An e-mail exchange between a college student and his father might go something like this:

Dear Dad,
No mon.
No fun.
Your Son.

Dear Son,
Too bad.
How sad!
Your Dad.

John Hauberg and his wife live in a stunning home in Seattle. It is built mostly of glass inside and out. Hundreds of glass artifacts decorate the light-flooded rooms, and even the sinks, shelves, and mantelpieces are made of glass.

You might think that the Haubergs would be in constant fear that something would break. On the contrary, they invite visitors to roam freely throughout their entire home. John is also a connoisseur of Native American crafts, but he has donated his entire collection to the Seattle Art Museum. His motive is not to hoard but to share. "I'm not an owner," he says. "I am a caretaker."

A mortician at Forest Lawn Cemetery in California told author Gilbert Beers about a man who many years ago spent $200,000 on his own funeral. Estranged from his wife and children, that bitter man squandered all his money on his own burial and left them nothing.

Because the casket and other expenses added up to only $100,000, he ordered that the remaining $100,000 be spent on orchids! Only three people attended that memorial service. What a warped sense of values! What a waste of money that might have been used to help the needy or to support a worthy cause! And what a lesson we can learn from such egocentric folly!

A missionary had been witnessing faithfully to a certain man who was an idol worshiper. One day the man placed a small statue and a silver coin on the table in front of the missionary. Then he took two slips of paper and wrote something on each. On the note by the idol he wrote the words heathen god. On the sheet next to the silver coin he wrote the words Christian god.

For years we lived in a small town with one bank and three churches. Early one Monday morning, the bank called all three churches with the same request: "Could you bring in Sunday's collection right away? We're out of one-dollar bills." -Clara Null Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

The problem with our giving is that we too often give the widow's mite, without the widow's spirit.

Oseola McCarty, 87, did one thing all her life: laundry. Now she's famous for it--or at least for what she did with her profits.

 For decades, Miss McCarty earned 50 cents per load doing laundry for the well-to-do families of Hattiesburg, Mississippi, preferring a washboard over an electric washing machine. Every week, she put a little bit in a savings account. When she finally retired, she asked her banker how much money she had socked away.

 "$250,000," was his reply. She was in shock. "I had more than I could use in the bank," she explained. "I can't carry anything away from here with me, so I thought it was best to give it to some child to get an education."

 This shy, never-married laundry woman gave $150,000 to nearby University of Southern Mississippi to help African-American young people attend college. "It's more blessed to give than to receive," she tells reporters. "I've tried it." -Christian Reader. Leadership-Vol 17, #2.

 God is more concerned about my generosity than about the impact of my generosity.

-Writer Tim Stafford. Leadership-Vol 17, #1.

In his book of sermons "The Living Faith," Lloyd C. Douglas tells the story of Thomas Hearne, who, "in his journey to the mouth of the Coppermine River, wrote that a few days after they had started on their expedition, a party of Indians stole most of their supplies. His comment on the apparent misfortune was: 'The weight of our baggage being so much lightened, our next day's journey was more swift and pleasant.' Hearne was in route to something very interesting and important; and the loss of a few sides of bacon and a couple of bags of flour meant nothing more than an easing of the load. Had Hearne been holed in somewhere, in a cabin, resolved to spend his last days eking out an existence, and living on capital previously collected, the loss of some of his stores by plunder would probably have worried him almost to death. "How we respond to "losing" some of our resources for God's work depends upon whether we are on the move or waiting for our last stand.

-Eugene L. Feagin, Leadership-Vol. 10, #4.

ALTHOUGH my husband and I had finished our Christmas shopping, Orville had to go to a department store to purchase a few household items. As he passed an elderly shopper, the gentleman noted the 30-gallon trash can in Orville's cart and remarked, "It gets harder and harder every year to know what to get her, doesn't it?" --Contributed to "Life In These United States" by Ruth Lucas

  Choice Contemporary Stories and Illustrations; For Preachers, Teachers, and Writers

P E A R L S

 The cheerful girl with bouncy golden curls was almost five. With hermother at the checkout stand, she saw them: a circle of glistening white pearls in a pink foil box. "Oh please, Mommy. Can I have them? Please, Mommy, please!"

