danielpaulcarey
Humble Servant of All
Good morning brothers and sisters in Christ. I wanted to post this story I ran across to hopefully show that it doesn't matter what situation you are in, what your status is in society, what possessions you own.....your mansion is in heaven, not here on earth. So don't get too attached to the things of this world, because when we Christians get called up to Heaven to be with our Father, our true possessions will be there, where rust and moth cannot destroy. God bless you all and Happy Holidays.
Though my career as a banker was financially rewarding, I was never content with the work. Compliance regulations, qualification formulas and credit declinations seemed always so cold and, well... calculating. It was no wonder that, after only my fourth year on the job, I began to look with envy at the teaching career my wife, Julie, had chosen. Still, to make a career move so late in my life was absolutely out of the question. To leave a secure position and return to school was something that would take more faith than I possessed.
Yet God continued to speak to me through an odd feeling of longing. I’d find myself watching Julie as she graded papers, smiling, until late at night.
Then one winter’s evening I found her fretting over a student’s worsening academic performance. “Baxter began the year doing so well, but now his work has dropped to nearly nothing.”
The next evening as I arrived home, Julie met me at the doorway. “Will you drive me to Baxter’s house?”
Reluctantly, I agreed and together we began our journey. Baxter’s home was at least twenty miles from where we lived and hard to find in the dark. We turned off the highway, then rumbled down a county roadway onto a narrow dirt path.
Before us stood an old run-down trailer-house, unlit and barely visible in the mid-winter darkness. In what might have been called a front yard, which was really only a cleared spot in the woods, four elementary-aged children busily gathered firewood. One poured kerosene into a lantern and another was petting a mangy old dog. A chubby kid in overalls hurried toward the car and enthusiastically greeted Julie. “My mom’s not home yet, Mrs. Chapman, so you can’t come in. But we can visit out here.”
My wife happily chatted for ten minutes, but there was no need to go inside. She had seen what she had come to see. On the quiet drive home, Julie batted back a tear. “His work was good in the early fall when the days were longer. But now, in the dark, he can’t see to do his homework.”
As I drove through the Arkansas night, I realized I had discovered what God was calling me to do.
By the end of the month, I said farewell to my friends at the bank. Then, for two and a half years, we struggled to make ends meet while I attended college.
Eventually, our perseverance paid off, and I was offered my first teaching contract. After my first day, I proudly brought forth my new class roster for Julie to see. There among the list of seventh-graders was a name that we both recognized: Baxter. He had found the strength to hang on, and had finally made it into junior high... and so had I.
Baxter and I became fast friends. He was a big friendly kid with a permanently fixed smile, and though his ability was well below many of his classmates, he always gave his very best.
Then something strange happened. It was nearing Christmastime and I assigned an essay; “What Christmas Means to Me.”
Baxter surprised me with his composition. In large block-printed letters and with a jumble of spelling and punctuation errors, the sincerity of his work shone through.
What Christmas Means to Me
Some wise men heard that a new king would be born in Bethlehem, and they made their way through the woods to find him and they followed a star and they came to a barn where the baby was already born. And when they saw him, they knew it was Jesus, and they bowed down and worshipped Him, because they knew that the new baby lying in a manger, would be the King of all kings.
When I paused, Baxter quickly pointed out, “There’s more on the back.”
The wise men were amazed at all they had seen that night, and while they were walking back to their homes, they talked about all the great things they had seen. Then, when they got about halfway home, one of the wise men turned to the others and said, “Hey, do you know what? This ought to be a holiday.” And from then on, it was.
Baxter smiled his simple friendly smile.
“Baxter, do you believe that? Do you believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He was sent here to be our Savior?”
Baxter seemed uncomfortable and shifted his weight from one foot to another. “I’m not sure, Mr. Chapman. I go to church sometimes, and that’s what they say. But how can you know something like that for sure?”
“You have to have faith that it’s true, Bax,” I said, pointing to my chest. “And when you have faith, you’ll know, because you’ll feel it deep inside your heart.”
As Baxter walked away that day, I experienced a new feeling of purpose, one that I had not known before that moment. And from my own heart, I knew that I was exactly where God intended for me to be.
Six weeks later, shortly after Christmas vacation, Baxter approached my desk. This time he held a small New Testament, open to a well-marked page with a single underlined verse: “For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
Excitedly he whispered, “They gave this to me at church, Mr. Chapman, on the day I was saved. They say I can keep it for my own.”
Though I shook Baxter’s hand and patted his back, there was no way I could express the happiness I felt.
More than a decade has passed since Baxter entered my first classroom. As a now-seasoned teacher, I’ve learned that students come suddenly into our care, share a part of our lives, and through our time together, our lives are altered forever.
Two years ago, I grieved when I received word that Baxter had died in an automobile accident.
Sometimes in the quiet of an early winter’s evening, when I’m driving along winding country roads, I recall how a boy named Baxter, through his own faith, found the courage to exchange a broken-down trailer-house for a mansion on high.
