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He placed one scoop of clay upon another until a form lay lifeless on the ground.

All of the Garden’s inhabitants paused to witness the event. Hawks hovered. Giraffes stretched. Trees bowed. Butterflies paused on petals and watched.

“You will love me, nature,” God said. “I made you that way. You will obey me, universe. For you were designed to do so. You will reflect my glory, skies, for that is how you were created. But this one will be like me. This one will be able to choose.”

All were silent as the Creator reached into himself and removed something yet unseen. A seed. “It’s called ‘choice.’ The seed of choice.”

Creation stood in silence and gazed upon the lifeless form.

An angel spoke, “But what if he…”

“What if he chooses not to love?” the Creator finished. “Come, I will show you.” Unbound by today, God and the angel walked into the realm of tomorrow. “There, see the fruit of the seed of choice, both the sweet and the bitter.”

The angel gasped at what he saw. Spontaneous love. Voluntary devotion. Chosen tenderness. Never had he seen anything like these. He felt the love of the Adams. He heard the joy of Eve and her daughters.

He saw the food and the burdens shared. He absorbed the kindness and marveled at the warmth.

“Heaven has never seen such beauty, my Lord. Truly, this is your greatest creation.”

“Ah, but you’ve only seen the sweet. Now witness the bitter.” A stench enveloped the pair. The angel turned in horror and proclaimed,

“What is it?”

The Creator spoke only one word: “Selfishness.”

The angel stood speechless as they passed through centuries of repugnance. Never had he seen such filth. Rotten hearts. Ruptured promises. Forgotten loyalties. Children of the creation wandering blindly in lonely labyrinths.

“This is the result of choice? the angel asked.


“They will forget you?”


“They will reject you?”


They will never come back?

“Some will. Most won’t.”

“What will it take to make them listen?”

The Creator walked on in time, further and further into the future, until he stood by a tree. A tree that would be fashioned into a cradle. Even then he could smell the hay that would surround him.

With another step into the future, he paused before another tree. It stood alone, a stubborn ruler on a bald hill. The trunk was thick, and the wood was strong. Soon it would be cut. Soon it would be trimmed. Soon it would be mounted on the stony brow of another hill. And soon he would be hung on it.

He felt the wood rub against a back he did not yet wear.

“Will you go down there?” the angel asked.

“I will.”

“Is there no other way?”

“There is not.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to not plant the seed? Wouldn’t it be easier to not give the choice?”

“It would,” the Creator spoke slowly. “But to remove the choice is to remove the love.”

He look around the hill and foresaw a scene. Three figures hung on three crosses. Arms spread. Heads fallen forward. They moaned with the wind. Men clad in soldier’s garb sat on the ground near the trio. They played games in the dirt and laughed.

Men clad in religion stood off to one side. They smiled. Arrogant, cocky. They had protected God, they thought by killing this false one.

Women clad in sorrow huddled at the foot of the hill. Speechless. Faces tear streaked. Eyes downward. One put her arm around another and tried to lead her away. She wouldn’t leave. “I will stay,” she said softly, “I will stay.”

All heaven stood to fight. All nature rose to rescue. All eternity poised to protect. But the Creator gave no command.

“It must be done…,” he said, and withdrew.

But as he stepped in time, he heard the cry that he would someday scream: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He wrenched at tomorrow’s agony.

The angel spoke again. “It would be less painful……..”

The Creator interrupted softly. “But it wouldn’t be love.”

They stepped into the Garden again. The Maker looked earnestly at the clay creation. A monsoon of love swelled up within him. He had died for the creation before he had made him. God’s form bent over the sculptured face and breathed. Dust stirred on the lips of the new one. The chest rose, cracking the red mud. The cheeks fleshened. A finger moved. And an eye opened.

But more incredible than the moving of the flesh was the stirring of the spirit.

Those who could see the unseen gasped. Perhaps it was the wind that said it first. Perhaps what the star saw that moment is what has made it blink ever since.

Maybe it was left to an angel to whisper it:

“It looks like … it appears to so much like … it is him!”

The angel wasn’t speaking of the face, the features, or the body. He was looking inside – at the soul.

“It’s eternal!” gasped another.

Within the man, God has placed a divine seed. A seed of his self (A seed of choice). The God of might had created earth’s mightiest… And the One who had chosen to love had created one who could love in return.

Now it’s our choice.

~ from the book “In The Eye of The Storm” by Max Lucado

Bill's Note:

John 3:16  says it all

BillGlenney May 12 '16
J esus, Son of God Eternal

E verlasting Lord is He,
S avior of a world of sinners,
U niversal King to be,
S ought us, brought us victory.

C hrist is due all adoration,
H umbly born to save our race,
R uler of the whole creation
I ntercedes and gives us grace,
S aves us from sin’s condemnation,
T ruly worthy of all praise!

~ Author Unknown

BillGlenney May 2 '16 · Tags: jesus christ
In the city of Chicago, one cold, dark night, a blizzard was setting in. A little boy was selling newspapers on the corner, the people were in and out of the cold. The little boy was so cold that he wasn’t trying to sell many papers. He walked up to a policeman and said, “Mister, you wouldn’t happen to know where a poor boy could find a warm place to sleep tonight would you? You see, I sleep in a box up around the corner there and down the alley and it’s awful cold in there, of a night. Sure would be nice to have a warm place to stay.”

The policeman looked down at the little boy and said, “You go down the street to that big white house and you knock on the door. When they come out the door you just say John 3:16 and they will let you in.”

So he did, he walked up the steps to the door, and knocked on the door and a lady answered. He looked up and said, “John 3:16.”

The lady said “Come on in, Son.” She took him in and she sat him down in a split bottom rocker in front of a great big old fireplace and she went off.

He sat there for a while, and thought to himself “John 3:16…. I don’t understand it, but it sure makes a cold boy warm.”

Later she came back and asked him “Are you hungry?”

He said, “Well, just a little. I haven’t eaten in a couple of days and I guess I could stand a little bit of food.” The lady took him in the kitchen and sat him down to a table full of wonderful food. He ate and ate until he couldn’t eat any more. Then he thought to himself “John 3:16… Boy, I sure don’t understand it, but it sure makes a hungry boy full.”

She took him upstairs to a bathroom to a huge bathtub filled with warm water and he sat there and soaked for a while. As he soaked, he thought to himself, “John 3:16… I sure don’t understand it, but it sure makes a dirty boy clean. You know, I’ve not had a bath, a real bath, in my whole life. The only bath I ever had was when I stood in front of that big old fire hydrant as they flushed it out.”

The lady came in and got him, and took him to a room and tucked him into a big old feather bed and pulled the covers up around his neck and kissed him goodnight and turned out the lights. As he laid in the darkness and looked out the window at the snow coming down on that cold night he thought to himself, “John 3:16… I don’t understand it, but it sure makes a tired boy rested.”

The next morning she came back up and took him down again to that same big table full of food. After he ate she took him back to that same big old split bottom rocker in front of the fireplace and she took a big old Bible and sat down in front of him and she looked up at and she asked “Do you understand John 3:16?”

He said, “No, Ma’am, I don’t. The first time I ever heard it was last night when the policeman told me to use it.”

She opened her Bible to John 3:16 , and she began to explain to him about Jesus. Right there in front of that big old fireplace he gave his heart and life to Jesus. He sat there and thought, “John 3:16. I don’t understand it, but it but it sure makes a lost boy feel safe.”

You know, I have to confess I don’t understand it either, how God would be willing to send His Son to die for me, and how Jesus would agree to do such a thing. I don’t understand it either, but it sure does make Life worth living.

— Author Unknown

John 3:16 – 18
16. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. 17. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. 18. He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.

BillGlenney May 2 '16

A few years ago a group of salesmen went to a regional sales convention in Chicago. They had assured their wives that they would be home in plenty of time for Friday night's dinner.

In their rush, with tickets and brief-cases, one of these salesmen inadvertently kicked over a table which held a display of baskets of apples. Apples flew everywhere. Without stopping or looking back, they all managed to reach the plane in time for their nearly missed boarding. All but one. He paused, took a deep breath, got in touch with his feelings, and experienced a twinge of compassion for the girl whose apple stand had been overturned.

He told his buddies to go on without him, waved goodbye, told one of them to call his wife when they arrived at their home destination and explain his taking a later flight. Then he returned to the terminal where the apples were all over the terminal floor.

He was glad he did.

The 16 year old girl was totally blind! She was softly crying, tears running down her cheeks in frustration, and at the same time helplessly groping for her spilled produce as the crowd swirled about her, no one stopping, and no one to care for her plight.

The salesman knelt on the floor with her, gathered up the apples, put them into the baskets, and helped set the display up once more. As he did this, he noticed that many of them had become battered and bruised; these he set aside in another basket.

When he had finished, he pulled out his wallet and said to the girl, "Here, please take this $20 for the damage we did. Are you okay?"

She nodded through her tears. He continued on with, "I hope we didn't spoil your day too badly."

As the salesman started to walk away, the bewildered blind girl called out to him, "Mister...." He paused and turned to look back into those blind eyes.

She continued, "Are you Jesus?"

