Spiritual Stories

Free The Birdies

I'm grateful for the opportunity to speak today regarding the topic assigned to me, the importance of Temple attendance. Brothers and Sisters, throughout our lives we are blessed with spiritual experiences, some of which are very sacred and confidential, and others, although just as sacred, are meant to be shared.

Last summer my family had a spiritual experience that has had a lasting and profound impact on us, one we feel must be shared. It's a message of love. It's a message of regaining perspective, and restoring proper balance and renewing priorities.

In humility, I pray that I might, in relating this story, give you a gift my little son, Brian, gave our family one warm summer day last year. On July 22nd I was en route to Washington, D.C. for a business trip. It was all so very ordinary until we landed in. Denver for a plane change. As I collected my belongings from the overhead bin, an announcement was made for Mr. Lloyd Glenn to see the United customer service representative immediately. I thought nothing of this until I reached the door to leave the plane and I heard a gentleman asking every male if they were Mr. Glenn. At this point I knew something was wrong and my heart sunk.

When I got off the plane a solemn-faced young man came toward me and said, "Mr. Glenn, there has been an emergency at your home. I do not know what the emergency is, or who is involved, but I will take you to a phone so you can call the hospital.

My heart was now pounding, but the will to be calm took over. Woodenly, I followed this stranger to a distant telephone where I called the number he gave me for the Mission Hospital. My call was put through to the trauma center where I learned that my three-year-old son had been trapped underneath the automatic garage door for several minutes, and that when my wife had found him, he was dead. CPR had been performed by a neighbor, who is a doctor, and the paramedics had continued that treatment as Brian was transported to the hospital. By the time of my call, Brian was revived and they believed he would live, but they did not know how much damage had been done to his brain, nor to his heart. They explained that the door had completely closed on his little sternum right over his heart. He had been severely crushed.

After speaking with the medical staff, my wife informed me that our Bishop and hometeacher were there and were waiting for the doctors to give them the go ahead to administer to Brian. She sounded worried, but not hysterical,. and I took comfort in her calmness.

The return flight seemed to last forever, but finally I arrived at the hospital six hours after the garage door had come down. When I walked into the intensive care unit, nothing could have prepared me to see my little son laying so still on a great big bed with tubes and monitors everywhere. He was on a respirator. I glanced at my wife who stood and tried to give me a reassuring smile. It all seemed like a terrible dream. I was filled in on all the details and given the guarded prognosis. Brian was going to live, and the preliminary tests indicated that his heart was okay - two miracles, in and of themselves. But, only time would tell if his brain received any damage.

Throughout these seemingly endless hours, my wife was calm. She told me that the Bishop had given a blessing so powerful and so reassuring that she felt that Brian would eventually be all right. I hung on to her words and faith like a lifeline.

All that night and all the next day Brian remained unconscious. It seemed like forever since I had left for my business trip the day before. Finally, at two o'clock that afternoon, our son regained consciousness and sat up uttering the most beautiful words I have ever heard spoken. He said, "Daddy, hold me," as he reached for me with his little tiny arms.

By the next day he was pronounced as having no neurological or physical deficits, and the story of his miraculous survival spread throughout the hospital. You cannot imagine our gratitude and joy. As we took Brian home we felt the unique reverence for life and love of our Heavenly Father that comes to those who brush death so closely. In the days that followed there was a special spirit about our home. Our two older children were much closer to their little brother. My wife and I were closer to each other, and all of us were very close as a whole family. Life took on a less stressful pace. Perspective seemed to be much more focused, and balance much easier to gain and maintain. We felt deeply blessed. Our gratitude was truly profound.

Almost a month later to the day of the accident, Brian awoke from his afternoon nap and said, "Sit down, Mommy. I have something to tell you." At that time in his life, Brian usually spoke in small phrases, so to say such a large sentence surprised my wife. She sat down with him on the bed and he began this sacred and remarkable story.

"Do you remember when I got stuck under the garage door? Well, it was so heavy and it hurt really bad. I called to you, but you couldn't hear me. I started to cry, but then it hurt too bad. And then the 'birdies' came."

"The 'birdies'?" my wife asked puzzled. "Yes," he replied. "The 'birdies' made a whooshing sound and flew into the garage. They took care of me." "They did?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "One of the birdies came and got you. She came to tell you I got stuck under the door."

A sweet and reverent feeling filled the room. The spirit was so strong and yet lighter than air. My wife realized that a three-year-old has no concept of death and spirits, so he was referring to the beings who came to help him from beyond the veil as "birdies" because they were up in the air like birds that fly.

"What did the 'birdies' look like?" she asked. Brian answered, "They were so beautiful,

They were dressed in white, all white. Some of them had on green and white, but some of them had on just white." My wife thought this was intriguing because Brian had no clue what the color green was.

"Did they say anything?" "Yes," he answered. "They told me the baby would be all right." "The baby?" my wife asked, confused. And Brian answered, "Yes, the baby laying on the garage floor." He went on, "You came out and opened the garage door and ran to the baby. You told the baby to stay and not leave." My wife nearly collapsed upon hearing this, for she had indeed gone and knelt beside Brian's body, and seeing his crushed chest and unrecognizable features, and knowing he was already dead, she looked up around her and whispered, "Don't leave us, Brian; please stay if you can.

As she listened to Brian telling her the words she had spoken, she realized that his spirit had left his body and was looking down from above on this little lifeless form. "Then what happened?" she asked.

"We went on a trip," he said, "far, far away." He grew agitated trying to say things he didn't seem to have words for. My wife tried to calm and comfort him, and let him know it would be okay. He struggled with wanting to tell something that obviously was very important to him, but finding the words was so difficult. Finally, his eyes alighted on the picture of the Oakland temple that hangs in the room and he ran to it. "I went there!" he shouted. "There, Mommy," he pointed to the temple. "And I went to other ones like this. There are lots of them. They are everywhere, and I went to some of them with the 'birdies'. We flew so fast up in the air."

To which my wife said, "That's one of the temples." "YES! YES!" he shouted. "I went to the temples." "They're so pretty, Mommy," he added. "And there are lots and lots of 'birdies' in the temple. Lots of them are in cages and they want to get out, but they can't by themselves. They need us to let them out of the cages. Mommy, I have to go to the temple and let them out. They are so sad and they need me to let them out. Money, you have to go there now and let them out. And Daddy too. And everyone. We have to let them out of their cages."

My wife was stunned. Into her mind the sweet spirit enveloped her more soundly, but with an urgency she had never before known. She thought of the spirit world, the spirit prison to those who have not had saving ordinances done, and she knew that such spirits were relying on us to do these ordinances for them. She thought of how Brian had said some of the 'birdies' were wearing green and white, and the significance of that swept her with longing and understanding.

Brian went on to tell her that the 'birdies' told him that he had to come back and tell everyone about the temples and the 'birdies' in their cages. He said they brought him back to the house and that a big fire truck, a little fire truck, and an ambulance were there. A man was bringing the baby out on a white bed and he tried to tell the man that the baby would be okay, but the man couldn't hear him. He said the 'birdies' told him he had to go with the ambulance, but they would be near him. He said it was so pretty there and so peaceful, and he didn't want to come back.

And then the bright light came. He said the light was so bright and so warm, and he loved the bright light very much. Someone was in the bright light and put their arms around him and told him, "I love you, but you have to go back. You have to play baseball, tell everyone about the temples, and slay the alligators." Then the person in the bright light kissed him and waved bye-bye. Brian got in the ambulance with two of the 'birdies'. The ambulance doors closed after the people got in, and he said, "Then I saw my beautiful, beautiful 'birdies' waving bye-bye. Then whoosh, the big sound came and they went into the clouds."

The story went on for over an hour. He taught us that the "birdies" are always with us, but we don't see them because we look with our eyes, and we don't hear them because we listen with our ears. But, they are there, and you can only see them in here (he put his hand over his heart). They whisper the things to help us do what's right because they love us so much. Brian continued, stating, "I have a plan, Mommy. You have a plan. Daddy has a plan. Everyone has a plan. We all must live our plan and keep our promises. And the 'birdies' help us do that 'cause they love us so, so much."

In the weeks that followed, he often came to us and told all, or part it again and again. Always the story remained the same. The details were never changed or out of order. A few time he added further bits of information that clarified the message he had already delivered. It never ceased to amaze us how he could tell such detail and speak beyond his ability when he spoke of his "birdies."

Everywhere he went, he told total strangers that they had to go to the temple. Surprisingly, no one ever looked at him strangely when he did this. Rather, they always got a softened look on their face and smiled.

Needless to say, we have not been the same ever since that day, and I pray that we never will be. My wife and I have gone to the temple repeatedly since then, and always Brian is waiting to hear how many "birdies" we set free each time we go.

Brothers and Sisters, of all the messages Brian could have brought back, he brought this one -- We must go to the temple and free the "birdies." I testify that the things I have shared with you today are true. They are of sacred worth. They are of eternal consequence to us all and to the spirits who await the work only we can do for them.

May we all go to the temple and free the "birdies" - for this truly is the Lord's work and His glory, to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man. I leave you with this message in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

-- Lloyd Glenn (1994)

His Hands

His Hands tools of creation

Stronger than nations

Power without end

And yet through them We find our truest Friend

His Hands Sermons of kindness

Healing men's blindness

Halting years of pain

children waiting To be held again

His Hand would serve His whole life though

Showing man what hands might do

Giving, ever giving endlessly

Each day was filled with selflessness

And I'll not rest

Til I make my hands what they could be

Like the ones from Galilee

His Hands Warming a beggar

Lifting a leper

Calling back the dead

Breaking bread Five thousand fed

His hands Hushing contention

Pointing to Heaven Ever free of sin

Then bidding man to follow Him

They take His hands

His mighty hands

Those gentle hands and then they pierce them

They pierce them

He lets them because of love

From birth to death was selflessness and clearly now

I see Him with His hands calling to me

and though I'm not yet how I could be

I will make My hands like those from Galilee

To serve others willingly and unselfishly should be one of our greatest virtues. It is not even a matter of choice. It is an obligation, a sacred command...Therefore, let us serve one another with brotherly love, never tiring of the demands upon us, being patient and persevering and generous.

-- Ezra T. Benson New Era Sept 1979, p.44

His Image In Your Countenance

With no apparent beauty that man should Him desire, He was the promised Savior to purify with fire. The world despised His plainness, but those who followed Him Found love and light and purity; a beauty from within.

(Chorus)

Have you received His image in your countenance? Does the Light of Christ shine in your eyes? Will He know you when He comes again Because you will be like Him? When He sees you will the Father know His child?

We seek for light and learning as followers of Christ. That all may see His goodness reflected in our lives. When we receive His fullness and lose desire for sin. We radiate His perfect love, a beauty from within.

(Repeat Chorus)

The ways of man may tempt us and some will be deceived, preferring worldly beauty, forgetting truth received. But whisp'ring of the Spirit remind us once again, That lasting beauty, pure and clear, must come from deep within.

(Repeat Chorus)

By His everlasting image in your eyes?

-- Janice Kapp Perry

Is Your Hut Burning

The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him, and every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions.

But then one day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, the smoke rolling up to the sky. The worst had happened; everything was lost. He was stunned with grief and anger. "God, how could you do this to me!" he cried.

Early the next day, however, he was awakened by the sound of a ship that was approaching the island. It had come to rescue him. "How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they replied.

It is easy to get discouraged when things are going bad, but we shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of pain and suffering. Remember, next time your little hut is burning to the ground, it just may be a smoke signal that summons the grace of God.

-- Author Unknown

Potters Hand

"O Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand" (Isa. 64:8).

All of us at times feel common, or useless, or unattractive. Learn something from simple clay. In its natural state, clay is common and far from beautiful. But in the hands of a master potter, it takes on a pleasing personality, becoming a thing both of usefulness and unique beauty.

But before clay can be made beautiful and useful, it must be centered on the potter's wheel. As the wheel spins, the potter molds, shapes, and lifts the clay into the desired form. If the clay is not centered, it cannot be shaped properly. Eventually, natural forces fling it from the wheel. Our lives are like that.

We must become centered on Christ-and remain centered on Him. Only then can our Father in Heaven shape and mold our lives to His grand design for us.

Sometimes flaws appear in the clay and repairs must be made. It may be necessary to go back, to remold and reshape. The wonderful thing is, when properly repaired, the flaw is completely gone, as though it had never existed.

When we sin, we introduce flaws and defects. They may not be outwardly visible at first, but they weaken us just the same. And if they are not properly repaired, they can lead to our ultimate ruin. Fortunately, if we are humble and pliable as clay in the Potter's hands, repentance will make us completely whole.

Clay that has been shaped and molded may become beautiful. And as it dries, it becomes harder. But it never achieves its full potential until it has been through the fire. In the great heat of the potter's kiln, the clay is transformed.

Hidden flaws that were not repaired reveal themselves at this time, and the piece breaks or crumbles.

But a vessel that has integrity comes from the fire stronger and more beautiful than ever. In life, too, we pass through fiery trials that test our faith and integrity. Then if we have remained centered on Christ, and if through true repentance we have let Him make us whole and sound, taking from us our flaws and mistakes, we come forth from the fire as beautiful, useful vessels in His hands.

-- Larry A. Hiller - New Era Dec 1999

Prayer

My dear Father in Heaven

YES?

Don't interrupt me. I'm praying!

BUT YOU CALLED ME.

Called you? I didn't call you. i'm praying.. My dear Father in Heaven..

THERE YOU DID IT AGAIN.

Did what?

CALLED ME! YOU SAID, "MY FATHER IN HEAVEN". HERE I AM. WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND?

But I didn't mean anything by it. I was just, you know, saying my prayers for the nlght. I always say my prayers. It makes me feel good kinda like doing my duty.

OH, ALL RIGHT... GO ON.

I'm thankful for my many blessings.

HOLD IT! HOW THANKFUL?

What?

HOW THANKFUL FOR YOUR MANY BLESSINGS?

I'm.. well... I don't know. How should I know? It's just a part of my prayer. Everyone said I should express my thanks.

OH WELL, YOU'RE WELCOME. GO AHEAD.

Go ahead?

WITH THE PRAYER.

Oh yeah. Let's see... bless the poor and the sick and the needy and the afflicted.

D0 YOU REALLY MEAN THAT?

Well sure I mean it.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING ABOUT IT?

Doing, who me? Nothing I guess. I just think it would be kinda nice if you took control of things down here like you have up there, so people won't suffer much.

HAVE I GOT CONTROL OF YOU?

Well. I go to church. I pay my tithing. I don't...

THAT ISN'T WHAT I ASKED YOU. WHAT ABOUT YOUR TEMPER? YOU HAVE A PROBLEM THERE. AND FRIENDS AND FAMILY SUFFER. AND THEN THERE'S THE WAY YOU SPEND YOUR M0NEY... ALL ON YOURSELF. AND HOW ABOUT THE KINDS OF BOOKS YOU READ!

Stop picking on me! I'm just as good as some of the rest I see every Sunday at church.

EXCUSE ME. I THOUGHT WE WERE PRAYING TO BLESS THE NEEDY. IF THAT IS TO HAPPEN, I'LL NEED TO HAVE HELP FROM THE ONES WHO ARE PRAYING FOR IT...LIKE YOU.

Oh, all right. I guess I have a few hang-ups. Now that you mention it, I could probably mention some others. .

SO COULD I.

Look. Father, I need to finish up here. This is taking a lot longer than usual. Bless the missionaries, to be led to the doors of the honest in heart.

YOU MEAN PEOPLE LIKE RALPH?

Ralph?

YES. THE MAN AROUND THE CORNER.

That Ralph?!? But he smokes and drinks and never goes to church.

HAVE YOU LOOKED AT HIS HEART LATELY?

Of course not, how can I...

I HAVE. I LOOKED. AND IT IS ONE OF THOSE HONEST HEARTS YOU WERE JUST PRAYING A80UT.

Well then, get the missionaries down there. Do you think I like having a non-member for a neighbour?

AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE A MISSIONARY. I THOUGHT I MADE THAT PRETTY CLEAR?

Hey, wait a minute. What is this? Criticize "me" day? Here I am, doing my duty, keeping the commandments to pray, and all of a sudden, you break in and remind me of all my problems.

WELL, YOU CALLED ME. AND,HERE I AM. KEEP ON PRAYING, I'M INTERESTED IN THE NEXT PART. YOU HAVEN'T CHANGED THE ORDER AROUND, HAVE YOU?.. GO ON...

I don't want to.

WHY NOT?

I know what you will say.

TRY ME AND SEE.

Please forgive me of all my sins, and help me to forgive others.

WHAT ABOUT BILL?

See, I knew it! I knew you'd bring him up! Listen, Father. He told lies about me and I lost my job. Everyone at the office thinks I'm a first class creep, and I didn't do anything. I'm going to get even with him.

BUT YOUR PRAYERS. WHAT ABOUT YOUR PRAYERS?

I didn't mean it.

AT LEAST YOU'RE HONEST. I GUESS YOU REALLY ENJOY CARRYING THAT LOAD OF BITTERNESS AROUND, DON'T YOU?

No I don't. But i'11 feel better as soon as I get even with him.

DO YOU WANT TO KNOW A SECRET?

What secret?

YOU WON'T FEEL BETTER. YOU'LL FEEL WORSE. LISTEN TO ME. YOU FORGIVE BILL, AND I'LL FORGIVE YOU.

But Father, I can't forgive Bill.

THEN I CAN'T FORGIVE YOU.

No matter what?

NO MATTER WHAT. BUT YOU'RE NOT THROUGH WITH YDUR PRAYER YET. GO ON.

