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The Frog in the Kettle

An age old tale of being prepared. . .

Wonder of wonders... if you were to toss a live frog into a pot of boiling water, the frog will leap out of the kettle before its feet so much as even touch the water.

But then, if you put a frog that is very much alive in a kettle of cold water, it will swim around, enjoying its surroundings.

Now, if you place the kettle on the stove and begin to turn on the heat underneath it, still the frog will swim around, enjoying even the change in temperature. The frog will in fact try to adapt to its environment of water temperatures rising.

The frog will continue to swim around in the kettle - not realizing that the water is getting hotter and hotter. It will think that it is just a case of a little "global warming. . ." and that it can't hurt to linger in the kettle for a while.

In fact, the frog will never know what hit it because as the water approaches boiling temperatures, the frog will still try to adapt to its overheated environment until it boils to death.

Alas! The frog will not have the sense to leave his boiling environment - until it is way too late. Too late in fact because he will already have been dead and expired.

The Moral of the Story:  WE are like frogs swimming around in the kettle of water. The water feels good and there are no apparent predators around - so we enjoy swimming around and having a good time. Besides, we would never let ourselves be tossed into a boiling pot of water - we are too smart for that. We would jump out quickly and as high as our legs will allow us.

The problem is in the fact that while we are so busy trying to make a living, we haven't noticed that the water has become hotter and hotter. The powers in charge have turned on the heat... for example, the heat of taxes, the heat of the high cost of living, the heat of social entitlements paid for by the taxpayers, the heat of a secularized society, the heat of the housing market bubble bursting, the heat of big government taking over people's individual rights, the heat of high interest rates, the heat of jobs going away, the heat of inept governance, the heat of unfair trade practices, the heat of government education lowering standards, the heat of government getting into health care - we could go on and on with examples of all kinds of heat.

So - what can we learn from the story of the frog in the kettle?

That it is never too late to keep our options open. That it is better to move away from a state that is sinking than to persevere and sink with the state - unless of course you have a death wish. It is better to face the unknown and take your chances in order to start anew - rather than to settle for the status quo and perish in the process.

Let them who have ears listen and hear. . . let them who have eyes behold and see.

 

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Watch this short clip of a movie and think. . . reflect. . . empathize. . . sympathize. . . then take action. Wise men say that one person's refuse is another person's treasure. In this case of food, hunger, excess and socio-economic circumstance this saying rings true.

A long time ago, when we were young, our parents and grandparents always admonished us to eat everything on our plate - that we eat what is served us and never complain or waste food because somewhere in the world there are those who are starving for want of food.

This admonition is so much more applicable today because both resources and need have gone global. What can we do to set a good example to our younger generation? For one, insist that our food are God's graces showered upon us and we ought to treat it as such - with concern, care, and due reverence.

The trashcan should be the last place that we throw out and toss our food - leftovers or not. We must always remember to put on our plate only that which we can eat.

The Bamboo Charcoal Basket

 Author Unknown

The story is told of an old man who lived on a farm in the Cordillera mountains with his young grandson. Each morning, Grandpa was up early sitting at the kitchen table (dulang) reading from his old worn-out Bible. His grandson who wanted to be just like him tried to imitate him in any way he could.

One day the grandson asked, “Pappy, I try to read the Bible just like you but I don't understand it, and what I do understand I forget as soon as I close the book. What good does reading the Bible do?”

The Grandfather quietly turned from putting firewood in the clay stove and said, “Take this old bamboo charcoal basket (kuribot) down to the river and bring back a basket of water.”

The boy did as he was told, even though all the water leaked out before he could get back to the house. The grandfather laughed and said, “You will have to move a little faster next time,” and sent him back to the river with the basket to try again.

This time the boy ran faster, but again the old bamboo charcoal basket was empty before he returned home. Out of breath, he told his grandfather that it was “impossible to carry water in a basket,” and he went to get a pail instead.

The old man said, “I don't want a pail of water; I want a basket of water. You can do this. You're just not trying hard enough,” and he went out the door to watch the boy try again.

At this point, the boy knew it was impossible, but he wanted to show his grandfather that even if he ran as fast as he could, the water would leak out before he got far at all. The boy scooped the water and ran hard, but when he reached his grandfather the bamboo charcoal basket was again empty. Out of breath, he said, “See Pappy, it's useless!”

