Mom, thank you for your unconditional love, for loving me no matter what, and for frequently showing love in ways that make me feel valued and cherished. I will always be your baby, nothing will ever change… Happy Mother’s Day!

A doctor entered the hospital in hurry after being called in for an urgent surgery. He answered the call ASAP, changed his clothes & went directly to the surgery block. He found the boy’s father pacing in the hall waiting for the doctor. On seeing him, the dad yelled, “Why did you take all this time to come? Don’t you know that my son’s life is in danger? Don’t you have any sense of responsibility?”

The doctor smiled & said, “I am sorry, I wasn’t in the hospital & I came as fast as I could after receiving the call…… And now, I wish you’d calm down so that I can do my work”

“Calm down?! What if your son was in this room right now, would U calm down? If your own son dies now what will U do??” said the father angrily.

The doctor smiled again & replied: “I will say what Job said in the Holy Book “From dust we came & to dust we return, blessed be the name of God”. Doctors cannot prolong lives. Go & intercede for your son, we will do our best by God’s grace”

“Giving advises when we’re not concerned is so easy” Murmured the father.

The surgery took some hours after which the doctor went out happy, “Thank goodness, your son is saved!” And without waiting for the father’s reply he carried on his way running. “If U have any question, ask the nurse!!”

“Why is he so arrogant? He couldn’t wait some minutes so that I ask about my son’s state” Commented the father when seeing the nurse minutes after the doctor left.

The nurse answered, tears coming down her face: “His son died yesterday in a road accident, he was in the burial when we called him for your son’s surgery. And now that he saved your son’s life, he left running to finish his son’s burial.”

Moral: Never judge anyone because you never know how their life is & what they’re going through”.

When I’m older and my daughter asks me who my first love was, I don’t want to have to pull out the old photo album. I want to be able to point across the room and say “he’s right over there.”

The story began when I was a child; I was a son of a poor family. We did not even have enough food. When ever meal times came, mother would often give me her portion of rice. While she was removing her rice into my bowl, she would say “Eat this rice, son. I’m not hungry.”

That was Mother’s First Lie.

When I was growing up, my persevering mother gave her spare time to go fishing in a river near our house, she hoped that from the fish she caught, she could gave me a little bit of nutritious food for my growth. After fishing, she would cook some fresh fish soup, which raised my appetite. While I was eating the soup, mother would sit beside me and eat the rest of the fish, which was still on the bone of the fish I had eaten. My heart was touched when I saw that. I then used my chopstick and gave the other fish to her. But she immediately refused and said “Eat this fish, son. I don’t really like fish.”

That was Mother’s Second Lie.

Then, when I was in Junior High School…… to fund my studies, mother went to an economic enterprise to bring some used-match boxes that would need to be stuck together. It gave her some money to cover our needs. As the winter came, I woke up from my sleep and looked at my mother who was still awake, supported by a little candlelight and with perseverance she would continue the work of sticking some used-match boxes. I said, “Mother, go to sleep, it’s late, tomorrow morning you still have to go to work.” Mother smiled and said “Go to sleep, dear. I’m not tired.”

That was Mother’s Third Lie.

The final term arrived….. ..Mother asked for leave from work in order to accompany me. While the sun was starting to shine strongly, my persevering mother waited for me under the heat for several hours. As the bell rang, which indicated that the final exam had finished, mother immediately welcomed me and poured me a cup of tea that she had brought in a flask. Seeing my mother covered with perspiration, I at once gave her my cup and asked her to drink too. Mother said “Drink, son. I’m not thirsty! ”

That was Mother’s Fourth Lie.

After the death of my father due to illness, my poor mother had to play her role as a single parent. She had to fund our needs alone. Our family’s life was more complicated. No days without suffering. Our family’s condition was getting worse, a kind uncle who lived near our house assisted now and then. Our neighbors often advised my mother to marry again. But mother was stubborn and didn’t take their advice; she said “I don’t need love.”

That was Mother’s Fifth Lie.

After I had finished my studies and got a job, it was the time for my old mother to retire. But she didn’t want to; she would go to the market place every morning, just to sell some vegetables to fulfill her needs. I, who worked in another city, often sent her some money to help her, in fulfilling her needs, but she would not accept the money. At times, she even sent the money back to me. She said “I have enough money.”

That was Mother’s Sixth Lie.