Oh, all right... Please help me to control my feelings, and not yield to temptation.

GOOD. GOOD. I'LL DO THAT. BUT STOP PUTTING YOURSELF IN ALL THOSE PLACES WHERE YOU CAN BE TEMPTED.

What do you mean by that?

JUST WHAT I SAID. STOP HANGING AROUND THOSE MAGAZINE RACKS, AND SPENDING SO MUCH TIME IN FRONT OF THE T.V. SOME OF THE STUFF IS GOING TO GET TO YOU SOONER OR LATER. YOU'LL FIND YOURSELF IN SOME TERRIBLE THINGS BEFORE LONG... AND DON'T USE ME FOR ANOTHER ESCAPE HATCH EITHER!

An escape hatch? I don't understand.

SURE YOU DO. YOU'VE DONE IT LOTS OF TIMES - YOU FIND YOURSELF IN A CRISIS SITUATION, AND YOU COME RUNNING TO ME. "FATHER, HELP ME OUT OF THIS MESS AND I PROMISE I WILL NEVER DO IT AGAIN." IT'S AMAZING HOW THE QUALITY AND INTENSITY IMPROVE WHILE YOU'RE IN TROUBLE. DO YOU REMEMBER SOME OF THOSE BARGAINS YOU TRIED TO MAKE WITH ME?

Well I don't think...oh yeah...like the time Mom's visiting teach saw me coming out of that movie...oh brother!!!

DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR PRAYER? I DO. ."OH GOD, DON'T LET HER TELL MY MOTHER WHERE I'VE BEEN. I PROMISE I WILL GO TO NOTHING BUT 'G' RATED FROM NOW ON." SHE DIDN'T TELL YOUR MOTHER, BUT YOU DIDN'T KEEP YOUR PROMISE, DID YOU?

No Father, I didn't. I'm sorry.

SO AM I. GO AHEAD AND FINISH YOUR PRAYER.

Wait a minute, I want to ask, you a question. Do you always listen to all my prayers?

EVERY WORD. EVERY TIME.

Then how come you never talked back to me before?

HOW MANY CHANCES HAVE YOU GIVEN ME? THERE ISN'T ENOUGH TIME BETWEEN YOUR "AMEN" AND YOUR HEAD HITTING THE PILLOW FOR ME TO DRAW A BREATH... HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GIVE YOU AN ANSWER?

You could if you really wanted to.

NO, I COULD IF YOU REALLY WANTED ME TO. CHILD, I ALWAYS WANT TO.

Father, I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?

I ALREADY HAVE. AND THANKS FOR LETTING ME INTERRUPT. I GET LONELY TO TALK TO YOU SOMETIMES. GOOD NIGHT, I LOVE YOU.

Good night. And I love you too.

The Big Black Bee

A vacationing family drives along in their car, windows rolled down, enjoying the warm summer breeze of the sunny day. All of a sudden a big black bee darts in the window and starts buzzing around inside the car.

A little girl, highly allergic to bee stings, cringes in the back seat, if she is stung, she could die within an hour.

"Oh Daddy" she squeals in terror.. "It's a bee! It's going to sting me!"

The father pulls the car over to a stop, and reaches back to try to catch the bee. Buzzing towards him, the bee bumps against the front windshield where the father traps it in his fist. Holding it in his closed hands, the father waits for the inevitable sting. The bee is loose in the car again.

The little girl again panics "Daddy, it's going to sting me!" The father gently says, "No honey, he's not going to sting you now. Look at my hand." The bee stinger is there in his hands.

1 Cor. 15.55 "Where, O death is your victory? Where, I death, is your sting?"

Jesus says to us "Look at my hands." He has satan's sting, the sting of death, the sting of sin, the sting of deceit, the sting of feeling worthless. Jesus has all of those stingers in His hands.

When you see that nail-scarred hands, realised that, on your behalf, Jesus took all the pain that satan could throw at Him. He reduced satan to a big black bee that has lost its' stinger - all satan can do is buzz.

That's the victory that Jesus won for you!

The Bird Cage

There once was a Mormon Bishop, who lived in a small New England town. One Easter Sunday morning he came to church carrying a rusty, bent old bird cage and set it down by the pulpit. Several eyebrows were raised, and as if in response, the Bishop began to speak.

"I was walking through town yesterday when I saw a young boy coming towards me, swinging this bird cage. On the bottom of the cage were three little wild birds, shivering with cold and fright. I stopped the lad and asked, 'What you got there son?"

"Just some old birds," came the reply.

