Sunday, November 6, 2011
Devastate Charlie: Thank You For Freedom
Devastate Charlie: Thank You For Freedom: This is just south of Omaha, NE. on Hwy 75 south. Farmer Chris Shottun does it with his tractor. He uses GPS to get th...
Monday, October 17, 2011
The Gift
A young man was getting ready to graduate college. For
many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's
showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told
him that was all he wanted.
As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited
signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the
morning of his graduation his father called him into his private
study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine
son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son
a beautiful wrapped gift box.
Curious, but somewhat disappointed the young man
opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible. Angrily,
he raised his voice at his father and said, "With all your money you
give me a Bible?" and stormed out of the house, leaving the holy
book.
Many years passed and the young man was very successful in
business.
He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his
father was very old, and thought perhaps he should go to him. He
had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make
arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had
passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He
needed to come home immediately and take care things.
When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and
regret filled his heart.
He began to search his father's important papers and
saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago. With
tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. As he
read those words, a car key dropped from an envelope
taped behind the Bible.
It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the
sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation,
and the words...PAID IN FULL.
How many times do we miss God's blessings because they are not
packaged as we expected?
Please share this :)
many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's
showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told
him that was all he wanted.
As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited
signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the
morning of his graduation his father called him into his private
study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine
son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son
a beautiful wrapped gift box.
Curious, but somewhat disappointed the young man
opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible. Angrily,
he raised his voice at his father and said, "With all your money you
give me a Bible?" and stormed out of the house, leaving the holy
book.
Many years passed and the young man was very successful in
business.
He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his
father was very old, and thought perhaps he should go to him. He
had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make
arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had
passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He
needed to come home immediately and take care things.
When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and
regret filled his heart.
He began to search his father's important papers and
saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago. With
tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. As he
read those words, a car key dropped from an envelope
taped behind the Bible.
It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the
sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation,
and the words...PAID IN FULL.
How many times do we miss God's blessings because they are not
packaged as we expected?
Please share this :)
Monday, October 10, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Lester Warner Goes Hunting
When Lester Warner of York, Pa., left home for the mountains for the first day of deer hunting, he told his wife, Shirley, it would be for the last time.
From the York Daily Record:
The sons knew their father would need to be comfortable while hunting.Three weeks before that, the 86-year-old was in the hospital, dehydrated and sick from the chemotherapy he was receiving in his battle against prostate cancer. The cancer has spread, however, and he recently stopped treatment.
Warner, a lifelong hunter, wanted to spend the first day of hunting in the outdoors and with his family, as he has for decades. Warner’s sons, Brian and Scott, hoped their frail father could make it, but they weren’t sure he could. Les used a walker when he came home from the hospital, and his wife had to lift him into bed. But therapists gave him exercises – moving his legs and arms – to get ready for hunting. His strength improved. Scott picked up his father last Sunday at his Dover Township home, and the two traveled to Brian’s home in Huntingdon County, in central Pennsylvania. Brian owns a couple farms in the mountains, and the family gathers at the Big Pine Camp nearby.
The sons knew their father would need to be comfortable while hunting on the side of Broadtop Mountain. So Brian hauled a recliner to the top and put it in an 8-foot-by-10-foot hut the family had built as a shelter for Les years ago. On the first day, the men woke up at 4 a.m. Brian drove Les in the truck to the top of the mountain. Scott hunted about 300 yards away, and Brian stayed with his father. They watched the sun rise and waited for a deer.
It didn’t take long.
About 8 a.m., a buck ran out of the woods, into a clearing and stopped. Brian pointed it out to his father. Les told his son to shoot it, but Brian wanted his father to bag it. He told his dad to take his time. Les aimed his son’s 243 Winchester, squeezed the trigger and killed the 8-point buck with one shot. Then the father looked up at his son and said: “Never give up.”
“It was the biggest buck he ever shot,” Brian said. It was a good morning, Les said, and he thanked God. The family took pictures of Les with his kill. Even the grandsons came over to get their pictures taken with Pa-Pa and the buck.
