There are three engineers in a car; an electrical engineer, a chemical engineer, and a Microsoft Software Engineer.
Suddenly the car just stops by the side of the road, and the three engineers look at each other wondering what could be wrong.
The electrical engineer suggests stripping down the electronics of the car and trying to trace where a fault might have occurred.
The chemical engineer, not knowing much about cars, suggests that maybe the fuel is becoming emulsified and getting blocked somewhere.
Then the Microsoft engineer, not knowing much about anything, comes up with a suggestion. "Why don't we close all the windows, get out, get back in, open the windows again, and maybe it'll work!?"

A tough looking biker had been in the biker bar for quite some time when he finally decided it was time, once again to hit the road. He stepped through the front door of the bar and instantly realized that his bike had vanished from the spot he had parked it.

"All right" he said loudly, coming back into the busy biker bar "I'm going to have a shot of whisky and if my hog isn't back up front by the time I'm done, what happened in Detroit will happen here too!"

With that many of the bikers ran out of the bar and within moments one came back to tell the tough biker that his hog was now parked in front of the bar for him. When the tough guy started to leave the bartender asked him.

"Pardon me, stranger, but what happened in Detroit?"

The tough biker replied casually: "I had to walk back to my hotel!"

I need some advice on what could be a life changing decision.
I've suspected for some time now that my girlfriend has been having an affair. The usual signs. Phone rings, I answer, someone hangs up.
She started going out 'with the girls' a lot recently, although when I ask which girls it is always "Just some friends from work, you don't know them".
I always look out for her taxi coming home but she always walks down the drive although I can hear a car setting off. As if she has got out of the car round the corner. Why? Is it not a taxi?
I once picked her mobile up just to see what time it was and she went beserk and screamed that I should never touch her phone again and why was I checking up on her.
Anyway, I have never approached the subject with my g/f. I think deep downI just didn't want to know the truth but last night she went out again and I decided to check on her.
I decided I was going to hide behind my car which would give me a veiw of the whole street so I could see which car she gets out of. It was whilst crouched behind my car that I noticed rust around my rear wheel arch.
So what should I do? Should I take it into a body repair shop or should I buy some stuff from Halfords and try to repair it myself?

Doctor to Patient: Do you want the good news or the bad news first?

Patient: The good news, please.
Doctor: The good news is that you have only twentyfour hours to live.
Patient: If that's the good news, what's the bad news?
Doctor: I should have told you yesterday.

You have reached the CPX-2000 Voice Blackmail System. Your voice patterns are now being digitally encoded and stored for later use. Once this is done, our computers will be able to use the sound of YOUR voice for literally thousands of illegal and immoral purposes. There is no charge for this initial consultation. However our staff of professional extortionists will contact you in the near future to further explain the benefits of our service, and to arrange for your schedule of payment. Remember to speak clearly at the sound of the tone. Thank you.

A new sign in the Bank Lobby reads:

"Please note that this Bank is installing new Drive-through ATM machines enabling customers to withdraw cash without leaving their vehicles. Customers using this new facility are requested to use the procedures outlined below when accessing their accounts.

After months of careful research, MALE and FEMALE procedures have been developed.

Please follow the appropriate steps for your gender:

MALE PROCEDURE

1. Drive up to the cash machine.
2. Put down your car window.
3. Insert card into machine and enter PIN.
4. Enter amount of cash required and withdraw.
5. Retrieve card, cash and receipt.
6. Put window up.
7. Drive off.

FEMALE PROCEDURE

1. Drive up to cash machine.
2. Reverse and back up the required amount to align car window with the machine.
3. Set parking brake, put the window down.
4. Find handbag, remove all contents on to passenger seat to locate card.
5. Tell person on cell phone you will call them back and hang up.
6. Attempt to insert card into machine.
7. Open car door to allow easier access to machine due to its excessive distance from the car.
8. Insert card.
9. Re-insert card the right way.
10. Dig through handbag to find diary with your PIN written on the inside back page.
11. Enter PIN.
12. Press cancel and re-enter correct PIN.
13. Enter amount of cash required.
14. Check makeup in rear view mirror.
15. Retrieve cash and receipt.
16. Empty handbag again to locate wallet and place cash inside.
17. Write debit amount in check register and place receipt in back of checkbook.
18. Re-check makeup.
19. Drive forward 2 feet.
20. Reverse back to cash machine.
21. Retrieve card.
22. Re-empty hand bag, locate card holder, and place card into the slot provided.
23. Give dirty look to irate male driver waiting behind you.
24. Restart stalled engine and pull off.
25. Redial person on cell phone.
26. Drive for 2 to 3 miles.
27. Release Parking Brake.

There was a man who worked all of his life and saved all of his money. He was a real miser when it came to his money. He loved money more than just about anything, and just before he died, he said to his wife, "Now listen, when I die, I want you to take all my money and place it in the casket with me. I wanna take my money to the afterlife."

So he got his wife to promise him with all her heart that when he died, she would put all the money in the casket with him.

Well, one day he died. He was stretched out in the casket, the wife was sitting there in black next to her closest friend. When they finished the ceremony, just before the undertakers got ready to close the casket, the wife said "Wait just a minute!"

She had a shoe box with her, she came over with the box and placed it in the casket. Then the undertakers locked the casket down and rolled it away. Her friend said, "I hope you weren't crazy enough to put all that money in the casket."

"Yes," the wife said, "I promised. I'm a good Christian, I can't lie. I promised him that I was going to put that money in that casket with him."

"You mean to tell me you put every cent of his money in the casket with him?"

"I sure did. I got it all together, put it into my account and I wrote him a check."

A herd of buffalo can move only as fast as the slowest buffalo, and when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular culling of the weakest members.

In much the same way the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, we all know, kills off brain cells, but naturally it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first.

In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, constantly making the brain a faster and more efficient machine.

Every night, Frank would go down to the liquor store, get a six pack, bring it home, and drink it while he watched TV. One night, as he finished his last beer, the doorbell rang. He stumbled to the door and found a six-foot cockroach standing there. The bug grabbed him by the collar and threw him across the room, then left.

The next night, after he finished his 4th beer, the doorbell rang. He walked slowly to the door and found the same six-foot cockroach standing there. The big bug punched him in the stomach, then left.

The next night, after he finished his 1st beer, the doorbell rang again. The same six-foot cockroach was standing there. This time he was kneed in the groin and hit behind the ear as he doubled over in pain. Then the big bug left.

The fourth night Frank didn't drink at all. The doorbell rang. The cockroach was standing there. The bug beat the snot out of Frank and left him in a heap on the living room floor.

The following day, Frank went to see his doctor. He explained events of the preceding four nights. "What can I do?" he pleaded. "Not much" the doctor replied. "There's just a nasty bug going around."

Sure, there are some pretty stupid criminals out there. Yet this excerpt from a Washington Post article proves that not all criminals are dumb – in fact, some are so clever that the Post labeled this article, "The Best Comeback Line Ever"

In summary, the police arrested Patrick Lawrence, a 22-year-old white male, resident of Dacula, GA, in a pumpkin patch at 11:38 p.m. on Friday.

