A Late Bloomer
A cactus stood all alone in the desert, wondering why it was stuck in the middle of nowhere. "I do nothing but stand here all day," it sighed. "What use am I? I'm the ugliest plant in the desert. My spines are thick and prickly, my leaves are rubbery and tough, my skin is thick and bumpy. I can't offer shade or juicy fruit to any passing traveler. I don't see that I'm any use at all." All it did was stand in the sun day after day, growing taller and fatter. Its spines grew longer and its leaves tougher, and it swelled here and there until it was lumpy and lopsided all over. It truly was strange- looking. "I wish I could do something useful," it sighed. By day hawks circled high overhead. "What can I do with my life?" the cactus called. Whether they heard or not, the hawks sailed away. At night the moon floated into the sky and cast its pale glow on the desert floor. "What good can I do with my life?" the cactus called. The moon only stared coldly as it mounted its course. A lizard crawled by, leaving a little trail in the sand with its tail. "What worthy deed can I do?" the cactus called. "You?" the lizard laughed, pausing a moment. "Worthy deed? Why, you can't do anything! The hawks circle way overhead, tracing delicate patterns for us all to admire. The moon hangs high like a lantern at night, so we can see our ways home to our loved ones. Even I, the lowly lizard, have something to do. I decorate the sands with these beautiful brushstrokes as I pull my tail along. Buy you? You do nothing but get uglier every day." And so it went on, year after year. At last the cactus grew old, and it knew its time was short. "Oh, Lord," it cried out, "I've wondered so long, and I've tried so hard. Forgive me if I've failed to find something worthy to do. I fear that now it's too late." But just then the cactus felt a strange stirring and unfolding, and it knew a surge of joy that erased all despair. At its very tip, like a sudden crown, a glorious flower suddenly opened in bloom. Never had the desert known such a blossom. Its fragrance perfumed the air far and wide and brought happiness to all passing by. The butterflies paused to admire its beauty, and that night even the moon smiled when it rose to find such a treasure. The cactus heard a voice. "You have waited long," the Lord said. "The heart that seeks to do good reflects My glory, and will always bring something worthwhile to the world, something in which all can rejoice - even if for only a moment."

Author - Author Unknown  (Source: Source Unknown)


"Pao, Senhor?"
He couldn't have been over six years old. Dirty face, barefooted, torn T-shirt, matted hair. He wasn't too different from the other hundred thousand or so street orphans that roam Rio de Janeiro. I was walking to get a cup of coffee at a nearby cafe when he came up behind me. With my thoughts somewhere between the task I had just finished and the class I was about to teach, I scarcely felt the tap, tap, tap on my hand. I stopped and turned. Seeing no one, I continued on my way. I'd only taken a few steps, however, when I felt another insistent tap, tap, tap. This time I stopped and looked downward. There he stood. His eyes were whiter because of his grubby cheeks and coal-black hair. "Pao, senhor?" (Bread, sir?) Living in Brazil, one has daily opportunities to buy a candy bar or sandwich for these little outcasts. It's the least one can do. I told him to come with me and we entered the sidewalk cafe. "Coffee for me and something tasty for my little friend." The boy ran to the pastry counter and made his choice. Normally, these youngsters take the food and scamper back out into the street without a word. But this little fellow surprised me. The cafe consisted of a long bar: one end for pastries and the other for coffee. As the boy was making his choice, I went to the other end of the bar and began drinking my coffee. Just as I was getting my derailed train of thought back on track, I saw him again. He was standing in the cafe entrance, on tiptoe, bread in hand, looking in at the people. "What's he doing?" I thought. Then he saw me and scurried in my direction. He came and stood in front of me about eye-level with my belt buckle. The little Brazilian orphan looked up at the big American missionary, smiled a smile that would have stolen your heart and said, "Obrigado." (Thank you.) Then, nervously scratching the back of his ankle with his big toe, he added, "Muito obrigado." (Thank you very much.) All of a sudden, I had a crazy craving to buy him the whole restaurant. But before I could say anything, he turned and scampered out the door. As I write this, I'm still standing at the coffee bar, my coffee is cold, and I'm late for my class. But I still feel the sensation that I felt half an hour ago. And I'm pondering this question: If I am so moved by a street orphan who says thank you for a piece of bread, how much more is God moved when I pause to thank him ---- really thank him ---- for saving my soul?

