Life has now been explained to you - Unknown

On the first day God created the dog. God said, "Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. I will give you a life span of twenty years." The dog said, "That's too long to be barking. Give me ten years and I'll give you back the other ten." 
So God agreed. 

On the second day God created the monkey. God said, "Entertain people, do monkey tricks and make them laugh. I'll give you a twenty-year life span." The monkey said, "Monkey tricks for twenty years? I don't think so. Dog gave you back ten, so that's what I'll do too, okay?"
And God agreed. 

On the third day God created the cow. "You must go to the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves, and give milk to support the farmer. I will give you a life span of sixty years."
The cow said, "That's kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. Let me have twenty and I'll give back the other forty." 
And God agreed again. 

On the fourth day God created man. God said, "Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. I'll give you twenty years."
Man said, "What? Only twenty years? Tell you what, I'll take my twenty, and the forty the cow gave back, and the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten the dog gave back, that makes eighty, okay?" 

Okay," said God, "You've got a deal." 

So that is why the first twenty years we eat, sleep, play, and enjoy ourselves; the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family; the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren; and the last ten years we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone. 

Life has now been explained to you.

- Unknown

The Selfish Giant - Oscar Wilde

Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant's garden.
It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. 'How happy we are here!' they cried to each other.

     One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden.

     'What are you doing here?' he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away.

     'My own garden is my own garden,' said the Giant; 'any one can understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.' So he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.



TRESPASSERS
WILL BE
PROSECUTED


     He was a very selfish Giant.

     The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did not like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside.

     'How happy we were there,' they said to each other.

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     Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still Winter. The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children, and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost. 'Spring has forgotten this garden,' they cried, 'so we will live here all the year round.' The Snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the North Wind to stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down. 'This is a delightful spot,' he said, 'we must ask the Hail on a visit.' So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in grey, and his breath was like ice.

     'I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming,' said the Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white garden; 'I hope there will be a change in the weather.'

     But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant's garden she gave none. 'He is too selfish,' she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind, and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.

     One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the King's musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement. 'I believe the Spring has come at last,' said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out.

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     What did he see?

     He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children's heads. The birds were flying about and twittering with delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still Winter. It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy. He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing and roaring above it. 'Climb up! little boy,' said the Tree, and it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the little boy was too tiny.

     And the Giant's heart melted as he looked out. 'How selfish I have been!' he said; 'now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children's playground for ever and ever.' He was really very sorry for what he had done.

     So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became Winter again. Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he died not see the Giant coming. And the Giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant's neck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the Spring. 'It is your garden now, little children,' said the Giant, and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were gong to market at twelve o'clock they found the Giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.

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     All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to bid him good-bye.

     'But where is your little companion?' he said: 'the boy I put into the tree.' The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.

     'We don't know,' answered the children; 'he has gone away.'

     'You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,' said the Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.

     Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again. The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him. 'How I would like to see him!' he used to say.

     Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden. 'I have many beautiful flowers,' he said; 'but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all.'

    . One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring asleep, and that the flowers were resting.

     Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It certainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved.

     Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he came quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, 'Who hath dared to wound thee?' For on the palms of the child's hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.

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     'Who hath dared to wound thee?' cried the Giant; 'tell me, that I may take my big sword and slay him.'

     'Nay!' answered the child; 'but these are the wounds of Love.'

     'Who art thou?' said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child.

     And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, 'You let me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise.'

     And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.

In the Name of Jesus Stop! Telemachus’ Story

How gladiator matches ended in Rome? Telemachus’ Story.

There is a story that I would like to share with you this morning.   Some of you might have heard it before,…occasionally the tale makes its way to Christian Radio, or to a sermon now and again.   In 1984, Ronald Reagan told it to the crowd at the Annual National Day of Prayer Breakfast in Washington DC.   Famed Christian Speaker Tony Campolo also told the story at a Peace Rally about a year ago.   It seems that once every few years the story gets retold in some new and exciting way.    I would like to share that story with you this morning.  Mind you, that portions of this story have made many a sermon prior to this;

The story is the story of Saint Telemachus, who lived on or about 400 AD.   As is the case with all saints, Telemachus wasn’t born a saint.    What we know about him was recorded about 50 years after his death by Bishop Theodoret of Cyprus.   Some legends have him as an unruly young man, caught up in the pleasures of the day.    After studying all over Asia Minor, Telemachus found himself sucked into the world of pleasure and indulgence.   After wandering around aimlessly for many years, trying to find meaning in fun and excitement, he eventually had his epiphany and converted to Christianity.    Immediately following his conversion he entered a monastery and became a monk.

