Chicken Soup for the Soul
英语词汇立体记忆----Changing the World One Story at a Time
Be Still With God By Nancy B. Gibbs
bepanthenAll day long I had been very busy; picking up trash, cleaning bathrooms and scrubbing floors. My grown children were coming home for the weekend. I went grocery shopping and prepared for a barbecue supper, complete with ribs and chicken. I wanted everything to be perfect.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that I was dog-tired. I simply couldn't work as long as I could when I was younger. "I've got to rest for a minute," I told my husband, Roy, as I collapd into my favorite rocking chair. Music was playing, my dog and cat were chasing each other and the telephone rang.
A scripture from Psalm 46 popped into my mind. "Be still, and know that I am God." I realize
d that I hadn't spent much time in prayer that day. Was I too busy to even utter a simple word of thanks to God? Suddenly, the thought of my beautiful patio came to mind. I can be quiet out there, I thought. I longed for a few minutes alone with God.
Roy and I had invested a great deal of time and work in the patio that spring. The flowers and hanging baskets were breathtaking. It was definitely a heavenly place of rest and tranquility. If I can't be still with God in that environment, I can't be still with Him anywhere, I thought. While Roy was talking on the telephone, I slipped out the backdoor and sat down on my favorite patio chair. I clod my eyes and began to pray, counting my many blessings.
A bird flew by me, chirping and singing. It interrupted my thoughts. It landed on the bird feeder and began eating dinner as I watched. After a few minutes it flew away, singing another song.
I clod my eyes again. A gust of wind blew, which caud my wind chimes to dance. They made a joyful sound, but again I lost my concentration on God. I squirmed and wigg
s开头的女生英文名led in my chair. I looked up toward the blue sky and saw the clouds moving slowly toward the horizon. The wind died down. My wind chimes finally became quiet.
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Again, I bowed in prayer. "Honk, honk," I heard. I almost jumped out of my skin. A neighbor was driving down the street. He waved at me and smiled. I waved back, happy that he cared. I quickly tried once again to ttle down, repeating the familiar ver in my mind. Be still and know that I am God.
"I'm trying God. I really am," I whispered. "But you've got to help me here."
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The backdoor opened. My husband walked outside. "I love you," he said. "I was wondering where you were." I chuckled, as he came over and kisd me, then turned around and went back inside.
"Where's the quiet time?" I asked God. My heart fluttered. There was no pain, only a beat that interrupted me yet again. This is impossible, I thought. There's no time to be still and to know that God is with me. There's too much going on in the world and entirely too much activity all around me.
Then it suddenly dawned on me. God was speaking to me the entire time I was attempting to be still. I remembered the music playing as I'd begun my quiet time. He nt a sparrow to lighten my life with song. He nt a gentle breeze. He nt a neighbor to let me know that I had a friend. He nt my sweetheart to offer sincere ntiments of love. He caud my heart to flutter to remind me of life. While I was trying to count my blessings, God was busy multiplying them.
I laughed to realize that the "interruptions" of my quiet time with God were special blessings He'd nt to show me He was with me the entire time.
novel coronavirus
副词Plant a Row for the Hungry By Jeff Lowenfels
It was a cold night in Washington, D.C., and I was heading back to the hotel when a man approached me. He asked if I would give him some money so he could get something to eat. I'd read the signs: "Don't give money to panhandlers." So I shook my head and kept walking.
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impressiveI wasn't prepared for a reply, but with resignation, he said, "I really am homeless and I really am hungry! You can come with me and watch me eat!" But I kept on walking.
The incident bothered me for the rest of the week. I had money in my pocket and it wouldn't have killed me to hand over a buck or two even if he had been lying. On a frigid, cold night, no less, I assumed the worst of a fellow human being.
Flying back to Anchorage, I couldn't help thinking of him. I tried to rationalize my failure to help by assuming government agencies, churches and charities were there to feed him. Besides, you're not suppod to give money to panhandlers.
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Somewhere over Seattle, I started to write my weekly garden column for The Anchorage Daily News. Out of the blue, I came up with an idea. Bean's Cafe, the soup kitchen in Anchorage, feeds hundreds of hungry Alaskans every day. Why not try to get all my readers to plant one row in their gardens dedicated to Bean's? Dedicate a row and take it down to Bean's. Clean and simple.
