SANTA AND SARAH

                              Three years ago, a little boy and his
grandmother came to see Santa at the McAllister Mall in Saint John . The
child climbed up on his lap, holding a picture of a little girl.

                              Who is this?" asked Santa, smiling. "Your
friend?

                              "Yes, Santa,' he replied. "My sister, Sarah,
who is very sick," he said sadly.

                              Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was
waiting nearby, and saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue. "She wanted to
come with me to see you, oh, so very much, Santa!" the child exclaimed. "She
misses you," he added softly.

                              Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a
smile to the boy's face, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for
Christmas.

                              When they finished their visit, the
Grandmother came over to help the child off his lap, and started to say
something to Santa, but halted.

                              "What is it?" Santa asked warmly.

                              "Well, I know it's really too much to ask you,
Santa, but.." the old woman began, shooing her grandson over to one of
Santa's elves to collect the little gift which Santa gave all his young
visitors.

                              "The girl in the photograph... my
granddaughter well, you see ... she has leukemia and isn't expected to make
it even through the holidays," she said through tear-filled eyes. "Is there
any way, Santa, any possible way that you could come see Sarah? That's all
she's asked for, for Christmas, is to see Santa."

                              Santa blinked and swallowed hard and told the
woman to leave information with his elves as to where Sarah was, and he
would see what he could do. Santa thought of little else the rest of that
afternoon.  He knew what he had to do. "What if it were MY child lying in
that hospital bed, dying," he thought with a sinking heart, "This is the
least I can do."

                              When Santa finished visiting with all the boys
and girls that evening, he retrieved from his helper the name of the
hospital where Sarah was staying. He asked the assistant location manager
how to get to the Hospital.

                              "Why?" Rick asked, with a puzzled look on his
face.

                              Santa relayed to him the conversation with
Sarah's grandmother earlier that day.

                              "C'mon.....I'll take you there." Rick said
softly. Rick drove them to the hospital and came inside with Santa.

                              They found out which room Sarah was in. A pale
Rick said, he would wait out in the hall.

                              Santa quietly peeked into the room through the
half-closed door and saw little Sarah in the bed.

                              The room was full of what appeared to be her
family; there was the Grandmother and the girl's brother he had met earlier
that day. A woman whom he guessed was Sarah's mother stood by the bed,
gently pushing Sarah's thin hair off her forehead. And another woman who he
discovered later was Sarah's aunt, sat in a chair near the bed with a weary
sad look on her face. They were talking quietly, and Santa could sense the
warmth and closeness of the family, and their love and concern for Sarah.

                              Taking a deep breath, and forcing a smile on
his face, Santa entered the room, bellowing a hearty, "Ho, Ho, Ho!"

                              "Santa!" shrieked little Sarah, weakly as she
tried to escape her bed to run to him IV tubes intact.

                              Santa rushed to her side and gave her a warm
hug.

                              A child the tender age of his own son -- 9
years old -- gazed up at him with wonder and excitement. Her skin was pale
and her short tresses bore telltale bald patches from the effects of
chemotherapy. But, all he saw when he looked at her was a pair of, huge blue
eyes. His heart melted, and he had to force himself to choke back tears.
Though his eyes were riveted upon Sarah's face, he could hear the gasps and
quiet sobbing of the women in the room.

                              As he and Sarah began talking, the family
crept quietly to the bedside one by one, squeezing Santa's shoulder or his
hand gratefully, whispering "Thank you" as they gazed sincerely at him with
shining eyes. Santa and Sarah talked and talked, and she told him excitedly
all the toys she wanted for Christmas, assuring him she'd been a very good
girl that year.

                              As their time together dwindled, Santa felt
led in his spirit to pray for Sarah, and asked for permission from the
girl's mother. She nodded in agreement and the entire family circled around
Sarah's bed, holding hands. Santa looked intensely at Sarah and asked her if
she believed in angels.

                              "Oh, yes, Santa... I do!" she exclaimed.