Lawrence will be charged with lewd and lascivious behavior, public indecency, and public intoxication at the Gwinnett County courthouse on Monday.

The suspect explained that as he was passing a pumpkin patch he decided to stop. "You know, a pumpkin is soft and squishy inside, and there was no one around here for miles. At least I thought there wasn't," he stated in a phone interview.

Lawrence went on to say that he pulled over to the side of the road, Picked out a pumpkin that he felt was appropriate to his purposes, cut a hole in it, and proceeded to satisfy his need. "I guess I was just really into it, you know?" he commented with evident embarrassment.

In the process, Lawrence apparently failed to notice a Gwinnett County police car approaching and was unaware of his audience until Officer Brenda Taylor approached him. "It was an unusual situation, that's for sure," said Officer Taylor. "I walked up to (Lawrence) and he's... just working away at this pumpkin."

Taylor went on to describe what happened when she approached Lawrence. "I just went up and said, 'Excuse me sir, but do you realize that you are screwing a pumpkin?' He froze and was clearly very surprised that I was there, and then looked me straight in the face and said, 'A pumpkin? Darn...is it midnight already?"

These 4 gents go out to play golf one sunny morning. One is detained in the clubhouse, and the other three are discussing their children while walking to the first tee.

"My son Kent," says one, "has made quite a name for himself in the home-building industry. He began as a carpenter, but now owns his own design and construction firm. He's so successful in fact, in the last year he was able to give a good friend a brand new home as a gift."

The second man, no to be out done, tells how his son began his career as a car salesman, but now owns a multi-line dealership. "Norm's so successful, in fact, in the last six months he gave his friend two brand new cars as a gift."

The third man's son, Greg, has worked his way up through a stock brokerage, and in the last few weeks has given a good friend a large stock portfolio as a gift.

As the fourth man arrives at the tee, another tells him that they have been discussing their progeny and asks what line his son is in.

"To tell the truth, I'm not very pleased with how my son turned out," he replies. "For 15 years, Chico's been a hairdresser, and I've just recently discovered he's gay. However, on the bright side, he must be good at what he does because his last three boyfriends have given him a brand new house, two cars, and a big pile of stock certificates."

Let’s face it – we’ve all had our share of embarrassing moments. Just be thankful that none of them were as humiliating (and hilarious!) as these:

"A mother was taking a shower when her2 year old son came into the bathroom and wrapped himself in toilet paper. Although he made a mess, he looked adorable, so she ran for my camera and took a few shots. They came out so well that she had copies made and included one with each of their Christmas cards. Days later, a relative called about the picture, laughing hysterically, and suggesting that she take a closer look. Puzzled, the mother stared at the photo and was shocked to discover that in addition to her son, she had captured her reflection in the mirror wearing nothing but a camera!"

"A woman and her sister were at the mall and passed by a store that sold a variety of nuts. As they were looking at the display case, the boy behind the counter asked if they needed any help. The woman replied, "No, I'm just looking at your nuts." The sister started to laugh hysterically, the boy grinned, and she turned beet red and walked away."

"A lady picked up several items at a discount store. When she finally got up to the checker, she learned that one of her items had no price tag. Imagine her embarrassment when the checker got on the intercom and boomed out for the entire store to hear, ‘PRICE CHECK ON LANE THIRTEEN, TAMPAX, SUPER SIZE." That was bad enough, but somebody at the rear of the store apparently misunderstood the word 'Tampax' for ‘THUMBTACKS.’ In a businesslike tone, a voice boomed back over the intercom: ‘DO YOU WANT THE KIND YOU PUSH IN WITH YOUR THUMB OR THE KIND YOU POUND IN WITH A HAMMER?’

An introvert went to bar and spots a pretty looking woman sitting on the stool. He mustered all his courage for long time, then timidly approached and asked her, "Ma’ am, would be OK if sit here and talk with you?" She was alert, suspecting this man, and responds by yelling, "No, I won't sleep with you tonight!" Customers in the bar started staring at them. The embarrassed guy quickly returns to his table dejected and ashamed. The young woman waits a little and then goes to the guy to apologize. With a smile on her face she says, "I am sorry if I embarrassed you. You see, I am a college student in psychiatry and I am putting together a thesis as to how people react to embarrassing moments." The cunning guy now yells loudly, "What do you mean by $500?"

A guy goes over to his friend's house, rings the bell, and the wife answers.

" Hi, is Tony home?"

" No, he went to the store."

"Well, you mind if I wait?"

" No, come in."

They sit down and the friend says "You know Nora, you have the greatest breasts I have ever seen. I'd give you a hundred bucks if I could just see one."

Nora thinks about this for a second and figures what the hell - a hundred bucks. She opens her robe and shows one. He promptly thanks her and throws a hundred bucks on the table.

They sit there a while longer and Chris says "They are so beautiful I've got to see the both of them. I'll give you another hundred bucks if I could just see the both of them together."

Nora thinks about this and thinks what the hell, opens her robe, and gives Chris a nice long look. Chris thanks her, throws another hundred bucks on the table, and then says he can't wait any longer and leaves.

A while later Tony arrives home and his wife says "You know, your weird friend Chris came over. "

Tony thinks about this for a second and says "Well did he drop off the 200 bucks he owes me?"

Can you ever love me for me?
For the me that I am true and true
Can you love me with my imperfections?
Can you see me as I am and not as what you want me to be?

Can you ever love me for me?
For the me that makes mistakes and speaks without thinking
Can you love me even when I am unreasonable?
Can you see me as I am and not for the Angel you seek?

Can you ever love me for me?
For the me that cries when a stranger child is hurt
Can you love me when I am sad without me having a reason to be?
Can you see me as I am not as what I once was?

Can you ever love me for me?

A dear old lady was asked what she used to make her complexion so beautiful and her whole being so bright and attractive.

She answered:

"I use for my lips, truth

I use for my voice, kindness

I use for my ears, compassion

I use for my hands, charity

I use for my figure, uprightness

I use for my heart, love

I use for any who do not like me, prayer."

Whenever Beauty looks,
Love is also there;

Whenever beauty shows a rosy cheek
Love lights Her fire from that flame.

When beauty dwells in the dark folds of night
Love comes and finds a heart entangled in tresses.

Beauty and Love are as body and soul.
Beauty is the mine, Love is the diamond.
They have together

since the beginning of time-
Side by side, step by step.

There was once a guy who suffered from cancer... a cancer that can't be treated. He was 18 years old and he could die anytime. All his life, he was stuck in his house being taken cared by his mother. He never went outside but he was sick of staying home and wanted to go out for once. So he asked his mother and she gave him permission.

He walked down his block and found a lot of stores. He passed a CD store and looked through the front door for a second as he walked. He stopped and went back to look into the store. He saw a young girl about his age and he knew it was love at first sight. He opened the door and walked in, not looking at anything else but her. He walked closer and closer until he was finally at the front desk where she sat.

She looked up and asked, "Can I help you?"

