2009FlightcI hope you are not offended by politically incorrect humor. There is a bit of it in this years articles and in later years'articles as well.

It’s been 10 years since US Airways Flight 1549 landed in the Hudson, with no deaths and only minor injuries.The date and time was January 15, 209 7:38 am. The pilot was Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger.

January

Two Views

You say:

It's impossible

God says:

All things are possible

The Proof

(Luke 18:27)

'I'm too tired

I will give you rest

(Matthew 11:28-30)

Nobody really loves me

I love you

(John 3:1-6 & John 3:34

I can't go on

My grace is sufficient

(II Corinthians 12:9 & Psalm 91:15)

'I can't figure things out

I will direct your steps

(Proverbs 3:5-6)

I can't do it

You can do all things

(Philippians 4:13)

I'm not able

I am able

(II Corinthians 9:8)

It's not worth it

It will be worth it

(Roman 8:28 )

I can't forgive myself

I Forgive you

(I John 1:9 & Romans 8:1)

I can't manage

I will supply all your needs

(Philippians 4:19)

I'm afraid

I have not given you a spirit of fear

(II Timothy 1:7)

I'm always worried and frustrated

Cast all your cares on ME

(I Peter 5:7)

I'm not smart enough

I give you wisdom

(I Corinthians 1:30)

I feel all alone

I will never leave you or forsake you

(Hebrews 13:5)

 

Author'current comment; The following may seem politically incorrect to some, offensive to some, but is intended to be funny for all. I think it is good to sometimes make fun of ourselves..

Question: How many Christians does it take to change a light bulb?

Charismatic: Only 1 - Hands are already in the air.

Pentecostal: 10 - One to change the bulb, nine to pray against the spirit of darkness.

Presbyterians: None -Lights will go on and off at predestined times.

Roman Catholic: None - Candles only. (of guaranteed origin of course.)

Baptists: At least 15 -One to change the bulb, and three committees to approve the change and decide who brings the potato salad and fried chicken.

Episcopalians: 3 - One to call the electrician, one to mix the drinks, and one to talk about how much better the old one was.

Mormons: 5 -One man to change the bulb, and four wives to tell him how to do it.

Unitarians: We choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb. However, if in your journey you have found that light bulbs work for you, you are invited to write a poem or compose a modern dance about your light bulb for the next Sunday service, in which we will explore a number of light bulb traditions, including incandescent, fluorescent, 3-way, long-life, and tinted, all of which are equally valid paths to luminescence.

Methodists: Undetermined – Whether your light is bright, dull, or completely out, you are loved. You can be a light bulb, turnip bulb, or tulip bulb. Bring a bulb of your choice to the Sunday lighting service and a covered dish to pass.

Nazarene: 6 – One woman to replace the bulb while five men review church lighting policy.

Lutherans: None – Lutherans don’t believe in change.

Amish: What’s a light bulb?

There was no February issue.

March

The Holy Alphabet

Although things are not perfect

No weapon that is known

Because of trial or pain

On earth can yield the power

Continue in thanksgiving

Praise can do alone

Do not begin to blame

Quit looking at the future

Even when the times are hard

Redeem the time at hand

Fierce winds are bound to blow

Start every day with worship

God is forever able

To 'thank' is a command

Hold on to what you know

Until we see Him coming

Imagine life without His love

Victorious in the sky

Joy would cease to be

We'll run the race with gratitude

Keep thanking Him for all the things

Xalting God most high

Love imparts to thee

Yes, there'll be good times and yes, some will be bad, but...

Move out of ‘Camp Complaining'

Zion waits in glory...where none is ever sad!

 

 

The shortest distance between a problem and a solution is the distance between your knees and the floor. The one who kneels to the Lord can stand up to anything. Love and peace be with you forever.    Amen.

 *It's Spring Planting Time*

Plant five rows of peas: preparedness, promptness, perseverance, politeness, prayer.

Next, plant three rows of squash: squash gossip, squash criticism, squash indifference.

Then plant five rows of lettuce: let us be faithful, let us be loyal, let us be unselfish, let us love one another, let us be truthful.

No garden is complete without turnips: turn up for church, turn up with a smile, turn up with a new idea, turn up with real determination.

Author Unknown

There was no April issue.

May 

Honesty; If we believed TV ads for auto insurance, we could change companies about six times and save so much money that the last one would be paying us to insure us. Most of our family, friends, and neighbors are more honest than that. However, there is only one we can trust to be completely truthful and honest with us all the time, our Lord, Jesus Christ. 

Short Story; There is the first part of a very good short story in this issue. Future issues of the Chatter will continue the story. If you like it, please do not share it with anyone. Instead ask them to come to church for their very own copy. If we run out, I will be happy to print more. Also, since no one knows when the next issue will come out everyone must come to church every Sunday, or they may miss an episode.

 

The Old Man and the Dog
by Catherine Moore

"Watch out! You nearly broad-sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions and had placed often.

The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his powers.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.

At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room... He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.

Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.

Alarmed, Dick sought o out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.

But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.

“Continued in the next issue”

There was no June issue.

 July 

Short Story (Continued) –The second part of the short story is in this issue. Future issues of the Chatter will continue the story.

The Old Man and the Dog
by Catherine Moore

“Continued from the last issue”

Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."

I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog  in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.

Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention.. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?"

The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"

"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy... We don't have room for every
unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said..

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"

Dad ignored me.. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. 

“Continued in the next issue”

August

Take my Son; A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art. When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son. About a month later there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.

He said, “Sir, you don’t know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day. He was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart. He died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.” The young man held out this package. “I know this isn’t much. I’m not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.”

The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. “Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It’s a gift.” The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection. On the platform was the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. “We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?”

There was silence. Then a voice shouted, “We want to see the famous paintings. Skip that one.”

But the auctioneer persisted. “Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100? $200?”

Another voice angrily said,. “We didn’t come to buy that painting. We came to for the Van Gogh’s and the Rembrandt’s. Get on with the real bids!”

But the auctioneer continued. “The son! The son! Who’ll take the son?”

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. “I’ll give $10 for the painting. It’s all I have.”

We have $10, who will bid $20?”

“Give it to him for $10. Let’s see the masters.”

The crowd was becoming angry. They didn’t want the picture of the son. They wanted the worthier investments for their collections. The auctioneer pounded the gavel. “Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!”

A man sitting on the second row shouted, “Now let’s get on with the collection!”

The auctioneer laid down his gavel. “I’m sorry, the auction is over.”

“What about the paintings?” someone asked.

“I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal it until now. Only the painting of the son was to be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings. The man who took the son gets everything!”

God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is, “The son, the son, who’ll take the son?” Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.

FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON, WHO SO EVER BELIEVETH, SHALL HAVE ETERNAL LIFE. THAT”S LOVE.

 

Short Story; The last part of the short story is in this issue. More short stories may follow.

 

The Old Man and the Dog
by Catherine Moore

“Conluded from the last issue”

At those words, Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.

We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room.. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this
some have entertained angels without knowing it."

"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article....

Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter, his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. And the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

The End

There was no September issue. 

October

Phones in Church?; A man in Topeka, Kansas decided to write a book about churches around the country. He started by flying to San Francisco and started working east from there.

Going to a very large church, he began taking photographs and making notes. He spotted a golden telephone on the vestibule wall and was intrigued with a sign, which read "Calls: $10,000 a minute."

Seeking out the pastor he asked about the phone and the sign. The pastor answered that this golden phone is, in fact, a direct line to heaven and if he pays the price, he can talk directly to GOD.

The man thanked the pastor and continued on his way. As he continued to visit churches in Seattle, Dallas, St. Louis , Chicago , Milwaukee , and many cities and towns all around the United States , he found more phones, with the same sign, and the same answer from each pastor.