After graduating with a Bachelors Degree, I then continued to do a Masters Degree. It was funded by a company through a scholarship program. I finally worked in the company. With a good salary, I intended to bring my mother to enjoy her life in Gulf. But my lovely mother didn’t want to bother her son. She said to me, “I’m not use to.”

That was Mother’s Seventh Lie.

In her old age, mother got stomach cancer and had to be hospitalized. I, who lived miles away, across the ocean, went home to visit my dearest mother. She lay in weakness on her bed after having an operation. Mother, who looked so old, was staring at me in deep thought. She tried to spread her smile on her face…but it was a noticeable effort. It was clear that the disease had weakened mother’s body. She looked so frail and weak. I stared at my mother with tears flowing. My heart was hurt,… so hurt, seeing my mother in that condition. But mother with the little strength she had, said “Don’t cry, my dear. I’m not in pain.”

That was Mother’s Eighth and Last Lie. After saying her eighth lie, my Dearest mother closed her eyes forever.

Author Unknown

Once upon a time there was a child ready to be born. So one day he asked God:

They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless? Among the many angels, I chose one for you. She will be waiting for you and will take care of you.

But tell me, here in Heaven, I don’t do anything else but sing and smile, that’s enough for me to be happy. Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you everyday. And you will feel your angel’s love and be happy.

And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me, if I don’t know the language that men talk? Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak.

And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you? Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray. I’ve heard that on earth there are bad men. Who will protect me? Your angel will defend you even if it means risking its life.

But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore. Your angel will always talk to you about me and will teach you the way for you to come back to me, even though I will always be next to you.

At that moment there was much peace in Heaven, but voices from earth could already be heard, and the child in a hurry asked softly:

Oh God, if I am about to leave now, please tell me my angel’s name Your angel’s name is of no importance, you will call your angel: Mommy

This story really made me cry… so touching!

“Mommy, look!” cried my daughter, Darla, pointing to a chicken hawk soaring through the air.

“Uh huh,” I murmured, driving, lost in thought about the tight schedule of my day.

Disappointment filled her face.

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” I asked, entirely dense.

“Nothing,” my seven-year-old said.

The moment was gone.

Near home, we slowed to search for the albino deer that comes out from behind the thick mass of trees in the early evening. She was nowhere to be seen.

“Tonight, she has too many things to do,” I said.

Dinner, baths and phone calls filled the hours until bedtime.

“Come on, Darla, time for bed!”

She raced past me up the stairs. Tired, I kissed her on the cheek, said prayers and tucked her in.

“Mom, I forgot to give you something!” she said.

My patience was gone. “Give it to me in the morning,” I said, but she shook her head.

“You won’t have time in the morning!” she retorted.

“I’ll take time,” I answered defensively. Sometimes no matter how hard I tried, time flowed through my fingers like sand in an hourglass, never enough. Not enough for her, for my husband, and definitely not enough for me.

She wasn’t ready to give up yet. She wrinkled her freckled little nose in anger and swiped away her chestnut brown hair. “No, you won’t! It will be just like today when I told you to look at the hawk. You didn’t even listen to what I said.”

I was too weary to argue; she hit too close to the truth. “Good night!” I shut her door with a resounding thud.

Later though, her gray-blue gaze filled my vision as I thought about how little time we really had until she was grown and gone.

My husband asked, “Why so glum?”

I told him.

“Maybe she’s not asleep yet. Why don’t you check,” he said with all the authority of a parent in the right.

I followed his advice, wishing it was my own idea. I cracked open her door, and the light from the window spilled over her sleeping form. In her hand I could see the remains of a crumpled paper.

Slowly I opened her palm to see what the item of our disagreement had been. Tears filled my eyes. She had torn into small pieces a big red heart with a poem she had written titled, “Why I Love My Mother!”

I carefully removed the tattered pieces. Once the puzzle was put back into place, I read what she had written:

Why I Love My Mother

Although you’re busy, and you work so hard
You always take time to play
I love you Mommy because
I am the biggest part of your busy day!

The words were an arrow straight to the heart. At seven years old, she had the wisdom of Solomon.

Ten minutes later I carried a tray to her room, with two cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows and a peanut butter and jelly sandwiche.

When I softly touched her smooth cheek, I could feel my heart burst with love. Her thick dark lashes lay like fans against her lids as they fluttered, awakened from a dreamless sleep, and she looked at the tray.

“What is that for?” she asked, confused by this late-night intrusion.

“This is for you, because you are the most important part of my busy day!”