When we think of monastery’s today, we think of quiet remote outposts, out of the way, and far from the temptations of society.   Nothing could be further from the truth.   At that time, and really through most of history, monasteries formed the backbone of the communities they existed in.   It was monasteries that served as the business, political, and education centers of the communities in which the resided.    They would have been some of the busiest places of ancient life.

It was from within such a monastery that Telemachus would have lived, studied, prayed and served.    It wasn’t solitary, but quite the opposite.   All different types of people would have made their way through the monastery’s doors, and accompanying them would be the stories of the world outside their doors.    Historians have said that Telemachus was a young man that could never stop imagining the mysteries and treasures of what the world offered.   This was most certainly fueled by the stories of strangers who stopped for a respite.

It is said that in the year 402 AD, the young monk felt called to leave the monastery and head out into the pagan world to not only learn what the world had to offer, but to spread the message of Christ to all who would listen.   One day in prayer, Telemachus felt called by God to leave immediately and head to Rome.    If monastery’s were the hub of a local community’s society, Rome was considered the hub of the world.   This was the center of society during this time.    Not sure what he would find, or why God had called him on his mission he headed from the monastery and began his trek.

Upon arriving in Rome, he was immediately caught up in the crowd.   The crowd was immense and excited.   Soon Telemachus found himself giddy with the contagious excitement of those around him.    He wasn’t sure where he was headed but he knew whatever it was, it had to be great, and there was no way he was going to miss out on it.

Within a few moments he found himself deep in the seating area of the Roman Coliseum.   Asking those around him, he learned that the Romans had just defeated the Goths, and the emperor had commanded a circus to be held for the celebrating crowd.   As he took his seat, he couldn’t have missed the emperor sitting in his seat of honor.   He most certainly would not have missed the arrival of the gladiators into the coliseum.

As the gladiators lined up below the emperors seat, together they stood and yelled out:  “We, who are about to die, salute you”.   It was the traditional greeting of the gladiators to their emperors, and in that instant he knew exactly what he had stumbled upon.   The Bishops and leaders of the church had spoken out about the gladiator games in Rome, yet most believed it legend.   In that moment, Telemachus realized it all was true.

Soon the gladiators pulled their weapons and the bloody brawl began just a few hundred yards away from him.    The grotesque nature of the sport appalled him.   Worse yet, was the reactions of those around him.   The spectators where in a blood thirsty ecstasy over what they were seeing.   Telemachus was sickened and shocked.     In that instant he realized that it must stop.  From his seat, he yelled out to the warriors:  In the Name of Jesus Stop…  But no one heard.

Without thinking he jumped over the wall and into the battle arena of the fighters.    The gladiators surprised by the unexpected guests momentarily stopped their fights and stared at the monk.    “IN THE NAME OF JESUS STOP!” he yelled over and over again.   After a few moments, the silence turned to chuckles and outright laughter.   One of the gladiators, with a sick enjoyment, took a swing at Telemachus with his sword, just barely missing him.    With that the others began to draw their swords.   Soon they were chasing this man, across the field of battle to the laughter of the crowd.    Most who witnessed the spectacle thought he was a clown or there for comic relief.

That was until they heard what he was yelling;   For the love of Christ, Stop!…  He ran, jumped, dodged and ducked, and with each passing moment his words grew clearer and louder;   In the name of Jesus, Stop.   In the name of Jesus Stop.    IN THE NAME OF JESUS STOP!

Eventually the gladiators surged and when the dust cleared, there laid Telemachus on the ground with a sword in the center of his chest.  There was silence in the crowd.   It was said in that moment, that his words still echoed in the coliseum;   In the name of Christ Stop.

After what seemed like an eternity, one man got up from his seat, and left in silence.    Then another…  Then another…   Until everyone got up from their seat and left in silence and disbelief.

The site of the dead monk in the center of the coliseum, and the reaction of the crowd, also led the emperor and his guests to silently stand, turn and leave the coliseum.    After a few minutes, the Gladiators put their swords down and they too left.   All that remained in that giant coliseum was the scrawny lifeless body of the young monk.   History claims that this was the very last gladiator game at the coliseum.    The memory of that man screaming to the crowd, and the image of the blood thirsty lust of the crowd had changed the hearts and the minds of the Romans in that instant.  Within the hour the emperor issued an edict forbidding any future games of war within the Roman Empire.

