The Devotional!

Wednesday, 24 June 2009

What Goes Around!!!!
Mood:

a-ok
Topic: Human Interest Story!

WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND!

One day a man saw a old lady, stranded on the side of the road, but even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.

Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe; he looked poor and hungry.

He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you.

He said, 'I'm here to help you, ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson.'

Well, all s he had was a flat tire,

but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt.

As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid.

Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. The lady asked how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped.

Bryan never thought twice about being paid. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty, who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.

He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed, and Bryan added, 'And think of me..'

He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.

A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her.

The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude.

The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan .

After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a hundred dollar bill. The waitress quickly went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be. Then she noticed something written on the napkin.

There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: 'You don't owe me anything. I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do:

Do not let this chain of love end with you.'

Under the napkin were four more $100 bills.

Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the

money and what the lady had written.

How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard....

She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, 'Everything's going to be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.'

There is an old saying 'What goes around comes around.' Today I sent you this story, and I'm asking you to pass it on. Let this light shine.

Good friends are like stars....You don't always see them, but you know they are always there.

P.S. Keeps these verse from Galatians Chapter Six in mind........

7 Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatever a man sows, that shall he also reap.

8 For he that sows to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that sows to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.

9 And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.

10 As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good to all men, especially to them who are of the household of faith.

Posted by indie/hanaisonmusic at 6:07 AM EDT
Updated: Wednesday, 24 June 2009 6:10 AM EDT
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Wednesday, 4 March 2009

MILITARY CEMETERY ESCORT DUTY:
Topic: Human Interest Story!

I recieved this is an email from a friend:

MILITARY CEMETERY ESCORT DUTY:

            I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey’s. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in the August sun.   Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.

    I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail’s pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about four or five bunches as best I could tell.

I couldn’t help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I’m ready to get out of here right now!' But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.

Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make it to Smokey's in time.


I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight: middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.


I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman’s squint.    'Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?' She took long enough to answer.
'Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.' ’My pleasure, ma'am.' Well, it wasn't too much of a lie. She looked again. 'Marine, where were you stationed?' ”Vietnam, ma’am. Ground-ponder. '69 to ‘71.'
She looked at me closer. ’Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I can.' I lied a little bigger: ’No hurry, ma'am.'

She smiled and winked at me. 'Son, I’m 85-years-old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name’s Joanne Wieserman and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.'

'Yes, ma 'am. At your service.'

She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flowers out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.

She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.

She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944. She paused for a second. ’Two more, son, and we'll be done’
I almost didn't say anything, but, ‘Yes, ma’am. Take your time.' She looked confused. ‘Where’s the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way.' I pointed with my chin. ’That way, ma'am.' 'Oh!' She chuckled quietly. 'Son, me and old age isn’t too friendly.'

She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wiseman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman, USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn’t make out.

'OK, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home.' Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?'   She paused. 'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all marines.' She stopped... Whether she had finished, or couldn’t finish, I don't know. She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully. I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car.

’Get to the 'Out' gate quick. I have something I’ve got to do.'
Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road. We beat her.   She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet. 'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead.' I humped it across the drive to the other post.

When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny’s voice: 'TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!'

I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud.
She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice.

I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of ‘The End,’ just think of 'Taps.'

As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer: 'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they protect us.'

Let’s all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy. ‘In God We Trust.'

If we ever forget that we're one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under!

Posted by indie/hanaisonmusic at 1:35 PM EST
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