THE DONKEY 


Let me tell you a story about a donkey. One day a farmer's donkey fell down into a well. The animal cried piteously for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do. Finally he decided the animal was old and the well needed to be covered up anyway, it just wasn't worth it to retrieve the donkey. So he invited all his neighbors to come over to help him. 

The men grabbed a shovel and began to shovel dirt into the well. At first, the donkey realized what was happening and cried horribly. Then, to everyone's amazement, he quieted down. A few shovel loads later, the farmer finally looked down the well and was astonished at what he saw. With every shovel of dirt that hit his back, the donkey was doing something amazing. He would shake it off and take a step up. As the farmer's neighbors continued to shovel dirt on top of the animal, he would shake it off and take a step up. Pretty soon, everyone was amazed as the donkey stepped up over the edge of the well and trotted off! 

Moral.....life IS going to shovel dirt on you, all kinds of dirt. The trick to getting out of 
the well is to shake it off & take a step up. 

Each of our troubles is a stepping stone. We can get out of the deepest wells, just by not stopping, never give up. 

JUST SHAKE IT OFF AND TAKE A STEP UP! 





THE POWER OF LOVE 


Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. 

They found out that the new baby was going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to his sister in Mommy's tummy. He was building a bond of love with his little sister before he even met her. 

The pregnancy progressed normally for 
Karen, an active member of the Panther Creek United Methodist Church in Morristown, Tennessee.

In time, the labor pains came. Soon it 
was every 5 minutes, every 3... every minute. But serious complications arose during delivery and Karen found herself in hours of labor. Would a C-section be required? 
Finally, after a long struggle, Michael's little sister was born. But she was in very serious condition. With a siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's Hospital, Knoxville, Tennessee. The days inched by. The little girl got worse. The pediatrician had to tell the parents, "There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst." Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special room in their house for their new baby but now they found themselves having to plan for a funeral. 

Michael, however, kept begging his parents to let him see his sister. "I want to sing to her," he kept saying. 

Week two in intensive care looked as if a funeral would come before the week was over. Michael kept nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care. Karen made up her mind, though. She would take Michael whether they liked it or not! If he didn't see his sister right then, he may never see her alive. She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket. But the head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed, "Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed." 

The mother rose up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glared steely-eyed right into the head nurse's face, her lips a firm line. "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!" Karen towed Michael to his sister's 
bedside. He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. After a moment, he began to sing. In the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sang: "You are my 
sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray . Instantly, the baby girl seemed to respond. The pulse rate began to calm down and become steady. 

"Keep on singing, Michael," encouraged 
Karen with tears in her eyes. "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you, Please don't take my sunshine away." As Michael sang to his sister, the baby's ragged, strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr. "Keep on singing, sweetheart!" "The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in 
my arms . . ." Michael's little sister began to relax as rest, healing rest, seemed to sweep over her. "Keep on singing, Michael." Tears had now conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glowed. "You are my sunshine, my only Sunshine. Please don't, take my sunshine away." The next, day . . . the very next day . . . the little girl was well enough to go home! Woman's Day 
Magazine called it "The Miracle of a Brother's Song." The medical staff just called it a miracle. 

Karen called it a miracle of God's love! NEVER GIVE UP ON THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE. LOVE IS SO INCREDIBLY POWERFUL. 





THE MOUNTAIN CLIMBER 


They tell the story of a mountain climber, who desperate to conquer the Aconcagua, initiated his climb after years of preparation. But he wanted the glory to himself, therefore, he went up alone. He started climbing and it was becoming later, and later. He did not prepare for camping but decided to keep on going. 
Soon it got dark... 

