It started when the boss yelled at him. From then on, things got kind of, well, rocky.
Malcolm Tent was still a young man when he began putting rocks in his pockets. It started one day when his boss, Mr. Gump, got angry at him for something that wasn't his fault. He couldn't yell back at his boss, because he might get fired. In fact, there wasn't anything he could do except be angry inside. "But," he thought, "I'm not going to forget this. No way." On the way home from the bus stop that night, he thought to himself, "I've got to remember how angry I am. I don't want to forget this in the morning." Suddenly he had an idea. There was a small rock on the sidewalk in front of him. He picked it up and said softly to himself, "I'll keep this rock in my pocket to remind me of how unfair Mr. Gump was." And that's what he did. That night he put the rock on his dresser with his keys and his comb. The next morning, when he got dressed to go to work, into his pocket went the ugly gray rock. All that day and the next, the heavy bulge in his pocket reminded him that he should be angry at Mr. Gump. Strangely, Mr. Gump seemed to have forgotten about the whole thing. But not Malcolm Tent. Oh no. In fact, during the next two weeks, Mr. Gump made Malcolm angry several more times, and Malcolm decided he'd better get a rock for each time so he could keep better track of these things. And so it was that Malcolm Tent's trousers began to look baggy and strange. But at least he remembered not to forgive Mr. Gump or be friendly or anything like that. Maybe if Malcolm had only collected rocks when he got angry at old Gump, this thing might have died out and been forgotten. But there was the taxi driver who drove right by and left Malcolm standing in the rain. Into his pocket went a shiny, rain-slick pebble from the gutter. (Of course, Malcolm had no idea of the taxi driver's name, but it didn't matter.) Then there was the grocery clerk who short-changed him. And the newspaper delivery boy who threw his paper into the lawn sprinkler. And the neighbor whose dog barked late at night. And… well, Malcolm discovered that there were all kinds of people and things in the world that can bother you. Speaking of discoveries, Malcolm also discovered that when all of your pockets are full of rocks, a plain old belt won't hold up your pants. (He discovered that fact while his arms were full of grocery sacks.) So he made himself a sturdy pair of leather suspenders to help hold up his pants. But soon the time came when he didn't have enough pockets in his pants, so he had to wear a jacket everywhere he went—the kind of jacket with lots of pockets. And it wasn't long before the jacket looked as funny as his trousers. And smelled just as dusty. And got even heavier because it had more pockets. Anyone else might have given up at this point, but not Malcolm. He bought one of those big sturdy briefcases like salesmen use. After all, when you start to look for them, there are all kinds of things in life that can bother you. And when you are always tired from lugging so many rocks around, you get angry even easier. Years went by, and Malcolm's collection of reminder rocks spilled out of his pockets and briefcase and all over his house. He had rocks on the kitchen sink, and in his closets, and all over the floors. A few times he even put a rock in his bed so he could remember to be angry during the night. Let's face it. Malcolm had become a strange, unpleasant man. And most people avoided him when they could, which made him even touchier. Rocks are not very good company. They are hard and dusty, and in the winter they are very cold. Now, Malcolm might have gone on to become a mean old man completely buried in rocks. But one day he received a phone call from a geology professor at the university. Dr. Igneous had heard of Malcolm's large rock collection (who hadn't?), and he wanted to bring his geology class on a field trip to see it. "Well," thought Malcolm, "at last here is someone who appreciates my rocks. Wait until they see all of these reminders of how often people have wronged me." An appointment was made for the next Saturday, and Malcolm spent the next few evenings dusting and arranging. At last Saturday came, and at two o'clock in the afternoon the doorbell rang. There, on the porch, stood Professor Igneous and seven of his best students, all dressed in their best field-trip outdoor clothing. Several had rock hammers dangling from their belts, and one or two carried cameras. And everyone carried a notebook and pencil. Professor Igneous himself looked rather ordinary. But he had a ready smile. And his face was deeply tanned from spending years out of doors. As a matter of fact, there was something about his eyes, too. They looked deep and dark, but they had a sparkle that said he enjoyed life. And when he looked at you, it was the same look he gave mountains and rock formations—as though he were trying to peer inside. This was a scientist who liked people at least as much as he liked rocks. As the professor and students stepped into the rock-filled living room, Malcolm expected to hear oohs and aahs. You know, like you hear at a fireworks show. Instead, there was an uncomfortable silence. The group just stood there looking around, nudging a few of the rocks with their toes. Then the students looked at their professor, waiting for him to say something. After all, this was not the collection of beautiful gems and minerals they had expected. These were ordinary