A nature lover chanced upon a cocoon in the forest. He sat and watched as the butterfly struggled to force its body through a tiny opening.

Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and it could go no farther. The man decided to help the butterfly, so he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings.

The man continued to watch the butterfly because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time. Neither happened!

In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings. It never was able to fly.

The man in his kindness and haste did not understand that the restriction and the struggle were God's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon.

Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life.

If God allowed us to go through our life without any obstacles, it would cripple us. We would not be as strong as we could have been.

I hired a carpenter to help me restore an old farmhouse. He had a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start. While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence.

On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands.

When opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss. Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.

"Oh, that's my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can't help having troubles on the job, but one thing for sure, troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick them up again. "Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick ‘em up, there ain't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."

There was a woman who had been diagnosed with cancer and had been given 3 months to live. Her Dr. told her to start making preparations to die. So she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures

she would like read, and what she wanted to be wearing.

The woman also told her pastor that she wanted to be buried with her favorite bible. Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. "There's one more thing." She said excitedly.

"What's that?" the pastor replied.

"This is very important." The woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand." The pastor stood looking at the woman not knowing quite what to say.

"That shocks you doesn't it?" The woman asked. "Well to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor. The woman explained.

"In all my years of attending church socials and functions where food was involved (and let's be honest, food is an important part of any church event; spiritual or otherwise); my favorite part was when whoever was clearing away the dishes of the main course would lean over and say 'you can keep your fork.' It was my favorite part

because I knew that something better was coming. When they told me to keep my fork, I knew that something great was about to be given to me. It wasn't Jell-O or pudding. It was cake or pie. Something with substance. So I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: 'Something better is coming so keep your fork too.'"

The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the woman goodbye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She KNEW that something better was coming. At the funeral people were walking by the woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing and her favorite Bible and the fork placed in her right hand.

Over and over the pastor heard the question "What's with the fork?"

And over and over he smiled. During his message, the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized

to her. The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.

He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you oh, so gently, that there is something better coming.

A woman repeated a bit of gossip about a neighbor. Within a few days the whole community knew the story. The person it concerned was deeply hurt and offended. Later the woman responsible for spreading the rumor learned that it was completely untrue. She was very sorry and went to a wise old sage to find out what she could do to repair the damage.

"Go to the marketplace," he said, "and purchase a chicken, and have it killed. Then on your way home, pluck its feathers and drop them one by one along the road."

Although surprised by this advice, the woman did what she was told.

The next day the wise man said, "Now go and collect all those feathers you dropped yesterday and bring them back to me."

The woman followed the same road, but to her dismay, the wind had blown the feathers all away. After searching for hours, she returned with only three in her hand.

"You see," said the old sage, "it's easy to drop them, but it's impossible to get them back. So it is with gossip. It doesn't take much to spread a rumor, but once you do, you can never completely undo the wrong."

by Carol Parrott

One day I dug a little hole

And put my hurt inside

I thought that I could just forget

I'd put it there to hide.

But that little hurt began to grow

I covered it every day

I couldn't leave it and go on

It seemed the price I had to pay.

My joy was gone, my heart was sad

Pain was all I knew.

My wounded soul enveloped me

Loving seemed too hard to do.

One day, while standing by my hole

I cried to God above

And said, "Are You are really there?

They say— “You're a God of Love!"

And just like that-He was right there

And just put His arms around me

He wiped my tears, His hurting child

There was no safer place to be.

I told Him all about my hurt

I opened up my heart

He listened to each and every word

To every sordid part.

I dug down deep and got my hurt

I brushed the dirt away

And placed it in the Master's hand

And healing came that day.

He took the blackness of my soul

And set my spirit FREE!

Something beautiful began to grow

Where the hurt used to be.

And when I look at what has grown

Out of all my tears and pain

I remember every day to give my hurts to Him

And never bury them again.