                              "Well, I'm going to ask angels watch over
you." he said.  Laying one hand on the child's head, Santa closed his eyes
and prayed. He asked that, God touch little Sarah, and heal her body from
this disease. He asked that angels minister to her, watch and keep her. And
when he finished praying, still with eyes closed, he started singing,
softly, "Silent Night, Holy Night....all is calm, all is bright."  The
family joined in, still holding hands, smiling at Sarah, and crying tears of
hope, tears of joy for this moment, as Sarah beamed at them all.

                              When the song ended, Santa sat on the side of
the bed again and held Sarah's frail, small hands in his own.  "Now, Sarah,"
he said authoritatively, "you have a job to do, and that is to concentrate
on getting well. I want you to have fun playing with your friends this
summer, and I expect to see you at my house at McAllister Mall this time
next year!"

                              He knew it was risky proclaiming that to this
little girl who had terminal cancer, but he "had" to. He had to give her the
greatest gift he could -- not dolls or games or toys -- but the gift of
HOPE.

                              "Yes, Santa!" Sarah exclaimed, her eyes
bright.

                              He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead
and left the room.

                              Out in the hall, the minute Santa's eyes met
Rick's, a look passed between them and they wept unashamed.

                              Sarah's mother and grandmother slipped out of
the room quickly and rushed to Santa's side to thank him.
                              "My only child is the same age as Sarah," he
explained quietly. "This is the least I could do." They nodded with
understanding and hugged him.

                              One year later, Santa was again back on the
set in Saint John for his six-week, seasonal job which he so loves to do.
Several weeks went by and then one day a child came up to sit on his lap.

                              "Hi, Santa! Remember me?!"

                              "Of course, I do," Santa proclaimed (as he
always does), smiling down at her. After all, the secret to being a "good"
Santa is to always make each child feel as if they are the "only" child in
the world at that moment.

                              "You came to see me in the hospital last
year!"

                              Santa's jaw dropped. Tears immediately sprang
in his eyes, and he grabbed this little miracle and held her to his chest.
"Sarah!" he exclaimed. He scarcely recognized her, for her hair was long and
silky and her cheeks were rosy -- much different from the little girl he had
visited just a year before. He looked over and saw Sarah's mother and
grandmother in the sidelines smiling and waving and wiping their eyes.

                              That was the best Christmas ever for Santa
Claus.

                              He had witnessed --and been blessed to be
instrumental in bringing about -- this miracle of hope. This precious little
child was healed. Cancer-free. Alive and well. He silently looked up to
Heaven and humbly whispered, "Thank you, Father. 'Tis a very, Merry
Christmas!

                              If you believe in miracles you will pass this
on...I did!

Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. 
He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake.    

Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, 
no one could really say they knew him very well.    
 
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. 
The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us.   
He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII.  

Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, 
he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.  

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.  

He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened.  
 
He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. 
Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, 
"Would you like a drink from the hose?"  

The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent little smile.  

As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. 
As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.  

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. 
He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him.  

Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop it.  

"Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.  

Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. 
"Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday."  

His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. 
He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.  

Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?" 
"I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately," came the calm reply.  

Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. 
Carl was a man from a different time and place.  

A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. 
Carl again offered them a drink from his hose. 

This time they didn't rob him. 
They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water.  

When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done.  

Carl just watched them. 
Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering. 

The summer was quickly fading into fall Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. 
He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches.  

As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack.  

"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time."  

The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.  

"What's this?" 
Carl asked. "It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff back. 
Even the money in your wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help me now?"  

The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. "I learned something from you," he said. "I ran with that gang and hurt people like you we picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it but every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate."  

He stopped for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back."  

He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say. "That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess." And with that, he walked off down the street.  

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.  

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather.  
 
In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church.  

The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life.  

In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden."  

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: "Person needed to care for Carl's garden."  

The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister's office door.  

Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. "I believe this is my job, if you'll have me," the young man said.  

