This is me....."JUST CHECKING IN"

A Priest passing through his church
In the middle of the day,  
Decided to pause by the altar
And see who had come to pray.
Just then the back door opened,
A man came down the aisle,
The Priest frowned as he saw
The man hadn't shaved in a while.  
His shirt was kind of shabby 
And his coat was worn and frayed,
The man knelt, he bowed his head,
Then rose and walked away.
In the days that followed,
Each noon time came this man,
Each time he knelt just for a moment,
A lunch pail in his lap.
Well, the Priest's curiosity grew,
and, He decided to stop the man and ask him,
'What are you doing here?'
The  man said, he worked down the road.
Lunch was half an hour.
Lunchtime was his prayer time,
For finding strength and power.

'I stay only a few minutes, see,
Because the factory is so far away;
As I kneel here talking to the Lord,
This is kind of what I say:
'I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD,
HOW HAPPY I'VE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHERS FRIENDSHIP AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN. DON'T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY.
SO, JESUS, THIS IS JIM CHECKING IN TODAY.'
The Priest feeling foolish,
Told Jim that was fine.
He told the man he was welcome
To come and pray just anytime

Time to go, Jim smiled, said 'Thanks.'
He hurried to the door.
The Priest knelt at the altar,
He'd never done it before.
His cold heart melted, warmed with love,
And met with Jesus there.
As the tears flowed, in his heart,
He repeated old Jim's prayer:
'I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD,
HOW HAPPY I'VE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHERS FRIENDSHIP AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN. 
I DON'T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY
SO, JESUS, THIS IS ME CHECKING IN TODAY.'

Past noon one day, the Priest noticed
That Jim hadn't come.
As more days passed without Jim,
He began to worry some.

At the factory, he asked about him,
Learning he was ill.
The hospital staff was worried,
But he'd given them a thrill.
The week that Jim was with them,
Brought changes in the ward.
His smiles, a joy contagious.
Changed people, were his reward.

The head nurse couldn't understand
Why Jim was so glad,
When no flowers, calls or cards came,
Not a visitor he had.

The Priest stayed by his bed,
He voiced the nurse's concern:
No friends came to show they cared.
He had nowhere to turn.

Looking surprised, Jim spoke
Up and with a winsome smile;
'the nurse is wrong, she couldn't know,
That He's in here all the while


Everyday at noon He's here,
A dear friend of mine, you see,
He sits right down, takes my hand,
Leans over and says to me:
'I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, 
JIM, HOW HAPPY I HAVE BEEN, 
SINCE WE FOUND THIS FRIENDSHIP, AND I TOOK AWAY YOUR SIN.
ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR YOU PRAY,
I THINK ABOUT YOU EACH DAY, AND 
SO JIM, THIS IS JESUS CHECKING IN TODAY.'
If this blesses you, pass it on. Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart
May God hold you in the palm of His hand
And Angels watch over you.

So this is me ... "Just Checking In"

Father Tomas Del Valle-Reyes
Discovering 21 Century
P. O. BOX 1170New York, NY 10018
212-244-4778
Radiosigloxxi@aol.com

CARL'S GARDEN

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 out 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 Priest kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.
Carl just passed a hand over his brow and signed, 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 Priest 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 alright, 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 going to 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 priest noticed a tall young man that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church. The Priest spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life. 
In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do you 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 Priest's office door. 
Opening the door, the Priest 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 Priest 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 priest 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. 
In 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 Priest 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 Priest, as he was handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?" "Carl," he replied.-
 AUTHOR UNKNOWN -

Father Tomas Del Valle-Reyes
Discovering 21 Century
P. O. BOX 1170New York, 
NY 10018
212-244-4778
Radiosigloxxi@aol.com

Just Stay

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.
'Your son is here,' she said to the old man.
She had to repeat the words several times before the patient's eyes
opened.
He was heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly
saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. 
He reached out his hand. 
The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around
the old man's limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.
The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the
bed.All through the night the young Marine sat there in the poorly
lighted ward, holding the old man's hand and offering him words of love
and strength. 
Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move
away and rest awhile.
He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was
oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital - the clanking
of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging
greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.
Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. 
The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night.
Along towards dawn, the old man died. 
The Marine released the now
lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse. 
While she did what she had to do, he waited.
Finally, she returned. 
She started to offer words of sympathy, but the
Marine interrupted her.
'Who was that man?' he asked.
The nurse was startled, 'He was your father,' she answered.
'No, he wasn't,' the Marine replied. 'I never saw him before in my
life.'
'Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?'
'I knew right away there had been a mistake,
but I also knew he needed his son, and his
son just wasn't here.
When I realized that he was too sick to tell
whether or not I was his son,
knowing how much he needed me, I stayed.'
The next time someone needs you ... just be there. Stay.

Fr. Tomas Del Valle-Reyes
Discovering 21 Century/
P. O. BOX 1170
New York, NY 10018
212-244-4778

http://www.discovering21century.com/