The parking lot filled rapidly on Sunday morning as members of the large church congregation filed into the church. As usually happens in a church that size, each member had developed a certain comfort zone – a block of space within those four church walls that became theirs after the second or third sitting. It was as much a part of their church experience as the recliner was to the television at home. Some of the older members had been sitting in the same row on the same side for several decades. A team of oxen could not have moved them to the opposite side of the church. One morning, a stranger stood at the edge of the parking lot near a dumpster. As families parked cars and piled out, they noticed him rummaging through the trash. “Oh no! I don’t believe it,” whispered a lady to her husband. “That’s all we need — a bunch of homeless people milling around here.” One worried little girl tugged on her dad’s sleeve. “But Daddy…” Daddy was busy sizing up the bearded stranger, whose baggy, outdated trousers and faded flannel shirt had dusted too many park benches. “Don’t stare at him, honey,” he whispered, and hurried her inside. Soft music filled the high-ceiling sanctuary as churchgoers settled into their usual spots. The;

There was once a bunch of tiny frogs, who arranged a running competition. The goal was to reach the top of a very high tower. A big crowd gathered around the tower to see the race and cheer on the contestants. The race began… No one in the crowd really believed that the tiny frogs would reach the top of the tower. They shouted, “Oh, way too difficult!!! They will NEVER make it to the top”, and “Not a chance. The tower is too high”. The tiny frogs began collapsing, one by one except for those who, in a fresh tempo, were climbing higher and higher…. The crowd continued to yell, “It’s too difficult! No one will make it!” More tiny frogs got tired and gave up… But one continued higher and higher. This one wouldn’t give up! And he reached the top. Everyone wanted to know how this one frog managed such a great feat. His secret? This little frog was deaf!! The wisdom of this story is: Ignore the pessimism of others. It can take your dreams from you. Stay positive. Meditation: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” – Philippians 4:8 Also Read: Men;

Even though I clutch my blanket and growl when the alarm rings. Thank you, Lord, that I can hear. There are many who are deaf. Even though I keep my eyes closed against the morning light as long as possible. Thank you, Lord, that I can see. Many are blind. Even though I huddle in my bed and put off rising. Thank you, Lord, that I have the strength to rise. There are many who are bedridden. Even though the first hour of my day is hectic, when socks are lost, toast is burned, tempers are short, and my children are so loud. Thank you, Lord, for my family. There are many who are lonely. Even though our breakfast table never looks like the picture in magazines, and the menu is at times unbalanced. Thank you, Lord, for the food we have. There are many who are hungry. Even though the routine of my job is often monotonous. Thank you, Lord, for the opportunity to work. There are many who have no job. Even though I grumble and bemoan my fate from day to day, and wish my circumstances were not so modest. Thank you, Lord, for life. Meditation: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”;

I just wanted to remind you today of how beautiful you are because there is a father of lies who will try to deceive you. He will try to tell you that you are not good enough, not attractive enough, not thin enough, not strong enough, not smart enough, not righteous enough, and that you are simply unimportant to Me. He will try to tell you that you have broken one too many promises, that you have fallen one too many times, that you have lived one too many lies, and that you’ve been going in the wrong direction so long that it is pointless to turn back now. But guess what? YOU DO NOT BELONG TO HIM. HE IS NOT YOUR FATHER. I AM. You see, you are My creation. My workmanship. You have been born of My thought, every part of you placed together by My hands. You have My thumbprint upon you. You are a princess, did you know that? You are My child, the daughter of THE King! I look at you and see a precious, priceless pearl. There is no ocean I would not swim, no mountain I would not climb, no price I would not pay to have you and to be with you and call you my own. I already have. I have;

There was once a bridge which spanned a large river. During most of the day, the bridge sat with its length running up and down the river, paralleling the banks, allowing ships to pass through freely on both sides of the bridge. But at certain times each day, a train would come along and the bridge would be turned sideways across the river, allowing a train to cross it. A switchman sat in a small shack on one side of the river where he operated the controls to turn the bridge and lock it into place as the train crossed. One evening, as the switchman was waiting for the last train of the day to come, he looked off into the distance through the dimming twilight and caught sight of the train lights. He stepped to the control and waited until the train was within a prescribed distance before he was to turn the bridge. He turned the bridge into position, but, to his horror, he found the locking control did not work. If the bridge was not securely in position, it would wobble back and forth at the ends when the train came onto it, causing the train to jump the track and go crashing into the river. This would be a passenger train with many people aboard. He;

