Chair of Applied Electronics

The Smith's were proud of their family tradition; their ancestors had come to America on the Mayflower and also included many Senators and Wall Street wizards.

When they decided to compile a family history as a legacy reminder for their children and grandchildren they hired a fine author. Only one problem arose and that was how to handle that great-uncle George, who was executed in the electric chair.

The author said he could handle the story tactfully.

The book appeared. It said "Great-uncle George occupied a chair of applied electronics at an important government institution, was attached to his position by the strongest of ties, and his death came as a great shock."

LOVE IS "I STILL KNOW WHO SHE IS".

It was a busy morning, approximately 8.30 am, when an elderly gentleman in his eighties arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated that he was in hurry as he had an appointment at 9.00 am.

I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looked at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I went to evaluate his wound.

On closer examination, it had healed nicely, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.

While taking care of his wound, we began to engage in conversation. I asked him if he had another doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease.

As we talked, I asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him, "And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?"

He smiled as he patted my hand and said, "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is." I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought, "That is the kind of love I want in my life."

True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be , and will not be.

Would You Swap Places With This Rich Guy?

A young man named Steve Walker walked into Zig Ziglar's office years ago. A friend of his had flown him down from Toronto because he wanted Steve to see Zig. He thought Steve needed a change.

Turns out Steve left for work at six in the morning, and he got home every night between ten and eleven. That was six days a week. On Sundays he was so exhausted he slept all day.

He had no family life. He was so tired he had run off the road two or three times driving back and forth the 20 or 30 miles he had to go to his job. His wife was threatening to divorce him. Everything in this guy's life was falling apart - the whole nine yards.

Steve's friend had forewarned Zig of all this, and when Zig met with Steve, he discovered his boss was the person he looked up to the most.

"Why is that?" Zig asked him.

"Most successful man I've ever seen."

"Okay,” Zig said, "let's look at your boss. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to give your boss a plus or a minus grade on all the questions I'm going to ask you."

"Okay."

He asked, "Steve, how happy is your boss?"

Steve thought a minute. "I never really thought about it until now, but I don't think he's happy at all."

"Well, we'll give him a minus on that, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Why do you say you don't think he's happy?"

"Well, uh, number one, I've never heard him laugh. He seldom smiles, and besides that he has ulcers."

"Well, let's see now, that tells me something about his health. Do we give him a plus or minus on that?"

"Oh, that looks like a minus."

Zig said, "If he's got ulcers, that tells me something about his peace of mind. Do we give him a plus or a minus?"

"I'd say another minus."

"Okay," Zig continued. "How prosperous is your boss?"

He said, "Man, he's got money running out of his ears. That's why he's my role model."

"I guess we give him a big old plus on that one."

"Absolutely!" said Steve.

Zig said, "How secure is he?"

"Well, he's as secure as money can make you."

"We had some billionaire brothers here in Dallas who went bankrupt. How does your boss compare?"

"He doesn't have that kind of money."

"We had an industrialist here who was worth half a billion. Does he have that kind of money?"

"No way."

"We had another one, a former governor worth a hundred million at one time. He's bankrupt. How does your boss compare?"

Steve said, "Oh, man, he doesn't have that kind of money."

"Well, I don't want to give him a plus, I don't want to give him a minus. What about a question mark? Would that be fair?"

"I never thought I would say this," he said, "but that would be more than fair."

"How many friends does your boss have?"

Steve pondered for a moment. "Really, I don't think he has any. I'm not his friend; I just admire him because he's so successful. To tell you the truth, the guy's somewhat of a jerk."

"Well, we're sure going to give him a minus on that, aren't we?"

He sighed, "Once again, yes."

Zig said, "Tell me about his family."

"Well, his wife's divorcing him."

"Then we have to give him a minus for that."

"Yes we do. I can't believe it! He's getting a minus on everything."

"How much hope does he have for the future?"

"Well, before I started talking to you, I thought he had lots. But now I don't think he has any real hope."

"Well," Zig said, "another minus."