There was no more killing in the Coliseum.   There were no more gladiator matches in Rome.   There was no more killing as sport.    All because one man, stood up….and said “In the Name of Jesus Stop!”.

Fool’s Paradise by Isaac Bashevis Singer

    What is paradise like? Would people live happily in paradise? Atzel dreams to live in paradise and becomes ill. To the grief of his parents, he is willing to die. Why does Alzel want to go to paradise so much? Will his illness be cured? Please read the following cautionary tale magicallv told by the 1978 Nobel Prize winner in literature.

    Somewhere, sometime, there lived a rich man whose name was Kadish. He had an only son who was called Atzel. On the household of Kadish there lived a distant relative, an orphan girl, called Aksah. Atzel was a tall boy with black hair and black eyes. Aksah had blue eyes and golden hair. Both were about the same age. As children, they ate together, studied together, played together. It was taken for granted that when they grew up they would marry.
    But when they had grown up, Atzel suddenly became ill. It was a sickness one had ever heard of before: Atzel imagined that he was dead.
    How did such an idea come to him? It seems he had had an old nurse who constantly told stories about paradise. She had told him that in paradise it was not necessary to work or to study. In paradise one ate the meat of wild oxen and the flesh of whales; one drank the wine that the Lord reserved for the just; one slept late into the day; and one had no duties.
    Atzel was lazy by nature. He hated to get up early and to study. He knew that one day he would have to take over his father's business and he did not want to.
    Since the only way to get to paradise was to die, he had made up his mind to do just that as quickly as possible. He thought about it so much that soon he began to imagine that he was dead.
    Of course his parents became terribly worried. Aksah cried in secret. The family did everything possible to try to convince Atzel that he was alive, but he refused to believe them. He would say, "Why don't you bury me? You see that I am dead. Because of you I cannot get to paradise."
    Many doctors were called in to examine Atzel, and all tried to convince the boy that he was alive. They pointed out that he was talking and eating. But before long Atzel began to eat less, and he rarely spoke. His family feared that he would die.
    In despair, Kadish went to consult a great specialist, celebrated for his knowledge and wisdom. His name was Dr. Yoetz. After listening to a description of Atzers illness, he said to Kadish, "I promise to cure your son in eight days, on one condition. You must do whatever I tell you to, no matter how strange it may seem."
    Kadish agreed, and Dr. Yoetz said he would visit Atzel that same day. Kadish went home and told his wife, Aksah and the servants that all were to follow the doctor's orders without question.
    When Dr. Yoetz arrived, he was taken to Atzel’s room. The boy lay on his bed, pale and thin from fasting.
The doctor took one look at Atzel and called out, "Why do you keep a dead body in the house? Why don't you make a funeral?"
    On hearing these words the parents became terribly frightened, but Atzel’s face lit up with a smile and he said, "You see, I was right."
    Although Kadish and his wife were bewildered by the doctor's words, they remembered Kadish's promise, and went immediately to make arrangements for the funeral.
    The doctor requested that a room be prepared to look like paradise. The walls were hung with white satin. The windows were shuttered, and draperies tightly drawn. Candles burned day and night. The servants were dressed in white with wings on their backs and were to play angels.
    Atzel was placed in an open coffin, and a funeral ceremony was held. Atzel was so exhausted with happiness that he slept right through it. When he awoke, he found himself in a room he didn't recognize. ''Where am I?" he asked.
    "In paradise, my lord," a winged servant replied.
    "I’m terribly hungry," Atzel said. "I’d like some whale flesh and sacred wine."
    The chief servant clapped his hands and in came men servants and maids, all with wings on their backs, bearing golden trays laden with meat, fish, pomegranates and persimmons, pineapples and peaches. A tall servant with a long white beard carried a golden goblet full of wine. Atzel ate ravenously. When he had finished, he declared he wanted to rest. Two angels undressed and bathed him, and carried him to a bed with silken sheets and a purple velvet canopy. Atzel immediately fell into a deep and happy sleep.
    When he awoke, it was morning but it could just as well have been night. The shutters were closed, and the candles were burning. As soon as the servants saw that Atzel was awake, they brought in exactly the same meal as the day before.
    Atzel asked, "Don't you have any milk, coffee, fresh rolls and butter?"
    "No, my lord. In paradise one always eats the same food," the servant replied.
    "Is it already day, or is it still night?" Atzel asked.
    "In paradise there is neither day nor night."
    Atzel again ate the fish, meat, fruit, and drank the wine, but his appetite was not as good as it had been. When he had finished, he asked, "What time is it?"
    "In paradise time does not exist," the servant answered.
    “What shall I do now?" Atzel questioned.
    "In paradise, my lord, one doesn't do anything."
    "Where are the other saints?” Atzel inquired.
    "In paradise each family has a place of its own."
    "Can't one go visiting?"
    "In paradise the dwellings are too far from each other for visiting. It would take thousands of years to go from one to the other."
    "When will my family come?" Atzel asked.
    "Your father still has 20 years to live, your mother 30. And as long as they live they can't come here."
    "What about Aksah?"
    "She has 50 years to live."
    "Do I have to be alone all that time?"
    "Yes, my lord."
    For a while Atzel shook his head, pondering. Then he asked, "What is Aksah going to do?"
    "Right now, she's mourning for you. But sooner or later she will forget you, meet another young man, and marry. That's how it is with the living.”
    Atzel got up and began to walk to and fro. For the first time in years he had a desire to do something, but there was nothing to do in his paradise. He missed his father, he longed for his mother, he yearned for Aksah. He wished he had something to study; he dreamed of traveling; he wanted to ride his horse, to talk to friends.
    The time came when he could no longer hide his sadness. He remarked to one of the servants, "1 see now that it is not as bad to live as I had thought."
    “To live, my lord, is difficult. One has to study, work, do business. Here everything is easy."
    "I would rather chop wood and carry stones than sit here. And how long will this last?"
    "Forever."
    "Stay here forever?." Atzel began to tear his hair in grief. "I’d rather kill myself."
    "A dead man cannot kill himself."
    On the eighth day, when Atzel had reached the deepest despair, one of the servants, as had been arranged, came to him and said, "My lord, there has been a mistake. You are not dead. You must leave paradise."
    “I’m alive?"
   "Yes, you are alive, and I will bring you back to earth."
    Atzel was beside himself with joy. The servant blindfolded him, and after leading him back and forth through the long corridors of the house, brought him to the room where his family was waiting and uncovered his eyes.
    It was a bright day, and the sun shone through the open windows. In the garden outside, the birds were singing and the bees buzzing. Joyfully, he embraced and kissed his parents and Aksah.
    And to Aksah he said, "Do you still love me?"
    "Yes, I do, Atzel. I could not forget you."
    "If that is so, it is time we got married."
    It was not long before the wedding took place. Dr. Yoetz was the guest of honor. Musicians played; guests came from faraway cities. All brought fine gifts for the bride and groom. The celebration lasted seven days and seven nights.
    Atzel and Aksah were extremely happy, and both lived to an old age. Atzel stopped being lazy and became the most diligent merchant in the whole place.
    It was not until after the wedding that Atzel learned how Dr. Yoetz had cured him, and that he had lived in a fool's paradise. In the years to come, he and Aksah often told the tale of Dr. Yoetz's wonderful cure to their children and grandchildren, always finishing with the words, "But, of course, what paradise is really like, no one can tell."