hunks of limestone and sandstone and quartzite. Why, there were even chunks of broken asphalt and concrete! Finally, Professor Igneous spoke: "Ahem," he cleared his throat. "Perhaps you would be so good as to explain your collection to us, Mr. Tent. I can honestly say we've never seen another collection quite like it." In the background, his students nodded in agreement. "Well," Malcolm began nervously, "I, uh, well… that is…" It had been a long time since he had said much of anything to anyone. Professor Igneous could see how nervous Malcolm was. The poor man kept swallowing so hard his Adam's apple was bobbing up and down. (Some of the students thought he was trying to swallow one of his rocks.) Trying to help, the professor said, "Why not begin by telling us why you chose these rocks." He picked up an ordinary gray rock that looked like most of the others. "Why did you choose this particular piece of limestone for your collection?" "Oh, is that what it is?" Well, I think that's the one I picked up when the laundry didn't have my shirts ready on time. Wait! No, I think that's for the time my favorite TV show got canceled. Or was it the time I ran inside to answer the phone, and the caller had the wrong number? Or…" Here he paused to search his memory. There were so many rocks! And they were so much alike—gray, hard, cold, dusty. Suddenly, Malcolm realized that, that was all Professor Igneous and his students could see. To everyone else these were just plain old everyday rocks. Malcolm had to explain, to make them see. "There's more to these rocks than you might think. Every one of these rocks represents a time somebody made me mad or hurt my feelings. I picked up these rocks as reminders." Now the professor and his students were really amazed. They all began to speak at once: "I never heard of such a thing." "How long have you been doing this?" "Can I take a picture of you with your rocks?" "Some field trip!" Professor Igneous spoke again, and everyone became quiet. "Well, Mr. Tent," he began slowly, "I must admit you're the first person I ever met who collected rocks for that reason." He paused and looked around. "You've been very kind to invite us into your home. And we don't want to take up too much of your time. But do you suppose that while we are here we might see your other collection?" A blank look came over Malcolm's face. "I don't have any other collection." "Oh, I see. I just thought you might have collected something to remind you of the nice things people have done and said. But, well, never mind. Perhaps we ought to be going now. Thank you so much for allowing us to come into your home. I think my students have learned something important." He gathered his students around him, and they moved toward the door. Then, turning to Malcolm once more the professor said, "We still have some time left this afternoon. Could you perhaps direct us to some of the other people with similar collections?" Once more Malcolm was caught off balance. "I don't know of any other collections like mine." "Oh. I just thought that perhaps some of the people you know would have collected something when you… I mean… if you ever… uh… annoyed them." Then, quickly, he added, "Yes, well, good-bye, and thanks again." Without waiting, the professor and his students turned and marched off down the sidewalk. Long after they were gone, Malcolm stood there, looking just like one of his rocks—cold and gray and very still. Within him, the professor's words echoed. Around him, the house was silent. Too silent. He suddenly realized how pleasant the students' friendly chatter had been. How long since he had had a friendly talk with anyone? Come to think of it, did he even have any friends anymore? Then, before he could stop it, the thought came into his mind: "I'm becoming just like my rocks." As Malcolm sat alone in the dark, he finally realized what unpleasant companions rocks are. And how unpleasant he… Well, some thoughts are hard enough to think without actually saying them. For several days, for hours at a time, Malcolm sat still as a rock, thinking rock-hard thoughts. You might have thought he had finally become petrified. But deep inside him, something was waking up and beginning to grow, like a seed in the spring soil.If you think it's hard to find a home for kittens or gerbils or such, you should try finding someone who wants a bunch of very ordinary, dusty, gray rocks. In fact, just try gathering them up when they are scattered all over. Malcolm tried to hire cleaning ladies. They all told him the same thing: "I don't do windows, and I don't pick up rocks!" A "Free Rocks" sign in his window brought no results. Finally he realized that this was something he would have to do himself. The neighbors still talk about the time Malcolm backed a rented trailer up to his front porch, and about the tremendous cloud of dust that rose as the rocks flew out into the trailer. They also talk about how much better Malcolm looks, how his clothes fit so much better (has he lost weight?), and how he actually smiles now. Malcolm's neighbors also point with pride to his attractive yard, with trees and flowers and bushes planted everywhere. They don't have any explanation for his sudden interest in gardening. But one neighbor, Mrs. Kratz, did notice that after she had taken a piece of cake to him, Malcolm went out to the flower bed and planted a single seed. “For all the promises of God in Him are Yes, and in Him Amen, to the glory of God through us.”
