“Lord, Am I Rich?”

Soft was the voice speaking in deep caring tones, uttering only a whisper through veils of a hidden shroud, pushing softly through the clamor of endless voices, desires that fill the many rooms of every thought. His Voice, its sweet-scented hues, mellow gentle in touch, caressing just as gentle only moments of the conscious thoughts that bustle through the chaos that fills every waking moment of a glorious day;

“Are you rich?”

Not as much of a question, as a ponderance set forth by a Gentle Father wishing more than anything, the hardship of lessons learned tomorrow could be avoided by a simple instruction of today.


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But how often have we, glancing flowers, not in path for picking, yet set so with boundless choice, step from firm and grounded stone to pluck, but for a moment that small piece of the garden, created and displayed, yet not intended to hold, and there we find ourselves ankle deep in muck yet again.

Wisdom pours like water around the rim of an overflowing glass, spilling across the surface of every canvas, one but takes a moment and lends a quiet ear to hear.

So was it spoken by a Moslem woman, recent miraculously healed after a nearly fatal multiple gunshot attacks left her with an obliterated hip and the resulting Doctors prognosis; that she would never walk again. She herself, after only a few short weeks, never ceasing to give glory to Him who healed her, when not only did she walk again but all function returned, yet more importantly the hope for a life of expected normalcy returned, did other statements of Words of wisdom ring through this observers eye.

One day she hands me a bowl of the most delightful curry chicken and rice, her families favorite dish. Objecting, I quickly pointed out the portion was too much more than should be proportioned to just me and my small children. But unsaid and more so true, her families economic condition was obviously not as abundant to miss even a Widow’s mite portion of food. Objections fell on deaf ears, and as evident as her healing, the resolve of her gesture, left no doubt to a single fact; I would be leaving with this wonderful gift that day.

It was then that wisdom spilled!

She went on to explain; they did not need as much, because her teenage son did not care for this particular dish, or for that matter, the majority of the food she prepared, he would much rather dismiss himself from dinner, and then later when hunger takes its hold, step out to the nearest fast food troth for a quick fix of whatever synthetic sugar and carbohydrate chemical processed substitute happen to pull his young chain.

I quickly said; “You allow that?”

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