She smiled and he thought it was the most beautiful smile he has ever seen before and wanted to kiss her right there.

He said, "Uh... Yeah... Umm... I would like to buy a CD."

He picked one out and gave her money for it.

"Would you like me to wrap it for you?" she asked, smiling her cute smile again.

He nodded and she went to the back.

She came back with the wrapped CD and gave it to him. He took it and walked out of the store. He went home and from then on, he went to that store everyday and bought a CD, and she wrapped it for him. He took the CD home and put it in his closet. He was still too shy to ask her out and he really wanted to but he couldn't. His mother found out about this and told him to just ask her.

So the next day, he took all his courage and went to the store. He bought a CD like he did everyday and once again she went to the back of the store and came back with it wrapped. He took it and when she wasn't looking, he left his phone number on the desk and ran out...

!!!RRRRRING!!!

The mother picked up the phone and said, "Hello?"

It was the girl!!! She asked for the boy and the mother started to cry and said, "You don't know? He passed away yesterday..."

The line was quiet except for the cries of the boy's mother. Later in the day. The mother went into the boy's room because she wanted to remember him. She thought she would start by looking at his clothes. So she opened the closet. She was face to face with piles and piles and piles of unopened CDs. She was surprised to find all those CDs and she picked one up and sat down on the bed and she started to open one.

Inside, there was a CD and as she took it out of the wrapper, out fell a piece of paper. The mother picked it up and started to read it.

It said: Hi... I think U R really cute. Do u wanna go out with me? Love, Jacelyn

The mother opened another CD...

Again there was a piece of paper. It said: Hi... I think U R really cute. Do u wanna go out with me? Love, Jacelyn

Love is... when you've had a huge fight but then decide to put aside your egos, hold hands and say, "I Love You"

A cab driver taught me a million dollar lesson in customer satisfaction and expectation. Motivational speakers charge thousands of dollars to impart his kind of training to corporate executives and staff. It cost me a $12 taxi ride.

I had flown into Dallas for the sole purpose of calling on a client. Time was of the essence and my plan included a quick turnaround trip from and back to the airport. A spotless cab pulled up.

The driver rushed to open the passenger door for me and made sure I was comfortably seated before he closed the door. As he got in the driver's seat, he mentioned that the neatly folded Wall Street Journal next to me for my use. He then showed me several tapes and asked me what type of music I would enjoy.

Well! I looked around for a "Candid Camera!" Wouldn't you? I could not believe the service I was receiving! I took the opportunity to say, "Obviously you take great pride in your work. You must have a story to tell."

"You bet," he replied, "I used to be in Corporate America. But I got tired of thinking my best would never be good enough. I decided to find my niche in life where I could feel proud of being the best I could be.

I knew I would never be a rocket scientist, but I love driving cars, being of service and feeling like I have done a full day's work and done it well. I evaluate my personal assets and... wham! I became a cab driver.

One thing I know for sure, to be good in my business I could simply just meet the expectations of my passengers. But, to be GREAT in my business, I have to EXCEED the customer's expectations! I like both the sound and the return of being 'great' better than just getting by on 'average'"

Did I tip him big time? You bet! Corporate America's loss is the traveling folk's friend!

One night, at 11:30 PM, an older African American woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway trying to endure a lashing rain storm. Her car had broken down and she desperately needed a ride. Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car. A young white man stopped to help her - generally unheard of in those conflict-filled 1960s. The man took her to safety, helped her get assistance and put her into a taxi cab. She seemed to be in a big hurry! She wrote down his address, thanked him and drove away.

Seven days went by and a knock came on the man's door. To his surprise, a giant console color TV was delivered to his home. A special note was attached. It read: "Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway the other night. The rain drenched not only my clothes but my spirits. Then you came along. Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying husband's bedside just before he passed away. God bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving others."

Lessons:

• Offer help to anyone who needs it

• Thank others for helping you.

• If you help someone. Someone will help you.

If everyone does just these, the whole world will live in happiness.

A little boy came up to his mother in the kitchen one evening while she was fixing supper, and handed her a piece of paper that he had been writing on. After his Mom dried her hands on an apron, she read it, and this is what it said:

For cutting the grass: $5.00
For cleaning up my room this week: $1.00
For going to the store for you: $.50
Baby-sitting my kid brother while you went shopping: $.25
Taking out the garbage: $1.00
For getting a good report card: $5.00
For cleaning up and raking the yard: $2.00
Total owed: $14.75

Well, his mother looked at him standing there, and the boy could see the memories flashing through her mind. She picked up the pen, turned over the paper he'd written on, and this is what she wrote:

For the nine months I carried you while you were growing inside me:
No Charge

For all the nights that I've sat up with you, doctored and prayed for you:
No Charge

For all the trying times, and all the tears that you've caused through the years:
No Charge

For all the nights that were filled with dread, and for the worries I knew were ahead:
No Charge

For the toys, food, clothes, and even wiping your nose:
No Charge

Son, when you add it up, the cost of my love is:
No Charge.

When the boy finished reading what his mother had written, there were big tears in his eyes, and he looked straight at his mother and said, "Mom, I sure do love you." And then he took the pen and in great big letters he wrote: "PAID IN FULL".

Lessons:

• You will never how much your parents worth till you become a parent

• Be a giver not an asker, especially with your parents. there is a lot to give, besides money.

Advice: IF your mom is alive and close to you, give her a big kiss and ask her for forgiveness. If she is far away, call her. if she passed away, pray for her.

I remember my first Christmas party with Grandma. I was just a kid.

I was tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"

My grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me.

"No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.

'Take this money and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobbie Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobbie Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobbie Decker didn't have a cough, and he didn't have a coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobbie Decker a coat. I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes," I replied shyly. "It's ... for Bobbie." The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas. That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons, and write, "To Bobbie, From Santa Claus" on it -- Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobbie Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobbie's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge.

"All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobbie. Forty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my grandma, in Bobbie Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team

Author unknown

A group of young men from the Spanish Catholic Action movement were attempting to renew the church in Palma, Majorca, Spain in 1949. They had worked long and hard to get people more involved and to counter the non-Christian world they were living in with its rise of secular values, but all their efforts floundered.

Each attempt seemed worse than the one before. They were at the point of giving up. Then one evening, one of the men who had been working to develop the program received an unexpected call from the chaplain of the local prison asking for a couple of volunteers to come to the prison and help with a difficult problem. Two young men were to be executed the next day, but they would have nothing to do with the chaplain. The chaplain thought perhaps a layman could reach them.

The man who received the call was frightened at the prospect of entering a prison, but after considerable prayer, he called a friend to join him in responding to the chaplain's call. Neither man had ever been to a prison, but they agreed to come. As the two men entered the cell, they encountered the condemned pair playing cards and gambling with the guards. Prison rules declared that two guards must stay in the cell with the condemned men on the last night before execution. Their cell was littered with pornographic magazines and pin-ups. The condemned men seemed bent only on swapping dirty stories and gambling the night away.

