The Room Filled by Michael Smith

I ran home from school, stomped up the worn wooden steps, slammed open the front door and yelled,

“Mum! Mum, I’m home!”

“Michael, I’m right here!” Mum appeared around the corner. “Stop yelling. What if your father had been sleeping? You know he works nights.”

“Sorry, Mum.” I mumbled and hung my head in shame. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

“If you had woken him, you know how mad he would have been.”

“I just wanted to show you my spelling test.” I handed her my test. “I got a gold star.”

“You got another one?” She smiled. “Good for you! You always study so hard, but you have to remember not to yell when you come in the house.”

“I know, Mum, but I was exited and wanted to show you.” I lied. Dad drank a lot. If he had too much, he’d argue with Mum. I was afraid she’d leave. My two older brothers and I would be alone with him. What if I came home and she was gone? It was a fear I lived with most of my childhood. I needed to know she was there.

Years later, I moved away for my first job. Each evening, I’d open the door to a lonely, empty room. I didn’t call out for Mum. I knew she wasn’t there. I spent evenings alone. There were no computers, only books and a television. It was a temporary situation.

Three months later, I was home again. Mum and I sat at the kitchen table, played cards, and talked. It was nice to have someone to share my day with – someone who loved me.

A year later, I sat in my car. The back seat and trunk were full of my belongings. My mattress was tied to my roof. Mum stood beside the car.

“Well, you’re off on your own again.”

“This is it.” I smiled up at her. “I can’t believe I have my own house.”

“You’ll do fine, Michael.” Her eyes glistened. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.

“Thanks for everything, Mum. Without your support, I wouldn’t be going where I’m going today.” I pulled away and wiped my own tears from my eyes. I’d miss coming home to her, but there was another woman I’d be coming home to soon.

A few hours later, Georgia and I sat in the living room of my new home. I knelt on one knee and asked her to marry me. For many years, I came home from work to my wife. We had two children – a boy and a girl. Georgia and I shared our days and love. My home – my life – was full. I was happy.

Disaster struck. My manager announced major layoffs. Fifteen years of seniority were not enough to save me. A new job took me to another city. Georgia and our kids stayed behind to sell the house. I opened the door to a rented room. There were no hugs, no children yelling “Daddy”, and no one to share my day with. I was alone.

A year later they joined me. I opened a door to love and family again. The pattern continued: a new job, a move, a lonely room, and a family that followed later.

I came home one night to another empty room. My daughter didn’t move with us this time. She was on her own. My son was home, but he didn’t greet me. He wanted to be alone to deal with his feelings. Georgia died the week before.

I faced an empty room. I never understood what empty was. There were many empty rooms I cried in, but not one compared to the room Georgia never filled again.

A year later, I opened the door, and there was Ginny. Her arms reached out and pulled me close. Her lips met mine. Her loved soothed me. Ginny and I have been apart for a month or more a few times. She’s had to help her children in other states. I’d enter an empty room when I came home from work and hear my footsteps echo off the walls – the sound of alone. I was sad she wasn’t there, but I knew she’d be back.

Ginny knows an empty room. Her husband, Harvey, passed on and left her in one too. We keep those rooms behind closed doors. They remain empty. Like a photo album, we only go there when we want to remember the past.

Ginny and I live in the present room – the room filled.

Meditation: All the rivers run into the sea, Yet the sea is not full; To the place from which the rivers come, There they return again. – Ecclesiastes 1:7

You will succeed because Jesus loves You!

Piano Concert

Author Unknown

Wishing to encourage her young son’s progress on the piano, a mother took her boy to a Paderewski concert. After they were seated, the mother spotted a friend in the audience and walked down the aisle to greet her. Seizing the opportunity to explore the wonders of the concert hall, the little boy quietly got up and eventually explored his way through a door marked “NO ADMITTANCE.”

When the house lights dimmed and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her seat and discovered that the child was missing. Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights focused on the impressive Steinway on stage.

In horror, the mother saw her little boy sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” At that moment, the great piano master made his entrance, quickly moved to the piano and whispered in the boy’s ear, “Don’t quit. Keep playing.” Then leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child and he added a running obligato. Together, the old master and the young novice transformed a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience. The audience was mesmerized.

