This
page was included so that I could share with you some of my poetry and
also other inspirational stories. I have used some of the stories and poems
in my church newsletter, which I do every month. My hope is that they will
touch your heart the way they have touched mine.
I
hope to add to this later when I get a chance.
Please
let me know what you think.
(Just
Click On The Title To View)
Written
by Josh Harris at age 21.
Taken
from his book "I Kissed Dating Good-bye"
Excellent
book for you if you experience trouble with dating or being single.
Author
Unknown. This is a story about contentment,
something
I think we all struggle with.
Author Unknown. An excellent story.
Things aren't always what they seem...
Author Unknown. A story written about two traveling Angels.
Written by Jim Matters for someone special.
Written by Jim Matters for a friend's mother who passed away.
Written by Jim Matters for a Christmas newsletter
Written
by Jim Matters for anyone.
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found
myself
in the room. There were no distinguishing features
save for the
one wall covered with small index card files. They
were like the
ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject
in alphabetical order.
But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling
and
Seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very
different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch
my attention was
one that read "Girls I Have Liked". I opened it and
began flipping
through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize
that I
recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I
was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude
catalog
system for my life. Here were written the actions
of my every moment,
big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of
wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred
within me
as I began randomly opening files and exploring their
content.
Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense
of
shame and regret so intense that I would look over
my
shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named
"Friends" was
next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed". The
titles
ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books
I Have Read",
"Lies I Have Told", "Comfort I Have Given", "Jokes
I Have
Laughed At". Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:
"Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't
laugh
at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have
muttered
Under My Breath at My Parents". I never ceased to
be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected.
Sometimes
fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer
volume of
the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I
had the
time in my 16 years to write each of these thousands
or even millions
of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each
was written
in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened
To", I
realized the files grew to contain their contents.
The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't
found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality
of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts", I felt a chill run
through my body. I pulled the File out only an inch, not willing to test
its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt
sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage
broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these
cards! No one must ever see this room!
I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy
I yanked the file out.
Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and
burn the cards. But
as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the
floor, I could
not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and
pulled out a card,
only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to
tear it. Defeated and utterly
helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning
my forehead against the wall,
I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw
it. The title bore "People
I Have Shared the Gospel With". The handle was brighter
than
those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on
its handle
and a small box not more than three inches long fell
into my hands.
I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came.
I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started
in my
stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and
cried.
I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame
of it all.
The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear filled
eyes. No
one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock
it up and
hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears,
I saw Him.
No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.
I
watched helplessly as He began to open the files and
read the cards.
I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments
I
could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow
deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to
the worst boxes.
Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned
and
looked at me from across the room. He looked at me
with pity
in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger
me. I
dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and
began to cry
again. He walked over and put His arm around me.
He could have said so many things. But He didn't say
a word.
He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back
to the wall of files.
starting at one end of the room, He took out a file
and, one by one,
began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!"
I
shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was
"No, no," as I
pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on
these cards. But
there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so
alive. The
name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His
blood.
He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile
and
began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand
how He
did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed
I heard Him
close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed
His hand
on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood
up, and
He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its
door.
There were still cards
to be written.
The story is told
of a local fisherman who was found relaxing by the
seashore. An industrialist
wandered by and inquired of his intentions for the day. "What are you doing
sir?" asked the industrialist. "I've caught enough fish to feed my family
and pay my bills, so I am enjoying God's creation," responded the fisherman.
"But sir, don't
you understand?" replied the industrialist, "If you would
keep fishing throughout
the day, you could make more money and
eventually buy
more ships." "If you kept investing your money you would
someday be as rich
as I," suggested the industrialist. "Why would I want to do that," asked
the fisherman. "Well, don't you see? You could eventually retire and vacation
on a beach somewhere and simply lay back aand enjoy God's creation," added
the industrialist. "Isn't that what I am doing now?" responded the fisherman.
We often get so
involved in making a living that we forget to construct a
life. The Apostle
Paul encouraged us to learn contentment.
Contentment lies
not in how much you own, but in how much you give.
Let us learn to
be happy whatever our estate.
A man was on the side of the road with a large birdcage. A boy noticed that the cage was full of birds of many kinds. Where did you get those birds?" he asked. "Oh, all over the place," The man replied. "I lure them with crumbs, pretend I'm their friend then when they are close, net them and shove them into my cage." "And what are you going to do with them now?"
The man grinned, "I'm going to prod them with sticks, and get them really mad so they fight and kill each other. Those that survive, I will kill. None will escape." The boy looked steadily at the man. What made him do such things? He looked into the cruel, hard eyes. Then he looked at the birds, defenseless, without hope. "Can I buy those birds?" the boy asked.
The man hid a smile,
aware that he could be on to a good thing if he played his cards right.
"Well, he said hesitantly, "The cage is pretty expensive, and I spent a
lot of time collecting these birds. I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll
let you have the lot, birds, cage and all for ten dollars and that jacket
you're wearing." The boy paused, ten dollars was all he had, and the jacket
was new and very special, in fact it was his prized possession. Slowly,
he took out the ten dollars and handed it over, then even more slowly he
took off his jacket, gave it one last look then handed that over too. And
then (well, you've guessed it) he opened the door and let the birds go
free.
MORAL OF THE STORY
The Enemy of the world, Satan, was on the side of life's road with a very large cage. The man coming towards him noticed that it was crammed full of people of every kind, young, old, from every race and nation. "Where did you get these people?" the man asked. "Oh, from all over the world, " Satan replied. "I lure them with drink, drugs, lust, lies, anger, hate, love of money and all manner of things. I pretend I'm their friend, out to give them a good time, then when I've hooked them, into the cage they go." "And what are you going to do with them now?" asked the man.
