At Heaven's Doorstep

I stood at the doorsteps of Heaven in full anticipation. It was not a large Pearly Gate shining brightly as we’ve often been told and is depicted in some pictures; no … this was just a small wooden door. A humble ordinary wooden door with no sign or any distinguishing features foretelling where it led to.

I remembered the quote from the Bible: “Knock and it shall be opened to you …”

I knocked and as my luck would have it the door opened outwards and hit me in the face.

An old bearded man stood there and asked: “Yes … what do you want?”

“I … I … want to enter Heaven …” I mumbled hesitantly.

“Why?” he asked abruptly.

“Because I want to spend eternity with God …” I replied still fumbling for suitable words.

“And what makes you think He wants to spend an eternity with you?” retorted St Peter sternly.

It was a good question. We often assume that because we’re good Christians our entry to Heaven is guaranteed, but are we judging ourselves by our standards or God’s standards? I may believe that I am good to enter Heaven; but am I really?

The Saint noticed my discomfort and asked: “Who are you anyway?”

I gave him my name and he produced an electronic tablet and started punching his finger on the screen. I thought he was quite an up-to-date Saint technologically speaking considering his age.

“Ah yes … your name’s here …” he said finally, “I had to check. You’d be surprised how many people we get here expecting to enter Heaven as if it were a hotel. It isn’t an open house for all and sundry, you know. Just because some people attended church on Sunday and did not eat meat on Friday does not automatically give them free access to Heaven.

“As my friend Matthew quoting Jesus wrote: ‘Not everyone who calls me 'Lord, Lord' will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but only those who do what my Father in Heaven wants them to do.’

“Look it up in Matthew’s Gospel at 7:21.

“He always had an affectation of numbering every sentence he wrote, old Matthew did. But don’t tell him I said so!”

I smiled feebly not knowing what to say.

The Saint continued: “The trouble with the world today is that too many people do the bare minimum and expect they are in God’s good book. Over the years they have interpreted the Ten Commandments to be ten suggestions and debating points to discuss and amend as they wish to suit their selfish lifestyles.

“The reason God asked Moses to write them in stone is so that they don’t get altered. Admittedly, Moses broke the first set; but fortunately there was another copy available.

“Over the years people have broken every Commandment even though they were set in stone.

“As I was saying to some of the disciples over tea this morning … people these days are no different to the Pharisees and Sadducees of my time on earth.”

I could see Saint Peter was rather upset which was indicative to what we’d learnt about him in the Gospels. Sometimes outspoken and short-tempered. For he it was who hit a priest’s servant with a sword when Jesus was arrested. I stepped slightly backwards in case he hit me with his electronic tablet.

He looked at me and chuckled, “I see here that you’re due a short spell at the Purification Center” he said, “Some of you lot call it Purgatory … it’s a bit like a car wash where you’re cleaned up and made ready to enter Heaven for eternity. I’ll be seeing you again shortly!”

I woke up with a smile on my face.

Blowing in the wind

Why is it that embarrassing things keep happening to me?

Let me explain.

At our supermarket car park you usually pick up a ticket at the barrier which you place inside your windscreen so that the car park attendant can easily see it when he does his rounds. When you leave, you hand the ticket at the exit barrier and if you’ve stayed over an hour you pay a small fee; otherwise you have parked for free.

I’d finished shopping and I placed all my goods in the car. As I opened the driver’s door a gust of wind blew the ticket out of the car. I chased after it. It went under another parked car some yards away. I looked around for the car park attendant – there was no one to be seen. The place was deserted.

I knelt down and there winking at me teasingly was the ticket under a parked van. It was just out of reach as it smiled at me saying: “Come and get me!”

I went totally flat on my tummy and stretched my arm right out under the car, inching forwards a bit at a time until I touched the ticket with my fingertips. Another stretch and … “Got it!”

At this point I heard a woman say: “Are you all right Sir?”

I eased myself from under the car as she said: “You seem to have fainted, Sir; and rolled under this van!”

Before I could explain myself she had called the car park attendant who now appeared out of nowhere. Where was he when I needed him?

