The Fablesmith

Years ago there was a young man in dire need of a job. Because he lacked experience, he was unqualified for most of the jobs for which he applied. He grew more discouraged with each rejection.

He perked up when he heard about a telegraph operator position available at a local company. Although he’d never operated a telegraph machine, as a boy he’d learned Morse Code from his grandfather.

But, his hopes were dashed as soon as he reached the reception area of the company. Chairs were already filled with applicants – all dressed much better than himself. No one sat at the reception desk, but a sign posted on it informed job applicants to fill out an application and have a seat until they were summoned to a nearby office for an interview. From the partially open door of the office, the tapping of a telegraph machine could be heard. The young man took a seat and completed the form.

He was called into the room for an interview and several minutes later he came back out with a smile and left the reception area.
  
The owner of the company followed him out as he left and he said, “Thanks so much for coming, ladies and gentlemen. I just hired someone for the job, so you may leave your completed forms on the desk as you depart.”

A gentleman who was impeccably dressed, stood up and protested, saying, “Hold on one minute. We’ve been sitting here for hours. None of us have been interviewed. How can you hired the last guy who walked in without speaking to any of us first?”

The owner of the company replied, “Well, while you were sitting here, the telegraph machine has been broadcasting your fate: “If you can understand this message, come into my office and the job will be yours.”

Tom Olson shares this little story in Christian Clippings:

An aviation cadet, temporarily stricken blind while on a practice flight, in panic radioed that message to his control officer. The officer radioed back, “Follow my instructions implicitly.”

After keeping the blinded cadet circling the field until the whole field was cleared and an ambulance had arrived, the control officer radioed: “Now lose altitude, now bank sharply. You’re coming onto the field now.”

The cadet brought his plane to a perfect landing, was saved, and later his sight returned.

All the Lord is asking of us is implicit obedience.

A letter written in a childish scrawl came to the post office addressed to “God”.

A postal employee, not knowing exactly what to do with the letter, opened it and read: “Dear God, my name is Jimmy. I am 6 years old. My father is dead and my mom is having a hard time raising me and my sister. Would you please send us $500?”

The postal employee was touched. He showed the letter to his fellow workers and they all decided to kick in a few dollars each and send it to the family. They were able to raise $300.

A couple of weeks later the same post office received a second letter addressed to God.

The boy thanked God for the recent infusion of cash, but ended with this request: “Next time, would you send the money directly to us? If you send it through the post office, they’ll deduct $200

The man slowly looked up. This was a woman clearly accustomed to the finer things of life. Her coat was new. She looked like she had never missed a meal in her life. His first thought was that she wanted to make fun of  him, like so many others had done before.

“Leave me alone,” he growled. To his amazement, the woman continued standing.  She was smiling — her even white teeth displayed in dazzling rows.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“No,” he answered sarcastically. “I’ve just come from dining with the president. Now go away.”

The woman’s smile became even broader.

Suddenly the man felt a gentle hand under his arm. “What are you doing, lady?” the man asked angrily.” I said to leave me alone.

Just then a policeman came up. “Is there any problem, ma’am?”  he asked.

“No problem here, officer,” the woman answered. “I’m just trying to get this man to his feet. Will you help me?”

The officer scratched his head. “That’s old Jack. He’s been a fixture around here for years. What do you want with him?”

“See that cafeteria over there?” she asked. “I’m going to get him something to eat and get him out of the cold for a while.”

“Are you crazy, lady?” The homeless man resisted. “I don’t want to go in there!” Then he felt strong hands grab his other arm and lift him up. “Let me go officer. I didn’t do anything.”

“This is a good deal for you, Jack,” the officer answered. “Don’t blow it.”  

Finally, and with some difficulty, the woman and the police officer got Jack into the cafeteria and sat him at a table in a remote corner. It was the middle of the morning, so most of the breakfast crowd had already left and the lunch bunch had not yet arrived.

The manager strode across the cafeteria and stood by his table. “What’s going on here, officer? What is all this, is  this man in trouble?”

“This lady brought this man in here to be fed,” the policeman answered.

“Not in here!” the manager replied angrily. “Having a person like that here is bad for business.”

Old Jack smiled a toothless grin. “See, lady. I told you so. Now if you’ll let me go. I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”

The woman turned to the cafeteria manager and smiled.  “Sir, are you familiar with Eddy and Associates, the banking firm down the street?”

“Of  course I am,” the manager answered impatiently. “They hold their weekly meetings in one of my banquet rooms.”

“And do you make a goodly amount of money providing food at these weekly meetings?”

“What business is that of yours?”

“I, sir, am Penelope Eddy, president and CEO of the company.”
“Oh…”

The woman smiled again. She glanced at the cop who was busy stifling a laugh and asked if he would like a cup of coffee.

“No thanks, ma’am,” the officer replied. “I’m on duty.”

“Then, perhaps, a cup of coffee to go?”

“Yes, ma’am. That would be very nice.”

The cafeteria manager turned on his heel. “I’ll get your coffee for you right away, officer.”

The officer watched him walk away. “You certainly put him in his place,” he said.
“That was not my intent. Believe it or not, I have a reason for all this.”

She sat down at the table across from her amazed dinner guest. She stared at him intently.

“Jack, do you remember me?”

Old Jack searched her face with his old, rheumy eyes. “I think so. I mean you do look familiar.”

“I’m a little older perhaps and maybe I’ve even filled out more than in my younger days when you worked here, and I came through that very door, cold and hungry.”

