A little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned
away because it was ‘too crowded.’
‘I can’t go to Sunday School,’ she sobbed to the pastor as he walked by.
Seeing her shabby, unkempt appearance, the pastor guessed the reason and,
taking her by the hand, took her inside and found a place for her in the
Sunday school class. The child was so happy that they found room for her,
and she went to bed that night thinking of the children who have no place
to worship Jesus.
Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement
buildings. Her parents called for the kindhearted pastor who had befriended
their daughter to handle the final arrangements.
As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled red purse
was found which seemed to have been rummaged from some trash dump.
Inside was found 57 cents and a note, scribbled in childish handwriting,
which read: ‘This is to help build the little church bigger so more
children can go to Sunday School.’
For two years she had saved for this offering of love.
When the pastor tearfully read that note, he knew instantly what he would
do. Carrying this note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he
told the story of her unselfish love and devotion.
He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the
larger building.
But the story does not end there…..
A newspaper learned of the story and published It. It was read by a
wealthy realtor who offered them a parcel of land worth many thousands.
When told that the church could not pay so much, he offered to sell it to
the little church for 57 cents.
Church members made large donations. Checks came from far and wide.
Within five years the little girl’s gift had increased to $250,000.00—a
huge sum for that time (near the turn of the century). Her unselfish love
had paid large dividends.
When you are in the city of Philadelphia , look up Temple Baptist Church
, with a seating capacity of 3,300. And be sure to visit Temple University,
where thousands of students are educated.
Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday School
building which houses hundreds of beautiful children, built so that no
child in the area will ever need to be left outside during Sunday school
time..
In one of the rooms of this building may be seen the picture of the sweet
face of the little girl whose 57 cents, so sacrificially saved, made such
remarkable history. Alongside of it is a portrait of her kind pastor, Dr.
Russell H. Conwell, author of the book, ‘Acres of Diamonds’.
This is a true story, which goes to show WHAT GOD CAN DO WITH 57 CENTS
(Source: 57cents)
Anthony Cumia, well known shock jock for Sirius Radio’s Opie and Anthony show ignored his own safety to help rescue his neighbors during the Hurricane which has spread terror along the east coast. Him along with Jim Norton a world re-known comedian that also airs on the show with him kicked in doors and carried 2 aged females to the safety of shore. One of which was heard to ask him if he thought she needed UPS. After he administered it she was able to make it to ambulance.
Sack Lunches
I put my carry-on in the luggage compartment and sat down in my assigned seat. It was going to be a long flight. ‘I’m
glad I have a good book to read. Perhaps I will get a short nap,’ I thought. Just before take-off, a line of soldiers came down the aisle and filled all the vacant seats, totally surrounding me. I decided to start a conversation.
‘Where are you headed?’ I asked the soldier seated nearest to me. ‘Petawawa. We’ll be there for two weeks for special training, and then we’re being deployed to Afghanistan.
After flying for about an hour, an announcement was
made that sack lunches were available for five dollars. It would be several hours before we reached the east, and I quickly decided a lunch would help pass the time…
As I reached for my wallet, I overheard a soldier ask his buddy if he planned to buy lunch. ‘No, that seems
like a lot of money for just a sack lunch.
Probably wouldn’t be worth five bucks. I’ll wait till we get to base.’
His friend agreed.
I looked around at the other soldiers. None were buying lunch. I walked to the back of the plane and handed the flight attendant a fifty dollar bill. ‘Take a lunch to all those soldiers.’ She grabbed my arms and squeezed tightly. Her eyes wet with tears, she thanked me. ‘My son was a soldier in Iraq; it’s almost like you are doing it for him.’
Picking up ten sacks, she headed up the aisle to where the
soldiers were seated. She stopped at my seat and asked, ‘Which do you like best - beef or chicken?’ ‘Chicken,’ I replied, wondering why she asked. She turned and went to
the front of plane, returning a minute later with a dinner plate from first class.
‘This is your thanks.’
After we finished eating, I went again to the back of the plane, heading for the rest room.
A man stopped me. ‘I saw what you did. I want to be part of it. Here, take this.’ He handed me twenty-five dollars.
Soon after I returned to my seat, I saw the Flight Captain coming down the aisle, looking at the aisle numbers as he
walked, I hoped he was not looking for me, but noticed he was looking at the numbers only on my side of the plane. When he got to my row he stopped, smiled, held out his hand and said, ‘I want to shake your hand.’ Quickly unfastening my seatbelt I stood and took the Captain’s hand.
With a booming voice he said, ‘I was a soldier and I was a military pilot. Once, someone bought me a lunch. It was an act of kindness I never forgot.’ I was embarrassed when applause was heard from all of the passengers.
Later I walked to the front of the plane so I could stretch my legs. A man who was seated about six rows in front of me
reached out his hand, wanting to shake mine. He left another twenty-five dollars in my palm.
When we landed I gathered my belongings and started to deplane.
Waiting just inside the airplane door was a man who stopped me, put something in my shirt pocket, turned, and walked away without saying a word. Another twenty-five dollars!