Finally, he arrived in Kentucky, upon entering a church in the beautiful Bluegrass region of Kentucky, behold - he saw the usual golden telephone. But THIS time, the sign read, "Calls: 35 cents."

Fascinated, he asked to talk to the pastor, "Reverend, I have been in cities all across the country and in each church I have found this golden telephone and have been told it is a direct line to Heaven and that I could talk to GOD, but in the other churches the cost was $10,000 a minute. Your sign reads only 35 cents a call. Why?"

The pastor, smiling broadly, replied, "Son, you're in Kentucky now. You're in God's Country. It's a local call."

 

November

Thanksgiving or Thanksgiving Day, presently celebrated on the fourth Thursday in November, has been an annual tradition in the United States since 1863. It did not become a federal holiday until 1941. Thanksgiving was historically a religious observation to give thanks to God, and is still celebrated as such by many families, but it is now also considered a secular holiday as well.

The date and location of the first Thanksgiving celebration is a topic of modest contention. Though the earliest attested Thanksgiving celebration was on September 8, 1565 in what is now Saint Augustine, Florida[, the traditional "first Thanksgiving" is venerated as having occurred at the site of Plymouth Plantation, in 1621.

Most Americans celebrate by gathering at home with family or friends for a holiday feast. Though the holiday's origins can be traced to harvest festivals which have been celebrated in many cultures since ancient times, the American holiday is tied to the deliverance of the English settlers by Native Americans after the harsh winter at Plymouth, Massachusetts and that event has become the pre-eminent foundation story for English North America.

The First Thanksgiving was celebrated to give thanks to God and the Native Americans for helping the pilgrims survive the brutal winter. Although half of the pilgrims who arrived on the Mayflower had already died, many more would have had it not been for the native Americans teaching the pilgrims to harvest foods. The first Thanksgiving feast lasted three whole days providing enough food for 53 pilgrims and 90 Indians. The traditional Thanksgiving menu often features turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie. Americans may eat these foods on modern day Thanksgiving, but the first feast did not consist of these items. On the first feast turkey was any type of fowl that the pilgrims hunted. Pumpkin pie wasn't on the menu because there were no ovens for baking, but they did have boiled pumpkin. Cranberries weren't introduced at this time. Due to the diminishing supply of flour there was no bread of any kind. The foods included in the first feast included duck, geese, venison, fish, lobster, clams, swan, berries, dried fruit, pumpkin, squash, and many more vegetables.

From Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia

 December 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year; I hope all of you and yours had a very merry Christmas. I also want all of us to have a very happy new year full of wondrous happenings.

Rules from God for 2010

  1. Wake Up! Decide to have a good day. "Today is the day the Lord hath made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalms 118:24
  2. Dress Up! The best way to dress up is to put on a smile. A smile is an inexpensive way to improve your looks. "The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at outward appearance; but the Lord looks at the heart." I Samuel 16:7
  3. Shut Up! Say nice things and learn to listen. God gave us two ears and one mouth, so He must have meant for us to do twice as much listening as talking. "He who guards his lips guards his soul." Proverbs 13:3
  4. Stand Up! For what you believe in. Stand for something or you will fall for anything. "Let us not be weary in doing good; for at the proper time, we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good." Galatians 6:9-10
  5. Look Up! To the Lord. "I can do everything through Christ who strengthens me." Philippians 4:13
  6. Reach Up! For something higher. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not unto your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him, And He will direct your path." Proverbs 3:5-6
  7. Lift Up! Your Prayers. "Do not worry about anything. Instead PRAY ABOUT EVERYTHING." Philippians 4:6

Modern Times; When I was a boy, there were only two channels and I had a hard time deciding between Ed Sullivan and the Comedy Hour. Now I have 248 channels and there’s nothing good on. – From Reminisce magazine.