THE TWO MISSIONIONARIES (AN ALLEGORY)

Luke 6:38 "Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together and running over. _____________________________________________ My mind has been on our Missionaries. I know for a fact- when a church does not give to missons, the church suffers. I am thankful that we go to a Mission Minded Church. God blesses us with His Presense. We were not raised with "Faith Promise Mission Conference." The average that most people gave was $100. a year. But when we heard of giving by faith and depending on the Lord to supply, we decided to try it. Can I say that God did indeed bless us! Every year we have endeavored to raise the amount. Not just missions, but other needs! I remember last year our Pastor, whom we love dearly, ask that we pray about giving a weeks salary for a certain need. (I hope you realize that I am not trying to lift up self, but only to lift up our Savior) A weeks salary! Who can afford to do that? But as we prayed we felt the Lord prompting us to do it. God had been so good to us that we can't afford not to give. About a week or so after we did this my husband got a check in the mail from his former Employer that they still owed him a weeks salary. Just the amount we had given! I have often wondered if that check would have come if we had not given? I'm not saying you have to give a weeks salary- but the more you give - the more God blesses. Especially to Missions! ________________________________________________ I came across this allegory that I thought was appropiate. make for not giving to missions. ____________________________________________ THE TWO MISSIONARIES There came a day when two angels, busy on errands for the King, met at two graves in a tropical land. "I wonder who is buried here?" inquired the first angel. "I can tell you," said the second, "if you have time to tarry for a few minutes." "Say on," said the first angel, folding his wings and his hands, and preparing to listen. So the second angel let down his wings, and looking away as though at a distant scene, began; "Once there were two missionaries, a man and his wife. They left home and kindred and friends, and went to the far off fields where the harvest was plentous but the laborers were few, to labor there for their Savior and Lord, and to gather in souls." After some months the man said to his wife, "Good wife, this is a very strange thing. Our support, which was faithfully promised, has dropped off, and this month is but half enough to meet our needs.. Perhaps we should not go to market for food today." "It cannot be that the Lord has failed us,"said his good wife cheerily. "Though we gather but little, we shall have no lack; and the Father who feeds the little birds shall feed us, and nestle us under His wings." "True," said the man heartily, and they sat down and ate their meal of rice and sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving. They did not go to market that day. On a later day, the wife said to her husband, "This is indeed a very strange thing, as you said- this month our needs are not half met. What do you suppose the trouble can be?" "Take heart, my good wife," said the man cheerily. "Our Lord knew not only hunger, but thirst, as He went about His Father's business. He had not even where to lay His head. We must cheerily sacrifice for the spread of the Gospel. In due season we shall reap if we faint not." "True," said his wife and they sat down to their meal of rice, and gave thanks. Neither did they go to market that day. "Back in the vineyard at home, in a town called Promising, there were very few who gave much thought to the missionaries. Occasionally one or the other prayed kindly, "Oh, God, bless these servants of Thine, and give them souls, and supply their needs- for the laborer is indeed worthy of his hire." Once on a day, Mrs. Can't-Afford-to Christian said, "I really should keep my promise and send some money to those missionaries, but food prices are so high that it takes all our money to feed the family comfortably, and there is nothing to spare -- Come father, come children -- dinner is ready!" And they sat down to their simple fare of tomato aspic appetizers, roast sirloin of beef with Yorkshire Pudding, cauliflower,hot rolls, pickled beets, butterscotch layer cake, milk, andcoffee. "Miss Forgetful-Christian said, "Oh dear, that missionary and his lovely wife have slipped my mind, and for some months I have neglected to send them what I promised. I must remember them with my gift soon." Yet somehow nothing was ever done about it; for when she did remember to do so - was not convenient at the moment, for her checkbook was not a hand. Miss-I-Need-it more Christian took out her credit card and said "I know I really promised to support them missionaries, but I simply must have this newfur coat. It would be ashamed to miss such a bargain -only $400.00, marked down from $600.00. Of course, I cannot get much wear out of it this year - the winter is practically over, but I can save it till next winter." Mr Mean-To-Christian said on a later day, "I have beem very lax in sending the support I promised to the missionary and his wife. I surely must do it soon." Yet as the days went by, with the best of intentions, always meaning to, he never did. However, Mr Faithful -Tither Christian and Mrs. Widows-Mite-Christian continued to send off their gifts regularly, together with their prayers. Then the missionary and his wife were taken sick with fever. "Doubtless It is just because we have been so tired lately, dear wife, " said the man. "Had we all our energy, perhaps we should not have succombed." "True," said his wife. "We will be better soon" he said. "Quite better," she answered. Then they lay silently and neither of them said what other was thinking - that had they eaten sufficient food of the nourishing nature they might not be lying on their backs but would still be laboring for the Savior. A Christian native came in and ministered unto them in their illness Some days later they were both dead. All the native, whom they had led to Christ, came and buried bodies. They stood at the grave and wept! "Who will teach us of God and tell us of Jesus, now that they are gone?" they asked. Now when the news reached home, many dear Christians were much distressed at their going, and wondered why, including Miss-Forget-Christian, Miss I- Need it More-Christian, Mrs. Can't-Afford-to Christian, and Mr. Mean-To-Christian. "What a pity!" said Miss-I-Need It More-Christian, wiping away a tear-"but I am so glad I did not send my contribution. It would have been only wasted, for they were going to die anyway, weren't they?" With this, it seemed the second angel's story was ended. For a long time neither angel spoke. then the first angel stirred his wings, "And they buried them?" he asked softly. "How very sad." The first angel's thoughts were still on the Christians in Promising Land. "So much for self- little for souls," he said, as though he did not hear him. "But their reward in heaven will be great, will it not?" asked the first angel. "It's too bad," he remarked, as he unfolded his wings "that no one else knows about it." And having said this, he flew off on his errand.