Upon entering the terminal, I saw the soldiers gathering for their trip to the base. I walked over to them and handed them seventy-five dollars. ‘It will take you some time to reach the base. It will be about time for a sandwich.
God Bless You.’
Ten young men left that flight feeling the love and
respect of their fellow travelers.
As I walked briskly to my car, I whispered a prayer for their safe return. These soldiers were giving their all for
our country. I could only give them a couple of meals. It seemed so little…
A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank check made payable to ‘The United States of
America ’ for an amount of ‘up to and including my life.’
That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.’
*I’m passing this on as I did not want to be the only old fart
receiving it, so if you know any other than me, send it to ‘em…*
*Actually, it’s not a bad thing to be called, as you will see. Old
Farts
are easy to spot at sporting events; during the playing of the Star
Spangled Banner. Old Farts remove their caps and stand
at attention and sing without embarrassment. They know the
words
and believe in them.
Old Farts remember the history of World War II, Pearl Harbor,
Guadalcanal , Normandy and Hitler. They remember the Atomic Age,
the
Korean War, The Cold War, the Jet Age and the Moon Landing,
not to mention Vietnam .
If you bump into an Old Fart on the sidewalk he will apologize. If you
pass
an Old Fart on the street, he will nod or tip his cap to a lady. Old
Farts trust strangers and are courtly to women.
Old Farts hold the door for the next person and always, when walking,
make
certain the lady is on the inside for protection.
Old Farts get embarrassed if someone curses in front of women and
children
and they don’t like any filth or dirty language on TV or in movies.
Old Farts have moral courage and personal integrity. They seldom brag
unless it’s about their children or grandchildren.
It’s the Old Farts who know our great country is protected, not by
politician’s, but by the young men and women in the military serving
their country.
This country needs Old Farts with their work ethic, sense of
responsibility, pride in their country and decent values.
We need them now more than ever.
Thank God for Old Farts!
Pass this on to all the Old Farts you know.
I was taught to respect my elders. It’s just getting harder to find
them.
Each year I am hired to go to Washington, DC, with the eighth grade class from Clinton, WI where I grew up, to videotape their trip. I greatly enjoy visiting our nation’s capitol, and each year I take some special memories back with me. This fall’s trip was especially memorable.
On the last night of our trip, we stopped at the Iwo Jima memorial. This memorial is the largest bronze statue in the world and depicts one of the most famous photographs in history — that of the six brave soldiers raising the American Flag at the top of a rocky hill on the island of Iwo Jima, Japan, during WW II.
Over one hundred students and chaperones piled off the buses and headed towards the memorial. I noticed a solitary figure at the base of the statue, and as I got closer he asked, ‘Where are you guys from?’
I told him that we were from Wisconsin . ‘Hey, I’m a cheese head, too! Come gather around, Cheese heads, and I will tell you a story.’
(James Bradley just happened to be in Washington, DC, to speak at the memorial the following day. He was there that night to say good night to his dad, who had passed away. He was just about to leave when he saw the buses pull up. I videotaped him as he spoke to us, and received his permission to share what he said from my videotape. It is one thing to tour the incredible monuments filled with history in Washington, DC, but it is quite another to get the kind of insight we received that night.)
When all had gathered around, he reverently began to speak. (Here are his words that night.)
‘My name is James Bradley and I’m from Antigo, Wisconsin . My dad is on that statue, and I just wrote a book called ‘Flags of Our Fathers’ which is #5 on the New York Times Best Seller list right now. It is the story of the six boys you see behind me.
‘Six boys raised the flag. The first guy putting the pole in the ground is Harlon Block. Harlon was an all-state football player. He enlisted in the Marine Corps with all the senior members of his football team. They were off to play another type of game. A game called ‘War.’ But it didn’t turn out to be a game. Harlon, at the age of 21, died with his intestines in his hands. I don’t say that to gross you out, I say that because there are people who stand in front of this statue and talk about the glory of war. You guys need to know that most of the boys in Iwo Jima were 17, 18, and 19 years old - and it was so hard that the ones who did make it home never even would talk to their families about it.
(He pointed to the statue) ‘You see this next guy? That’s Rene Gagnon from New Hampshire. If you took Rene’s helmet off at the moment this photo was taken and looked in the webbing of that helmet, you would find a photograph… a photograph of his girlfriend. Rene put that in there for protection because he was scared. He was 18 years old. It was just boys who won the battle of Iwo Jima. Boys. Not old men.
‘The next guy here, the third guy in this tableau, was Sergeant Mike Strank. Mike is my hero. He was the hero of all these guys. They called him the ‘old man’ because he was so old. He was already 24. When Mike would motivate his boys in training camp, he didn’t say, ‘Let’s go kill some Japanese’ or ‘Let’s die for our country.’ He knew he was talking to little boys.. Instead he would say, ‘You do what I say, and I’ll get you home to your mothers.’
