38 Sermon Illustrations on Gift

Pastor Clifford S. Stewart of Louisville, Kentucky, sent his parents a microwave oven one Christmas. Here's how he recalls the experience: "They were excited that now they, too, could be a part of the instant generation. When Dad unpacked the microwave and plugged it in, literally within seconds, the microwave transformed two smiles into frowns! Even after reading the directions, they couldn't make it work.

"Two day later, my mother was playing bridge with a friend and confessed her inability to get that microwave oven even to boil water. 'To get this darn thing to work,' she exclaimed, 'I really don't need better directions; I just needed my son to come along with the gift!'"

When God gave the gift of salvation, he didn't send a booklet of complicated instructions for us to figure out; he sent his Son.

A sobbing 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 touched that 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 and the parents called for the kind-hearted pastor, who had befriended their daughter, to handle the final arrangements. As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled 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 realtor who offered them a parcel of land worth many thousands. When told that the church could not pay so much, he offered it for 57 cents.

Church members made large subscriptions. 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 Temple University, where hundreds of students are trained. Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday School building which houses hundreds of Sunday scholars, 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. Russel H. Conwell, author of the book, "Acres of Diamonds." - a true story.

Goes to show WHAT GOD CAN DO WITH 57 cents.

______________________

Analysis by TruthorFiction.com at http://truthorfiction.com/rumors/hattiemaywiatt.htm -

This story is true. A first-hand account of it is in a sermon delivered December 1, 1912 by Russell H. Conwell, pastor of Grace Baptist Church in Philadelphia. Rev. Conwell said the little girl's name was Hattie May Wiatt. She lived near a church where the Sunday School was very crowded and he told her that one day they would have buildings big enough to allow every one to attend who wanted to. Later, Hattie May Wiatt became sick and died. Rev. Conwell was asked to do the funeral and the girl's mother told him that Hattie May had been saving money to help build a bigger church and gave him the little purse in which she had saved 57 cents. Rev. Conwell had the 57 cents turned into 57 pennies, told the congregation the story of little Hattie May and sold the pennies for a return of about $250. In addition, 54 of the original 57 pennies were returned to Rev. Conwell and he later put them up on display. This was in 1886 when 57 cents was no small savings account for a little girl from a poor family. Some of the members of the church formed what they called the Wiatt Mite Society which was dedicated to making Hattie May's 57 cents grow as much as possible and to buy the property for the Primary Department of the Sunday school. A house nearby was purchased with the $250 that Hattie May's 57 cents had produced and the rest is history. The first classes of Temple College, later Temple University, were held in that house. It was later sold to allow Temple College to move and the growth of Temple, along with the founding of the Good Samaritan Hospital (now the Temple University Hospital) have been powerful testimonies to Hattie May Wiatt's dream.

====================

Barbara and David P. Mikkelson of Snopes.com put this story on their "Glurge" page, saying it is a nice story but too embellished:

It seems these days that no true story is deemed sufficiently inspirational but that it can't be made even more so by the addition of exaggerated and fabricated details. If a story about a sad little orphan makes you misty-eyed, the thinking goes, then transforming it into a tale about a whole busload of abandoned, homeless orphans will make you cry your heart out.

Here we have such a tale, one that contains a kernel of truth wrapped in a layer of exaggeration.

If there's anyone who knows the truth behind this story, it would be Russell H. Conwell, the kindly pastor described in this anecdote. He set down his version of these events in a chapter of his book Acres of Diamonds, and the details he relates are significantly different than the ones presented above.

For starters, he does tell of a little girl who was turned away from Sunday school because there was no room for her:

One afternoon a little girl, who had eagerly wished to go, turned

back from the Sunday-school door, crying bitterly because there

was no more room ... [I] asked her why it was that she was

crying, and she sobbingly replied that it was because they could

not let her into the Sunday-school ... I said to her that I would

take her in, and I did so, and I said to her that we should some

day have a room big enough for all who should come.

So far, so good. But what happened next? Unbeknownst to Dr. Conwell, the little girl went home and told her parents that she wanted to save money to build a larger church, and they indulged her by letting her run errands for pennies that she saved in a little bank. And then:

She was a lovable little thing -- but in only a few weeks after

that she was taken suddenly ill and died; and at the funeral her

father told me, quietly, of how his little girl had been saving

money for a building-fund. And there, at the funeral, he handed

me what she had saved -- just fifty-seven cents in pennies.

Dr. Conwell says nothing about being asked to handle the little girl's “final arrangements,” makes no mention of a worn and crumpled purse with a note explaining the purpose of the girl's savings, and explains that the girl passed away a “few weeks” -- not two years -- after he encountered her outside the church. In fact, there was no note nor any “cracked, red pocketbook” for him to “carry to the pulpit” and use to “challenge his deacons.” What occurred next was somewhat more prosaic:

At a meeting of the church trustees I told of this gift of fifty-

seven cents -- the first gift toward the proposed building-fund

of the new church that was some time to exist. For until then

the matter had barely been spoken of, as a new church building

had been simply a possibility for the future.

The trustees seemed much impressed, and it turned out that they

were far more impressed than I could possibly have hoped, for in

a few days one of them came to me and said that he thought it

would be an excellent idea to buy a lot on Broad Street -- the

very lot on which the building now stands.

The immediate result of Dr. Conwell's tale of the little girl and her fifty-seven cents? Advice on a piece of property. Hardly the industrious fund-raising efforts this telling leads us to believe took place in short order. Dr. Conwell followed up on the advice:

I talked the matter over with the owner of the property, and told

him of the beginning of the fund, the story of the little girl.

