are ashamed of having surface -- things that run deep, that are emotional and hidden in the heart. He brought them out like a surgeon, worked them, then tucked them back away.


Victor Hugo, author of the classic “Les Miserables” must have had Brother J in mind when he wrote the scene of the priest who winked at the candlesticks stolen by the prisoner Jean Valjean, turning his life around.


One day Brother J caught one of his student managers with a handful of T-shirts. The scene was obvious. He called the young man over and told him he’d been wanting to talk to him for some time. He had some T-shirts he wanted him to have. He knew he’d like them and he knew he had friends who’d enjoy them and it would make him feel good to give them away to those friends.
“I’d like you to have these. Take them now. Boy, it wouldn’t be a good thing to ever feel like you coveted them enough and you were tempted to just take them,” Johnson said.


The young man went his way with the shirts and a lesson he never forgot.
“He was a great read of people,” BYU basketball coach Steve Cleveland said. Players from the men and women’s basketball teams will sing at Wednesday’s funeral.


Cleveland remembers his first face-to-face with Johnson when BYU hired him to coach basketball. “When I first got here, he put his arm around me and set an example for me. I never understood fully how important the ecclesiastical part of this job was until I talked to him and he gave me advice and comfort about what to do. It changed my job, my outlook, my approach and my work.
“Floyd had a way to know you. He could then sit with you and speak to you about things other men just don’t.”


Yes, BYU’s Lord of the Rings, has gone to another kingdom. One where he’s loosed from the pain of cancer and the tears of this world.
“His passing isn’t a sad thing,” Durrant said, “because if anyone is with God in heaven and happy, it’s Brother J.”

the Bridgekeeper

The Bridge Keeper There was once a bridge which spanned a large river. During most of the day the bridge sat with its length running up and down the river paralleled with the banks, allowing ships to pass thru freely on both sides of the bridge. But at certain times each day, a train would come along and the bridge would be turned sideways across the river, allowing a train to cross it.


A switchman sat in a small shack on one side of the river where he operated the controls to turn the bridge and lock it into place as the train crossed. One evening as the switchman was waiting for the last train of the day to come, he looked off into the distance thru the dimming twilight and caught sight of the trainlights. He stepped to the control and waited until the train was within a prescribed distance when he was to turn the bridge. He turned the bridge into position, but, to his horror, he found the locking control did not work. If the bridge was not securely in position it would wobble back and forth at the ends when the train came onto it, causing the train to jump the track and go crashing into the river.

This would be a passenger train with many people aboard. He left the bridge turned across the river, and hurried across the bridge to the other side of the river where there was a lever switch he could hold to operate the lock manually. He would have to hold the lever back firmly as the train crossed. He could hear the rumble of the train now, and he took hold of the lever and leaned backward to apply his weight to it, locking the bridge. He kept applying the pressure to keep the mechanism locked. Many lives depended on this man’s strength.

Then, coming across the bridge from the direction of his control shack, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. “Daddy, where are you?” His four-year-old son was crossing the bridge to look for him. His first impulse was to cry out to the child, “Run! Run!” But the train was too close; the tiny legs would never make it across the bridge in time. The man almost left his lever to run and snatch up his son and carry him to safety. But he realized that he could not get back to the lever. Either the people on the train or his little son must die. He took a moment to make his decision. The train sped safely and swiftly on its way, and no one aboard was even aware of the tiny broken body thrown mercilessly into the river by the onrushing train. Nor were they aware of the pitiful figure of the sobbing man, still clinging tightly to the locking lever long after the train had passed.

They did not see him walking home more slowly than he had ever walked: to tell his wife how their son had brutally died. Now if you comprehend the emotions which went this man’s heart, you can begin to understand the feelings of our Father in Heaven when He sacrificed His Son to bridge the gap between us and eternal life. Can there be any wonder that He caused the earth to tremble and the skies to darken when His Son died? How does He feel when we speed along thru life without giving a thought to what was done for us thru Jesus Christ?


This story was made into a foreign film and broken up into 3 parts with english subtitles; most part 1 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnq1FvnKc-k&feature=relmfu

most part 2 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpJNkzT-wjc&feature=relmfu

most part 3 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blD6rKv0JKs&feature=related

abbreviated version http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhkpxpjHIRg