C.R.I. - E.V.H.  n°9

Part 2

 Qu’est-ce exactement que la Vérité ? Est-ce la description d’une chose telle qu’on l’a vue sans exagération ni amoindrissement ? Non. Ou est-ce la narration d’un incident dans les termes mêmes que l’on a entendus quand on nous l’a raconté ? Non. La Vérité élève. Elle prône des idéaux. Elle inspire les individus dans la société. Elle est la lumière qui illumine le chemin de l’homme vers Dieu.

Nothing is too big for Him!

Two men went fishing. One was an experienced fisherman, the other wasn't. Every time the experienced fisherman caught a big fish, he put it in his ice chest to keep it fresh. Whenever the inexperienced fisherman caught a big fish, he threw it back.

The experienced fisherman watched this go on all day and finally got tired of seeing the man waste good fish. "Why do you keep throwing back all the big fish you catch?" he asked.

The inexperienced fisherman replied, "I only have a small frying pan."

Sometimes, like that fisherman, we too throw back the big plans, big dreams, big jobs, big opportunities that God gives us. Why? 

Because our faith is too small. We may laugh at that fisherman who did not figure out that all he needed was a bigger frying pan, yet how ready are we to increase the size of our faith?

Whether it's a problem or a possibility, God will never give us anything bigger than what we can handle. That means we can confidently walk into anything God brings our way.
Remember, we can do all things through our loving God……..nothing is too big for Him!

A Love Story

"When the power of love
overcomes the love of power,
the world will know peace."

—Jimi Hendrix

There's an old story about a group of monks living with their master in a Tibetan monastery. Their lives were disciplined and dedicated, and the atmosphere in which they lived harmonious and peaceful. People from villages far and wide flocked to the monastery to bask in the warmth of such a loving spiritual environment.

Then one day the master departed his earthly form. At first the monks continued on as they had in the past, but after a time, the discipline and devotion that had been hallmarks of their daily routine slackened. The number of villagers coming through the doors each day began to drop, and little by little, the monastery fell into a state of disrepair.

Soon the monks were bickering among themselves, some pointing fingers of blame, others filled with guilt. The energy within the monastery walls crackled with animosity.

Finally, the senior monk could take it no longer. Hearing that a spiritual master lived as a hermit two days walk away, the monk wasted no time in seeking him out. Finding the master in his forest hermitage, the monk told him of the sad state the monastery had fallen into and asked his advice.
The master smiled. "There is one living among you who is the incarnation of God. Because he is being disrespected by those around him, he will not show himself, and the monastery will remain in disrepair." With those words spoken, the master fell silent and would say no more.

All the way back to the monastery, the monk wondered which of his brothers might be the Incarnated One.

"Perhaps it is Brother Jaspar who does our cooking," the monk said aloud. But then a second later thought, "No, it can't be him. He is sloppy and ill tempered and the food he prepares is tasteless."

"Perhaps our gardener, Brother Timor, is the one," he then thought. This consideration, too, was quickly followed by denial. "Of course not" he said aloud. "God is not lazy and would never let weeds take over a lettuce patch the way Brother Timor has."

Finally, after dismissing each and every one of his brothers for this fault or that, the senior monk realized there were none left. Knowing it had to be one of the monks because the master had said it was, he worried over it a bit before a new thought dawned. "Could it be that the Holy One has chosen to display a fault in order to disguise himself?" he wondered. "Of course it could! That must be it!"

Reaching the monastery, he immediately told his brothers what the master had said and all were just as astonished as he had been to learn the Divine was living among them.

Since each knew it was not himself who was God Incarnate, each began to study his brothers carefully, all trying to determine who among them was the Holy One. But all any of them could see were the faults and failings of the others. If God was in their midst, he was doing a fine job of hiding himself. Finding the Incarnated One among such rubble would be difficult, indeed.