 Quickly the mother checked the back of the little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little girl's upturned face. "A dollar ninety-five. That's almost $2.00 If you really want them, I'll think of some extra chores for you and in no time you can save enough money to buy them for yourself. Your birthday's only a week away and you might get another crisp dollar bill from Grandma."

 As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her penny bank and counted out 17 pennies. After dinner, she did more than her share of chores and she went to the neighbor and asked Mrs. McJames if she could pick dandelions for ten cents. On her birthday, Grandma did give her another new dollar bill and at last she had enough money to buy the necklace.  

Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown up. She wore them everywhere -- Sunday school, kindergarten, even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green.

Jenny had a very loving daddy and every night when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come upstairs to read her a story. One night when he finished the story, he asked Jenny, "Do you love me?"

 "Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you."

 "Then give me your pearls."

 "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have Princess -- the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink tail. Remember, Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite."

 "That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.

 About a week later, after the story time, Jenny's daddy asked again, "Do you love me?"

 "Daddy, you know I love you."

 "Then give me your pearls."

 "Oh Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have my baby doll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper."

"That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you, little one. Daddy loves you." And as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.

A few nights later when her daddy came in, Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came close, he noticed her chin was trembling and one silent tear rolled down her cheek. "What is it, Jenny? What's the matter?" Jenny didn't say anything but lifted her little hand up to her daddy. And when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a little quiver, she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you." With tears gathering in his own eyes, Jenny's kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace, and with the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and gave them to Jenny. He had had them all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up the dime-store stuff so he could give her genuine treasure.

So much like our heavenly Father. What are you hanging on to?

THE CIRCUS

By Dan Clark

Once, when I was a teenager, my father and I were standing in line to buy tickets for the circus. Finally, there was only one family between us and the ticket counter. This family made a big impression on me. There were eight children, all probably under the age of 12. You could tell they didn't have a lot of money. Their clothes were not expensive, but they were clean. The children were well-behaved, all of them standing in line, two-by-two behind their parent, holding hands. They were excitedly jabbering about the clowns, elephants, and other acts they would see that night. One could sense they had never been to the circus before. It promised to be a highlight of their young lives. The father and mother were at the head of the pack, standing proud as could be. The mother was holding her husband's hand, looking up at him as if to say, "You're my knight in shining armor." He was smiling and basking in pride, looking back at her as if to reply, "You got that right."

The ticket lady asked the father how many tickets he wanted. He proudly responded, "Please let me buy eight children's tickets and two adult tickets so I can take my family to the circus."

The ticket lady quoted the price. The man's wife let go of his hand, her head dropped, his lip began to quiver. The father leaned a little closer and asked, "How much did you say?"

The ticket lady again quoted the price. The man didn't have enough money. How was he supposed to turn and tell his eight kids that he didn't have enough money to take them to the circus?

Seeing what was going on, my dad put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a $20 bill and dropped it on the ground. (We were not wealthy in any sense of the word!) My father reached down, picked up the bill, tapped the man on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me, sir, this fell out of your pocket."

The man knew what was going on. He wasn't begging for a handout but certainly appreciated the help in a desperate, heart-breaking, embarrassing situation. He looked straight into my dad's eyes, took my dad's hand in both of his, squeezed tightly onto the $20 bill, and with his lip quivering and a tear running down his cheek, he replied, "Thank you, thank you, sir. This really means a lot to me and my family."

My father and I went back to our car and drove home. We didn't go to the circus that night, but we didn't go without.

"It is more blessed to give than to receive." - Acts 20:35 (NIV)

"Give and it shall be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." - Luke 6:38 (NIV)

  Contemporary Illustrations for Preachers, Teachers, and Writers

If Bill Gates is one of your neighbors, you obviously live in a nice neighborhood. So what could someone from a poor community in Israel possibly give you?

A valuable lesson.

St. Thomas Episcopal Church is located in Medina, Washington, home of Microsoft's billionaire president Bill Gates. St. Thomas' fund drive for a new church roof received a gift of 150 Israeli shekels from the Negev Educational Association of Laqiya, Israel. How did that happen?

Seems the church had sent a donation to a Bedouin tribe in need, enclosing a newsletter to let the recipients know who had sent the gift.

But when the tribespeople-mainly poor, illiterate sheepherders-learned of the church's need, they were moved to respond generously as well. Needless to say, the folks at St. Thomas were humbled.