The man was not one of our church, nor, in fact, was he a church-

goer at all, but he listened attentively to the tale of the

fifty-seven cents and simply said he was quite ready to go ahead

and sell us that piece of land for ten thousand dollars, taking -

- and the unexpectedness of this deeply touched me -- taking a

first payment of just fifty-seven cents and letting the entire

balance stand on a five-per-cent mortgage!

No mention of a newspaper article that publicized the story, or of a generous realtor who offered a “parcel of land worth many thousands” and dropped the price to fifty-seven cents when told “the church could not pay so much.” Just a direct deal between Dr. Conwell and a property owner to buy a piece of land for $10,000 under some rather generous terms: no down payment and a low interest rate.

As things turned out, the church soon came to own the land free and clear, not because “church members made large subscriptions,” but because the church received “a single large subscription -- one of ten thousand dollars.”

This anecdote has all the elements an inspirational tale needs: a little girl who saved her pennies after being turned away from a church that had no room for her, a stranger who was inspired by her story to offer his land to the church at some very favorable terms, and a benefactor who contributed $10,000 so that the church could buy the property outright instead of carrying a mortgage. So why cheapen it by making up details that simply aren't true? “Truth is stranger than fiction” is not merely an aphorism -- sometimes it's advice that should be heeded.

[ http://www.snopes.com/glurge/57cents.htm ]

*

This was my grandmother's first Christmas without grandfather, and we had promised him before he passed away that we would make this her best Christmas ever. When my mom, dad, three sisters and I arrived at her little house in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, we found she had waited up all night for us to arrive from Texas. After we exchanged hugs, Donna, Karen, Kristi, and I ran into the house. It did seem a little empty without grandfather, and we knew it was up to us to make this Christmas special for her.

Grandfather had always said that the Christmas tree was the most important decoration of all. So we immediately set to work on the beautiful artificial tree that was kept stored in grandfather's closet. Although artificial, it was the most genuine looking Douglas fir I had ever seen. Tucked away in the closet with the tree was a spectacular array of ornaments, many of which had been my father's when he was a little boy. As we unwrapped each one, grandmother had a story to go along with it. My mother strung the tree with bright white lights and a red button garland; my sisters and I carefully placed the ornaments on the tree; and finally father was given the honor of lighting the tree.

We stepped back to admire our handiwork. To us, it looked magnificent, as beautiful as the tree in Rockefeller Center. But something was missing.

"Where's your star?" I asked.

The star was my grandmother's favorite part of the tree, for it represented the star of Bethlehem that had led the wise men to the infant Jesus.

"Why, it must be here somewhere," she said, starting to sort through the boxes again. "Your grandfather always packed everything so carefully when he took the tree down."

As we emptied box after box and found no star, my grandmother's eyes filled with tears. This was no ordinary ornament, but an elaborate golden star covered with colored jewels and blue lights that blinked on and off. Moreover, grandfather had given it to grandmother some fifty years ago on their first Christmas together. Now, on her first Christmas without him, the star was gone, too.

"Don't worry, Grandmother," I reassured her. "We'll find it for you."

My sisters and I formed a search party.

"Let's start in on the closet where the ornaments were," Donna said. "Maybe the box just fell down."

That sounded logical, so we climbed on a chair and began to search that tall closet of grandfather's. We found father's old yearbooks and photographs of relatives, Christmas cards from years gone by and party dresses and jewelry boxes, but no star.

We searched under beds and over shelves, inside and outside, until we had exhausted every possibility. We could see grandmother was disappointed, although she tried not to show it.

"We could buy a new star," Kristi offered.

"I'll make you one from construction paper," Karen chimed in.

"No," Grandmother said. "This year, we won't have a star."

By now, it was dark outside, and time for bed, since Santa would soon be here. As we lay in bed, we could hear the sound of snowflakes falling quietly outside.

The next morning, my sisters and I woke up early, as was our habit on Christmas day - first, to see what Santa had left under the tree, and second, to look for the Christmas star in the sky. After a traditional breakfast of apple pancakes, the family sat down together to open presents. Santa had brought me the Easy Bake Oven I wanted, and Donna a Chatty Cathy doll. Karen was thrilled to get the doll buggy she had asked for, and Kristi to get the china tea set. Father was in charge of passing out the presents, so that everyone would have something to open at the same time.

"The last gift is to Grandmother from Grandfather," he said, in a puzzled voice.

"From who?" There was surprise in my grandmother's voice.

"I found that gift in grandfather's closet when we got the tree down," Mother explained. "It was already wrapped so I put it under the tree. I thought it was one of yours."

"Hurry and open it," Karen urged excitedly.

My grandmother shakily opened the box. Her face lit up with joy when she unfolded the tissue paper and pulled out a glorious golden star. There was a note attached. Her voice trembled as she read it aloud:

"Don't be angry with me, dear. I broke your star while putting up

the decorations, and I couldn't bear to tell you. Thought it was

time for a new one. I hope it brings you as much joy as the first

one. Merry Christmas. Love, Bryant."

So grandmother's tree had a star after all, a star that expressed their everlasting love for one another. It brought my grandfather home for Christmas in each of our hearts and made it our best Christmas ever.

================================================================

By Susan Adair from A Second Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul, Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen,Jennifer Read Hawthorne and Marci Shimoff

I do a lot of management training each year for the Circle K Corporation, a national chain of convenience stores. Among the topics we address in our seminars is the retention of quality employees - a real challenge to managers when you consider the pay scale in the service industry. During these discussions, I ask the participants, "What has caused you to stay long enough to become a manager?" Some time back a new manager took the question and slowly, with her voice almost breaking, said, "It was a $19 baseball glove."

