THE FLIGHT HOME

Years ago, a friend told me a story about the most frightening, yet thought-provoking experience of his life. His executive responsibilities had taken him all over the country and around the world, but one particular flight had completely changed his perspective on life. 

He told of an experience that he’d had on one particular flight.  A severe rain storm had seized the plane and caused fear to overcome his otherwise rational thinking. The first warning of the approaching problems came when the sign on the airplane flashed on: Fasten your seat belts. Then, after a while, a calm voice said, "We shall not be serving beverages at this time as we are expecting turbulence. Please be sure your seat belt is fastened."

He explained that as he looked around the aircraft, it became obvious that many of the passengers were becoming apprehensive. Later, the voice of the attendant said, "We are so sorry that we are unable to serve the meal at this time. There are turbulence still ahead."

The storm broke and ominous cracks of thunder could be heard even above the roar of the engines. Lightening lit up the darkening skies and within moments that large plane was like a cork being tossed about on a celestial ocean. One moment the airplane was lifted on the unforgiving currents of air and the next, it plummeted through the air.

The man confessed that he shared the discomfort and fear of those around him and he said, "As I looked around the plane, I could see that nearly all the passengers were upset and alarmed and some were praying. The future seemed ominous and many were wondering if they would make it safely through the storm.

Then, he suddenly noticed a little girl sitting across the isle and it was clear the storm meant nothing to her. She had tucked her feet beneath her as she sat on the seat; she was reading a book and every thing within her small world was calm and orderly. Sometimes she closed her eyes, then she would read again or straighten her legs, but worry and fear were not in her world: not when the plane was being buffeted by the terrible storm, when it lurched this way and that, or as it rose and fell with alarming severity.  When all the adults were frightened beyond words, that marvelous innocent child was completely composed and unafraid.

It was not surprising therefore, that when the plane finally reached its destination and all the passengers were hurrying to disembark, the man lingered to speak to the young girl whom he had watched  with amazement. Having commented about the storm and behavior of the plane, he asked why she had not been afraid.

The sweet child replied, "Sir, my Dad is the pilot, and he is taking me home."

There are many kinds of storms that buffet us: physical, mental, financial and domestic.  There are storms that can easily and quickly darken our skies and throw our lives into an apparent uncontrollable frenzy. We have all known such times, and let us be honest and confess, it is much easier to be at rest when our feet are on the ground than when we are being tossed about in the darkness. 

During the trials and difficulties of life, let us always remember to have faith in our Heavenly Father, who is the Pilot, and in the Lord, who is at the controls, for they are taking us safely home.  LindaSumnerUrza for: onefineday11.blogspot.com

THE CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

For many of us, one Christmas stands out from all the others, the one when the meaning of the day shone clearest.

Although I did not guess it, my own truest Christmas began on a rainy spring day in the bleakest year of my life. Recently divorced, I was in my 20's, had no job, and was on my way downtown to go the rounds of the employment offices. I had no umbrella, for my old one had fallen apart, and I could not afford another one. I sat down in the streetcar, and there against the seat was a beautiful silk umbrella with a silver handle inlaid with gold and flecks of bright enamel. I had never seen anything so lovely.

I examined the handle and saw a name engraved among the golden scrolls. The usual procedure would have been to turn in the umbrella to the conductor, but on impulse I decided to take it with me and find the owner myself. I got off the streetcar in a downpour and thankfully opened the umbrella to protect myself. Then I searched a telephone book for the name on the umbrella and found it. I called, and a lady answered.

Yes, she said in surprise, that was her umbrella which her parents, now dead, had given her for a birthday present. But, she added, it had been stolen from her locker at school (she was a teacher) more than a year before. She was so excited that I forgot I was looking for a job and went directly to her small house. She took the umbrella, and her eyes filled with tears.

The teacher wanted to give me a reward, but -- though $20 was all I had in the world - - her happiness at retrieving this special possession was such that to have accepted money would have spoiled something. We talked for a while, and I must have given her my address. I don't remember.

