THE BRIDGE KEEPER

As we remember the atonement of Jesus Christ for the complete remission of our sins, I 

want to begin today’s broadcast with a story that I included in part four of Christianity 

in Crisis – 21st Century. It’s a story that takes place in the roaring 20’s in Oklahoma:

John Griffith was in his early twenties. He was newly married and full of optimism. Along 

with his lovely wife, he had been blessed with a beautiful baby. He was living the 

American dream. But then came 1929—the Great Stock Market Crash—the shattering of the 

American economy that devastated John’s dreams. The winds that howled through Oklahoma 

were strangely symbolic of the gale force that was sweeping away his hopes and his dreams. 

And so, brokenhearted, John packed up his few possessions, and with his wife and his 

little son, headed East in an old Ford Model A. They made their way to the edge of the 

mighty Mississippi River and found a job tending one of the great railroad bridges there.

Day after day, John would sit in the control room and direct the enormous gears of the 

immense bridge over the mighty river. He would look out wistfully as bulky barges and 

splendid ships glided gracefully under his elevated bridge. Each day, he looked on sadly 

as those ships carried with them his shattered dreams and his visions of far-off places 

and exotic destinations.

It wasn’t until 1937 that a new dream began to be birthed in John’s heart. His young son 

was now eight years old and John had begun to catch a vision for a new life, a life in 

which Greg, his little son, would work shoulder to shoulder with him. The first day of 

this new life dawned and brought with it new hope and fresh purpose. Excitedly, they 

packed their lunches and headed off towards the immense bridge.

Greg looked on in wide-eyed amazement as his Dad pressed down the huge lever that raised 

and lowered the vast bridge. As he watched, he thought that his father must surely be the 

greatest man alive. He marveled that his Dad could singlehandedly control the movements of 

such a stupendous structure.

Before they knew it, Noon time had arrived. John had just elevated the bridge and allowed 

some scheduled ships to pass through. And then taking his son by the hand, they headed off 

towards lunch.

As they ate, John told his son in vivid detail stories about the marvelous destinations of 

the ships that glided below them. Enveloped in a world of thought, he related story after 

story, his son hanging on his every word.

Then, suddenly, in the midst of telling a tale about the time that the river had 

overflowed its banks, he and his son were startled back to reality by the shrieking 

whistle of a distant train. Looking at his watch in disbelief, John saw that it was 

already 1:07. Immediately he remembered that the bridge was still raised and that the 

Memphis Express would be by in just minutes.

In the calmest tone he could muster he instructed his son “Stay put.” Quickly, he leaped 

to his feet, he jumped onto the catwalk. As the precious seconds flew by, he ran at full-

tilt to the steer ladder leading into the control house.

Once in, he searched the river to make sure that no ships were in sight. And then, as he 

had been trained to do, he looked straight down beneath the bridge to make certain nothing 

was below. As his eyes moved downward, he saw something so horrifying that his heart froze 

in his chest. For there, below him in the massive gearbox that housed the colossal gears 

that moved the gigantic bridge, was his beloved son.

Apparently Greg had tried to follow his dad but had fallen off the catwalk. Even now he 

was wedged between the teeth of two main cogs in the gear box. Although he appeared to be 

conscious, John could see that his son’s leg had already begun to bleed. Then an even more 

horrifying thought flashed through his mind. Lowering the bridge would mean killing the 

apple of his eye.

Panicked, his mind probed in every direction, frantically searching for solutions. In his 

mind’s eye, he saw himself grabbing a coiled rope, climbing down the ladder, running down 

the catwalk, securing the rope, sliding down towards his son, pulling him back to safety. 

Then in an instant, he would move back down towards the control lever and thrust it down 

just in time for the oncoming train.

As soon as these thoughts appeared, he realized the futility of his plan. Instantly he 

knew there just wouldn’t be enough time. Frustration began to beat on John’s brow, terror 

written over every inch of his face. His mind darted here and there, vainly searching for 

yet another solution.

His agonized mind considered the four hundred people that were moving inextricably closer 

and closer to the bridge. Soon the train would come roaring out of the trees with 

tremendous speed, but this was his son…his only son…his pride…his joy.

He knew in a moment there was only one thing he could do. He knew he would have to do it. 