One of the two men the chaplain had called was Eduardo Bonnin. He asked for permission to let them take the place of the guards. When this had been granted, they began talking to the prisoners, listening to their stories. Gradually, they won the prisoners' confidence and eventually, Eduardo said to them: "We came here to ask a favour of you."

At this point, the two men laughed loud and long. "A favour? Don't you realize that later this morning we..." and he made a gesture of being executed. "But there is something you can do," said Bonnin. "We only wanted you to recommend something to the Lord for us. You are the only people we have met who know when they will meet the Lord face to face. Neither the Pope nor rulers nor rich nor poor know when they will meet God, yet you do. We want you to say something to Him. We feel it is so urgent. We have this wonderful project from which we expected great fruits, but so far we have failed miserably to get it going. We want you to ask the Lord to help us." And Bonnin proceeded to explain their hopes and anxieties concerning the program.

As the night worn on, they spoke of Christ and His love and mercy. They spoke of how the good thief had "stolen" heaven, and they talked about forgiveness. In the early hours of the morning, the chaplain heard the confessions of the inmates and held a private mass. The two inmates, Bonnin and his friend all received the Eucharist.

One of those men wrote to his family that night, and this is a translation from the Spanish:

Dearest family, so close to my heart,

These lines I am writing are the last you will receive from your son and brother. I am writing them more with my heart than my pen. I am in the condemned cell and have only a few hours remaining before I leave this life.

After my life of ill luck, God has granted me the extraordinary grace of enabling me to recognize my past faults and making peace with Him. He has given me this opportunity for sincere confession, which has opened, little by little, the gates of heaven.

It only remains for me to ask your pardon for all the heartaches I gave you during my life, with my straying, to recommend to my brothers whom I love with all my heart never to stray from the path of duty that you, my parents, taught us to follow. I never remembered you with such affection as at this moment. The end of my career has arrived. Praise be to God, who gave me these moments to ransom my life and to die as do those men who have faith.

My last thoughts on Earth are with you. Adios, until eternity.

When invited to have breakfast with the condemned men, Bonnin could not eat. He was too nervous. A short while later, they were led to the execution. One of them cried out for Eduardo Bonnin, and Eduardo told of how that man died, holding Eduardo's crucifix in one hand as Eduardo knelt beside him, praying for him.

These two inmates were executed in January 1949. The project that Eduardo Bonnin and his companions had in hand, and that they were unsuccessful in launching despite all their trials and efforts, was referred to as "Cursillos de Christiandad".

Surely we can conclude that Jesus said to them as He said to the thief who was crucified with Him "Today you will be with me in Paradise." Bonnin still wears the cross the young condemned man held at his execution.

Extracted from the Kairos korner, LVCCM newsletter, October 1996.

Sometimes in our lives there are moments that are pure magic. For me, this was one of them.

Last week I took my children to a restaurant. My six-year-old son asked if he could say grace. As we bowed our heads he said, "God is good. God is great. Thank you for the food and I would even thank you more if mom gets us ice-cream for dessert. And Liberty and justice for all! Amen!"

Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby I heard a woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't even know how to pray. Asking God for ice-cream! Why I never!"

Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?"

As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table. He winked at my son and said, "I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer."

"Really?" my son asked.

"Cross my heart." Then in theatrical whisper he added, indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing, "Too bad she never asks God for ice-cream. A little ice-cream is good for the soul sometimes."

Naturally I bought my kids ice-cream at the end of the meal. My son stared at his for a moment and then did something I will remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and without a word walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her, "Here, this is for you. Ice-cream is good for the soul sometimes, and my soul is good already."

Of all my children he is by far my most . . . trying. The quickest to anger, the first one to break something, and the last one to do as he's told.

None of it matters though, 'cause like he said, his soul is good already!

This is a true story of something that happened just a few years ago at USC.

There was a professor of philosophy there who was a deeply committed atheist. His primary goal for one required class was to spend the entire semester attempting to prove that God couldn't exist. His students were always afraid to argue with him because of his impeccable logic. For twenty years he had taught this class and NO ONE had ever had the courage to go against him. Sure, some had argued in class at times, but no one had ever *really gone against him* (you'll see what I mean later). Nobody would go against him because he had a reputation.

At the end of every semester, on the last day, he would say to the class of 300 students, "If there is anyone here who still believes in God, stand up!" In twenty years, nobody ever stood up. They knew what he was going to do next. He would say, "Because anyone who believes in God is a fool. If God existed, he could stop this piece of chalk from hitting the ground and breaking. Such a simple task to prove he is God, and yet he can't do it." And every year he would drop the chalk onto the tile floor of the classroom and it could shatter into a hundred pieces. All of the students could do nothing but stop and stare. Most of the students were convinced that God couldn't exist. Certainly, a number of Christians had slipped through, but for 20 years they had been too afraid to stand up.

Well, a few years ago there was a freshman who happened to enroll in the class. He was a Christian, and had heard the stories about this professor. He had to take the class because it was one of the required classes for his major. And he was afraid. But for three months that semester, he prayed every morning that he would have the courage to stand up no matter what the professor said or what the class thought. Nothing they said or did could ever shatter his faith, he hoped.

Finally, the day came. The professor said, "If there is anyone here who still believes in God, stand up!" The professor, and the class of 300 people looked at him, shocked, as he stood up at the back of the room. The professor shouted, "YOU FOOL! If nothing I have said all semester has convinced you that God doesn't exist, then you are a fool! If God existed, he could keep this piece of chalk from breaking when it hit the ground!"

He proceeded to drop the chalk, but as he did, it slipped out of his fingers, off his shirt cuff, onto the pleats of his pants, down his leg, and off his shoe. And as it hit the ground, it simply rolled away, UNBROKEN. The professor's jaw dropped as he stared at the chalk. He looked up at the young man and then ran out of the lecture hall.

The young man who had stood up proceeded to walk to the front of the room and share his faith in Jesus for the next half hour. 300 students stayed and listened as he told of God's love for them and of his power through Jesus.

A friend of mine named Paul received an automobile from his brother as a Christmas present. On Christmas Eve when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it.

"Is this your car, Mister?" he asked.

Paul nodded. "My brother gave it to me for Christmas."

The boy was astounded. "You mean your brother gave it to you and it didn't cost you nothing? Boy, I wish...." He hesitated.

Of course Paul knew what he was going to wish for. He was going to wish that he had a brother like that. But, what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.

"I wish," the boy went on, "that I could be a brother like that."

Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively he added, "Would you like to take a ride in my automobile?"

"Oh yes, I'd love that."

After a short ride, the boy turned and with his eyes aglow, said, "Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?"

Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But, Paul was wrong again. "Will you stop where those two steps are?" the boy asked.

He ran up the steps. Then in a little while Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little crippled brother. He sat him down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up against him and pointed at the car.

"There she is Buddy, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Christmas. This is what I've been trying to tell you about."

Paul got out and lifted the younger lad into the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him, and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride.

That Christmas Eve, Paul learned what Jesus meant when he said: "It is more blessed to give...."