Be judge and jury in this short story

A married couple live in a house on one side of a river. The wife has a lover who lives on the other side. The only way to get across the river is to walk across the bridge or to pay the boatman.

The husband has to go on an overnight business trip to a faraway town. The wife pleads with him to take her with him. She knows if that he doesn't she will be unfaithful to him. The husband absolutely refuses to take her because she will only be in the way of his important business. So the husband goes alone.

That night, the wife goes over the bridge and stays with her lover. Dawn is almost up when the wife leaves because she must be back home before her husband returns. She starts walking across the bridge but sees an assassin waiting for her on the other side. She knows if she tries to cross, he will murder her. In terror, she runs up the side of the river and asks the boatman to take her across the river, but he wants too much money. She doesn't have enough, so he refuses to take her.

The wife runs back to the lover's house and explains her predicament and asks him to pay the boatman. The lover refuses, telling her it's her own fault for getting into this situation. As dawn comes up the wife decides to dash across the bridge. She comes face to face with the assassin and he kills her.

The Open Window - By Saki

"My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel," said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; "in the meantime you must try and put up with me."

     Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.

     "I know how it will be," his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; "you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice."

     Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction came into the nice division.

     "Do you know many of the people round here?" asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.

     "Hardly a soul," said Framton. "My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."

     He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.

     "Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?" pursued the self-possessed young lady.

     "Only her name and address," admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.

     "Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child; "that would be since your sister's time."

     "Her tragedy?" asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.


     "You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon," said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.

     "It is quite warm for the time of the year," said Framton; "but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?"