‘The last guy on this side of the statue is Ira Hayes, a Pima Indian from Arizona. Ira Hayes was one who walked off Iwo Jima. He went into the White House with my dad. President Truman told him, ‘You’re a hero’. He told reporters, ‘How can I feel like a hero when 250 of my buddies hit the island with me and only 27 of us walked off alive?’
So you take your class at school, 250 of you spending a year together having fun, doing everything together. Then all 250 of you hit the beach, but only 27 of your classmates walk off alive. That was Ira Hayes. He had images of horror in his mind. Ira Hayes carried the pain home with him and eventually died dead drunk, face down at the age of 32 (ten years after this picture was taken).
‘The next guy, going around the statue, is Franklin Sousley from Hilltop, Kentucky. A fun-lovin’ hillbilly boy. His best friend, who is now 70, told me, ‘Yeah, you know, we took two cows up on the porch of the Hilltop General Store. Then we strung wire across the stairs so the cows couldn’t get down. Then we fed them Epsom salts. Those cows crapped all night.’ Yes, he was a fun-lovin’ hillbilly boy. Franklin died on Iwo Jima at the age of 19. When the telegram came to tell his mother that he was dead, it went to the Hilltop General Store. A barefoot boy ran that telegram up to his mother’s farm. The neighbors could hear her scream all night and into the morning. Those neighbors lived a quarter of a mile away.
‘The next guy, as we continue to go around the statue, is my dad, John Bradley, from Antigo, Wisconsin, where I was raised. My dad lived until 1994, but he would never give interviews. When Walter Cronkite’s producers or the New York Times would call, we were trained as little kids to say ‘No, I’m sorry, sir, my dad’s not here. He is in Canada fishing. No, there is no phone there, sir. No, we don’t know when he is coming back.’ My dad never fished or even went to Canada . Usually, he was sitting there right at the table eating his Campbell ‘s soup. But we had to tell the press that he was out fishing. He didn’t want to talk to the press.
‘You see, like Ira Hayes, my dad didn’t see himself as a hero. Everyone thinks these guys are heroes, ‘cause they are in a photo and on a monument. My dad knew better. He was a medic. John Bradley from Wisconsin was a caregiver. In Iwo Jima he probably held over 200 boys as they died. And when boys died in Iwo Jima, they writhed and screamed, without any medication or help with the pain.
‘When I was a little boy, my third grade teacher told me that my dad was a hero. When I went home and told my dad that, he looked at me and said, ‘I want you always to remember that the heroes of Iwo Jima are the guys who did not come back. Did NOT come back.’
‘So that’s the story about six nice young boys. Three died on Iwo Jima, and three came back as national heroes. Overall, 7,000 boys died on Iwo Jima in the worst battle in the history of the Marine Corps. My voice is giving out, so I will end here. Thank you for your time.’
Suddenly, the monument wasn’t just a big old piece of metal with a flag sticking out of the top. It came to life before our eyes with the heartfelt words of a son who did indeed have a father who was a hero. Maybe not a hero for the reasons most people would believe, but a hero nonetheless.
We need to remember that God created this vast and glorious world for us to live in, freely, but also at great sacrifice
Let us never forget from the Revolutionary War to the current War on Terrorism and all the wars in-between that sacrifice was made for our freedom..
Remember to pray praises for this great country of ours and also pray for those still in murderous unrest around the world.
STOP and thank God for being alive and being free at someone else’s sacrifice.
God Bless You and God Bless America .
REMINDER: Everyday that you can wake up free, it’s going to be a great day.
One thing I learned while on tour with my 8th grade students in DC that is not mentioned here is . . that if you look at the statue very closely and count the number of ‘hands’ raising the flag, there are 13. When the man who made the statue was asked why there were 13, he simply said the 13th hand was the hand of God.
Great story - worth your time - worth every American’s time
How can you tell when you are in a room, restroom, motel etc. with a mirror or a 2-way glass?
Here’s how: I thought it was quite interesting!
And I know in about 30 seconds you’re going to do what I did
and find the nearest mirror.
Do you know how to determine if a mirror is 2-way or not?
A policewoman who travels all over the US and gives seminars and techniques for businesswomen passed this on.
When we visit toilets, bathrooms, hotel rooms, changing rooms, etc., how many of you know for sure that the seemingly ordinary mirror hanging on the wall is a real mirror, or actually
a 2-way mirror (i.e., they can see you, but you can’t see them)? There have been many cases of people installing 2-way mirrors in female changing rooms. It is very difficult to positively identify the surface by looking at it.
Just conduct this simple test: Place the tip of your fingernail against the reflective surface and if there is a GAP between your fingernail and the image of the nail, then it is GENUINE mirror. However, if your fingernail DIRECTLY TOUCHES the image of your nail, then BEWARE! IT IS A 2-WAY MIRROR!
“No Space, Leave the Place”
So remember, every time you see a mirror,
do the “fingernail test.” It doesn’t cost you anything.
REMEMBER. No Space, Leave the Place:
Ladies: Share this with your girlfriends, sisters, daughters, etc.
Men: Share this with your wives, daughters, daughters-in-law, mothers, girlfriends and/or friends.