The upstate NY man was rich in almost every way. His estate was worth millions. He owned houses, land, antiques and cattle. Although on the outside he had it all, he was very unhappy on the inside. His wife was growing old, and the couple was childless. He had always wanted a little boy to carry on the family legacy.

Miraculously, his wife became pregnant in her later years, and she gave birth to a little boy. The boy was severely handicapped, but the man loved him with all his heart. When the boy was five, his mom died. The dad drew closer to his special son. At age 13, the boy's birth defects cost him his life, and the father died soon after from a broken heart.

The estate was auctioned before hundreds of bidders. The first item offered was a painting of the the boy. No one bid. They were waiting like vultures for the riches. Finally, the poor housemaid, who helped raise the boy, offered $5 for the picture and easily took the bid. To everyone's shock, the auctioneer ripped a hand written will from the back of the picture. This is what it said:

"To the person who thinks enough of my son to buy this painting, I give my entire estate."

The auction was over. The greedy crowd walked away in shock and dismay. How many of us have sought what we thought were true riches, only to find out later that our Father was prepared to give us His entire estate if we had only sought His Son alone?

(Shared by Duane E. Berry, and eventually through the Emmaus e-mail list)

Looking at them, one could easily say that the couple would be perfect candidates to model the portrait American Gothic, although slightly younger than the originals. Both of them looked almost too ordinary to the eye. Dressed in jeans, a red and white checkered flannel and wearing a red ball cap, Earl stood next to Lorinda, a substantially shorter woman also dressed in jeans, but with a royal purple shirt and sky blue tennis shoes. With two suitcases, they stood next to the quickly dusking Colorado Route 23 which curved off into wilderness. They appeared to those passing by as a man and wife who had encountered trouble farther down the road and, walking some distance already, was possibly in need some form of assistance.

The couple was on a mission, pure and simple, although those who passed by on the route were unaware. Had they been aware, those who had passed may have been more inclined to stop and offer the two their assistance. In spite of their almost-too-ordinary appearance, Earl and Lorinda were far from an ordinary couple who stood on the side of a truly ordinary state route. Instead, Earl and Lorinda were angels sent to discover whether there were those in the world who would be concerned enough with the lives of others to reach out and help someone in need.

Now at late dusk with the late fall Colorado chill whipping about, Lorinda's earlier optimism faded, with Earl's following closely behind. Both Lorinda and Earl understood that they were chosen to stand beside this route, especially because it lead into an area heavily populated with those who professed to be devout Christians. Neither thought that they would have needed to stand by the now seemingly deserted Route 23 as long as they had.

Earl broke the hour long hush that had fallen upon both of them. "Lorinda, would you like the coat? You're shivering," he said as he bent to pick up the kelly green jacket that was draped over the suitcase beside him. "Thank you," she replied as he helped her put the jacket on. "It is really getting cold out here. Do you think we should go back?" she asked hopelessly, finally letting go of the last glimmer of optimism she had about their assignment. "We have been here since early this morning and nobody has even stopped to ask if we need assistance." Earl replied, "I really don't want to give up on them, Lorinda. There must be one person here somewhere who would be willing to care enough for other people to stop and help. Let's wait a little while longer. I know we've been here since this morning, but I just can't believe that no one cares." Lorinda nodded a slow yes, hoping that somehow her growing suspicions about people were wrong.

The sun gave its final dance of light, then slipped below the horizon. A greater chill swept through the air. Both now stood huddling and shivering in the cold Colorado night, waiting for an act of mercy to prove their newly forming expectations wrong. Silence again prevailed the conversation.

Earl pondered again, as he had many times earlier in the day, about the contents of the small green suitcase that they had been given, which now rested on the ground behind Lorinda. They had been told not to open it and that they were to give it to the appropriate person. Earl had no idea who this suitcase was to be given to, the only clue being a large tag on it that simply said "To Hudson." They were both told that they would know who to give it to when the time came. He wondered how he could give it to someone when no one even stopped. So far they had no contact with anyone all day.

Finally Lorinda turned to Earl and said "I think we should head back. It's no use. People have lost compassion for each other. This will be a sad report to give." Just as the last word slipped out of her mouth, bright headlights pierced the dark curtain of night that had fallen. The car was still in the distance but it clanged and clunked with loud exasperations.

As the rickety car approached, it slowed and then paused beside the couple. Startled, both felt their once dashed hopes resurrected. The haggard old man behind the wheel of the rusty '98 Cutlass rolled down the window and shouted to the couple as loudly as his raspy voice would let him. "Do you folks need some help? It's getting awful dark out here and cold, practically freezing." Earl and Lorinda both dashed to the window. She replied "O, thank God! Yes, we need a ride to Huberton. Would you be so kind as to take us there?" The man replied somewhat bitterly at first, "Well, I don't believe in that "God-business," then hesitated. After a few seconds he continued "...but, I suppose it would be no problem to take you in to town. You look like honest folks who could use some help. Come on, get in," he finished.

Lorinda and Earl looked at each other in amazement. Neither ever expected a man who didn't even believe that God existed to be the one who would stop and assist them. They expected a fine upstanding Christian to be the one to pick them up. An atheist is the last person they had in mind. They put both suitcases into the front seat and then got in the back.

Huberton was a few miles away, so Earl and Lorinda began to converse with the driver, who they learned, during the course of conversation, was named Hudson Johnson. Hudson was called an old opinionated codger by many who knew him, as stubborn and set in his ways as they come. Many also knew, though that in spite of this, he would help anyone in need. He was definitely a tough man to figure out.

In the back of their minds, Earl and Lorinda still wondered why this man didn't believe in God and yet could be so kind to complete strangers. It was especially amazing to Earl that a man like Hudson, who seemed bitter toward the world would stop and pick them up. Finally, Earl got up the courage to ask him, at the risk of both he and Lorinda being left back at the side of the road, "Hudson, why don't you believe in God?" Neither Earl or Lorinda expected the reply he gave. Instead, both of them expected a bitter reply or a brutal attack on the Christians who lived nearby.

After a moment of silence Hudson pulled to the side of the road. Earl thought that indeed he and Lorinda were soon being left to the roadside. Instead, he heard Hudson softly weeping. With a water-wavery voice he began to explain. "I was a Christian all of my life. I believed that Jesus had died for me and all of that bologna. I believed it all for over 60 years. What changed my mind about this whole God-thing was when my wife began to show signs of Alzheimer's. As she got worse I began to question God and His existence. How could a loving God let this happen to anyone? There just can't be a God. When my wife forgot who I was, that was it. I couldn't believe that God existed anymore. I would walk into the room and she would scream at me. Sometimes when she was calmer, I would ask her 'Do you remember me?' She would hiss a 'no' along with a string of profanity. It hurt so much that the one person I had loved so much and the one person who had, at one time, loved me, now didn't even remember me."

"Do you understand now?" Silence. "I said do you understand?" he choked through his tears.