Satan grinned. "I'm going to prod them, provoke them, get them to hate and destroy each other; I'll stir up racial hatred, defiance of law and order; I'll make people bored, lonely, dissatisfied, confused and restless. It's easy. People will always listen to what I offer them and (what's better) blame God for the outcome!" And then what?" the man asked. "Those who do not destroy themselves, I will destroy. None will escape me."
The man stepped
forward. "Can I buy these people from you," he asked. Satan snarled,
"Yes, but it will cost you your life." So, Jesus Christ, the Son of God,
paid for your release, your freedom from Satan's trap, with His own life,
on the cross at Calvary. The door is open, and anyone, whom Satan has deceived
and caged, can be set free.
Things aren't always what they seem...
Two traveling angels
stopped to spend the night in the home of a wealthy
family. The family
was rude and refused to let the angels stay in the
mansion's guest
room. Instead the angels were given a space in the cold
basement. As they
made their bed on the hard floor, the older angel saw
a hole in the wall
and repaired it. When the younger angel asked why,
the older angel
replied..."Things aren't always what they seem".
The next night the
pair came to rest at the house of a very poor, but
very hospitable
farmer and his wife. After sharing what little food
they had the couple
let the angels sleep in their bed where they could
have a good night's
rest. When the sun came up the next morning the
angels found the
farmer and his wife in tears. Their only cow, whose
milk had been their
sole income, lay dead in the field.
The younger angel
was infuriated and asked the older angel "how could
you have let this
happen!? The first man had everything, yet you helped
him," she accused.
"The second family had little but was willing to
share everything,
and you let their cow die." "Things aren't always what
they seem," the
older angel replied.
"When we stayed
in the basement of the mansion, I noticed there was gold
stored in that
hole in the wall. Since the owner was so obsessed with
greed and unwilling
to share his good fortune, I sealed the wall so he
wouldn't find it.
Then last night as we slept in the farmers bed, the
angel of death
came for his wife. I gave her the cow instead. Things
aren't always what
they seem."
You are my rose,
I planted the seed.
I showered you
with raindrops, you belong to me.
I gave you the
sunlight, that helped you to grow.
I sheltered you
from harm, and you didn’t even know.
I held on to you
gently, safe in my arms.
Everyday as I watched
you, growing strong from the storms.
You were the bud
of a flower, that was longing to be.
Your beauty was
hidden, from all who could see.
So gently I cared,
for my small frail rose.
For I knew of the
beauty, you would one day expose.
To small to open,
closed you would stay.
Hiding your beauty,
for just one more day.
Afraid of the sunlight,
tired of rain.
Wanting to open,
and feeling the pain.
Keeping a secret,
so that no one would know.
Of the beautiful
flower, that one day would grow.
Then slowly you
opened, in my garden of love.
Reaching up to
be fed, by the light from above.
Standing alone,
so weak yet so strong.
Feeling at times,
that you didn’t belong.
Your here in my
garden, but feeling so small.
Among many flowers,
that are blooming so tall.
Comparing their
beauty, with that of your own.
You should not
compare, you are not yet full grown.
You will continue
to open, with each passing day.
Growing more special,
in your own special way.
Blooming so beautifully,
now everyone knows.
That this beautiful
flower, was always my rose.
I never dreamed
it would be this way, I never thought I’d see.
The beauty that
God had created, in Heaven just for me.
All my life I had
doubted, but now I see it’s true.
And as I stand
here in the Glory of God, my heart sends thanks to you.
For you helped me
to replace my doubt, and somehow ease my fear.
It’s because you
loved me so, that I am standing here.
You introduced
me to His love and His light shone through your eyes.
You touched my heart
with yours that day and now I realize.
That the daughter
I gave life to one day, has somehow done the same.
You gave me the
greatest gift of love, in Jesus name.
Because you loved
me you opened my eyes to the greatest love I’ve known.
I opened my heart
to Jesus and now I’m finally “Home”.
His love it shines
so brightly here, nothing in our world can compare.
To the love that
I see before me, just standing there.
Because of you I
see Him now, His arms stretched out to me.
His love it fills
me up inside, and now I finally see.
That because you
shared His love with me, my life will have no end.
It’s not the face
of a stranger I see, but the beautiful face of a friend.
Some
time long ago, HE came to set us free.
He
was born on Christmas day, a gift of love for you and me.
This
gift of love was given for us, and His mother held Him tight.
Did
she know of the life that He would one day live, on that silent night?
Did
she know that her Son was born, to one day save the world?
Did
she know that that her Son would touch the heart of every boy and girl?
Did
she know that her Son would make a blind man see?
Did
she know that her Son would die one day, for people like you and me?
This
gift of love was given to us, and for His death I feel to blame.
For
He hung on a cross and died for me before He even knew my name.
A
gift of love, a gift of hope, a beautiful child born in a manger.
He
wants to be our closest friend but for some he's still a stranger.
A
child born on Christmas Day as a gift to you and me.
A
gift of love from the heart of God so that all of us would see.
That
his love is greater than any gift that we could ever receive.
And
that gift of love is ours today if only we believe.
Open
your heart to the gift of His love this Christmas.
I've watched you
from a distance,
I watched you learn
and grow.
I know everything
about you,
and still I love
you so.
I tried to give
you all that you need,
I tried to
show I care.
But I never hear
you say my name,
unless you use
it when you swear.
Love,
Jesus Christ
This page is owned by James Matters.