Cynthia told the group that she originally took a Circle K clerk job as an interim position while she looked for something better. On her second or third day behind the counter, she received a phone call from her nine-year old son, Jessie. He needed a baseball glove for Little League. She explained that as a single mother, money was very tight, and her first check would have to go for paying bills. Perhaps she could buy his baseball glove with her second or third check.

When Cynthia arrived for work the next morning, Patricia, the store manager, asked her to come to the small room in back of the store that served as an office. Cynthia wondered if she had done something wrong or left some part of her job incomplete from the day before. She was concerned and confused.

Patricia handed her a box. "I overheard you talking to your son yesterday," she said, "and I know that it is hard to explain things to kids. This is a baseball glove for Jessie because he may not understand how important he is, even though you have to pay bills before you can buy gloves. You know we can't pay good people like you as much as we would like to; but we do care, and I want you to know you are important to us."

The thoughtfulness, empathy and love of this convenience store manager demonstrates vividly that people remember more how much an employer cares than how much the employer pays. An important lesson for the price of a Little League baseball glove.

_______________

By Rick Phillips from Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work, Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Maida Rogerson, Martin Rutte & Tim Clauss

*

I have a cousin who is a Baptist minister. When we were growing up, we only saw each other a couple of times a year. Now we see each other even less.

A few years ago, when I hadn't seen him for some time, I suddenly began thinking about him and his family. I just couldn't get them off my mind. And for some reason, I felt compelled to send him a check for $100. I thought about it for a few days and made more than one aborted trip to the post office. I finally mailed it with a letter saying I hope I wasn't offending him, but I believed the Lord wanted me to do this.

A couple of weeks later I received a reply. My cousin said it never ceased to amaze him how God worked in his life. And now God had once again shown him, through us, that he would always meet our needs. My cousin said the only concern he had was that I had sent too much. All he had needed was $97.56.

___________________

By Lalia Winsett from Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul, Copyright 1997 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Patty Aubery and Nancy Mitchell

*

An aged and ragged Indian wandered into one of our Western settlements, begging for food to keep him from starving. A bright-colored ribbon from which was suspended a small, dirty pouch was seen around his neck. On being questioned, he said it was a charm given him in his younger days. Opening it, he displayed a faded, greasy paper, which he handed to the interrogator for inspection. It proved to be a regular discharge from the Federal Army, entitling him to a pension for life, and signed by General Washington himself! Here was a name which would be honored almost anywhere and which, if presented in the right place, would have insured him support and plenty for the remainder of his days. Yet he wandered about, hungry, helpless, and forlorn, begging bread of the charitable to keep him from famishing.

What a picture of men with all the promises of Jesus in their hands -- and of Christians, too, with the charter of their inheritance in full possession, yet starving in the wilderness!

________

William Moses Tidwell, "Pointed Illustrations."

TAMPA, Florida - With wads of cash strapped to his body and hoping to make some people happy, Kevin Shelton gave away $1 bills while strolling through a mall.

In two hours, Shelton says he gave away about $7,000 - with only smiles and "thank yous" to show for it.

"It's what I choose to do," he said Friday after the cash giveaway. "I think it's making an impact."

Shelton, 32, says he earned his money buying and selling real estate in the Tampa Bay area.

Reactions at the International Plaza varied - from hugs to lectures for not giving the money to the poor.

Most shoppers happily took the free money and walked away giggling. Some vowed to give it away. Others planned to buy a lottery ticket.

Shelton began doling out cash last year as a way to brighten people's day and spark generosity. He swears it's not a gimmick. He says he doesn't keep track of what he gives away, but guesses it's in the tens of thousands.

*

In May 2002 in Uniondale, N.Y., a gold Mercedes-Benz sports sedan was delivered by mistake to Ruth Shepard's driveway, causing her to believe it was a surprise Mother's Day present; a short time later, she was arrested for resisting police officers' attempts to get the car back for its rightful owner.

________

Newsday

He entered my life 20 years ago, leaning against the doorjamb of Room 202, where I taught fifth grade. He wore sneakers three sizes too large and checkered pants ripped at the knees.

Daniel made this undistinguished entrance in the school of a quaint lakeside village known for its old money, white colonial homes and brass mailboxes. He told us his last school had been in a neighboring county. "We were pickin' fruit," he said matter-of-factly.

I suspected this friendly, scruffy, smiling boy from an emigrant family had no idea he had been thrown into a den of fifth-grade lions who had never before seen torn pants. If he noticed snickering, he didn't let on. There was no chip on his shoulder.

Twenty-five children eyed Daniel suspiciously until the kickball game that afternoon. Then he led off the first inning with a home run. With it came a bit of respect from the wardrobe critics of Room 202.

Next was Charles' turn. Charles was the least athletic, most overweight child in the history of fifth grade. After his second strike, amid the rolled eyes and groans of the class, Daniel edged up and spoke quietly to Charles' dejected back. "Forget them, kid. You can do it."

Charles warmed, smiled, stood taller and promptly struck out anyway. But at that precise moment, defying the social order of this jungle he had entered, Daniel gently began to change things - and us.

By autumn's end, we had all gravitated toward him. He taught us all kinds of lessons. How to call a wild turkey. How to tell whether fruit is ripe before that first bite. How to treat others, even Charles. Especially Charles. He never did use our names, calling me "Miss" and the students "kid."

The day before Christmas vacation, the students always brought gifts for the teacher. It was a ritual - opening each department-store box, surveying the expensive perfume or scarf or leather wallet, and thanking the child.

That afternoon, Daniel walked to my desk and bent close to my ear. "Our packing boxes came out last night," he said without emotion. "We're leavin' tomorrow."