"What are you going to do with them?" I asked.

"Take 'em home and have fun with 'em. I'm gonna tease 'em and pull out their feathers to make 'em fight. I'm gonna have a real good time."

"But you'll get tired of those birds sooner or later. What will you do with them?"

"Oh, I got some cats. They like birds. I'll give 'em to them."

The bishop was silent a moment.

"How much do you want for those birds son?"

"Huh??? Why you don't want those birds mister. They're just plain old field birds. They don't sing, they ain't even pretty!"

"How much?"

The boy sized up the Bishop as if he were crazy and said, "Ten dollars?"

The Bishop reached in his pocket and took out a ten dollar bill. He placed it in the boy's hand. In a flash, the boy was gone.

The Bishop picked up the cage and gently carried it to the end of the alley, where there was a grassy spot. Setting the cage down, he opened the door, and by softly tapping the bars persuaded the birds out, setting them free.

Well that explained the empty bird cage on the pulpit, and then the Bishop began to tell this story.

"One day Satan and Jesus were having a conversation. Satan had just come from the Garden of Eden, and he was gloating and boasting.

"Yes sir, I just caught a world full of people down there. Set me a trap, used bait a knew they couldn't resist. Got 'em all."

"What are you going to do with them?" Jesus asked.

"Oh, I'm gonna have fun! I'm gonna teach them how to marry & divorce each other. How to invent guns and bombs and kill each other. Real fun!"

"And what will you do with them when you grow tired of that?"

"Oh, kill 'em. Damn 'em."

How much do you want for them?"

"Oh, you don't want these people. They ain't no good. Why, you take them, and they'll just hate you. They'll spit on you, and curse you and kill you! You don't want those people!"

"How much?"

Satan looked at Jesus and sneered, "All your tears, and all your blood."

Jesus paid the price. He picked up the cage. He opened the door.

The Chain of Love

He was driving home one evening, on a two-lane country road. Work in this small mid-western community, was almost as slow as his beat-up Pontiac. But he never quit looking. Ever since the factory closed, he'd been unemployed, and with winter raging on, the chill had finally hit home.

It was a lonely road. Not very many people had a reason to be on it, unless they were leaving. Most of his friends had already left. They had families to feed and dreams to fulfill. But he stayed on. After all, this was where he buried his mother and father. He was born here and he knew the country. He could go down this road blind, and tell you what was on either side, and with his lights not working, that came in handy.

It was starting to get dark and light snow flurries were coming down. He'd better get a move on. You know, he almost didn't see the 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."

Well, all she 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. She asked him how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She had already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped.

Bryan never thought twice about the money. 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 that they needed, and Bryan added "...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 cash register was like the telephone of an out of work actor - it didn't ring much.

Her 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 that 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, and the waitress went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, the lady slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. She wondered where the lady could be, then she noticed something written on the napkin under which was four $100 bills. There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote.

It said: "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." 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 kiss and whispered soft and low, "Everything's gonna be all right; I love you, Bryan."

-- Author Unknown

The Cracked Pot

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.

"I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you." "Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?" "I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure. The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it.

I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But if we will allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father's table. In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste.

-- Author Unknown

The Heavenly Mansion

Once there was a member of the church. He was strong in the gospel growing up through his young years, and at 19 he served an honorable mission. When he returned from his mission he soon found the wife of his dreams and they were married in the temple shortly afterwards.

He was happy and his testimony of the truth blossomed into firm belief. He became an Elders Qurum President and then a counciler on the bishopric. After 5 years of faithfull service in these callings he became a Bishop. Burdened with such responsibilty he prayed and fasted hard through his time as a bishop that he would be able to serve to his fullest capacity while still providing for the needs of his family. His faith grew and so did his testimony and dedicated his whole life to service for the lord.

As the years went by he continued to serve to the best of his ability as each new calling came along. He was called as a youth leader, a high councilman and a Stake President. The years rapidly went by and his childern left home and had children of their own. He continued faithfully serving before deciding to serve a mission with his wife.

After his mission with his wife he returned and decided that it was time to retire from church service. He felt that 60 years of his life dedicated to the church service was more than enough service and it was time to relax and join the congregation. His faith was still strong he just decided to have a rest from callings.

A couple of years later he died at a good old age. Upon meeting St Peter at the pearly gates he was greeted with a smile. "Welcome brother to heaven it is great to have you". St Peter opened the gates and heralded the brother through. Walking with St Peter he expressed his joy to finally be in heaven and how thankful he was that he had made it.