Author - Max Lucado - Copyright!  (Source: Source Unknown)


Wanna Borrow A Jack
One day I went to a lawyer friend for advice. "I'm in real trouble" I said. "My neighbors across the road are going on vacation for a month; and instead of boarding their dogs they are going to keep them locked up and a woman is coming to feed them, if she doesn't forget. Meanwhile they'll be lonely and bark all day and howl all night, and I won't be able to sleep. I'll either have to call the SPCA to haul them away or I'll go berserk and go over there and shoot them and then when my neighbors return, they'll go berserk and come over and shoot me. My lawyer patted back a delicate yawn. "Let me tell you a story," he said. "And don't stop me if you've heard it because it will do you good to hear it again." "A fellow was speeding down a country road late at night and BANG! went a tire. He got out and looked but he had no jack. "Then he said to himself. 'Well, I'll just walk to the nearest farmhouse and borrow a jack.' He saw a light in the distance and said, 'Well, I'm in luck; the farmer's up. I'll just knock on the door and say I'm in trouble, would you please lend me a jack? And he'll say, why sure, neighbor, help yourself, but bring it back.' "He walked on a little farther and the light went out so he said to himself, 'Now he's gone to bed, and he'll be annoyed because I'm bothering him so he'll probably want some money for his jack. And I'll say, all right, it isn't very neighborly but I'll give you a quarter. And he'll say, do you think you can get me out of bed in the middle of the night and then offer me a quarter? Give me a dollar or get yourself a jack somewhere else.' "By the time he got to the farmhouse the fellow had worked himself into a lather. He turned into the gate and muttered. 'A dollar! All right, I'll give you a dollar. But not a cent more! A poor devil has an accident and all he needs is a jack. You probably won't let me have one no matter what I give you. That's the kind of guy you are.' "Which brought him to the door and he knocked angrily, loudly. The farmer stuck his head out the window above the door and hollered down, 'Who's there? What do you want?' The fellow stopped pounding on the door and yelled up, 'You and your stupid jack! You know what you can do with it!'" When I stopped laughing, I started thinking, and I said, "Is that what I've been doing?" "Right," he said, "and you'd be surprised how many people come to a lawyer for advice, and instead of calmly stating the facts, start building up a big imaginary fight; what he'll say to his partner, what she'll say to her husband, or how they'll tell the Old Man off about his will. So I tell them the story about the jack and they cool off. "The next time I hear from them, one tells me that the partner was glad to meet him halfway; the gal says she can't understand it, her husband was so reasonable she thought she must have gotten somebody else on the phone; the relatives found out the Old Man had already been asking a lawyer how he could give everything to them before he died, to save them inheritance tax." I thought, "How true! Most of us go through life bumping into obstacles we could easily bypass; spoiling for a fight and lashing out in blind rages at fancied wrongs and imaginary foes. "And we don't even realize what we are doing until someone startles us one day with a vivid word like a lightning flash on a dark night." Well, the other night I was driving home from the city. I was late for dinner and I hadn't phoned my wife. As I crawled along in a line of cars, I became more and more frustrated and angry. I'll tell her I was caught in the heavy weekend traffic and she'll say, "Why didn't you phone me before you left town?" Then I'll say, "What difference does it make anyway, I'm here!" And she'll say, "Yes, and I'm here, too, and I've been here all day waiting to hear from you!" And I'll say, "I suppose I haven't anything else to do but call you up every hour on the hour and make like a lovebird!" And she'll say, "You mean like a wolf, but you wouldn't be calling me!" By this time I am turning into the drive and I am plenty steamed up. As I jumped out and slammed the car door, my wife flung open the window upstairs. "All right!" I shouted up to her, "Say it!" "I will," she cooed softly. "Wanna borrow a jack?"