     "Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it." Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. "Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing 'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window - "

     She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.

     "I hope Vera has been amusing you?" she said.

     "She has been very interesting," said Framton.

     "I hope you don't mind the open window," said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; "my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They've been out for snipe in the marshes today, so they'll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk, isn't it?"


     She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic, he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.

     "The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise," announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably widespread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. "On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement," he continued.

     "No?" said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention - but not to what Framton was saying.

     "Here they are at last!" she cried. "Just in time for tea, and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!"

     Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with a dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.

     In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window, they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: "I said, Bertie, why do you bound?"

     Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid imminent collision.


     "Here we are, my dear," said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window, "fairly muddy, but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?"

     "A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel," said Mrs. Sappleton; "could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of goodby or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost."

     "I expect it was the spaniel," said the niece calmly; "he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve."

     Romance at short notice was her speciality.

Leonardo Di Vinci Accidentally Used The Same Model for Both Christ and Judas in "The Last Supper."-Fiction!

Summary of eRumor:
This email claims that Leonardo Da Vinci spent seven years painting "The Last Supper" in Milan, Italy.  He interviewed hundreds of models to get just the right ones to use for each disciple, choosing the one to portray Christ first.  Six years later, he looked for someone to be the model for Judas and found a convicted murderer in Rome who fit the part.  When he finished the painting, the man revealed that he was the same person Leonardo has used years earlier to be the model for Christ but had degenerated because of his sin and crime.



The Truth:
There is no record of Leonardo using the same model for both Christ and Judas.  According to author Robert Wallace who wrote "The World Of Leonardo 1452-1519," Leonardo did use live models and did look among local prisoners for someone to portray Judas, but did not choose the same person as used for Christ.  The painting took only two to three years, not seven and there are no accounts of a prisoner being brought from Rome for the sittings.
A real example of the story as it has been circulated:

The story of the painting, The Last Supper, is extremely interesting and instructive. The two incidents connected with it afford a most convincing lesson on the effects of right thinking or wrong thinking in the life of a boy or girl, or of a man or a woman.

The Last Supper was painted by Leonardo Da Vinci, a noted Italian artist; and the time engaged for its completion was seven years.

The figures representing the twelve Apostles and Christ himself were painted from living persons. The life-model for the painting of the figure of Jesus was chosen first.

When it was decided that Da Vinci would paint this great picture, hundreds and hundreds of young men were carefully viewed in an endeavor to find a face and personality exhibiting innocence and beauty, free from the scars and signs of dissipation caused by sin.

Finally, after weeks of laborious searching, a young man nineteen years of age was selected as a model for the portrayal of Christ. For six months, Da Vinci worked on the production of this leading character of his famous painting.
During the next six years, Da Vinci continued his labors on this sublime work of art. One by one fitting persons were chosen to represent each of the eleven Apostles; space being left for the painting of the figure representing Judas Iscariot as the final task of this masterpiece. This was the Apostle, you remember, who betrayed his Lord for thirty pieces of silver, worth in our present day, currency of $16.96.

For weeks, Da Vinci searched for a man with a hard callous face, with a countenance marked by scars of avarice, deceit, hypocrisy, and crime; a face that would delineate a character who would betray his best friend.

After many discouraging experiences in searching for the type of person required to represent Judas, word came to Da Vinci that a man whose appearance fully met his requirements had been found in a dungeon in Rome, sentenced to die for a life of crime and murder.

Da Vinci made the trip to Rome at once, and this man was brought out from his imprisonment in the dungeon and led out into the light of the sun. There Da Vinci saw before him a dark, swarthy man; his long, shaggy and unkempt hair sprawled over his face, which betrayed a character of viciousness and complete ruin. At last, the famous painter had found the person he wanted to represent the character of Judas in his painting.

By special permission from the king, this prisoner was carried to Milan where the picture was being painted; and for months he sat before Da Vinci at appointed hours each day as the gifted artist diligently continued his task of transmitting to his painting this base character in the picture representing the traitor and betrayer of our savior. As he finished his last stroke, he turned to the guards and said, "I have finished. You may take the prisoner away."

As the guards were leading their prisoner away, he suddenly broke loose from their control and rushed up to Da Vinci, crying as he did so, "O, Da Vinci, look at me! Do you not know who I am?"

Da Vinci, with the trained eyes of a great character student, carefully scrutinized the man upon whose face he had constantly gazed for six months and replied, "No, I have never seen you in my life until you were brought before me out of the dungeon in Rome."

