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Vintage Dilbert  September 12, 2012

Vintage Dilbert September 12, 2012

A long lost sheep, Shrek, became famous several years ago when he was found after hiding out in caves for six years. Of course, during this time his fleece grew without anyone there to shorn (shave) it. When he was finally found and shaved, his fleece weighed an amazing sixty pounds. Most sheep have a fleece weighing just under ten pounds, with the exception usually reaching fifteen pounds, maximum. For six years, Shrek carried six times the regular weight of his fleece. Simply because he was away from his shepherd.

This reminds me of John 10 when Jesus compares Himself to a shepherd, and His followers are His sheep. Maybe it’s a stretch, but I think Shrek is much like a person who knows Jesus Christ but has wandered. If we avoid Christ’s constant refining of our character, we’re going to accumulate extra weight in this world—a weight we don’t have to bear.

When Shrek was found, a professional sheep shearer took care of Shrek’s fleece in twenty-eight minutes. Shrek’s sixty pound fleece was finally removed. All it took was coming home to his shepherd.

I believe Christ can lift the burdens we carry, if only we stop hiding. He can shave off our ‘fleece’—that is, our self-imposed burdens brought about by wandering from our Good Shepherd.

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

 

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Dilbert.com August 4, 2004

Dilbert.com August 4, 2004

A group of frogs was traveling through the woods, and two of them fell into a deep pit.

All the other frogs gathered around the pit. When they saw how deep the pit was, they told the two frogs that they were as good as dead.

The two frogs ignored the comments and tried to jump out of the pit with all of their might.

The other frogs kept telling them to stop, that they were as good as dead.

Finally, one of the frogs took heed to what the other frogs were saying and gave up. He fell down and died.

The other frog continued to jump as hard as he could. Once again, the crowd of frogs yelled at him to stop the pain and just die.

He jumped even harder and finally made it out. When he got out, the other frogs said, “Did you not hear us?”

The frog explained to them that he was deaf. He thought they were encouraging him the entire time.

The author is unknown. Please comment if you know the 
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Vintage Dilbert March 1, 2011

Vintage Dilbert
March 1, 2011

Once all the villagers decided to pray for rain. On the day of prayer all the people gathered, but only one boy came with an umbrella.

That’s FAITH

When you throw a baby in the air, she laughs because she knows you will catch her.

That’s TRUST

Every night we go to bed, without any assurance of being alive the next morning but still we set the alarms to wake up.

That’s HOPE

We plan big things for tomorrow in spite of zero knowledge of the future.

That’s CONFIDENCE

We see the world suffering, but still we get married and have children.

That’s LOVE

On an old man’s shirt was written a sentence ‘I am not 80 years old….I am sweet 16 with 64 years experience’

That’s ATTITUDE

 

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I have..... Explore the MS&D 
archives for over 1000 additional stories... 
Take Care and God Bless :-) Kenny T
Author Unknown - Please comment if you know the author
 so credit can be given
Vintage Dilbert February 25, 2005

Vintage Dilbert
February 25, 2005

Outside my window a new day I see

And only I can determine what kind of day it will be.

It can be busy and sunny, laughing and gay

Or boring and cold, unhappy and gray.

My own state of mind is the determining key

For I am only the person I let myself be.

I can be thoughtful and do all I can to help

Or be selfish and think just of myself.

I can enjoy what I do and make it seem fun

Or gripe and complain and make it hard on someone.

I can be patient with those who may not understand

Or belittle and hurt them as much as I can.

But I have faith in myself and believe what I say

And I personally intend to make the best of each day.

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I have..... Explore the MS&D 
achieves for over 1000 additional stories... 
Take Care and God Bless :-) Kenny T
Author Unknown - Please comment if you know the author
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Morning Story and Dilbert

Vintage Dilbert
September 4, 2002

My classroom was a sort of “dumping ground” at one point in my career.

The counselor, Mr. H., had a habit of coming to me with a timid smile and saying, “I have a kid for you who you’ll just love.

That was code for “I need to put a ‘bad’ kid in your class who’s gotten kicked out by another teacher.”

I sighed and answered, “Well, alright.” And thus, in walked Josh.

Some kids put up a little wall to prevent others from knowing their vulnerabilities. Josh had military-grade body armor.

He was a typical, tough-acting, fourteen-year-old boy: smack in the middle of adolescence, something to prove but nothing to prove it with just yet.

He didn’t like school and school didn’t like him.

The mention of Josh’s name yielded growls and steam in three grade levels of middle-school teachers.

I got him for four periods during his eighth-grade year.

He was in my history class, my study hall, my “student assistant” period, and he sat in my room during another teacher’s class, with whom he “didn’t get along.”