The attendant called for help on his walkie-talkie radio. Another shop assistant turned up with a chair followed by someone else with a glass of water.

“Sit down Sir …” they all seemed to say in unison, “have a sip of drink!”

I tried to explain what had really happened …

“He’s delirious poor soul …” said the woman who first found me on the ground, “he doesn’t know what he’s saying … maybe he hit his head hard as he fell!”

“I did not fall …” I said biting my lip to suppress any insults on my mind “I went down on my knees voluntarily!”

“Did you want to pray, dear?” she asked patronisingly, then turning to the others she mumbled “he doesn’t know where he is … thinks he’s in church!”

At this point the first aider turned up with his bag with a red cross on it. He opened it and asked “Is he bleeding? Where did he hit his head?”

Before I could answer, the assistant manager turns up and asks me “Are you making a complaint and seeking compensation, Sir?”

This gave me the opportunity to explain matters to someone who might be able to listen. I asked that everyone leaves except the assistant manager. I told him what happened and assured him I had not intention to make any complaint or seek compensation. I just wanted to leave.

He went away much relieved.

As I reached the exit barrier the attendant there wanted to charge me a fee for overstaying my welcome.

I had to explain it all over again. He called the assistant manager who let me out without paying.

The moral of this story is:

You don’t need to go down on your knees to pray.

No … that’s not it.

Oh … watch out for gusts of wind before you open the car door. (Don’t eat too many beans!)

The Pope's Mistakes

Early one morning Father Ignatius received a phone call from Mother Superior. Sister Josephine had been called away to visit a very sick relative; would he take on her Catechism class of 7 and 8 year-olds.

He sat down at her desk and said, “Let’s start where Sister Josephine left off last week. What did she teach?”

A young boy put up his hand and said enthusiastically, “She said the Pope does not make any mistakes. He is unflappable!”

“No stupid …” interrupted a young girl, “Sister Josephine said the Pope is inflatable!”

“I remember it was inf something …” explained little Dennis to the priest, “in follicle I think …”

“I’m sure his Holiness would be pleased to learn that you consider him unflappable and inflatable!” said Father Ignatius gently, “I think Sister Josephine said that he is infallible.”

“It means he does not make any mistakes,” explained Dennis eagerly.

“Does it mean he can do all his sums right?” asked William.

“I don’t think so,” said Rose, “because algebra is very difficult. Everyone makes mistakes in algebra.”

“I hate algebra,” declared Derek, “and chemistry. Are you good at algebra Father?”

The priest tapped the ruler gently on the desk to get them to settle down.

“No Derek, I have never been good at algebra,” he confessed, “I found it a little difficult too.”

This had the desired effect of quietening them down.

“Now then,” he continued, “what did Sister Josephine mean when she said that the Pope is infallible?”

“He makes no mistakes,” said Sophie.

“Yes,” said Father Ignatius, “what I’m sure Sister Josephine explained is that the Pope, when speaking for the Church, and teaching about Christianity, he does so in a correct manner, which we should accept and obey.”

“Does this mean he is always right when answering Catechism questions?” asked Marcel.

“It means that he is guided by the Holy Spirit, who teaches him and tells him what to say. You know who the Holy Spirit is; do you?” Father Ignatius asked the youngsters.

“He is a pigeon,” declared Alfred, “because I have an image of Jesus in the water with John the Baptism and a pigeon. Dad said it is the Holy Spirit.”

“No …” replied Monica, “the Holy Spirit is fire which went on the Gospels heads when they were in the house, only it didn’t burn their hair. It made them speak many languages.”

“Yes … that’s true” confirmed Steve, “it made them speak in Arabaic.”

“No, it’s Aramaic …” corrected Dennis, “they spoke in all languages in the world except French!”

“Jesus spoke in English,” said Derek, “that’s why all the Bibles in the world are written in English!”

“No, He spoke in Latin. That’s why the priest says Dominus Vobiscum in Latin,” explained Harry who’d remained quiet up to now.

The priest tapped the ruler gently again on the desk to get them to stop talking. Obviously he had a lot of ground to cover to explain in simple terms to these enthusiastic youngsters the many mysteries of Christianity.