Then, lifting his eyes toward heaven, the prisoner said, "Oh, God, have I fallen so low?" Then turning his face to the painter he cried, "Leonardo Da Vinci! Look at me again for I am the same man you painted just seven years ago as the figure of Christ."

This is the true story of the painting of The Last Supper that teaches so strongly the lesson of the effects of right or wrong thinking on the life of an individual. Here was a young man whose character was so pure, unspoiled by the sins of the world that he presented a countenance of innocence and beauty fit to be used for the painting of a representation of Christ. But within seven years, following the thoughts of sin and a life of crime, he was changed into a perfect picture of the most traitorous character ever known in the history of the world.

The bird and the cage - by Paulo Coelho

The bird and the cage

From Maria’s diary:

Once upon a time, there was a bird. He was adorned with two perfect wings and with glossy, colorful, marvelous feathers.

One day, a woman saw this bird and fell in love with him.
She invited the bird to fly with her, and the two travelled across the sky in perfect harmony. She admired and venerated and celebrated that bird.
But then she thought: He might want to visit far-off mountains!
And she was afraid, afraid that she would never feel the same way about any other bird.

And she thought: “I’m going to set a trap. The next time the bird appears, he will never leave again.”
The bird, who was also in love, returned the following day, fell into the trap and was put in a cage.

She looked at the bird every day. There he was, the object of her passion, and she showed him to her friends, who said: “Now you have everything you could possibly want.”

However, a strange transformation began to take place: now that she had the bird and no longer needed to woo him, she began to lose interest.

The bird, unable to fly and express the true meaning of his life, began to waste away and his feathers to lose their gloss; he grew ugly; and the woman no longer paid him any attention, except by feeding him and cleaning out his cage.

One day, the bird died. The woman felt terribly sad and spent all her time thinking about him. But she did not remember the cage, she thought only of the day when she had seen him for the first time, flying contentedly amongst the clouds.

If she had looked more deeply into herself, she would have realized that what had thrilled her about the bird was his freedom, the energy of his wings in motion, not his physical body.

Without the bird, her life too lost all meaning, and Death came knocking at her door.
“Why have you come?” she asked Death.
“So that you can fly once more with him across the sky,” Death replied.

“If you had allowed him to come and go, you would have loved and admired him ever more; alas, you now need me in order to find him again.”

In “Eleven Minutes”

The two drops of oil - by Paulo Coelho

A merchant sent his son to learn the Secret of Happiness from the wisest of men. The young man wandered through the desert for forty days until he reached a beautiful castle at the top of a mountain. There lived the sage that the young man was looking for.

However, instead of finding a holy man, our hero entered a room and saw a great deal of activity; merchants coming and going, people chatting in the corners, a small orchestra playing sweet melodies, and there was a table laden with the most delectable dishes of that part of the world.

The wise man talked to everybody, and the young man had to wait for two hours until it was time for his audience.

The Sage listened attentively to the reason for the boy’s visit, but told him that at that moment he did not have the time to explain to him the Secret of Happiness.

He suggested that the young man take a stroll around his palace and come back in two hours’ time.

“However, I want to ask you a favor,” he added, handling the boy a teaspoon, in which he poured two drops of oil. “While you walk, carry this spoon and don’t let the oil spill.”

The young man began to climb up and down the palace staircases, always keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. At the end of two hours he returned to the presence of the wise man.

“So,” asked the sage, “did you see the Persian tapestries hanging in my dining room? Did you see the garden that the Master of Gardeners took ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library?”

Embarrassed, the young man confessed that he had seen nothing. His only concern was not to spill the drops of oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.

“So, go back and see the wonders of my world,” said the wise man. “You can’t trust a man if you don’t know his house.”

Now more at ease, the young man took the spoon and strolled again through the palace, this time paying attention to all the works of art that hung from the ceiling and walls.
He saw the gardens, the mountains all around the palace, the delicacy of the flowers, the taste with which each work of art was placed in its niche. Returning to the sage, he reported in detail all that he had seen.

“But where are the two drops of oil that I entrusted to you?” asked the sage.

Looking down at the spoon, the young man realized that he had spilled the oil.

“Well, that is the only advice I have to give you,” said the sage of sages.
“The Secret of Happiness lies in looking at all the wonders of the world and never forgetting the two drops of oil in the spoon.”

from the book “The Alchemist”

The Nightingale and the Rose - Oscar Wilde

'She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,' cried the young Student; 'but in all my garden there is no red rose.'