Brian Warner called his mother to report the news. Both cried.
“I know that for a while he forgot he had cancer, and that’s the best part,” Shirley Warner said.
Scott drove his father back home late last week and took the deer to a butcher shop. They’ll get roasts, sweet bologna and other cuts of meat. The antlers, which had an 18-inch spread, will be mounted. They’ll go on display at the family’s hunting cabin with other mounts from past hunts.
The family feels blessed that Les had another year to hunt with his loved ones – and he got a big buck, too.
“It is a miracle,” Shirley Warner said.
From the York Daily Record:
The sons knew their father would need to be comfortable while hunting.Three weeks before that, the 86-year-old was in the hospital, dehydrated and sick from the chemotherapy he was receiving in his battle against prostate cancer. The cancer has spread, however, and he recently stopped treatment.
Warner, a lifelong hunter, wanted to spend the first day of hunting in the outdoors and with his family, as he has for decades. Warner’s sons, Brian and Scott, hoped their frail father could make it, but they weren’t sure he could. Les used a walker when he came home from the hospital, and his wife had to lift him into bed. But therapists gave him exercises – moving his legs and arms – to get ready for hunting. His strength improved. Scott picked up his father last Sunday at his Dover Township home, and the two traveled to Brian’s home in Huntingdon County, in central Pennsylvania. Brian owns a couple farms in the mountains, and the family gathers at the Big Pine Camp nearby.
The sons knew their father would need to be comfortable while hunting on the side of Broadtop Mountain. So Brian hauled a recliner to the top and put it in an 8-foot-by-10-foot hut the family had built as a shelter for Les years ago. On the first day, the men woke up at 4 a.m. Brian drove Les in the truck to the top of the mountain. Scott hunted about 300 yards away, and Brian stayed with his father. They watched the sun rise and waited for a deer.
It didn’t take long.
About 8 a.m., a buck ran out of the woods, into a clearing and stopped. Brian pointed it out to his father. Les told his son to shoot it, but Brian wanted his father to bag it. He told his dad to take his time. Les aimed his son’s 243 Winchester, squeezed the trigger and killed the 8-point buck with one shot. Then the father looked up at his son and said: “Never give up.”
“It was the biggest buck he ever shot,” Brian said. It was a good morning, Les said, and he thanked God. The family took pictures of Les with his kill. Even the grandsons came over to get their pictures taken with Pa-Pa and the buck.
Brian Warner called his mother to report the news. Both cried.
“I know that for a while he forgot he had cancer, and that’s the best part,” Shirley Warner said.
Scott drove his father back home late last week and took the deer to a butcher shop. They’ll get roasts, sweet bologna and other cuts of meat. The antlers, which had an 18-inch spread, will be mounted. They’ll go on display at the family’s hunting cabin with other mounts from past hunts.
The family feels blessed that Les had another year to hunt with his loved ones – and he got a big buck, too.
“It is a miracle,” Shirley Warner said.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
It is Well
It is well with my soul
Horatio Spafford (1828-1888) was a wealthy Chicago lawyer with a thriving legal practice, a beautiful home, a wife, four daughters and a son. He was also a devout Christian and faithful student of the Scriptures. His circle of friends included Dwight L. Moody, Ira Sankey and various other well-known Christians of the day.
At the very height of his financial and professional success, Horatio and his wife Anna suffered the tragic loss of their young son. Shortly thereafter on October 8, 1871, the Great Chicago Fire destroyed almost every real estate investment that Spafford had.
In 1873, Spafford scheduled a boat trip to Europe in order to give his wife and daughters a much needed vacation and time to recover from the tragedy. He also went to join Moody and Sankey on an evangelistic campaign in England. Spafford sent his wife and daughters ahead of him while he remained in Chicago to take care of some unexpected last minute business. Several days later he received notice that his family's ship had encountered a collision. All four of his daughters drowned; only his wife had survived.
With a heavy heart, Spafford boarded a boat that would take him to his grieving Anna in England. It was on this trip that he penned those now famous words, When sorrow like sea billows roll; it is well, it is well with my soul..