It's an old New England custom. The thrifty, close-mouthed Yankees could be pretty slow about paying the craftsmen who built the region's sturdy stone houses. The lucky bricklayers always got paid. When they built a new fireplace and chimney, they'd cement a pane of clear glass across the chimney flue. If the homeowner paid up promptly, the workmen would toss a brick down the chimney, solving the problem. But if the bill went unpaid, the homeowner would suffer the misery of a blocked fireplace, yet wouldn't be able to see anything wrong. He'd have to pay the back bill before the bricklayer would come back and clear the flue. (Source: Big Book)

Spread Your Wings

In "Run with the Horses," Eugene Peterson tells how he saw a family of birds teaching their young to fly. Three young swallows were perched on a dead branch that stretched out over a lake.

One adult swallow got alongside the chicks and started shoving them out toward the end of the branch--pushing, pushing, pushing. The end one fell off. Somewhere between the branch and the water four feet below, the wings started working, and the fledgling was off on his own. Then the second one.

"The third was not to be bullied. At the last possible moment his grip on the branch loosened just enough so that he swung downward, then tightened again, bulldog tenacious. The parent was without sentiment. He pecked at the desperately clinging talons until it was more painful for the poor chick to hang on than risk the insecurities of flying. The grip was released, and the inexperienced wings began pumping. The mature swallow knew what the chick did not--that it would fly--that there was no danger in making it do what it was perfectly designed to do.

"Birds have feet and can walk. Birds have talons and can grasp a branch securely. They can walk; they can cling. But flying is their characteristic action, and not until they fly are they living at their best, gracefully and beautifully.

"Giving is what we do best. It is the air into which we were born. It is the action that was designed into us before our birth.... Some of us try desperately to hold on to ourselves, to live for ourselves. We look so bedraggled and pathetic doing it, hanging on to the dead branch of a bank account for dear life, afraid to risk ourselves on the untried wings of giving. We don't think we can live generously because we have never tried. But the sooner we start, the better, for we are going to have to give up our lives finally, and the longer we wait, the less time we have for the soaring and swooping life of grace." - David B. Jackson. Leadership-Vol 16, #2.

For years we lived in a small town with one bank and three churches. Early one Monday morning, the bank called all three churches with the same request: "Could you bring in Sunday's collection right away? We're out of one-dollar bills." -Clara Null Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

The problem with our giving is that we too often give the widow's mite, without the widow's spirit.

Oseola McCarty, 87, did one thing all her life: laundry. Now she's famous for it--or at least for what she did with her profits.

For decades, Miss McCarty earned 50 cents per load doing laundry for the well-to-do families of Hattiesburg, Mississippi, preferring a washboard over an electric washing machine. Every week, she put a little bit in a savings account. When she finally retired, she asked her banker how much money she had socked away.

"$250,000," was his reply. She was in shock. "I had more than I could use in the bank," she explained. "I can't carry anything away from here with me, so I thought it was best to give it to some child to get an education."

This shy, never-married laundry woman gave $150,000 to nearby University of Southern Mississippi to help African-American young people attend college. "It's more blessed to give than to receive," she tells reporters. "I've tried it." -Christian Reader. Leadership-Vol 17, #2.

God is more concerned about my generosity than about the impact of my generosity.

-Writer Tim Stafford. Leadership-Vol 17, #1.

In his book of sermons "The Living Faith," Lloyd C. Douglas tells the story of Thomas Hearne, who, "in his journey to the mouth of the Coppermine River, wrote that a few days after they had started on their expedition, a party of Indians stole most of their supplies. His comment on the apparent misfortune was: 'The weight of our baggage being so much lightened, our next day's journey was more swift and pleasant.' Hearne was in route to something very interesting and important; and the loss of a few sides of bacon and a couple of bags of flour meant nothing more than an easing of the load. Had Hearne been holed in somewhere, in a cabin, resolved to spend his last days eking out an existence, and living on capital previously collected, the loss of some of his stores by plunder would probably have worried him almost to death. "How we respond to "losing" some of our resources for God's work depends upon whether we are on the move or waiting for our last stand.

-Eugene L. Feagin, Leadership-Vol. 10, #4.

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