     From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

     'No red rose in all my garden!' he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. 'Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.'

     'Here at last is a true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his lace like pale Ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.'

     'The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,' murmured the young Student, 'and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.'

     'Here indeed is the true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'What I sing of he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. it may not be purchased of the merchants, 'or can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.'

 'The musicians will sit in their gallery,' said the young Student, 'and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her;' and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

     'Why is he weeping?' asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

     'Why, indeed?' said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

     'Why, indeed?' whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.

     'He is weeping for a red rose,' said the Nightingale.

     'For a red rose!' they cried; 'how very ridiculous!' and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

     But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

     Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

     In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it, she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

     'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'

     But the Tree shook its head.

     'My roses are white,' it answered; 'as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'

 So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.

     'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'

     But the Tree shook its head.

     'My roses are yellow,' it answered; 'as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'

     So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.

     'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'

     But the Tree shook its head.

     'My roses are red,' it answered, 'as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.'

     'One red rose is all I want,' cried the Nightingale, 'only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?'

     'There is a way,' answered the Tree; 'but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.'

     'Tell it to me,' said the Nightingale, 'I am not afraid.'

     'If you want a red rose,' said the Tree, 'you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.'

'Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,' cried the Nightingale, 'and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?'

     So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.

     The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

     'Be happy,' cried the Nightingale, 'be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.'

     The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

     But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

     'Sing me one last song,' he whispered; 'I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.'

     So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.

 When she had finished her song the Student got lip, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

     'She has form,' he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - 'that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.' And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

     And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

     She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Yale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

     But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the rose is finished.'

     So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

     And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the rose is finished.'

     So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

     And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

     But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.

     Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

     'Look, look!' cried the Tree, 'the rose is finished now;' but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

     And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

 'Why, what a wonderful piece of luck! he cried; 'here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;' and he leaned down and plucked it.

     Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.

     The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

     'You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,' cried the Student. Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.'

     But the girl frowned.

     'I am afraid it will not go with my dress,' she answered; 'and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.'

     'Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,' said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

     'Ungrateful!' said the girl. 'I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has;' and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

     'What a silly thing Love is,' said the Student as he walked away. 'It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.'

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

Tale of a tender vine

In the 9th century in South India, there was a famous Chola King by
the name Parivallal. He was an extremely kind hearted person with
a deep concern for all other living beings. He was also famous for
his generosity.
Once while going through a forest he stopped his chariot near a spring to drink
water and relax for a while. On returning to his chariot, he saw a creeper with
white flowers (locally called Neeloptal) growing around the wheel of the chariot.
While he had gone to the spring, a tendril of the vine had wound itself around
the spoke of the chariot wheel.
If the chariot was now moved, the tendril would break. This, the King was
reluctant to do as it would possibly hurt the vine. He left the chariot behind
and walked back to the palace. The vine had a right to the support it sought and
got it.
This tale is still recalled by people to remind themselves of the obligation they
have for other sentient beings. That such generosity is difficult to find today is
a hard fact of life. It is also true that very few people care for the rights of other
living beings in the world. And yet what kind of world it would be if the biological
diversity enriching our lives did not exist? Does not a small wine or creeper, a
bird, a fish or a wild animal have a right to grow? And with our support?

Manuneedhi Cholan

King Manuneethi Cholan had hung a huge bell in front of his palace . He announced that anyone seeking justice could ring the bell and their voice will be heard.

          One day the young prince went around the city in his chariot. People cheered him where ever he went and welcomed him by beating drums and  with pipes. An young calf terrified with the loud noises ran berserk and got itself crushed under the wheels of the prince's chariot. The mother of the calf helplessly watched its little one die .The cow walked to the palace gates and rang the huge bell demanding justice from the king. The king came out and saw the cow,he learnt from his courtiers the death of the young calf under the wheels of his son's chariot.

          King Manuneethi Cholan kept his promise , he ordered his son to be killed for his recklessness. The prince was killed the same way the calf had died ,he was crushed under the wheels of the chariot .The king went through the same pain the cow had as he witnessed his son die and thereby being just at all cost.

Don't give up the Good Work

A successful businessman was growing old and knew it was time to choose a successor to take over the business. Instead of choosing one of his directors or his children, he decided to do something different. He called all the young executives in his company together. He said, "It is time for me to step down and choose the next CEO. I have decided to choose one of you." The young executives were shocked, but the boss continued." I am going to give each one of you a SEED today- one
very special SEED. I want you to plant the seed, water it, and come back here one year from today with what you have grown from the seed I have given you. I will then judge the plants that you bring, and the one I choose will be the next CEO."

