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Vintage Dilbert February 25,  2014

Vintage Dilbert
February 25, 2014

I showered and shaved, I adjusted my tie.
I got there and sat in a pew just in time.
Bowing my head in prayer, as I closed my eyes,
I saw the shoe of the man next to me touching my own. I sighed.

‘With plenty of room on either side,’
I thought, ‘Why must our soles touch?’
It bothered me, his shoe touching mine.
But it didn’t bother him much.

A prayer began: ‘Our Father.’ I thought,
‘This man with the shoes, has no pride.
‘They’re dusty, worn, and scratched.
‘Even worse, there are holes on the side!’

‘Thank You for blessings,’ the prayer went on.
The shoe man said a quiet ‘Amen.’
I tried to focus on the prayer but my thoughts were on his shoes again.

Aren’t we supposed to look our best when walking through that door?
‘Well, this certainly isn’t it,’ I thought, glancing toward the floor.
Then the prayer was ended and the songs of praise began.
The shoe man was certainly loud, sounding proud as he sang.

His voice lifted the rafters. His hands were raised high.
The Lord could surely hear the shoe man’s voice from the sky.
It was time for the offering and what I threw in was steep.
I watched as the shoe man reached into his pockets so deep.

I saw what was pulled out, what the shoe man put in.
Then I heard a soft ‘clink’ as when silver hits tin.
The sermon really bored me to tears, and that’s no lie.
It was the same for the shoe man, for tears fell from his eyes.

At the end of the service, as is the custom here,
We must greet new visitors and show them all good cheer.
But I felt moved somehow and wanted to meet the shoe man.
So after the closing prayer I reached over and shook his hand.

He was old and his skin was dark and his hair was truly a mess.
But I thanked him for coming, for being our guest.
He said, ‘My name’s Charlie; I’m glad to meet you, my friend.’
There were tears in his eyes but he had a large, wide grin.

‘Let me explain,’ he said, wiping tears from his eyes.
‘I’ve been coming here for months and you’re the first to say ‘Hi.’
‘I know that my appearance is not like all the rest.
‘But I really do try to always look my best.

‘I always clean and polish my shoes before my very long walk.
‘But by the time I get here they’re dirty and dusty, like chalk.’
My heart filled with pain and I swallowed to hide my tears.
As he continued to apologize for daring to sit so near

He said, ‘When I get here I know I must look a sight.’
‘But I thought if I could touch you then maybe our souls might unite.’
I was silent for a moment, knowing whatever was said
Would pale in comparison. I spoke from my heart, not my head.

‘Oh, you’ve touched me,’ I said, ‘And taught me, in part
‘That the best of any man is what is found in his heart.’
The rest, I thought, this shoe man will never know.
Like just how thankful I really am that his dirty old shoe touched my soul.

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
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Morning Story and Dilbert

Vintage Dilbert
March 27, 2015

I would not consider myself to be a prayer warrior. But, I do pray. Not because I believe in the power of prayer, but because I believe in the power of God. At times, I have prayed big, brave, badass prayers; but for the most part, in tough situations I try to pray “make it count” before I pray “make it better”.

So, keeping my general cowardice in prayer in mind, I have a story to tell you.

I’ve waged a long war with illness this winter, and early in January, I lost hearing in my left ear. A course of antibiotics and a bunch of other medicines could not clear it up. Instead, it grew worse, and after a month, my right ear decided that since misery loves company it, too, would start to block up.

Coupled with weeks of coughing, sewer drama, pneumonia, family crises and my daughter coming home with headlice, I was at my wits end. I had agreed to speak at our church’s women’s retreat, as well as at a college ministry function; and with just days to go – I was exhausted and partially deaf. My mom nagged me to go to the doctor. “I don’t have time,” I protested. “What little time I have, I need to prepare for retreat.” But she prevailed on me: I needed a better plan.

One Friday morning, I left my children with the babysitter and escaped to a coffee shop. My agenda for the morning was simple: make an appointment with the doctor, get out of the college speaking engagement, and do some prep work for the retreat. I settled in with a latte at the coffee shop, only to discover I couldn’t connect to the wifi, and so, unable to contact the doctor or the college pastor, I dived into retreat prep.

My passage for study was James 4 and I made steady notes, mentally formulating my talks about our Father who loves us and who invites us to ask him for our heart’s desires. I found myself continuing to James 5, where all of a sudden these verses leapt up at me:

12 But above all, my brothers, do not swear, either by heaven or by earth or by any other oath, but let your “yes” be yes and your “no” be no, so that you may not fall under condemnation.

