The Work of His Hands . . .

Lauren Willardson

AnluetngthufdSpsist onSe15 isocanat 6a:rredln0i7 PM  · 

These pictures of me were taken one year apart. One on Saturday, August 15, 2020, in Houston, Texas, at 2:35 PM. The other on Sunday, August 15, 2021, in Maricopa, Arizona, also at 2:35 PM. Looking at them both now, you can't see much of a difference. You can tell I'm outside instead of inside, you can tell I'm wearing a different dress, and that I'm maybe a little older....but that's about it! What you can't tell is the story that transpired between these two pictures. What you can't tell is all that awaited the innocent, unknowing me in 2020, and all that the current me has overcome in this past year through my Savior.

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Some of you may know what I am referring to. Tomorrow is my one year anniversary since the attack. It's been called my "undead day," my "re-birthday," the "day of miracles," the "day of protection," and so many other things. As you can imagine, my heart is overflowing with thoughts and emotions, and I can't wait to share many of the stories and miracles from this past year with you all tomorrow.

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However, as I got ready this morning, I couldn't help but also stop to appreciate the significance of today. August 15th was, for a long time and maybe forever, the last day of my "normal." It was the last day with no trauma. The last day with no scars. The last day of being a normal teenager with a normal body serving as a normal missionary. It was my last day serving in the Texas Houston Mission. I went to bed on August 15th completely naive to how that night would change my life forever.

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Now I do, and will always, have scars--mentally and physically. Now I did, and will always, have experienced attempted murder. Now I am, and will always be, a trauma survivor. I used to look at this picture of myself on August 15th and feel a sort of longing in my soul. To me, it represented what was and could never be again. The innocent, the unbroken, the unexpecting.

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And it's true that me on this August 15th is different than the me on the last, but it's not because I can never be who I once was. It's because I'm everything I was in that blue dress and so much more. It's because I learned once that Jesus Christ doesn't just heal. He restores.

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For the longest time after the attack, I clung to the idea that Jesus was the Master Healer. That He really COULD bind up my wounds, help me walk, remove my pain. But inside I was still struggling to accept the change. Even if the wounds were sealed..... scars would still remain. Even if I could walk again, I'd never have the same endurance as before. Even if my pain went away, it could still come back again.

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And then one day the Spirit spoke to me and said, "Jesus is not just the Master Healer. He is the Restorer." He doesn't just bind up our wounds but gives us the same perfect peace we had before the injury with a greater peace in Him because of them! He doesn't just repair us until we're good enough to stand alone; He brings us back to the same strength we had before and then adds His strength to it! He doesn't just help us fix the current pain but gives us the same relief we enjoyed previously with a greater capacity to withstand in the future!

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As I look back after one year now, I can truly say that Jesus Christ has not only healed, but restored me. I have learned in the most powerful way that there is no man nor force on this earth that possesses the power to take from us what God has bestowed. Christ has brought back everything that was lost. I am back doing what I was a year ago, serving in His wondrous work as His representative, with all the joy and strength I had before, but a more perfect hope in Him because of what I've been through. I am so grateful for all that was taken from me. Because Christ has restored it all to me again, along with more than I could ever imagine

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Sleep tight tonight, everyone! See you all tomorrow

The Work of His Hands

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100042937447099

To explain the above testimony:

August 16th, 2020. Do you remember where you were that day? Where did you wake up? Who were you with? What plans had you made? No matter how long I live, in this life or the next, I will never forget what happened on August 16th for me. Needless to say, I have been anticipating this anniversary and this post for a very long time. I have spent many hours pondering what I could possibly share to express the love and gratitude overflowing from my heart and all the miracles that Heavenly Father has shown me this past year. It is my earnest hope that everything I experienced on this day a year ago and every day following may be shared here in a way that shows the goodness and mercy of Heavenly Father, the love and power of Jesus Christ. They saved my soul in a sacred garden thousands of years before my birth and again in a dank apartment just north of Houston, Texas, exactly one year ago today. I am Theirs, and my soul purpose for now and for eternity is to testify of Them.