He worked some, but mostly, he drew lots and lots of pictures.

He brought with him frustration from other classes every day and would come in angry, ignore me, and get out paper.

I let him draw, but I frequently complained to him that he ought to be doing work for his other teachers.

He was difficult, so I just left him alone most of the time.

Pretty soon, Josh and I had come to an understanding. He held it together just enough to keep me sane.

When he was finished with his work for me he would ask for paper and pencils to draw.

I would reluctantly agree, as I knew it was not a battle I needed to pick during my busy day.

Other teachers had complained over and over that he drew pictures in their classes, so I was reluctant to encourage him.

He left a folder in my classroom with his drawings, but I never looked at it. I made it through the year, just barely, with my Josh-heavy experience.

At the end of the school year, I spoke briefly with Josh’s mother.

She explained that Josh’s father had been deployed for over fourteen months to Iraq and was frequently in combat.

I do not know how I didn’t know this — no one at the school had mentioned it.

I suppose there were so many deployments among our military families that it was overlooked.

Josh had to help her take care of his younger brother with special needs.

He hadn’t had a good year at school, but he’d had an even worse year at home.

The stress of the deployment had taken a toll on his family.

Because Josh liked to draw, the family psychologist suggested he draw whenever he felt frustrated or angry or sad or scared.

He drew all the time at home too. I felt so terrible.

Josh’s mother gave me a beautiful, handmade book. It had several of the most amazing drawings I had ever seen, and a couple of photos of Josh “to remember him by,” since they would be moving soon.

I couldn’t believe he was so talented and I had never taken a moment to notice.

He had drawn me working at my desk, the view out the classroom window, the furniture in my classroom, vegetables, fruits and many other things. They were amazing.

When I asked why she had given the book to me, she explained that she knew what a difficult child he was.

She told me that I was the only teacher who had not thrown his drawings away.

She said Josh had actually described me to the family psychologist as the “glue” that held his world together since his dad left. He said that I was the only teacher who was kind to him.

Because I had let him draw when he was sad or angry, he wanted me to have the book to say “thank you.”

She said he was too embarrassed to give me the book himself. She gave me a tearful hug and she left. I have not seen them since.

I do think about Josh a lot; I have one of his pieces — a radish — framed in my kitchen.

I am grateful that he thought of me as his school glue. But I regret not taking more advantage of a situation in which I could have more of an inspiration and encouragement to a young man who needed me.

I will not miss the opportunity again. I look for it in every encounter.

A teacher’s job is difficult. We forget sometimes, however, that day-to-day life can be far more difficult for many of our students.

I try to find something special in every student, but because of Josh, I try harder with the “complicated” kids.

I knew I had tried to be kind as difficult as it was sometimes, but I never knew I was glue — my eye opener.

But now I want to be more than glue; I want to be the cement stepping stone to encourage a child to the next level.

We all need a Josh to open our eyes to take a closer look at those around us to whom we can make a life a little brighter and be the glue that helps them keep things together.

Dorothy Goff Goulet
Teacher Tales
Chicken Soup for the Soul...
http://www.chickensoup.com
Morning Story and Dilbert

Vintage Dilbert
August 17, 1998

Standing in the middle of the gymnasium, I faced the Special Olympics athletes, wall-to-wall bleachers filled with energy and excitement. The incessant chatter and constant movement was interrupted only occasionally when an athlete would break loose and dash across the room. Their enthusiasm could not be stifled – this was their special day.

I was an inexperienced high-school junior. When I signed up to volunteer as a team leader, I had no idea what it would entail. Standing there completely baffled, I surveyed the chaos, wondering how the Games could ever be organized.

As I waited anxiously for my team of girls to be called, a small mob of schoolgirls, wearing matching Special Olympics T-shirts, closed in on me. Each girl had a distinctive gait. Some moved as if they were going to attack me, while others had difficulty putting one foot in front of the other.

One young woman bounced clumsily toward me with such liveliness, gravity seemed to have no effect. Strands of brown hair swayed back and forth in front of her blue eyes with every step, and a huge smile warmed her full, freckled face.

I felt paralyzed as I realized she was headed directly toward me. She stood next to me, placed her arm on my shoulder, and said, “Hi, I’m Jane.”

“Hi, I’m Sandy.”

Then, moving even closer, she said, “Hi, Sandy. I’m Jane.”

Smiling, I asked, “How are you, Jane?”

“Fine,” she said, her gaze focused on my face.

Just then the whistle announced the first event – a basketball – dribbling relay. The girls lined up behind the starting line, ready to dribble the ball to the cone at the other end of the court, and back again.