And so, burying his face under his left arm, he plunged down the lever. The cries of his 

son were quickly drowned out by the relentless sound of the bridge as it ground slowly 

into position. With only seconds to spare, the Memphis Express—with its 400 passengers—

roared out of the trees and across the mighty bridge.

John Griffith lifted his tear-stained face and looked into the windows of the passing 

train. A businessman was reading the morning newspaper. A uniformed conductor was glancing 

nonchalantly as his large vest pocket watch. Ladies were already sipping their afternoon 

tea in the dining cars. A small boy, looking strangely like his own son, pushed a long 

thin spoon into a large dish of ice cream. Many of the passengers seemed to be engaged in 

idle conversation or careless laughter.

No one even looked his way. No one even cast a glance at the giant gear box that housed 

the mangled remains of his hopes and his dreams.

In anguish he pounded the glass in the control room. He cried out “What’s the matter with 

you people? Don’t you know? Don’t you care? Don’t you know I’ve sacrificed my son for you? 

What’s wrong with you?”

No one answered. No one heard. No one even looked. Not one of them seemed to care. And 

then, as suddenly as it had happened, it was over. The train disappeared moving rapidly 

across the bridge and out over the horizon.

Even now as I retell this story, I’m moved by emotion. For this is but a faint glimpse of 

what the Father did in sacrificing his Son to atone for the sins of the world. Unlike the 

Memphis Express, however, an express that caught John Griffith by surprise, God in His 

great love and according to His sovereign will and purpose, determined to sacrifice his 

Son so that we might live. Not only so, but the consummate love of Christ is demonstrated 

in that He was not accidentally caught as was John’s son. Rather, He willingly sacrificed 

his life for the sins of mankind.

Well, the story of course doesn’t end there. Three days later, Jesus arose from the grave. 

For this reason, we celebrate throughout the year and particularly during Easter, the 

broken body, the shed blood, the mangled remains of our Savior with joy, because Jesus 

overcame death and the grave through His resurrection. Moreover, like Jesus, we too shall 

rise. You, I, John Griffith, his son, and those who believe, we will live forever with our 

resurrected Lord in Paradise Restored.

please leave a comment. Thanks!

FOR RICHER OR POORER

Retold by Rochelle M. Pennington

The wives who lived within the walls of the Weinsberg Castle in Germany were well aware of
the riches it held: gold, sliver, jewels, and wealth beyond belief.

Then the day came in 1141 A. D. when all their treasure was threatened. And enemy army had
surrounded the castle and demanded the fortress, the fortune, and the lives of the men
within. There was nothing to do but surrender.

Although the conquering commander had set a condition for the safe release of all the
women and children, the wives of Weinsberg refused to leave without having one of their
own conditions met, as well. They demanded that they be allowed to fill their arms with as
many possessions as they could carry out with them. Knowing that the women couldn’t
possibly make a dent in the massive fortune, their request was honored.

When the castle gates opened, the army outside was brought to tears. Each woman had
carried out her husband.

The wives of Weinsberg, indeed, were well aware of the riches the castle held.

Submitted by Richard

A LOVE STORY

One day, I woke early in the morning to watch the sunrise. Ah the beauty of God’s creation is beyond description. As I watched, I praised God for His beautiful work. As I sat there, I felt the Lord’s presence with me.

He asked me, “Do you love me?”

I answered, “Of course, God! You are my Lord and Saviour!”

Then He asked, “If you were physically handicapped, would you still love me?”

I was perplexed. I looked down upon my arms, legs and the rest of my body and wondered how many things I wouldn’t; be able to do, the things that I took for granted.

And I answered, “It would be tough Lord, but I would still love You.”

Then the Lord said, “If you were blind, would you still love my creation?” How could I love something without being able to see it? Then I thought of all the blind people in the world and how many of them still loved God and His creation.

So I answered, “Its hard to think of it, but I would still love you.”

The Lord then asked me, “If you were deaf, would you still listen to my word?” How could I listen to anything being deaf?

Then I understood. Listening to God’s Word is not merely using our ears, but our hearts.

I answered, “It would be tough, but I would still listen to Your word.”

The Lord then asked, “If you were mute, would you still praise My Name?”

How could I praise without a voice? Then it occurred to me: God wants us to sing from our very heart and soul. It never matters what we sound like. And praising God is not always with a song, but when we are persecuted, we give God praise with our words of thanks.