He stopped in mid-stride, and he wondered. Then slowly he made his way to catch the later flight with that question burning and bouncing about in his soul: "Are you Jesus?"

That's our destiny, is it not? To be so much like Jesus that people cannot tell the difference as we live and interact with a world that is blind to His love, life and grace.

If we claim to know Him, we should live, walk and act as He would. Knowing Him is more than simply quoting Scripture and going to church. It's actually living the Word as life unfolds day to day. You are the apple of His eye even though we, too, have been bruised by a fall. He stopped what He was doing and picked you and me up on a hill called Calvary and paid in full for our damaged fruit.

Let us live like we are worth the price He paid.

-- Author Unknown

BillGlenney Mar 24 '16

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where 

I live.  I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever 

the world  begins to close in on me.  She was building a sand castle or 

something  and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

"Hello," she said..  


I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small 



"I'm building," she said.  


"I see that.  What is it?"  I asked, not really caring.  


"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."   

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.  


A sandpiper glided by.  


"That's a joy," the child said.  


"It's a what?"  

"It's a joy.  My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."    

The bird went gliding down the beach.  Good-bye joy, I muttered to 

myself,  hello pain, and turned to walk on.  I was depressed, my life 

seemed  completely out of balance.  

"What's your name?"  She wouldn't give up.  

"Robert," I answered.  "I'm Robert Peterson."  

"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."  

"Hi, Wendy."  

She giggled.  "You're funny," she said.    

In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.  

Her musical giggle followed me.  

"Come again, Mr. P," she called..  "We'll have another happy day."  

The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA 

meetings,  and an ailing mother.  The sun was shining one morning 

as I took my hands out  of the dishwater.  I need a sandpiper, I said 

to myself, gathering up my coat. 

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me.  The breeze was  

chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.  

"Hello, Mr. P," she said.  "Do you want to play?"  

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.  

"I don't know.  You say."     

"How about charades?"  I asked sarcastically.   


The tinkling laughter burst forth again.  "I don't know what that is."   


"Then let's just walk."  

Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.  

"Where do you live?" I asked.   


"Over there."  She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.   


Strange, I thought, in winter.   


"Where do you go to school?"  


"I don't go to school.  Mommy says we're on vacation"   


She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind 

was  on other things.  When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a 

happy day.  

Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.  

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic.  I was 

in no  mood to even greet Wendy.  I thought I saw her mother on the 

porch and felt  like demanding she keep her child at home.   


"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, 

I'd  rather be alone today."  She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.  


"Why?" she asked.   


I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought,  

My God, why was I saying this to a little child?   


"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."   


"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!"   


"Did it hurt?" she inquired.   


"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.   


"When she died?"   


"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding,  

wrapped up in myself.  I strode off.   


A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.  

Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up  

to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door.  A drawn looking  

young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.   


"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson.  I missed your little girl today  

and wondered where she was."   


"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in.  Wendy spoke of you so much.  

I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you.  If she was a nuisance,  

please, accept my apologies."   


"Not at all --! she's a delightful child."  I said, suddenly realizing  

that I meant what I had just said.  


"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson.  She had leukemia 

Maybe she didn't tell you."   


Struck dumb, I groped for a chair.  I had to catch my breath.  


"She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.  

She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy 

days.  But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "

She left something for you, if only I can find it.  Could you wait a 

moment while I look?"   


I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely 

young  woman..  She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" 

printed in bold  childish letters.  Inside was a drawing in bright crayon 

hues -- a yellow beach,  a blue sea, and a brown bird..  Underneath 

was carefully printed:   




Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to 

love  opened wide.  I took Wendy's mother in my arms.  "I'm so sorry, 

I'm so sorry,  I'm so sorry," I uttered over and over, and we wept together.  

The precious little  picture is framed now and hangs in my study.  Six 

words -- one for each year  of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, 

courage, and undemanding love.   


A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand  

-- who taught me the gift of love.  


NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson.  It happened 

over 20  years ago and the incident changed his life forever.  It serves 

as a reminder  to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and 

life and each other.  The price of hating other human beings is loving 

oneself less.   


Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas  

can make us lose focus about what is truly important  

or what is only a momentary setback or crisis.   


This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all 

means,  take a moment... even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell 

the roses.   


This comes from someone's heart, and is read by many   

and now I share it with you..  

May God Bless everyone who receives this!  There are NO coincidences!   


Everything that happens to us happens for a reason.  Never brush aside

anyone as insignificant.  Who knows what they can teach us?  


I wish for you, a sandpiper. 

David Mar 15 '16 · Rate: 5 · Tags: child, love, life, death, caring
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