The next six months were wretched. I was able to obtain only temporary employment here and there, for a small salary, though this was what they now call the Roaring Twenties. But I put aside 25 or 50 cents when I could afford it for my little girls Christmas presents. (It took me six months to save $8.) My last job ended the day before Christmas, my $30 rent was soon due, and I had $15 to my name -- which Peggy and I would need for food. She was home from her convent boarding school and was excitedly looking forward to her gifts the next day, which I had already purchased. I had bought her a small tree, and we were going to decorate it that night.

The stormy air was full of the sound of Christmas merriment as I walked from the streetcar to my small apartment. Bells rang and children shouted in the bitter dusk of the evening, and windows were lighted and everyone was running and laughing. But there would be no Christmas for me, I knew, no gifts, no remembrance whatsoever. As I struggled through the snowdrifts, I just about reached the lowest point in my life. Unless a miracle happened I would be homeless in January, foodless, jobless. I had prayed steadily for weeks, and there had been no answer but this coldness and darkness, this harsh air, this abandonment. God and men had completely forgotten me. I felt old as death, and as lonely. What was to become of us?

I looked in my mailbox. There were only bills in it, a sheaf of them, and two white envelopes which I was sure contained more bills. I went up three dusty flights of stairs, and I cried, shivering in my thin coat. But I made myself smile so I could greet my little daughter with a pretense of happiness. She opened the door for me and threw herself in my arms, screaming joyously and demanding that we decorate the tree immediately.

Peggy was not yet six years old, and had been alone all day while I worked. She had set our kitchen table for our evening meal, proudly, and put pans out and the three cans of food which would be our dinner. For some reason, when I looked at those pans and cans, I felt broken-hearted. We would have only hamburgers for our Christmas dinner tomorrow, and gelatin. I stood in the cold little kitchen, and misery overwhelmed me. For the first time in my life, I doubted the existence of God and His mercy, and the coldness in my heart was colder than ice.

The doorbell rang, and Peggy ran fleetly to answer it, calling that it must be Santa Claus. Then I heard a man talking heartily to her and went to the door. He was a delivery man, and his arms were full of big parcels, and he was laughing at my child's frenzied joy and her dancing. This is a mistake, I said, but he read the name on the parcels, and they were for me. When he had gone I could only stare at the boxes. Peggy and I sat on the floor and opened them. A huge doll, three times the size of the one I had bought for her. Gloves. Candy. A beautiful leather purse. Incredible! I looked for the name of the sender. It was the teacher, the address simply California, where she had moved.

Our dinner that night was the most delicious I had ever eaten. I could only pray to myself, Thank You, Father. I forgot I had no money for the rent and only $15 in my purse and no job. My child and I ate and laughed together in happiness. Then we decorated the little tree and marveled at it. I put Peggy to bed and set up her gifts around the tree, and a sweet peace flooded me like a benediction. I had some hope again. I could even examine the sheaf of bills without cringing. Then I opened the two white envelopes. One contained a check for $30 from a company I had worked for briefly in the summer. It was, said a note, my Christmas bonus. My rent!

The other envelope was an offer of a permanent position with the government -- to begin in two days after Christmas. I sat with the letter in my hand and the check on the table before me, and I think that was the most joyful moment of my life up to that time.

The church bells began to ring. I hurriedly looked at my child, who was sleeping blissfully, and ran down to the street. Everywhere people were walking to church to celebrate the birth of the Saviour. People smiled at me and I smiled back. The storm had stopped, the sky was pure and glittering with stars.

The Lord is born! Sang the bells to the crystal night and the laughing darkness. Someone began to sing, Come, all ye faithful! I joined in and sang with the strangers all about me.

I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all.

And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses.

                                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

I read this story ever year on Christmas Eve when my children were younger.  It's one of my most cherished. I guess it because there is something for everyone in this story of miracles.  Merry Christmas and may God bless you and your loved ones. 

(Taylor Caldwell (September 7, 1900 - August 30, 1985) wrote this story. She was a prolific and best-selling American author.) 

THE LOVING HAND OF HUMANITY

(If you haven't read the blog just below this one titled, 'Have you seen my son?' you will want to read it first in order to fully understand this story.) Scroll down, it's posted below.

It was December 6, 2013.  I left my home in the evening to buy a few holiday decorations. I spent several hours looking for the things that I needed. When checking out, I was surprised at the expense of such few items. 'Oh well, after all it's Christmas!' I told myself.