”So you think it is useless?” The old man said, “Look at the bamboo charcoal basket.”

The boy looked at the basket and for the first time he realized that the basket looked different. Instead of a dirty old bamboo charcoal basket, it was clean.

”Son, that's what happens when you read the Bible. You might not understand or remember everything, but when you read it, it will change you from the inside out.”

Moral of the bamboo charcoal basket story: If you take time to read a portion of God's word each day; it will affect you for good even if you don't retain a word.

God’s Love is like the ocean, you can see its beginnings but not its end.

 

 

God and the Spider

 

 Author Unknown

During World War II, a US marine was separated from his unit on a Pacific island. The fighting had been intense, and in the smoke and the crossfire, he had lost touch with his comrades.

Alone in the jungle, he could hear enemy soldiers coming in his direction. Scrambling for cover, he found his way up a high ridge to several small caves in the rock. Quickly he crawled inside one of the caves. Although safe for the moment, he realized that once the enemy soldiers looking for him swept up the ridge, they would quickly search all the caves and he would be killed.

As he waited, he prayed, "Lord, if it be your will, please protect me. Whatever your will though, I love you and trust you. Amen."

After praying, he lay quietly listening to the enemy begin to draw close. He thought, "Well, I guess the Lord isn't going to help me out of this one." Just then he saw a spider begin to build a web over the mouth and entrance of his cave.

As he watched, listening to the enemy searching for him all the while, the spider layered strand after strand of fine silk webbing across the opening of the cave.

“Hah,” he thought sarcastically. "What I need is a brick wall and what the Lord has sent me is a spider web. God does have a sense of humor."

As the enemy drew closer he watched from within the darkness of his hideout and could see them searching one cave after another. As they came to his cave, he got ready to make his last stand. To his amazement, however, after glancing in the direction of his cave, the enemy soldiers moved on. Suddenly, he realized that with the spider web over the entrance, his cave looked as if no one had entered for quite a while.

"Lord, forgive me," prayed the young man. "I had forgotten that in your mysterious ways a spider's web is stronger than a brick wall."

Epilogue:  We all face times of great trouble. When we do, it is so easy to forget what wonders God can work in our lives, sometimes in the most surprising ways. And remember. . . with God, a mere, fragile and insignificant spider's web becomes a brick wall of protection. God’s ways are not our ways.

 

 

The Taxi Cab Ride

Author Unknown

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. I have had many passengers in my time but this one I will always remember.

2:30 a.m. I arrived to pick up the fare. The building loomed dark except for a single light shining in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, pause a moment, and then speed away.

But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of  danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman, perhaps in her late 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knick knacks, pictures, or utensils on the kitchen counters. In the corner sat a cardboard box filled with photographs and glassware.

"Would you kindly carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said with half a smile. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I informed her quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."

I glanced at the rear-view mirror. Her eyes glistened with the first signs of tears welling up. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

"What route would you like me to take?" I asked, trying to hide the lump that formed in my throat.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a young exchange student nurse. She pointed at a small, hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant, a favorite wonton soup hang out for her and her other student nurse classmates. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow down in front of a particular building, or corner and would sit there staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun creased the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now, please."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk, retrieved her small suitcase and headed toward the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said. "You don't owe me... really it's okay. No problem."

"You have to make a living," she reminded me, her voice seemingly questioning my friendly gesture.

"There are other passengers," I assured her. Almost without thinking, I bent down and gave her a big hug. She held onto me tightly for what seemed to be an eternity.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said, mustering a smile.

"Thank you." I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. I never looked back. What I heard was a heavy thud that sounded so final… like the echoing stone gate of a sepulchre being shut for the last time. It was unmistakably the melancholy sound of a life closing.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, meandering - lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or an impatient and inconsiderate one who was just itching for his or her shift to be over and done with? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away in haste?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life than giving that little, old passenger lady a taxi cab ride that day.

Epilogue:  We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware – moments beautifully wrapped in what others may consider small, insignificant ones. People may not remember exactly what we did, or what we said, but they will always remember how we made them feel.