As I grasped the news, my eyes filled with tears. He countered the awkward silence by telling me about the move. Then, as I regained my composure, he pulled a gray rock from his pocket. Deliberately and with great style, he pushed it gently across my desk.

I sensed that this was something remarkable, but all my practice with perfume and silk had left me pitifully unprepared to respond. "It's for you," he said, fixing his eyes on mine. "I polished it up special."

I've never forgotten that moment.

Years have passed since then. Each Christmas my daughter asks me to tell this story. It always begins after she picks up the small polished rock that sits on my desk. Then she nestles herself in my lap and I begin. The first words of the story never vary. "The last time I ever saw Daniel, he gave me this rock as a gift and told me about his boxes. That was a long time ago even before you were born.

"He's a grown-up now," I finish. Together we wonder where he is and what he has become.

"Someone good I bet," my daughter says. Then she adds, "Do the end of the story."

I know what she wants to hear - the lesson of love and caring learned by a teacher from a boy with nothing - and everything - to give. A boy who lived out of boxes. I touch the rock, remembering.

"Hi kid," I say softly. "This is Miss. I hope you no longer need the packing boxes. And Merry Christmas, wherever you are."

____________________

by Linda DeMers Hummel (c) 1992, from A 4th Course of Chicken Soup for the Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Hanoch McCarty and Meladee McCarty. Originally appeared in the December 22, 1992 issue of "Family Circle" entitled "Daniel's Gift" and appeared in the December 1994 issue of "Reader's Digest."

*

Mary Kay Beard was one of the most colorful criminals in the South -- a shotgun-toting bank robber with flaming red hair. The press nicknamed Mary Kay and her husband "the Bonnie and Clyde of Alabama."

But then Mary Kay was arrested. She faced 180 years in prison if convicted of all the charges against her. But God had other plans for Mary Kay -- plans that would ultimately affect millions of kids.

While Mary Kay awaited sentencing, she began attending the jail church services. Not because she was interested in God, but because it was the only way to get out of solitary confinement.

But Mary Kay was struck by the volunteers at these early morning services. Why, she wondered, would any sane person get up at 5 a.m. on the weekend just to visit prisoners?

"Why do you bother?" she finally asked the elderly volunteer sitting beside her. The answer blew her away. "Jesus loved you enough to go all the way to Calvary," the woman replied. "So we love you enough to come in here and tell you about Him."

Over the next few weeks, the Holy Spirit began to work on Mary Kay's heart. Alone in her cell one night, Mary Kay opened her Bible. A verse from Ezekiel caught her eye: "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you ... I will move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws."

Instantly, Mary Kay knew she had found the answer. "God," she prayed, "If you can really change my heart, I'll give my life back to you." And God did change Mary Kay's heart. She began to study God's Word and grew in her relationship with Christ. And by God's grace, she received a sentence of just eight years.

But when she left prison, Mary Kay was haunted by images of the women she'd left behind. She remembered how, at Christmas, these women saved the things volunteers brought them -- soap, shampoo, toothpaste -- and then gave these to their kids for Christmas. The children cherished the gifts because they had come from their mothers.

That memory fueled the first Prison Fellowship Angel Tree. Mary Kay, who came to work for Prison Fellowship in Alabama, went back to the jail she'd once occupied and asked women for the names and addresses of their children. She wrote them on paper angels, and hung them on a Christmas tree. She then prayed she would find enough volunteers to buy gifts for all of them. Amazingly, every child's name was gone in just a few days! On Christmas day 1982, 556 kids received Christmas gifts on behalf of their moms in jail.

Well, that was nearly twenty years ago. Last year, more than half a million children received Angel Tree gifts in the United States -- and countless thousands more in the fifty other countries of the world where Angel Tree has spread.

_________________________

Copyright (c) 2001 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint with Chuck Colson" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

Are we losing Christmas?

No one wanted Jesus, it seemed. Arrogant kings and conniving thugs throughout the Old Testament sought to exterminate the Jews and sever the bloodline God established for the coming prince of peace. Before the angel appeared to him, Joseph determined he would privately divorce his pregnant fiancée Mary. Later, the innkeeper in Bethlehem didn't seem to care that Mary was on the verge of childbirth. The best he would offer was a stable that no doubt smelled of animal manure. Herod certainly didn't want Jesus. He murdered every boy two years of age or younger in and around Bethlehem in a bloody dragnet hoping to eliminate Him. The Jewish leadership of the day finally did what Herod couldn't do when they succeeded in having Him nailed to the cross.

Jesus was God's gift to mankind. Never has so great a gift been so poorly received. Never, that is, until now.

The attack on Christmas rages across our country with Herodian intensity. Instead of Herod's hit squads, constitutional revisionists use our legal system to wage their war. They stand on a faulty interpretation of the First Amendment and rigorously apply the idea of “separation between church and state,” a declaration never made in the Constitution and one never intended by the founding founders.

However, their double standard belies their logic and reveals that their true goal is not to prevent government from establishing a state religion but to expunge all things Christian from the marketplace.

The proof is in their actions. Within the past few weeks the New York City school system continued its ban on Christmas along with nativity scenes while simultaneously authorizing expressions of the Jewish Hanukkah and the Islamic Ramadan in hallways and classrooms. Hundreds of similar instances across our country verify the frequency of such attacks on Christmas.

Revisionists know that if they can kill Christmas they've greatly pushed Christianity from the center of our culture. They are willing to overlook the use of public funds that “endorse” other religions if they can exclude Christianity.

Christians can't let that happen. Christmas represents the focal point of divine incarnation. To ignore Christ's coming to earth through the virgin birth is to forfeit any opportunity mankind has for salvation. Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). It is that exclusivity that our culture finds offensive.

