CRYING OVER EXPLODED MILK By Rhonda Rhea

With a houseful of teens, it would totally frighten you to know how much milk I have to buy in a week. Let's just say that sometimes it takes two or three of us to push the cart. When you buy so many gallons at a time, one of them is bound to get missed somewhere along the way. That "somewhere along the way" happened at exactly the wrong
time of the year. A few months ago we had loaded about eight gallons of milk into the car, but never noticed that only seven made it into the house. That lost gallon was in the floor of the minivan under the last seat, lurking and plotting its evil attack.

It was in the hottest days of summer and, of all times for the minivan to need a repair or two, that happened to be the week we had to put it in the shop. Three days in the shop. Three days of temperatures over a hundred degrees. The milk swelled up and- horror of horrors- exploded all over the car! Oh, the humanity. It lobbed milk shrapnel all over the entire back seat. Milk? No, maybe it was closer to CHEESE. And the smell! It was something like a barf-and-old-socks combo, with cabbage. It made its way into every single nook and cranny of the vehicle. The milk/cheese cleanup was nothing compared to the stench fallout we had to deal with for weeks. My eyes are watering just thinking about it. Oh well, there's no use in crying over spilled cheese.

There's a certain cool driving look. All the windows are down, the left elbow edges just outside the window; the right hand hangs casually over the steering wheel. Of course, it's not nearly as cool when you're in a MINIVAN. But we still got plenty of chances to get the cool look down. We're talking about a lot of time riding with the
windows down.

Taking care of sin issues in our lives is even more important than taking every gallon of milk inside the house. When left to simmer, they can explode all kinds of ugliness in our lives, and it can spill right over into the lives of those around us.

God is so gracious and forgiving when we confess even the biggest sin detonation in our lives. Psalm 51:1-2 says, "Generous in love- God, give grace! Huge in mercy- wipe out my bad record. Scrub away my guilt, soak out my sins in your laundry." (TM) Nope, holding onto sin is definitely not cool. Letting Him scrub away that stench is
glorious- it's better even than that new car smell! Now that's cool!

As for us, we're still exercising a lot of "coolness" riding with the windows down. It's still cold out. We're a little too cool.

FAITH OF A CHILD Author Unknown

The father, a well digger,
strong was he,
And as loving and kind
as a father could be.

And Mary his daughter,
Just five years old,
Was very much dearer
than millions in gold.

To Mary her father
was big, grand and nice,
So each had a treasure,
beyond any price.

One day to the well,
little Mary was sent
To take daddy's lunch,
how gladly she went.

But when she looked down,
not a thing could be seen.
The well, like a pocket,
was dark as could be.

The father saw Mary
and heard her voice, too,
But made not a sound,
just to see what she'd do.

She dropped to her knees,
the dear little soul,
And called down, "Oh, Daddy,
are you down this hole?"

"Why, yes Mary darling,
I'm here at your feet,
Just drop my lunch
for I'm ready to eat.

Just let it go easy,
I'll catch it all right."
She did and she saw
it fall out of sight.

"Why Mary," said father,
"There's enough here for two,
Now this is the thing
I would like you to do.

You jump down here to me
and we'll eat it together,
Down here in the cool
and away from the weather."

"Oh, daddy, I'm afraid,
I can't see you at all,
Be sure now you catch me
and don't let me fall."

'Twas just for a moment
she wavered in doubt,
Then closing her dear
little eyes she jumped out.

In the darkness, yes,
that was the test,
She trusted in faith
At her father's request.

And both were so happy
he kissed her and smiled
Because of the sweet
trusting faith of his child.

"Oh, sweet little Mary,
you put me to shame,
How often my Father
Has called me the same,

But because it was dark
I turned back in doubt.
Refusing the call,
though his arms were stretched out."

THE STORY BEHIND THE PICTURE OF THE PRAYING HANDS Author Unknown

Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.

Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht Durer the Elder's children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy.

After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or,
if necessary, also by laboring in the mines. They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg.

Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.

When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you." All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no ...no ...no."

Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother ... for me it is too late."

More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.

One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed
his tribute of love "The Praying Hands."

The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one - no one - ever makes it alone!

ABC's OF A FRUITFUL LIFE Author Unknown

A lways put God first in your life.

B e a true friend and you will have many friends.

C ount and thank God for your many blessings daily.

D iscipline yourself. Decide to make your life count.

E dify and encourage others consistently.

F ollow great leaders and then become one.

G ive liberally and joyfully of your time, talents and means.

H ave an attitude of gratitude.

I nvert any negatives thrown your way. Turn them into positives.

J ourney through life one step and one day at a time.

K eep written goals set ahead. Make specific plans to accomplish them.

L ove and forgive everybody.

M aximize your strengths and minimize your weaknesses.

N ever, never, never give up!

O pen the door wide when opportunity knocks.

P ractice patience. Promote peace.

Q uit bad habits by replacing them with good habits.

R ead God's Word and other profitable material every chance you get.

S hare the Gospel whenever and wherever possible.

T ake time to appreciate everything and everyone God has given to you.

U se your God given common sense.

V isualize your dreams and stretch to reach for them.

W atch, listen and pray without ceasing.

X amine your motives on a regular basis.

Y ield to the Holy Spirit when He prompts you.

Z oom in on God's real purpose for your life.

PSALM 23 Author Unknown

There once was a Shakespearean actor who was known everywhere for his one-man shows of readings and recitations from the classics. He would always end his performance with a reading of Psalm 23.

Each night, without exception, as the actor began his recitation "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want"... the crowd would listen attentively. And then, at the conclusion of the psalm, they would rise in thunderous applause in appreciation of the actor's incredible ability to bring the verse to life.

But one night, just before the actor was to offer his customary recital of Psalm 23, a young man from the audience spoke up. "Sir, do you mind if tonight I recite Psalm 23"?

The actor was quite taken aback by this unusual request, but he allowed the young man to come forward and stand front and center on the stage to recite the Psalm, knowing that the ability of this unskilled youth would be no match for his own talent.

With a soft voice, the young man began to recite the words of the Psalm. When he was finished, there was no applause. There was no standing ovation as on other nights. All that could be heard was the sound of weeping. The audience had been so moved by the young man's recitation that every eye was full of tears.

Amazed by what he had heard, the actor said to the youth, "I don't understand. I have been performing Psalm 23 for years. I have a lifetime of experience and training, but I have never been able to move an audience as you have tonight. Tell me, what is your secret?"

The young man quietly replied, "Well sir, you know the Psalm. I know the Shepherd."