Philip Bliss (1838-1876), composer of many songs including Hold the Fort, Let the Lower Lights be Burning, and Jesus Loves Even Me, was so impressed with Spafford's life and the words of his hymn that he composed a beautiful piece of music to accompany the lyrics. The song was published by Bliss and Sankey, in 1876.
For more than a century, the tragic story of one man has given hope to countless thousands who have lifted their voices to sing, It Is Well With My Soul.
This visual, Be Not Anxious Church PowerPoint, provides an ideal enhancement to the words of the song.
It Is Well With My Soul
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Refrain:
It is well (it is well),
with my soul (with my soul),
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
Refrain
My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to His cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
Refrain
For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.
Refrain
And Lord haste the day, when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.
Refrain
Horatio Spafford (1828-1888) was a wealthy Chicago lawyer with a thriving legal practice, a beautiful home, a wife, four daughters and a son. He was also a devout Christian and faithful student of the Scriptures. His circle of friends included Dwight L. Moody, Ira Sankey and various other well-known Christians of the day.
At the very height of his financial and professional success, Horatio and his wife Anna suffered the tragic loss of their young son. Shortly thereafter on October 8, 1871, the Great Chicago Fire destroyed almost every real estate investment that Spafford had.
In 1873, Spafford scheduled a boat trip to Europe in order to give his wife and daughters a much needed vacation and time to recover from the tragedy. He also went to join Moody and Sankey on an evangelistic campaign in England. Spafford sent his wife and daughters ahead of him while he remained in Chicago to take care of some unexpected last minute business. Several days later he received notice that his family's ship had encountered a collision. All four of his daughters drowned; only his wife had survived.
With a heavy heart, Spafford boarded a boat that would take him to his grieving Anna in England. It was on this trip that he penned those now famous words, When sorrow like sea billows roll; it is well, it is well with my soul..
Philip Bliss (1838-1876), composer of many songs including Hold the Fort, Let the Lower Lights be Burning, and Jesus Loves Even Me, was so impressed with Spafford's life and the words of his hymn that he composed a beautiful piece of music to accompany the lyrics. The song was published by Bliss and Sankey, in 1876.
For more than a century, the tragic story of one man has given hope to countless thousands who have lifted their voices to sing, It Is Well With My Soul.
This visual, Be Not Anxious Church PowerPoint, provides an ideal enhancement to the words of the song.
It Is Well With My Soul
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Refrain:
It is well (it is well),
with my soul (with my soul),
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
Refrain
My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to His cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
Refrain
For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.
Refrain
And Lord haste the day, when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.
Refrain
Friday, October 7, 2011
DADDY
This story from Cal Hyers should touch us all...
Daddy
4:30 a.m.
“Time to get up,” Daddy would say.
It was Daddy’s internal alarm clock that would awaken him during our “Speck" vacation. I'm referring, of course, to Speckled Perch. That’s what folks in central Florida would call the crappie Daddy and I would fish for in the waters of Lake Beresford.
It was the favorite week of Daddy’s year. The long-awaited fishing trip was the highlight of a long year of repairing cable lines for Southern Bell and running a small farm. He would rouse me from the comfort of my bed to dress for a day of "hunting slab."
It was usually mid-spring to early summer when he would book us for a week at the Hontoon Marina in DeLand, Florida. The rest of the family, Mama and three sisters, would come along but pass on the early wakeup call, instead waiting until later to join us in our fishing adventure.
By 5am, Daddy and I would be eating at his favorite restaurant for breakfast—a truckstop place I fail to remember the name of, but I can't forget that they made the best tasting grits and eggs I can remember. It was always a treat to talk to the different truckers who frequented the place.
With a full belly, Daddy and I would go back to the marina, where he would rent a slip for the Bass Tracker PF-16 he had purchased for this auspicious annual occasion. The boat would be ready the night before, being that Daddy was not one to get ready the day of. He made sure the poles were rigged, the gas tank full, and the afternoon lunch packed. We were not coming back for lunch. Lunch was a waste of time and travel according to Daddy. Also it took up too much fishing time. Many times a bologna sandwich, pack of malt crackers, and plenty of Coca Colas were the items on the menu for the lunchtime feast.
