Who will take the son?

Granny sent me this today.  I thought it blogworthy.  What say ye?

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art..  
  
  
 When the   Vietnam  conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.  
  
  
  
 About a month later, just before Christmas,

 there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.



 He said, 'Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.' The young man held out this package. 'I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.'



 The father

 opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. 'Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift..'



 The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.



 The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.



 On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. 'We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?'



 There was silence.

 Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, 'We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.'



 But the auctioneer persisted. 'Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?'



 Another voice angrily. 'We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Gogh's, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!'


But still the auctioneer continued. 'The son! The son! Who'll take the son?'


Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. 'I'll give $10 for the painting..' Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.


'We have $10, who will bid $20?'

'Give it to him for $10.. Let's see the masters.'


The crowd was becoming angry.. They didn't want the picture of the son.



They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.


The auctioneer pounded the gavel. 'Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!'


 A man sitting on the second row shouted, 'Now let's get on with the collection!'



 The auctioneer laid down his gavel. 'I'm sorry, the auction is over.'



 'What about the paintings?'



 'I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.



 The man who took the son gets everything!'


 God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: 'The son, the son, who'll take the son?'



 Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.

"Eight Point Lake by Carl Johnson" & "Today" By Lucy Lusk

Eight Point Lake:

Christina asked me to be a guest blogger. I'm honored. It seems like so much time has passed, and sometimes it seems like only a day since Micheal and Christina and I were together.

Yesterday my work took me to Eight Point Lake. My Grandfather owned a cottage on the lake there that he sold when I was six. I hadn't been back there since, until yesterday.

I have to imagine that you could count the number of times I was there, but for me it was endless. We rode there in a station wagon that didn't have electronic ignition or fuel injection. There was no phone there, I don't think it mattered. I remember a small TV with rabbit ears, but I don't remember it being on much. I remember my dad and uncles sporting crew cuts. They were younger then than I am now.

I remember in the evenings we would bring the inner tubes into the yard. My cousins and I would roll them with someone inside, or bounce on them. We smelled like OFF. Inside the grown-ups would start a fire in the fireplace, and we'd roast marshmallows.

Yesterday I was at the lake to repair a telephone problem. I tried to find that cottage. Last I heard someone had renovated it and now lives there. As I drove around the lake I got disoriented. I had to go to another trouble call. I got out my PDA and Google mapped my location. Cell signal was weak, but it was there.

So here I am in a place I haven't been in four decades, with a truck full of the latest electronic technology, a PDA in my hand, a bluetooth in my ear, leaving the home of a customer happily surfing the internet. I'm there, wishing I could just bounce on an inner tube or roast a marshmallow. I wiped a couple tears away on my shirt sleeve.

I think often about the kids in my class. What will they long for? The good old days of dropped cell phone calls? Cars with tires? Reality television shows?


Carl (C.J) S. Johnson


This is me, Christina now:
Man, that post brought back many memories of my own childhood (I could go for a marshmallow right now).  Carl is huge into being an awesome husband and father.  He has provided a link to an fantastic website that can help you become an amazing (or even more amazing!) parent as well.  Check it out.  They're even offering a FREE conference with lunch and childcare provided.  http://www.foundationalparenting.org

As a bonus:

"Today" by Lucy Lusk

today I went to school.then I went to reading class which we don't read .We make videos. But we we're
suposed to make a book. After that I went to Cici's pizza with my mom. I ate pizza and a breadstick. I
even got dessert! that was the best day of my life!

I call my friend Jordan's mealworm poopy because he poop's a lot.
Lucy.

The trinket man

   A man in the church I attended as a "tween" always carried trinkets in his pockets which he handed out to kids in the congregation.  They were usually just cheap plastic toys, you know the kind, piñata fillers you buy in bulk.  Sometimes they were a bit nicer like a fake gold necklace from the dollar store.  I loved watching the kids faces light up as he passed out his treasures, his face beaming as much as theirs.  Sometimes he even handed out trinkets to the grown ups.  They seemed to love it too.  He was the jolly church "grandpa" if you will.
  
 One day I noticed that I hadn't seen him in a while.  Others noticed too.  I remember overhearing a conversation about him, how he had become "sad", and how he wouldn't answer his phone or open the door to anyone.  I decided to write him a letter.  I don't remember the words in my letter.  I only remember mentioning that I missed him and I liked his little gifts.  Upon finding out that my Dad and another man were going to visit him, I handed my father my letter and asked him to please give it to the trinket man.

    When my dad returned home he said the trinket man wouldn't open the door but that he had slid my letter under the front door before he left. Trinket man did not return to the church.  I grew up, fell in love, got married, had a baby, went on the mission field, and never gave anymore thought to the jolly man who handed out treats at the church.      

     Nearly a decade later, while at a speaking engagement at one of our supporting churches, I heard my name called out as I was passing through the hallway on my way to get a double expresso at the cafe.  I spun around and found myself face-to-face with the trinket man.  It took me a moment to remember where I had seen this person before.  I don't think I fully knew who he was until he took a piece of paper out of his Bible and showed it to me.  He teared up as he showed me the very letter I had written so many years ago, and said, "I was going to commit suicide that day. This letter saved my life."  True story.

 Who needs a letter from you?  A bit of encouragement that costs nothing more than a moment of your time?  I had no idea the impact my words would have on that precious man.  We never really know how much a little love can affect a hurting person.  Forget about your computer for a moment.  Get out a pen and paper (real paper doesn't get easily deleted from an inbox) and write someone a letter.  Who knows? You may just save somebody's life.
 If you send someone a letter as a result of this post, PLEASE let me know.  Sign in anonymously if you wish.  Also, I'd love to hear about letter stories you may have.  Thanks all.  I appreciate you.  Glad you read today's post!