He told them how God at first spoke to us through the prophets, and then He sent Jesus to speak to us personally as a human being, although He is also God. It would have been difficult for people at the time to understand and fathom out the Holy Spirit, and the mystery of the Holy Trinity. So God allowed the Holy Spirit to appear in terms which people could perhaps understand, a dove, a voice from above, and indeed tongues of fire.

These mysteries are still difficult for some people to understand even today. That’s why we must pray often about them and ask God to help us believe, even if we don’t fully understand.

At this point the bell rang to signify the end of lesson.

As the children left Father Ignatius remembered that Sister Josephine was scheduled to take on his Catechism class this Friday.

“I wonder what booby traps she’ll lay for me with that lot?” he asked himself.

Can we really trust God?

It is natural, of course, for children to trust their parents. They accept without questionning that their parents love them and will  "not give them a stone if they ask for bread" or "give them a snake when they ask for a fish" (Luke 11:11).

This natural trust which we all have at birth continues as we grow up until some day someone hurts us for the first time. We become wary and careful to protect our vulnerability. Our trust dies a little. We become more selective in whom we trust and how much we trust different people.

It is in our nature to be careful and self-protective in this way. To trust everyone explicitly without question borders on immaturity or naivety to the extreme.

So, how do we get to totally trust an unseen God? A God we have grown to believe in, and now we purport to trust that He loves us and has our best interest at heart?


How do we trust Him when/if we've experienced frequent un-answered prayers; or when things go wrong in our lives?

Sure, it is easy to say glibly "Trust in God", He wants the best for us, He loves us, and so on.

But at what point do we really trust Him above all else and say "Thy will be done" and honestly mean it?

Regardless of the outcome of the situation, however bad it may be, we trust Him all the same. Because we know deep in our hearts that He will see us through our current difficulties.

It seems impossible doesn't it? To totally trust an unseen God without question. Just like a child.

But we have examples of others who have done just that.

The Virgin Mary trusted Him so much that she declared "let it be as God says", when she was visited by the Angel Gabriel.

Joseph trusted Him too when he took Mary as his wife.

Paul, Peter and the other early followers of Christ trusted Him too even when thrown into jail several times, were beaten, persecuted, stoned and put to death. They didn't say "Enough with all that. God has let us down many times and let us be imprisoned and beaten".

They still held on to their trust. Even to the point of death itself. They still trusted God and His Son Jesus.

How?

I suppose it is by surrendering their all to God. Literally giving their everything, their lives even, to God, in the full knowledge that, whatever happens, it will be for the good. They literally accepted that their lives were not their own and that their God, the God in Whom they trusted, would protect them even if it meant that they would die for Him.

These days of macho-liberated culture, we tend to consider surrender as a weakness.

In fact it is a strength.


Can you imagine the will-power and concentration of mind required to say "I totally trust you God, no matter what happens. You will look after me and my loved ones"?

And really believe it ... yes, really and truly believe it.

To be one thousand per cent certain that all will turn out all right?

This is no sign of weakness, no sign of surrender; but an act of strength and faith in the extreme.


To many this may seem impossible. Too difficult a proposition. Against our very nature to be wary and suspicious.

Perhaps so. But it should not stop us from trying.

And when our trust falters. When we hesitate and perhaps our "inner voice" makes us doubt His true love. We stop, ask His forgiveness, and start once again.

Through His grace He will lift us up and renew our trust in Him once again.

Dog Food lands me in hospital

At the supermarket today buying a bag of Woof dog food for my dog.

Whilst at the check-out line a woman behind me asked if I had a dog.

Why else would I be buying dog food, RIGHT ???

So on impulse I told her that no, I didn't have a dog, I was starting the Woof Diet again, and that I probably shouldn't because I ended up in the hospital last time; but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in intensive care with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms. 

I told her that it was essentially a Perfect Diet and all you do is load your pockets with Woof Nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. The food is nutritionally complete so it works well and I was going to try it again.

(I have to mention here that practically everyone in line was now enthralled with my story.)

Horrified, she asked if I ended up in intensive care because the dog food poisoned me.

I told her no, I stepped off a curb to sniff a poodle's butt and a car hit me.

