If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!
*** Rudyard Kipling ***
High in the mountains was a monastery that had once been
known throughout the world.
Its monks were pious, its students were enthusiastic.
The chants from the monastery’s chapel deeply touched
the hearts of people who came there to pray and meditate.
But, something had changed.
Fewer and fewer young men came to study there;
fewer and fewer people came for spiritual nourishment.
The monks who remained became disheartened and sad.
Deeply worried, the abbot of the monastery went off in search of an answer.
Why had his monastery fallen on such hard times?
The abbot came to a guru, and he asked the master,
“Is it because of some sin of ours that the monastery is no longer full of vitality?”
“Yes,” replied the master, “it is the sin of ignorance.”
“The sin of ignorance?” questioned the abbot.
“Of what are we ignorant?”
The guru looked at the abbot for a long, long time, and then he said,
“One of you is the messiah in disguise.
But, you are all ignorant of this.”
Then, the guru closed his eyes, and he was silent.
“The messiah?” thought the abbot. “
The messiah is one of us?
Who could it be?
Could it be Brother Cook?
Could it be Brother Treasurer?
Could it be Brother Bell-Ringer?
Could it be Brother Vegetable Grower?
“Which one? Which one?
Every one of us has faults, failings, human defects.
Isn’t the messiah supposed to be perfect?
But, then, perhaps these faults and failings are part of his disguise.
Which one? Which one?”
When the abbot returned to the monastery, he gathered all the monks
together and told them what the guru had said.
“One of us?
But, the master had spoken, and the master was never wrong.
“One of us?
But, it must be so.
Which one? Which one?
That brother over there?
That one? That one?”
Whichever one of the monks was the messiah,
he was, surely, in disguise.
Not knowing who amongst them was the messiah,
all the monks began treating each other with new respect.
“You never know,” they thought, “ he might be the one,
so I had better deal with him kindly.”
It was not long before the monastery was filled with new found joy.
Soon, new students came to learn, and people came
from far and wide to be inspired
by the chants of the kind, smiling monks.
For once again, the monastery was filled with the spirit of love.
Moral : The world would be a beautiful and much better
place if all of humanity would treat each other kindly and
respectfully without hypocrisy and giving of each other with
the spirit of love without any judgment.
A hermit was meditating by a river when a young man interrupted him.
“Master, I wish to become your disciple,” said the man.
“Why?” replied the hermit.
The young man thought for a moment. “Because I want to find God.”
The master jumped up, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, dragged
him into the river, and plunged his head under water. After holding him
there for a minute, with him kicking and struggling to free himself,
the master finally pulled him up out of the river.
The young man coughed up water and gasped to get his breath.
When he eventually quieted down, the master spoke. “Tell me, what
did you want most of all when you were under water.”
“Air!” answered the man.
“Very well,” said the master. “Go home and come back to me when you
want God as much as you just wanted air.”
Seek GOD with earnestness and in all true honesty, and with every fibre of our being,
as in how we desperately seek the air that He provides for our survival for existence;
then and only then, we’ll find GOD and the only One True GOD, *JEHOVAH*,
will fill us up spiritually.
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Imagine getting the command from your Master, “Go out behind the barn.
Find the dunghill and bring Me back something acceptable, beautiful that
I can put upon My table to enjoy.”
“Oh just great,” you think to yourself as you leave the mansion.
“I’m in for it now!
I’ve seen that grimy old dunghill and beautiful doesn’t even come close
to describing it.”
Rounding the corner of the barn, you almost get knocked over by the smell
as the wind changes and starts blowing in your direction. As you get closer,
your eyes start to water. Trying to breath in short shallow breaths, you get
as close as you dare. There it is. That dreaded dunghill which has been filled
with all sorts of filth from your life. Lust sits festering as does greed, and envy.
Maggots of strife and contention feast happily among the rotting decay of all
things repugnant.Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, you realize
that as this pile rots, it generates an unnatural heat from within which causes
evil gas clouds of despair and hopelessness to bubble up to the surface and
hang in a fog of misery all around the area.
You think to yourself, “Why am I here???
I left this stuff long ago and now here it is again. If I didn’t know better, I’d
say that it has grown since I had last seen it. I can’t make something out of
this junk to put on my Master’s table. All of those who wait upon Him will
laugh me to scorn. The big angels at the door probably wouldn’t even let
me in and for good reason too!”
But trying to be obedient, you grudgingly take up some of the horrible
material and think what you can do to make it fit for the Master’s table.
No amount of perfume could help kill the smell and the stuff crawling
around and in it gives a macabre impression of the entire dunghill
breathing with a life of its own.
So you kneel down and in vain try to shape it and make something useful.
No matter how much perfume you use it only serves to make the whole
ugly mess even worse.