Author - Author Unknown  (Source: Source Unknown)


The Diploma
I was exhausted from working my two jobs over the weekend and was not looking forward to the graduation ceremony. I have been to many graduations and I know how boring they are for most people. To top everything off, my wife and I had our two kids under the age of three with us. Both of the kids were squirming and whining, and I knew it was going to be a long afternoon. Our sole comic relief came when my three-year-old patted and rubbed the head of a bald man we did not know in front of us. As the ceremony dragged on I kept thinking of all the places I would rather be, and made up my mind that I wasn't going to enjoy myself. It was your ordinary graduation ceremony: a hot, sweaty auditorium filled with people fanning themselves with their programs, listening to speech upon boring speech, and the endless calling of names as each matriculator walked across the stage to grab this piece of paper that symbolized his or her academic accomplishment. It was getting harder and harder to pay attention. Just as my attitude started to go sour, they began calling out the graduate's names. The classmates formed a single file line and made their way up towards the podium. That's when I caught my first close-up glimpse of Kim. She looked up at us and was trying in vain to hold back the tears. She was not doing a good job of it. Believe me, holding back emotions is not something that Kim does very well. There she was, standing in line, about to receive her diploma, and she was probably thinking about a number of things. Maybe her dad who passed away a few years ago and didn't get to see her reach her goal, or her grandmother, who also passed away recently, and who had always wanted to attend college, but her family didn't have the money... For me it was like something from a movie. You know, the dramatic slow motion scene where all the crowd noise grows quiet, and the camera slowly moves up on her face as the tears begin to fall. She was a good distance away from us, but to me it was as if she were standing in front of me. That simple act of looking up at those loved ones who had come to watch her graduate, and gently rubbing the tears of joy, accomplishment, and pride out of her eyes really got through to me. The selfishness in me melted away, and I realized why I was there and not somewhere else. "KIMBERLY ANNE CONWAY, GRADUATING MAGNA CUM LAUDE," came booming over the auditorium's sound system, and she walked gracefully across the huge stage and received this piece of paper that symbolized so many things to her. Then just before she walked off the stage, she turned around towards those who had come to share the day with her, and, with the brightest smile on her face, waved and grinned at us like a little girl getting on the school bus for the first time. I glanced at my wife, and saw the tear-drops roll gently down as the love she had for her sister manifested itself on her face. You see, Kim is not your ordinary college graduate. She is thirty- eight years old, and has stuck with her goal of graduating from college for the past twenty years. It's not like she is going to look back on that part of her life, sigh, and say, "College... the best twenty years of my life!" She attended college while working full time, and she studied extremely hard, especially the past couple of years as she pushed toward her goal of a college degree. Many times she felt like quitting, and, if it weren't for her support group of other nontraditional students that cared for her, she would have given up on her goal. Many times she would call one of the other students she knew and tell them she wanted to quit, and would be talked out of it. Then a while later this student would call her and say she wanted to quit and Kim would talk her out of it... (Luckily, they both didn't want to quit at the same time!) I have the utmost respect for Kim. It takes a special person to stick with a goal as long as she has. I attended college for three years when I got out of high school, but I stopped when I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life. Many times I have looked back and wished that I had stuck with it and gone on to be a high school teacher. If for no other reason, I wish I had finished something that I had started. I know what it feels like to walk out of that last final exam of the semester, breathe in the fresh air just outside the doors of the university, and feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders for at least a little while. I can't even begin to imagine what it felt like for Kim after so many years... I love you, Kim, and I want you to know that I admire you for that symbolic piece of paper that will soon adorn a wall in your house. In the words of Caleb, my three-year-old: "HAPPY GRADULATION, AUNT KIMMY!"

Author - Author Unknown  (Source: Source Unknown)


The Cross Room
The young man was at the end of his rope. Seeing no way out, he dropped to his knees in prayer. "Lord, I can't go on," he said. "I have too heavy a cross to bear." The Lord replied, "My son, if you can't bear it's weight, just place your cross inside this room. Then open another door and pick any cross you wish." The man was filled with relief. "Thank you, Lord," he sighed, and did as he was told. As he looked around the room he saw many different crosses; some so large the tops were not visible. Then he spotted a tiny cross leaning against a far wall. "I'd like that one, Lord," he whispered. And the Lord replied, "My son, that's the cross you brought in."