THE MONKEYS DISAGREE

Guess I'm in a silly mood today. Just thought I would put down somthing I read. I love to read through old poetry books and scrapbooks.

THE MONKEYS DISAGREE

Three monkeys sat in a coconut tree

Discussing things that are said to be.

Said one to the other, Now listen you two

There's a certain rumor that can't be true.

That man descended from our noble race,

The very idea is a disgrace.

No monkey ever deserted his wife,

Starved her babies and ruin her life.

And you've never known a mother monk

To leave her babies with others to bunk.

Or pass them on to one another

"Til they scarely know who is their mother.

And another thing you'll never see

Is build a fence around a coconut tree,

And let their coconuts go to waste.

Forbidding all the other monks to taste.

Why if I put a fence around a tree

Starvation would force you to steal from me.

Here's another thing a monk won't do

Is go out at night and get in a stew.

Or use a gun or club or knife

To take some other monkey's life.

Yes, man descended the orney cuss

But brother he didn't come from us!

Guess that lets us know we didn't evolve from monkeys.

OLE HARDHIDE

I just had to let you know about Ole Hardhide. This is the way it came about. I had forgotten him for awhile until some one joggled my little finite mind. I sent Deb, my friend from Canada an e-mail. I signed off with "Catch you later alligator" "Just though that I would send her some southern Louisiana lingo.)To my amazement she replied and was laughing at me She signed off with "After Awhile, crocodile." Now that makes me wonder if they actually have alligators way up in Canada!

