Chucky the Ducky

All the pretty ducklings were so excited about the big beauty pageant that was going to be held down by the lake. Oh, how they preened their feathers and tried on different flowers and new ways to waddle that they thought would give them the edge to win the contest.

They quacked nonstop each evening before the competition about which one was the prettiest duckling of them all and often times they fought and got their feelings hurt and had to go pout because each thought he was the prettiest and each one worried that he or she wasn’t.

It seemed like every duck in the colony could only think of the pageant and getting ready. Every duck except for Chucky. Chucky didn’t care about being beautiful or being admired. His favorite thing to do was have friends over and getting to know them and sharing Jesus with them. The other ducks just didn’t understand Chucky at all. He associated with the most unacceptable types. Chucky enjoyed having the frogs, the turtles, even the field mice to his home. To the other dignified ducks, it was out of the question to associate with such unworthy beasts who were clearly not as advanced and sophisticated much less as pretty as the ducks.

“Chucky, why don’t you pretty yourself up? I bet with some preening and some pretty flowers, you could be able to compete in the beauty pageant on Saturday.” His friend Gracie Gander said to him.

“That’s not important Gracie.” He answered her. But Friday night I am having a small dinner party. Why don’t you come? Roger Rodent will be here with his family as well as Terry Turtle and his girlfriend Teresa. We are going to play twister. It will be fun.”

“Oh Chucky, there is no way I could socialize with THOSE species.” Gracie said proudly and she strutted out of Chucky’s home proudly.

The day of the pageant was so exciting. Ducks scurried about in nervous excitement about the chance to win the big prize, although there really was no prize. Finally the time came. Chucky and his guests watched from a distant hill as they sipped their tea and ate their cookies. The Ducks mixed and mingled in a group waiting for the pageant to start, sometimes pushing and biting each other in frustration and jealousy.

“FLY!” came the sudden command. Suddenly, catastrophe struck. From the tall grass, the human hunters stood up and began to shoot their guns. The duck colony was caught totally by surprise. An alert duckling spotted the hunters just before they struck and sounded the alarm. Instinct set in and the colony lifted into the air flying every direction so as not be good targets and flew in a panic away from the lake. The rifles rang their shots out in a riot of explosions that sounded like the world was ending. But no duck was killed. The hunters were mad and took their equipment and moved on to another site to shoot ducks.

Chucky excused himself from his guests who understood his concern. Quickly he waddled to the standard retreat spot where his fellow ducks would gather after such an attack. He got there before most of the frightened colony but when he did, he found something very upsetting. Gracie was hurt badly. Chucky went to her and comforted her. “Why me Chucky?” She cried and he plucked his own feathers to pad the places where she was hurt for warmth. Soon the whole colony arrived and they were all worried and upset but they would not come near Gracie.

“Come help me.” Chucky pleaded with them. “She is hurt. She needs all of our help.”

“Oh no.” the other ducks said proudly. “We could never soil ourselves with her now. What if some of the dirt and blood got on our feathers? No, no, Chucky. Just leave her. We cannot afford to be soiled like that.” And slowly the colony slipped away. But Chucky didn’t care about being dirty or getting her blood on him. He just knew he had to save his dear friend.

“I have to get her to my house where I can help her heal.” He quacked to himself.

“We will help.” Came the squeaky voice from the edge of the clearing. There stood his many friends that the other ducks would not associate with. The frogs, the turtles, the field mice, the rodents, the snakes all showed up. Chucky was always there for them, now they were here for him. They gathered around Gracie and helped transport her to Chucky’s home where she began to heal.

“Chucky, I feel so ashamed I was bad to your friends.” Gracie said a few days later as she was getting better. “Why do you think they helped you save me?” She wondered.

“Because that is what Jesus would do.” Chucky responded bringing her some more soup.

“We are made in God’s image and God sent his son to save us and nothing would stop him from doing that. So the least we can do is reach out to a friend to show her the same love.” he said. Gracie was so grateful and wanted to learn more about Jesus and Chucky’s good friends. Never again did she worry about being beautiful or proud as she was before the pageant. Now she just wanted to be more like Jesus, just like you and I want to be.