13 Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing praise.14 Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord.

Really? Really? This verse, right there, right then, while I was preparing talks about asking our loving Father for big, bold, heartfelt things?

The contrast could not have been clearer. My “wise” plan for coping had been to 1) say no to my commitment, and 2) call a doctor about my illness. But here were two verses that say 1) let your yes remain yes, and 2) ask the elders to pray if you’re sick. Oh, and use oil.

The words simple obedience floated in my mind, and I surrendered in tears. I sent a message to the college pastor, assuring him I’d be there the following Tuesday; and I mentally rehearsed how to phrase my awkward request to the elders.

I spent the afternoon tending to kids and re-checking my daughter for nits. I had a meeting at church later that night, at which several of the elders would be present. Leaving home, I hastily grabbed the tea-tree oil we’d been using for lice treatments and stuffed it into my purse. On the drive over, though, I felt sheepish about the oil, and resolved to just ask them to pray instead. Surely the oil was symbolic, anyway? Simple Obedience came to mind, but I squashed it.

We finished up our meeting, each person speaking clearly and slowly since I’d explained I had lost most of my hearing. When the meeting was over, I sheepishly explained about James and all the coffee-house tears earlier that day, and asked them to pray. They gathered around and laid hands on my shoulders and prayed for God to please heal my ears.

We said our Amens, and things were that strange combination of warm-and-awkward, and someone made a joke that there should have been oil. I threw my face into my palms and confessed, “I actually have oil in my purse but I felt too stupid to bring it out!”

“Well, then let’s use the oil,” someone said, and so – adding to the awkwardness – they gathered around once more and removed my tea tree oil from its ziploc back and wads of paper towel (so holy, I know) – and prayed once more, this time dabbing some of the lice-repellant on my forehead.

Another round of amens brought everything to a close, and I packed up my oil into its plastic bag and made my way to the parking lot. What was that about, Lord? I wondered, pulling my car out into the dark, foggy road.

Thirty seconds later, tiredness caught up with me and I yawned. My left ear crackled and I was suddenly engulfed by a wave of nausea. My vision swam in front of my eyes and I gripped the steering wheel, afraid I would black out. I pulled over, Jesus-take-the-wheel-style, hoping I wouldn’t land in a ditch, and waited for the nausea to pass and my vision to settle down.

I yawned again, and this time my right ear crackled and another wave of nausea washed over me. I closed my eyes, waiting for the horrible swimming sensation to go away. As it ebbed away, I blew my nose and yawned again, trying to shake out the clogged feeling that remained in my ear. With that, my right ear suddenly cleared: and with two ears now open for the first time in six weeks, I realized that the radio was on. I hadn’t been able to hear it before, but now with crystal clarity the beloved voices of Simon & Garfunkel singing these, the first words that drifted into my nearly-restored ears:

Here’s to you, Mrs Robinson,

Jesus loves you more than you will know.

God bless you please, Mrs Robinson,

Heaven holds a place for those who pray.

Hey. hey. hey.

I sat in the car and cried and cried: tears of gratitude and surprise and the overwhelming knowledge of being loved and heard by a Father who cares.

And all of a sudden it made sense: the talks on asking our loving Father boldly for our deep desires, the call to simple obedience, and even the silliness of the oil. Because no matter how old we get or how sophisticated people may think we are, some truths bear repeating: Jesus loves you more than you will know, and heaven holds a place for those who pray.

Posted on March 26, 2015 by Bronwyn Lea      http://t.co/YylftweVYT
Morning Story and Dilbert

Vintage Dilbert
December 2, 1992

One of the holiday’s best-loved songs, “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” marks the longest holiday in the Christian calendar — the time between Christmas Day and Epiphany, celebrated on January six.

The song’s origin is unknown, but some believe the song was written to help Catholic children remember various articles of faith. These are:

True love
God

A partridge in a pear tree
Jesus

Two turtle doves
Old and New Testaments

Three French hens
Faith, Hope, and Charity

Four calling birds
Four Gospels

Five golden rings
The first five books of the Old Testament, the Pentateuch, which records the history and laws of ancient Israel

Six geese a-laying
Six days of Creation

Seven swans a-swimming
Seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, or the Seven Sacraments

Eight maids a-milking
Eight beatitudes

Nine ladies dancing
Nine fruits of the Holy Spirit

Ten lords a-leaping
Ten Commandments

Eleven pipers piping
Eleven faithful disciples

Twelve drummers drumming
Twelve points of doctrine in the Apostles’ Creed

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Vintage Dilbert November 12, 2012

Vintage Dilbert
November 12, 2012

If I had my life to live over, I’d dare to make more mistakes next time.