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Many of you reading this know the event which I am referring to. Many of you already know about what happened, but I would bargain to say that most of you reading this right now know little about what ACTUALLY happened. The miracles, the emotions, the continuing struggles. It's true-- it all started with the stabbing. On August 16th, 2020 at 4 am I was in my apartment in Houston, Texas, with my companion. We had great plans for the following day like our church service and teaching appointments with six or seven families. I remember going to bed so excited about how successful of a day we had lined up. But that all changed when, on August 16th, I woke up to screaming and an unfamiliar figure above my bed. I woke up to a fight, a struggle of life or death that would last about 15 minutes. Grappling, screaming, slashing, praying. I woke up to the potential of death. I received 9 stab wounds in the fight: one in my shoulder that pierced my lungs, one in my elbow, one on both sides of my hand, one in my side, two in my thigh, and one through both sides of my calf. We called 911 and they came and rushed us to the hospital. I called my president to come give me a life saving blessing. I called my parents to get their opinion on the surgery. They operated for six hours, and I then spent eight days in my home away from home--Houston HCA Northwest hospital--relearning how to eat, sit up, walk, etc. I was then in recovery for five months with constant physical therapy and hospital trips. We used to fill up a whole little garbage can just redressing my wounds each morning . After what seemed like forever, I received a phone call in Walmart two days before Christmas, informing me that I had once again been called to serve as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ, and that I would finish my labor in the Arizona Tempe Mission

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But my journey doesn't end there. I haven't shared the continuing story with many, but my story hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows. About five months ago, I started having a lot of returning health problems, specifically with my ability to eat. I began to get extremely nauseous almost 24/7, and eating became very difficult, and sometimes impossible, for me. I often can't sleep or work because the nausea and the pain is so bad. I have had a plethora of medical exams, tests, CT scans, xrays, and other things to try and figure out the problem. They assume it was caused by the stab wound in my intestines, but as of right now, there are no answers and it is something I still struggle with to this day.

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Now please understand, I don't share any of this to be pitied for my pain or praised for the perseverance. I have shared this with very few people because, when all is said and done, I consider myself the luckiest and most blessed soul on the planet to have gone through what I have and to have escaped with such FEW problems. And I am a missionary! I'm part of the greatest work in the world!! How could I be anything BUT happy?!

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But I feel impressed to share these recent experiences with you all now because they are the context that explains just how miraculous the Lord has been in my life this past year. They show that the stabbing was only the beginning of the miracle. Christ didn't just show up for five minutes to fight my battle and then retreat to His comfortable throne to observe my recovery. He has NEVER LEFT MY SIDE! Not when I left that apartment on the stretcher. Not when I left the hospital. Not when I left the THM. And not when I was healed enough to leave my home and return to service. What has REALLY built my faith in His infinite mercy and goodness is His hand in everything that has followed the attack. In the OVERWHELMING and CONSTANT love that He has shown me through each of you!!

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For me, it's all about moments. The indescribable connection I felt when a man, bent on my death, held me to the ground, but I screamed Heavenly Father's name as loud as I could and knew that He heard me. The comfort when I turned on a light for the first time after the fight and saw the world as it really was. The vision that filled my heart when I saw the stab wound through my palm and instantly felt my Savior there. The absolute wave of relief when I saw a handful of fully armed policemen crowd the scene and I knew that everything would be alright.

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And then there's other moments like when my mission president placed his hands on my frail and broken body and pronounced a blessing of peace. Or when I first semi-consciously recognized my parents as they rushed into my hospital room. And when I left the THM and was surprised with a parade from my ward and mission to see me off. Or how speechless I was when I received another parade from my ward and family in my neighborhood upon my homecoming.

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All of these moments in this past year, and so many more, have sustained me through the infinite love of Jesus Christ, expressed in each of you. But as I got ready yesterday, I realized that each of these moments are made up of little things. The things like being able to roll over in bed or cough without searing pain. The little things like fingers that can curl my hair or put on mascara. Things like how I can balance on one foot now, step up onto a curb, put on my own shirt, swallow a sip of water, wiggle my toes.