After much discussion, it was finally decided that they would all make an effort to be kind and loving toward each another, treating all with the respect and honour one would naturally give to the Incarnated One. If God insisted on remaining hidden, then they had no recourse but to treat each monk as if he were the Holy One.

Each so concentrated on seeing God in the other that soon their hearts filled with such love for one another the chains of negativity that held them bound fell away. As time passed, they began seeing God not just in each other, but in every one and everything. Days were spent in joyful reverence, rejoicing in His Holy Presence. The monastery radiated this joy like a beacon and soon the villagers returned, streaming through the doors as they had before, seeking to be touched by the love and devotion present there.

It was some time later that the senior monk decided to pay the master another visit to thank him for the secret he had revealed.

"Did you discover the identity of the Incarnated One?" the master asked.
"We did," the senior monk replied. "We found him residing in all of us."
The master smiled.

Life is like a rose

A young, new preacher was walking with an older, more seasoned preacher in the garden one day. Feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do, he was asking the older preacher for some advice.

The older preacher walked up to a rosebush and handed the young preacher a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing off any petals. The young preacher looked in disbelief at the older preacher and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the will of God for his life and ministry.

But because of his great respect for the older preacher, he proceeded to try to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal intact. It wasn't long before he realized how impossible this was to do.
Noticing the younger preacher's inability to unfold the rosebud without tearing it, the older preacher began to recite the following poem:

It is only a tiny rosebud,
 flower of God's design;
but I cannot unfold the petals
with these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
GOD opens this flower so sweetly,
Then, in my hands, they die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
Then how can I have the wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So I'll trust in Him for leading
Each moment of my day.
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.

Divin message

Why get agitated? Let Me take care of all your business. I shall be the one who will think about them. I am waiting for nothing else than your surrender to Me, and then you do not have to worry anymore about anything. Say farewell to all fears and discouragement. You demonstrate that you do not trust Me. On the contrary, you must rely blindly on Me. To surrender means: To turn your thoughts away from troubles, to turn them away from difficulties you encounter and from all your problems. Leave everything into My hands saying "Lord, Thy will be done. Thou think of it."
That is to say, "Lord, I thank you, for you have taken everything in your hands, and you will resolve this for my highest good."Remember that thinking of the consequences of a thing is contrary to surrender. That is to say, when you worry that a situation has not had the desired outcome, you thus demonstrate that you do not believe in My love for you. You will prove that you do not consider your life to be under My control and that nothing escapes Me. Never think: "How is this to end? What is going to happen?" If you give into this temptation, you demonstrate that you do not trust Me to deal with it...yes, or no?
Then you just stop being anxious about it ! I shall guide you only if you completely surrender to Me, and when I must lead you into a different path th an the one that you expect, I carry you in My arms. What seriously upsets you is your reasoning, your worrying, your obsession, your will to provide for yourselves at any price. I can do so many things when the being, as much in his material necessities as in his spiritual ones turns to Me saying: "You think of it," then closes his eyes and rests quietly. You will receive a lot but only when your prayer will rely fully on Me. You pray to Me when in pain so that I intervene, but in the way you desire it.
You do not rely on Me, but you want Me to adjust your requests. Don't behave like sick ones who ask a treatment to the doctor, all the time suggesting it to him. Do not do that; rather, even in sad circumstances, say: "Lord, I praise and thank You for this problem, for this necessity. I pray You arrange this as You please for this terrestrial and temporal life. You know very well what is best for me." Sometimes you feel that disasters increase instead of diminish. Do not get agitated. Close your eyes and tell me with faith: "Thy will be done. You think of it." And when you speak thus, I accomplish a miracle when necessary. I only think of it when you trust me totally. I always think of you, but I can only help you completely when you rely fully on Me.

HORSES

There is a field with 2 horses in it.
From a distance, each horse looks like any other horse. But if you stop your car, or are walking by, you will notice something quite amazing.  Looking into the eyes of one horse will disclose that he is blind. His owner has chosen not to have him put down, but has made a good home for im.This alone is amazing.