I’d relax, I’d limber up.

I would be sillier than I’ve been this trip.

I would take fewer things seriously, take more chances, take more trips.

I’d climb more mountains, and swim more rivers.

I would eat more ice cream and less beans.

I would perhaps have more actual troubles, but I’d have fewer imaginary ones. You see, I’m one of those people who lived seriously, sanely, hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I’ve had my moments, and if I had it to do over again, I’d have more of them.

I’ve been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot-water bottle, a raincoat, and a parachute.

If I had to do it again, I would travel lighter than this trip.

If I had my life to live over, I would start going barefoot earlier in the spring, and stay that way later in the fall.

I would go to more dances, I would ride more merry-go-rounds.

I would pick more daisies.

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Morning Story and Dilbert

Vintage Dilbert
April 16, 2005

A minister passing through his church in the middle of the day, decided to pause by the altar and see who had come to pray.

Just then the back door opened, a man came down the aisle.

The minister frowned as he saw the man hadn’t shaved in a while.

His shirt was kinda shabby and his coat was worn and frayed.

The man knelt, he bowed his head, then rose and walked away.

In the days that followed, each noon time came this chap,

Each time he knelt just for a moment, a lunch pail in his lap.

Well, the minister’s suspicions grew, with robbery a main fear,

He decided to stop the man and ask him, “What are you doing here?”

The old man said, he worked down the road. Lunch was half an hour.

Lunchtime was his prayer time, for finding strength and power.

“I stay only moments, see, because the factory is so far away;

As I kneel here talking to the Lord, this is kinda what I say:

“I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD, HOW HAPPY I’VE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER’S FRIENDSHIP AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN.

DON’T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY. SO, JESUS, THIS IS JIM CHECKING IN TODAY.”

The minister feeling foolish, told Jim, that was fine.

He told the man he was welcome to come and pray just anytime.

Time to go, Jim smiled, said “Thanks.” He hurried to the door.

The minister knelt at the altar, he’d never done it before.

His cold heart melted, warmed with love, and met with Jesus there.

As the tears flowed, in his heart, he repeated old Jim’s prayer:

“I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD, HOW HAPPY I’VE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER’S FRIENDSHIP AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN.

I DON’T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY. SO, JESUS, THIS IS ME CHECKING IN TODAY.”

Past noon one day, the minister noticed that old Jim hadn’t come.

As more days passed without Jim, he began to worry some.

At the factory, he asked about him, learning he was ill.

The hospital staff was worried, but he’d given them a thrill.

The week that Jim was with them, brought changes in the ward.

His smiles, a joy contagious. Changed people, were his reward.

The head nurse couldn’t understand why Jim was so glad, when no flowers, calls or cards came, not a visitor he had.

The minister stayed by his bed, he voiced the nurse’s concern:

No friends came to show they cared. He had nowhere to turn.

Looking surprised, old Jim spoke up and with a winsome smile; “the nurse is wrong, she couldn’t know, that in here all the while everyday at noon He’s here, a dear friend of mine, you see, He sits right down, takes my hand, leans over and says to me:

“I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, JIM, HOW HAPPY I HAVE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND THIS FRIENDSHIP, AND I TOOK AWAY YOUR SIN.

ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR YOU PRAY, I THINK ABOUT YOU EACHDAY,

AND SO JIM, THIS IS JESUS CHECKING IN TODAY.”

 

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Morning Story and Dilbert

Vintage Dilbert
September 12, 2001

This is a two cup story….  Take your time and enjoy!

Two or three times in my life God in His mercy touched my heart, and twice before my conversion I was under deep conviction.

During the American war [Civil War], I was a surgeon in the United States Army, and after the battle of Gettysburg there were many hundred wounded soldiers in my hospital, amongst whom were twenty-eight who had been wounded so severely that they required my services at once.

Some whose legs had to be amputated, some their arms, and others both their arm and leg. One of the latter was a boy who had been but three months in the service, and being too young for a soldier had enlisted as a drummer. When my assistant surgeon and one of my stewards wished to administer chloroform, previous to the amputation, the young soldier turned his head aside and positively refused to receive it. When the steward told him that it was the doctor’s orders, he said: “Send the doctor to me.”