(2 Corinthians 1:20, NKJV) When God laid out the plan for your life, He lined up the right people, the right breaks and the right open doors. In other words, He already had your “yeses” planned out — Yes, you can accomplish your dreams. Yes, you can overcome that obstacle. Yes, your children can fulfill their destiny. Yes you can succeed. YES is in your future! The question is, are you going to say “yes” to God’s “yes”? Are you going to dare to believe Him — to get into agreement with His promises? Start right now by declaring His promises over your life. Start declaring that He is good and that His plan will come to pass. Don’t let doubt and discouragement distract you keep your eyes fixed on Him because He is faithful. His promises are always yes and amen. So say “yes” to His “yes”! Father, today I say “yes” to You. I say “yes” to Your promises and “yes” to Your ways. Help me to live a life pleasing to You and bring You glory in all that I say and do, in Jesus’ name. Amen. ’n Paar jaar gelede het ’n Amerikaanse maatskappy ’n nuwe elektroniese kabel tussen Chicago en New York aangelê teen miljarde dollar om inligting tussen rekenaars teen presies 3 milli-sekondes vinniger te vervoer as die bestaande netwerk. Die verstommende is dat baie maatskappye dadelik ingeteken het op hierdie peperduur nuwe diens. Alles gaan vandag oor spoed. Tog wen spoed nie altyd nie, maar wysheid. Spoed is belangrik, maar sonder die nodige insig in hoe die lewe werk, help vinnig wees nie aldag nie. Egte wysheid begin met eerbied vir die Here en met respek vir mense (Spreuke 1:7). Wysheid laat jou toe om teen die regte spoed te leef — daardie soort spoed wat tyd maak vir God en ander mense in jou lewe. Anders leef jy jouself dood.
Van wysheid gepraat: Lag meer. Praat minder. Luister fyner. Sê vir ander mense dat jy hulle waardeer. Bemoedig iemand wat ’n moeilike tyd deurgaan. Maak tyd vir jou vriende. Sien mense se nood fyner raak. Aanvaar verantwoordelikheid vir jou keuses en jou gedrag. Hou op om te skinder. Laat vaar jou kritiese ingesteldheid. Bid meer kere. Bekommer minder. Oefen ’n slag. Aanvaar hulp van ander mense sonder om iets vir hulle te moet terugdoen. Luister na goeie raad. Slaap langer. Leef met groter oorgawe. Wees meer entoesiasties. Groei in nederigheid. Hou op om jouself te verwyt vir dit wat kon gewees het. Lees weekliks ’n nuwe boek. Raak vrygewiger met jou geld. Meld aan vir diens sonder dat jy gevra word. Terloops, wat dink jy sal die gevolge wees as jou geloof in die Here op sulke maniere begin grondraak? En is dit regtig so ingewikkeld om hierdie dinge teen die spoed van een dag op ’n slag te begin doen? If any of you needs wisdom, you should ask God for it. Jas 1:5
Thomas came with doubts. Did Christ turn him away? Moses had his reservations. Did God tell him to go home? Job had his struggles. Did God avoid him? Paul had his hard times. Did God abandon him? No. God never turns away the sincere heart. Tough questions don't stump God. He invites our probing. Mark it down. God never turns away the honest seeker. Go to God with your questions. You may not find all the answers, but in finding God, you know the One who does. Walking with the Savior (Max Lucado) I have come to love Pandora radio. First of all, it's free. Second, on
demand I can play virtually any type of music I desire. I can play gospel when I feel like praising God, classical in the office when I'm working, light jazz when I feel like relaxing and meditating on something, and Frank Sinatra when all is well and when I think I can sing along just like Frank Sinatra. I was working around the house and had on a Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir song entitled "I Can Go to God in Prayer," which is what I was doing. I love big choir music. It's bold, powerful, and often has a reprise that allows you to keep singing even after you've reached the climax of the song and think it's over. I kept listening to the reprise of that song with the words "He can work it out," when it hit me why there is a reprise. A reprise is literally a repetition or return of the opening material. In Scripture, it's God saying "I'm telling you again what I said in the beginning so you don't forget!" The Bible is full of multiple reprises. Why? Because we as people tend to forget, God often has to remind us what He's done, what He's capable of doing, and what He's promised to those of us who love Him (1 Corinthians 2:9,10) so we don't get off track. If God worked a situation out for you once, He can do it again. I know that's easy to say and a lot harder to believe when you're in the middle of a trial. I've personally been guilty of going through a Red Sea deliverance, forgetting about what God did, and then hyper-focusing on not having any meat to eat (Exodus 16:1-3). I believe God understands our tendency to forget, and He purposely builds reprises into our lives to remind us of His great power and love for us so we don't get discouraged when we're in the valleys of life. If you've forgotten what God has done for you formerly and the happenings of the day are blocking you from seeing the whole picture, maybe it's time to "go to God in prayer," and ask Him to give you a reprise to remind you "He can work it out." Turning Into My Mother