I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard.

Man's instructions. God's instructions.

I don't know about you but I'm getting rather confused with all the instructions or rules written for us by so called experts and people in authority.

My problem is that these instructions are often unclear and open to interpretation with, for me, perplexing and/or dire results.

Let me give you some examples.

I bought a large "Family Pack" of already shelled almonds and cashew nuts. Enough for all of us to enjoy whilst watching the slimming programs on TV. It said on the packet "Once opened keep cool and dry and away from sunlight and strong odours". But it doesn't say what to do to keep the nuts fresh. How can the fact that I keep cool, dry and so on affect the freshness of the nuts?

Another confusing instruction came with a packet of quick-cook rice. The writing on the packet said “Take sachet out of packet and stand in boiling water for 10 minutes”. I did that and burnt my feet.

I also read in my Cookery Recipe Book that to avoid tears whilst peeling and cutting onions you should do it under water. It works, but you have to come up for air every few seconds.

Even my doctor can be unclear with his instructions. I told him that I get a pain in my eye every time I drink coffee or tea. He said: Take the spoon out of the cup first.

This same doctor advised a friend of mine suffering from rheumatism to keep away from all dampness. Now he sits in the bath and vacuum cleans himself. 

God's instructions on the other hand are quite clear.

When He gave us the Ten Commandments He meant just that: ten rules or instructions for us to follow in our lives.

He did not mean ten suggestions or proposals for us to debate and alter to suit our selfish modern lifestyles.

Why bother to Blog?

Here we go again. Blogging week in week out with very few, if any comments, and "followers". Makes you wonder why we bother to Blog!

We really never get to know who visits our Blogs and never leave a comment.

Comments often tend to be from the same loyal and friendly readers and, welcome as they are, we'd all like to see new visitors and commenters if we're really honest with ourselves.

It's good of course to have our loyal readers encouraging us and supporting us in what we write. And it's also good and polite for us to reply to their comments on our Blogs; and to visit them on their Blogs and comment there.

It all builds up and strengthens an Internet Community of like-minded Christians spreading the Good News of God. These are real people at the other computer far away from you; not just names and avatars on our own computer screens!

But as I said eralier, we never get to know those people who visit us and never leave a comment. The silent visitor reading what we write without our knowledge and moving away without saying a word. What's on their mind, I wonder, when they read what we've written.

To some, what we write can turn out to be very important indeed. There are many people "out there" who have never heard of God or Jesus and what we write on our Blogs could very well be the first time they get to hear about Christ.

Let us not assume that everyone everywhere knows about God or believes in Him even.

It could very well happen that what we've written starts an interest in an individual far away and perhaps encourage him or her to learn more about God. Our Blog could well be a starting point, the first few steps, of a journey of discovery into Christianity.

What a priviledge that is. To learn that our Blog has brought someone to Christ. Can you imagine that? What we've written has made someone to get to experience the love of God.
 
If only one person turns to Christ because of our writing ... just one person ... then all of our posts over the years would have been worthwhile.

Of course, we'll never know this; and the chances are we will never meet that one person who was introduced to and found Jesus through us.

But when we get to meet St Peter at Heaven's Gate he will look at his computer database - I'm reliably informed he no longer uses old parchment papers ... less reliable!

Anyway, Peter will look at his computer monitor and say "Do you remember that post you wrote all those years ago? Well, it brought one person to Christ and Heaven!"

And that should bring a smile to our face, and his.

There was a woman in my bed

It was late in the evening when I entered my hotel room. It had been a long day at work with one meeting following another, and then I had to attend a Conference where they discussed ways to extrapolate sales and costs figures against profits in order to estimate how many paper clips we’ll need five years from now. It was so exhilarating that I could not sleep at all throughout the Conference.

Anyway, I got to my hotel room late and got myself in by using one of those electronic cards you put in a slot and the door opens. I did not bother to switch all lights on. A small light shone from a nearby table-lamp and this was enough. I intended to fall into bed and dream of better days.

As I took my jacket off a man got out of the en-suite bathroom in his pajamas. Why he had an en-suite bathroom in his pajamas I do not know. Maybe he was rich and could afford an en-suite bathroom in his pajamas; whilst the rest of us have to be content with an elastic band or a cord to keep our pajama pants up.