I’d like to sit you down and tell you everything’s okay And have the strength enough to pull you through another day I’d like to help you to believe that this will be all right And that you will not have to spend another sleepless night I’d like to hold your hand and wipe the teardrops from your eyes And help you just to sort things out while you question why I’d like to try and lift the load and carry it for you And truly help you understand just what you’re going through I’d like to have the words to make this trouble disappear And give you peace of mind so you won’t shed another tear I’d like to have the magic touch to take away your pain And help you see the blue sky just beyond this blinding rain But sometimes what we say or do just cannot be enough To ease another’s passage through a trail so dark and rough There is one thing I know will help much more than I can say And rest assured that I will do it when I kneel to pray I will take your name before the Father as I seek His face And ask Him to enfold you in His arms of warm embrace There’s no one who can;

“Mommy, look!” cried my daughter, Darla, pointing to a chicken hawk soaring through the air. “Uh huh,” I murmured, driving, lost in thought about the tight schedule of my day. Disappointment filled her face. “What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” I asked, entirely dense. “Nothing,” my seven-year-old said. The moment was gone. Near home, we slowed to search for the albino deer that comes out from behind the thick mass of trees in the early evening. She was nowhere to be seen. “Tonight, she has too many things to do,” I said. Dinner, baths and phone calls filled the hours until bedtime. “Come on, Darla, time for bed!” She raced past me up the stairs. Tired, I kissed her on the cheek, said prayers and tucked her in. “Mom, I forgot to give you something!” she said. My patience was gone. “Give it to me in the morning,” I said, but she shook her head. “You won’t have time in the morning!” she retorted. “I’ll take time,” I answered defensively. Sometimes, no matter how hard I tried, time flowed through my fingers like sand in an hourglass, never enough. Not enough for her, for my husband, and not enough for me. She wasn’t ready to give up yet. She wrinkled her freckled little nose in anger and swiped away her chestnut brown;

My alarm went off. It was Sunday again. I was sleepy and tired. My one day to sleep in. But the guilt I would feel. The rest of the day would have been too much, so I’d go and pray. I showered and shaved. I adjusted my tie. I got there and sat in a pew just in time. Bowing my head in prayer, 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, and his hands;

John Harper was born to a pair of solid Christian parents on May 29th, 1872. It was on the last Sunday of March 1886 when he was thirteen years old that he received Jesus as the Lord of his life. He never knew what it was to “sow his wild oats.” He began to preach about four years later at the ripe old age of 17 years by going down to the streets of his village and pouring out his soul in earnest entreaty for men to be reconciled to God. As John Harper’s life unfolded, one thing was apparent…he was consumed by the word of God. When asked by various ministers what his doctrine consisted of, he was known to reply, “The Word of God!” After five or six years of toiling on street corners preaching the gospel and working in the mill during the day, Harper was taken in by Rev. E. A. Carter of Baptist Pioneer Mission in London, England. This set Harper free to devote his whole time of energy to the work so dear to his heart. Soon, John Harper started his church in September of 1896. (Now known as the Harper Memorial Church). This church, which John Harper had started with just 25 members, had grown to over 500 members when he left 13;

1. My hands are small; please don’t expect perfection whenever I make a bed, draw a picture, or throw a ball. My legs are short; please slow down so that I can keep up with you. 2. My eyes have not seen the world as your have; please let me explore safely: don’t restrict me unnecessarily. 3. Housework will always be there. I’m only little for a short time – please take time to explain things to me about this wonderful world, and do so willingly. 4. My feelings are tender; please be sensitive to my needs; don’t nag me all day long. (You wouldn’t want to be nagged for your inquisitiveness.) Treat me as you would want to be treated. 5. I am a special gift from God; please treasure me as God intended you to do, holding me accountable for my actions, giving me guidelines to live by, and disciplining me in a loving manner. 6. I need your encouragement, but not your praise, to grow. Please go easy on the criticism; remember, you can criticize the things I do without criticizing me. 7. Please give me the freedom to make decisions concerning myself. Permit me to fail, so that I can learn from my mistakes. Then someday I’ll be prepared to make the kind of decisions life;