So I answered, “Though I could not physically sing, I would still praise Your Name.”

And the Lord asked, “Do you really love Me?”

With courage and a strong conviction, I answered boldly, “Yes Lord! I love You because You are the one and true God!”

I thought I had answered well, but God asked, “THEN WHY DO YOU SIN?”

I answered, “Because I am only human. I am not perfect.”

“THEN WHY IN TIMES OF PEACE DO YOU STRAY THE FURTHEST? WHY ONLY IN TIMES OF TROUBLE DO YOU PRAY THE EARNEST?”

No answers. Only tears.

The Lord continued: “Why only sing at fellowships and retreats? Why seek Me only in times of worship? Why ask things so selfishly? Why ask things so unfaithfully?”

The tears continued to roll down my cheeks.

“Why are you ashamed of Me? Why are you not spreading the good news? Why in times of persecution, you cry to others when I offer My shoulder to cry on? Why make excuses when I give you opportunities to serve in My Name?”

I tried to answer, but there was no answer to give.

“You are blessed with life. I made you not to throw this gift away. I have blessed you with talents to serve Me, but you continue to turn away. I have revealed My Word to you, but you do not gain in knowledge. I have spoken to you but your ears were closed. I have shown My blessings to you, but your eyes were turned away. I have sent you servants, but you sat idly by as they were pushed away. I have heard your prayers and I have answered them all.”

DO YOU TRULY LOVE ME ?”

I could not answer. How could I? I was embarrassed beyond belief. I had no excuse. What could I say to this? My heart had cried out and the tears had flowed, I said, Please forgive me Lord. I am unworthy to be Your child.”

The Lord answered, ” That is My Grace, My child.”

I asked, ” Then why do you continue to forgive me? Why do You love me so?”

The Lord answered, “Because you are My creation. You are my child. I will never abandon you. When you cry, I will have compassion and cry with you. When you shout with joy, I will laugh with you. When you are down, I will encourage you. When you fall, I will raise you up. When you are tired, I will carry you. I will be with you till the end of days, and I will love you forever.”

Never had I cried so hard before. How could I have been so cold? How could I have hurt God as I had done?

I asked God, “How much do You love me?”

The Lord stretched out His arms, and I saw His nail-pierced hands. I bowed down at the feet of Christ, my Saviour. And for the first time, I truly prayed.

Author Unknown.




please leave a comment. thank you.




.

AN ENDURING VOW

by Joe Palermo (Melbourne, Australia)

As there is not enough awareness about Ovarian Cancer, I am doing
whatever I can to change this so other women won't have to go
through what Kim did. My daughter, Sarah also wrote a very
inspirational song dedicated to Kim which we are now selling with
all proceeds going to Ovarian Cancer Australia.

to hear a sample of the song, click this song title:
BE STRONG by: Sarah

Kim's story is below...


A tiny fair-haired girl zoomed past me on her bike seconds after our
school bell sounded. She let out a yell. "Fancy coming to the
pictures?" she called. It was my first year at high school in Keilor
East, Vic, and while I was still finding my way around the maze of
classrooms, bubbly Kim Wilcher from Year Eight was full of
confidence. Watching this pint-sized tornado flying past, I found it
hard to believe she was older than me. But what Kim, 13, lacked in
size, she made up for in personality. "So are you coming?" she
asked, when Isaw her later at the shops in East Keilor. It was
February 1971 and I'd never had a girlfriend before, so I said yes.
The movie wasn't great but sitting quietly in the dark holding Kim's
hand was the best moment of my life.

For the next few weeks we were inseparable. We hung out around the
oval at lunch times and held hands by the shops each night.

But timetables and homework proved too intense for our puppy love
and by the end of term we were content with being mates again.

I was 17, with a new career in the computer industry, when I leaned
that Kim had moved to Adelaide seeking adventure. But my intentions
already lay with the Italian girl I'd met at my friends 18th
birthday. We'd had a few dates and soon Renza and I were in love.

We married on January 15, 1983, in a traditional catholic ceremony.
We had three children David, Sarah and Lisa but, over time, we
weren't happy together.

Towards the end, our relationship deteriorated rapidly and I spent
our 19th wedding anniversary in 2002 - alone in my office.