I don’t know what nationality he was, but as soon as he saw me the man said: “Qui êtes-vous? Que faites-vous ici?”

I know exactly what he said because I remember writing it down at the time. I then took out a dictionary to translate but could not understand a word. It was an Italian dictionary.

The man shouted at me and beckoned me to get out of my room. At which point an enormously rotund woman got up from my bed and she too started shouting at me “Allez-vous en!  Allez-vous en!” and waving her hands in the air. 

I wrote that down too but could not find a translation in my Italian dictionary.                             .

I picked up my jacket and as I turned to get out I accidentally knocked a large whicker basket which was on the table beside me. The top of the basket opened and a flock of pigeons came flying out into the room. They flew everywhere, trying to land on something high up. Luckily the bedroom door was shut and they eventually settled on the wardrobe, hanged from the chandelier, (it was a posh hotel), and one settled on the man’s head.

There was cooing and flapping of wings everywhere. A few feathers floated in the air before settling to the ground. The pigeons did what most animals do when frightened and started leaving deposits everywhere. Including on the man’s head.

I was totally stunned by what had just happened and stood perfectly still. The rotund woman picked up the phone on the bedside table and started shouting in broken English “pee john pee john …”

Moments later a hotel porter entered the room and disturbed all the pigeons which started flying all over again and dropping deposits all over the place.

We waited until they had settled down and then he asked me “Why do you have pigeons in your room, Sir? Pets are not allowed in this hotel!”

I was astounded that he asked me about the pigeons and had totally ignored the fact that I also had a rotund woman in my bed and a man with an en-suite bathroom in his pajamas.

He asked for my electronic card which he tested on the door. It worked. He then took the man’s electronic card. It worked too.

You guessed it. It was a double booking and we’d both been given the same cards.

I picked up my luggage and was moved to another room.

By now you may be asking why there were pigeons in a wicker basket in my room.

Simple.

I was told the man was a magician and he used the pigeons in his act by making them appear and disappear out of a hat. Apparently his wife, whilst younger and less rotund, was a stripper and she too used the pigeons in her act. For an encore the pigeons used to take their feathers off!

Blessed are the poor

Once upon a time there was an old man in his nineties living alone in a small cottage in the countryside. He'd farmed there all his life and now he spent the rest of his days there with a dog as old as he.

Once a week a friend visited him for a while for a chat and to help around the house. Just for fun, the old man gave his friend £1 a week to buy him a lottery ticket.

This went on for ages and the friend always checked the old man's lottery ticket for any winnings. One day to his surprise he discovered the old man won £2m.

He was both pleased and very concerned about this. If he told the old man of the winnings the shock could easily kill him.

So he went to the priest for advice and after much debate he convinced the priest that he was better placed to break the news to the old man. After all, priests are trained for all circumstances.

The priest visited the old man and after enjoying a cup of tea and biscuits he approached the subject carefully as the old man was seated down comfortably.

"Life certainly has its twists and turns" started the priest, "and you've certainly seen many in your life I should say!"

The old man nodded.

"Imagine" continued the priest, "another unexpected twist. Imagine ... say ... you won £2m in the lottery. What would you do?"

The old man smiled and said "At my age I've outlived all my relatives and I have few friends to speak of. I suppose if I won £2m I'd give it all to you."

On hearing this the priest had a heart attack and died.

And the moral of the story is:

When you're a certain age never play the lottery.

No ... that's not it.

The moral of the story is never give a priest £2m.

No ... that's not it either. I'm sure there's a moral here but I don't get it.

Sometimes it pays to know when we're already happy.

I carry a Cross in my pocket

FATHER FRANCIS MAPLE

Silly Dreams of Shakespearean origin

We all have dreams from time to time. Some are dramatic and perhaps disturbing, whilst others are easily forgotten or not remembered at all when we wake up.
 
Have you ever dreamt that you were a chicken wearing a pin striped suit to work and they would not let you in because your tie was the wrong color?

Or dreamt that you went to see a hypnotist to cure you of the compulsion to visit hypnotists?