It is our duty -- it should be our passion -- to vigorously defend Christmas even in the face of such animosity. We must fight for Christmas on behalf of the very people who would like to silence it. We carry within us the message that He came in order to reconcile man to God. If Christians don't share that message, then “how can they call on Him in whom they have not believed? And how can they believe without hearing about Him” (Romans 10:14)?

Christmas represents the beginning of God's physical presence with us. It is easy to get lost in the story of a baby and the tranquility of the nativity scenes we display. Jesus in a manger could not save us, but the Man on the cross could -- and did. My father used to say that Christmas is not a time for remembering a small child but for following a magnificent Man.

The baby Jesus does not threaten secular culture; it's the Man the baby grew to be. Christian, don't leave Jesus in the manger this Christmas or cower to the brashness of secularists. Imitate the angel of Luke 2:10 and boldly announce “the good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”

*

I love Christmas.

I love the music, the lights and the surprises. I love being with family and exchanging gifts. I love reading again the humble beginnings of our Lord Jesus Christ. I love to think about the promise delivered by the angel: “Don’t be afraid, for look, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people” (Luke 2:10, HCSB).

But fighting long lines at department stores, maxing out our credit cards and becoming exasperated distracts Christians from focusing on that “Good News.” At best, many give cursory thought to the baby in the manger. However, that baby in a manger could not save us from our sin and allow us to escape the judgment that awaited us. It was a man on a cross -– a martyr -– who believed the message He had to share was more precious than life itself. How my heart aches praying that more Christians lived with that intensity of focus. Thank God many have –- and it has cost them their lives as well.

It was nearly three years ago (Dec. 30, 2002) that a gunman slipped into the Baptist Hospital in Jibla, Yemen, and killed Bill Koehn, Kathy Gariety and Martha Myers. In the blink of an eye, three Southern Baptist workers passed into eternity, literally giving their lives so that the Muslims of Yemen could hear the Good News of the Savior proclaimed by the angel.

Less than three months later (March 2003) a terrorist’s bomb killed Southern Baptist missionary Bill Hyde. The big missionary with a big heart full of love for the people of the Philippines was dead after 25 years of service, but thousands of Filipinos not only heard the Good News but experienced the joy of knowing the Savior who was born in Bethlehem.

Just a year later (March 2004), Southern Baptist workers David McDonnall, Karen Watson and Larry and Jean Elliott were killed when terrorists opened fire with high-powered rifles on their small truck. The four, along with David’s wife, Carrie –- who survived -– were in northern Iraq surveying potential water purification projects in the area around Mosul. Their hope was to bring the Good News of the Living Water to a spiritually dry and thirsty land.

Jan. 8 will be the 50th anniversary of the deaths of missionaries Nate Saint, Roger Youderian, Ed McCully, Jim Elliot, and Peter Fleming. The five were killed while taking the Good News to the Waodani people deep in Ecuador’s jungle.

The deaths of David Mankins, Mark Rich and Rick Tenenoff, three missionaries with New Tribes Mission, were confirmed in early 1996. Colombian guerillas had kidnapped them three years earlier from their home near the Colombian-Panamanian border where they shared the Good News among tribal peoples.

It’s been nearly 64 years since New Tribes’ first missionaries -– Cecil and Bob Dye, George Hosback, Dave Bacon, and Eldon Hunter –- ventured into Bolivia’s jungle to share the Good News with the Ayor tribe. They were buried near where they were killed.

There is the expression that the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church, but some say these missionaries died in vain. I say we shame ourselves if we even think in that manner. Spiritual fruit continues to be harvested from the sacrifice made by each of these mentioned above. We cheapen the proclamation of the angel when we live in the comfort of a “domesticated Christianity,” as Erwin McManus calls it. We too often miss the point. The church does not exist for us. Most seem to feel that the church exists to provide for them, please them and satisfy them. It isn’t for us -– it is for those outside and away from God. God’s intention is that we inside the church leave our domesticated Christianity and go to them.

But the church has lost its sense of mission. It has accommodated herself to cultural climate. Church is no longer changing culture. Instead, it is being changed by culture. The average church member has little or no awareness of mission as a Christian. We have two purposes in this life: To worship God and to make His name known among the nations. Sometimes making His name known is dangerous. Countless common people beyond America’s borders die a martyr’s death everyday because they realize the joy they’ve found in Jesus Christ is greater than any harm man can bring against them.

In a note to his wife shortly before going into the jungle, Cecil Dye wrote:

“I don’t believe we care so much whether this expedition is a

failure so far as our lives are concerned, but we want God to get

the most possible glory from everything that happens, and we know

that the powers of Hell are marshaled against anything that would

bring about this desired aim. On the other hand, it seems that

it would be a real testimony to the Lord’s power to make this

expedition successful. Then again, perhaps, more Christians

would become more aware of their responsibility to lost men and

less concerned over the material things of this life if the

expedition failed and we lost our lives. Maybe they would pray

more for the next group that went to the same tribe, and maybe,

there would be more “all out” volunteers so that every tribe

would be reached in our generation. I believe the real attitude

of every fellow in this group is that they want, at any cost,

that which will glorify God most.”

This Christmas, I’m not calling you to martyrdom; only God can do that. What I am praying is that through this column you “would become more aware of [your] responsibility to lost men and less concerned over the material things of this life.” We honor the deaths of those who have shed their blood by pressing forward into the world with the same Good News proclaimed by the angel. More importantly, we honor Jesus Christ.

This Christmas, take a few moments to consider whether or not the gift you’re giving is worth your life. Aren’t you glad the gift Jesus gave was worth it? Now share His gift with someone else.

