Priceless Treasures

Priceless Treasures
What could I give you that would truly please
In topsy-turvy times like these ?
I can’t give you freedom from vexations
Or even lessen your irritations
I can’t take away or even make less
The things that annoy , disturb , and distress
For stores don’t sell a single thing
To make the heart that’s troubled sing
They sell the new look suave and bland
But nothing that lends a helping hand ,
They sell rare gifts that are ultrasmart
But nothing to warm or comfort the heart
The joys of life that cheer and bless ,
The stores don’t sell , I must confess
But friends and prayers are priceless treasures
Beyond all monetary measures …
And so I say a special prayer
that God will keep you in his care …
and if I can ever help you , dear ,
in any way throughout the year ,
you’ve only to call , for as long as I live
such as I have , I freely give !
Jan Bagwell

The Tiny Acorn

The Tiny Acorn
“Little by little, an acorn said,
As it slowly sank in it mossy bed ;
“I am slowly growing every day ,
Hidden deep in the earth away.”
Little by little each day it grew ;
Little by little it sipped the dew ;
Downward it sent out a thread-like root;
Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot ,
Day after day and year after year ,
Little by little the leaves appear;
And the slender branches spread far and wide ,
Till the mighty oak is the forest’s pride .
Jan Bagwell
Can we grow as the acorn did ?
Can our Christian life grow as a mighty Oak?
I do hope so .

Footsteps of Angels

Footsteps of Angels

When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall;

Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;

He, the young and strong, who cherished
noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.
With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.
And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.
Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!

Manys thanks to my friends and God Bless everyone !
Jan Bagwell

The Rabbi''s Gift

The Rabbi's Gift

A monastery had fallen upon hard times.

Once a great order, cultural changes over the past few hundred
years had sapped its strength. All of its branch houses were
closed and there were only five monks left in the decaying
mother house: the abbot and four others, all over 70 years of
age. Clearly it was a dying order.

In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little
hut that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a
hermitage. The monks could always sense when the rabbi was in
the woods, and during one such visit it occurred to the abbot to
pay the rabbi a visit and to ask if he might have some advice
that could save the monastery.

The rabbi welcomed the abbot at his hut. But when the abbot
explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only
commiserate with him. "I know how it is," he said. "The spirit
has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost
no one comes to the synagogue anymore."

So the old men wept together. They read parts of sacred
scriptures and spoke quietly of deep things. When the abbot
finally rose to leave, they embraced, and he asked again:
"Is there nothing you can tell me to help me save my dying
order?" "No, I am sorry," the rabbi responded. "I have no advice
to give.

The only thing I can say is that one of you is the Messiah."

When the abbot returned to the monastery, his fellow monks
gathered around him to ask, "Well, what did the rabbi say?"

"He couldn't help," the abbot answered. "We just wept and read
holy scriptures together. Although, just as I was leaving, he
did say something rather strange. He said that the Messiah is
one of us. I don't know what he meant."

In the days and weeks that followed, the old monks pondered this
and wondered whether there was any possible significance to the
rabbi's words.

The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of
us monks here at the monastery? If that's the case, which one?

Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone, he
probably meant Father Abbot. On the other hand, he might have
meant Brother Thomas. Certainly Brother Thomas is a holy man.

He surely could not have meant Brother Eldred! Eldred is always
so crotchety. Though, come to think of it, Eldred is virtually
always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean
Brother Eldred.

But certainly not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a
real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for
somehow always being there for you when you need him. Maybe
Phillip is the Messiah.

Of course the rabbi didn't mean me, each of them thought in turn
about themselves. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just
an ordinary person. Yet suppose he did? Suppose I am the Messiah?
O, God, not me, each thought. I couldn't be that much for the
others,

Could I?

As they each contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to
treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off chance
that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off, off
chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began
to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.

It so happened that people still occasionally came to visit the
monastery, to picnic on its green lawn, to wander along its many
paths, even to sit in the old chapel to meditate. As they did
so, without even being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of
extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old
monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the
atmosphere of the place.

Hardly knowing why, they began to come back to the monastery
more frequently to picnic, to play, to pray.

They began to bring their friends to show them this special
place. And their friends brought their friends.
Then it happened that some of the younger visitors started to
talk more and more with the old monks.

After awhile, one asked if he could join them.
Then another. And another.
Within a few years, the monastery had once again become a
thriving order and thanks to the rabbi's gift, a vibrant
community of spirituality and light.

The Virus

The Virus

Two men were diagnosed with a deadly virus. They were told that
the cure would change their life forever. Their families might
disown them, and friends could turn their backs on them.

One man decided to decline the offer; he didn't want to be left
out of anything. At first everything seemed ok. He drank with
his friends and family and ignored what the doctors said.

Time went past and life took a turn for the worst. The virus
began to consume his life. He had to quit his job and lost his
source of income. The people he called friends didn't help,
they told him it was his problem not theirs. Everyday was a
struggle for life. His days were long and painful. On his
deathbed his last words were, I should've taken the cure.

The other man decided to take the cure.

From then on his life changed. His family betrayed him, and
said it was a waste of money. They didn't talk to him anymore
because they didn't believe in what he was doing. His friends
left because he couldn't do all the stuff he used to do. At
first he cursed the doctors for the way people were treating
him.

After time he began to get better. He was getting promoted
because he was able to focus on his job. His family apologized
for the way they treated him. He got new friends that helped
him daily. Life to him was a gift. He thanked God daily that
he decided to take that cure.

That virus is like our problems.

If we hold on to them and ignore them they will begin to consume
us. They will take over our life and no matter what we do, we
won't be able to get rid of them.

If we give our problems to God he can heal us.
He is the cure for any problem we might have.
Yes we might be treated differently, but in the end we can say
thank you God.