One man, named jim, was there that day and he, like the others, received a seed. He went home and excitedly, told his wife the story. She helped him get a pot, soil and compost and he planted the seed. Every day, he would water it and watch to see if it had grown. After about three weeks,
some of the other executives began to talk about their seeds and the plants that were beginning to grow. Jim kept checking his seed, but nothing ever grew. Three weeks, four weeks, five weeks went by, still nothing. By now, others were talking about their plants, but jim didn't have a plant and he felt like a failure. Six months went by-- still nothing in Jim's pot. He just knew he had killed his seed. Everyone else had trees and tall plants, but he had nothing. Jim didn't say anything to his colleagues, however, he just kept watering and fertilizing the soil - He so wanted the seed to grow.

A year finally went by and all the young executives of the company brought their plants to the CEO for inspection. Jim told his wife that he wasn't going to take an empty pot. But she asked him to be honest about what happened. Jim felt sick to his stomach, it was going to be the most embarrassing moment of his life, but he knew his wife was right. He took his empty pot to the board room. When Jim arrived, he was amazed at the variety of plants grown by the other executives. They were beautiful -- in all shapes and sizes. Jim put his empty pot on the floor and many of his
colleagues laughed, a few felt sorry for him!

When the CEO arrived, he surveyed the room and greeted his young executives. Jim just tried to hide in the back. "My, what great plants, trees and flowers you have grown," said the CEO. "Today one of you will be appointed the next CEO!" Then the CEO spotted jim at the back of the
room with his empty pot. He ordered the Financial Director to bring him to the front. Jim was terrified. He thought, "The CEO knows I'm a failure!
Maybe he will have me fired!"
When Jim got to the front, the CEO asked him what had happened to his seed -Jim told him the story. The CEO asked everyone to sit down except Jim. He looked at Jim, and then announced to the young executives, "Here is your next Chief Executive Officer! His name is Jim!" Jim couldn't believe it. Jim couldn't even grow his seed. "How could he be the new CEO?" the others said. Then the CEO said, "One year ago today, I gave everyone in this room a seed. I told you to take the seed, plant it, water it, and bring it back to me today. But I gave you all boiled seeds; they were dead - it was not possible for them to grow. All of you, except jim, have brought me young trees and plants and flowers. When you found that the seed would not grow, you substituted another seed for the one I gave you. jim was the only one with the courage and honesty to bring me a pot with my seed in it. Therefore, he is the one who will be the new Chief Executive Officer!"


Surely you desire truth in the inner parts;
you teach me wisdom in the inmost place."
Psalm 51 :6

Galatians 6:9 NIV
Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

There is this story of a man in the Bible. Who for almost 38 years waited for the miracle, Not giving up his hope - He waited for the moving of waters.....

John 5

New American Standard Bible (NASB)

The Healing at Bethesda

5 After these things there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.

2 Now there is in Jerusalem by the sheep gate a pool, which is called in [a]Hebrew [b]Bethesda, having five porticoes.3 In these lay a multitude of those who were sick, blind, lame, and withered, [[c]waiting for the moving of the waters;4 for an angel of the Lord went down at certain seasons into the pool and stirred up the water; whoever then first, after the stirring up of the water, stepped in was made well from whatever disease with which he was afflicted.] 5 A man was there who had been [d]ill for thirty-eight years. 6 When Jesus saw him lying there, and knew that he had already been a long time in that condition, He *said to him, “Do you wish to get well?” 7 The sick man answered Him, “Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, but while I am coming, another steps down before me.” 8 Jesus *said to him, “Get up, pick up your pallet and walk.” 9 Immediately the man became well, and picked up his pallet and began to walk.
Now it was the Sabbath on that day. 10 So the Jews were saying to the man who was cured, “It is the Sabbath, and it is not permissible for you to carry your pallet.” 11 But he answered them, “He who made me well was the one who said to me, ‘Pick up your pallet and walk.’” 12 They asked him, “Who is the man who said to you, ‘Pick up your pallet and walk’?” 13 But the man who was healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had slipped away while there was a crowd inthat place. 14 Afterward Jesus *found him in the temple and said to him, “Behold, you have become well; do not sin anymore, so that nothing worse happens to you.” 15 The man went away, and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had made him well. 16 For this reason the Jews were persecuting Jesus, because He was doing these things on the Sabbath.17 But He answered them, “My Father is working until now, and I Myself am working.”