At the sound of the bell, my first team member picked up the ball and put as much energy as she could into her task. Bounce . . . Catch . . . Step. Bounce . . . Catch . . . Step.
“Come on! You can do it!” I yelled. Bounce . . . Catch . . . Step . . . Smile. Crossing the finish line, she passed the ball to the next girl, who took off. “Go! Go!” I screamed.

Handling the basketball with confidence as she zigzagged down the court and back, she passed the ball to Jane.

“Watch, Sandy. I can do this.” As Jane attempted to dribble, her bouncing gait kept her from controlling the ball. With almost every step, Jane’s foot would kick the ball, sending it flying across the gymnasium.

“You can do it, Jane!” I yelled.

Her smile never faded as she happily retrieved the ball and resumed where she had left off. As if the ball had a mind of its own, it took two more trips across the gymnasium before Jane was back at my side.

“I did good, didn’t I, Sandy?” Jane asked proudly. “Yes, you did fine.”

Then, as if she needed reminding or felt I did, Jane once again placed her arm on my shoulder and declared, “Hi Sandy, I’m Jane.”

“Yes, you are Jane, a wonderful young lady.” I responded, with a reassuring smile. This game continued throughout the other events.

I admired Jane’s zeal and her extraordinary attitude. She faced each challenge optimistically. Nothing fazed her. Nothing could erase the beautiful smile from her face. Each setback seemed to fuel her exuberant joy.

At the end of the day, each athlete received a ribbon. No one on my team came in first – it wasn’t important. The only thing that mattered was a job well-done and contented hearts. These girls were no different than any Olympian in Barcelona or Sydney; they had given their all, and now they looked at their ribbons with as much pride as a gold medalist.

“See! I did good!” Jane announced as she proudly showed me her ribbons.

It was time to go. Jane stood by my side and propped her arm on my shoulder. “Bye, Sandy. I had fun. I did good, didn’t I?”

“You did your best. I am so proud of you,” I answered, looking into her distant eyes.

Digging a piece of folded paper and small pencil from the pocket of her shorts, Jane handed it to me. “Can I have your address, Sandy?” she asked graciously.

“Sure,” I said, jotting it down.

“I could write you and then you could write me, huh? That would be good.”

“Yes, I would like that.”

All but one of the girls walked out of my life. Jane and I continued to communicate through letters and phone calls. We talked about comic books and baby dolls – trivial things to me, but to her, prized possessions.

A year later, as the Special Olympics approached, Jane wrote, “Can you come watch me in the Special Olympics?”

That year, I went as an observer. I stood next to Jane’s mother during the floor-hockey competition. Occasionally I shouted, “Good, Jane, good!”

“I’m glad you came,” her mother said. “You mean so much to my daughter. She talks about you all the time. When she asked if she could invite you, I said yes, but I also told her I didn’t think you would come.”

Looking at her in disbelief, I thought, Why would you assume such a thing? I replied, “Jane and I have developed a close relationship this year. She is my friend, and I’m happy to come.” Pausing for a moment, I smiled and added, “Besides, I love Jane.”

“I know you do, dear,” her mother said. “It’s just that . . . she’s been disappointed so many times before.”

The game ended, and Jane ran over to me. “I did good, didn’t I, Sandy?”

Hugging her, I said, “Yes you did, Jane!” We walked to lunch, arm in arm, and then said our good-byes. That was the last time I saw her. Although we corresponded during most of my college years, the letters eventually stopped.

A few years later, I sent a letter to my special friend. I wanted her to come to my wedding. I pictured her saying, “You did good, Sandy,” cheering me on like I had done for her. Unfortunately, the letter was returned – “No such person at this address.” I felt heartbroken.

Because of Jane, I now find joy in the little things. I know that winning isn’t the only thing that matters. When life sends me in an unexpected direction, I now get right back on course and start again, as I try to wear Jane’s smile.

Every once in a while, I can feel her arm rest on my shoulder as she says, “Hi Sandy, I’m Jane. You did good.”

Sandra J. Bunch
http://www.chickensoup.com 
Morning Story and Dilbert

Vintage Dilbert
August 14, 2004

It was late morning and I hadn’t been able to concentrate on my work. Call it brain freeze, writer’s block or just plain laziness. But I knew I needed to change my environment. So I headed off to the state park that is only about a ten minute ride from here.

Oh, I guess there must be regulars who make this a daily stop. But I’m one of those “every-once-in-a-while” people who come storming in like a freight train and then come to a screeching halt. I can feel all of the residents and visitors collectively turn their heads toward me when they hear this grand sigh
of relief upon my arrival.

It’s like sticking your toes into the cool lake on a hot summer day. My soul said, “Ah!”