If you stand nearby and listen, you will hear the sound of a bell.
Looking around for the source of the sound, you will see that it comes from the smaller horse in the field.

Attached to the horse's halter is a small bell. It lets the blind friend know where the other horse is, so he can follow.
As you stand and watch these two horses, you'll see that the horse with the bell is always checking on the blind horse, and that the blind horse will listen for the bell and then slowly walk to where the other horse is, trusting that he will not be led astray.

When the horse with the bell returns to the shelter of the barn each evening, it stops occasionally and looks back, making sure that the blind friend isn't too far behind to hear the bell.

Like the owners of these two horses, God does not throw us away just because we are not perfect or because we have problems or challenges.

He watches over us and even brings others into our lives to help us when we are in need.
Sometimes we are like the the blind horse being guided by the little ringing bell of those who God places in our lives.

Other times we are the guide horse, helping others to find their way...

Good friends are like that... you may not always see them, but you know they are always there.

And remember...be kinder than necessary. Everyone we meet is fighting some kind of battle.

Live simply,
Love generously,
Care deeply,
Speak kindly, and,
Leave the rest to

God.... Remain Blessed!

A Girl with an Apple

(This is a true story and you can find out more by Googling Herman Rosenblat. He was Bar Mitzvahed at age 75) August 1942. Piotrkow, Poland.

The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated.

'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, 'don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen.

'I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker.

An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, and then asked my age.
'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.

My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and elderly people.
I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?'
He didn't answer.

I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. 'No, 'she said sternly. 'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.'

She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.

My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany . We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers.

'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.'

I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator.
I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.

Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin.

One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice.

'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel.'
Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream.

But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.

A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree.
I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German. 'Do you have something to eat?'

She didn't understand.

I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life.
She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple.

We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both.
I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me?

Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.

Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia .
'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.'
I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.

We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed.
On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM.

In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over.

I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.
But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers.

Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived;
I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival.
In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none.

My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.

Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years.

By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.
One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me.
'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.'
A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me.

But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma.

I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.

The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with.
Turned out she was wary of blind dates too!

We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time.
We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat.

As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she asked softly, 'during the war?'
'The camps,' I said. The terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.

She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin,' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.'

I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were both survivors, in a new world.

'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day.'

What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did he look like? I asked.
'He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months.'
My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it.
This couldn't be.

'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?' Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes!'

'That was me!' I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My angel.

'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.

'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week.

There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go.

That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.
Herman Rosenblat of Miami Beach, Florida.
 
This story is being made into a movie called "The Fence".

SCARS IN OUR HEARTS

Some years ago, on a hot summer day in south Florida, a little boy decided to go for a swim in an old swimming pool behind his house. In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks and shirt as he went.

He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore. His mother, who was in the house and looking out the window, saw the boy swimming towards the alligator. Petrified, she ran toward the water, yelling to her son to get out as loudly as she could.

Hearing her voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his mother. It was too late. Just as he reached the bank where his mother was, the alligator reached him. The mother grabbed her little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. And then began an incredible tug-of-war between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the mother, but the mother was totally consumed by her passion for her son and was gripped by a holy strength.
While this terrible struggle was going on, a farmer happened to drive by, heard the screams, and saw what was going on – he took his gun, raced from the truck, and shot the alligator.

Remarkably, after weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were badly scarred by the vicious attack of the alligator. He also had deep scratches on his arms where his mother's fingernails had dug into his flesh in her efforts to hang on to the son she loved.

The newspaper reporter, who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy showed him his legs. And then, with great pride, he said to the reporter, "But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my Mom wouldn't let go."

You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, but the scars of a painful past! Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us deep regret. But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go. In the midst of your struggle, He's been there holding on to you.