When I came to his bedside, I said: “Young man, why do you refuse chloroform? When I found you on the battlefield you were so far gone that I thought it hardly worth while to pick you up; but when you opened those large blue eyes I thought you had a mother somewhere who might, at that moment, be thinking of her boy. I did not want you to die on the field, so ordered you to be brought here; but you have now lost so much blood that you are too weak to endure an operation without chloroform, therefore you had better let me give you some.”

He laid his hand on mine, and looking me in the face, said: “Doctor, one Sunday afternoon, in the Sabbath-school, when I was nine and a half years old, I gave my heart to Christ. I learned to trust Him then; I have been trusting Him ever since, and I can trust Him now. He is my strength and my stimulant. He will support me while you amputate my arm and leg.”

I then asked him if he would allow me to give him a little brandy.

Again he looked me in the face saying: “Doctor, when I was about five years old my mother knelt by my side, with her arm around my neck, and said: ‘Charlie, I am now praying to Jesus that you may never know the taste of strong drink; your papa died a drunkard, and went down to a drunkard’s grave, and I promised God, if it were His will that you should grow up, that you should warn young men against the bitter cup.’ I am now seventeen years old, but I have never tasted anything stronger than tea and coffee, and as I am, in all probability, about to go into the presence of my God, would you send me there with brandy on my stomach?”

The look that boy gave me I shall never forget. At that time I hated Jesus, but I respected that boy’s loyalty to his Savior; and when I saw how he loved and trusted Him to the last, there was something that touched my heart, and I did for that boy what I had never done for any other soldier — I asked him if he wanted to see his chaplain.

“Oh! yes, sir,” was the answer.

When Chaplain R. came, he at once knew the boy from having often met him at the tent prayer meetings, and taking his hand said: “Well, Charlie, I am sorry to see you in this sad condition.”

“Oh, I am all right, sir,” he, answered. “The doctor offered me chloroform, but I declined it; then he wished to give me brandy, which I also declined; and now, if my Savior calls me, I can go to Him in my right mind.”

“You may not die, Charlie,” said the chaplain “but if the Lord should call you away, is there anything I can do for you after you are gone?”

“Chaplain, please put your hand under my pillow and take my little Bible; in it you will find my mother’s address; please send it to her and write a letter, and tell her that since the day I left home I have never let a day pass without reading a portion of God’s word, and daily praying that God would bless my dear mother; no matter whether on the march, on the battlefield, or in the hospital.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my lad?” asked the chaplain.

“Yes; please write a letter to the superintendent of the Sands-street Sunday-school, Brooklyn, N. Y., and tell him that the kind words, many prayers, and good advice he gave me I have never forgotten; they have followed me through all the dangers of battle; and now, in my dying hour, I ask my dear Savior to bless my dear old superintendent. That is all.”

Turning towards me he said: “Now, doctor, I am ready; and I promise you that I will not even groan while you take off my arm and leg, if you will not offer me chloroform.” I promised, but I had not the courage to take the knife in my hand to perform the operation without first going into the next room and taking a little stimulant myself to perform my duty.

While cutting through the flesh, Charlie Coulson never groaned; but when I took the saw to separate the bone, the lad took the corner of his pillow in his mouth, and all that I could hear him utter was: “O Jesus, blessed Jesus! stand by me now.” He kept his promise, and never groaned.

That night I could not sleep, for whichever way I turned I saw those soft blue eyes, and when I closed mine, the words, “Blessed Jesus, stand by me now,” kept ringing in my ears. Between twelve and one o’clock I left my bed and visited the hospital; a thing I had never done before unless specially called, but such was my desire to see that boy. Upon my arrival there I was informed by the night steward that sixteen of the hopeless cases had died, and been carried down to the dead-house.

“How is Charlie Coulson, is he among the dead?” I asked.

“No, sir,” answered the steward, “he is sleeping as sweetly as a babe.” When I came up to the bed where he lay, one of the nurses informed me that, about nine o’clock, two members of the YMCA came through the hospital to read and sing a hymn. They were accompanied by Chaplain R., who knelt by Charlie Coulson’s bed, and offered up a fervent and soul-stirring prayer; after which they sang, while still upon their knees, the sweetest of all hymns, “Jesus, lover of my soul,” in which Charlie joined.

I could not understand how that boy, who had undergone such excruciating pain, could sing.
Five days after I had amputated that dear boy’s arm and leg, he sent for me, and it was from him on that day I heard the first gospel sermon.

“Doctor,” he said, “my time has come; I do not expect to see another sunrise; but, thank God, I am ready to go; and before I die I desire to thank you with all my heart for your kindness to me. Doctor, you are a Jew, you do not believe in Jesus; will you please stand here and see me die trusting my Savior to the last moment of my life?”