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There are more moments, memories, lessons, and experiences in this last year that have testified to me of the absolutely eternal goodness and love of our Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ, than I could ever possibly share. But seriously, just take my word for it. GOD IS SO GOOD!!!!! He knows us, He saves us, He lifts us, He fills us! I am ONLY standing here today, alive, breathing, and absolutely beaming with joy because of HIM! It is ALL because. of. HIM.

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In the hospital a few days after the attack, one of my cousins texted my mom with a question to ask me: "What is your favorite name for Jesus Christ?" Because of the pain and circumstances of the moment, I am just now realizing that I don't know if I ever gave her a good response to that question But even if I tried to answer her question now, I couldn't. Each one of these moments for me was so sacred because it represented a different role and a different hole that Jesus Christ was filling in my life. But because it has been a year, I think I owe my cousin something;) So, to commemorate these twelve months of miracles, for the next twelve days I am going to share the twelve roles of Jesus Christ that have had the greatest influence on me this last year. I will also share the stories and miracles of healing that brought me to the testimony of each of His mighty, miraculous names. I hope that each of you will join me in this celebration of our Redeemer and reflect on the miraculous moments that He has bestowed to make you who you are today (the posts will be on here and on my page, The Work of His Hands. See link below:)

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Thank you all, each and everyone, for remembering me on this re-birthday and for helping me remember my Life-giver. Christ gave me my life once through His atoning sacrifice and baptism in His church. That potential of salvation is more than I could ever thank Him for, in this life or the next. But this re-birthday has been truly special for me because, one year ago today could have been the end. I could have died. He saved me once, He didn't have to do it again. But the thing is--He is Jesus. So He DID. He did save me again. He gave my life back to me. It has been bought, it is His. The only question that remains for me and for each of us is WHY? And what are we going to do about it?

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Now, more than ever, I know that I owe my life to the Lord! Now, more than ever, I know that I can do nothing but give every breath testifying of Him and His infinite goodness and love! My only purpose, now and forever, is to testify of my Life Saver and spread His good news to all the world! That He can save your life, too! That in Him you, me, and we all, can be reborn! As I look back, I can say with confidence that i am SO GRATEFUL I was stabbed. There is not a single thing in this year I would change. We don't have to change the past. Because He can change our future

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As my heart fills with gratitude today for all He has given that I can never repay, I know that the one thing I can give is my testimony. After one year, I can still say with confidence: I KNOW that Jesus Christ lives, because I live. I KNOW that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father love you more than you can ever imagine, because I have finally felt some real sorrow and some real pain that allowed me to imagine a microscopic portion of how unfathomable the Atonement really was, and what a miracle that They loved us enough to perform it. I KNOW that Christ's gospel is the way to salvation, because it has saved my mind from trauma, my body from pain, and my soul from death. I know that Christ loves us because He let me suffer and almost die, so that in Him, I could be reborn, as we all can be if we choose to see each day as His day of miracles! and I bear this witness and promise to each of you in the name of He Who fulfills all His promises, even the name of Jesus Christ, amen

Original post:https://ldsemailforwards.blogspot.com/2020/12/cami-carpenter-smith.html

With Faith We Can Save America

 

My Oldest Friend

It’s been five days since the walk when my good friend told me about the boy who gave his farewell in her ward last Sunday.
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The one who had been asked to speak on his relationship with Christ.
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He said writing the talk was hard for him because he had so many personal stories to choose from.
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“Jesus is my oldest friend,” he explained.
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My heart almost beat right out of my chest when she told me that.
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I knew exactly what that boy was talking about, but I’ve never described it quite like that.
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And now the phrase won’t leave my thoughts.
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I remember Him showing up that day after my grandpa died and I sat on the curb of the playground at recess and wondered why all of the other kids were so happy.
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I was seven.
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He was there.
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And when I was twelve and the girls who had always been my friends told me I wasn’t cut out for the popular crowd and I walked home from the bus stop alone, He was there then too.
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At seventeen, when I left everything behind for a cause He called me into, at nineteen when I was the loneliest I have ever been, at twenty-six when the sky came crashing down.
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Still there.
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When I was diagnosed with my second melanoma and I was so sick for days, and weeks, and months, and I wondered if I would ever be whole again.
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When I lost my dear friend to cancer.
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When doubt and discouragement and failure overwhelmed.
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In every single one of those moments, He was there.
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Constant. Steady. Sure.
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The One who kept me from falling.
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An ever present help in times of trouble.
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The giver of grace.
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Jesus.
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For me, to live, is Christ.
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I don’t know where I would be without Him.
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To that boy who put into words what my heart has known but lacked a description for...thank you from the depths of my heart.
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In two years from now I can’t wait to hear about the stories you will share about your oldest friend who will surely accompany you on this upcoming journey.
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I am certain you will not travel alone.
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Thanks for reminding me that none of us do.
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Today I want to spend sacred time remembering Him.
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The One who has been there through it all.
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My oldest friend.