Night fell with heaviness at a very high altitude. Visibility was zero. Everything was black. There was no moon, and the stars were covered by clouds. As he was climbing a ridge at about 100 meters from the top, he slipped and fell. Falling rapidly he could only see blotches of darkness that passed. He felt a terrible sensation of being sucked in by gravity. He kept falling....and in those anguishing moments good and bad memories passed through his mind. He thought certainly he would die. But then he felt a jolt that almost tore him in half. 
Yes!! Like any good mountain climber he had staked himself with a long rope tied to his waist. In those moments of stillness, suspended in the air he had no other choice but to shout, "HELP ME GOD", "HELP ME!" All of a sudden he heard a deep voice from heaven..."What do you want me to do?" "SAVE ME" 
"Do you REALLY think that I can save you?" "OF COURSE, MY GOD" 
"Then cut the rope that is holding you up." There was another moment of silence and stillness. The man just held tighter to the rope. The rescue team says that the next day they found, a frozen mountain climber hanging strongly to a rope... TWO FEET OFF THE GROUND. How about you? How trusting are you in that rope? Why don't you let it go? I tell you, God has great and marvelous thing for you. CUT THE ROPE AND SIMPLY TRUST IN HIM.. 





TWO ANGELS


Two traveling angels stopped to spend the night in the home of a wealthy family.  The family was rude and refused to let the angels stay in the mansion's guest room.  Instead the angels were given a small space in the cold basement.  As they made their bed on the hard floor, the older angel saw a hole in the wall and repaired it.  When the younger angel asked why, the older angel replied, 
"Things aren't always what they seem." 

The next night the pair came to rest at the house of a very poor, but very hospitable farmer and his wife. 
After sharing what little food they had the couple let the angels sleep in their bed where they could 
have a good night's rest.  When the sun came up the next morning the angels found the farmer and his wife in tears.  Their only cow, whose milk had been their sole income, lay dead in the field.  The younger angel  was infuriated and asked the older angel how could you have let this happen? 

The first man had everything, yet you helped him, she accused.  The second family had little but was willing to share everything, and you let the cow die. 
"Things aren't always what they seem," the older angel replied. "When we stayed in the basement of the mansion, I noticed there was gold stored in that hole in the wall.  Since the owner was so obsessed with greed and unwilling to share his good fortune, I sealed the wall so he wouldn't find it."  "Then last night as we slept in the farmers bed, the angel of death came for his wife.  I gave him the cow instead. Things aren't always what they seem." 

Sometimes that is exactly what happens when things don't turn out the way they should.  If you have faith, you just need to  trust that every outcome is always to your advantage.  You might not know  it until some time later............... 





THE TABLE CLOTH 


The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed 
much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve. 

They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and  on Dec 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished. On Dec 19 a terrible tempest - a driving rainstorm - hit the area and lasted for two days. 

On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high. The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. 
On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was just 
the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church. 
By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later. She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area. 

Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. "Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?" The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria. 
The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the Tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again. The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home, that was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a house- cleaning job. What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn't leaving. 
The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike? He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years in between. 

The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman's apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine. True Story - submitted by Pastor Rob Reid Who says God does work in mysterious ways. 




ALL GOOD THINGS 


He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, but had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful.   Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable.   What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving -"Thank you for correcting me, Sister!"I didn't know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day. 

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice teacher's mistake.   I looked at Mark and said, "If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!" 

It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, "Mark is talking again." 
I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it. I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape.   Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth.   I then returned to the front of the room.   As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me.   That did it! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders.   His first words were, "Thank you for correcting me, Sister." 

At the end of the year, I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite.   Since he had to listen carefully to my instruction in the "new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in third.   One Friday, things just didn't feel right.   We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves and edgy with one another.   I had to stop this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.   It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled.   Mark said, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend?" That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list.   Before long, the entire class was smiling.   "Really?" I heard whispered. "I never knew that meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't know others liked me so much." 
No one ever mentioned those papers in class again.   I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. 
The exercise had accomplished its purpose.   The students were happy with themselves and one another again.   That group of students moved on. 
Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport.   As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip-the weather, my experiences in general. There was a lull in the conversation.   Mother gave Dad a sideways glance and simply says, "Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important.   "The Eklunds called last night," he began. "Really?" I said. "I haven't heard from them in years.   I wonder how Mark is."   Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said. "The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend."   To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark. I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature.   All I could think at that moment was,"Mark I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me." 