Ole Hardhide Alligator Jazz Funeral _____________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________ I just know before I write this that, unless you live in Louisiana, you are not going to believe this. Nevertheless it is true! I was raised in a small town called Ponchatoula. The name is an Indian name meaning Hanging Hair! I suppose from all the moss that hangs from trees around the area! Ponchatoula is the Strawberry Capital of the world. I am not quite sure when Ole Hardhide came into existence

He was not there when I was a kid. But he was there when our children were small. Let me explain: Ole Hardhide is an Alligator. Not just any old alligator, but a special one. One that had a home right smack dab in the middle of town. His home was right next to the rail road tracks. If you drive through the town you will see his home with a tall cylclone fence around his home. I mean, after all, we surely didn't want Ole Hardhide to get hurt, now did we? No siree! Well, for years Ole Hardhide was the pet of the town. I don't know how long Ole Hardhide lived but his death drew National attention. The Ponchatoula Times January 24, 1985 Special Issue OLE Hardhide's Death Draws National Notice Ole Hardhide, the alligator went out as he lived, with style. His death was discovered late, but mourned widely, with news of it vying for prominence with the inauguration of the President of the United States , and the Super Bowl on national wire services and television news shows. The gator's death and subsequent jazz funeral was broadcast for the nation through every news medium on hour by hour basis for over four days.

Reporters from Chicago, Detroit, New York, Memphis, Atlanta, and points in between contacted The Ponchatoula Times for information on the nation's only journalist reptile. Six separate T.V. stations were represented with film crews and reporters at the funeral. (Now I know you can't believe this! Ole Hardhide got more attention than some people that were really in need. That's my prospective.) Cable television networks, CBS, NBC and at least one network morning show gave attention to Ponchatoula's loss. Over 2,000 attended the reptiles organized by the mayor . Harry McKneely handled the bizzare funeral with all the care and consideration of his profession. Steve Pugh donated the lavish floral wreaths and the Pugh family provided a private burial on their land near the southern swamps. An Attorney and a Doctor bore traditional jazz funeral sashes and unbrellas. ( How rediculous can people get? I wonder if that attorney would offer help to someone in need or if that doctor would offer free services to someone. I doubt it but that is just my perspective!) A surrey bearing the state senator and the city's first lady led the procession, followed by the mayor, state represenative and city counsilman. Behind them came the jazz band in tuxedoes donated by Royale Oake . (Something is wrong! A dead alligator, making national news, going town the streets of Ponchatouala. The news media, the state senator, the mayor, the first lady of the town, the counsilmen, a jazz band all in Tuxs. I wouldn't believe it either but I happen to know these people.) Well it seems Ole Hardhide had a son, or was it great grandson, who wrote the obituary. Opps! Hardhide don't like that. He is headed toward my yard! R.I.P. Ole Hardhide SR. _________________________ MY PONCHATOULA By OLE HARDHIDE, JR. THE Alligator

Words can't express what I've gone through these past few days but in the spite of my Dad I'm going to try anyway. First of all we had better clear up the little detail that I am able to do this in the first place. I assure you one and all that I do not come to this news career untutored or unprepared. The Ole man himself saw to that. He was only too aware of the pressures that went into the greatest green alligator in this whole big swampy earth. Maybe that's what got him in the end, or the cold, or missing my mother, Ole Swampbreath all these years (with the exception of an odd night out on the town) we'll just never know! One thing I do know is that early on he had his replacement in mind - ME-! I knew that more than our commom pink strawberry birthmark under the left front armpit linked our destinies. While other young gators were practicing swallowing short swimmers without gagging on their face mask, snorkels and swimming fins, I was kept busy practicing my typing. While my buddy gators joined fisherman eating clubs and anti-shoe and belt industries lobby groups, I was kept busy sneaking into secret meetings with bulky tape recorders. Most of my journalism lessons in later years, after Dad gave himself up to the public service in this same gator cage where I write this column, were held late at night so that my existence could be kept a secret until the day Ponchatoula needed me. That's when he told me things.

