Thought for the Day 12.23.10 – Two Touching Stories for the Season!

“This is the message of Christmas for All: We are never alone.”
~ Taylor Caldwell (1900-1985), English novelist.

The Tablecloth and Santa at the Gas Station

THE TABLECLOTH

The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned
to their first ministry, to reopen a church
in suburban Brooklyn , arrived in early October
excited about their opportunities. When they saw 
their church, it was very run down and needed
much work. They set a goal to have everything
done in time to have their first service
on Christmas Eve.

They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls,
painting, etc, and on December 18
were ahead of schedule and just about finished. 
On December 19 a terrible tempest – a driving
rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days.
On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church.
His heart sank when he saw that the roof had
leaked, causing a large area of plaster about
20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall 
of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, 
beginning about head high.

The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor,
and not knowing what else to do but postpone
the Christmas Eve service, headed home.
On the way he noticed that a local business was
having a flea market type sale for charity, so he
stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful,
handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth
with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross
embroidered right in the center. It was just
the right size to cover the hole in the front
wall. He bought it and headed back to the church.
By this time it had started to snow. An older
woman running from the opposite direction was
trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor 
invited her to wait in the warm church for
the next bus 45 minutes later.

She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor 
while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put
up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor 
could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and 
it covered up the entire problem area. 
Then he noticed the woman walking down the center
aisle. Her face was like a sheet. “Pastor,”
she asked, “where did you get that tablecloth?” 
The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check
the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into
it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had
made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria . 
The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor
told how he had just gotten “The Tablecloth”. The 
woman explained that before the war she and
her husband were well-to-do people in Austria .
When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave.
Her husband was going to follow her the next week. 
He was captured, sent to prison and never saw her 
husband or her home again.

The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth;
but she made the pastor keep it for the church.
The pastor insisted on driving her home. That
was the least he could do. She lived on the other
side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn 
for the day for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on Christmas
Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the
spirit were great. At the end of the service, the
pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door
and many said that they would return.
One older man, whom the pastor recognized
from the neighborhood continued to sit in one of the
pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he
wasn’t leaving.

The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on
the front wall because it was identical to one
that his wife had made years ago when
they lived in Austria before the war and how
could there be two tablecloths so much alike? 
He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he
forced his wife to flee for her safety and he was 
supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and
put in a prison.  He never saw his wife or his home
again all the 35 years between.

The pastor asked him if he would allow him to
take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten 
Island and to the same house where the pastor
had taken the woman three days earlier.
He helped the man climb the three flights of
stairs to the woman’s apartment, knocked on
the door and he saw the greatest Christmas
reunion he could ever imagine.

True Story – submitted by Pastor Rob Reid
who says God does work in mysterious ways.
I asked the Lord to bless you as I prayed for
you today, to guide you and protect you as you go 
along your way. His love is always with you. His
promises are true, and when we give Him all our
cares we know He will see us through.

Christmas at the gas station

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. 

He hadn’t been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. It was just another day to him. He didn’t hate Christmas, just couldn’t find a reason to celebrate. He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through. 

Instead of throwing the man out, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up. “Thank you, but I don’t mean to intrude,” said the stranger. “I see you’re busy, I’ll just go.” 

“Not without something hot in your belly.” George said. 

He turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. “It ain’t much, but it’s hot and tasty. Stew … Made it myself. When you’re done, there’s coffee and it’s fresh.” 

Just at that moment he heard the “ding” of the driveway bell. “Excuse me, be right back,” George said. There in the driveway was an old ’53 

Chevy Steam was rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked. “Mister can you help me!” said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. “My wife is with child and my car is broken.” George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold, the car was dead. 

“You ain’t going in this thing,” George said as he turned away. 

“But Mister, please help …” The door of the office closed behind George as he went inside. He went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building, opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting. “Here, take my truck,” he said. “She ain’t the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good.” 

George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night. He turned and walked back inside the office. “Glad I gave ’em the truck, their tires were shot too. That ‘ol truck has brand new .” George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The Thermos was on the desk, empty, with a used coffee cup beside it. “Well, at least he got something in his belly,” George thought. 

George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had 

been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered the the block hadn’t cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. “Well, shoot, I can fix this,” he said to himself. So he put a new one on. 

“Those tires ain’t gonna get ’em through the winter either.” He took the snow treads off of his wife’s old Lincoln. They were like new and he wasn’t going to drive the car anyway. 

As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, “Please help me.” 

George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. “Pressure to stop the bleeding,” he thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound. “Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin’,” he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease. 

“Something for pain,” George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. “These ought to work.” He put some water in a cup and gave 

the policeman the pills. “You hang in there, I’m going to get you an ambulance.” 