The silence was incredibly thick. He looked up through the rearview mirror into the back seat. There was no one there. He turned and looked. Again, no one was there. He couldn't believe that they could have just vanished into thin air. He hadn't heard the car doors open or close. As he turned forward again, bewildered, his eye caught hold of the small green suitcase which lay on the seat beside him. The other suitcase was gone. A large tag on the suitcase that sat beside him read simply "To Hudson." He crept toward the suitcase and opened it. He gasped at what he saw inside. The first thing he picked up was the old dusty Bible he had been given as a young boy and then thrown away after his wife's death, after he had given up on faith. He opened the Bible to the place where an angel shaped bookmark had been inserted. There he found the passage that had earlier influenced him greatly as a young man, highlighted.

"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his throne in heavenly glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?' When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?' When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."

(Matthew 25:31-40)

Tears flooded his eyes. He never forgot the lesson he learned from that passage. Even after his wife's death, he always helped those in need. It only seemed right.

The other item in the suitcase was a small plain envelope. He opened it gingerly. Inside was a ordinary piece of notebook paper with only a few words written on it. It read:

Hudson,

I remember you. Do you remember Me?
I love you.

There was no signature except a symbol, but Hudson knew Who it was from. At the bottom of the page there was a simple cross drawn in crimson red.

I asked God to take away my pride and God said, "No."
He said it was not for Him to take it away, but for me to give it up.

I asked God to heal my disease and God said, "No."
He said, "Your spirit is whole, your body is only temporary.
Through your afflictions you will learn to help others who also suffer."

I asked God to grant me patience and God said, "No."
He said that patience is a by-product of tribulation.
It isn't granted; it's earned.

I asked God to give me happiness and God said, "No."
He said that He gives blessings; happiness is up to me.

I asked God to spare me pain and God said, "No."
He said, "Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares
and brings you closer to me."

I asked God to make my spirit grow and God said, "No."
He said that I must grow on my own,
but He will prune me to make me fruitful.

I asked God if He loved me and God said, "Yes."
He said, "I gave my only Son who died for you.
You will be in heaven someday because you believe."

I asked God to help me love others as much as He loves me and God said,
"Ah...Finally you understand..."

- Unknown

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anybody's number and the correct time.

My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway - The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. Information Please I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.

A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information." "I hurt my finger. . ."

I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.

"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered. "Are you bleeding?"

"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger."

After that I called Information Please for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math, and she told me my pet chipmunk I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.

And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child.

But I was unconsoled. Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up on the bottom of a cage?

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."

Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."

"Information," said the now familiar voice.

"How do you spell 'fix'?" I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the pacific Northwest. Then when I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the hall table. Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please".

Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information." I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you tell me please ... how to spell 'fix'?"

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess that your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed, "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time."

"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. "Please do! Just ask for Sally."

Just three months later, I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered Information and I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?"

"Yes, a very old friend."

"Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." But before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"

"Yes."

"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down. Here it is. I'll read it: 'Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean.' "

I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.

Jerry was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good mood and always had something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!"

He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed him around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Jerry was because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.

Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and asked him, "I don't get it! You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?"

Jerry replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, 'Jerry, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood.' I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life."

"Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested.

"Yes it is," Jerry said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live life."

I reflected on what Jerry said. Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it. Several years later, I heard that Jerry did something you are never supposed to do in a restaurant business: he left the back door open one morning and was held up at gunpoint by three armed robbers.

While trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him. Luckily, Jerry was found relatively quickly and rushed to the local trauma center.

After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jerry was released from the hospital with fragments of the bullets still in his body.

I saw Jerry about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied, "If I were any better, I'd be twins. Wanna see my scars?"

I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the robbery took place.

"The first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the back door," Jerry replied. "Then, as I lay on the floor, remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live, or I could choose to die. I chose to live."

"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked. Jerry continued, "The paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the emergency room and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read, 'He's a dead man.' I knew I needed to take action."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Well, there was a big, burly nurse shouting questions at me," said Jerry. "She asked if I was allergic to anything. 'Yes,' I replied. The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Bullets!' Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead."

Jerry lived thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.

Attitude, after all, is everything.

There once was a little boy who wanted to meet God. He knew it was long trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with Twinkies and a six-pack of root beer and he started his journey.

When he had gone about three blocks, he met an old woman. She was sitting in the park just staring at some pigeons. The boy sat down next to her and opened his suitcase. He was about to take a drink from his root beer when he noticed that the old lady looked hungry, so he offered a Twinkie. She gratefully accepted it and smiled at him. Her smile was so pretty that the boy wanted to see it again, so he offered a root beer. Once again she smiled at him. The boy was delighted!

They sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, but they never said a word.

As it grew dark, the boy realized how tired he was and he got up to leave, but before he had gone more than a few steps, he turned around, ran back to the old woman and gave her a hug. She gave him her biggest smile ever.

When the boy opened the door to his own house a short time later, his mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face.

She asked him, "What did you do today that made you so happy?"

He replied, "I had lunch with God." But before his mother could respond, he added, "You know what? She's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen!"

Meanwhile, the old woman, also radiant with joy, returned to her home.

Her son was stunned by the look of peace on her face and he asked, "Mother, what did you do today that made you so happy?"

She replied, "I ate Twinkies in the park with God." But before her son responded, she added, "You know, he's much younger than I expected."

By Julie A. Manhan
from A 3rd Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul
Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which were stretched from floor to ceiling and were seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Boys I Have Liked," I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed."

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I Have Yelled At My Little Brother." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done In My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath At My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes even fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my life to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? but each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each was signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized that the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

While I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the fiel out - its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn those cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor. I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it out.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared The Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep with sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I feel on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response, and in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively to go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally, He turned around and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes, but His was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands, and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, No," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There are still cards to be written.......

I don't know when I first began to build the wall. I suppose it was when it occurred to me that I could keep people out of my life by building a simple wall. The wall would be a kind of boundary, a kind of protection. At first the little wall was only knee high. It was really quite attractive, made of native stone I had found in my life.

The wall was so small that some people didn't notice it --- and fell flat on their faces.

Others saw it, but would step over it and come very close to me. I found this very uncomfortable. So I built the wall higher.

This was really much better. But soon I found that people would come and rest their arms on the wall while talking to me. Some stayed too long and some were not my kind of people. And even when I edged the top of the wall with sharp stones, they didn't seem to notice.

One day one of them vaulted over the wall and stood right inside. This made me angry. I decided to build the wall higher.

As I continued to build, I became more and more self-sufficient. I painted designs on the stones. I made arcs and colored windows that distorted the light so that one could neither see in nor out.

The wall pleased me so that I longed to show it to someone --- or explain how I had achieved each design. But I realized that no one had stopped by to talk for some time. Some walked by not seeming to notice me or my wall. Others stood sadly by and watched me build. I thought they were jealous of my wall and I resented them, all of them.

One day a man stopped to listen as I explained how I was building the wall. He wanted to come inside to see what I was doing. I explained to him that the whole purpose of the wall was to keep people on the other side. But I could tell he didn't understand or care. As he left I went back to build the wall higher.

I became so absorbed in my wall that I found little time for anything else. I searched my life for new and different stones. I found stones that I didn't even know I had.