Author - Author Unknown  (Source: Source Unknown)


A Story To Live By
My brother-in-law opened the bottom drawer of my sister's bureau and lifted out a tissue-wrapped package. "This," he said, "is not a slip. This is lingerie." He discarded the tissue and handed me the slip. It was exquisite; silk, handmade and trimmed with a cobweb of lace. The price tag with an astronomical figure on it was still attached. "Jan bought this the first time we went to New York, at least 8 or 9 years ago. She never wore it. She was saving it for a special occasion. Well, I guess this is the occasion." He took the slip from me and put it on the bed with the other clothes we were taking to the mortician. His hands lingered on the soft material for a moment, then he slammed the drawer shut and turned to me. "Don't ever save anything for a special occasion. Every day you're alive is a special occasion." I remembered those words through the funeral and the days that followed when I helped him and my niece attend to all the sad chores that follow an unexpected death. I thought about them on the plane returning to California from the Midwestern town where my sister's family lives. I thought about all the things that she hadn't seen or heard or done. I thought about the things that she had done without realizing that they were special. I'm still thinking about his words, and they've changed my life. I'm reading more and dusting less. I'm sitting on the deck and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time in committee meetings. Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experience to savor, not endure. I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them. I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event-such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, the first camellia blossom. I wear my good blazer to the market if I feel like it. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries without wincing. I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties; clerks in hardware stores and tellers in banks have noses that function as well as my party-going friends'. "Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now. I'm not sure what my sister would have done had she known that she wouldn't be here for the tomorrow we all take for granted. It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew that my hours were limited. Angry because I put off seeing good friends whom I was going to get in touch with-someday. Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that I intended to write-one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my husband and daughter often enough how much I truly love them. I'm trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is... a gift from God.

Author - Ann Wells, Los Angeles Times   (Source: Source Unknown)


Jack's Lily
A barking dog in the distance brought Jack out of his sleep and back into consciousness. He lay in the prison cell and curses the emptiness, the loneliness, the blackness around him. Morning was about to dawn, ushering in the anniversary of Lily's first visit. Lily had been all that mattered to him in the world. From the day when she was born, she was fragile and sweet like the morning breeze blowing through the filed of lilies. No other name would have done her justice. But Lily never had a chance. When she was two, her mother walked out, announcing that she did not want to be tied down to a crippled child. Jack wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Hatred and self pity overcame him out of the depth of his conscience. He never knew where his wife went, but his life hit a downward path--- too much drinking and gambling, too many fights. He recalled with an oath that the last fight over a game of cards when tempers and blood ran hot together. He was doing time now on a manslaughter conviction. Lily had lived out her days in a crippled children's home. She never walked in her five short years of life. The only kind spot in Jack's heart was for the nice elderly couple who had cared for Lily in the home. Jack stared at the ceiling remembering every detail of Lily's last visit. Her yellow straw bonnet stuck up just right on top of her yellow curls, making a frame for her doll-like face. Eyes, blue like sapphires, flashed at him behind the wire screen that separated them in the visiting room. Both dimples showed when she smiled. A dress of yellow ruffles and ribbons hid the thinness of her body and made her look every inch of living Lily that she was. Jack sat up, cringing at the memory of the spotted lily his own Lily had brought him. She had hugged the clay pot before she let go of it. Then she said, "Daddy, this is me. I am going to be with you all the time. Every time you see this lily think of me, for I am your Lily!" Lily soon had to wave goodbye, but the blooming lily remained to brightened his world of gloom, filling his cell with the slightest suggestion of perfume, so light, so alive, so pure! Not even the foul prison air stifled it! A thousand times a day Jack had stared at the blossom, looking though misty eyes in to the face of Lily, "Daddy, this is me," the silent blossom cried into his heart. Tender care kept the plant alive. Jack dreamed of the day when he would walk from this prison a free man. He would take her away, down south where the sunshine would bring color to her cheeks and a smile to her face. However, one night Jack's world caved in. The chaplain had tried to soften the shock with words of hope, but it was no use. Lily was dead. Pneumonia. Jack folded the telegram and stalked out of the chaplains office with head held low. From that night on he was like a man walking in his sleep. Nothing had mattered and more. Nothing. The next day, as he moved the fading plant to a sunny spot, his hands trembled and he dropped it. The stem snapped as the pot smashed into pieces on the cement floor. Jack was stunned--- too stunned to move for along time. Then, dropping to his knees,he gathered the fragments of clay, earth, and plant and molded them into a mound in the corner of his cell. Lily was dead--- the mound of dirt was her grave. "daddy, this is me." Jack turned away. He could not endure the sight of her lonely grave. A buzzer brought Jack out of his memories and to his feet. Lights blinked on as he listened to a shuffle of feet. Then he remembered. There was going to be a sunrise service in the chapel. It was still dark. No service for him he thought. Never! Lily was dead and with her had died all his hopes and dreams.. There was only one thing left for him to do and that was to hang himself. As he walked toward the window Jack glanced down and froze in his tracks. The lily, which had lain in its grave for a year, had burst into life! A lily blossom stood in triumph on the dirt tomb. "THIS IS ME, DADDY, THIS IS ME!" The words rang like a silver bell in Jack's heart. He bowed his head as hot tears rolled down his face and dropped to the floor. Jack found a seat in the chapel just as the chaplain rose from behind a bank of lilies, opened his Bible and began to read, "Jesus is the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whoever lives and believeth in Me shall never die. Believest thou this"" John 11:25,26 Jack leaned forward. He did not know the Bible said this. In fact, he never read the Bible. The chaplain explained the way to receive forgiveness of sins. Suddenly Jack felt his sins heavy as mountains weighing down upon him. Would God forgive him? "While we were yet sinners Christ died for us." Romans 5:8, explained the chaplain. Jack fell on his knees in earnest prayer and confessed his sins to God and trusting the Lord Jesus Christ who died for him. Romans 10:9 When he rose to his feet, he knew his load of sin and guilt was all gone! He was forgiven! He was filled with peace and joy! Later tears of joy filled his eyes as he knelt to pray beside the blooming lily in his cell. Someday he would meet Lily in Heaven. Jack was not alone now. He felt the sweet presence of his Savior who promises to "never leave you nor forsake you" Hebrews 13:5.

