THE LITTLE BOY WITH A LOST ARM

This story I'm sharing with you is a story about a small boy, who is about 13 years of age. This small boy decided to learn karate despite the fact that he had lost one of his arms, (precisely, his left arm) in a terrible car accident...

The little boy began taking lessons from his expert karate master. Right from the initial stage the boy was doing well, and so he couldn't understand why, after a period of six months of training the master had taught him (and is still teaching him) only one move. This doesn't seem like a progress to the boy and so one day, he told his master, "Master,Shouldn't I be learning more moves instead of just only one move?" The answer his master gave was: "This is the only move you know, but it is the only move you'll ever ever need to know," .

 

Not quite understanding why, but believing in his teacher, the boy kept on with the training. Several months later, the Master took the boy to his first tournament. Not long after the match began, the boy easily won his first two matches. The third match proved to be a little more difficult, but after some time, his opponent became impatient and charged; and once again, the boy used his one move to win the match. Still wondering and amazed by his success, the boy was now in the final rounds. This time around, his opponent was far bigger, stronger, and even more experienced. For a while, the boy appeared to be over matched. Feeling concerned that the boy might get hurt, the referee declared a time-out. He was about to stop the match when the little boy's master intervened. "No," the master Master insisted, "Just Let him continue." and soon after the match resumed, his opponent made a very critical mistake: he dropped his guard. Instantly, the boy used his one move to pin him. And hence boy won the match and the tournament. He was the champion!

On their way back home, the boy and Master reviewed every move in each of the matches.Then the boy summoned the courage to ask what had really been bothering his mind. “Master," he called "I still can't understand how I won the tournament with just only one move?”His master smiled and said "You won the tournament for two reasons, first, you've almost mastered one of the most difficult throws in all of karate. And second, the only known defense for that one move is for your opponent to grasp your left arm.” The little boy was amazed. His biggest weakness (his lost arm) had become his biggest strength.

Moral of the story: With the right Attitude and faith in God and also believing in yourself, you can make your biggest weakness into your biggest strength!!

THE TEACUP

There was a couple who used to go to England to shop in the beautiful stores. They both liked antiques and pottery and especially teacups. This was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

One day in this beautiful shop they saw a beautiful teacup. They said, "May we see that? We've never seen one quite so beautiful." As the lady handed it to them, suddenly the teacup spoke.

"You don't understand," it said. "I haven't always been a teacup. There was a time when I was red and I was clay." My master took me and rolled me and patted me over and over and I yelled out, "let me alone", but he only smiled, "Not yet."

"Then I was placed on a spinning wheel," the teacup said, "and suddenly I was spun around and around and around. Stop it! I'm getting dizzy!" I screamed. But the master only nodded and said, 'Not yet."

Then he put me in the oven. I never felt such heat. I wondered why he wanted to burn me, and I yelled and knocked at the door. I could see him through the opening and I could read his lips as He shook his head, "Not yet."

Finally the door opened, he put me on the shelf, and I began to cool. "There, that's better," I said. And he brushed and painted me all over. The fumes were horrible. I thought I would gag. "Stop it, stop it!" I cried. He only nodded, "Not yet."

Then suddenly he put me back into the oven, not like the first one. This was twice as hot and I knew I would suffocate. I begged. I pleaded. I screamed. I cried. All the time I could see him through the opening nodding his head saying, "Not yet."

Then I knew there wasn't any hope. I would never make it. I was ready to give up. But the door opened and he took me out and placed me on the shelf. One hour later he handed me a mirror and said, "Look at yourself." And I did. I said, "That's not me; that couldn't be me. It's beautiful. I'm beautiful."

"I want you to remember, then," he said, "I know it hurts to be rolled and patted, but if I had left you alone, you'd have dried up. I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled. I knew it hurt and was hot and disagreeable in the oven, but if I hadn't put you there, you would have cracked. I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over, but if I hadn't done that, you never would have hardened; you would not have had any color in your life. And if I hadn't put you back in that second oven, you wouldn't survive for very long because the hardness would not have held. Now you are a finished product. You are what I had in mind when I first began with you."