That’s the way it is with God. What we can accomplish on our own is hardly noteworthy. We try our best, but the results aren’t exactly graceful flowing music. But with the hand of the Master, our life’s work truly can be beautiful. The next time you set out to accomplish great feats, listen carefully. You can hear the voice of the Master, whispering in your ear, “Don’t quit. Keep playing.” Feel His loving arms around you. Know that His strong hands are there helping you turn your feeble attempts into true masterpieces.

Remember, God doesn’t call the equipped, he equips the called. And He will always be there to love and guide you on to great things!

Meditation: God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear… – Psalm 46:1-2

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

The Magic Pebbles

By John Wayne Schlatter

From A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

One night a group of nomads were preparing to retire for the evening when suddenly they were surrounded by a great light. They knew they were in the presence of a celestial being. With great anticipation, they awaited a heavenly message of great importance that they knew must be especially for them.

Finally, the voice spoke, “Gather as many pebbles as you can. Put them in your saddle bags. Travel a day’s journey and tomorrow night will find you glad and it will find you sad.”

After having departed, the nomads shared their disappointment and anger with each other. They had expected the revelation of a great universal truth that would enable them to create wealth, health and purpose for the world. But instead they were given a menial task that made no sense to them at all. However, the memory of the brilliance of their visitor caused each one to pick up a few pebbles and deposit them in their saddle bags while voicing their displeasure.

They travelled a day’s journey and that night while making camp, they reached into their saddle bags and discovered every pebble they had gathered had become a diamond. They were glad they had diamonds. They were sad they had not gathered more pebbles.

Meditation: So Samuel said: “Has the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, As in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, And to heed than the fat of rams. – 1 Samuel 15:22

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

The Prayer Chair

Author Unknown

“Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my end be like his!” – Numbers 23:10

A man’s daughter had asked the local minister to come and pray with her father. When the minister arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows. An empty chair sat beside his bed. The minister assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit.

“I guess you were expecting me,” he said.

“No, who are you?” said the father.

“I’m the new minister at your church,” he replied. “When I saw the empty chair, I figured you knew I was going to show up.”

“Oh yeah, the chair,” said the bedridden man. “Would you mind closing the door?”

Puzzled, the minister shut the door. “I have never told anyone this, not even my daughter,” said the man. “But all of my life I have never known how to pray. At church I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, but it went right over my head.”

“I abandoned any attempt at prayer,” the old man continued, “until one day about four years ago my best friend said to me. ’Joe, prayer is just a simple matter of having a conversation with Jesus. Here is what I suggest. Sit down in a chair; place an empty chair in front of you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair. It’s not spooky because He promised, “I’ll be with you always.” Then just speak to him and listen in the same way you’re doing with me right now.’”

“So, I tried it and I’ve liked it so much that I do it a couple of hours every day. I’m careful though. If my daughter saw me talking to an empty chair, she’d either have a nervous breakdown or send me off to the funny farm.”

The minister was deeply moved by the story and encouraged the old guy to continue on the journey. Then he prayed with him, anointed him with oil, and returned to the church. Two nights later the daughter called to tell the minister that her daddy had died that afternoon.

“Did he die in peace?” he asked.

“Yes, when I left the house about two o’clock, he called me over to his bedside, told me he loved me and kissed me on the check. When I got back from the store an hour later, I found him dead. But there was something strange about his death. Apparently, just before Daddy died, he leaned over and rested his head on the chair beside the bed. What do you make of that?”

The minister wiped a tear from his eye and said, “I wish we all could go like that.”

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

The Tramp

Author Unknown

It was a cold winter’s day that Sunday. The parking lot to the church was filling up quickly. I noticed as I got out of my car that fellow church members were whispering among themselves as they walked to the church. As I got closer I saw a man leaned up against the wall outside the church. He was almost lying down as if he was asleep. He had on a long trench coat that was almost in shreds and a hat topped his head, pulled down so you could not see his face.