Whilst at the hypnotist you asked him also to cure you of your fear of heights? He did so; and when you woke up you were on top of the cupboard?

No? Never had such dreams?

Well, neither have I.

My dreams tend to be memorable. Last week I dreamt that I was in a marshmallow factory, a bit like in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory book by Roald Dahl.

Anyway ... I dreamt I was in a marshmallow factory and when I woke up I'd eaten the pillow.

I remember being told off in the morning for ruining the pillow!

The best dreams of course are those that inspire us to greater things. They can be dreams we have when asleep or indeed something we think about when awake and mull over in our minds and spur us into action.

Many a great idea started with a day dream, an inspiration, a word of encouragement ...

The ideal dream is to make life better for someone else. It need not necessarily be a big thing that you do. Perhaps a kindness to someone. A smile. A helping hand.

For when our time is at an end, we should not be remembered for who we have been, but for what we have done.

You're the best friend ...

You've been here beside me and shared all my dreams through the years

We’ve shared all the laughter and sometime you dried all my tears

You stood close beside me and held me when good times turned bad

I need you to know you're the best friend that I've ever had

Together we've laughed as we walked hand in hand in the rain

All the good times we've had comes back to my memory again

Now as the years pass they're turning from silver to gold

I pray we will share them together as we're growing old

You're my best friend the one friend I know will be there come what may

You're the one I depend on the one friend I turn to each day

So if sometimes I hurt you and the things that I say makes you sad

Remember I love you and you're the best friend that I've ever had

Remember I love you and you're the best friend that I've ever had.

The ball of wool

Once upon a time there was a little boy of about ten going home from school. As he crossed through the woods he met an old lady who stopped and talked to him. He told her that he was sad because he was unhappy at school. She gave him a gift of a ball of wool.

"Whenever you're unhappy" she said, "just unwind some of this wool and your unhappiness will pass away!"

For a few days he did nothing with his new gift. But one day he got home really upset because he was being bullied by the other children. He took out the ball of wool and unwound it a few turns to see what would happen.

Suddenly, he was a couple of years older, still at the same school, but no longer bullied.

He was a young teenager now, enjoying school, but he wished he could go out late in the evenings and at weekends with his friends. His parents would not let him do so however out of love and parental caring.

"If only I was a bit older" he thought, "then my parents would allow me to go out whenever I want!"

He unwound a few more turns of the ball of wool and he was soon nineteen years old; a young man able to drive and go out with friends. 

He got to like a particular young lady he met at college and wished they could date. But he was still a student, he did not have a steady job and money to buy her all the gifts he thought she deserved; and go on holidays together and enjoy themselves.

A few more turns of the ball of wool and he was in his late twenties.

Married to the girl of his dreams and with a young family. A good job and a beautiful house. But the young children were a bit of a problem. The baby up all night, the older toddler wanting to play all the time, teething problems, childhood sickness, and all the difficulties one has with a young family that obscured his real happiness and joy. He was always tired in the mornings not having slept all night because of the baby crying. His wife tried her best to raise the family and keep home, but somehow life was difficult for all of them with all the chores one has to do.

"If only the children were a bit older" he thought; and a few more turns of the ball of wool and the kids were about eleven and nine. But sadly at this time his father became very ill and died.

The young man was totally distraught and could not get over his father's death. He lost all interest in family, work, and life in general.

"Make the pain go away" he cried as he unwound a few more turns of the ball of wool.

The children were much older now and studying at University. His hairs had gone grey a little and he struggled to go to work every day, having to drive long distances and cope with ever increasing responsibilites. He also suffered from a few minor pains and aches one gets as one gets older. His mother had grown older too and was frequently unwell. As a good son he often took her to the doctor's and for frequent hospital visits. This added to his ever increasing workload.

He felt sorry for his mother in old age, he felt sorry for his wife also getting older and struggling a little with daily life, he worried about his children having left the nest and taking their first steps into adult life. He became concerned as to how much longer he could keep working with his many ailments.

He unwound the ball of wool a little more to get out of his meloncholy.

As he did so, his mother grew ever so older and eventually died.