The next morning I awoke to a storm that had covered our landscape with a white blanket of powdery snow.  Since I live in the southern most tip of Utah, next to the Arizona boarder, this was a shocker - especially to my 20 foot palm trees! Around 10 o'clock there was a knock at the front door and when I opened it, there stood my son, Jared. He had a distressful look on his face, as he pointed to a man sitting in the passengers seat of his car. He explained that the man was homeless and he'd found him by the side of the road; he was jogging to keep warm. The young man didn't have a coat, hat, or gloves and his clothing was drenched from the falling snow. Jared, who had once been homeless himself, knew what that was like at its worst and I could feel the pain riveting through his countenance.

 "I need to help him, Mom!" He declared. "He doesn't have anyone who cares about him like I have, he'll freeze in this weather!"

I motioned for the man to come into my home. Through our conversation, I learned that he was living underneath the bridge, just outside of town.  He appeared to be around the age of 25 and presented himself in a kind and courteous way. Then I heard a silent message that whispered ever so gently to my heart, "He's somebody's son"and I struggled to clear the lump in my throat.  At that moment I reflected back to the many prayers I had offered when Jared was homeless; I had pleaded for his safety and that he would to fall into the hands of good and kind people who would provide for his needs.

I found the young man some warm clothing and wool socks to replace his wet ones.  He was very gracious, but reluctant to accept the items.  I assured him that it was given with love and concern for his well-being. Then what happened next sufficiently humbled me.  I watched the miracles of God bring the blessings of my prayers full circle and within the walls of my own home.  Jared took off his down ski parka and placed it upon the man's shoulders.  Then he opened his wallet and gave a large amount of cash, which I assure you was 40 times more than most people give to those living on the streets. Then he said, "I want to take you to get a hot meal - - someplace where you can get warm."

My heart was overcome with emotions and it was difficult to hold back the tears. Once I had prayed for someone to deliver my son from the cold and now he was reaching out to deliver another!  I watched as Jared, without hesitation, stretch out the loving hand of humanity to lift this man to his feet.

After they left my home, I sat down and looked around the room.  All the lavish decorations adorning my home had little to no value compared to the experience that I had just witnessed.  I looked at the fireplace burning with glowing embers and burst into tears.  I thought about all my blessings and like millions of others just like me, I had never been homeless!  I had never wandered the streets looking for my next meal!  I had never battled the bitterness of the unforgiving elements!  I had never feared for my life in the solitary darkness of a cruel world!  For a brief moment, God had allowed me to see a glimpse of the sacrifice that others endure to teach me of the plan of salvation. The plan to soften hearts, the plan to teach charity, the plan to evoke compassion, forgiveness, and eternal love.  For a spit second, I realized that these experiences are given to all of us - that we may be inspired to change the world in which we live!

May we celebrate the true meaning of the Lord's birth by giving the gift of hope, love and charity to those who need it the most. May we look for every opportunity to lighten another's load through the pure love of Christ.  John 13: 34-35 "A new command I give you: Love one another.  As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love one to another." Written by Linda Sumner Urza for: onefineday11.blogspot.com

  (A special thanks to Jared for striving to make the world a better place in which to live.)

"Have You Seen My Son?"

We are a remarkable and resilient people.  When the storms in life come to blow away our dreams, we build new ones.  We are inherently good and kind, always looking for an opportunity to lend a hand in the service of our fellow man.  We love our children and as we tuck them safely in their beds at night, we pray that no harm will come to them.  

We plant our gardens, water our flowers and wave affectionally to our friends and neighbors. We defend our country and the people who live in this great land; even at the sacrifice of our own lives.  We are a people of abundance, living in a world that overflows with resources. For those fortunate enough to be living the American dream, the world keeps spinning around and around, but this is not the perspective of everyone. There are many homeless wanderers who suffer beyond compare as childhood dreams are trapped within the nightmares of reality. 

They are those who walk the city streets with no destination in mind, for there is no place for them to go. There is nothing to shield them from the elements and constant hunger is their greatest enemy. They may go several days without food and the pain in their abdomen feels like shards of glass against the lining of their stomach.  