God wants to protect us and provide for us in every way. But sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations, not knowing what lies ahead. The swimming pool of life is filled with peril and we forget that our inner enemies are waiting to attack. That's when the tug-of-war begins - and if you have the scars of His love on your arms, be extremely grateful. He did not, and will not, ever let you go.

Leave what must be left

Once a king went to a forest for hunting. There he was separated from his entourage and lost the way.
While walking in darkness, he slipped and fell into an old well. Fortunately he firmly caught hold of some roots of the branches of a nearby banyan tree as they were hanging in the well. Thereby, he saved himself from falling into the well.

After some time, a person who was reciting the name of the Lord happened to pass that way. Hearing the sound of groaning coming from a nearby place indicating that someone was in distress; he came near the well and peeped into it. Seeing someone hanging in the well, he managed to procure a rope from somewhere to pull him out.

Throwing the rope in the well, he addressed the person in trouble, “Catch hold of this rope firmly; I will try to pull you out slowly.” The king had a doubt: what should I catch at – the roots of the branches of the banyan tree or the rope?

In the same way, man becomes the victim of doubts in certain situations and loses his discrimination. First the roots of the branches of the banyan tree were the means by which the king saved himself. But to out of the well he should have left these roots and caught hold of the rope. Here the roots symbolise the world which man keeps holding.

But some day or the other, he was to know the path which can lead him to his redemption. Leaving the roots and catching the rope are the means which him to the path of his liberation.

The Yogi's Cloth

A young yogi lived by the side of the river. His life was simple and carefree; he practiced yoga almost all day long. Because he had no other responsibilities, he had plenty of time to sit peacefully with closed eyes, his thoughts fixed on the Lord within the heart. This was his daily meditation.

One day, after bathing in the river, he washed his only piece of cloth and laid it out on the rocky bank. While waiting for it to dry, a thought crossed his mind, “I am wasting time waiting for this. If I had another piece of cloth I could get dressed right away.”

Just then an old sadhu (a wise man) passed by. This sadhu was able to read the thoughts of others. He stopped and spoke with the young yogi. “My dear son, I know what is on your mind. You want to save time. But rather than collecting more and more possessions, it's better to be happy with what you have.” He then offered the yogi his blessings and continued on his way. The young yogi pondered the sadhu's advice, but decided that just one extra cloth was not too much to desire. So he went to the marketplace and bought one.

The next day he bathed in the river as usual, washed his cloth and put it on the rock to dry. Then he put on his nice new cloth and went to perform his meditation.

Later in the day, when he came back, he discovered that a hungry mouse had nibbled holes in his old cloth. At first he was dismayed, but then thought, “I know! I'll get a cat to chase away the mouse”. He went to the market once again and bought a cat.

He spent the next day very happily and peacefully meditating. But, as evening approached, the cat began to miaow because it was hungry, disturbing the yogi.

“Oh, he needs milk,” he groaned and so he reluctantly left for the market again, returning this time with a cow. The next day was peaceful until the evening when the cow began to moo. “I'm not going to milk it everyday!” thought the yogi. “It takes too much time.”

So he went to village and asked a young woman to be his wife. So she can milk the cow to give to the cat, who would keep the mouse away from the yogi's cloth and so the yogi was happy – for a while. One evening his wife complained, “I'm sick of you just meditating all day. I want a home. I can’t just sit with you out here in rain and sun”. So the yogi built a house.

But then his wife was lonely and wanted children... As time went by the yogi meditated less and less and worried more and more. He was constantly busy looking after his house, his growing family and the animals. Sometimes, when he had a quiet moment, he would reflect on those carefree times when all he had was a single cloth.

One day while he was sitting and drifting away in past, the old sadhu again passed by. The sadhu smiled and remarked, “I can see you are in a pensive mood, so I will tell you again that it's better to be happy with what you have. Because when it comes to wanting things, there is no end.”

 Nations are many Earth is One
Stars are many Sky is One
Beings are many Breath is One
Jewels are many Gold is One
Religions are many God is One
Appearances are many Reality is One.