St Peter laughed and asked the brother to follow him to where he was to live. As they walked the man noticed some small shacks by the side. He was slightly concerned as he walked past hoping he would not be living in one of those. Soon however the scenery changed and the houses became bigger and more spectacular. Still they kept walking past. Finally they stopped next to this huge mansion. "This my brother is your mansion. The angels built it for you while you were on earth".

The mansion was huge bigger than he has ever seen in this life. He opened the door and looked inside to find a spectacular hallway. Quickly he walked from room to room inspecting the beatiful workmanship. Then he looked up. At the top of his mansion he saw the stars. The roof was missing. The man turned to St Peter and said 'What is the meaning of this where is the roof". St Peter smiled and said. "while you were working on earth the angels were building this mansion for you. When you stopped working the angels stopped".

-- Author Unknown

The Rail Crossing

This story took place in a country far away from here, in Europe. It was prior to the 2nd world war. It was winter time, in fact it was the Friday before Christmas, and most people were starting their Christmas holiday.

The family consisted of Juan - 18 months old, Maria his mother, and Franse his father who worked for the railway as a signalman. They lived in a small house attached to the signal box which was a complicated mass of levers and dials and flashing lights and cables and wires. The signal box was on the northern side of a rail bridge across a river. Juan loved to watch the trains go rumbling by, the glowing embers of the fire, smoke belching out of the funnel, and tooting to them as they waved. Juan's favourite pastime was to watch his father Franse working in the signal box.

On the northern side of the river the rails forked in two directions, the right heading to the seaside resorts along the coast, the left to the hills where the mining villages and skiing slopes were. On the southern end of the bridge the rail came from the big industrial towns, and a single line headed along the river to a large mining works.

It was late afternoon, this Friday before Christmas and Franse was getting worried, a big trainload of empty coal wagons was overdue, he had diverted the rails to the mining works, but it was getting uncomfortably close for the next train to come from the southern industrial towns and that would be packed with holiday makers. Finaly the signals indicated the freight train was approaching, and he heaved a sigh of relief. He had visualised having to hold up a whole series of trains whilst he maneuvered the rail crossings as two other trains crossed the river from the north soon after the one from the south.

Franse called out to Maria to take Juan back into the house. The freight train passed through the junction on the other side of the river and Franse operated the levers to bring the rails straight over the river, the red warning light started flashing, this indicated the rails had not made the connection. It was now dusk, Dusk changed to night very quickly this time of the year. Franse operated the levers to divert the rails again, and then tried again to bring the rails across the bridge, the red light started flashing. Franse realised he had to keep cool, the first thing was to set all the junction warning lights to red. He then Opened the door to the house and called out that he was heading across the river to clear the blockage. It had happened a long time ago a piece of coal wedged between the rails. This time he knew to take a crowbar with him. He put on his boots, grabbed his coat and a hurricane lamp and rushed out slamming the door behind him, to make matters worse there was a fine misty rain starting, it wasn't quite dark but that would only be a matter of minutes away. Franse hurried towards the Bridge.

By the time he had crossed to the other side it was pitch dark, Franse lit his lantern then carried on to the rail junctions a bit further on. He soon found the cause of the blockage, a rock jammed under the moving rail. Franse levered and hacked at the rock until it was clear of the rails, he could hear a faint humming in the rails, the train was coming.

But the rails still wouldn't meet completely, he ran over to the manual lever and hauled the rails further apart then hauled them back again to close and heard the clang as they met, he ran back again to inspect the junction and satisfied himself that all was well. Franse looked down the rail track he could see the light of the train approaching, he had worked up quite a sweat despite the cold night air. There was still one thing left to do, he ran up the track to the warning light unlocked the control box and changed the light to green. Then feeling an impulse he ran back to the junction and bent down to inspect the rails and as he was doing so he thought he heard a faint sound, he froze listening, once again he thought he heard a faint cry "Daddy" That must be Juan, Juan must have followed him. The train was bearing down fast even though it had slowed somewhat for the bridge, it was almost up to the warning light which was now on green.

Franse was desperate, he may have imagined that cry, but he did not think so, there was one thing he could do he ran to the hand lever, he could pull the rails across to the mining track, he realised that by so doing he would jeopardise the safety of the passengers on the train, it was doubtful that the train would make it through the junction and bend at the speed it was going, Franse was already waving the lantern, but the train rumbled on past. With fear in his heart Franse trudged back along the single track across the bridge and found the lifeless body of his son lying between the tracks.

The Room

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that listed the authors or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different readings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was the one that read, "People I have liked". I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of every moment, big and small, in detail my memory couldn't match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories, others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed".

