An optimist laughs to forget
& a pessimist forgets to laugh
Make the right choice today!
I hope this message encourages and inspires your heart to know that even though you may face difficult challenges in life, you can get through them and become much better after the trial than you were before it.
Rustling Rasberries…
Stealing? Well, yes -- I guess we were stealing, if you want to get all
technical about it. But in our 13-year-old brains we were just using the
raspberries as God intended them to be used.
The matter of ownership never occurred to us. We just knew that the
Jordan ’s had the best raspberries in the neighborhood, and that their
bushes were always heavy with fruit. And suddenly that summer Friday night,
a handful of freshly picked raspberries sounded good.
Maybe two handfuls.
So we snuck into the Jordan ’s backyard -- which, come to think of it,
should have been our first clue that we were doing something wrong: we
“snuck.” Anytime sneaking is involved, it means you don't want to get
caught, which usually means you shouldn't be doing it. But we snuck into
their backyard and positioned ourselves carefully around the bushes and
started harvesting their sweet, juicy berries.
Now, I've got to tell you, there isn't anything that tastes better than
vine-ripened raspberries, fresh off the bush. We were savoring every bite
of ill-gotten berry when all of a sudden the Jordan ’s backyard lights
flicked on, and Mr. Jordan came charging outside.
“What you boys doing out here?” he shouted as my friends scrambled off in
all directions, uneaten raspberries flying every which way.
He made a valiant attempt to grab one or two as they dashed past him, but
they were too quick for the older gentleman to catch, and within seconds
the boys disappeared into the dark of the summer evening.
All except one. Uh, that would be me.
Speed was never my strength. I was tall. I was strong. But I wasn't very
fast. Fast was for the little quick guys. I was all about size and power,
neither of which come into play when you're trapped in a back yard, your
lips red with juice from a neighbors' precious raspberries.
So I stood there, deer-in-the-headlights style, and quickly considered my
options. I could run, but I knew perfectly well that even as old as Mr.
Jordan was, he could probably out-run me. I could lie, but I couldn't come
up with a believable story that would explain why I was in their backyard
wearing a t-shirt stained with fresh raspberry juice. Or I could just
stand there and accept whatever punishment would surely come my way from
the Jordan’s and my parents.
To be honest, I didn't like that last option, but I didn't really have a
choice. I took the tongue-lashing that Mr. Jordan gave me as he marched me
down the block to my house, where my mother took over and escalated the
harangue to new levels of righteous scolding. My friends said they could
hear every colorful word she uttered from the darkness of our back yard,
where they had gathered to celebrate their escape -- and to observe my capture.
They teased me about it for days afterwards, while all I could do was
complain about how unfair it was that I had to pay the full price for
doing the exact same thing all of them had done without any noticeable
consequences.
After about a week of this, I complained to my father about the inequity of
the situation.
“I don't think it's unfair at all,” Dad said. “You took raspberries without
asking, and you got exactly the punishment you deserved.”
“But what about the other guys?” I asked. “They didn't get punished at all!”
“That's not my concern, nor should it be yours,” Dad said. “You can't
control what happens to other people. You can only deal with what happens
to you. You made a bad choice that night, and you were punished for it. To
me, that is completely fair.”
Back then I thought Dad just didn't get it. But through the years I come to
realize that, as usual, he knew what he was talking about.
We didn't come to earth with a guarantee that life would treat us fairly.
And it doesn't. That's why we can't get bogged down comparing the various
vicissitudes of our lives with the lives of others. Like Dad said, that
isn't our concern.
The only thing we can actually deal with is what happens to us. How we
choose to respond to what happens to us is truly the standard by which the
quality of our lives will be measured.
Whether or not we think it happens fairly.
By Joseph Walker
Rejoice in God's Message of Love for you today:
Rustling Rasberries…
Stealing? Well, yes -- I guess we were stealing, if you want to get all
technical about it. But in our 13-year-old brains we were just using the
raspberries as God intended them to be used.