At first it was technical stuff from his elaborate filing system, though it was the kind of information that would send many a strong breeze rattling through the skeltoned closets of local politicos. After I began to master this he lightened up a bit, offering his sub-sidewalk opinions on the well turned calves of what has become MY Ponchatoula! That's right, I'm going to keep the column name the same as in the days of my dad. And since there is no longer Hardhide Sr. anywhere in the wide and luxurious swamplands of America, after this column, I'll be dropping the Jr. after my name. I am Ole Hardhide, the greatest green gator anywhere on earth, the reptile reporter with sources in place where other reporters don't even have places, the nipper of scalawags and n'erdo-well, praiser of pretty ladies and and outrageous gentlemen, feared by gator hunters and hide sellers, loved by lovers everywhere, and subject to control whatsoever by fat (and his wife says balding)editors named Pinchpenny. Dad told me about Pinchpenny and the measly wildly flapping chicken per week he was paid for writing the most widely read column in America. I told Pinchpenny right from the start that this gator was a Newspaper guild gator who would not settle for a feather less than the union scale of two wildly-flapping chickens per week per week (given the circumstances . Pinchpenny was quick to give in. So here I float, in dad's own small cage, with his flies so much more extensive than even Jack Anderson's safe in the pond basement, knowing all that he could teach me as well as all I could learn on my own on the outside. And I am ready to write to you, ready to chronicle your loves and affections. __________________________________________________________________ True story! I did not make this up, or did I?

TURN BACK MY CHILD

My thoughts today have been about some good children who go astray! Seems the devil works overtime on children who have been raised in church. The devil gives them a picture of the world that seems to glitter and beckon them. I came across this song that is so fitting. TURN BACK, MY CHILD I strolled along the road one day, But it was not the narrow way, I met a stranger, He spoke to me. He said "My child, where goest there?" I said"I seek the road to worldly pleasures along the way." I said" There is so much to see, I cannot turn back, I must be free New fields to conquer as on I go." I never shall forget that day, How sad He looked as He turned away! He bowed His head and He dropped a tear. And as I journey'd on my way, I stooped to pick a lovely spray, But it was sorrow that looked so gay. And then a dark cloud rolled my way, "Twas then I heard my Savior say, "Turn back, my child, come home with with me." And then He gently took my hand, He lifted me from sinking sand, He said, "My child, believe in me." And then such beauty I beheld, I'm sure that I could never tell, "Turn back, my child, come home with me. Chorus: "Turn back, my child - for the way is very steep The things you find out there, you cannot keep. The way is filled with thorns and the things you find are cheap, Turn back, my child, come home with me." There are parents out there who are weeping over a wayward child. Remembering the days when your children were lifting their voice in praise to the Lord. Somewhere along the way they start thinking and before you know it they are grown and with a family but without God as their Leader. I'm glad we have a compassionate God! One who knows exactly how to show them the way they took is nothing but sorrow. The One who will gently lead them back to Him. A parents heart aches and bleeds for them. I wonder if they ever think that, like the prodigal son, I can do better back where I belong. And like the Father looking down the road when he suddenly spots someone coming up the road. His son! So: Don't lose heart, God is on His throne, He has promised never to leave us alone. Sometimes it seems our heart will break But we'll go on for His Namesake. Just place them in the Father's Hand He'll lift them up from seeking sand. Just my thoughts at this moment. Nothing deep, but sometimes we have to encourage ourselves and in doing so may the Lord help us to encourage somone else.

Crystal Pitcher

Another - you guess! The bottom is about 6 inches around , has the grove on it to set the pitcher in. The handles are more in a square.

The pitcher has etched flower and leaf around and you can see the lines that run up and down. I kn0w it is made for something to pour beause of the pouring spout. It has patent on the bottom , where the pitcher sits.

It has 6-20-16 and an H inside a diamond shape. I wondered if that was the date it was made and what the H stood for. Any ideas, anyone?

If you do let me know, It just sits side the pie safe. But I would really like to know its story.