Author - Author Unknown  (Source: Source Unknown)


Three Cows
It was a year I will never forget! 1988 would see my family move back to the States after spending eight of the most rewarding years of our lives in the mission field of Thailand. Our departure was more sudden than we had anticipated, as there were problems in our home congregation and the money just was not there. Paula and I prayed for wisdom, and the answer came loud and clear. Yet, we had made so many friends; and it was difficult to pack up eight years into shipping crates and footlockers, get on a train which would take us to an airplane, and just leave! But we did! However, before we left, we spent several weeks traveling all over the country saying good bye to those we loved so much. It was a difficult assignment, but God provided the grace we all needed. I remember one particular good bye that will stay with me forever, or I hope it does. His name was Paw Phim. Paw in the Thai language is a term of respect and endearment for older men. It is equivalent to our "Father." Paw Phim had become like a second father to me, for it was in his village that I preached my first sermon in Thai. On that particular day, I knew no one understood, but Paw Phim took my hand after the sermon and told me it was one of the finest sermons he had ever heard. Years later I would ask Paw Phim if he really understood what I said, and he told me, "Of course not, but what your face and heart said on that day spoke much louder than what came out of your mouth. I knew then that you loved the Thai people, and it was then I became to love you like a son." WOW! Aren't I a lucky man? Paw Phim was the last stop on my circuit of "good byes." It was the most difficult. I didn't usually bring food when I went to visit him because it offended him. But I was tired of seeing him get up at 4:00 in the morning and walk over a mile on those swollen, beaten up knees, to go to a small pond to seine a few little fish for me to have in my soup and rice for breakfast. I was tired of seeing his family do without so I could have a little meat with my rice and vegetables at the evening meal. For my last visit, I brought two chickens and a bag full of vegetables and fruit. He didn't like it one bit and accepted it begrudgingly. However, I was not to outdo Paw Phim! At our last meal, we had roasted beef along with a host of other delicacies. It was unbelievable! We never had beef -- there just wasn't any to be had -- water buffalo, yes, but not real beef from a cow! Yet there it was. I asked him where he got it and he told me not to worry about it. I was to eat it and enjoy it for this was the least he could do for me before we had to say our good byes. I kept digging, because I wanted to know what he had just done for me. It was then that my heart began to break, for I found out that Paw Phim had slaughtered his only cow, which gave milk to his grand-kids, so I could have beef at our last meal. I gently rebuked him and offered to give him money to buy another cow. It was then that these words poured out of his weather-beaten face, "Joe, I didn't give my cow to you, I gave it to God. Do you think I would do that for you?" Again, WOW! How does God make people like this? I don't know, but everyone should have a Paw Phim in his or her life! This story came to its powerful conclusion three years later. I went back to visit my second home in Thailand. Of course I went to see Paw Phim. His health was bad, but his mind and heart were the same. He asked me if I remembered that cow he had slaughtered, and I said that I had. He then took my hand and led me to the back of his house. Standing there were three beautiful cows! I asked Paw Phim where he got them, and his answer? "Where do you think I got them, Joe? God delivered them to me three weeks after you left!" No, I didn't buy those cows, but someone did! How God provided those three cows I'll never know, but I don't need to know! The point of this story is not about the cows, but about the faith and trust of a Thai Christian named Paw Phim who lives on the other side of the world, yet still teaches us that faith and trust will always win the day! Thank you Paw Phim! I'll see you soon. ~ By: Joe Bagby ~ Now I want to tell you, dear brothers and sisters, what God in his kindness has done for the churches in Macedonia. Though they have been going through much trouble and hard times, their wonderful joy and deep poverty have overflowed in rich generosity. For I can testify that they gave not only what they could afford but far more. And they did it of their own free will. They begged us again and again for the gracious privilege of sharing ... (2 Corinthians 8:1-4).