This tragedy broke his heart more than losing his father. His children had grown up and moved away with families of their own. His wife was grey haired too and ever lovingly by his side. His minor pains and aches had developed into painful ailments and illnesses requiring constant care and medication. It was now his turn to visit doctors and hospitals for frequent check-ups.

He became ever so sad at having lost his parents and children so far away from home that he rarely saw them. He longed to be with his grandchildren but they lived so far that he could not manage the travelling involved.

Every day became a struggle as he stayed at home nursing his many ailments and being looked after by his loving wife. He regretted his state of affairs and the fact that life could not be better.

One night, sitting in his room, he held the ball of wool now no bigger than his thumb in his trembling weak hands, and wondered where all the years had gone. He cursed the old lady who gave it to him as a gift all that long ago.

In his tiredness he fell asleep and the ball of wool fell to the ground and unwound itself completely. With a last gasp of breath he died.

The little boy of ten had lived all his life in a matter of weeks.

MORAL OF THE STORY

Know when you are really happy and thank God for it.

No door-to-door salesmen in Heaven

A door-to-door salesman called on me the other day and he was selling doors.

He had three doors strapped on his back to show potential clients the different qualities available; and he was also carrying two suitcases. One was full of locks and handles for clients to choose, and the other case was full of hinges of different sizes and materials.

As he stooped down to place the two suitcases he was carrying on the ground, he bent forward a little, and the doors on his back hit me hard on the forehead.

I had a cut on my head and it started bleeding.

"Do you have any Band-Aid and bandage dressing?" he asked.

"Do you need some too?" I replied, "where did you hurt yourself?"

"Not for me ... for you ..." he said. "Anyway ... it's stopped bleeding now and I'm glad you didn't damage my doors."

He then unstrapped the three doors off his back and proceeded to explain how well made they were. One was made of oak, another of mahogany, and the third was cheap plastic in case I couldn't afford the other two.

"It's the de-lux economy version ..." he called it.

I explained that I already had a door which suited me quite nicely, thank you.

He suggested I buy a door as a spare in case something happened to my existing front door. Or alternatively I could replace my existing door which, he said, looked rather cheap and lowered the tone of the neighborhood.

Before I could protest at his insult he opened both suitcases and showed me all the beautiful brass hinges, or steel ones if I'd prefer, and the many locks and door handles which would fit any of the three model doors he was carrying.

It was impossible to get rid of him, even though I politely told him more than once that I had a lifetime supply of doors in my house - front door, back door and a door to every room in the house.

Eventually, he left with no sale.

But he reminded me of another soul-to-soul salesman. He is more subtle in his technique. He leads us to believe that what he is tempting us with is actually what we really want and need and desire. He finds out our weakness and vulnerability and in time makes us believe that what we wish for is really not a sin at all.

I bet he could sell us as many doors as he wants and make us feel that we could not possibly do without them!

I then wondered! Are there cloud-to-cloud salesmen in Heaven? Will they call on me and offer to re-tune my harp?

Distant Kings? Distant God?

 

At prayer meeting the other day a newcomer, a middle aged man we’d never met before, said he was about to celebrate his 27th Wedding Anniversary. We all congratulated him.

He said like all marriages, his had its ups and downs, including arguments and silent treatments, but overall it was OK. For their 25th Anniversary he took his wife to Paris. He said the last two years were the happiest of his marriage.

“How will you celebrate your 27th?” he was asked.

“I’m returning to Paris to bring the wife back!”

Absence makes the heart grow fonder – they say. Or - out of sight out of mind.

It all depends on your point of view.

Sometimes, wrongly, we feel God has ignored us. He is not listening. Abandoned us even. So we give Him the silent treatment. Stop praying. Stop going to church. And eventually we may drift away. We become distant. Out of sight, and out of prayer, is out of mind too.

If only we stop and think. When we feel distanced from God it is only because we have moved away. He has not left us. He is always there. Ready to welcome us back in His arms with love and forgiveness.

The three wise men followed a star and travelled a long distance to find God. May we too follow our Faith and realise that God is only a prayer away.
 
I will be with you always, to the end of the age. Matthew 28:20.