Emily Belle Freeman, post from facebook

https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=298016338361061&set=p.298016338361061

The Work of His Hands . . . .

Cami Carpenter Smith
SthSepSohpotnseemsubeocerire mrdm2s7 ·

Some of you may have seen in the news that two, beautiful and precious sister missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints were brutally attacked in Houston TX a month ago. Here are the words and testimony of one of them as recorded on Facebook in the Missionary Mommas Group of which I am a member. I share with her permission as you will read here:
Hello! My name is Lauren Willardson I am a daughter of God, I am a disciple of Jesus Christ, and I am one of the missionaries who was stabbed in Houston about a month ago. Because this week marks one month since I returned home from the hospital, I wanted to share the story of what happened in my own words, and more importantly share the path paved with miracles that I have walked with my Savior during this past month! It is my hope and prayer that by doing so I may bear witness of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and confirm to each of you that God TRULY IS our loving Heavenly Father, that Jesus Christ is the Master Healer and Savior of the World, that He gave His life because He loves you more than you can comprehend, and that through Him ALL THINGS truly can be overcome!
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As many of you know, on August 16th around 4 am a man broke into the apartment where my companion and I lived and started attacking us in our sleep. We fought and prayed, struggling for our lives for about fifteen minutes. After the struggle, through the power and mercy of God, the man left. My companion and I called 911 and were then rushed to the hospital. We found in the ambulance that I had sustained nine stab wounds. At the hospital, I had a life saving surgery and then received treatment for many days. Thanks to your many prayers on my behalf and the infinite Atonement of my Savior, Jesus Christ, I am so pleased to report that I am now at home recovering nicely I plan to return to missionary service as soon as my doctors will allow
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While this time at home is definitely different than my original mission plan, I have learned more about Heavenly Father’s love during this time than I ever could have in 18 months! As I look back on these experiences, I testify that His plan is perfect and that it is with perfect love that every part of His plan is prescribed! I can see His loving hand through this experience because Heavenly Father prepared me my whole life with a great support system from my friends and family so I could have a wonderful recovery. He prepared me with a confidence in my life purpose and faith in Christ, that sustained me during the ordeal, during those critical life or death moments in the hospital, and in all of the pain that would follow. He made sure we would survive the incident by placing my companion and I together in that apartment, because we are convinced that if either of us had been there with any other missionary, we would not have survived. Even though we were stabbed, He kept His promise that "thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less" (D&C 122:9) by sending angels to protect our vitals and main arteries. The surgeon who saved my life said that if the knife in my shoulder had been turned even a degree to the left or the right, it would have sliced a main artery and vein and I would have bled out before the ambulance ever arrived. What a miracle that we were protected and the knife glided in so perfectly! From all of this to having such experienced trauma surgeons...to having the president of the particular hospital I was taken to be LDS and let my parents in when no visitors were allowed with covid...to having my mission president and his wife led by the Spirit to the hospital in time to give me a life saving blessing......the evidence of God’s hand throughout this ordeal is overwhelming!!
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If these miracles do not convince you of the great and miraculous love of our Heavenly Father, then I beg you to consider the Greatest Miracle of All, even the gift and life of His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ. He loved YOU...you reading this right now....Heavenly Father loved you enough to sacrifice His ONLY Son. He sent Him to die because He loves YOU and because He knew you were worth it. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ saved my life so many times that I cannot do anything for the rest of my life but witness of the INFINITE and INTIMATE love of our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I will bear Their Names with every breath They give me, so long as I live