A six-year-old boy posted 33 pence through the letterbox of a car dealer - to buy his dad a new car for his birthday.

Mazda MX5 dealership boss David Brewster, who found the envelope containing the coins and letter, said: “It's so sweet. We've never had a message like this before. At first we couldn't understand it. But we read it through a few times and worked out it's from a six-year-old boy. He had put the money in with the letter and asked for a car for his dad's birthday. I'm guessing the boy and his father must walk past our building regularly and his dad must say he wants one of our models.”

The letter reads: “I want to get my dad a car. He wants a car from you please. My mum has got a car so I want my dad to have one. When is my dad going to get it? Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday or Friday?”

Contact telephone numbers were left in the letter, mostly written in pencil, but were illegible. The envelope was pushed through the letterbox of Dandy Cars.com in Newbury Park, Essex. The lad signed the letter Adil and said he lives in Lynn Road, Newbury Park.

________

Source: Ananova http://www.ananova.com

Dr. James Dobson relates a story of an elderly woman named Stella Thornhope who was struggling with her first Christmas alone. Her husband had died just a few months prior through a slow developing cancer. Now, several days before Christmas, she was almost snowed in by a brutal weather system. She felt terribly alone; so much so she decided she was not going to decorate for Christmas.

Late that afternoon the doorbell rang, and there was a delivery boy with a box. He said, “Mrs. Thornhope?” She nodded. He said, “Would you sign here?” She invited him to step inside and closed the door to get away from the cold. She signed the paper and said, “What’s in the box?” The young man laughed and opened up the flap, and inside was a little puppy, a golden Labrador Retriever. The delivery boy picked up the squirming pup and explained, “This is for you, Ma’am. He’s six weeks old, completely housebroken.” The young puppy began to wiggle in happiness at being released from captivity.

“Who sent this?” Mrs. Thornhope asked.

The young man set the animal down and handed her an envelope and said, “It’s all explained here in this envelope, Ma’am. The dog was bought last July while its mother was still pregnant. It was meant to be a Christmas gift to you.” The young man then handed her a book, How to Care for Your Labrador Retriever.

In desperation she again asked, “Who sent me this puppy?”

As the young man turned to leave, he said, “Your husband, Ma’am. Merry Christmas.”

She opened up the letter from her husband. He had written it three weeks before he died and left it with the kennel owners to be delivered with the puppy as his last Christmas gift to her. The letter was full of love and encouragement and admonishments to be strong. He vowed that he was waiting for the day when she would join him. He had sent her this young animal to keep her company until then.

She wiped away the tears, put the letter down, and then remembering the puppy at her feet, she picked up that golden furry ball and held it to her neck. Then she looked out the window at the lights that outlined the neighbor’s house, and she heard from the radio in the kitchen the strains of “Joy to the World, the Lord has Come.” Suddenly Stella felt the most amazing sensation of peace washing over her. Her heart felt a joy and a wonder greater than the grief and loneliness.

“Little fella,” she said to the dog, “It’s just you and me. But you know what? There’s a box down in the basement I’ll bet you’d like. It’s got a little Christmas tree in it and some decorations and some lights that are going to impress you. And there’s a manger scene down there. Let’s go get it.”

God has a way of sending a signal of light to remind us life is stronger than death. Light is more powerful than darkness. God is more powerful than Satan. Good will overcome evil.

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light,” the prophet said. “On those living in the land of the shadow of death, a light has dawned” (Matthew 4:16).

________

"A Classic from James Dobson," December 5, 2010, in Holidays

”(For until the law sin was in the world, but sin is not imputed when there is no law. Nevertheless death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over those who had not sinned according to the likeness of the transgression of Adam, who is a type of Him who was to come. But the free gift [is] not like the offense. For if by the one man’s offense many died, much more the grace of God and the gift by the grace of the one Man, Jesus Christ, abounded to many. And the gift [is] not like [that which came] through the one who sinned. For the judgment [which came] from one [offense resulted] in condemnation, but the free gift [which came] from many offenses [resulted] in justification. For if by the one man’s offense death reigned through the one, much more those who receive abundance of grace and of the gift of righteousness will reign in life through the One, Jesus Christ.)” (Romans 5:13-17 NKJV)

The Offence And The Free Gift

• until…world — Exod 20:5, Rom 4:15, 1 Jn 3:4 — evident from the presence of death, and practices of men. “Adam’s sin the mother of all the rest” (Olshausen).

• not…law — not reckoned as transgression [of the Law] punishable by death (Robinson). “Imputation not personal, but general” (Olshausea). “Death proves the existence of sin, and sin supposes law; men, therefore, were under some law” (Doddridge). “Death, which has come upon sinners guilty of no transgression of law, cannot be derived from their own sin.” — Meyer

• death — Gen 7:22, 19:25, Ex 12:29 — penalty of sin

• reigned — king of terrors

• after [according]…transgression — the special law he transgressed ceased when he left Eden

• figure [type]…come — Adam like Christ, in that he involved his descendants in the consequences of his act

• but…gift — the involved consequences differ in each case — i.e.; death from Adam, life from Christ — 1 Cor 15:21-22, 45, Matt 20:28, John 3:16, Rom 6:23

• and not…gift, etc — the sin which wrought the ruin was one; the sins which caused the redemption were many (Vaughan)

• reigned…one — reigned over all men by one sinner

• by…Christ — who is not only innocent, but Divine

Adam and Christ — J. H. Tasson

I. Adam. Through him we are all –

1. Subject to suffering, sorrow, and death;

2. Debarred from entrance into paradise;

3. Kept from eternal happiness.

II. Christ. By Christ –

l. Our sins are atoned for;

2. We are entirely freed from guilt;

3. Eternal life is granted to us;

4. Eternal happiness is given to us as our portion. Through the first Adam we fell from our high state; the second Adam restores us, by His blood, to peace, joy, and eternal life with God.