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. [Colossians 3:12]

Thanks:www.jeremiahproject.com

Righteous Judge

Once upon a time, there was a righteous judge. He always made fair judgments. He was also a father to a wonderful boy named Buddy. The judge was a very good father and loved his son very much. Buddy was a good boy. He adored his father and always tried to please him. Buddy also loved playing baseball with his friends.

One day his friends told him there was a great game going on in the empty lot behind old Wilson’s place. Buddy knew he wasn’t supposed to play in that lot, because old Wilson was a mean stingy old man who was very wealthy. He hated Buddy’s father because the Judge had made him pay for a ticket. Old Wilson thought he shouldn’t have to pay, because he was rich and powerful. Now Old Wilson had a stained glass window that was very valuable and could never be replaced. It was one of a kind. That’s why the judge had asked Buddy not to play on the lot, because he was afraid Buddy would break the window. But Buddy had never hit a ball that far before and besides his dad was at work and wouldn’t find out.

When Buddy got to the lot, the game had just started and he was very excited because he had received a new baseball bat for his birthday. Everything was going fine and the game was almost over. His team was about to win. It was Buddy’s turn at bat and the bases were loaded. He stepped up to the plate with his brand new bat in his hand when the pitcher threw the perfect pitch. Buddy watched the ball until it was in the perfect spot, then… he swung with all his might. He felt the ball crack against the bat and he knew right away that he had hit a home run. No sooner when he hit the ball that the realization of what was about to happen hit him! The other kids gasped and Buddy could only watch in horror as he heard and saw the beautiful window crash and all the colorful pieces fall to the ground. Almost as soon as the window broke, Old Wilson burst out of his house. Buddy felt frozen to the spot as he watched all his friends run away, and he was left to himself on the field to face Old Wilson’s wrath.

“Oh, its you, the Judges’ son,” Old Wilson spat. “Let’s see if he makes his own son pay the price for his crime. That window was worth a million dollars and we all know you don’t have that kind of money,” he said pointing his bony finger in Buddy’s face.

Old Wilson seemed almost joyful as he pulled Buddy into his fathers’ court room by the arm later that evening. Buddy felt mortified as he looked into his fathers’ eyes. They looked back at him with such sadness and love. Although Buddy was ashamed of himself, he was much relieved that his papa was the judge. He would never send his own child to juvenile detention. Although Buddy knew in his heart it was the punishment he deserved. But Buddy’s relief was short lived when he heard his father, the Judge say guilty as charged! I order Buddy to pay one million dollars to Mr. Wilson or spend a year in juvenile detention.

“But Poppa,” Buddy wailed. “You’re my father. Can’t you let me off because I am your child? I am sorry for what I did. I know I deserve the punishment, but you know I don’t have a million dollars and if I go to juvenile detention we will be separated for a whole year!”

”So be it,” said the judge. “Your sentence is pronounced.” Even Old Wilson looked as if the wind was knocked out of him as the gavel came down on the pulpit. The officers started toward Buddy with the handcuffs. Just then, the Judge said, “wait!” Every one watched as the Judge took of his robes and folded them, then laid them neatly on his chair. He came down off the bench and stood next to Buddy. He said, “I am no longer the Judge, I am now your father. I will sell everything I own to pay the price to keep you out of jail and so we won’t be separated.”

We are like Buddy. We have all sinned. Heaven is perfect, and if God allowed us as sinners to go to heaven, it would no longer be perfect. It would be defiled. The Bible says, “the wages (or price) for sin is death—separation from God.” God, being perfect, judges all of us righteously, and like Old Wilson, Satan accuses us. However, Jesus is like the father in this story. He chose to be born a man and he was perfect. He paid the wage or price for our sin if we accept the gift.

Christmas

Once upon a time, there was a man who looked upon Christmas as a lot of humbug.
He wasn't a Scrooge. He was a very kind and decent person, generous to his family, upright in all his dealings with other men. But he didn't believe all that stuff about an incarnation which churches proclaim at Christmas. And he was too honest to pretend that he did.

"I am truly sorry to distress you," he told his wife, who was a faithful churchgoer, "but I simply cannot understand this claim that God became man. It doesn't make any sense to me."

On Christmas Eve, his wife and children went to church for the midnight service. He declined to accompany them. "I'd feel like a hypocrite," he explained. "I'd much rather stay at home. But I'll wait up for you."

