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The Wooden Bowl
I guarantee you will remember the tale of the
Wooden Bowl tomorrow, a week from now, a
month from now, a year from now.
A frail old man went to live with his son, daugh-
ter-in-law, and four-year old grandson. The old
man¡¯s hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred,
and his step faltered.
The family ate together at the table. But the el-
derly grandfather¡¯s shaky hands and failing sight
made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon
onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk
spilled on the tablecloth.
The son and daughter-in-law became irritated
with the mess. ¡°We must do something about
Grandfather,¡± said the son. I¡¯ve had enough of
his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the
So the husband and wife set a small table in the
corner. There, Grandfather ate alone while the
rest of the family enjoyed dinner. Since Grand-
father had broken a dish or two, his food was
served in a wooden bowl.
When the family glanced in Grandfather¡¯s direc-
tion, sometime he had a tear in his eye as he sat
alone. Still, the only words the couple had for
him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a
fork or spilled food.
The four-year-old watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed
his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He
asked the child sweetly, ¡°What are you making?¡±
Just as sweetly, the boy responded, ¡°Oh, I am
making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat
your food in when I grow up.¡± The four-year-old
smiled and went back to work.
The words so struck the parents so that they
were speechless. Then tears started to stream
down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken,
both knew what must be done.
That evening the husband took Grandfather¡¯s
hand and gently led him back to the family
table. For the remainder of his days he ate ev-
ery meal with the family. And for some reason,
neither husband nor wife seemed to care any
longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or
the tablecloth soiled.
The Reading Room
2015 August
Pg 5 - The Sunshine Express
Treasures From The Inbox
month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near this
cop again. A tap on the door jerked his head to
the left. There was Bob, a folded paper in hand.
Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches,
just enough room for Bob to pass him the slip.
¡°Thanks,¡± Jack could not quite keep the sneer out
of his voice.
Bob returned to his police car without a word.
Jack watched his retreat in the mirror. Jack un-
folded the sheet of paper. How much was this one
going to cost?
Wait a minute. What was this? Some kind of
joke? Certainly not a ticket.
Jack began to read:
¡°Dear Jack, Once upon a time I had a daughter.
She was six when killed by a car. You guessed
it -- a speeding driver. A fine and three months
in jail, and the man was free. Free to hug his
daughters. All three of them. I only had one, and
I¡¯m going to have to wait until Heaven before I
can ever hug her again. A thousand times I¡¯ve
tried to forgive that man. A thousand times I
thought I had. Maybe I did, but I need to do it
again. Even now. Pray for me. And be careful,
Jack, my son is all I have left. - Bob¡±
Jack turned around in time to see Bob¡¯s car pull
away and head down the road. Jack watched until
it disappeared. A full 15 minutes later, he, too,
pulled away and drove slowly home, praying for
forgiveness and hugging a surprised wife and kids
when he arrived.
Life is precious. Handle with care. This is an
important message; please pass it along to your
friends. Drive safely and carefully.
If you get email, you
get stuff. Sometimes
it is spam, sometimes
it is a true gem.
Here is one of those
gems worth sharing:
¡°I know what you
mean. I also know
that you have a
reputation in our
Ouch. This was not
going in the right
direction. Time to
change tactics.
¡°What¡¯d you clock
me at?¡±
¡°Seventy. Would you
sit back in your car
¡°Now wait a minute
here, Bob. I checked
as soon as I saw
you. I was barely
nudging 65.¡± The
lie seemed to come
easier with every
¡°Please, Jack, in the
Flustered, Jack
hunched himself
through the still-
open door. Slamming
it shut, he stared at
the dashboard. He
was in no rush to
open the window.
The minutes ticked
by. Bob scribbled
away on the pad.
Why hadn¡¯t he asked
for a driver¡¯s license?
Whatever the rea-
son, it would be a
Drive Safely
To A Beautiful Person:
If God had a refrigerator, your picture would be
on it.
If He had a wallet, your photo would be in it.
He sends you flowers every spring.
He sends you a sunrise every morning.
Whenever you want to talk, He listens.
He can live anywhere in the universe, but He
chose ... your heart.
Face it friend, He is crazy about you!
God didn¡¯t promise days without pain, laughter
without sorrow, sun without rain, but He did
promise strength for the day, comfort for the
tears, and light for the way.
~ Author Unknown ~
Jack took a long look at his speedometer
before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone. Fourth
time in as many months. How could a guy get
caught so often?
When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour,
Jack pulled over, but only partially. Let the
cop worry about the potential traffic hazard.
Maybe some other car will tweak his backside
with a mirror. The cop was stepping out of his
car, the big pad in hand.
Bob? Bob from church? Jack sunk farther into
his trench coat. This was worse than the com-
ing ticket.
A cop catching a guy from his own church. A
guy who happened to be a little eager to get
home after a long day at the office. A guy he
was about to play golf with tomorrow.
Jumping out of the car, he approached a man
he saw every Sunday, a man he¡¯d never seen
in uniform.
¡°Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this.¡±
¡°Hello, Jack.¡± No smile.
¡°Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush
to see my wife and kids.¡±
¡°Yeah, I guess.¡± Bob seemed uncertain. Good.
¡°I¡¯ve seen some long days at the office lately.
I¡¯m afraid I bent the rules a bit - just this
once.¡± Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement.
¡°Diane said something about roast beef and
potatoes tonight. Know what I mean?¡±
Small Facts About God
A perfect summer day is when
the sun is shining, the breeze is
blowing, the birds are singing,
and the lawn mower is broken.
- James Dent