The wonderful love of Christ — A man in the East Indies said one day to a friend, “Well, Krishna, you have left off all the customs of your ancestors: what is the reason?” He replied, “Only have patience, and I will tell you. I am a great sinner. I tried the Hindoo worship, but got no good. After awhile I heard of Jesus; that He was incarnate, laboured much, and at last laid down His life for sinners. I thought, What love is this and here I make my resting-place.” He then spoke of the great difference between Christ and the idols of his countrymen. “Now,” said he, “say if anything like this love was ever shown by any of your gods? Did Doorga, or Kalee, or Krishna die for sinners? You know that they only sought their own ease, and had no love for any one.”

“The Fall is greater mystery than the Redemption. He who has had experience of the one may well accept the revelation of the other.” — Dr. C. Vaughan

He entered my life 20 years ago, leaning against the doorjamb of Room 202, where I taught fifth grade. He wore sneakers three sizes too large and checkered pants ripped at the knees.

Daniel made this undistinguished entrance in the school of a quaint lakeside village known for its old money, white colonial homes and brass mailboxes. He told us his last school had been in a neighboring county. "We were pickin' fruit," he said matter-of-factly.

I suspected this friendly, scruffy, smiling boy from an emigrant family had no idea he had been thrown into a den of fifth-grade lions who had never before seen torn pants. If he noticed snickering, he didn't let on. There was no chip on his shoulder.

Twenty-five children eyed Daniel suspiciously until the kickball game that afternoon. Then he led off the first inning with a home run. With it came a bit of respect from the wardrobe critics of Room 202.

Next was Charles' turn. Charles was the least athletic, most overweight child in the history of fifth grade. After his second strike, amid the rolled eyes and groans of the class, Daniel edged up and spoke quietly to Charles' dejected back. "Forget them, kid. You can do it."

Charles warmed, smiled, stood taller and promptly struck out anyway. But at that precise moment, defying the social order of this jungle he had entered, Daniel gently began to change things - and us.

By autumn's end, we had all gravitated toward him. He taught us all kinds of lessons. How to call a wild turkey. How to tell whether fruit is ripe before that first bite. How to treat others, even Charles. Especially Charles. He never did use our names, calling me "Miss" and the students "kid."

The day before Christmas vacation, the students always brought gifts for the teacher. It was a ritual - opening each department-store box, surveying the expensive perfume or scarf or leather wallet, and thanking the child.

That afternoon, Daniel walked to my desk and bent close to my ear. "Our packing boxes came out last night," he said without emotion. "We're leavin' tomorrow."

As I grasped the news, my eyes filled with tears. He countered the awkward silence by telling me about the move. Then, as I regained my composure, he pulled a gray rock from his pocket. Deliberately and with great style, he pushed it gently across my desk.

I sensed that this was something remarkable, but all my practice with perfume and silk had left me pitifully unprepared to respond. "It's for you," he said, fixing his eyes on mine. "I polished it up special."

I've never forgotten that moment.

Years have passed since then. Each Christmas my daughter asks me to tell this story. It always begins after she picks up the small polished rock that sits on my desk. Then she nestles herself in my lap and I begin. The first words of the story never vary. "The last time I ever saw Daniel, he gave me this rock as a gift and told me about his boxes. That was a long time ago even before you were born.

"He's a grown-up now," I finish. Together we wonder where he is and what he has become.

"Someone good I bet," my daughter says. Then she adds, "Do the end of the story."

I know what she wants to hear - the lesson of love and caring learned by a teacher from a boy with nothing - and everything - to give. A boy who lived out of boxes. I touch the rock, remembering.

"Hi kid," I say softly. "This is Miss. I hope you no longer need the packing boxes. And Merry Christmas, wherever you are."

____________________

by Linda DeMers Hummel (c) 1992, from A 4th Course of Chicken Soup for the Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Hanoch McCarty and Meladee McCarty. Originally appeared in the December 22, 1992 issue of "Family Circle" entitled "Daniel's Gift" and appeared in the December 1994 issue of "Reader's Digest."

*

Are we losing Christmas?

No one wanted Jesus, it seemed. Arrogant kings and conniving thugs throughout the Old Testament sought to exterminate the Jews and sever the bloodline God established for the coming prince of peace. Before the angel appeared to him, Joseph determined he would privately divorce his pregnant fiancée Mary. Later, the innkeeper in Bethlehem didn't seem to care that Mary was on the verge of childbirth. The best he would offer was a stable that no doubt smelled of animal manure. Herod certainly didn't want Jesus. He murdered every boy two years of age or younger in and around Bethlehem in a bloody dragnet hoping to eliminate Him. The Jewish leadership of the day finally did what Herod couldn't do when they succeeded in having Him nailed to the cross.

Jesus was God's gift to mankind. Never has so great a gift been so poorly received. Never, that is, until now.

The attack on Christmas rages across our country with Herodian intensity. Instead of Herod's hit squads, constitutional revisionists use our legal system to wage their war. They stand on a faulty interpretation of the First Amendment and rigorously apply the idea of “separation between church and state,” a declaration never made in the Constitution and one never intended by the founding founders.

However, their double standard belies their logic and reveals that their true goal is not to prevent government from establishing a state religion but to expunge all things Christian from the marketplace.

