> The Miracle of a Brother's Song > 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 little > 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 five minutes, every > three, 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 pediatric specialist > regretfully 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 home for the 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 the 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 steel-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. Her pulse rate began > to calm down and become steady. "Keep on singing, Michael," encouraged > Karen with tears in her eyes. "You 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 > hands..." 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! "Women'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. > Please send this to all the people that have touched your life in some > way. To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the > world. > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ > Jeremy was born with a twisted body and a slow mind. At the age of 12 he > was still in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris > Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat, > drool, and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and > distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his > brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy just irritated his teacher. > One day she called his parents and asked them to come in for a > consultation. As the Forresters entered the empty classroom, Doris said > to them, "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to him > to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there > is a five year gap between his age and that of the other students." > Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue, while her husband spoke. "Miss > Miller," he said, "there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a > terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We > know he really likes it here." Doris sat for a long time after they had > left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep > into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all, > their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him > in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy was a > distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read and write. Why > waste any more time trying? > As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. Here I am > complaining when my problems are nothing compared to that poor family, she > thought. Lord, please help me to be more patient with Jeremy. > From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank > stares. Then one day, he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind > him. > "I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loud enough for the whole class > to hear. The other students snickered, and Doris' face turned red. She > stammered, "Wh-why that's very nice, Jeremy. N-now please take your > seat." > Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. > Doris told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new > life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. > "Now," she said to them, "I want you to take this home and bring it back > tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?" > "Yes, Miss Miller," the children responded enthusiastically-all except for > Jeremy. He listened intently; his eyes never left her face. He did not > even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about > Jesus' death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps > she should call his parents and explain the project to them. > That evening, Doris' kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and > waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still > had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse, and prepare a vocabulary test > for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents. > The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they > placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller's desk. After > they completed their math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In the > first egg, Doris found a flower. "Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of > new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground, we know that > spring is here." A small girl in the first row waved her arm. "That's my > egg, Miss Miller," she called out. The next egg contained a plastic > butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up. "We all know that a > caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that's new > life, too." Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one > is mine." Next, Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that > moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom, > "My daddy helped me," he beamed. > Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty. Surely > it must be Jeremy's she thought, and of course, he did not understand her > instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone his parents. > Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside > and reached for another. Suddenly, Jeremy spoke up. "Miss Miller, aren't > you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Doris replied, "But Jeremy, > your egg is empty." He looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but > Jesus' tomb was empty, too." > Time stopped. When she could speak again, Doris asked him, "Do you know > why the tomb was empty?" "Oh, yes," Jeremy said, "Jesus was killed and > put in there. Then His Father raised Him up." > The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the > schoolyard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away. > Three months later, Jeremy died. Those who paid there respects at the > mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them > empty. > If this blesses you, pass it on. > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ > The Christian Alphabet > Be encouraged Today!! > God will not let you suffer more than His grace will bring you through! > A lthough things are not perfect > B ecause of trial and pain > C ontinue in thanksgiving > D o not begin to blame > E ven when the times are hard > F ierce winds are bound to blow > G od is forever able > H old on to what you know > I magine life without His love > J oy would cease to be > K eep thanking > H im for all the things > L ove imparts to thee > M ove out of "Camp Complaining" > N o weapon that is known > O n earth can yield the power > P raise can do alone > Q uit looking at the future > R edeem the time at hand > S tart every day with worship > T o "thank" is a command > U ntil we see Him coming > V ictorious in the sky > W e'll run the race with gratitiude > eX alting God most high > Y es, there will be good times and yes some will be bad, but... > Z ion waits in glory...where none are ever sad! > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ > M J Dunnahoo wrote: > A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had > everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often > sit together and admire the great works of art. When the Viet Nam > conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died > in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and > grieved deeply for his only son. About a month later, just before > Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door > with a large package in his hands. He said, "Sir, you don't know me, but > I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives > that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the > heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for > art. > The young man held out his package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not > really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have > this. > The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by > the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the > personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the > eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and > offered to pay him for the picture. "Oh, no sir, I could never repay what > your son did for me. It's a gift." > The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to > his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them > any of the other great works he had collected. The man died a few months > later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential > people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an > opportunity to purchase one for their collection. > On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his > gavel. > "We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for > this picture?" > There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted. "We want > to see the famous paintings. Skip this one." > But the auctioneer persisted. "Will someone bid for this painting? > Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?" > Another voice shouted angrily. "We didn't come to see this painting. We > came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!" > But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the > son?" > Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime > gardener of the man and his son. > "I'll give $10 for the painting." Being a poor man, it was all he could > afford. > "We have $10, who will bid $20?" > "Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters." > "$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?" > The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. > They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections. The > auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!" A man > sitting on the second row shouted. "Now let's get on with the > collection!" > The auctioneer laid down his gavel. "I'm sorry, the auction is over." > "What about the paintings? " > I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a > secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that > stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be > auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, > including the paintings. The man who took the son gets everything!" > God gave his son 2,000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the > auctioneer, His message today is, "The son, the son, who'll take the son?" > Because you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything... > --author unknown > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ > _______ To unsubscribe, send "unsubscribe rangernet" to [EMAIL PROTECTED] "Eat the hay & spit out the sticks!" RTKB&G4JC! Autoresponder: [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://rangernet.org