I tried to stay, but I could not; for I had not the courage to stand by and see a Christian boy die rejoicing in the love of that Jesus whom I had been taught to hate, so I hurriedly left the room.

About twenty minutes later a steward, who found me sitting in my private office covering my face with my hand, said: “Doctor, Charlie Coulson wishes to see you.”

“I have just seen him,” I answered, “and I cannot see him again.”

“But, doctor, he says he must see you once more before he dies.”

I now made up my mind to see him, say an endearing word, and let him die, but I was determined that no word of his should influence me in the least so far as his Jesus was concerned.

When I entered the hospital I saw he was sinking fast, so I sat down by his bed.

Asking me to take his hand, he said: “Doctor, I love you because you are a Jew; the best friend I have found in this world was a Jew.”

I asked him who that was. He answered: “Jesus Christ, to whom I want to introduce you before I die; and will you promise me, doctor, that what I am about to say to you, you will never forget?”

I promised; and he said “Five days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ to convert your soul.”

These words went deep into my heart. I could not understand how, when I was causing him the most intense pain, he could forget all about himself and think of nothing but his Savior and my unconverted soul. All I could say to him was: “Well, my dear boy, you will soon be all right.” With these words I left him, and twelve minutes later he fell asleep, “safe in the arms of Jesus.”

Hundreds of soldiers died in my hospital during the war; but I only followed one to the grave, and that one was Charlie Coulson, the drummer boy; and I rode three miles to see him buried. I had him dressed in a new uniform, and placed in an officer’s coffin, with a United States flag over it.

That boy’s dying words made a deep impression upon me. I was rich at that time so far as money is concerned, but I would have given every penny I possessed if I could have felt towards Christ as Charlie did; but that feeling cannot be bought with money. Alas! I soon forgot all about my Christian soldier’s little sermon, but I could not forget the boy himself. I now know that at that time I was under deep conviction of sin; but I fought against Christ with all the hatred of an orthodox Jew for nearly ten years, until, finally, the dear boy’s prayer was answered, and God converted my soul.

About eighteen months after my conversion, I attended a prayer meeting one evening in the city of Brooklyn. It was one of those meetings when Christians testify to the loving kindness of their Savior.

After several of them had spoken, an elderly lady arose and said, “Dear friends, this may be the last time that it is my privilege to testify for Christ. My family physician told me yesterday that my right lung is nearly gone, and my left lung is very much affected; so at the best I have but a short time to be with you; but what is left of me belongs to Jesus. Oh! it is a great joy to know that I shall meet my boy with Jesus in heaven. My son was not only a soldier for his country, but also a soldier for Christ. He was wounded at the battle of Gettysburg, and fell into the hands of a Jewish doctor, who amputated his arm and leg, but he died five days after the operation. The chaplain of the regiment wrote me a letter, and sent me my boy’s Bible. In that letter I was informed that my Charlie in his dying hour sent for that Jewish doctor, and said to him: “Doctor, before I die I wish to tell you that five days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ to convert your soul.”

When I heard this lady’s testimony, I could sit still no longer. I left my seat, crossed the room, and taking her hand, said: “God bless you, my dear sister; your boy’s prayer has been heard and answered. I am the Jewish doctor for whom your Charlie prayed, and his Savior is now my Savior.”

By Dr. M. L. Rossvally

dilbert

In an art gallery in London hangs a portrait of a chess game entitled “Checkmate.” On one side of the chessboard is the devil, full of laughter. His hand is posed, ready to make the next move.  

On the other side of the chessboard sits a shaking, frightened young man. Sweat drips down his forehead mixed with tears pouring from his eyes.

One day, a chess champion from another country visited the gallery. The painting naturally caught his attention causing him to examine it for a very long time. In fact, while others had moved on throughout the gallery, the chess champion remained fixated on the game and the devil who was about to make the next move to steal this man’s soul.

Hours passed as the chess champion continued to study the board from every possible angle. The sweat on the young man’s face begged him to continue.  Finally, as the gallery was about to close for the night, people in every part of the enormous building heard a loud scream as the chess champion yelled, “Yes!   I’ve got it! You don’t’ have to lose!”

What this chess champion had done was discover another move that the man could take. He had found a way not only for the young man to escape “checkmate” but to deliver “checkmate” on the devil in only a few more moves into the game.

..from Tony Evans E-book "Well Dressed for Warfare"
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