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 I want to
be trailer trash.  They didn’t cause any of the problems that our
country faces today.  They didn’t get mortgages they couldn’t
afford.  They didn’t run banks to the ground with greed.  They
didn’t use investors for their personal benefit.  They don’t even
belong to the unions that ask too much of their

I’m tired of paying mortgage bills, utility bills, property
taxes.  I want to live more simply,
pack up the dog and move into a
I don’t mind being called ‘trailer
trash’, but I want to get your

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Just Check’n In

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,
The n 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.
Lunch time 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:



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:




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 he’s in here all the while

Every day 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:



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Grandma’s Hands

some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. She didn’t move,
just sat with her head down staring at her hands. 

When I sat down beside her she didn’t acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if she was OK. 

not really wanting to disturb her but wanting to check on her at the
same time, I asked her if she was OK. She raised her head and looked at
me and smiled. ‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking,’ she said in a
clear strong voice. 

didn’t mean to disturb you, grandma, but you were just sitting here
staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK,’ I
explained to her. 

‘Have you ever looked at your hands,’ she asked. ‘I mean really looked at your hands?’ 

slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over,
palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at
my hands as I tried to figure out the point she was making. 

Grandma smiled and related this story: 

and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served
you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled shriveled
and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and
grab and embrace life. 

They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor.

put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother
taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my
boots. They held my husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war.

have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy
and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my
wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone

They wrote my letters to him and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse. 

They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn’t understand. 

have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest
of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and
raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real
well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in

These hands are the mark of where I’ve been and the ruggedness of life. 

more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and
take when he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His
side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of God.’ 

will never look at my hands the same again. But I remember God reached
out and took my grandma’s hands and led her home. When m y hands are
hurt or sore or when I  stroke the face of my children and husband I
think of grandma. I know she has been stroked and caressed and held by
the hands of God.

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Two Wolves

evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on
inside people. He said, "My son, the battle is between two "wolves"
inside us all.

One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow,
regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority,
lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good. It
is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence,
empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: "Which wolf wins?"

The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed.

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Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in
2007. The man with a  violin played six
Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approx. 2 thousand people
went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After 3 minutes a
middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and
stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule. 

 4 minutes later:

The violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the
money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.. 

6 minutes:

A young man leaned
against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk

10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along
hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother
pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time.
This action was repeated by several other children. Every parent, without
exception, forced their children to move on quickly.

45 minutes:

The musician played continuously.  Only 6 people stopped and listened for a
short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal
pace.  The man collected a total of $32.

1 hour:

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed.
No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of
the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces
ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua
Bell sold out a theater in Boston
where the seats averaged $100.

 This is a true story.
Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the
Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and
people’s priorities.. The questions arose: in a common place environment at an
inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? 
Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected

 One possible
conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:  If we do not have a moment to stop and listen
to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music
ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made…. How many
other things are we missing?

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Carrots, Eggs, and Coffee

A carrot, an egg, and a cup of coffee…You will never look
at a cup of coffee the same way again.

A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life
and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make
it and wanted to give up, She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed
as one problem was solved, a new one arose.

Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots
with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the
first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she
placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil without saying a word.

In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She
fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and
placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.
Turning to her daughter, she asked, ‘Tell me what you see.’

‘Carrots, eggs, and coffee,’ she replied.

Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the
carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the
daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed
the hard boiled egg

Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee.
The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked,
‘What does it mean, mother?’

Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced
the same adversity: boiling water. Each reacted differently. The carrot went in
strong, hard, and unrelenting.

However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it
softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had
protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its
inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After
they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.

‘Which are you? ‘She asked her daughter.’ When adversity
knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?

Think of this: Which am I? Am I the carrot that seems
strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my

Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes
with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a
financial hardship, or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does
my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff
spirit and hardened heart?