The church was packed with Mark's friends. Chuck's sister sang "The Battle Hymn of the republic."   Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, 
and the bugler played taps. 

One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to me.   "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. "Mark talked about you a lot," he said. After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to Chuck's farmhouse for lunch.   Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket.   "They found this on Mark when he was killed.   We thought you might recognize it. " Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times.   I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him. "Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said.   "As you can see, Mark treasured it." Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album."   "I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary.   "Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group.   "I carry this with me at all times,"   Vicki said without batting an eyelash. "I think we all saved our lists."   That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again. Written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosla. 
 

 
LET YOUR LIGHT SHINE 


A member of a certain church, who previously had been attending services regularly, suddenly stopped coming to church. After a few weeks, the Pastor decided to visit. The Pastor found the man at home alone, sitting before a blazing fire. 

Guessing the reason for his Pastor's visit, the man welcomed him, led him to a comfortable chair near the fireplace and waited. The pastor made himself at home but said nothing. In the grave silence, he contemplated the dance of the flames around the burning logs. After some minutes, the Pastor took the fire tongs, carefully picked up a brightly burning ember and placed it to one side of the hearth all alone. Then he sat back in his chair, still silent. The host watched all this in quiet contemplation. As the one lone ember's flame flickered and diminished, there was a momentary glow and then its fire was no more. 
Soon it was cold and lifeless. 
The Pastor glanced at his watch and realized it was time to leave, he slowly stood up, picked up the cold, dead ember and placed it back in the middle of the fire. Immediately it began to glow, once more with the light and warmth of the burning coals around it. As the Pastor reached the door to leave, his host said with a tear running down his cheek, "Thank you so much for your visit and especially for the fiery sermon. I shall be back in church next Sunday." We live in a world today which tries to say too much with too little. Consequently, few listen. 

Sometimes the best sermons are the ones left unspoken. What silent message would God have you share with someone today? "Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven." -- Matthew 5:16 





THE SMAURAI AND THE MONK 


A big, tough Samurai once went to see a little monk "Monk," he said, in a voice accustomed to instant obedience, "teach me about heaven and hell!" 

The monk looked up at this mighty warrior and replied with utter disdain, "Teach you about heaven and hell? I couldn't teach you about anything. You're dirty. You smell. Your blade is rusty. You're a disgrace, an embarrassment to the samurai class. Get out of my sight. I can't stand you." 

The samurai was furious. He shook, got all red in the face, was speechless with rage. He pulled out his sword and raised it above him, preparing to slay the monk. 
"That's hell," said the monk softly. 

The samurai was overwhelmed. The compassion and surrender of this little man who had offered his life to give this teaching to show him hell! He slowly put down his sword, filled with gratitude, and suddenly peaceful. "And that's heaven," said the monk softly.





THEY SAID HE DIED


One morning in 1888, Alfred Nobel, inventor of dynamite, the man who had spent his life amassing a fortune from the manufacture and sale of weapons of destruction, awoke to read his own obituary. Of course, it was a mistake. 
Alfred's brother had died, and the reporter inadvertently wrote Alfred's obituary. 

For the first time, Alfred Nobel saw himself as the world saw him -- "the dynamite King," the great industrialist who had made an immense fortune from explosives. This, as far as the general public was concerned, was the entire purpose of his life. None of his true intentions surfaced. Nothing was said about his work to break down the barriers that separated persons and ideas. He was quite simply a merchant of death, and for that alone would he be remembered. 
Alfred read the obituary with horror. He felt that the world must know the true meaning and purpose of his life! He resolved to do this through his last will and testament. The final disposition of his fortune would show the world his life's ideals. And at that time came into being yearly prizes for chemistry, physics, medicine, literature -- and the famous Nobel Peace Prize. 