"A MERRY HEART DOETH GOOD LIKE A MEDICINE." Proverbs 17:22 Don't you like to be around someone that is cheerful and laughs? A laugh is really contagious. I remember a couple Christmas's back. We were all sitting on the floor playing with the babies. I don't remember what I got tickled about, but my daughter looked at me and she started laughing. Then my two grandaughters started laughing. Finally when we all calmed down - none of us knew what we were laughing at. The laughs just spread. God's Love produces a laugh in our soul. A Merry Heart! Then if we look at the next two words,"Doeth Good". That brings me to the fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5:22-23 Goodness is listed as part of the fruit. The greek word is "agathosune" Pronounced ag-ath-soo-nay. It is character that is energized to display active goodness. This is good that "does good" toward others and in relationship to others. Goodness is love in action, love with its hand to the plow, love with the burden on its back, love following His Footsteps Who went about continually doing good. (James Hamilton) As Christians we have no alternative but to march to the drumbeat of the Holy Spirit, following the measured steps of goodness which pleases God. We can do good deeds, and by practising principles of goodness can witness to those around that we have something "different" in our lives - perhaps something they themselves would like to possess. We may even be able to show others how to practice the principle of goodness in their own lives. But the Bible says "Your goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the early dew it goeth away." Hosea6:4 True goodness is a "fruit of the Spirit." and our efforts to acheive in our own strength alone can never succeed. We should be careful that any goodness the world my see in us is the genuine fruit of the Spirit and not a counterfeit substitute, lest we unwittingly lead someone astray. -Billy Graham Do you really want to do good and feel good about doing good? I'll tell you one way! A few years back- the church where we were going then -was cooking turkeys for some families. We felt led for them to do a turkey for us, since the pot was hot anyway. (This was whole fried turkey that is known in South Louisiana.) When the turkey was finished we ask someone to drop the turkey off at a certain person's house. (This was a member of the church.) But we had one request. Don't tell them who sent it! We did not understand then, but a couple services later this little lady stood and said "Thanksgiving day came and we did not have a Thanksgiving dinner. Nothing to cook. Then a knock came on our door and said they were sent to deliver a turkey from someone who did not want to be known and it was such a blessing." We knew then that the Lord will lead you if you let Him. She got the blessing of the turkey but we got the blessing of sitting there - not caring who got the credit. We have found since then that if you feel you need to do something good, do it! So do good and feel good about doing good. Watch how the Lord will bless you in your soul!

Thinking! Oh well, here I go again with my thinking! Guess it's okay as long as it is the right thoughts, huh? I have been thinking about what I have to offer the Lord. Am I rendering unto Him the Sacifice of Praise? He is so worthy to be praised! Am I giving Him my best? My best may not measure up to someone else's best but we don't need to compare ourselves among ourselves. We are all precious in the Lord's eyes and He gave us each a uniqued talent. I read : Give What You Are What is your unique talent? How are you communicating that special gift to the rest of the world? What are some ways you like to give back? Whatever you do with your life, you want to be able to have your passions shed light on others. You want to help others to understand their own journey better, and at the same time, you want to feel the continuity that long after you are dead the consequences of your acts will be remembered. If you are an enlightened teacher or a dedicated artist, if you are a writer, editor, publisher, a musician, think of the lives you affect. If you are a designer, a decorator , a mother, gourmet cook, or a collector of letters and manuscripts, think of the lives you affect. If you are a politican, a photographer, a doctor, scientist. philosopher, or historian, think of the lives you affect. You are doing a part, in your own style, and when you are joined by others, collectively, you can make a powerful impact. (By Alexandra Stoddard) So here is what I will give today. A poem I wrote no telling how many years ago. NO TALENT? No talent have I , so many say The Master passed me by. I cannot play or sing or preach, And they give in with a sigh! But say! Do you think the Master is partial, That He loves others so much, That He would not give you a morsel And a very special touch? What do you think a talent is, I would surely like to know? If you think it's a special thing, Then it just isn't so. If you can speak at all my friend And seek with all your heart, You'll find talent isn't a special thing, It is just to do your part! Sure some can sing, and some can preach Thank God for those who can. Some can play and others teach, And others play in the band. But, you my friend, will find your place If you will truly pray. In prayer you'll find the greatest talent of all That can be used every day. Behind great men and women of works, Are men and women who pray. And prayer is really the key, No talent did you say? By: Aliene Sanchez