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I have read," "Lies I have told," "Comfort I have given," "Jokes I have laughed at". Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I have yelled at my brothers". Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I have done in my anger," "Things I have muttered under my breath to my parents". I never ceased to be suprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I had hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of life I had lived. Could it be possible that I have time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my handwriting. Each was signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I have listened to," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, ashamed, not so much by the quality of the music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

When I came to the file marked "Lustful thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn those cards. But as I took it ad one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card only to find it strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning on my forehead against the wall. I let out a long self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I have shared the gospel with". The handle was brighter than those around it, newer and almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box no more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of files shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please, not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did he have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put his arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign his name over mine on each card.

"NO!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was, "No, no" as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with his own blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished".

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

The Starfish

It was still early, the mist had not yet cleared from the sea. In the distance, a solitary figure stood throwing objects out over the water.

Walking along the debris strewn beach, I looked at the masses of starfish scattered everywhere. The tide had thrown them in, stranding them on the beach. As the sun rose higher, they would soon perish.

Approaching the stranger, I could see that it was a starfish he was picking up and returning to the sea.

Our eyes met!

"Do you really think you can help? There are millions of starfish on this beach. You can help so few. Does it really make a difference? Does it matter?"

He reached down and picked up another starfish, looking at it intently.

"Oh yes," he replied. "It matters to this one."

The Touch Of The Masters Hand

'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer

Thought it scarcely worth his while

To waste much time on the old violin,

But he held it up with a smile:

"What am I bidden, good folks?" he cried,

"Who'll start the bidding for me?"

"A dollar, a dollar"; then, "Two!" "Only two?

Two dollars and who'll make it three?

Three dollars, once; three dollars twice;

Going for three--", but no,

From the room far back, a grey-haired man

Came forward and picked up the bow;

Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,

And tightening the loose strings,

He played a melody pure and sweet

Like a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer,

With a voice that was quiet and low,

Sid: "What am I bid for the old violin?"

And he held it up with the bow.

"A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?

Two thousand! and who'll make it three?

Three thousand once, three thousand twice,

And going and gone." said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,

"We do not quite understand

What changed it's worth?" Swift came the reply:

"The touch of the masters hand."

And many a man with life out of tune,

And battered and scarred with sin,

Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,

Much like the old violin.

A 'mess of pottage,' a glass of wine;

A game -- and he travels on.

He is 'going' once and 'going' twice,

He's 'going' and almost 'gone.'

But the Master comes and the foolish crowd,

Never can quite understand

The worth of a soul and the change that's wrought

By the touch of the Master's hand.

-- Myra Brooks Welch

Three Trees

Once there were three trees on a hill in the woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, "Someday I hope to be a treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems. I could be decorated with intricate carving and everyone would see the beauty."

Then the second tree said, "Someday I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."

Finally the third tree said, "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me."

After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. When one came to the first tree he said, "This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter,"and he began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.

At the second tree the woodsman said, "This looks like a strong tree, I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.

When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down his dreams would not come true. One of the woodsmen said, "I don't need anything special from my tree, I'll take this one," and he cut it down.

When the first tree arrived at the carpenters, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for.

The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end.

The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark. The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.

Then one day, a man and woman came to the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.

Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and He stood and said "Peace" and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the King of Kings in its boat.

Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible, because Jesus had been crucified on it.

The moral of this story is that when things don't seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you. If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts. Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined. We don't always know what God's plans are for us. We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always best.

Please keep this moving...pass it on, so He may inspire more people on the way.

May your day be blessed. And until we meet again, may God cradle you in the palm of His Hand. May you trust in His plan for you.

Under His Wings

An article in National Geographic several years ago provided a penetrating picture of God's wings...

After a forest fire in Yellowstone National Park, forest rangers began their trek up a mountain to assess the inferno's damage.

One ranger found a bird literally petrified in ashes, perched statuesquely on the ground at the base of a tree. Somewhat sickened by the eerie sight, he knocked over the bird with a stick.

When he struck it, three tiny chicks scurried from under their dead mother's wings. The loving mother, keenly aware of impending disaster, had carried her offspring to the base of the tree and had gathered them under her wings, instinctively knowing that the toxic smoke would rise.

She could have flown to safety but had refused to abandon her babies.

When the blaze had arrived and the heat had scorched her small body, the mother had remained steadfast. Because she had been willing to die, those under the cover of her wings would live...

"He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge;..." (Psalm 91:4)