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It is with this opportunity that I would like to conclude: by bearing testimony of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. On that dreadful morning of August 16th, after the man had gone, I remember waiting for the ambulance to arrive while my companion was on the phone with 911. I remember noticing for the first time all the places I was cut because we had been fighting with too much adrenaline to notice the wounds previously. As I sat there with my limbs tensing up to the point I could not move, not knowing if I was going to bleed to death, I remember looking down at my hand and seeing that it had been stabbed through the middle. While you may think that this would be an alarming sight to behold, I remember feeling the greatest peace as my mind instantly thought of a similar wound in the hands of One much greater than I. As more wounds were discovered on me in the ambulance and procedures following, I soon learned that my intestines had been pierced near my side, and my ankle pierced through as well right above my foot. With these three wounds I have learned more about the Atonement of Jesus Christ than I had ever understood previously. As I thought of His pierced hands, and feet, and side, and felt the pain of my own wounds in similar spots, I finally understood a microscopic proportion of just what Christ went through to save us. There are no words that can describe the amount of agony Christ chose to endure to save us. I do not possess the ability to describe what it feels like to have your hand stabbed through, the searing pain that follows wounds like these, or what it feels like to almost bleed to death, but because I have experienced these things I now can say to all the world: NEVER DOUBT HOW MUCH HEAVENLY FATHER AND JESUS CHRIST LOVE YOU!! I went through this because it just happened to me, but to think that Christ CHOSE willingly to feel everything I felt, an eternity more, and eventually die just so He could be there for us even when we sometimes choose to turn our back on Him.....I cannot help but exclaim like Pontius Pilate, "Behold, the Man!" I testify that He suffered excruciatingly, so that when you go through your own Gethsemane, you do not have to suffer. He will carry you when you cannot walk. He will take away the pain when you cannot bear it. He will bring you peace when hope seems lost. He will do this for you because this is what He has done for me. None of this is unique to me. He does it for all of us. I just had to have a little tougher experience to finally learn it, but I hope and pray that each of you will not have to do the same. That you will use my experience instead and learn it now. Please learn and never forget JUST HOW MUCH YOUR SAVIOR LOVES YOU!!!
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I know with all of my heart that I am only here today because of God’s power and I am sustained every day through your many prayers! I am touched to see all the good in the world that comes from a community of universal faith! I just want to express my deepest and most heartfelt gratitude to every single one of you reading this story. I have read tons of posts from people who are praying for my companion, for me, and for our families. We are truly humbled and honored. I wish I could look every single one of you in the eyes and say how GRATEFUL I am for your love and support. Your prayers enabled me through every step of this journey and I hope you each know that they have quite literally caused modern day miracles in my healing process. THANK YOU!! I love you all! I would not be where I am today without you, and I am honored to be your sister in the family of God.
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If you would like to hear more about the miracles during this ordeal and how Christ enabled me through, I have started a Facebook/Instagram account (account info below) where I will post more details and spiritual insights throughout my recovery, until the day I return to the mission field! The account is called “The Work of His Hands” to highlight how every miracle worked in my life came from the hands of my Savior. I hope that through this endeavor many of you may come to know as I do that Heavenly Father’s hand is working miracles in your life through our Savior, Jesus Christ
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Please feel free to share this post to promote faith in Jesus Christ! However, we ask that you please also be sensitive to what is shared by word of mouth to prevent the creation of any more rumors I love you all! God speed! And please remember this story and never EVER forget how much Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love you
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Facebook account: The Work of His Hands

https://www.facebook.com/The-Work-of-His-Hands-120585573132101
Instagram Handle: the.work.of.His.hands

FOX NEWS - 

Former missionary recounts the night she and her companion were stabbed

https://www.fox13now.com/news/local-news/former-lds-missionary-recounts-the-night-she-and-her-companion-were-stabbed?fbclid=IwAR2fYkZoOh2MVdiG5Dak42O9Uq4XCnRxSchoRvNQu-fmcsUC9UllE6GOo2M

 