And from deep within my heart I hold to my own faith, the assurance that I will see him again one day; only this time it will be in the company of the King of kings.
And you know what?
A day like that just ought to be a holiday.
Though my career as a banker was financially rewarding, I was never content with the work. Compliance regulations, qualification formulas and credit declinations seemed always so cold and, well... calculating. It was no wonder that, after only my fourth year on the job, I began to look with envy at the teaching career my wife, Julie, had chosen. Still, to make a career move so late in my life was absolutely out of the question. To leave a secure position and return to school was something that would take more faith than I possessed.
Yet God continued to speak to me through an odd feeling of longing. I’d find myself watching Julie as she graded papers, smiling, until late at night.
Then one winter’s evening I found her fretting over a student’s worsening academic performance. “Baxter began the year doing so well, but now his work has dropped to nearly nothing.”
The next evening as I arrived home, Julie met me at the doorway. “Will you drive me to Baxter’s house?”
Reluctantly, I agreed and together we began our journey. Baxter’s home was at least twenty miles from where we lived and hard to find in the dark. We turned off the highway, then rumbled down a county roadway onto a narrow dirt path.
Before us stood an old run-down trailer-house, unlit and barely visible in the mid-winter darkness. In what might have been called a front yard, which was really only a cleared spot in the woods, four elementary-aged children busily gathered firewood. One poured kerosene into a lantern and another was petting a mangy old dog. A chubby kid in overalls hurried toward the car and enthusiastically greeted Julie. “My mom’s not home yet, Mrs. Chapman, so you can’t come in. But we can visit out here.”
My wife happily chatted for ten minutes, but there was no need to go inside. She had seen what she had come to see. On the quiet drive home, Julie batted back a tear. “His work was good in the early fall when the days were longer. But now, in the dark, he can’t see to do his homework.”
As I drove through the Arkansas night, I realized I had discovered what God was calling me to do.
By the end of the month, I said farewell to my friends at the bank. Then, for two and a half years, we struggled to make ends meet while I attended college.
Eventually, our perseverance paid off, and I was offered my first teaching contract. After my first day, I proudly brought forth my new class roster for Julie to see. There among the list of seventh-graders was a name that we both recognized: Baxter. He had found the strength to hang on, and had finally made it into junior high... and so had I.
Baxter and I became fast friends. He was a big friendly kid with a permanently fixed smile, and though his ability was well below many of his classmates, he always gave his very best.
Then something strange happened. It was nearing Christmastime and I assigned an essay; “What Christmas Means to Me.”
Baxter surprised me with his composition. In large block-printed letters and with a jumble of spelling and punctuation errors, the sincerity of his work shone through.
What Christmas Means to Me
Some wise men heard that a new king would be born in Bethlehem, and they made their way through the woods to find him and they followed a star and they came to a barn where the baby was already born. And when they saw him, they knew it was Jesus, and they bowed down and worshipped Him, because they knew that the new baby lying in a manger, would be the King of all kings.
When I paused, Baxter quickly pointed out, “There’s more on the back.”
The wise men were amazed at all they had seen that night, and while they were walking back to their homes, they talked about all the great things they had seen. Then, when they got about halfway home, one of the wise men turned to the others and said, “Hey, do you know what? This ought to be a holiday.” And from then on, it was.
Baxter smiled his simple friendly smile.
“Baxter, do you believe that? Do you believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He was sent here to be our Savior?”
Baxter seemed uncomfortable and shifted his weight from one foot to another. “I’m not sure, Mr. Chapman. I go to church sometimes, and that’s what they say. But how can you know something like that for sure?”
“You have to have faith that it’s true, Bax,” I said, pointing to my chest. “And when you have faith, you’ll know, because you’ll feel it deep inside your heart.”
As Baxter walked away that day, I experienced a new feeling of purpose, one that I had not known before that moment. And from my own heart, I knew that I was exactly where God intended for me to be.
Six weeks later, shortly after Christmas vacation, Baxter approached my desk. This time he held a small New Testament, open to a well-marked page with a single underlined verse: “For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
Excitedly he whispered, “They gave this to me at church, Mr. Chapman, on the day I was saved. They say I can keep it for my own.”
Though I shook Baxter’s hand and patted his back, there was no way I could express the happiness I felt.
More than a decade has passed since Baxter entered my first classroom. As a now-seasoned teacher, I’ve learned that students come suddenly into our care, share a part of our lives, and through our time together, our lives are altered forever.
Two years ago, I grieved when I received word that Baxter had died in an automobile accident.
Sometimes in the quiet of an early winter’s evening, when I’m driving along winding country roads, I recall how a boy named Baxter, through his own faith, found the courage to exchange a broken-down trailer-house for a mansion on high.
And from deep within my heart I hold to my own faith, the assurance that I will see him again one day; only this time it will be in the company of the King of kings.
And you know what?
A day like that just ought to be a holiday.