Author - Joe Bagby  (Source: Source Unknown)


You Are Loved
One of the warmest Christmas memories that I have was the year that I was Santa Claus. I was a young, substitute teacher with a new family just starting out in life. I was called in to work at the local grade school on the last day before the Christmas holidays. Near the end of the day I was summoned to the principal's office and asked to be the Santa who visited all the classrooms. Being a great lover of both children and Christmas I agreed. I can still remember going from classroom to classroom doing my best to sound both old and jolly at the same time. I was about 50 pounds heavier then so I had the round little belly part down fine. My beard, however, was another matter as it kept sliding halfway down my face. I think that more than a few of the kids recognized me, but it didn't matter. They still rejoiced in seeing Santa. They still laughed and delighted in their small gifts and candy canes. They still felt joyous and happy. They still knew that they were loved and that was all that mattered to them. If there is one thing that I could give to each of you at Christmas time and every day of the year, it would be that knowledge that you are loved. You are loved and watched over by a greater love than you could ever imagine. You are loved by God who made you, who delights in you, and who wants you to be happy. In all the difficulties, problems, and heartaches this world brings, you are loved. In all the obstacles you must overcome, challenges you must face, and pain you must go through, you are loved. In all the mistakes you make, times you stumble, and wrong paths you take, you are loved. You are loved every second of everyday of your life with a glorious love that will never end. Know that you are loved. Know that God loves you always. Rejoice in this love with the joyous heart of a child. And then, like a jolly laughing Santa, go out and share it with the world.

Author - Author Unknown  (Source: \'Inspired Buffalo\' )


A Tug
In some circles it is not "politically correct" to be considered a "bloody" Christian who believes in eternal salvation, but I am guilty of believing that once saved, always saved. I have been cleansed by and washed in the blood of Jesus. Knowing this, gives me a peace of God and peace with God to pillow my head every night knowing that whether I go or whether I stay, I'm a winner either way. Because I don't deserve His salvation and did not do anything to earn it, sometimes, though, I wake up not feeling saved and wondering why God it would please God to bruise His Son for me. When I do, I am reminded of a young boy, an older man, and an out-of-sight kite. The story goes of a young boy flying a kite in the park one windy afternoon. The kite was so small and so high that an elderly man sitting on a bench watching him could not see the kite high in the heavens. After watching him a few minutes, he walked over asking the young boy what he was doing. "Flying my kite." he replied. "Are you sure. I don't see anything in the sky? Perhaps, the string broke and the kite is gone." "Nope." the boy said. "I still feel a tug." That is the way it is with me. Those mornings when I wake up questioning my salvation, I feel a Heavenly tug in my heart assuring me God's Spirit has removed all condemnation and made me to sit in Heavenly places. As long as I feel that Heavenly tug, He assures me I am His and He is mine.

Author - Lawrence Brotherton  (Source: Source Unknown)





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