Each day becomes a burden while the judgements of mankind fall upon their heads and adding to their overwhelmingly heavy load.  No one would choose this lot in life!  While their days are filled with confusion and their nights with fear, they live in a world that is spinning wildly out of control.  This was the black abyss that consumed my son, Jared, when he was 24 years old. 

When he was 18, he was extremely bright, articulate, and full of promise.  A few weeks after high school graduation, he was hired by an architectural firm and later moved to Arizona where he held a promising position with Charles Schwab.  We were amazed with his abilities and there seemed to be no limit to his talents.  Jared was living the American dream, until his life unraveled, one broken thread at a time. Within a matter of months his world had completely dissolved!  Jared’s gifted mind was slowly being consumed and devoured by a severe form of mental illness called schizophrenia. 

The madness began in the fall of 1999 when he noticed a high pitched ringing sound in his ears; this made it very difficult for him to sleep at night and impossible to concentrate during the day.  Then he began to hear voices chattering in his head and he began to perceive things that were not tangible.  At first these experiences were random and then they came more frequently, until it was impossible for him to formulate complete thoughts.  The illness increased his anxiety with such intensity that he tried desperately to hide the symptoms from our family.  He began to withdraw from any form of personal interaction with friends and family.   

As Jared isolated himself from the world around him and he became extremely paranoid, with an obsessive, compulsive behavior.  It was not long until his condition worsened and it became impossible for him to preform at work.  One day, he walked away from his life, into the city streets and refused to look back!  

He disappeared from our family’s radar and as the months passed by, there were times when we didn’t know if he was dead or alive.  People who live on the streets seem to have an uncanny ability to disappear into thin air and Jared was no exception.  I would stay awake nights and cry myself to sleep, wondering where my son could be and what living hell he must have to endure.  

Do you have any idea how many prayers a mother can cry out over a period of eleven years?  I can tell you exactly how many!  I prayed that he would fall into the hands of good people who would see beyond his outer appearance and into his the center of his heart. I prayed that these people would have mercy upon him. I prayed for him to come in contact with those who could feel the burdens resting upon his shoulders and reach out to ease his pain.  I prayed that if he were hungry, a kind stranger would offer him food and clean water to drink.  I prayed when it was cold that those of abundance would share their warm clothing with him and that he would have a soft place to rest his head.  But, the most important prayer that left my lips was that Jared would come home safely to our family, we all loved him and he deserved to be loved!  

When we found Jared in November of 2008, he was hardly recognizable and with little resemblance of the beautiful man that is our brother and son.  His life on the streets had afflicted his health and taken a toll on his life.  He appeared to be a man between the ages of 55 to 60 years old!  His handsome 6'3" frame weighed slightly over 120 pounds and by this time his level of communication was nearly incoherent.  Jared had been beaten and robbed several times. He was living day to day on food from the food bank and wandering from place to place.  The light in his eyes had gone completely dim and he resembled that of a frightened little child!  

I appealed to the judge for a court order to sentence Jared to the hospital for evaluation, but getting the courts to take action against someone’s will is very difficult.  Jared would not voluntarily admit himself into a clinic.  Finally, the judge signed the order and he was placed in the hospital for mental evaluation and treatment.  Today, he has regained his mental health and through proper medication he is living a healthy and constructive life.

Statistics state that over 54 million people suffer from mental health issues in the United States alone and over 2.5 million of those cases are diagnosed with schizophrenia.  Most commonly, this disease affects young productive individuals in their early twenties and without signs of warning it becomes the silent destroyer. 

Many people who suffer from this debilitating illness are living on the streets.  Due to the nature of this disease, they fail to recognize that they are seriously disabled.  There are thousands of parents who spend their lives searching the streets and asking the frightening question, “Have you seen my child?”

The next time you see someone less fortunate than you along the roadside, will you remember Jared’s story?  There are those who walk among us and each day is an uphill battle...  they may be pushing all their earthly belongings in a shopping cart or reaching out for a little spare change.  Perhaps they are holding a sign requesting something specific.  Please remember, giving them a little bit of something is far better for them  than having a lot of nothing!   Will you be so kind as to rise above the judgements of the world and stretch out your hand to comfort this soul, for they are someone’s child!     by, Linda Sumner Urza, One Fine Day

I once cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet. -Anonymous