The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl.  

He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's garden and honor him."  

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done. 

During that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.  

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, "My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday."  

"Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?"  

"Carl," he replied.  

That's the whole gospel message simply stated.  Nothing bugs Satan more than a man like Carl!

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" 
 

This is awesome!  How Great is our God!!! 
Our Creator and Redeemer . . . and do we THINK about it ???
God's accuracy may be observed in the hatching of eggs.. . . . .


For example:

the eggs of the potato bug hatch in 7 days;

those of the canary in 14 days;

those of the barnyard hen in 21 days;

The eggs of ducks and geese hatch in 28 days;

those of the mallard in 35 days; 

the eggs of the parrot and the ostrich hatch in 42 days.

(Notice, they are all divisible by seven, the number of days in a week!)

God's wisdom is seen in the making of an elephant. The four legs of this great
beast all bend forward in the same direction.

No other quadruped is so made. God planned that this animal
would have a huge body, too large to live on two legs. For this reason He gave
it four fulcrums so that it can rise from the ground easily.
 
The horse rises from the ground on its two front legs first. A cow rises from the
ground with its two hind legs first. How wise the Lord is in all His works of creation!

God's wisdom is revealed in His arrangement of sections and segments, 
as well as in the number of grains.

-Each watermelon has an even number of stripes on the rind.

-Each orange has an even number of segments.

-Each ear of corn has an even number of rows. 

-Each stalk of wheat has an even number of grains. 

-Every bunch of bananas has on its lowest row an even number of bananas,
and each row decreases by one, so that one row has an even number and the
next row an odd number.

The waves of the sea roll in on shore twenty-six to the minute in all kinds of
weather.

All grains are found in even numbers on the stalks, and the Lord specified thirty
fold, sixty fold,  and a hundred fold all even numbers.

God has caused the flowers to blossom at certain specified times during the day. 
 
Linnaeus, the great botanist, once said that if he had a conservatory containing
the right kind of soil, moisture and temperature, he could tell the time of day or
night by the flowers that were open and those that were closed!

The lives of each of you may be ordered by the Lord in a beautiful way for His
glory,  if you will only entrust Him with your life. If you try to regulate your own
life, it will only be a mess and a failure. Only the One Who made the brain and
the heart can successfully guide them to a profitable end. 

I HOPE YOU FIND THIS AS FASCINATING AS I DID.  May God Bless You In Ways
You Never Even Dreamed Today! 
 

The Bible  
When you carry "the Bible", Satan has a headache,
when you open it, he collapses,  when he sees you
reading it, he loses his strength,AND when you
stand on the Word of God, Satan can't hurt you! 
And did you also know... When you are about to
forward this email to others, the devil  will probably
try to discourage you, but do it  anyway. 

"Life without God is like an unsharpened pencil - it has no point."

Stop telling God how big your storm is. Instead, tell the storm how big your God is!'

After living what I felt was a 'decent' life, my time on earth came to the end.

The first thing I remember is sitting on a bench in the waiting room of what I thought to be a court house.

The doors opened and I was instructed to come in and have a seat by the defense table.

As I looked around I saw the 'prosecutor'.

He was a villainous looking gent who snarled as he stared at me. He definitely was the most evil person I have ever seen.

I sat down and looked to my left and there sat My Attorney, a kind and gentle looking man whose appearance seemed so familiar to me, I felt I knew Him.

The corner door opened and there appeared the Judge in full flowing robes.

He commanded an awesome presence as He moved across the room. I couldn't take my eyes off of Him.

As He took His seat behind the bench, He said, 'Let us begin.'

The prosecutor rose and said, 'My name is Satan and I am here to show you why this man belongs in hell.'

He proceeded to tell of lies that I told, things that I stole, and In the past when I cheated others. Satan told of other horrible perversions that were once in my life, and the more he spoke, the further down in my seat I sank.

I was so embarrassed that I couldn't look at anyone, even my own Attorney, as the Devil told of sins that even I had completely forgotten about.