He wore shoes that looked 30 years old, too small for his feet with holes all over them, his toes stuck out. I assumed this man was homeless, and asleep, so I walked on by through the doors of the church. We all fellowshipped for a few minutes, and someone brought up the man lying outside. People snickered and gossiped but no one bothered to ask him to come in, including me.

A few moments later church began. We all waited for the Preacher to take his place and to give us the Word, when the doors to the church opened. In came the homeless man walking down the aisle with his head down. People gasped and whispered and made faces. He made his way down the aisle and up onto the pulpit he took off his hat and coat.

My heart sank.

There stood our preacher…he was the “homeless man.”

No one said a word.

The preacher took his Bible and laid it on the stand. “Folks, I don’t think I have to tell you what I am preaching about today.”

Then he started singing the words to this song. “If I can help somebody as I pass along. If I can cheer somebody with a word or song. If I can show somebody that he’s traveling wrong. Then my living shall not be in vain.”

“Is your living in vain?”

Meditation: Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their trouble, and to keep oneself unspotted from the world. – James 1:27

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

Covered By the Cloud

It was a morning in early March, 1945, a clear and sunny day. I was 24 years old and a member of the U.S. Army’s 35th Infantry Division, 137th Infantry Company I.

Along with several other companies of American troops, we were making our way through dense woods, towards the Rhine River in the German Rhineland. Our objective was to reach and take the town of Ossenberg, where a factory was producing gunpowder and other products for use in the war.

For hours we had pressed through an unrelenting thicket. Shortly after midday word was passed that there was a clearing ahead. At last, we thought, the going would be easier. But then we approached a large stone house, behind which huddled a handful of wounded, bleeding soldiers who had tried to cross the clearing and failed.

Before us stretched at least 200 yards of open ground, bordered on the far side by more thick woods. As the first of us appeared on the edge of the clearing there was an angry rat-tat-tat and a ferocious volley of bullets sent soil spinning as far as we could see. Three nests of German machine guns, spaced 50 yards apart and protected by the crest of a small hill to the left, were firing across the field.

As we got our bearings it was determined that the machine guns were so well placed that our weapons couldn’t reach them.

To cross that field meant suicide. Yet, we had no choice. The Germans had blockaded every other route into the town. In order to move on and secure a victory, we had to move forward.

I slumped against a tree, appalled at the grim situation. I thought of home, of my wife and my 5-month old son. I had kissed him good-bye just after he was born. I thought that I might never see my family again, and the possibility was overwhelming.

I dropped to my knees. “God,” I pleaded desperately, “You’ve got to do something. Please do something.”

Moments later the order was given to advance. Grasping my M-1 rifle, I go to my feet and started forward. After reaching the edge of the clearing I took a deep breath. But just before I stepped out from cover, I glanced to the left.

I stopped and stared in amazement. A white cloud — a long fluffy white cloud — had appeared out of nowhere. It dropped from over the trees and covered the area. The Germans’ line of fire was obscured by the thick foggy mist.

All of us bolted into the clearing and raced for our lives. The only sounds were of combat boots thudding against the soft earth as men dashed into the clearing, scrambling to reach the safety of the other side before the mist lifted. With each step the woods opposite came closer and closer. I was almost across! My pulse pounding in my ears, I lunged into the thicket and threw myself behind a tree.

I turned and watched as other soldiers following me dove frantically into the woods, some carrying and dragging the wounded. This has to be God’s doing, I thought. The instant the last man reached safety, the cloud vanished! The day was again bright and clear.

The enemy, apparently thinking we were still pinned down behind the stone house on the other side, must have radioed their artillery.

Minutes later the building was blown to bits but our company was safe and we quickly moved on.

We reached Ossenberg and went on to secure more areas for the Allies.

But the image of that cloud was never far from my mind. I had seen the sort of smoke screens that were sometimes set off to obscure troop activity in such situations. That cloud had been different. It had appeared out of nowhere and saved our lives.

Two weeks later, as we bivouacked in eastern Germany, a letter arrived from my mother back in Dallas. I tore open the envelope eagerly. The letter contained words that sent a shiver down my spine. “You remember Mrs. Tankersly from our church?” my mother wrote.

Who could forget her? I smiled. Everybody called Mrs. Tankersly the prayer warrior.