She smiled and sleepily drank half her cup of chocolate. Then she drifted back to sleep, not really understanding how strongly I meant what I said.

Author Unknown

There was a little boy visiting his grandparents on their farm. He was given a slingshot to play with, but only in the woods. He practiced in the woods, but he could never hit the target. Getting a little discouraged, he headed back to dinner.

As he was walking back, he saw grandma’s pet duck. Just out of impulse, he let it fly, and hit the duck square in the head and killed it. He was shocked and grieved. In a panic, he hid the dead duck in a woodpile only to see his sister watching. Sally had seen it all, but said nothing.

After lunch that day Grandma said, “Sally, let’s wash the dishes.” But Sally said, “Grandma, Johnny told me he wanted to help in the kitchen today didn’t you Johnny?” And then she whispered to him, “Remember the duck?” So Johnny did the dishes.

Later, Grandpa asked if the children wanted to go fishing, and Grandma said, “I’m sorry, but I need Sally to help make supper.” But Sally smiled and said, “Well, that’s all right because Johnny told me he wanted to help.” And she whispered again, “Remember the duck?” So Sally went fishing and Johnny stayed home.

After several days of Johnny doing both his chores and Sally’s, he finally couldn’t stand it any longer. He came to Grandma and confessed that he killed the duck. She knelt down, gave him a hug, and said, “Sweetheart, I know that. But because I love you, I forgive you. But I was wondering just how long would you let Sally make a slave of you.”

I’ll bet Jesus sometimes wonders the same thing! How often we allow ourselves to be enslaved by our unwillingness to confess our sins. We just go on living and sacrifice all of the peace and forgiveness that God wants to give us. It leaves us so that we cannot even enjoy the good that is in our lives.

God knows how we have fallen short of His glorious perfection and has sent His son to die for our sins. If we confess them and turn to Him, we will be washed clean and set free from guilt. But as long as we claim we haven’t sinned there can only be bondage to our past and our need to cover it up from ourselves.

He is waiting to hear from you..

“If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. If we claim we have not sinned, we make him out to be a liar and his word has no place in our lives.” 1 John 1:8-10.

By Dr. John K. LaShell
Grace Community Church
1290 Minesite Rd.
Allentown, PA 18103

My friend John always has something to tell me. He knows so much that young men have to have older and more worldly wise men to tell them. For instance who to trust, how to care for others, and how to live life to the fullest.

Recently, John lost his wife Janet. For eight years she fought against cancer, but in the end her sickness had the last word. One day John took out a folded piece of paper from his wallet. He had found it, so he told me, when he tidied up some drawers at home. It was a small love letter Janet had written. The note could look like a school girl’s scrawls about her dream guy. All that was missing was a drawing of a heart with the names John and Janet written in it. But the small letter was written by a woman who had had seven children; a woman who fought for her life and who probably only had a few months left to live. It was also a beautiful recipe for how to keep a marriage together.

Janet’s description of her husband begins thus: “Loved me. Took care of me. Worried about me.”

Even though John always had a ready answer, he never joked about cancer apparently. Sometimes he came home in the evening to find Janet in the middle of one of those depressions cancer patients so often get. In no time he got her into the car and drove her to her favorite restaurant. He showed consideration for her, and she knew it. You cannot hide something for someone who knows better.

“Helped me when I was ill,” the next line reads. Perhaps Janet wrote this while the cancer was in one of the horrible and wonderful lulls. Where everything is — almost — as it used to be, before the sickness broke out, and where it doesn’t hurt to hope that everything is over, maybe forever.

“Forgave me a lot.”

“Stood by my side.”

And a piece of good advice for everyone who looks on giving constructive criticism as a kind of sacred duty: “Always praising.”

“Made sure I had everything I needed,” she goes on to write.

After that she has turned over the paper and added: “Warmth. Humor. Kindness. Thoughtfulness.”

And then she writes about the husband she has lived with and loved the most of her life: “Always there for me when I needed you.”

The last words she wrote sum up all the others. I can see her for me when she adds thoughtfully: “Good friend.”

I stand beside John now, and cannot even pretend to know how it feels to lose someone who is as close to me as Janet was to him. I need to hear what he has to say much more than he needs to talk.

“John,” I ask. “How do you stick together with someone through 38 years — not to mention the sickness? How do I know if I can bear to stand by my wife’s side if she becomes sick one day?”

“You can,” he says quietly. “If you love her enough, you can.”

by Bill Walls