In the marina store, we bought the minnows we would need, and then walk down to the boat. At the first sign of safe light, we would set out into the St. John’s River.
The early morning air would cut through my clothes like pins. I learned if I turned my back into the wind, it was a bit more bearable. What was even better was being able to sit right behind Daddy and use him as a shield against the piercing wind. I still remember smelling his Old Spice as we raced toward his favorite patch of lily pads. After fifteen minutes of shivering in the morning air, we had a minnow on a hook and were dipping into the spaces between the lily pads. Each dip brought a different anticipation of when the first strike would come.
Daddy had an uncanny knack of catching the first fish of the day. He never let on he had hooked a speck until I heard the singing of the reel on his fiberglass pole. By the time I heard his reel singing, Daddy would have the fish in the boat. I would ask him where he hooked the fish. “Over there,” he would reply, without pointing or even nodding his head. I just had to open the live well and let him deposit the prize. Finding specks was my problem to figure out. Eventually, I would figure out how to find the ever-elusive prey. Just keep fishing.
We would fish that same set of lily pads at the same time every day. Just like anyplace Daddy would fish, if the specks were biting, we stayed; if they weren’t, we moved to another place.
That was typically the routine for the day: keep trying and trying, until success came our way. Daddy would maneuver the boat with precise movement to avoid running over the swarm of specks we would often encounter. He would control the trolling motor with one foot, fish with one hand, drink his Coke with the other hand, and all without getting too close to the limbs of the trees on the banks of the St. Johns. He knew if we got close to the limbs of the trees, I would find a way to go squirrel fishing.
I would catch one to every three of Daddy’s. Our goal was to catch the limit. Often we would come close, but I don’t remember ever catching the limit. But, it was sure fun trying. We would try many techniques, and even experiment with radical ideas. But, Daddy would often stay with dipping the minnows in amongst the lily pads.
By the time darkness would start setting in, we would head back to the Hontoon Marina. According to how far we were away, Daddy would set toward the marina and get there with barely enough light to see our way back to the slip. We would unload our catch into the cooler, and clean them in the cleaning station at the end of the dock under the watchful eye of an owl. The marina manager told us if we gave him one of our fish, he would leave us alone. Daddy didn’t want to give up any of our catch the first time we encountered him. Well, the first time we stepped away from the cooler, the owl swept down, flipped the lid of the cooler himself, and took off with one of our fish! Then, sure enough, he left us alone to clean our fish. After that, we would sacrifice one fish to the owl every time we went to clean our fish.
Now I live in LaGrange, Georgia. The memories of Daddy and I fishing still live while I fish in West Point Lake. The techniques are a lot different, but the effort is still the same: keep trying until you find them. Daddy, I have even found a way to avoid the hot part of the day and the activities of the ski boats. It’s called night fishing. Man, I’ve got lights which attract millions of baitfish, spinner rods that fish thirty feet deep if I have to, and I'm able to tie up under Yellow Jacket Creek Bridge without having to run the trolling motor.
Oh, yeah, I’ve still got the Bass Tracker PF-16 we used in DeLand.
Thank you, Daddy, for the lessons you taught me and the good times we had fishing together.
Cal
Daddy
4:30 a.m.
“Time to get up,” Daddy would say.
It was Daddy’s internal alarm clock that would awaken him during our “Speck" vacation. I'm referring, of course, to Speckled Perch. That’s what folks in central Florida would call the crappie Daddy and I would fish for in the waters of Lake Beresford.
It was the favorite week of Daddy’s year. The long-awaited fishing trip was the highlight of a long year of repairing cable lines for Southern Bell and running a small farm. He would rouse me from the comfort of my bed to dress for a day of "hunting slab."
It was usually mid-spring to early summer when he would book us for a week at the Hontoon Marina in DeLand, Florida. The rest of the family, Mama and three sisters, would come along but pass on the early wakeup call, instead waiting until later to join us in our fishing adventure.