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Mom By Karen Kullgren
Okay, now it's official — I am turning into my mother! On a recent airplane trip, not only did I put all the liquids in my carry-on into the required quart-sized Ziploc, I decided to carry my other toiletries in two other plastic bags. In my defense, I was moving my purse contents hurriedly into a laptop case, which had no dividers for small items. Even as I did it, I could remember recoiling in horror when my mother used to reach into her purse and pull things out of the plastic bags she carried regularly (in public!), so much so that I bought her a set of attractive cosmetic bags she could use instead. Sigh. My relationship with my mother has never been black and white. I don't know about you, but I've got separation issues. Being close is a double-edged sword, I think, for girls and their mothers. All the years I was growing up, Mom was prominent in our small town, civically and socially. Townspeople were always calling me by her name and telling me I looked just like her, which I found unnerving. As an adolescent, I could not understand why my friends tolerated, and even invited, her presence when I would rather crawl under a rock than be seen in public with her. She even dragged me to a meeting of a new teen group. Okay, so the kids there ended up becoming a wonderful group of friends. Don’t you just hate it when your mother’s right? Still, after finding my way through some rocky middle school years and through high school, I eagerly broke away from her sphere. After college, I moved hundreds of miles away to be clear of her influence. Flash forward twenty years. Mom moved down here to my town and started going to the church of my newfound faith in my neighborhood. She started studying at our local college with the same undergraduate major I once had. I had an instant resurgence of the push-pull emotions of my childhood, of feeling eclipsed by her once again. My bristling defensiveness was magnified by the fact that I had my own child by then. And we had very different ideas about parenting—hers, typical of her generation, involved playpens and schedules and discipline. Mine, well... not. My son, Sammy, knows that the single most effective way to push my buttons is to compare me with his Nana. Like when I was flipping the remote one day as we sat before the TV and I tried to stop on the Meerkat Manor show on Animal Planet, which my mom watches for hours at a time. He teased me mercilessly. Like Mom’s, my hair has thinned so that I now sunburn on my scalp. But I refuse (so far) to wear a hat every time I go out, partly because of my own personal sense of style, partly because Mom wears one. Shall I admit that sometimes now, when people are still saying I look like her, I can actually see the resemblance? Recently, I have been caught phoning her about something special on TV I think she’d enjoy, though I roll my eyes when she does this to me. I still have a visceral spasm of distancing once in a while—like when I had to use a cane before and after knee surgery last year, and hurried to give it up so I would not seem like Mom. She used one regularly before graduating to a walker. Mother and daughter matching props—that was just too much, and hey, I’m twenty-eight years younger than she is! All the defenses against turning into my mother that I have spent an adolescent and adult lifetime building are crumbling with age—hers or mine, I cannot say. What I do know is that I am grateful that I inherited her strength and resilience, even if it comes with the rest of it. And who knows? Perhaps one day I, too, will be a tough old broad. ~ M O T H E R ~
M is for the million things she gave me, O means only that she’s growing old. T is for the tears she shed to save me, H is for her heart of purest gold. E is for her eyes of love-light shining, R is right and right she’ll always be! Put them all together they spell Mother, the word that means the world to me. By: Howard Johnson, 1915 Answers given by 2nd grade school children to the following questions:
Why did God make mothers? 1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is. 2. Mostly to clean the house and be bossy. 3. To help us out of there when we were getting born. How did God make mothers? 1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us. 2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring. 3. God made my mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts. What ingredients are mothers made of? 1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean. 2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think. Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom? 1. We're related. 2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me. 3. I don't know, but I'm glad I got her. What kind of a little girl was your mom? 1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff. 2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy. 3. They say she used to be nice. What did mom need to know about dad before she married him? 1. His last name. 2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? 