The design was very important to me. I would build and rebuild until it was just the way I wanted it. Some stones were so dear to me that I polished them carefully several times a day. Then one day I realized the wall was so high that I no longer saw anyone go by. I no longer heard anyone. Everything was quiet.

"Is anyone there?" I yelled.

There was no answer. It was dark inside the wall and the air was foul. I sat there for a long time. It was quiet and dark and lonely. Only the whispers of my memories could be heard.

I thought of those who did not like my wall, who had laughed at it, scorned it, been jealous of it. I sat in the shadows and listened for someone to come and tell me that they really liked it. But it was dark and quiet. Very quiet.

I don't know how long I sat in the shadow of my memories, but one day I noticed that one of the stones didn't match as well as I had thought and the wall was crooked. This was too much. I had thought my wall was perfect. But it was not. Frantically I examined the wall and, sure enough, there were other imperfections.

To add to the pain of my discovery, one day someone yelled from the other side. "Your wall is ugly. It is twisted and gray and misshapen!" It was the day the flower fell at my feet that I began to cry. I ran to the wall and climbed to see who had thrown it over. By the time I reached the top, no one was there. I returned to the flower and sat for a long time looking at its perfection. I began to see the folly of my wall and its imperfection.

Floods of tears brought me to my knees. "Oh, I am so alone, my wall is too high. My wall is imperfect and ugly. Everything is in vain. I have nothing left. Won't someone help me --- Please?"

Then a strange thing happened. Something inside me stirred as a baby quickens in its mother's womb. And in the stillness of my broken world I knew in my whole being a blessed presence. I knelt there in wonder that God would come to me. And I wept with joy that I was not alone --- and that my darkness had been penetrated by his blessed light.

For days I stood in the joy of his presence. My wall shone with the warmth of his light and I no longer felt cold and alone. I knew that he had watched me build my wall and that He had waited patiently for me to see it was in vain.

Finally it occurred to me that He would know why my wall was so ugly. When I asked Him, He began to teach me. Day by day He showed me my error. He gave the stones names. "This stone is jealousy. You must remove it." Sometimes I would be reluctant. For days I would protest. This was my favorite stone. It was one I had saved and cherished for years. When I was finally ready, He helped me remove the stone.

One day when we had removed one of the heavier stones, a hand came through the opening. "Take it," He said.

Hesitantly I took the hand. For a long time I stood in the warmth of that grasp. Somehow I knew the hand and the one behind it had been waiting for an opening in my wall. There stirred in me a hunger and a longing for human comfort. At first I thought His presence within my wall was enough. But with the coming of the hand clasp, I knew He had come to tear the wall down. A part of me wanted to spring forth but another part of me cried out in fear. Why couldn't I keep a part of the wall? His presence was enough. I looked at all the stones I had collected throughout my life. Some were still in the wall. The others He had stacked neatly in a corner. If I ever chose to rebuild the wall, I could. I begged Him to throw them away but he told me that in them, I could test my strength. How they tempted me!

One day when He didn't seem to be around, I dashed over and picked up a cherished stone to rebuild my wall. It was then I realized that if I were to be strong enough to live without the wall, I would have to know the stones were there. I would have to know the name of each one. In knowing their names, I could not use them again without betraying Him.

As we removed more stones, the light came in. And His light would shine out. I began to look through the open places. I could see things I hadn't noticed for a long time --- dewdrops, ladybugs, sunbeams, and blades of grass. He told me many things and gave me gifts. The more I talked to Him the more I wanted to talk to Him. I saw things I had never seen before and heard things I had never heard before.

One day as I was standing by an open place, a man stopped to talk. I told him about the blessed presence and how He had changed my life. The man said he understood. "But," he said, "if that's true, why do you have this block of resentment in your wall? I can't see Him. The stone blocks the way."

I looked and sure enough, one of my most prized rocks lay directly in front of me covering nearly one side of the wall. It had been one of the first stones I had placed. It was a large conglomerate of disillusionment, childishness, stubbornness and other petty stones. I asked the man if he would help me remove it. I was so ashamed the blessed presence might see this large rock. The man did loosen the stone and I thanked him as he went on his way. I wondered how I could ever remove that stone without help.

I really tried. I tugged and tugged and struggled and struggled but it only moved slightly. I sat down in despair. I knew the man was right. The stone must be removed.

"Oh dear," I said. "How can I ever remove this one! It is so big and I am so weak."

"You cannot move it," He said.

"But I must," I replied. "The man said he could hardly believe you were here with that stone in the wall."

"If you really want the stone removed, I will remove it." We went carefully over to the wall and chipped away each small stone until the large one was diminished.

Even with the stone of resentment gone, people kept stumbling over debris and remnants of the wall as they walked through my life. There was a woman who knew Him and had let Him tear down her wall. She walked in and sat down on one of the stones. I told her what He had done for me and she told me what He had done for her. I told her how I had suffered so and that I would never forget how forsaken and lonely I had felt inside my wall.

"Yes," she said, "self-pity is a terrible thing."

When she left I found the stone of self-pity in my wall. It was wet with my tears. I dried it off and laid it with the other stones. The wall was almost demolished. I looked around at all the world I could see. I thought of His great love for me and breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction and pride that I should have come so far.

"Look how much I have accomplished," I thought. "How much better I know Him than some of those others out there. Poor unenlightened ones who don't know Him nearly as well as I. It is so easy. Why can't they see?"

Overwhelmed by all He had done for me and all He had taught me, I stood upon one of the remaining stones and began to tell anyone who passed by what the blessed presence had done for me. I was appalled that no one seemed to hear or understand what I was saying. I told them how dark and lonely it had been inside the wall. And how He had come to help me tear it down. How vain it was to build walls. I noticed others working on walls and ran over to plead with them to stop, but no one would listen. In my frustration I cried out, "Why can't they hear? Why can't they understand? Why can't they believe me?"

I lay face down on the stone I had stood upon. It was extremely large, highly polished. It had been my great prize. It was more than life size.

"Do you want the answer to your question?" He asked.

"You know I do," I sighed.

"Raise your head and look at the stone you are lying upon."

I raised my head and gasped for I saw my own reflection in the massive stone. There was pride in my look and manner. I knew the stone was pride. Quietly, we removed it.

Now we could see beyond the meadow and a path led forth from where I stood. Then He said a strange thing. "Now you must go. I will go with you and yet I will stay here."

"But I don't want to leave," I protested. "The wall still stands. There are other stones to remove. I want to be here with you."

"I said I would go with you. There is an opening in the wall for you to come and go. Do you remember the flower that fell at your feet, the hand that you clasped, the woman who showed you self-pity or the man who showed you resentment?"

"Oh yes," I sighed, "Oh yes."

"Then you must go and do likewise. For to whom much is given, much is expected. Wherever you go I go with you. And whenever you come back here to be tempted or to remove more stones I will be here."

