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A picky customer comes to a small food shop and sees a new delivery of fresh fruit. "Give me two kilograms of oranges and wrap every orange up in a separate piece of paper, please," he says to the saleswoman. She does.
"And three kilograms of cherries, please, and wrap up every one in a separate piece of paper, too." She does.
"And what is that there," he asks pointing out a bushel in the corner. "Raisins," says the saleswoman, "but they are not for sale!"
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Lisa, my co-worker at the travel agency, needed to send a letter of apology to a customer whose trip was a complete fiasco from start to finish. I reminded her of a similar situation a year earlier and dug out the letter I'd written then.
"All you have to do," I told her, "is to change the details, the date, and the name."
She looked it over and smiled wryly. "We won't even need to change the name."
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Being a teenager and getting a tattoo seem to go hand in hand. I wasn't surprised when a friend of my daughter showed me a Japanese symbol on her hip. "Please don't tell my parents," she begged.
"I won't," I promised. "By the way, what does that stand for?"
She replied, "Honesty."
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Thanks to my friend PW in TX: Blonde on a horse (Does this remind you of anyone you know?)
A blonde decided to try horseback riding, even though she has had no lessons or prior experience. Unassisted she mounts the horse and the horse immediately springs into motion. It gallops along at a steady and rhythmic pace, but the blonde begins to slip from the saddle.
In terror, she grabs for the horse's mane, but cannot seem to get a firm grip. She tries to throw her arms around the horse's neck, but she slides down the side of the horse anyway. The horse gallops along, seemingly ignorant of its' rider's predicament.
Finally, giving up her frail grip, the blonde attempts to leap away from the horse and throw herself to safety.
Unfortunately, her foot becomes entangled in the stirrup and she is now at the mercy of the horse's pounding hooves as her head is struck against the ground over and over and over, again. Mere moments away from unconsciousness when to her good fortune, Wayne, the Wal-Mart greeter, rushes to her aid and unplugs the horse.
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Thanks to MAK: Thought for Today
Only dead fish swim with the stream.
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Thanks to marti -- HANDS
An old man, probably some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the park bench. He didn't move, just sat with his head down staring at his hands. When I sat down beside him he didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if he was ok.
Finally, not really wanting to disturb him but wanting to check on him at the same time, I asked him if he was ok. He raised his head and looked at me and smiled.
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking," he said in a clear strong voice.
"I didn't mean to disturb you, sir, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were ok?" I explained to him.
"Have you ever looked at your hands?", he asked. "I mean really looked at your hands."
I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point he was making.
Then he smiled and related this story:
"Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years.
These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life. They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer.
They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They dried the tears of my children and caressed the love of my life. They held my rifle and wiped my tears when I went off to war. They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special. They wrote the letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse and walked my daughter down the aisle. Yet, they were strong and sure when I dug my buddy out of a foxhole and lifted a plow off of my best friends foot. They have held children, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body.
They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer. These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of my life. But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home.
And He won't care about where these hands have been or what they have done.
What He will care about is to whom these hands belong and how much He loves these hands. And with these hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ."
"HE'S GOT THE WHOLE WORLD IN HIS HANDS"
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Divy It Up!
A 6th grade teacher posed the following problem to one of her arithmetic
classes:
"A wealthy man dies and leaves ten million dollars. One-fifth is to go to
his wife, one-fifth is to go to his son, one-sixth to his butler, and the
rest to charity. Now, what does each get?"
After a very long silence in the classroom, one little boy raised his hand
and with complete sincerity in his voice, answered, "A lawyer!"