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How to Dance In the Rain

 It was a busy
morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80’s arrived to have
stitches removed from his thumb. He said he was in a hurry as he had an appt.
at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be
over an  hour before someone would to
able to see him.  I saw him looking at
his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate
his wound.   On exam, it was well healed,
so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.   While taking care of his wound, I asked him
if he had another doctor’s appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry.
The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat
breakfast with his wife. I inquired as to her health.  He told me that she had been there for a while
and that she was a victim of Alzheimer’s disease.  As we talked, I asked if she would be upset
if he was a bit late.  He replied that
she no longer knew who he was, that
she had not recognized him in five years now. 
I was surprised, and asked him, ‘And you still go every morning,
even though she doesn’t
know who you are?’ He smiled as he patted my hand and said, ‘She doesn’t know
me, but I still know who she is.’   I had
to hold back tears as he left. I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought, ‘That
is the kind of love I want in my life.’ True love is neither physical, nor
romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and
will not be.

The happiest people don’t necessarily have the best of
everything; they just make the best of everything they have. 

‘Life isn’t about how to survive the storm, but how to dance
in the rain. 

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Cracked Pots

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots; each hung on
the ends of a pole, which she carried across her neck.

One of the pots had a crack in it, while the other pot was
perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.

At the end of the long walks from the stream to the house,
the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years, this went on daily, with the woman
bringing home only one and a half pots of water.

Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments.

However, the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own
imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made
to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure,
it spoke to the woman one day by the stream. ‘I am ashamed of myself, because
this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.’

The old woman smiled, ‘Did you notice that there are flowers
on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side?’

‘That’s because I have always known about your flaw, so I
planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk
back, you water them.’

‘For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful
flowers to decorate the table.

Without you being just the way you are, there would not be
this beauty to grace the house.’

Each of us has our own unique flaw. However, it is the
cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting
and rewarding.

You just have to take each person for what they are and look
for the good in them.

Therefore, to all of my crackpot friends, have a great day
and remember to smell the flowers on your side of the path!

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Louise Redden, a poorly dressed lady with a look of defeat
on her face, walked into a grocery store. 
She approached the owner of the store in a most humble manner and asked
if he would let her charge a few groceries. 
She softly explained that her husband was very ill and unable to work,
they had seven children and they needed food. 
John Longhouse, the grocer, scoffed at her and requested that she leave
his store at once.

Visualizing the family needs, she said: ‘Please, sir! I will
bring you the money just as soon as I can.’  John
told her he could not give her credit, since she did not have a charge account
at his store.  Standing beside the
counter was a customer who overheard the conversation between the two. The
customer walked forward and told the grocer that he would stand good for
whatever she needed for her family. 

The grocer said in a very reluctant voice, ‘Do you have a
grocery list?’

Louise replied, ‘Yes sir.’ ‘O.K’ he said, ‘put your grocery
list on the scales and whatever your grocery list weighs, I will give you that
amount in groceries.’

Louise, hesitated a moment with a bowed head, then she
reached into her purse and took out a piece of paper and scribbled something on
it. She then laid the piece of paper on the scale carefully with her head still
bowed. The eyes of the grocer and the customer showed amazement when the scales
went down and stayed down. The grocer, staring at the scales, turned slowly to
the customer and said begrudgingly, ‘I can’t believe it.’

The customer smiled and the grocer started putting the
groceries on the other side of the scales. The scale did not balance so he
continued to put more and more groceries on them until the scales would hold no
more.  The grocer stood there in utter
disgust. Finally, he grabbed the piece of paper from the scales and looked at
it with greater amazement.

It was not a grocery list, it was a prayer, which said:  ‘Dear Lord, you know my needs and I am
leaving this in your hands.’

The grocer gave her the groceries that he had gathered and
stood in stunned silence.

Louise thanked him and left the store.  The other customer handed a fifty-dollar bill
to the grocer and said; ‘It was worth every penny of it. Only God Knows how
much a prayer weighs.’

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