The phone was dead. “Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your car.” He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio. 

He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. “Thanks,” said the officer. “You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area.” 

George sat down beside him, “I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain’t gonna leave you.” George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding. “Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through ‘ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right as rain.” 

George got up and poured a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?” he asked. 

“None for me,” said the officer. 

“Oh, yer gonna drink this.  Best in the city. Too bad I ain’t got no donuts.” The officer laughed and winced at the same time. 

The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. “Give me all your cash! Do it now!” the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before. 

“That’s the guy that shot me!” exclaimed the officer. 

“Son, why are you doing this?” asked George, “You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt.” 

The young man was confused. “Shut up old man, or I’ll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!” 

The cop was reaching for his gun. “Put that thing away,” George said to the cop, “we got one too many in here now.” 

He turned his attention to the young man. “Son, it’s Christmas Eve. If you need money, well then, here. It ain’t much but it’s all I got. Now put that pea shooter away.” 

George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. “I’m not very good at this 

am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son,” he went on. “I’ve lost my job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last week.” 

George handed the gun to the cop. “Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the 

best we can.” 

He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the cop. “Sometimes we do stupid things.” George handed the young man a cup of coffee. “Bein’ stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin’ in here with a gun ain’t the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we’ll sort this thing out.” 

The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. “Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I’m sorry officer.” 

“Shut up and drink your coffee ” the cop said. 

George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn. “Chuck! You ok?” one of the cops asked the wounded officer. 

“Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?” 

“GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did 

this?” the other cop asked as he approached the young man. 

Chuck answered him, “I don’t know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran.” 

George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other. 

“That guy work here?” the wounded cop continued. 

“Yep,”  George said, “just hired him this morning. Boy lost his 

job.” 

The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, “Why?” 

Chuck just said, “Merry Christmas boy … and you too, George, and thanks for everything.” 

“Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your problems.” 

George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. “Here you go, something for the little woman. I don’t think Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day.” 

The young man 

looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. “I can’t take this,” said the young man. “It means something to you.” 

“And now it means something to you,” replied George. “I got my memories. That’s all I need.” 

George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. “Here’s something for that little man of yours.” 

The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier. 

“And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too,” George said. “Now git home to your family.” 

The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. “I’ll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good.” 

“Nope. I’m closed Christmas day,” George said. “See ya the day after.” 

George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. 

“Where’d you come from? I thought you left?” 

“I have been here. I have always been here,” said the stranger. “You say you don’t celebrate Christmas. Why?” 

“Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn’t see what all the bother was. Puttin’ up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin’ cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn’t the same by myself and besides I was gettin’ a little chubby.” 

The stranger put his hand on George’s shoulder. “But you do celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor. 

The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and not take any for himself. “That is the spirit of the season and you keep 

it as good as any man.” 

George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. “And how do you know all this?” asked the old man. 

“Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha again.” 

The stranger moved toward the door. “If you will excuse me, George, 

I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned.” 

George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room. 

“You see, George … it’s My birthday. Merry Christmas.” 

George fell to his knees and replied, “Happy Birthday, Lord Jesus” 

Merry Christmas and God Bless You All!!

About Ask Marion

I am a babyboomer and empty nester who savors every moment of my past and believes that it is the responsibility of each of us in my generation and Americans in general to make sure that America is as good or even a better place for future generations as it was for us. So far... we haven't done very well!! Favorite Quotes: "The first 50 years are to build and acquire; the second 50 are to leave your legacy"; "Do something that scares you every day!"; "The journey in between what you once were and who you are becoming is where the dance of life really takes place". At age 62 I find myself fighting inoperable uterine Cancer and thanks to the man upstairs and the prayers from so many people including many of my readers from AskMarion and JustOneMorePet... I'm beating it. After losing our business because of the economy and factors related to the re-election of President Obama in 2012 followed by 16-mos of job hunting, my architect-trained husband is working as a trucker and has only been home approximately 5-days a month since I was diagnosed, which has made everything more difficult and often lonely... plus funds are tight. Our family medical deductible is 12K per year for two of us; thank you ObamaCare. But thanks to donations from so many of you, we are making ends meet as I go through treatment while taking care of my father-in-law who is suffering from late stage Alzheimer's and my mother-in-law who suffers from RA and onset dementia as well as hearing loss, for which there are no caretaker funds, as I continue the fight here online to inform and help restore our amazing country. And finally I need to thank a core group of family, friends, and readers... all at a distance, who check in with me regularly. Plus, I must thank my furkids who have not left my side through this fight. You can see them at JustOneMorePet.
This entry was posted in Charity, Holidays, Joy, Spirituality, Thoughts ..., Tradition and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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