What's to celebrate? I thought, as an unexpected late night email
popped up on my screen. "I don't know if you remember me, but you
were my first boyfriend. I used to ride my bike on Milleara road
towards the centreway shops. Are you married now? I'd love to hear
from you." Who's this? I wondered, racking my brain. Then suddenly
it all came flooding back. The girl on the bike? Kim, I smiled,
hitting the reply button. Only three days earlier, I joined a
website called friends reunited. I hadn't expected to hear from
anyone so soon, and certainly not from my first girlfriend on my
wedding anniversary.

I smiled at the irony as I logged on the next day and was thrilled
to find another email from Kim. "I can't believe you're still in
Keilor East," she wrote, asking about my family. It was great to
catch up with her and soon we were emailing daily, reminiscing about
our school days. "That's you in the year seven photo," she said,
emailing an old primary school picture. Kim and I had got on like a
house on fire all those years ago and things hadn't changed one bit.
What's more, our lives had amazing similarities. We both had three
kids and were in long-term relationships which were not going well.

Two weeks later, rather than email, we decided to speak in person,
so Kim gave me her mobile number. It was lovely to hear her friendly
voice on the end of the line, and a month later we met in Sydney. "I
can't believe it's been 30 years," I said. "You've put on more
beef," she teased, hugging me. "You haven't changed a bit," I said,
studying her dimpled smile. We chatted away about life, our failing
relationships and Kim told me about her three daughters, Melissa,
24, Jodie, 22, and Belinda, 17. "I've only stayed for the kids," she
admitted. "Me too," I said quietly. But Kim had plans. "When Belinda
finishes her exams in November, I'm leaving," she said. And in that
instant I realized that I still loved Kim. Fate had brought us
together at last. "I can't lose you again," I whispered, tenderly
kissing her goodbye.

Back in Melbourne our daily emails and calls made life bearable as
we planned a new life together. I'd already redecorated the rental
unit I owned in sunshine for Kim's big move to Melbourne. But I felt
so guilty about my children. "I can't do it," I cried to Kim down
the phone one day. Her soft sobs drifted back down the line to me.
"It's hard for me, too," she whispered.

But another dinner at home with my family spent in stony silence
brought things to a head. Renza and I discussed our relationship and
decided it was best if we went our separate ways. Relieved things
were out in the open at last, I packed my bags. I was waiting at
Melbourne airport in November 2002 with a huge bouquet of red roses
when Kim's smiling face appeared in the crowd. "This was meant to
be," I said, hugging her.

But although I loved Kim dearly, I desperately missed my kids, in
bed one night, Kim sensed my sadness. "If you want them to live with
us, I'll care for your children," she offered. In 2004, she was true
to her word when Renza agreed to let the kids come and live with us
for good. "Cuddle me," asked 9-year-old Lisa, climbing onto Kim's
knee. The children adored her and by New Year 2005, Kim was as busy
as ever, juggling renovations with being a full-time mum.

We were now one big happy family. "You need to slow down," I warned
one night, worried as she flopped into bed, exhausted.

For weeks she'd complained of backache. Now, with a tummy ache and
bloating, she finally rang the doctor. "No more beer or nuts," he
warned. But Kim wasn't convinced diet was her problem.

In June 2005, as we snuggled in bed, Kim began gasping for air.
"Something's terribly wrong Joe," she panted, as I dialled triple-0.
The doctors at the local hospital in sunshine studied her x-rays.
"There's fluid around her right lung," they told us, then arranged
for Kim to be transferred to Footscray hospital for more tests.

I was working when the specialist rang me. "I need to speak to Kim
and you urgently," he said, his tone serious. "How soon can you get
here?" Arriving at the hospital, Kim and I went into the doctor's
room. Stroking her hand gently, we waited anxiously. "What's wrong
with Kim?" I asked. "It's not good news," he said solemnly". "Kim
has ovarian cancer." My heart shattered into a million pieces. After
so many wasted years. Fate had led Kim back to me and now I face
losing her all over again. "But I have pap smears every two years,"
Kim stated, shocked. "Pap smears are no protection against, or
indication for, ovarian cancer," the doctor said bowing his head. He
explained only a CA125 blood test could identify ovarian cancer and
only then combined with a transvaginal ultrasound and CT scan. "It's
called the silent killer because the symptoms are so vague," he
explained. "It's often advanced by the time we find it."