So I went forth. Soon I saw a wall builder. He had just started to build his wall. I saw pain and hurt in his face --- and confusion in his frenzy to build. I leaned against the wall wanting to tell him I understood. But the stones were placed so that the sharp edges cut me and I retreated in pain. I stood by the wall nursing my wounds. In sadness I watched him build. Soon his wall was so high I could not see him and my heart ached because I knew it was dark and lonely inside. I called to him but he could not hear. The ugliness of the wall was unbelievable. I reached out and touched it, leaned against it. I don't know how long I was there but one day I heard someone yell, "Your wall is ugly. It is twisted and gray and misshapen."

Strangely, though I had never heard a sound from the wall before. Great racking sobs exploded from inside. Tears streamed down my face and I cried out in frustration, "Won't You help him please? Please?"

I thought my heart would break. In desperation I looked about. If only I could give him a gift to ease his pain. I looked down to find a small flower at my feet. Hastily I plucked it and threw it over the wall. Then the sobbing stopped and I knew a great peace, for in some strange way I knew that the blessed presence had come to him and that my aching heart and the gift of the flower had helped bring it about. I knew that soon there would be an opening in the wall, and I could grasp his hand. I knew, too, that he might never know that it was I who was there. But it really didn't matter for in some wonderful way, I had become a part of every man's life. Through the blessed presence we would all become one. Somehow I knew I would never be the same.

I returned to my wall and the blessed presence was there. Together we removed the stones of fear, mistrust, and indifference. He said, "Now you begin to understand love. Without love, all the things I have told you would be meaningless. You will begin to live in peace and understanding. You will learn gentleness and kindness. But it will take time. I will always be with you."

So it was that I went forth reaching out --- sometimes just waiting beside a wall, sometimes tossing a flower, sometimes grasping a hand.

There are days that I return to my wall. I touch the stacked stones and examine the remnants of my wall. At times I am filled with a desire to rebuild it, but we talk and He helps me to be strong. Sometimes we remove another stone.

It is strange that I began to recognize others like myself. When I see someone with a flower, I know that it will be thrown over a wall.

Sometimes I see someone standing by a wall sadly watching a wall builder. I see those who are sitting on stones explaining what kind of stones they have used.

I know the blessed presence is with them, too. We pass on the path and a great love passes between us. I see peace in their eyes and faith in their hearts and I know that someday the walls will be down and we will all walk free from place to place --- The Great Family Of God.

Small Wooden People

The Wemmicks were small wooden people. Each of the wooden people was carved by a woodworker named Eli. His workshop sat on a hill overlooking their village.

Every Wemmick was different. Some had big noses, others had large eyes. Some were tall and others were short. Some wore hats, others wore coats. But all were made by the same carver and all lived in the village.

And all day, every day, the Wemmicks did the same thing: They gave each other stickers. Each Wemmick had a box of golden star stickers and a box of gray dot stickers. Up and down the streets all over the city, people could be seen sticking stars or dots on one another.

The pretty ones, those with smooth wood and fine paint, always got stars. But if the wood was rough or the paint chipped, the Wemmicks gave dots.

The talented ones got stars, too. Some could lift big sticks high above their heads or jump over tall boxes. Still others knew big words or could sing very pretty songs. Everyone gave them stars.

Some Wemmicks had stars all over them! Every time they got a star it made them feel so good that they did something else and got another star.

Others, though, could do little. They got dots.

Punchinello was one of these. He tried to jump high like the others, but he always fell. And when he fell, the others would gather around and give him dots.

Sometimes when he fell, it would scar his wood, so the people would give him more dots.

He would try to explain why he fell and say something silly, and the Wemmicks would give him more dots.

After a while he had so many dots that he didn't want to go outside. He was afraid he would do something dumb such as forget his hat or step in the water, and then people would give him another dot. In fact, he had so many gray dots that some people would come up and give him one without reason.

"He deserves lots of dots," the wooden people would agree with one another. "He's not a good wooden person."

After a while Punchinello believed them. "I'm not a good wemmick," he would say.

The few times he went outside, he hung around other Wemmicks who had a lot of dots. He felt better around them.

One day he met a Wemmick who was unlike any he'd ever met. She had no dots or stars. She was just wooden. Her name was Lulia.

It wasn't that people didn't try to give her stickers; it's just that the stickers didn't stick. Some admired Lulia for having no dots, so they would run up and give her a star. But it would fall off. Some would look down on her for having no stars, so they would give her a dot. But it wouldn't stay either.

"That's the way I want to be," thought Punchinello. "I don't want anyone's marks." So he asked the stickerless Wemmick how she did it.

"It's easy," Lulia replied. "Every day I go see Eli."

"Eli?"

"Yes, Eli. The woodcarver. I sit in the workshop with him."

"Why?"

"Why don't you find out for yourself? Go up the hill. He's there." And with that the Wemmick with no marks turned and skipped away.

"But he won't want to see me!" Punchinello cried out. Lulia didn't hear. So Punchinello went home. He sat near a window and watched the wooden people as they scurried around giving each other stars and dots. "It's not right," he muttered to himself. And he resolved to go see Eli.

He walked up the narrow path to the top of the hill and stepped into the big shop. His wooden eyes widened at the size of everything. The stool was as tall as he was. He had to stretch on his tiptoes to see the top of the workbench. A hammer was as long as his arm. Punchinello swallowed hard. "I'm not staying here!" and he turned to leave.

Then he heard his name.

"Punchinello?" The voice was deep and strong.

Punchinello stopped.

"Punchinello! How good to see you. Come and let me have a look at you." Punchinello turned slowly and looked at the large bearded craftsman. "You know my name?" the little Wemmick asked.

"Of course I do. I made you."

Eli stooped down and picked him up and set him on the bench. "Hmm," the maker spoke thoughtfully as he inspected the gray circles.

"Looks like you've been given some bad marks."

"I didn't mean to, Eli. I really tried hard."

"Oh, you don't have to defend yourself to me, child. I don't care what the other Wemmicks think."

"You don't?"

"No, and you shouldn't either. Who are they to give stars or dots?

"They're Wemmicks just like you. What they think doesn't matter, Punchinello. All that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special."

Punchinello laughed. "Me, special? Why? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My paint is peeling. Why do I matter to you?"

Eli looked at Punchinello, put his hands on those small wooden shoulders, and spoke very slowly. "Because you're mine. That's why you matter to me."

Punchinello had never had anyone look at him like this--much less his maker. He didn't know what to say.

"Every day I've been hoping you'd come," Eli explained.

"I came because I met someone who had no marks."

"I know. She told me about you."

"Why don't the stickers stay on her?"

"Because she has decided that what I think is more important than what they think. The stickers only stick if you let them."

"What?"

"The stickers only stick if they matter to you. The more you trust my love, the less you care about the stickers."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You will, but it will take time. You've got a lot of marks. For now, just come to see me every day and let me remind you how much I care."

Eli lifted Punchinello off the bench and set him on the ground.

"Remember," Eli said as the Wemmick walked out the door. "You are special because I made you. And I don't make mistakes."

Punchinello didn't stop, but in his heart he thought, "I think he really means it."

And when he did, a dot fell to the ground.