Have you ever been just sitting there and all of a sudden you feel like doing something nice for someone you care for. . .
THAT'S GOD. . . He talks to you through the Holy Spirit.
Have you ever been down and out and nobody seems to be around for you to talk to. . .
THAT'S GOD ... . . He wants you to talk to Him.
Have you ever been thinking about somebody that you haven't seen in a long time and then next thing you know you see them or receive a phone call from them. . .
THAT'S GOD ... . . there is no such thing as coincidence.
Have you ever received something wonderful that you didn't even ask for, like money in the mail, a debt that had mysteriously been cleared, or a coupon to a department store where you had just seen something you wanted, but couldn't afford. . .
THAT'S GOD. ... . He knows the desires of your heart. . .
Have you ever been in a situation and you had no clue how it is going to get better,
but now you look back on it. . .
THAT'S GOD. ... . He passes us through tribulation to see a brighter day. . .
In all that we do, we should totally give HIM thanks and our blessings will continue to multiply. This message was sent to me by a close friend so please pass it on to all of your good friends.
Keep this going for an eternity.
NOW THAT'S GOD!!!!!!!!
Don't tell GOD how big your storm is.
Tell the storm how big your GOD is!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Can't find HIM? He'll find you..
First day in the morning at the office I open my email and I was intrigue by this email from my group. It says 'Can't find HIM? He'll find you...' since its a long email I disregarded it but it came to me that I need to read it and so i did. It is a true story and is not enhanced for publicity purposes. With thanks, Rev. John Powell, Professor, Loyola University , Chicago. This is the email claims but whether it is a true or not i was moved by Tommy and I wanted to share his story to anyone.The story goes like this:
Father John Powell, professor at Loyola University in Chicago,
writes about a student in his Theology of Faith class named Tommy;
Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file
into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith.
That was the day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind both
blinked. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches
below his shoulders.
It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that long. I
guess it was just coming into fashion then. I know in my mind that it
isn't what's on your head but what's in it that counts; but on that day I was unprepared and my emotions flipped. I immediately filed Tommy under "S" for strange...very strange.
Tommy turned out to be the "atheist in residence" in my Theology of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at, or whined about the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father/God. We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the back pew.
When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final exam,
he asked in a cynical tone, "Do you think I'll ever find God?"
I decided instantly on a little shock therapy. "No!" I said very emphatically.
"Why not," he responded, "I thought that was the product you were pushing."
I let him get five steps from the classroom door and then called
out, "Tommy! I don't think you'll ever find Him, but I am absolutely
certain that He will find you!" He shrugged a little and left my class and my life.
I felt slightly disappointed at the thought that he had missed my
clever line -- He will find you! At least I thought it was clever. Later I heard that Tommy had graduated, and I was duly grateful.
Then a sad report came. I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer.
Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into
my office, his body was very badly wasted and the long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy. But his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first time, I believe. "Tommy, I've thought about you so often; I hear you are sick," I blurted out.
"Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It's a matter of weeks."
"Can you talk about it, Tom?" I asked.
"Sure, what would you like to know?" he replied.
"What's it like to be only twenty-four and dying?"
"Well, it could be worse."
"Like what?"
"Well, like being fifty and having no values or ideals, like being
fifty and thinking that booze, seducing women, and making money are
the real biggies in life."
I began to look through my mental file cabinet under "S" where I had filed Tommy as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by classification, God sends back into my life to educate me.)
"But what I really came to see you about," Tom said, "is something
you said to me on the last day of class." (He remembered!) He
continued, "I asked you if you thought
I would ever find God and you said, 'No!' which surprised me. Then
you said, 'But He will find you.' I thought about that a lot, even
though my search for God was hardly intense at that time.
(My clever line. He thought about that a lot!)
"But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me that
it was malignant, that's when I got serious about locating God. And
when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven. But God did not come out. In fact, nothing
happened. Did you ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with trying. And then you quit "Well, one day I woke up, and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there, I just quit.