While I struggled to cope, Kim astounded me with her positive
attitude. "What do we need to do to beat this?" she asked. "I have a
family to care for." Treatment started immediately and over the
coming weeks Kim was rushed to surgery for a hysterectomy and
removal of her ovaries. Gruelling bouts of chemotherapy followed. To
get through it, Kim found a new focus. "I'm going to be here when
Jodie has her baby," she vowed, looking forward to becoming a
grandmother, "and for my 50th birthday in January."

While her nearest and dearest crumbled around her, she was
everyone's rock. "You can't get rid of me that easily," she told us.
Yet in our quiet times, she'd confess that cancer wasn't part of her
plans. "We've only just found each other," she'd say. "I know,
love," I'd croak, trying to stem my tears.

Holding her hand through each blood test and chemo session, I
banished thoughts of losing Kim, sharing her pride when, on January
28, 2006, she held Jodie's newborn son, Jackson. "I'm your nana,"
she whispered to, vowing that she'd be around for his first
birthday.

A few weeks later, my daughter Sarah, then 16, came home from school
with some surprise news "I've won the music schools annual singing
contest," she said, "The prize is to record a CD." Sarah refused to
tell any of us what her song was about. We heard it for the first
time when she took to the stage of the M and A School of Music.

"It's called Be Strong," John St. Peters, owner of the academy,
announced to the audience. I could barely find the words to speak as
Sarah sang of courage and hope. "She's written this song for you,
Kim," I whispered, as tears trickled down her cheeks. The next day I
contacted Ovarian Cancer Australia, the national charity supporting
women suffering with ovarian cancer, telling them all about Sarah's
CD in hope that it would inspire other women battling this disease.

In January 2008, Kim celebrated Jackson's first birthday and her
50th. We marked it with a photographic portrait of the entire
family, including Kim's mum Norma, and a meal at Crown Casino's
Conservatory restaurant. With no sign of cancer in her tests, the
doctors stopped her chemo and we had hope.

But, two weeks later, Kim interrupted her birthday treat - a
helicopter ride across the city. "Something's wrong," she said
gasping for air and ordering the chopper to land. At St Vincent's
Hospital, doctors explained Kim's lung had collapsed. "We need to
prepare her for surgery urgently to drain the fluid from around her
lung," they said. Kim returned home weak from the operation but,
within a few days, was readmitted. "You won't be going home," her
doctors warned gently, as Kim began to fade. Throughout the day, Kim
told us she loved us, and instructed me to dress her in black
stilettos and her favourite red dress. "Don't forget the red
coffin," she said. "Or the video that I've made for afterwards.". At
9:30pm on March 2, the last day of Ovarian Cancer Awareness Week,
the girl I'd first fallen in love with at school finally gave up the
fight. A week later, we lay Kim to rest at Fawkner Cemetery. Back at
home we watched the video that she had recorded for us. "To Joe, the
love of my life," Kim began. "Six years just wasn't enough," I
sobbed. "You will never know the depth of my love," she continued,"
I will never leave you."

I'll treasure those words in my heart. Kim's video stands among
photographs of her in a shrine I've created as a legacy. Surrounded
by Ovarian Cancer teal ribbons, wrist bands and silver bell
brooches, this little corner of our hallway is a reminder of a new
mission in my life, which for weeks lacked any purpose at all. I'm
determined to raise awareness and funds to find a cure for the
silent killer which stole my twin flame soul mate from me.

"That's a pretty brooch," commented a female bank teller, noticing
the silver bell on my jacket, as I closed Kim's accounts. I handed
her an information leaflet, telling her our story and hoping the
knowledge that might have saved Kim, could one day save her if she
ever contracted the disease.

please leave a comment. thanks!

WHAT DOES LOVE MEAN

This is from a widely circulated email where the source is unknown:

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4
to 8 year-olds, "What does love mean?" The answers they got were
broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined. See what you
think:

"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint
her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all even
when his hands got arthritis, too. That's Love."
Rebecca - age 8

When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You
just know that your name is safe in their mouth."
Billy - age 4

"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving
cologne and they go out and smell each other."
Karl - age 5

"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your
French Fries without making them give you any of theirs."
Chrissy - age 6

"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired."
Terri - age 4

"Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip
before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK."
Danny - age 7

"Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of
kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy
and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss."
Emily - age 8

"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop
opening presents and listen."
Bobby - age 7 (Wow!)