By 5am, Daddy and I would be eating at his favorite restaurant for breakfast—a truckstop place I fail to remember the name of, but I can't forget that they made the best tasting grits and eggs I can remember. It was always a treat to talk to the different truckers who frequented the place.
With a full belly, Daddy and I would go back to the marina, where he would rent a slip for the Bass Tracker PF-16 he had purchased for this auspicious annual occasion. The boat would be ready the night before, being that Daddy was not one to get ready the day of. He made sure the poles were rigged, the gas tank full, and the afternoon lunch packed. We were not coming back for lunch. Lunch was a waste of time and travel according to Daddy. Also it took up too much fishing time. Many times a bologna sandwich, pack of malt crackers, and plenty of Coca Colas were the items on the menu for the lunchtime feast.
In the marina store, we bought the minnows we would need, and then walk down to the boat. At the first sign of safe light, we would set out into the St. John’s River.
The early morning air would cut through my clothes like pins. I learned if I turned my back into the wind, it was a bit more bearable. What was even better was being able to sit right behind Daddy and use him as a shield against the piercing wind. I still remember smelling his Old Spice as we raced toward his favorite patch of lily pads. After fifteen minutes of shivering in the morning air, we had a minnow on a hook and were dipping into the spaces between the lily pads. Each dip brought a different anticipation of when the first strike would come.
Daddy had an uncanny knack of catching the first fish of the day. He never let on he had hooked a speck until I heard the singing of the reel on his fiberglass pole. By the time I heard his reel singing, Daddy would have the fish in the boat. I would ask him where he hooked the fish. “Over there,” he would reply, without pointing or even nodding his head. I just had to open the live well and let him deposit the prize. Finding specks was my problem to figure out. Eventually, I would figure out how to find the ever-elusive prey. Just keep fishing.
We would fish that same set of lily pads at the same time every day. Just like anyplace Daddy would fish, if the specks were biting, we stayed; if they weren’t, we moved to another place.
That was typically the routine for the day: keep trying and trying, until success came our way. Daddy would maneuver the boat with precise movement to avoid running over the swarm of specks we would often encounter. He would control the trolling motor with one foot, fish with one hand, drink his Coke with the other hand, and all without getting too close to the limbs of the trees on the banks of the St. Johns. He knew if we got close to the limbs of the trees, I would find a way to go squirrel fishing.
I would catch one to every three of Daddy’s. Our goal was to catch the limit. Often we would come close, but I don’t remember ever catching the limit. But, it was sure fun trying. We would try many techniques, and even experiment with radical ideas. But, Daddy would often stay with dipping the minnows in amongst the lily pads.
By the time darkness would start setting in, we would head back to the Hontoon Marina. According to how far we were away, Daddy would set toward the marina and get there with barely enough light to see our way back to the slip. We would unload our catch into the cooler, and clean them in the cleaning station at the end of the dock under the watchful eye of an owl. The marina manager told us if we gave him one of our fish, he would leave us alone. Daddy didn’t want to give up any of our catch the first time we encountered him. Well, the first time we stepped away from the cooler, the owl swept down, flipped the lid of the cooler himself, and took off with one of our fish! Then, sure enough, he left us alone to clean our fish. After that, we would sacrifice one fish to the owl every time we went to clean our fish.
Now I live in LaGrange, Georgia. The memories of Daddy and I fishing still live while I fish in West Point Lake. The techniques are a lot different, but the effort is still the same: keep trying until you find them. Daddy, I have even found a way to avoid the hot part of the day and the activities of the ski boats. It’s called night fishing. Man, I’ve got lights which attract millions of baitfish, spinner rods that fish thirty feet deep if I have to, and I'm able to tie up under Yellow Jacket Creek Bridge without having to run the trolling motor.
Oh, yeah, I’ve still got the Bass Tracker PF-16 we used in DeLand.
Thank you, Daddy, for the lessons you taught me and the good times we had fishing together.
Cal
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