A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z 0-9

There are two places to go fishing in a certain town, either a secluded pond or the river. To get to the secluded pond requires carrying your heavy tackle box on a strenuous hike through thick forests. Upon arriving at the pond, you might have to wait a while to even get a bite. The river, however, has more convenient parking right next to the water. Every time you cast your line into the water its bound to have a fish on it. So which is the better fishing site?

You might be surprised that it's the pond. Why? Because a local waste treatment plant dumps sewage into the water just above the river's fishing site. Sure, there are a lot of fish, but that's only because they feed off the algae that feed off the sewage. In fact, signs have been posted to warn residents that fish caught in the river cannot be eaten because they are too polluted. The secluded pond has been protected from such pollution and offers much larger, healthier fish due to its seclusion.

The river is like this system of things. Satan's sewage, demonic reasonings that appeal to the flesh, has polluted the minds of unbelievers for years. (2 Cor. 4:4) Although it may be more convenient to look to the world to provide a soul mate, certainly the health risks it poses to our spirituality would cause us to think twice. Jehovah has even "posted a sign" warning us of the danger through His word, the Bible. (2 Cor. 6:14) What if we already have a non-Christian "on the line"? Then it's time to practice catch and release.

Let's make it our goal to wait for someone in Jehovah's organization. We must be patient if we hope to catch that trophy fish, a spiritual brother or sister. In the meantime, we can improve the bait we are using by working to improve our Christian qualities. Continue to pray to Jehovah, not only for a spouse, but also for the patience and self-control to continue to endure. (1 John 5:15) Surely the prize will be worth the wait!

A small child waits, thumb in mouth, doll in hand, with some impatience, the arrival home of a parent. She wishes to relate some small sandbox experience. She is excited to share the thrill she has known that day. The time comes the parent arrives. Beaten down by the stresses of the workplace the parent so often says to the child, 'Not now, honey. I'm busy, go watch television.' The most often spoken words in many American households, 'I'm busy, go watch television.' If not now, when? 'Later.' But later rarely comes.

Years go by and the child grows. We give her toys and clothes. We give her designer clothes and a stereo but we do not give her what she wants most, our time. She's fourteen, her eyes are glassy; she's into something. 'Honey, what's happening? Talk to me, talk to me.' Too late. Too late. Love has passed us by.

When we say to a child, 'Not now, later.' When we say, 'Go watch TV'; when we say, 'Don't ask so many questions'; when we fail to give our young people the one thing they require of us, our time; when we fail to love a child; we are not uncaring. We are simply too busy to love a child.

The Wooden Bowl


A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered. 


The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth. 


The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. "We must do something about Grandfather," said the son. I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor. 


So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner. Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl. 


When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometime he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. 


The four-year-old watched it all in silence. One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, "What are you making?" Just as sweetly, the boy responded, "Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up." The four-year-old smiled and went back to work. 


The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. 


That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.