A seminary professor was vacationing with his wife in Gatlinburg, TN.  One morning, they were eating breakfast at little restaurant, hoping to enjoy a quiet, family meal. While they were waiting for their food, they noticed a
distinguished looking, white-haired man moving from table to table, visiting with the guests. The professor leaned over and whispered to his wife, “I hope he doesn’t come over here.” But sure enough, the man did come over to
their table.  ”Where are you folks from?” he asked in a friendly voice.

“Oklahoma,” they answered.

“Great to have you here in Tennessee.” the stranger said. “What do you do for a living?”

“I teach at a seminary,” he replied.

“Oh, so you teach preachers how to preach, do you? Well, I’ve got a really great story for you.” And with that, the gentleman pulled up a chair and sat down at the table with the couple.

The professor groaned and thought to himself, “Great… Just what I need… another preacher story!”

The man started, “See that mountain over there? (pointing out the restaurant window).  Not far from the base of that mountain, there was a boy born to an unwed mother.  He had a hard time growing up, because every place he went,
he was always asked the same question, ‘Whose boy are you?’

“Whether he was at school, in the grocery store or drug store, people would ask the same question, ‘Whose boy are you?’  He would hide at recess and lunch time from other students.  He would avoid going in to stores because
that question hurt him so bad.

“When he was about 12 years old, a new preacher came to his church.  He would always go in late and slip out early to avoid hearing the question, ‘Whose boy are you?’. But one day, the new preacher said the benediction so fast he got caught and had to walk out with the crowd.

“Just about the time he got to the back door, the new preacher, not knowing anything about him, put his hand on his shoulder and asked him, ‘Son, whose boy are you?’

“The whole church got deathly quiet.  He could feel every eye in the church looking at him.  Now everyone would finally know the answer to the question, ‘Whose boy are you’.  This new preacher, though, sensed the situation around him and using discernment that only the Holy Spirit could give, said the following to that scared little boy…

“‘Wait a minute!’ he said. ‘I know who you are. I see the family resemblance now. You are a child of God.’  With that he patted the boy on his shoulder and said, ‘Boy, you’ve got a great inheritance. Go and claim it.’

With that, the boy smiled for the first time in a long time and walked out the door a changed person.  He was never the same again.  Whenever anybody asked him, ‘Whose boy are you?’ he’d just tell them, ‘I’m a Child of God’.”

The distinguished gentleman got up from the table and said, “Isn’t that a great story?”  The professor responded that it really was a great story!  As the man turned to leave, he said, “You know, if that new preacher hadn’t told me that I was one of God’s children, I probably never would have amounted to anything!”  And he walked away.

The seminary professor and his wife were stunned.  He called the waitress over and asked her, “Do you know who that man was that just left that was sitting at our table?”

The waitress grinned and said, “Of course.  Everybody here knows him. That’s Ben Hooper.  He’s the former governor of Tennessee!”

Someone in your life today needs a reminder that they’re one of God’s children!

This will certainly make you stop and think. You never know what a kind
word, a phone call, or an impromptu visit will do for someone else.

It was a cold winter’s day that Sunday.  The parking lot to the church was filling up quickly.  I noticed as I got out of my car that fellow church  members were whispering among themselves as they walked to the church.

As I got closer I saw a man leaned up against the wall outside the church.  He was almost laying down as if he was asleep. He had on a long trench coat that was almost in shreds and a hat topped his head, pulled down so you could not see his face. He wore shoes that looked 30 years old, too small for his feet with holes all over them, his toes stuck out.

I assumed this man was homeless, and asleep, so I walked on by through the doors of the church. We all gathered for fellowship for a few minutes, and someone brought up the man lying outside.  People snickered and gossiped but no one bothered to ask him to come in, including me.

A few moments later church began. We all waited for the Preacher to take his place and to give us the Word, when the doors to the church opened.  In came the homeless man walking down the aisle with his head down.  People gasped and whispered and made faces. He made his way down the aisle and up onto the pulpit he took off his hat and coat. My heart sank.  There stood our preacher…he was the “homeless man.”  No one said a word. The preacher took his Bible and laid it on the podium.

“Folks, I don’t think I have to tell you what I am preaching about today.”   Then he started singing the words to this song:   “If I can help somebody as I pass along.  If I can cheer somebody with word or song.  If I can show somebody that he’s traveling wrong.  Then my living shall not be in vain.”

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to the door and knocked. “Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

“It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.”

“Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”

“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.”

I looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

“I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.”

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to take?” I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.

“Nothing,” I said.

“You have to make a living,” she answered.

“There are other passengers.”

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.”

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware—beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

by Kent Nerburn

The Success of Uncle No-Name…His name was Wally Amos and he built a $100 million business selling his “Famous Amos Cookies.” Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, he lost his business. He went from fame and fortune to a debt level of one million dollars.Even worse, he lost the right to use the name he made famous. He did not, however, lose the things that made him successful in the first place. He maintained his sense of humor and his outgoing, optimistic, confident nature. As might be expected, he bounced back big time.He started a new venture under the name of “Wally Amos Presents Chip’n Cookie.” PEOPLE Magazine did a story and Fitz & Floyd made a Chip’n Cookie Jar. J.C. Penney marketed Chip’n Cookie dolls. Everyone was delighted at Mr. Amos’ comeback. Everybody but the new owners of “Famous Amos.” A lawsuit resulted and once again he was put out of business.Wally says he got famous and rich and paid a price for it. . . . He wrote a book, MAN WITH NO NAME, which was enthusiastically received . . .and he is back in the food business. He started a new company by the name of “Uncle No-Name.” (In 1999 they changed the name to Uncle Wally’s.)  Wally is a good example of a man being knocked down but not out. He is fighting back with the same zest and zeal he demonstrated the first time around. I predict he will continue to do well.Wally Amos is the classic example of a man who gets up again and again. The old saying that a person who won’t be beat can’t be beat is certainly true of “Uncle No-Name.” Why not adopt his attitude.

This certainly made me stop and think…It was a cold winter’s day that Sunday. The parking lot to the church was filling up quickly. I noticed as I got out of my car that fellow church members were whispering among themselves as they walked to the church. As I got closer I saw a man leaned up against the wall outside the church. He was almost lying down as if he was asleep. He had on a long trench coat that was almost in shreds and a hat topped his head, pulled down so you could not see his face. He wore shoes that looked 30 years old, too small for his feet with holes all over them, his toes stuck out. I assumed this man was homeless, and asleep, so I walked on by through the doors of the church. We all gathered for fellowship for a few minutes, and someone brought up the man lying outside. People snickered and gossiped but no one bothered to ask him to come in, including me. A few moments later church began. We all waited for the Preacher to take his place and to give us the Word, when the doors to the church opened. In came the homeless man walking down the aisle with his head down. People gasped and whispered and made faces. He made his way down the aisle and up onto the pulpit he took off his hat and coat. My heart sank. There stood our preacher…he was the “homeless man.” No one said a word. The preacher took his Bible and laid it on the podium. “Folks, I don’t think I have to tell you what I am preaching about today.” Then he started singing the words to this song: “If I can help somebody as I pass along. If I can cheer somebody with word or song. If I can show somebody that he’s traveling wrong. Then my living shall not be in vain.”