The proof is in their actions. Within the past few weeks the New York City school system continued its ban on Christmas along with nativity scenes while simultaneously authorizing expressions of the Jewish Hanukkah and the Islamic Ramadan in hallways and classrooms. Hundreds of similar instances across our country verify the frequency of such attacks on Christmas.

Revisionists know that if they can kill Christmas they've greatly pushed Christianity from the center of our culture. They are willing to overlook the use of public funds that “endorse” other religions if they can exclude Christianity.

Christians can't let that happen. Christmas represents the focal point of divine incarnation. To ignore Christ's coming to earth through the virgin birth is to forfeit any opportunity mankind has for salvation. Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). It is that exclusivity that our culture finds offensive.

It is our duty -- it should be our passion -- to vigorously defend Christmas even in the face of such animosity. We must fight for Christmas on behalf of the very people who would like to silence it. We carry within us the message that He came in order to reconcile man to God. If Christians don't share that message, then “how can they call on Him in whom they have not believed? And how can they believe without hearing about Him” (Romans 10:14)?

Christmas represents the beginning of God's physical presence with us. It is easy to get lost in the story of a baby and the tranquility of the nativity scenes we display. Jesus in a manger could not save us, but the Man on the cross could -- and did. My father used to say that Christmas is not a time for remembering a small child but for following a magnificent Man.

The baby Jesus does not threaten secular culture; it's the Man the baby grew to be. Christian, don't leave Jesus in the manger this Christmas or cower to the brashness of secularists. Imitate the angel of Luke 2:10 and boldly announce “the good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”

*

TAMPA, Florida - With wads of cash strapped to his body and hoping to make some people happy, Kevin Shelton gave away $1 bills while strolling through a mall.

In two hours, Shelton says he gave away about $7,000 - with only smiles and "thank yous" to show for it.

"It's what I choose to do," he said Friday after the cash giveaway. "I think it's making an impact."

Shelton, 32, says he earned his money buying and selling real estate in the Tampa Bay area.

Reactions at the International Plaza varied - from hugs to lectures for not giving the money to the poor.

Most shoppers happily took the free money and walked away giggling. Some vowed to give it away. Others planned to buy a lottery ticket.

Shelton began doling out cash last year as a way to brighten people's day and spark generosity. He swears it's not a gimmick. He says he doesn't keep track of what he gives away, but guesses it's in the tens of thousands.

*

Ask any butterfly if God has changed its life, and the answer will be a resounding YES! But according to the respected Gallup and Barna research organizations, you wouldn’t get the same response from the average American who believes in Christ.

Sadly, recent research from both Gallup and Barna indicates that the decision to follow Christ makes surprisingly little difference in how the average American believer lives. It doesn’t change where they spend their time or how they arrange their priorities. It doesn’t affect their integrity at work, their sexual expression, their commitment to marriage, or their principles of parenting.

Why? Most likely it’s because these believers got a little bit of the Easter story, but never fully understood the foundational truths of what was accomplished by Christ’s death and resurrection. And that’s the core, the basis for the metamorphosis of the believer. And without that, there’s no real change.

Perhaps you’ve faced a similar struggle. Perhaps you went to camp or a church service and prayed to receive Christ. Then you tried hard to be good for three or four days, or weeks, or years. But you’ve realized that you’re still sinning a lot. You’re still struggling with the same stuff. It sure is hard. You want to change, but you feel as if you’re still stuck in the cocoon.

If that’s where you are today, or if that describes someone you know, what I’m about to share is going to be a tremendous blessing for you. Here are five principles of metamorphosis, of life change, that I believe can help bring you or any believer out of the cocoon and into a transformed life.

Principle #1: Life Change Always Begins with the Truth

Life change, real life change, is always rooted in the truth. And the first truth you have to understand is that the power to live a new life was made possible by Christ’s death and resurrection. Christ broke the power of sin so you are no longer its captive.

God wants you to change. He wants you to walk in a manner worthy of your calling. But He’s not asking you to try harder or do better. Christianity isn’t about a code of ethics. Christianity is about a relationship with Christ, and part of being in that relationship is receiving from Him the power to change.

Principle #2: Life Change Demands That We Act on the Truth

Christ won the victory over sin, but you don’t become a co-partaker of Christ’s victory until the moment you receive Christ as your personal savior by faith. The moment that happens, your past is put behind you, the spirit of God comes in, and your sins are forgiven. You are in Christ.

Principle #3: Life Change Is a Gift

You can’t change on your own. Sure, you can discipline your life. You can make some progress. But only God can change your life from the inside out. Only God can make you into the mom or dad that your kids never dreamed they could have. Only God can make you love your spouse unconditionally, even if you get nothing in return. That’s supernatural power. That’s radical change. That’s the gift of God!

Principle #4: Life Change Is a Responsibility

But with the gift comes responsibility. Every believer is given a spiritual gift, a supernatural enabling, at the moment of salvation. It’s a sacred trust given to you for the purpose of service. It’s given to you to fit exactly who you are so that your life and purpose will achieve God’s highest glory and bring about the greatest joy in your life.

Principle #5: Life Change Never Happens in Isolation

I don’t know why, but God uses the spiritual gifts He gives us to work the gift of supernatural change in others. That’s why He chooses to have us live in community together, love each other, and operate out of our giftedness in a way that transformation occurs. The gifts God gives us supply what others need to change into the likeness of Christ.

So if you’ve already experienced life change, I encourage you today to actively use your spiritual gifts to help others experience the same transformation. And if you’re still stuck in the cocoon, I hope you understand that Christ’s death and resurrection defeated sin, death, and Satan. Act by faith today. Repent from your old way of thinking, be transformed by the power of God, and discover life outside of the cocoon!