As upset as I was at Satan for telling all these things about me, I was equally upset at My Attorney who sat there silently not offering any form ofdefense at all.

I know I had been guilty of those things, but I had done some good in my life - couldn't that at least equal out part of the harm I'd done?

Satan finished with a fury and said, 'This man belongs in hell, he is guilty of all that I have charged and there is not a person who can prove otherwise.'

When it was His turn, My Attorney first asked if He might approach the bench. The Judge allowed this over the strong objection of Satan, and beckoned Him to come forward.

As He got up and started walking, I was able to see Him in His fullsplendor and majesty.

I realized why He seemed so familiar; this was Jesus representing me, my Lord and my Savior.

He stopped at the bench and softly said to the Judge, 'HI, DAD,' and then He turned to address the court.

'Satan was correct in saying that this man had sinned, I won't deny any of these allegations. And, yes, the wage of sin is death, and this man deserves to be punished.'

Jesus took a deep breath and turned to His Father with outstretched arms and proclaimed, 'However, I died on the cross so that this person might have eternal life and he has accepted Me as his Savior, so he is Mine.'

My Lord continued with, 'His name is written in the Book of Life, and no one can snatch him from Me. Satan still does not understand yet. This man is not to be given justice, but rather mercy.'

As Jesus sat down, He quietly paused, looked at His Father and said, 'There is nothing else that needs to be done. I've done it all..'

The Judge lifted His mighty hand and slammed the gavel down. The following words bellowed from His lips.....

'This man is free. The penalty for him has already been paid in full. Case dismissed.'
 
I asked Jesus as He gave me my instructions where to go next, 'Have you ever lost a case?'

Christ lovingly smiled and said, 'Everyone that has come to Me and asked Me to represent them has received the same verdict as you, ~Paid In Full.'

Grandma is eighty-eight years old and still drives her own car.
 
 
She writes: Dear Grand-daughter, 

The other day I went up to our local Christian book store and saw a 'Honk if you love Jesus' bumper sticker .. 

I was feeling particularly sassy that day because I had just come from a thrilling choir performance, followed by a thunderous prayer meeting.  I had taken my teenage grandson with me. 

So, I bought the sticker and put it on my bumper. 

Boy, am I glad I did; what an uplifting experience that followed.

I was stopped at a red light at a busy intersection, just lost in thought about the Lord and how good he is, and I didn't notice that the light had changed. 

It is a good thing someone else loves Jesus because if he hadn't honked, I'd never have noticed. 

I found that lots of people love Jesus! 

While I was sitting there, the guy behind started honking like crazy, and then he leaned out of his window and screamed, 'For the love of God!' 

'Go! Go! Go! Jesus Christ, GO!' 

What an exuberant cheerleader he was for Jesus! 

Everyone started honking! 

I just leaned out my window and started waving and smiling at all those loving people. 

I even honked my horn a few times to share in the love! 

There must have been a man from Florida back there because I heard him yelling something about a sunny beach.. 

I saw another guy waving in a funny way with only his middle finger stuck up in the air. 

I asked my grandson in the back seat what that meant. 

He laughed and said it was a Hawaiian good luck sign. 

Well, I have never met anyone from Hawaii , so I leaned out the window and gave him the good luck sign right back. 

My grandson burst out laughing. 

Why even he was enjoying this religious experience!! 

A couple of the people were so caught up in the joy of the moment that they got out of their cars and started walking towards me. 

I bet they wanted to pray or ask what church I attended, but this is when I noticed the light had changed. 

So, grinning, I waved at all my brothers and sisters, and drove on through the intersection. 

I noticed that I was the only car that got through the intersectionbefore the light changed again and felt kind of sad that I had to leave them after all the love we had shared. 

So I slowed the car down, leaned out the window and gave them all the Hawaiian good luck sign one last time as I drove away. Praise the Lord for such wonderful folks!! 

Will write again soon, 

Love, Grandma