“Ma’am?” the officer said questioningly. He couldn’t believe that such a magnificent lady could ever have been hungry.

“I was just out of college. I had come to the city looking for a job, but I couldn’t find anything. Finally I was down to my last few cents and had been kicked out of my apartment. I walked the streets for days.  It was February and I was cold and nearly starving. I saw this place and walked in on the off chance that I could get something to eat.”

Jack lit up with a smile.

“Now I remember, I was behind the serving counter. You came up and asked me if you could work for something to eat. I said that it was against company policy.”

She said, “I know. Then you made me the biggest roast beef sandwich that I had ever seen, gave me a cup of coffee, and told me to go over to a corner table and enjoy it. I was afraid that you would get into trouble. Then, when I looked over and saw you put the price of my food in the cash  register, I knew then that everything would be all right.”

“So you  started your own business?” Old Jack said.

She said, “I got a job that very afternoon. I worked my way up. Eventually I started my own business that, with the help of God, prospered.”

She opened her purse and pulled out a business card. “When you are finished here I want you to pay a visit to a Mr. Lyons. He’s the personnel director of my company.  I’ll go talk to him now and I’m certain he’ll find something for you to do around the office.” She smiled. “I think he might even find the funds to give you a little advance so that you can buy some clothes and get a place to live until you get on your feet. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you.”

There were tears in the old man’s eyes. “How can I ever thank you?” he asked.
“Don’t thank me,” the woman answered. “To God goes the glory. He led me to you.”

Outside the cafeteria, the officer and the woman paused at the entrance before going their separate ways. She said, “Thank you for all your help, officer.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Eddy,” he answered. “Thank you. I saw a miracle today, something that I will never forget. And thank you for the coffee.”

Moral: When God leads you to the edge of the cliff, trust Him fully and let go. Only one of two things will happen, either He’ll catch you when you fall, or He’ll teach you how to fly!

There was a large group of people.
On one side of the group stood Jesus.
On the other side of the group stood Satan.
Separating them, running through the group, was a fence.
      
Both Jesus and Satan began calling to the people in the group and, one by one – each – having made up his or her mind – went to either Jesus or Satan.
      
Soon, Jesus had gathered around him a group of people from the larger crowd, as did Satan.
      
But one man joined neither group. He climbed the fence and sat on it.

Then Jesus and his group left and disappeared.
So, too, did Satan and his group. 
And the man on the fence sat alone.
      
As he sat there, Satan came back, looking for something.
The man said, “Have you lost something?”
Satan looked at him and replied, “No, there you are. Come with me.” 
      
“But,” said the man, “I sat on the fence and I chose neither you nor Jesus!”

“That’s okay,” said Satan. “I own the fence.”

Malachi 3:3a puzzled some women in a Bible study and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God.

One of the women offered to find out the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible study.

That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn’t mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver.

As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest to burn away all the impurities.

The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about this verse that says: “He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver.” She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined.

The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.

The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, “How do you know when the silver is fully refined?”

He smiled at her and answered, “Oh, that’s easy – when I see my image in it.”

Often life makes us feel the heat of the fire, but we remember that God has his eye on us and will keep watching us until He sees His image in us.
Author Unknown

Carl was a quiet man, 87 years old. He didn’t talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well. Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. He had a slight limp from a wound received in WWII.

When he saw the flyer at the local church asking for volunteers to care for the gardens, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he signed up. One day, he was finishing his watering for the day when three local bullies approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, “Would you like a drink from the hose?”

The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, “Yeah, sure.” As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl’s arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl’s assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.  

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the priest came running to help him. Although the priest had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn’t get there fast enough to stop it. “Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?” the priest kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.

Carl passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head, he said, ”Just some mean kids. I hope they’ll wise-up someday.” His wet clothes clung to his thin frame, as he picked up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water. Confused and a little concerned, the priest asked, “Carl, what are you doing?” “I’ve got to finish my watering. It’s been very dry lately,” came the calm reply. Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the priest could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.
 
A few weeks later the three mean boys returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose. This time they didn’t rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished their humiliation of him, they walked off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done.

Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering. The summer was quickly fading into fall and Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack.

“Don’t worry old man, I’m not gonna hurt you this time.” The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl. “What’s this?” Carl asked. “It’s your stuff,” the man explained. “It’s your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet.” “I don’t understand,” Carl said. “Why would you help me now?”

The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. “I learned something from you,” he said. “I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn’t hate us for harassing you. You kept showing love against our hate.” He stopped for a moment. “I couldn’t sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back.” He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say. “That bag’s my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess.” And with that, he walked off down the street.

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.
 
Carl died one cold day after Christmas. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular, the priest noticed a tall young man that he didn’t know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church. The priest spoke of Carl’s garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, “Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden.”  

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: “Person needed to care for Carl’s garden.” The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the priest’s door. Opening the door, the priest saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. “I believe this is my job, if you’ll have me,” the young man said. The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He knew that Carl’s kindness had turned this man’s life around. As the priest handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, “Yes, go take care of Carl’s garden and honor him.” The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers just as Carl had done.

In that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl’s memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it. One day he approached the priest and told him that he couldn’t care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, “My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she’s bringing him home on Saturday.”

“Well, congratulations!” said the priest, as he was handed the garden shed keys. “That’s wonderful! What’s the baby’s name?”

“Carl,” he replied.

Author Unknown