“Well,” continued Mom, “Mrs. Tankersly telephoned me one morning from the defence plant where she works. She said the Lord had awakened her the night before at one o’ clock and told her, ‘Spencer January is in terrible trouble. Get up now and pray for him!”

My mother went on to explain that Mrs. Tankersly had interceded for me in prayer until six o’ clock the next morning, when she had to go to her job. “She told me the last thing she prayed before getting off her knees was this” — “Lord, whatever danger Spencer is in, just cover him with a Cloud!”

I sat there for a long time holding the letter in my trembling hand.

My mind raced, quickly calculating. Yes, the hours Mrs. Tankersly was praying would indeed have corresponded to the time we were approaching the clearing. With a seven-hour time difference, her prayer for a cloud would have been uttered at one o’clock, the exact time we were getting ready to cross the clearing.

From that moment on, I intensified my prayer life. For the past 52 years I have gotten up early every morning to pray for others. I am convinced there is no substitute for the power of prayer and its ability to comfort and sustain others, even those facing the valley of the shadow of death.

PRAYER

“Lord, begin a new work of love within me. Instil in me a greater love for your commandments. Give me a burning desire to live a life of righteousness and holiness. Purify and transform me that I may be fully conformed into the likeness of Christ.”

Meditation: So I sought for a man among them who would make a wall, and stand in the gap before Me on behalf of the land, that I should not destroy it; but I found no one. – Ezekiel 22:30

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

Puppy Size

“Danielle keeps repeating it over and over again. We’ve been back to this animal shelter at least five times. It has been weeks now since we started all of this,” the mother told the volunteer.

“What is it she keeps asking for?” the volunteer asked.

“Puppy size!” replied the mother.

“Well, we have plenty of puppies, if that’s what she’s looking for.”

“I know…we have seen most of them,” the Mom said in frustration…

Just then Danielle came walking into the office.

“Well, did you find one?” asked her Mom. “No, not this time,”

Danielle said with sadness in her voice. “Can we come back on the weekend?”

“You never know when we will get more dogs. Unfortunately, there’s always a supply,” the volunteer said.

Danielle took her mother by the hand and headed to the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll find one this weekend,” she said.

Over the next few days, both Mom and Dad had long conversations with her. They both felt she was being too particular.

“It’s this weekend or we’re not looking anymore,” Dad finally said in frustration.

“We don’t want to hear anything more about puppy size either,” Mom added.

Sure enough, they were the first ones in the shelter on Saturday morning. By now Danielle knew her way around, so she ran right for the section that housed the smaller dogs. Tired of the routine, Mom sat in the small waiting room at the end of the first row of cages.

There was an observation window so you could see the animals during times when visitors weren’t permitted. Danielle walked slowly from cage to cage, kneeling periodically to take a closer look. One by one the dogs were brought out and she held each one. One by one she said, “Sorry, you’re not the one.”

It was the last cage on this last day in search of the perfect pup. The volunteer opened the cage door and the child carefully picked up the dog and held it closely. This time she took a little longer.

“Mom, that’s it! I found the right puppy! He’s the one! I know it!” she screamed with joy. “It’s the puppy size!”

“But it’s the same size as all the other puppies you held over the last few weeks,” Mom said.

“No not size —- the sighs. When I held him in my arms, he sighed,” she said.

“Don’t you remember? When I asked you one day what love is, you told me love depends on the sighs of your heart. The more you love, the bigger the sigh!”

The two women looked at each other for a moment. Mom didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As she stooped down to hug the child, she did a little of both.

“Mom, every time you hold me, I sigh. When you and Daddy come home from work and hug each other, you both sigh. I knew I would find the right puppy if it sighed when I held it in my arms,” she said. Then holding the puppy up close to her face she said, “Mom, he loves me. I heard the sighs of his heart!”

Close your eyes for a moment and think about the love that makes you sigh. I not only find it in the arms of my loved ones, but in the caress of a sunset, the kiss of the moonlight and the gentle brush of cool air on a hot day. They are the sighs of God. Take the time to stop and listen; you will be surprised at what you hear. “Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Meditation: If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him! – Matthew 7:11

You will succeed in Jesus Name!