"If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend
who you hate."
Nikka - age 6

"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears
iteveryday."
Noelle - age 7

"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still
friends even after they know each other so well."
Tommy - age 6

"During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I
looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and
smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore."
Cindy - age 8

"My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else
kissing me to sleep at night."
Clare - age 6

"Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken."
Elaine-age 5

"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he
is handsomer than Robert Redford."
Chris - age 7

"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him
alone all day."
Mary Ann - age 4

"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her
oldclothes and has to go out and buy new ones."
Lauren - age 4

"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little
stars come out of you"
Karen - age 7

"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think
it's gross."
Mark - age 6

"You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if
you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget."
Jessica - age 8

And the final one -- Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked
about contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was
to find the most caring child. (Now this will melt your heart.) The
winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an
elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the
man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed
onto his lap, and just sat there. When his Mother asked him what he
had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just
helped him cry."

TAKE HOLD OF EVERY MOMENT

by unknown author


A friend of mine opened his wife's underwear drawer and picked up a 
silk paper wrapped package:


"This, - he said - isn't any ordinary package." He unwrapped the box 
and stared at both the silk paper and the box.


"She got this the first time we went to New York, 8 or 9 years ago. 
She has never put it on. Was saving it for a special occasion.


Well, I guess this is it. He got near the bed and placed the gift 
box next to the other clothings he was taking to the funeral house, 
his wife had just died. He turned to me and said:


"Never save something for a special occasion. Every day in your life 
is a special occasion".


I still think those words changed my life. Now I read more and clean 
less. I sit on the porch without worrying about anything. I spend 
more time with my family, and less at work. I understood that life 
should be a source of experience to be lived up to, not survived 
through. I no longer keep anything. I use crystal glasses every day. 
I'll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket, if i feel like it. I 
don't save my special perfume for special occasions, I use it 
whenever I want to. The words "Someday..." and "One Day..." are 
fading away from my dictionary. If it's worth seeing, listening or 
doing, I want to see, listen or do it now.


I don't know what my friend's wife would have done if she knew she 
wouldn't be there the next morning, this nobody can tell. I think 
she might have called her relatives and closest friends.


She might call old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I'd 
like to think she would go out for Chinese, her favourite food. It's 
these small things that I would regret not doing, if I knew my time 
had come. I would regret it, because I would no longer see the
friends I would meet, letters... letters that i wanted to write "One 
of this days". I would regret and feel sad, because I didn't say to 
my brothers and sons, not times enough at least, how much I love 
them.


Now, I try not to delay, postpone or keep anything that could bring 
laughter and joy into our lives. And, on each morning, I say to 
myself that this could be a special day. Each day, each hour, each 
minute, is special.

HOME OF MY HEART

by Sabine 
(Pahala, Hawaii, USA)



A Story of Manifestations


Germany wasn't my place. I was born and raised there but it just
didn't feel like home. When I was a teenager, this feeling grew
stronger and stronger. Somehow, I felt like a bird in a cage, unable
to spread my wings and express myself.

My greatest pleasure was my nightly visualizations. Before I went to
sleep, I imagined my place, my perfect home in the mountains of a
tropical country overlooking the ocean. There I lived with several
people and children in small houses in complete happiness, harmony
and bliss.

During this time, I didn't believe in anything like God, the
Universe, a higher power, let alone, thoughts becoming things.
Nonetheless, the Universe started working overtime for me. Only in
retrospect can I see the miracles, cause and effect lessons and
manifestations which ultimately led to the fulfillment of my dream.
There truly are no coincidences, no ordinary moments in life.
Everything has profound meaning.

One of the most significant events in my life was the day, I met a
Michael on a small island in Holland. We fell madly in love with
each other. Unfortunately our lifestyles didn’t match. He was a
vagabond, a gypsy, traveling from one place to another, and I was
caught up in the rules and laws of society and unable to join him.
Although we never lived together, meeting him led through many
apparently unrelated events to the manifestation of my dreams.

Even though Michael and I went our separate ways, he never stopped
visiting me. He came to see me several times a year. I went to
college, feeling lonely, desperate and depressed, looking for
answers outside of myself. Eventually I got stuck in a terrible
relationship with a very abusive man. I totally surrendered to him,
giving away my own tremendous power.