I settled down and decided to take a walk along the path. Up the hill and across through the great pines following along like the Native American Indians whose spirit can still be felt. Down the other side to the edge of the lake and there I sit upon the big rock…except for today.

Joe was there. He was waiting for a train.

“Hello, my friend! It’s a beautiful day,” I said with enthusiasm.

“Sure. Easy for you to say. Your train isn’t late!” he growled.

Joe appeared to be in his late 70’s. He had on an old blue sport coat and a pair of blue jeans. His shirt was white, and his shoes were old high top boots that appeared to be military issue.

“Sitting by the water I thought maybe you were waiting for your ship to come in,” I said jokingly.

“Son, there haven’t been ships on this water in decades,” he said smugly.

“But trains? Trains still run here?”

“Yes, sir! Right along these tracks,” he said pointing to the pathway I had just walked.

Now, there aren’t any tracks here and there never was. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I was concerned for him. He seemed lost and a bit confused.

“Well, since the train is late would you like to walk with me over to the station?” I asked. I really wanted to get him back to the parking area. I hoped that someone was looking for him.

He agreed to go with me because another train wasn’t due for hours.

“I’ve been coming here every day,” he said. “She told me to catch the next train. But every time I get here the train is late. This schedule says it should be here by now.”

He was frantically waving this paper he held tightly in his hand as he expressed his frustration.

“Where is it coming from?” I asked.

“Where ever I am to go.”

“Great. I hope it’s some place special.”

I realize that I was having a conversation not based at all on reality. But this old man seemed to need this. In fact, I would guess it just might be his reason to live.

“What is her name? You know the woman who told you to catch the train.”

“Jane. Joe and Jane, waiting for a train. Something about that sounds perfect,” he said as he stared out toward the lake.

“When was the last time you saw a train go through here?” I asked.

The oddest thing happened. I asked that just as we came to a clearing. He stopped and looked at me. He never said a word. My question seemed to penetrate this fantasy world he created. He looked at me as if to say, “You and I know this whole thing isn’t real. Just play along with me. Don’t ruin it.” He then shook his head and continued walking.

“Daddy! Over here!” A young woman shouted as she headed in our direction.”Daddy, I always ask you to stay close by me when we come here. You were down by the lake again, weren’t you.”

“Yes, my love. Waiting,” he said.

“Oh, Daddy. Why don’t you head over to the picnic table near the van. I have lunch for us.”

“Joe. It was a pleasure meeting you,” I said as I shook his hand. He then headed through the parking area and sat on the bench.

“I hope he wasn’t a bother to you,” she said. Daddy really needs someone with him. He’s not really a problem. He just likes to be by himself once in a while.”

“I know the feeling,” I said smiling. “May I ask about Jane? He said he was waiting for a train here. Were they married?”

“Jane is my Mom. She died 15 years ago. He took it badly. He won’t talk about her being dead. He just remembers when she came here by train. Two weeks later they were married.”

“How wonderful he still waits. Almost like he wants to start all over again,” I said. Then saying our goodbyes, I waved one more time to Joe. He politely waved back and then stared once more off into his private world.

I headed back down the path and returned to my favorite spot. Until today I didn’t think anyone found it as comforting as I. I sat on the rock and listened to the water lap gently upon it. My feet were each resting on separate smaller rocks. There between the two of them I spotted a paper. It had slipped neatly
into a crevice away from the water.

I picked it up and to my amazement the front of this folder read, “Certificate of Death.” Inside was a crumbled piece of paper that appeared to be an official death certificate for Jane. August 31, 1985 was the date printed at the top.
Fifteen years ago today.

Realizing he must have dropped it I ran to the parking lot. His daughter was standing near the car while Joe was seated on a folding chair closer to the lake.

“Excuse me. I think maybe your Father dropped this back there near the rock he was sitting on when we met,” I said as I handed her the paper. I purposely opened it flat so she could see what it was.

“Oh, my Lord,” she said. “He does realize it. He carries that paper with him every where. I never bothered to look at it. He says it’s a train schedule and I just let him go.”

“Miss, maybe your Father isn’t waiting for a train to arrive. Maybe he wants to catch the same one your Mom did. This death certificate was her ticket,” I said.

“That’s why he says it. Every night before he goes to bed….” She paused as she tried to keep her composure.

“Every night he says, ‘Today I missed the train again. Maybe tomorrow I’ll catch the next one.’ Then he looks up and throws a kiss.”

Without saying goodbye she ran quickly to his side. I saw her hand the paper to him. He stood and grabbing her hand pulled her toward him. They embraced and cried… about reality, about getting away from it and waiting for the next train. Love is special.

Author -  Bob Perks
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