I decided that I didn't really care about God, about an after life, or anything like that. I decided to spend what time
I had left doing something more profitable. I thought about you
and your class and I remembered something else you had said: 'The essential sadness is to go through life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them.'"
"So, I began with the hardest one, my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him. "Dad."
"Yes, what?" he asked without lowering the newspaper.
"Dad, I would like to talk with you."
"Well, talk."
"I mean .. It's really important."
The newspaper came down three slow inches. "What is it?"
"Dad, I love you, I just wanted you to know that." Tom smiled at
me and said it with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and
secret joy flowing inside of him. "The newspaper fluttered to the
floor. Then my father did two things I could never remember him ever doing before. He cried and he hugged me. We talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me."
"It was easier with my mother and little brother. They cried with
me, too, and we hugged each other, and started saying real nice things
to each other. We shared the things we had been keeping secret for so many years.
"I was only sorry about one thing --- that I had waited so long.
Here I was, just beginning to open up to all the people I had
actually been close to.
"Then, one day I turned around and God was there. He didn't come
to me when I pleaded with Him. I guess I was like an animal trainer
holding out a hoop, 'C'mon, jump through. C'mon, I'll give you three days, three weeks.'"
"Apparently God does things in His own way and at His own hour.. But the important thing is that He was there. He found me!
You were right. He found me even after I stopped looking for Him"
"Tommy," I practically gasped, "I think you are saying something very important and much more universal than you realize.
To me, at least, you are saying that the surest way to find God is
not to make Him a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant
consolation in time of need, but rather by opening to love. You know, the Apostle
John said that. He said: 'God is love, and anyone who lives in love
is living with God and God is living in him.'
Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you in class
you were a real pain. But (laughingly) you can make it all up to me now. Would you come into my present Theology of Faith course and tell them what you have just told me? If I told them the same thing it wouldn't be half as effective as if you were to tell it"
"Oooh... I was ready for you, but I don't know if I'm ready for your class."
"Tom, think about it. If and when you are ready, give me a call."
In a few days Tom called, said he was ready for the class, that he wanted to do that for God and for me. So we scheduled a date.
However, he never made it. He had another appointment, far more
important than the one with me and my class. Of course, his life was
not really ended by his death, only changed. He made the great step from faith into vision.
He found a life far more beautiful than the eye of man has ever
seen or the ear of man has ever heard or the mind of man has ever
imagined.
Before he died, we talked one last time.
"I'm not going to make it to your class," he said.
"I know, Tom."
"Will you tell them for me? Will you ... tell the whole world for me?"
I will, Tom. I'll tell them. I'll do my best."
So, to all of you who have been kind enough to read this simple story about God's love, thank you for listening. And to you, Tommy, somewhere in the sunlit, verdant hills of heaven --- I told them, Tommy, as best I could.
Father John Powell, professor at Loyola University in Chicago,
writes about a student in his Theology of Faith class named Tommy;
Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file
into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith.
That was the day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind both
blinked. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches
below his shoulders.
It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that long. I
guess it was just coming into fashion then. I know in my mind that it
isn't what's on your head but what's in it that counts; but on that day I was unprepared and my emotions flipped. I immediately filed Tommy under "S" for strange...very strange.
Tommy turned out to be the "atheist in residence" in my Theology of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at, or whined about the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father/God. We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the back pew.
When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final exam,
he asked in a cynical tone, "Do you think I'll ever find God?"
I decided instantly on a little shock therapy. "No!" I said very emphatically.
"Why not," he responded, "I thought that was the product you were pushing."
I let him get five steps from the classroom door and then called
out, "Tommy! I don't think you'll ever find Him, but I am absolutely
certain that He will find you!" He shrugged a little and left my class and my life.
I felt slightly disappointed at the thought that he had missed my
clever line -- He will find you! At least I thought it was clever. Later I heard that Tommy had graduated, and I was duly grateful.
Then a sad report came. I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer.
Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into
my office, his body was very badly wasted and the long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy. But his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first time, I believe. "Tommy, I've thought about you so often; I hear you are sick," I blurted out.
"Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It's a matter of weeks."
"Can you talk about it, Tom?" I asked.
"Sure, what would you like to know?" he replied.
"What's it like to be only twenty-four and dying?"
"Well, it could be worse."
"Like what?"
"Well, like being fifty and having no values or ideals, like being
fifty and thinking that booze, seducing women, and making money are
the real biggies in life."
I began to look through my mental file cabinet under "S" where I had filed Tommy as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by classification, God sends back into my life to educate me.)
"But what I really came to see you about," Tom said, "is something
you said to me on the last day of class." (He remembered!) He
continued, "I asked you if you thought
I would ever find God and you said, 'No!' which surprised me. Then
you said, 'But He will find you.' I thought about that a lot, even
though my search for God was hardly intense at that time.
(My clever line. He thought about that a lot!)
"But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me that
it was malignant, that's when I got serious about locating God. And
when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven. But God did not come out. In fact, nothing
happened. Did you ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with trying. And then you quit "Well, one day I woke up, and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there, I just quit.
I decided that I didn't really care about God, about an after life, or anything like that. I decided to spend what time
I had left doing something more profitable. I thought about you
and your class and I remembered something else you had said: 'The essential sadness is to go through life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them.'"
"So, I began with the hardest one, my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him. "Dad."
"Yes, what?" he asked without lowering the newspaper.
"Dad, I would like to talk with you."
"Well, talk."
"I mean .. It's really important."
The newspaper came down three slow inches. "What is it?"
"Dad, I love you, I just wanted you to know that." Tom smiled at
me and said it with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and
secret joy flowing inside of him. "The newspaper fluttered to the
floor. Then my father did two things I could never remember him ever doing before. He cried and he hugged me. We talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me."
"It was easier with my mother and little brother. They cried with
me, too, and we hugged each other, and started saying real nice things
to each other. We shared the things we had been keeping secret for so many years.
"I was only sorry about one thing --- that I had waited so long.
Here I was, just beginning to open up to all the people I had
actually been close to.
"Then, one day I turned around and God was there. He didn't come
to me when I pleaded with Him. I guess I was like an animal trainer
holding out a hoop, 'C'mon, jump through. C'mon, I'll give you three days, three weeks.'"
"Apparently God does things in His own way and at His own hour.. But the important thing is that He was there. He found me!
You were right. He found me even after I stopped looking for Him"
"Tommy," I practically gasped, "I think you are saying something very important and much more universal than you realize.
To me, at least, you are saying that the surest way to find God is
not to make Him a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant
consolation in time of need, but rather by opening to love. You know, the Apostle
John said that. He said: 'God is love, and anyone who lives in love
is living with God and God is living in him.'
Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you in class
you were a real pain. But (laughingly) you can make it all up to me now. Would you come into my present Theology of Faith course and tell them what you have just told me? If I told them the same thing it wouldn't be half as effective as if you were to tell it"
"Oooh... I was ready for you, but I don't know if I'm ready for your class."
"Tom, think about it. If and when you are ready, give me a call."
In a few days Tom called, said he was ready for the class, that he wanted to do that for God and for me. So we scheduled a date.
However, he never made it. He had another appointment, far more
important than the one with me and my class. Of course, his life was
not really ended by his death, only changed. He made the great step from faith into vision.
He found a life far more beautiful than the eye of man has ever
seen or the ear of man has ever heard or the mind of man has ever
imagined.
Before he died, we talked one last time.
"I'm not going to make it to your class," he said.
"I know, Tom."
"Will you tell them for me? Will you ... tell the whole world for me?"
I will, Tom. I'll tell them. I'll do my best."
So, to all of you who have been kind enough to read this simple story about God's love, thank you for listening. And to you, Tommy, somewhere in the sunlit, verdant hills of heaven --- I told them, Tommy, as best I could.
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