Shortly after his family drove away in the car, snow began to fall. He went to the window and watched the flurries getting heavier and heavier.

"If we must have a Christmas," he reflected, "it's nice to have a white one."

He went back to his chair by the fireside and began to read his newspaper. A few minutes later, he was startled by a thudding sound. It was quickly followed by another, then another. He thought that someone must be throwing snow balls at his living room window.

When he went to the front door to investigate, he found a flock of birds huddled miserably in the snow. They had been caught in the storm, and in a desperate search for shelter had tried to fly through his window.

I can't let those poor creatures lie there and freeze, he thought. But how can I help them?

Then he remembered the barn where the children's pony was stabled. It would provide a warm shelter. He quickly put on his coat and galoshes and tramped through the deepening snow to the barn. He opened the doors wide and turned on the light. But the birds didn't come in.

Food will bring them in, he thought. So he hurried back to the house for bread crumbs, which he sprinkled on the snow to make a trail into the barn. To his dismay, the birds ignored the bread crumbs and continued to flop around helplessly in the snow. He tried shooing them into the barn by walking around and waving his arms. They scattered in every direction - except into the warm, lighted barn.

"They find me a strange and terrifying creature," he said to himself, "and I can't seem to think of any way to let them know they can trust me. If only I could be a bird myself for a few minutes, perhaps I could lead them to safety."

Just at that moment, the church bells began to ring. He stood silently for a while, listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of Christmas. Then he sank to his knees in the snow.

"Now I understand," he whispered. "Now I see why you had to do it."

Whoever takes the Son gets everything

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art. When the Viet Nam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.

About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands. He said, "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.

The young man held out his package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this." The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. "Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift."

The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected. The man died a few months later.

There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection. On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. "We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?"

There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted. "We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one." But the auctioneer persisted. "Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?" Another voice shouted angrily. "We didn't come to see this painting.. We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!" But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?"

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. "I'll give $10 for the painting." Being a poor man, it was all he could afford. "We have $10, who will bid $20?"

"Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters." "$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?" The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections. The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!"

A man sitting on the second row shouted. "Now let's get on with the collection!" The auctioneer laid down his gavel. "I'm sorry, the auction is over." "What about the paintings?" "I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings. The man who took the son gets every thing!"

God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. How many of us have sought after what we thought were true riches only to find out later that our Father was prepared to give us His entire estate if we had only sought after His Son alone?

Whoever takes the Son gets everything.

The Treasure

The cheerful girl with bouncy golden curls was almost five. Waiting with her mother at the checkout stand, she saw them: a circle of glistening white pearls in a pink foil box. "Oh please, Mommy. Can I have them? Please, mommy, please!"

Quickly the mother checked the back of the little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little girl's upturned face. "A dollar ninety-five. That's almost $2.00 If you really want them, I'll think of some extra chores for you and in no time you can save enough money to buy them for yourself. Your birthday's only a week away and you might get another crisp dollar bill from Grandma."

As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her penny bank and counted out 17 pennies. After dinner, she did more than her share of chores and she went to the neighbor and asked Mrs. McJames if she could pick dandelions for ten cents. On her birthday, Grandma did give her another new dollar bill and at last she had enough money to buy the necklace.

Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown up. She wore them everywhere--Sunday school, kindergarten, even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green.

Jenny had a very loving daddy and every night when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come upstairs to read her a story. One night when he finished the story, he asked Jenny, "Do you love me?"

"Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you."

"Then give me your pearls."

"Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have Princess--the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink tail. Remember, Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite."

"That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.

About a week later, after the story time, Jenny's daddy asked again, "Do you love me?"

"Daddy, you know I love you."

"Then give me your pearls."

"Oh Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have my babydoll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper."

"That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you, little one. Daddy loves you." And as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.

A few nights later when her daddy came in, Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came close, he noticed her chin was trembling and one silent tear rolled down her cheek.

"What is it, Jenny? What's the matter?"

Jenny didn't say anything but lifted her little hand up to her daddy. And when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a little quiver, she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you."

With tears gathering in his own eyes, Jenny's kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace, and with the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and gave them to Jenny. He had had them all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up the dime-store stuff so he could give her genuine treasure.

So like our heavenly Father

What are you hanging on to?