During this time of darkness Michael was the light of my life.
Seeing him reminded me of the existence of love and joy which I had
completely excluded from my life. At that time, I put all the blame
on my partner. He was my captor, not leaving me any choices but
surrender. Taking responsibility for my life seemed to be far out of
my reach.

On one of his visits, Michael brought Lea, his new girlfriend,
along. They had met each other in the desert in Israel. From the
moment we met there was a strong connection between Lea and me,
which over the years led to a deep, loving friendship. Strange as it
may seem, jealousy never was an issue. A year later, when I saw her
for the second time, we both had a baby boy.

I loved my child but my depression intensified. I didn’t see a way
out of the nightmare relationship I had with my son’s father. At my
most desperate point I knew I had two choices: Die (mentally) or
run.

We are always surrounded by angels who never fail to appear in our
times of greatest need. It was then at this crucial point in my
life, that Lea knocked on my door asking me if I wanted to go to
America with her. Michael’s and her relationship was over. I said
yes and chose running because dying wasn’t an option, I had a child
to take care of.

We planned to meet in New York and then travel through California
looking for a place to live. Secretly, I got passports, tickets,
sold whatever I could sell, took my boy and left without telling
anybody.

When I met Lea in New York she told me that our plans had changed.
She had met a lady in the library in Manhattan who asked her if she
would like to housesit for her on the Big Island of Hawaii. So, we
were going to Hawaii. I had never even thought of that before.
Truly, the miraculous ways of the Universe are beyond anything we
could have ever imagined with our rational minds.

It was dark when we arrived in Hawaii. We were very tired and went
to sleep right away. The next morning I went outside and couldn’t
believe my eyes. Before me was a beautiful, tropical mountain valley
with the most amazing view on the ocean. It was the perfect
reflection of the landscape of my dreams. I knew instantly that I
had found my place, the home of my heart. I fell in love with
Hawaii.

Over time, we built several small houses on a large piece of land we
took care of. There we lived happily and joyfully with our children
and several other people. Even our lifestyle became a replica of my
visualizations. I remember going outside at night, looking at the
stars, feeling the gentle, caressing energy of Hawaii and thinking:
This is a fairytale land. I am so blessed.

For the past 25 years, Hawaii has been my living, magical, spiritual
classroom. Surrounded by the intense, divine spirit of this island,
I always feel loved, protected and guided. Here is where my faith
and trust in the Godessence began to grow, illuminating my life with
joy, purpose, love, abundance and, most of all, never ending
gratitude.

THE JOY OF GIVING

 By Krystal Kuehn, MA, LPC, LLP, NCC


Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.
~Bill Bradley

Opportunities to give and help others are everywhere.  If we just
look around us, someone somewhere could use a kind word today.

Someone needs to know that they are loved.  Someone is struggling
financially and there is something we can do to help if even a
little.  Someone simply needs a hug.  Someone wants to be heard and
given some time and attention.

The following story is a great illustration of the value of giving,
loving, sharing, and doing today.

A rich man once asked a friend, Why am I criticized for being
miserly? Everyone knows I will leave everything to charity when I
die.  Well, said the friend, let me tell you about the pig and the
cow.  The pig was lamenting to the cow one day about how unpopular
he was.

People are always talking about your gentleness and kindness, said
the pig.  Sure you give milk and cream, but I give more.  I give
bacon, ham, bristles.  They even pickle my feet!  Still, nobody
likes me.  Whis is this? The cow thought a minute, then replied,
Well, maybe it is because I give while I am still living.  

 –Sunshine Magazine

Following are several questions to help you reflect on your giving.

1. Would others describe you as a giver, taker, or miserly? Why?

2. When was the last time that you gave someone a gift, compliment,

    your time, or anything?  How did it make you feel?

3. What was your attitude in giving?  Did you hope for or expect a

    particular response or reaction?

4. Do you feel people owe you something when you give to them?

5. Could you be more giving?  How?  What are you waiting for?

It might cost us time, money, stepping out of our comfort zone, or
sacrificing our own needs, but the rewards of giving are priceless.
When we give, we reap the joy of seeing a bright smile, laughter,
tears, joy, and gratitude.  Giving is one of the best ways to share
our joy, love, and gratitude for life!

It is more blessed to give than to receive.  ~Acts 20:35

I encourage you to bless someone today, and that you would be
blessed with the true joy of giving!    ~Krystal