The matter of ownership never occurred to us. We just knew that the
Jordan ’s had the best raspberries in the neighborhood, and that their
bushes were always heavy with fruit. And suddenly that summer Friday night,
a handful of freshly picked raspberries sounded good.
Maybe two handfuls.
So we snuck into the Jordan ’s backyard -- which, come to think of it, should have been our first clue that we were doing something wrong: we
“snuck.” Anytime sneaking is involved, it means you don't want to get
caught, which usually means you shouldn't be doing it. But we snuck into
their backyard and positioned ourselves carefully around the bushes and
started harvesting their sweet, juicy berries.
Now, I've got to tell you, there isn't anything that tastes better than
vine-ripened raspberries, fresh off the bush. We were savoring every bite
of ill-gotten berry when all of a sudden the Jordan ’s backyard lights
flicked on, and Mr. Jordan came charging outside.
“What you boys doing out here?” he shouted as my friends scrambled off in
all directions, uneaten raspberries flying every which way.
He made a valiant attempt to grab one or two as they dashed past him, but
they were too quick for the older gentleman to catch, and within seconds
the boys disappeared into the dark of the summer evening.
All except one. Uh, that would be me.
Speed was never my strength. I was tall. I was strong. But I wasn't very
fast. Fast was for the little quick guys. I was all about size and power,
neither of which come into play when you're trapped in a back yard, your
lips red with juice from a neighbors' precious raspberries.
So I stood there, deer-in-the-headlights style, and quickly considered my
options. I could run, but I knew perfectly well that even as old as Mr.
Jordan was, he could probably out-run me. I could lie, but I couldn't come
up with a believable story that would explain why I was in their backyard
wearing a t-shirt stained with fresh raspberry juice. Or I could just
stand there and accept whatever punishment would surely come my way from
the Jordan’s and my parents.
To be honest, I didn't like that last option, but I didn't really have a
choice. I took the tongue-lashing that Mr. Jordan gave me as he marched me
down the block to my house, where my mother took over and escalated the
harangue to new levels of righteous scolding. My friends said they could
hear every colorful word she uttered from the darkness of our back yard,
where they had gathered to celebrate their escape -- and to observe my capture.
They teased me about it for days afterwards, while all I could do was
complain about how unfair it was that I had to pay the full price for
doing the exact same thing all of them had done without any noticeable
consequences.
After about a week of this, I complained to my father about the inequity of
the situation.
“I don't think it's unfair at all,” Dad said. “You took raspberries without
asking, and you got exactly the punishment you deserved.”
“But what about the other guys?” I asked. “They didn't get punished at all!”
“That's not my concern, nor should it be yours,” Dad said. “You can't
control what happens to other people. You can only deal with what happens
to you. You made a bad choice that night, and you were punished for it. To
me, that is completely fair.”
Back then I thought Dad just didn't get it. But through the years I come to
realize that, as usual, he knew what he was talking about.
We didn't come to earth with a guarantee that life would treat us fairly.
And it doesn't. That's why we can't get bogged down comparing the various
vicissitudes of our lives with the lives of others. Like Dad said, that
isn't our concern.
The only thing we can actually deal with is what happens to us. How we
choose to respond to what happens to us is truly the standard by which the
quality of our lives will be measured.
Whether or not we think it happens fairly.
By Joseph Walker
Rejoice in God's Message of Love for you today:
Psalm 34:4-8 “I sought the LORD, and He heard me, and delivered me from
all my fears. They looked unto Him, and were lightened: and their faces
were not ashamed. This poor man cried, and the LORD heard him, and saved
him out of all his troubles. The angel of the LORD encamps round about
them that fear Him, and delivers them. O taste and see that the LORD is
good: blessed is the man that trusts in Him.”
PRAISE GOD
BLESSED BE THE ONE WHO COMES IN THE NAME OF THE LORD
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