MORAL:

God knows what He's doing (for all of us).
He is the Potter, and we are His clay.
He will mold us and make us,
So that we may be made into a flawless piece of work
To fulfill His good, pleasing, and perfect will.
No temptation has seized you except what is common to man.
And God is faithful; he will not tempt you beyond what you can bear. (1 Corinthians 10:13)

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL HEART....

One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen. The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart.

Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said, ''Why your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine.'' The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was beating strongly, but full of scars, it had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some placesthere were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing. The people stared -- how can he say his heart is more beautiful, they thought?

The young man looked at the old man's heart and saw its state and laughed. ''You must be joking,'' he said. ''Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears.'' ''Yes,'' said the old man, ''yours is perfect looking but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love - I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart, but because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared. Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges -- giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?''

The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man with trembling hands. The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart. It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges. The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowed into his. They embraced and walked away side by side.

The Touch of the Master's Hand

 

It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
" What am I bid, good people", he cried,
" Who starts the bidding for me?"
" One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
" Two dollars, who makes it three?"
" Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three",

But, No,
From the room far back a grey haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.
" One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
" Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
" Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
" We just don't understand."
" What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
" The Touch of the Masters Hand."

And many a man with life out of tune,
All battered with bourbon and gin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin.
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.
But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Master's Hand.

By Myra Brooks Welch

GOD IS IN CONTROL

 
This is one of the MOST touching emails I have ever received. Please take the time to read it thru. You will be blessed.

A man from Norfolk, VA called a local radio station to share this on Sept 11th, 2003. His Name was Robert Matthews. These are his words:

"A few weeks before Sept 11th, my wife and I found out we were going to have our first child. She planned a trip out to California to visit her sister. On our way to the airport, we prayed that God would grant my wife a safe trip and be with her. Shortly after I said 'amen' we both heard a loud pop and the car shook violently. We had blown out a tire.

I replaced the tire as quickly as I could, but we still missed her flight. Both very upset, we drove home. I received a call from my father who was retired FDNY. He asked what my wife's flight number was, but explained that we missed the flight. My father informed me that her flight was the one that crashed into the southern tower. I was too shocked to speak.

My father also had more news for me; he was going to help. 'This is not something I can just sit by for, I have to do something.' I was concerned for his safety, of course, but more because he had never given his life to Christ. After a brief debate, I knew his mind was made up. Before he got off of the phone, he said, 'take good care of my grandchild.' Those were the last words I ever heard my father say; he died while helping in the rescue effort.

My joy that my prayer of safety for my wife had been answered quickly became anger. Anger at God, at my father, and at myself. I had gone for nearly 2 years blaming God for taking my father away. My son would never know his grandfather, my father had never accepted Christ, and I never got to say goodbye.

Then something happened. About 2 months ago, I was sitting at home with my wife and my son, when there was a knock on the door. I looked at my wife, but I could tell she wasn't expecting anyone. I opened the door to a couple with a small child. The man looked at me and asked if my father's name was Jake Matthews. I told him it was. He quickly grabbed my hand and said, 'I never got the chance to meet your father, but it is an honor to meet his son.'

He explained to me that his wife had worked in the World Trade Center and had been caught inside after the attack. She was pregnant and had been caught under debris. He then explained that my father had been the one to find his wife and free her. My eyes welled up with tears as I thought of my father giving his life for people like this. He then said, 'there is something else you need to know.' His wife then told me that as my father worked to free her, she talked to him and lead him to Christ. I began sobbing at the news.

Now I know that when I get to heaven, my father will be standing beside Jesus to welcome me, and that this family would be able to thank him themselves."

When their baby boy was born, they named him Jacob Matthew in honor of the man who gave his life so mother and baby could live.

This story should help us to realize two things: First, that though it has been two years since the attacks, we should never let it become a mere tragic memory. And second, but most important, God is always in control. We may not see the reason behind things, and we may never know this side of heaven, but God is ALWAYS in control.

Please take time to share this amazing story with those you love. You may never know the impact it may have on someone.

"All of you who labor and are overburdened, come to Me and I will give you rest ... for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls."

Jesus of Nazareth