3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say YES to chores? Why did your mom marry your dad? 1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world and my mom eats a lot. 2. She got too old to do anything else with him. 3. My grandma says that mom didn't have her thinking cap on. Who's the boss at your house? 1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball. 2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed. 3. I guess mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad. What's the difference between moms and dads? 1. Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work. 2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them. 3. Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friends. 4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine. What does your mom do in her spare time? 1. Mothers don't do spare time. 2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long. 3. Spare time is for Dads not Moms. What would it take to make your mom perfect? 1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery. 2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue. 3. A new pair of shoes. If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be? 1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that. 2. I'd make my mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it not me.. 3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head. When you were 1 year old, she fed you and bathed you.
You thanked her by crying all night long. When you were 2 years old, she taught you to walk. You thanked her by running away when she called. When you were 3, she made all your meals with love. You thanked her by tossing your plate on the floor. When you were 4, she gave you some crayons You thanked her by colouring the dining room table When you were 5, she dressed you for the holidays. You thanked her by plopping into the nearest puddle. When you were 6, she walked you to school. You thanked her by screaming, "I'M NOT GOING!" When you were 7, she bought you a baseball. You thanked her by throwing it through the next-door-neighbour’s window When you were 8, she handed you an ice cream. You thanked her by dripping it all over your lap. When you were 9, she paid for piano lessons. You thanked her by never even bothering to practice. When you were 10, she drove you all day, from soccer to gymnastic to one birthday party after another. You thanked her by jumping out of the car and never looking back. When you were 11, she took you and your friends to the movies. You thanked her by asking to sit in a different row. When you were 12, she warned you not to watch certain TV shows. You thanked her by waiting until she left the house. When you were 13, she suggested a haircut. You thanked by telling her she had no taste. When you were 14, she paid for a month away at summer camp. You thanked her by forgetting to write a single letter. When you were 15, she came home from work, looking for a hug. You thanked her by having your bedroom door locked. When you were 16, she taught you how to drive her car. You thanked her by taking it every chance you could. When you were 17, she was expecting an important call. You thanked her by being on the phone all night. When you were 18, she cried at your school graduation. You thanked her by staying out partying until dawn. When you were 19, she paid for your college tuition, drove you to campus, carried your bags. You thanked by saying good-bye outside the dorm so you wouldn't be embarrassed in front of your friends. When you were 20, she asked whether you were seeing any one. You thanked by saying "It's none of your business". When you were 21, she suggested certain careers for your future. You thanked her by saying "I don't want to be like you". When you were 22, she hugged at your college graduation. You thanked her by asking whether she could sponsor for a trip to Europe. When you were 23, she gave you furniture for your first apartment. You thanked her by telling your friends it was ugly. When you were 24, she met your fiancée and asked your plans for the future. You thanked by glaring and growling, "Muuhh-ther, please!". When you were 25, she helped to pay for your wedding, and she cried and told you how deeply she loved you. You thanked her by moving halfway across the country. When you were 30, she called with some advice on the baby. You thanked her by telling her, "Things are different now. When you were 40, she called you to remind you of a relative's birthday. You thanked her by saying that you were "really busy right now." When you were 50, she fell ill and needed you to take care of her. You thanked her by reading about the burden parents become to their children. And then, one day, she quietly died. And everything you never did came crashing down like thunder on YOUR HEART. |
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