By Mark Crider © 2006

Back when us kids were small there was a little kid two houses down who was blind. Smart little guy too. He could read Braille, I think, at a sixth grade level, and he was only six or seven. The way he ran, played and spoke to you, it would be difficult to tell he was blind from a distance. His eyes looked normal except for the slight cloud or film that seemed to be in their depths.

In the early fifties there were some kind of new eye surgeries that had become available or were experimental; I can’t remember now. Anyway, the parents looked into them and discovered there was one that the doctors thought may give him a chance at some level of eyesight. They knew not what it would be, but they were pretty sure it would be better than complete blindness, which he suffered at the time.

Investigating further they discovered the cost: a staggering sum would be an understatement. Insurance at the time wouldn’t cover it for some reason. The people at church, the whole neighborhood, well, the whole community found out about it after awhile and some started little things to raise money. Gloria, the little crippled girl who owned Shep The Wonder Dog who pulled her around in a carriage her dad had made, started a lemonade stand in front of her house to help. Several of us started a neighborhood vegetable stand selling things from our gardens. They even had rummage sales and lawns were being mowed that didn’t need it. Special collections were being taken up in church for the fund and all of it was going into the fund for his operation. Our efforts made the paper.

The family was contacted and it seems that a hospital out of town and some doctors agreed to do it for whatever amount was in the fund at the end of that summer. They were gone a few days somewhere to get it done and when they returned his whole head was bandaged and he had to be kept inside and quiet for thirty days.

It was a cool, crisp fall evening when it was time to unwrap the bandages. The room had to be darkened. We neighbors were all gathered on their patio barbecuing and had brought all kinds of things to go with it while waiting for the event. Their house was dark and it had gotten so clear with no moon it was eerie. The stars seemed to be flashing like a circus. I went inside to see how things were going just as they opened the venetian blinds a little for him to have his first glimpse of the world. Across the street a neighbors lights were on. He asked what it was and was told the neighbors were home because their lights were on. He had never experienced seeing lights before.

His parents gently led him out onto the patio where we were all gathered watching in anticipation of his first visions. He looked around at all of us who he recognized by our voices, but had never seen. Then he looked up into the sky and exclaimed, “look daddy, God’s home, his lights are on.” There was not a dry eye among us.

© Wake Up With the Wolf Show – 93.1 the Wolf – WPAW.  Please share this with your friends!

Author unknown

When all the words have been written, and all the phrases have been spoken, the great mystery of life will still remain. We may map the terrains of our lives, measure the farthest reaches of the universe, but no amount of searching will ever reveal for certain whether we are all children of chance or part of a great design.

And who among us would have it otherwise? Who would wish to take the mystery out of the experience of looking into a newborn infant’s eyes? Who would not feel in violation of something great if we had knowledge of what has departed when we stare into the face of one who has died? These are the events that made us human, that define the distance between the stars and us.

Still, this life is not easy. Much of its mystery is darkness. Tragedies occur, injustices exist. Bad things befall good people and sufferings are visited upon the innocent. To live we must take the lives of other species, to survive we must leave some of our brothers and sisters by the side of the road. We are prisoners of time, victims of biology, hostages of our own capacity to dream.

At times it all seems too much…impossible to accept.

We must stand against this. The world is a great mysterious place, and it’s possibilities are infinite, governed only by what our hearts can conceive. If we incline our hearts towards the darkness, we will see darkness. If we incline them toward the light, we will see the light.

Those of great heart have always known this. They have understood that, as honorable as it is to see the wrong and try to correct it, a life well lived must somehow celebrate the promise that life provides. The darkness at the limits of our knowledge; the darkness that sometimes seem to surround us is merely a way to make us reach beyond certainty, to make our lives a witness to hope, a testimony to possibility, an urge toward the best and the most honorable impulses that our hearts can conceive.

It is not hard. There is in each of us, no matter how humble, a capacity for love. Even if our lives have not taken the course we had envisioned, even if we are less than the shape of our dreams, we are part of the human family. Somewhere, in the most inconsequential corners of our lives, is the opportunity for love.

If I am blind, I can run my hand across the back of a shell and celebrate beauty. If I have no legs, I can sit in quiet wonder before the restless murmurs of the sea. If I am wounded in spirit, I can reach out my hand to those who are hurting. If I am lonely, I can go among those who are desperate for love. There is no tragedy or injustice so great, no life so small and inconsequential, that we cannot bear witness to the light in the quiet acts and hidden moments of our days.

And who can say which of these acts and moments will make a difference? The universe is vast and is a magical membrane of meaning, stretching across time and space, and it is not given to us to know her secrets and her ways. Perhaps we were placed here to meet the challenge of a single moment; perhaps the touch we give will cause the touch that will change the world.

© Wake Up With the Wolf Show – 93.1 the Wolf – WPAW.  Please share this with your friends!

Author unknown

It was a beautiful Sunday morning. People were filling the church to its full capacity! As they entered, each was given a bulletin filled with announcements, topic of today’s sermon, what songs they would sing and who to pray for.

At the end of the line stood an older man. His clothes were filthy and you could tell that he had not bathed in days. His face was covered with whiskers, for he had not shaved for a very long time. When he reached the usher, he removed his tattered old brown hat in respect. His hair was long, dirty, and a tangled mess. He had no shoes on his feet, and wore only soiled black socks to cover the sores upon his feet. The Usher looked at him turning up his nose at the old man and said, “Uh, I’m sorry sir, but I’m afraid we can’t let you in. You will distract the congregation and we don’t allow anyone to disrupt our service. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

The old man looked down at himself and with a puzzled look on his face, he placed his old brown hat back upon his head and turned to leave. He was sad as he loved to hear the choir sing praises to the Lord. He loved to watch the little children get up in front of the church to sing their little songs. He carried in his pocket a small worn out Bible and loved to see if the minister preached a passage from the Bible that he had underlined. But he was respectful, and didn’t want to cause any commotion, so he hung down his head and walked back down the steps of the big brick church.

He sat down on the brick wall near the edge of the church yard and strained to listen through closed doors and windows to the singing going on in the church. Oh how he wished he could be inside with all the others.

A few minutes had passed by when all of a sudden a younger man came up behind him and sat down near him. He asked the old man what he was doing. He answered, “I was going to go to church today, but they thought I was too filthy, my clothes to old and worn, and they were afraid I would disrupt their service.

“Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. My name is George.” The two men shook hands, and George couldn’t help but notice that this man had long hair like his. He wore a piece of cloth draped over his body tied with a royal purple sash. He had sandals on his feet, now covered with dust and dirt.

The stranger touched George’s shoulder, and said: “George, don’t feel bad because they won’t let you in. My name is Jesus, and I’ve been trying to get into this same church for years — they won’t let me in either.”

© Wake Up With the Wolf Show – 93.1 the Wolf – WPAW.  Please share this with your friends!