SLC Temple Dedicatory Prayer

April 6, 1893

"Heavenly Father, when Thy people shall not have the opportunity of entering this holy house to offer their supplications unto Thee, and they are oppressed and in trouble, surrounded by difficulties or assailed by temptation and shall turn their faces towards this Thy holy house and ask Thee for deliverance, for help, for Thy power to be extended in their behalf, we beseech Thee, to look down from Thy holy habitation in mercy and tender compassion upon them, and listen to their cries. Or when the children of Thy people, in years to come, shall be separated, through any cause, from this place, and their hearts shall turn in remembrance of Thy promises to this holy Temple, and they shall cry unto Thee from the depths of their affliction and sorrow to extend relief and deliverance to them, we humbly entreat Thee to Turn Thine ear in mercy to them; hearken to their cries, and grant unto them the blessings for which they ask.


Almighty Father, increase within us the powers of that faith delivered to and possessed by Thy Saints. Strengthen us by the memories of the glorious deliverances of the past, by the remembrance of the sacred covenants that Thou hast made with us, so that, when evil overshadows us, when trouble encompasses us, when we pass through the valley of humiliation, we may not falter, may not doubt, but in the strength of Thy Holy name may accomplish all Thy righteous purposes with regard to us, fill the measure of our creation, and triumph gloriously, by Thy grace, over every besetting sin, be redeemed from every evil, and be numbered in the kingdom of heaven amongst those who shall dwell in Thy presence forever."

A Clear Understanding of the Sarament Came To Me . . . A Testimony

~ The last Sacrament cup~

It was just before the new year, and we were visiting a ward in St. George, Utah, with our five little children—a ward that had no Primary or youth program because it was composed mostly of retired couples. No 12-year-old deacons bumped elbows on the front row; it was the high priests who were preparing to bless and pass the sacrament.

Normally, the ward would have gently filled the padded seats of the chapel, but on this holiday weekend the overflow divider was pushed wide, and we, with a number of other families, were nestled onto metal folding chairs that stretched to the back of the cultural hall.

The meeting progressed as usual, and I watched as a dozen older gentlemen carried trays of bread, then water, through the bursting rows. They were making great effort to manage the unusually large crowd. Their faces were kind. Some had rounded shoulders and bent spines. They whispered directions to each other. One wore cowboy boots. One winked at a little girl in front of us.

My daughters and I took the last cups of water from our tray and handed it to my husband, Doug, who passed the empty tray to the brother standing at the end of our row.

The bishop stood at the pulpit to assess the situation. When he asked who had not received the water, a few pockets of people, including Doug, raised their hands. So the brethren returned to the sacrament table, offered a second prayer on the new water, and delivered it to the waiting members.

Our row was last to receive the water this time, and I noticed that Doug offered the couple next to him the two remaining cups. The tray was empty, and it appeared to me that Doug was the only one in the congregation who hadn’t had the water. I wondered what he would do. Would he let it go? not worry about it this week?

Assuming that everyone had now received the water, those who were passing the sacrament partook of the water themselves, using all the remaining cups. But the bishop asked one more time if anyone had not received the water, and Doug raised his hand. He was, as I suspected, the only one. He looked at me and we smiled, conscious of the craned necks and curious eyes.

The brethren returned to the table for a third prayer on the water. And suddenly, as I heard that phrase “to bless and sanctify this water to the souls of all those who drink of it” (D&C 20:79), a realization crept into my heart—an understanding so keen it pried me clear open and God’s Spirit swept in. It was a reverence I hadn’t felt in too long.

They were praying over one cup. For one person. One soul.

The sacrament mattered. Even for one. Just as the Atonement mattered. For one.

For everyone.

Hundreds of members waited for the “amen.” Dozens watched as the last cup was delivered to my husband, and he put it to his lips, and drank.

I had to look away, my eyes were so wet.

I looked up in time to see these sweet men in suits cover the trays with white linen. Just as Christ’s body, broken for us, was covered. Just as His Atonement covers us. All of us.

You and I are indisputably tied to Christ’s suffering. All our sins, grief, hurts, and losses are held in the drops of His blood. He said He has “graven [us] upon the palms of [His] hands” (Isaiah 49:16*).

The emotion of watching Doug take the last sacrament cup changed me, changed my understanding of the Atonement.
Our Redeemer, the Mighty One of Israel, broke not just bread, but body and soul. For me. For you. As if we were the only ones who mattered.