"Yep."

"Steve, let me ask you a question. Of the eight things everybody wants, your boss gets a minus on six, a plus on one, and a question mark on one. Knowing what you know, would you swap places with him?"

The Wooden Bowl

A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law and four year old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.

The family ate together at the table, but the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth. The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. "We must do something about grandfather," said the son. "I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor."

So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner. Since grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl. When the family glanced in grandfather's direction, he sometimes had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. The four year old watched it all in silence.

One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, "What are you making?" Just as sweetly the boy responded, "Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Momma to eat your food from when I grow up." The four year old smiled and went back to work.

The words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no words were spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table.

For the remainder of his days, he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.

---

Children are remarkably perceptive. Their eyes ever observe, their ears ever listen, and their minds ever process the message they absorb. If they see us patiently provide a happy home atmosphere for family members, they will imitate that attitude for the rest of their lives. The wise parent realizes that every day the building blocks are being laid for the child's future.

Let us be wise builders.

The Stranger In My House

A few years after I was born, my Dad met a 'stranger' who was new to our small town. 

From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer and soon invited him to live with our family.

The stranger was quickly accepted and was around from then on.

As I grew up, I never questioned his place in my family.

In my young mind, he had a special niche.
My parents were complementary instructors:

Mom taught me good from evil, and Dad taught me to obey.

But the stranger... He was our storyteller.
He would keep us spellbound for hours on end with adventures, mysteries and comedies.

If I wanted to know anything about politics, history or science, he always knew the answers about the past, understood the present and even seemed able to predict the future!
He took my family to the first major league ball game.

He made me laugh, and he made me cry.

The stranger never stopped talking, but Dad didn't seem to mind.

Sometimes, Mom would get up quietly while the rest of us were shushing each other to listen to what he had to say, and she would go to the kitchen for peace and quiet. (I wonder now if she ever prayed for the stranger to leave.)

Dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions, but the stranger never felt obligated to honor them.

Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our home - not from us, our friends or any visitors.

After our long time visitor stayed longer he became more daring however, and even got away with four-letter words that burned my ears and made my dad squirm and my mother blush.

My Dad didn't permit the liberal use of alcohol but the stranger encouraged us to try it on a regular basis.

He made cigarettes look cool, cigars manly, and pipes distinguished.

He talked freely (much too freely!) about sex.

His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing..

I now know that my early concepts about relationships were influenced strongly by the stranger.

Time after time, he opposed the values of my parents, yet he was seldom rebuked...

And NEVER asked to leave.

More than fifty years have passed since the stranger moved in with our family.
He has blended right in and is not nearly as fascinating as he was at first.

Still, if you could walk into my parents' den today, you would still find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his pictures.

His name?... We just call him "TV".
He has a wife now....we call her "Computer".
Their first child is "Cell Phone".
Second child "I Pod".

 Adapted by Pastor Cheng Lip Kiong

Faithful Church Attenders

A study once disclosed that:


If both Mom and Dad attend church regularly, 72% of their children remain faithful.
If only Dad, 55% remain faithful.
If only Mom, 15%.
If neither attended regularly, only 6% remain faithful.
The statistics speak for themselves—the example of parents and adults is more important than all the efforts of the church and Sunday School.

Warren Mueller in Homemade, May, 1990

You don't love me any more?

One night at the dinner table, the wife commented, "When we were first married, you took the small piece of steak and gave me the larger. Now you take the large one and leave me the smaller. You don't love me any more?"

"Nonsense, darling," replied the husband, "you just cook better now."

Family Support

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The prospective father-in-law asked, "Young man, can you support a family?”

The surprised groom-to-be replied, "Well, no. I was just planning to support your daughter. The rest of you will have to fend for yourselves."

The Pefect Gentleman

A friend asked a gentleman why the latter never got married. 

The gentleman replied, “Well, I guess I just never met the right woman. I guess I have been looking for the perfect girl.”

“Oh, come on now,” said the friend, “Surely you have met at least one girl that you wanted to marry.”