Just then you hear Him behind you. “Child, what are you doing?”
Now the tears start streaming down your cheeks freely as you know that
there is nothing you can do but tell the truth.
“I can’t do it. Nothing I try works. Everything I do only makes it worse…”
Your own sobs cut off what was about to be a long drawn out explanation.
Gently, He tells you, “Put that back.”
So you throw the evil mess you were working with back onto the pile and
just stand there staring at the epitome of sin’s futility. You watch as the
Master takes His mighty hand and using His finger, He creates a God
shaped hole right into the heart of the horrible mess before you. Your own
soul feels what He has done and it takes your breath away.
Turning towards you He holds out His hand and shows you what looks
to be a seed of some sort. With a gentle smile He asks, “May I?”
You are confused.
Not knowing what is about to happen, you reply, “What is that?”
His response sends waves of terror into your heart, “This is My life.
I want to put it into the hole I just created. May I?”
You recoil in fear at the thought of His life going into the worst you
have to offer.
You want to scream ‘No!’ but you don’t dare.
Deep within your heart, you long to have Him do it, but it just doesn’t
seem fair that He should put His best into the worst areas of your life.
But the Master has never made a mistake and you know that even
this can only work out for good.
Half-heartedly, mumbling under your breath you say, “Yes, go ahead…,”
and the tears flow once more.
Gently the Master places His Seed within the God shaped hole His finger
had made. With loving kindness He covers it over and starts to walk away.
Turning back to look at you, He once again commands, “From this dunghill,
bring Me back something acceptable, beautiful that I can put upon My
table to enjoy.” With that He walks away.
For a long, long while you just stand there staring at the horrible mess
before you. Nothing has appeared to change and you feel as though the
Master has left you in the same predicament as when you had first arrived.
But then you see it.
A small bump in the dunghill started slowly rising up to the surface.
Looking closely you are sure that there is something green breaking out
from the very heart of your worst nightmares.
During the rest of the day you watch this little plant grow.
By day, you tend and give it water from the eternal spring of life.
By night, you sleep near it, afraid that something might happen to this
precious little life. It is not a very comfortable rest, trying to sleep on the
ground next to a dunghill, but even though you don’t know what your
Master has done, you are determined to see it through to the end.
For three days and nights you tend and guard this little seedling.
You notice that as the plant gets bigger, the dunghill gets smaller.
It appears that the plant is taking all of the evil smelling corruption and
using it to grow. Then on the morning of the third day, as the sun rises
in the distance, you awaken to see that the tiny plant has now grown
into a sizable young shrub.
But something is happening.
As the sun’s light starts to warm its leaves, you see the most beautiful
blood red roses starting to open up right before your eyes!
Hundreds and hundreds of bright red roses unfold sending out an aroma
that instantly blots out the horrible stench of the dunghill!
You stand staring for a time in total awe at the sight of these beautiful
roses which move in unison to the rhythm of a holy wind.
Each petal is shining and glistening in radiance as the sun rises higher
and higher into the morning sky.
Then you hear His voice in the distance, “My child, I AM waiting…”
The sound of His gentle thunder reminds you of your original task, to get
something from this dunghill that will be both beautiful and acceptable
for His table.
Carefully you pick twelve of the very biggest and best flowers you can
find and arrange them in your hand. Yes there are thorns, but you don’t
even seem to notice them as you look at what the Lord has done.
After walking back to the mansion, you find a vase in the kitchen and
arrange the flowers with silent joy. What at first looked to be impossible
now has become a work of living art.
As you make your way towards the main dining hall, some people stop
to admire the roses you have in your vase.
“My but they are beautiful!” says one well meaning person.
“You sure are one fine gardener!”
Without any hesitation, you humbly reply, “It’s not me, it was all the
You hurry off, not wanting to answer any more questions such as,
“Where did you get them.”
You enter the main hall and set the roses upon the Master’s table.
You want to smile, but you can’t because you know from where
these roses have come.
You silently pray that nobody will ever find out.
Your mission accomplished, you turn to leave, but you see your
Master standing in the doorway.
You swallow hard as you glance back at the arrangement of flowers
you have just left on His table.
Your eyes once again fill with water as you stare at the floor,
unable to look at Him.
You know the truth of where you got the roses. But what is far worse
is that you know that He knows from where you have gotten them!
The thought of the dunghill breaks your heart with shame and remorse.
Gently placing His hand under your chin, He lifts your head, moving
your gaze upward so that you are now looking right into His loving eyes.
The tears stream down your face as your Lord and Master carefully
wipes away each and every one of them.
He smiles and says, “They are beautiful!
Well done, My good and faithful servant. Won’t you join Me for
I would just like to sit and talk a while with you My dear and
♥ ♥ ♥
♣ ♣ ♣
*Author Unknown by all but God*