*  Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.

The Best of Any Man, Is What Is Found In The Heart

 Shoes in Church

I showered and shaved................ I adjusted my tie.

I got there and sat................ In a pew just in time.

Bowing my head in prayer............ As I closed my eyes.

I saw the shoe of the man next to me....... Touching my own. I sighed.

With plenty of room on either side......... I thought, 'Why must our soles touch?'

It bothered me, his shoe touching mine.. But it didn't bother him much.

A prayer began: 'Our Father'............. I thought,

 'This man with the shoes, has no pride. 

They’re dusty, worn, and scratched.  

Even worse, there are holes on the side!'

'Thank You for blessings,' the prayer went on.

The shoe man said................. A quiet 'Amen.'

I tried to focus on the prayer....... But my thoughts were on his shoes again..

Aren't we supposed to look our best. When walking through that door?

'Well, this certainly isn't it,' I thought, glancing toward the floor.

Then the prayer was ended............ And the songs of praise began .

The shoe man was certainly loud..... Sounding proud as he sang.

His voice lifted the rafters........ His hands were raised high.

The Lord could surely hear.. The shoe man's voice from the sky.

It was time for the offering........ And what I threw in was steep.

I watched as the shoe man reached.... Into his pockets so deep.

I saw what was pulled out.......... What the shoe man put in.

Then I heard a soft 'clink' as when silver hits tin.

The sermon really bored me.......... To tears, and that's no lie.

It was the same for the shoe man... For tears fell from his eyes.

At the end of the service........ As is the custom here.

We must greet new visitors, And show them all good cheer.

But I felt moved somehow........... And wanted to meet the shoe man.

So after the closing prayer........ I reached over and shook his hand.

He was old and his skin was dark..... And his hair was truly a mess.....

But I thanked him for coming.......... For being our guest...

He said, 'My name’s Charlie............ I'm glad to meet you, my friend.'

There were tears in his eyes......... But he had a large, wide grin..

'Let me explain,' he said............. Wiping tears from his eyes.

'I've been coming here for months...... And you're the first to say 'Hi.''

'I know that my appearance...........Is not like all the rest.

'But I really do try....................To always look my best.'

'I always clean and polish my shoes...Before my very long walk.'

'But by the time I get here........They're dirty and dusty, like chalk.'

My heart filled with pain............ And I swallowed to hide my tears.

As he continued to apologize.......... For daring to sit so near

He said, 'When I get here............ I know I must look a sight.'

'But I thought if I could touch you....Then maybe our souls might unite.'

I was silent for a moment............. Knowing whatever was said

Would pale in comparison.... I spoke from my heart, not my head.

'Oh, you've touched me,' I said.......'And taught me, in part'

'That the best of any man..............Is what is found in his heart.'

The rest, I thought,............... This shoe man will never know.

Like just how thankful I really am.... That his dirty old shoe touched my soul.

Live each day as your last, for we never know our time here on earth. Love and Peace My Friends and remember that it is not how we look on the outside but how we look within .

Can't Attend Church With Hypocrites Anymore

A lady went to the Bishop and said, "I won't be attending church anymore."

He said, "May I ask why?"

She said, " I see people on their cell phones texting and typing during the service, some are gossiping, some just aren't living right, some are sleeping, some are staring at me, they are all just hypocrites."

The bishop was silent. Then he said, "Can I ask you to do something for me before you make your final decision?"

She said, "Sure, whats that?"

He said, "Take a glass of water and walk around the church two times and don't let any water fall out of the glass." She said, "Yes, I can do that!" She went and got a glass of water and walked around the church two times. She came back and proudly said, "It's done."

The bishop asked her, "Did you see anybody on their phone?; Did you see anyone gossiping?; Was anybody living wrong?; Did you see anyone sleeping?" She said, "I didn't see anything because I was so focused on this glass, so the water didn't spill out."

He told her, "When you come to church, you should just focus on the Savior, so that you don't fall. That's why Jesus said, "Come follow me, He did not say follow Mormons."

Don't let your relationship with God be determined by how others relate with God. Let it be determined by how focused you are with God.