If you were to read your own obituary today, what would it say? Few of us want fame and most of us do not expect to make a worldwide impact. But do others know what you stand for, what you believe in, and what truly matters to you? 
Dr. Philip Humbert asks, "What remarkable, extraordinary and amazing things will you do with this wild and wonderful miracle, your one and only life?" The question should perhaps also be asked this way: "What will you do with this wild and wonderful miracle, your one and only DAY?" 
For how we spend our days will decide how we spend our lives. Chances are, you will not be reading your own obituary. But you have already begun to write it -- day by day, moment by moment. Live your todays as if they truly matter, and tomorrow you will look back on a life that counted. 





LANDING LIGHTS FOR ANGELS 


Jim recently participated in an American Cancer Society Relay for Life event and noticed something. Today, he shares his wonderful observation. Thanks Jim, for opening our minds and helping us see an overlooked, but significant part, of the Relay's celebration "in a new light."           You, too, can participate when the Relay comes to your town. 


LANDING LIGHTS FOR ANGELS 


Though my vantage point was only eight feet above the ground, my view was nothing short of amazing. 
It was 10pm -- an August evening on the Central Oregon coast. The rain earlier that day had given way to parting clouds, a wonderful sunset and now and then a glimpse of the moon guided the walkers. The sight before me was the result of six months of planning, hard work and the combined efforts of many people.           Months before, I had agreed to help my sister with our community's first American Cancer Society 24-hour Relay for Life. I had a little knowledge of the event, but was not prepared for the outpouring of support and emotions that were to come together in a small community park. 

          The Relay kicked off with great enthusiasm from the 21 teams and their members. Walking around a wood chip trail for 24 hours, in a light rain, did not dampen anyone's spirits -- after all, it was Oregon! 

          Before the Survivor's Walk at 6pm, the sun came out from behind the clouds. An emotional ceremony and walk recognized the courage and spirit of those who had fought and won. For me, the full impact of the evening was yet to come. 
          At 10pm, the women of the Delta Gamma Philanthropic Sorority began to set-up nearly 600 "luminaries". These are small paper bags containing a candle on the inside and inscriptions on the outside -- inscriptions in honor of, or in memory of, a cancer victim. 

          They were placed around the 600-yard trail and each was lit, one by one, until the entire trail was encompassed with glowing tributes to friends and family members. As I looked out on the growing line of lights, I remembered the words from a son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren. They had written messages to a lady who had recently died of cancer. They told of their love for her and how she was now with the angels. 

          It was at that time I tought how this must be like a runway and the growing line of candles were like landing lights -- landing lights for the angels.           I began to walk the trail and watched as people stopped to read the words written on the luminaries. At that time, many others and I realized each light represented the spirit of a person close to someone, and that spirit was with us that night. 
          The Relay ended the next day at noon. As we began to put things away and say goodbye, we discovered many of the candles were still burning. They had lighted the trail throughout the night and offered guidance and hope for all that passed. The fund raising efforts raised over $42,000, exceeding our goal. The feelings people experienced exceeded everyone's expectations and provided priceless memories.           I was honored to be a part of this tribute. 
Jim Arche.....
 
Jimdiane1264@myexcel.com....... 

Jim and Diane are custom home builders in 
Florence, Oregon. In addition, Jim is an ultra-marathon trail runner and a volunteer with the local high school track and cross country team. He says, "About 10 years ago I constructed a 3/4 mile fitness trail in memory of one of the women to whom the Relay was dedicated. I have raised money for various charities by running in marathons, relays and other activities. I have been able to run continuously for nearly 50 years, since being told I couldn't, and have used this ability to help those who cannot. I would encourage anyone who can to experience one of the American Cancer Society Relay for Life events."  




 
THE FISHERMAN


One day a fisherman was lying on a beautiful beach, with his fishing pole propped up in the sand and his solitary line cast out into the sparkling blue surf. He was enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun and the prospect of catching a fish. 

