The Speeding Ticket‏

Jack took a long look at his speedometer 

Before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone.
Fourth time in as many months..
How could a guy get caught so often?



When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour,
Jack pulled over, but only partially.
Let the cop worry about the potential traffic hazard..
Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror.
The cop was stepping out of his car,
The big pad in hand..

 
Bob? Bob from Church?
Jack sunk farther into his trench coat.
This was worse than the coming ticket.
A cop catching a guy from his own church.
A guy who happened to be a little eager
To get home after a long day at the office..
A guy he was about to play golf with tomorrow..

 
Jumping out of the car,
He approached a man he saw every Sunday,
A man he'd never seen in uniform.


'Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this.'


'Hello, Jack.' No smile.



'Guess you caught me red-handed
In a rush to see my wife and kids.'



'Yeah, I guess.' Bob seemed uncertain.
Good.


'I've seen some long days at the office lately.
I'm afraid I bent the rules a bit -just this once.'


Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement.
'Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes tonight.
Know what I mean?'


'I know what you mean.
I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct .'
Ouch.
This was not going in the right direction.
Time to change tactics.



'What'd you clock me at?'



'Seventy. Would you sit back in your car please?'



'Now wait a minute here, Bob.
I checked as soon as I saw you.
I was barely nudging 65.'
The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket.



'Please, Jack, in the car'



Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard..
He was in no rush to open the window.



The minutes ticked by.
Bob scribbled away on the pad..



Why hadn't he asked for a driver's license?



Whatever the reason,
It would be a month of Sundays
Before Jack ever sat near this cop again.
 

A tap on the door jerked his head to the left.
There was Bob, a folded paper in hand
Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches,
Just enough room for Bob to pass him the slip.



'Thanks..'
Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice.



Bob returned to his police car without a word.
Jack watched his retreat in the mirror.
Jack unfolded the sheet of paper.
How much was this one going to cost?


Wait a minute.
What was this? Some kind of joke?



Certainly not a ticket. Jack began to read:


'Dear Jack, Once upon a time I had a daughter..
She was six when killed by a car.
You guessed it - a speeding driver.
A fine and three months in jail, and the man was free.
Free to hug his daughters, all three of them.
I only had one, and I'm going to have to wait until Heaven
Before I can ever hug her again.



A thousand times I've tried to forgive that man.
A thousand times I thought I had.
Maybe I did, but I need to do it again.
Even now.
Pray for me.
And be careful, Jack,
my son is all I have left.'
 Bob


Jack turned around in time to see Bob's car
pull away and head down the road.
Jack watched until it disappeared.
A full 15 minutes later, he too,
pulled away and drove slowly home,
praying for forgiveness and
hugging a surprised wife and kids when he arrived...
 

Cherokee Legend

Do you know the legend of the Cherokee Indian youth's rite of Passage?

His father takes him into the forest, blindfolds him an leaves him alone..  He is required to sit on a stump the whole night and not remove the blindfold until the rays of the morning sun shine through it.  He cannot cry out for help to anyone.


Once he survives the night, he is a MAN.

He cannot tell the other boys of this experience, because each lad must come into manhood on his own.

The boy is naturally terrified. He can hear all kinds of noises. Wild beasts must surely be all around him .. Maybe even some human might do him harm. The wind blew the grass and earth, and shook his stump, but he sat stoically, never removing the blindfold. It would be the only way he could  become a man!
Finally, after a horrific night the sun appeared and he removed his blindfold.
It was then that he discovered his father sitting on the stump next to him.   He had been at watch the entire night, protecting his son from harm.
  We, too, are never alone.    Even when we don't know it, God is watching over  us, Sitting on the stump beside us.   When trouble comes, all we have to do  is reach out to Him.
If you liked this story, pass it on.   If not, you took off your blindfold  before dawn.

Moral of the story:
Just because you can't see God,
Doesn't mean He is not there.
"For we walk by faith, not by sight." 

It's what you scatter‏

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes... I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.  Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me. 'Hello Barry, how are you today?' 'H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure look good.' 'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?' 'Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time.' 'Good. Anything I can help you with?' 'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.' 'Would you like to take some home?'  Asked Mr. Miller. 'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.' 'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?' 'All I got's my prize marble here.''Is that right? Let me see it' said Miller.'Here 'tis. She's a dandy.' 'I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store owner asked.. 'Not zackley but almost.' 'Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble'. Mr. Miller told the boy. 'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.' Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.  When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'   I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles. Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and  moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one; each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes. Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket. 'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.  They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size......they came to pay their debt.' 'We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ..' With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles. The Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath. Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself... An unexpected phone call from an old friend.... Green stoplights on your way to work.... The fastest line at the grocery store.... A good sing-along song on the radio... Your keys found right where you left them. Send this to the people you'll never forget. I just did... If you don't send it to anyone, it means you are in way too much of a hurry to even notice the ordinary miracles when they occur.   IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER THAT TELLS WHAT KIND OF LIFE YOU HAVE LIVED!   (This was not my story but definatly a story worth sharing)