Leave the past where it belongs..............in the past.

The past!everyone has it, either good or bad,but the ability to forget and leave the past to the infinite mercy of God, the future to his good providence and give the present wholly to his love by being faithful to his grace is what make us victorious.

Are you ever disturbed by memories? Wouldn't it be nice to simply click the DELETE KEY and erase the pain while leaving only happy recol­lections?

I like the story of the minister who passed along to a beginning pastor a trick he used when he noticed the congregation nodding off.

"I suddenly say to them, 'Last night I held another man's wife in my arms.' And, when eve­ry­­­one sits up shocked, I continue, 'It was my own dear mother.'"

The young preacher liked it and was ready the following Sunday when most of his congrega­tion was drowsing. He said in a loud voice, "You know, last night I held another man's wife in my arms

Stunned, the congregation sat bolt upright and stared. Unnerved, the young preacher stam mered, "Oh dear -- I've forgotten who she was."

Have you ever wanted to take back an embarrassing moment, a hasty decision, or a word spoken in the heat of anger? The problem is, some things can't be taken back! Some hurts cannot be undone. And unfortunately, no delete key can correct the past so that memories no longer hurt, frighten or humiliate.

The past is what it is ------- past. And that, too, is good to remember. It is past. Over. Finished. There is no taking it back, yet no purpose is served in re-living and rehashing old memories. It is gone. Let it be a teacher. Let us learn from its harsh les­sons as well as its joys.
Then let us leave it where it be­longs -- in the past and move on to the land of new beginnings where all of our past mistakes and heartaches, And all of our poor selfish grief,could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door and never be put on again.

Why don't you ask for the grace to put the past in the past and BEGIN AGAIN.

Thanks for Your Time

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.
Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.
"Jack, did you hear me?"
"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.
"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.
"I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.
"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.
"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important... Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.
As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.
The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time. Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture.... Jack stopped suddenly.
"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked. "The box is gone," he said. "What box?" Mom asked. "There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.
It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.
"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."
It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.
Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention. "Mr. Harold Belser" it read. Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside. "Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser."
"The thing he valued most...was...my time." Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked. "I need some time to spend with my son," he said. "Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your time!

""Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away.