“Yes, there was one girl... once. I guess she was the one perfect girl. The only perfect girl I had really ever met. She was just right for everything! I mean that she was the really
perfect girl for me.”

“Well, why didn’t you marry her>” asked the friend.

“She was looking for the perfect man,” the gentleman said sadly.

The Boy's Flowers

For some time I have had a person provide me with a rose boutonniere to pin on the lapel of my suit every Sunday.  Because I always got a flower on Sunday morning, I really did not think much of it.  It was a nice gesture that I appreciated, but it became routine.  One Sunday, however, what I considered ordinary became very special.

As I was leaving the Sunday service a young man approached me.  He walked right up to me and said, “Sir, what are you going to do with your flower?”  At first I did not know what he was talking about, but then I understood.

I said, “Do you mean this?” as I pointed to the rose pinned to my coat.

He said, “Yes, sir.  I would like it if you are just going to throw it away.”  At this point I smiled and gladly told him that he could have my flower, casually asking him what he was going to do with it.  The little boy, who was probably less than 10 years old, looked up at me and said, “Sir, I'm going to give it to my granny.  My mother and father got divorced last year.  I was living with my mother, but when she married again, she wanted me to live with my father.  I lived with him for a while, but he said I could not stay, so he sent me to live with my grandmother.  She is so good to me.  She cooks for me and takes care of me.  She has been so good to me that I want to give that pretty flower to her for loving me.”

When the little boy finished I could hardly speak.  My eyes filled with tears and I knew I had been touched in the depths of my soul.  I reached up and unpinned my flower.  With the flower in my hand, I looked at the boy and said, “Son, that is the nicest thing I have ever heard, but you can't have this flower because it's not enough.  If you'll look in front of the pulpit, you'll see a big bouquet of flowers.  Different families buy them for the church each week.  Please take those flowers to your granny because she deserves the very best.”

If I hadn't been touched enough already, he made one last statement and I will always cherish it.  He said, “What a wonderful day!  I asked for one flower but got a beautiful bouquet.”
Pastor John R. Ramsey

Where did you meet God today?

A story is told where a mother had a different way of asking the same question: “How was your day?” As she tucks her children into bed each night, she asks them this question: “Where did you meet God today?” 

And they tell her, one by one: a teacher helped me; there was a homeless person in the park; I saw a tree with lots of flowers on it. She tells them where she met God, too.

Before the children drop off to sleep, the stuff of this day has become the substance of their prayer.
Dorothy C. Bass

One Hot Ferrari!

My father really dislikes my stepfather, Mike, and is always calling him names, saying what a "good-for-nothing" guy he is.

Mike knows about his name-calling because sometimes when my father comes to pick me up, he'll say inconsiderate things right in front of my stepdad like, "Is what's-his-name going to pick you up after the game, or am I supposed to bring you home?"

Even though it's rude that my father doesn't call Mike by his name, my stepdad doesn't hold it against my father. "Sure, I'll pick up BeShawn at 3:30," he'll answer. Nor does Mike make a big deal about my father's inconsiderate attitude towards him. He lets the comments go.

I asked my stepfather if the way my father treats him bothers or upsets him. "Oh, not really," he said. "You don't always have to be right, as long you do what's right." I like it that Mike is secure with himself. My father's taunts don't bother Mike because he likes himself. My dad's opinion of my stepdad doesn't change the way Mike feels about himself.

I really admire Mike. I especially like how he's good to my mother. And I really like what a good father he is to me. I appreciate all the things he does for me, like teaching me to throw a fastball and helping me with my homework — without becoming impatient like my father does. Mike even volunteered at my school's carnival this year. No other stepdads were there.

Though I would never tell my real father that I think my stepfather is one of nicest guys I know, he is. I'm happy to have Mike as my stepfather. Sometimes, I even call Mike "Dad" because he acts like a dad to me. In my eyes, my stepfather is a really great guy —  one hot Ferrari.

BeShawn Niles, 13 years old