The Strength Of A Man

The strength of a man isn't seen in the width of his shoulders.

It's seen in the width of his arms that circle you.

The strength of a man isn't in the deep tone of his voice.

It is in the gentle words he whispers.

The strength of a man isn't how many buddies he has.

It's how good a buddy he is with his or "your" children.

The strength of a man isn't in how respected he is at work.

It's in how he is respected at home.

The strength of a man isn't in how hard he hits.

It's in how tender he touches.

The strength of a man isn't in the hair on his chest.

It's in his heart... that lies within his chest.

The strength of a man isn't in how many women he's loved.

It's in how true he can be to the ONE woman he's trying to love.

The strength of a man isn't in the weight he can lift.

It's in the burdens he can carry.

The strength of a man isn't in how much food he eats from your table.

It's in the effort he puts forth when you are unable.

The strength of a man isn't in how he makes love.

It's in the understanding that there is more to making love...... 

than making love.

- Author Unknown -

Yes, its very true how our busy world seems to over run and clouded by what we think our happy world should be. We are filled with doubts every day with - uncertain worry of what to expect next. I catch myself day dreaming of what it would be like to be independently wealthy. All my troubles taken away as I relax into that blissful thought. In actuality its just blind speculation thinking that the grass is always greener on the other side, its not. We are constantly bombarded with the world's ideas of what happiness is. Who wants to be a millionaire? Now, getting to my point, nothing makes me happier or could ever make me happier than the pure unconditional love of little Alex  (my daughter) meeting me at the door.  I walk in at 8:30 some nights, just ahead of bedtime. I look down at her with the tired eyes of a father who has just finished a stressful day at work along with two classes at college. I see the excitement in her face as she reaches up to me saying "Daddy's home!" and she adds " Love you daddy!" as I pick her up and hold her for a while before bed. Then it hits me, this is the first and last time I get to see her that day. I could go on and on about how her pure little heart enlightens me every day and how I envy that. What a gift it is to be able to experience that and then realize that is how we should be in our relationship with the Lord. We have become polluted by the world and let it control our thoughts and the direction of our lives. I myself have fallen into that trap. I worry about my job and will it be there tomorrow and what do I need in order to excel and overcome my fears of inadequate knowledge.  Why can't I be happy with what God has provided me?!?!. Why can't I get through my thick head my happiness doesn't reside within the riches of my paycheck. It resides in those times when the pure in heart have come to me and have touched me in a way like no other. When Lauren (my other daughter) draws me a picture of a happy sunny day with me and her together holding hands in the picture ~~ when Alex wants to go somewhere with me, she doesn't care where, she just wants to spend time with me ~~ when I hold Ryan (my new son) and he smiles and giggles at me and when he stare's intently at me as if trying not to blink as I feed him a bottle.  Pure in heart, how hard for us yet how easy for them. What a gift it is to see it again and remember how it used to be and realize how it should be.  What's unfortunate is the day when the world finally gets a hold of them and begins to pollute them too. I know then I won't be getting as many pictures and times will be few when I'm greeted at the door with hugs, kisses and "I love you daddy." I wonder.... is that how God feels?  

by Rick Pettit

 

My Brother
(author unknown)

My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. 
At least that's what I overheard him say one night. 
He was praying in his darkened bedroom and I
stopped outside his door to listen.

"Are you there, God?" he said. "Where are You?" 
A pause-and then, in a relieved voice, "Oh, I see.
Under the bed."

I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room.

Kevin's unique perspectives are always a source of amusement. 
But that night something else lingered long after the humor. 
I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of labor
difficulties during birth. Apart from his size (he's 6'2"), there are few
ways that he is an adult. He reasons and communicates with the 
capabilities of a seven-year old.

He probably will always believe that God lives under his bed, 
that Santa Claus fills the space under our tree every Christmas, 
and that airplanes stay in the sky because angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin was ever dissatisfied with his 
monotonous life. Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop 
for the disabled, home to eat his favorite macaroni and cheese for dinner, 
and later to bed. The only change in this routine is laundry day, 
when he hovers excitedly over the washing
machine like a mother with a newborn child.

But he does not seem dissatisfied. He lopes out to the school bus every
morning at 7.05am, eager for a day of work; he wrings his hands excitedly
while the water boils on the stove before dinner; and he stays up late twice
a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's chores.

And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! 
My dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, 
watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the 
destination of each passenger.  "That one's going to Chi-cargo!" 
he'll shout and clap his hands. He can hardly 
sleep on Friday nights in anticipation.

I do not think Kevin knows what it means to be discontent. 
He will never know the entanglements of wealth or power, 
and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears 
or what kind of food he eats. He recognizes no
difference in people, treating all as equals and as friends. 
His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one-day, 
they may not be.  His hands are diligent. 
Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. 
When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, 
his heart is completely in it. He does not shrink from a
job, and he does not quit a job until it is finished.

But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax. 
He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. 
His heart is pure too. He believes everyone tells the truth, 
that promises must be kept, and that when you are
wrong, you apologize. Free from pride and unconcerned 
with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry. 
He is always sincere.

And he trusts God. Not confined by intellectual reasoning, 
when he comes to Christ, he always comes as a child. 
In my moments of doubt and frustration, 
I envy the security of his simple faith. 
Yet, it is then I realize and am humbled that perhaps he is
not the one with the handicap.

My obligations, my fears, my pride, my circumstances 
all become disabilities when I do not give them away to Jesus. 
Maybe Kevin can comprehend things I may never learn. 
He has spent his whole life in innocence, after all,
talking to God, who lives under his bed, 
and soaking up the goodness and
love of the Lord.

One day, when the mysteries of Heaven are opened, 
we will all be amazed at how close God really is to our hearts.

But Kevin won't be surprised at all...

Author Unknown

Back to Visiting Authors List