About that time, a businessman came walking down the beach, trying to relieve some of the stress of his workday. He noticed the fisherman sitting on the beach and decided to find out why this fisherman was fishing instead of working harder to make a living for himself and his family. 
"You aren't going to catch many fish that way," said the businessman to the fisherman, "you should be working rather than lying on the beach!" The fisherman looked up at the businessman, smiled and replied, "And what will my reward be?" 

"Well you can get bigger nets and catch more fish!" was the businessman's answer. 
"And then what will my reward be?" asked the fisherman, still smiling. The businessman replied, "You will make money and be able to buy a boat, which will then result in larger catches of fish!" "And then what will my reward be?" asked the fisherman again. The businessman was beginning to get a little irritated with the fisherman's questions. "You can buy a bigger boat, and hire some people to work for you!" he said. 

"And then what will my reward be?" repeated the fisherman. The businessman was getting angry. "Don't you understand? You can build up a fleet of fishing boats, sail all over the world, and let all your employees catch fish for you!" 

Once again the fisherman asked, "And then what will my reward be?" The businessman was red with rage and shouted at the fisherman. "Don't you understand that you can become so rich that you will never have to work for your living again! You can spend all the rest of your days sitting on this beach, looking at the sunset. You won't have a care in the world!" The fisherman, still smiling, looked up and said, "And what do you think I'm doing right now?"





Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together they traveled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the family estate. 

The widowed elder man looked on with satisfaction, as his only child became an experienced art collector. The son's trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world. 

As winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His beloved son was missing in action. The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his son again. 
Within days, his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic. 

Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Easter holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season, a season that he and his son had so looked forward to, would visit his house no longer. On Easter morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. 

As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. As he opened the door, he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hand. He introduced himself to the man by saying, 
"I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you." 
As the two began to talk, the soldier told of how the man's son had told everyone of his father's love of fine art. "I'm an artist," said the soldier, "and I want to give you this." As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man's son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the young man's face in striking detail. 

Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the picture above the fireplace. A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. 

True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside thousands of dollars of paintings. And then the man sat in his chair and spent Easter gazing at the gift he had been given.  
During the days and weeks that followed, the man realized that even though his son was no longer with him, the boy's life would live on because of those he had touched. He would soon learn that his son had rescued dozens of wounded soldiers before a bullet stilled his caring heart. 

As the stories of his son's gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease the grief. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the pieces for which museums around the world clamored. 

He told his neighbors it was the greatest gift he had ever received. The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation. 
With the collector's passing, and his only son dead, those paintings would be sold at an auction. According to the will of the old man, all of the art works would be auctioned on Easter day, the day he had received his greatest gift. 

The day soon arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world's most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled this day; greatness would be achieved as many would claim "I have the greatest collection." 

The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum's list. It was the painting of the man's son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid. The room was silent. "Who will open the bidding with $100?" he asked. Minutes passed. No one spoke. From the back of the room came, "Who cares about that painting? It's just a picture of his son. 

Let's forget it and go on to the good stuff." More voices echoed in agreement. "No, we have to sell this one first," replied the auctioneer. 
"Now, who will take the son?" Finally, a friend of the old man spoke. 
"Will you take ten dollars for the painting? That's all I have. I knew the boy, so I'd like to have it." "I have ten dollars. Will anyone go higher?" called the auctioneer. 

After more silence, the auctioneer said, "Going once, going twice. Gone." The gavel fell. Cheers filled the room and someone exclaimed, "Now we can get on with it and we can bid on these treasures!" 

The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced the auction was over. Stunned disbelief quiete`d the room. Someone spoke up and asked, "What do you mean it's over? We didn't come here for a picture of some old guy's son. What about all of these paintings? There are millions of dollars of art here! I demand that you explain what's going on here!" The auctioneer replied, 

"It's very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever takes the son . . . gets it all!" 
Just as those art collectors discovered on that Easter day, the message is still the same - the love of a Father - a Father whose greatest joy came from His Son who went away and gave his life rescuing others. And because of that Father's love...whoever takes the Son gets it all.