This morning, I read a story of a king in one of the books in my room, this King had a male servant who, in all circumstances always said to him; My king, do not be discouraged because everything God does is perfect, no mistakes. One day, they went hunting and a wild animal attacked the king, the servant managed to kill the animal but couldn't prevent his majesty from losing a finger. Furious and without showing gratitude, the King said; if God was good, I would not have been attacked and lost one finger. The servant replied, 'despite all these things, I can only tell you that God is good and everything He does is perfect, He is never wrong'. Outraged by the response, the king ordered the arrest of his servant. While being taken to prison, he told the king again, God is Good & Perfect. Another day, the king left alone for another hunt and was captured by savages who use human beings for sacrifice. On the altar, the savages found out that the king didn't have one finger in place, he was released because he was considered not "complete" to be offered to the gods. On his return to the palace, he ordered the release of his servant and said; My friend, God was really good to me. I was almost killed but for lack of a single finger, I was let go. But I have a question; If God is so good, why did He allow me to put you in prison? His servant replied; My king, if I had not been put in prison, I would have gone with you, and would have been sacrificed, because I have no missing finger. Everything God does is perfect, He is never wrong. Often time's i always complain about life, and the negative things that happen to me,i don't know of u, forgetting that everything happens for a purpose. God is good and perfect!!The song "It Is Well With My Soul" was written by a successful Christian lawyer Heratio Spafford,his only son died at age 4 in 1871,in 1872,d great Chicago fire wiped out his vast estate made from a successful legal career,in 1873 he sent his wife & 4 daughters over 2 Europe on a summer trip on d ill fated ss ville du Havre. Since he had a lot of work to do, he planned to join them later. The Ship sank and he lost his 4 daughters with d wife being the only survivor,she sent him a famous telegram which simply read,SAVED ALONE.... On His return home, his Law firm was burned down and the insurance refused to pay, they said "It's An Act Of God". He had no money to pay for his house and no work, he also lost his house. Then while sitting and thinking what's happening to him, being a spiritual person, he wrote a song - whatever my Lord, you have taught me to say - It is well, it is well with my soul. My dear friend, a good attitude will determine your altitude. When you look at your life, career, job or family life, what do you say? Do you praise God? Do you blame the devil? A good attitude towards God makes Him move on your behalf. Just sit down and say, Today God, it is well with my soul, I am thankful I had a peaceful sleep, I am thankful I am alive with possibilities, I am thankful I have a roof over me, I am thankful I have a job, I am thankful that I have Family and Friends. Above all, I am thankful that I have the Lord Jesus Christ on my side. Be blessed and don't be envious or shocked when others are prospering because you don't know what they have been through to get there (test, trials and tribulation) so thank God for what you have. "Little is much when God is in it. It Is Well With My Soul! Touch someones life with this message. God has seen your struggling's, God says it's over, remain blessed.

Thanks for sharing, it is beautiful. Gratefulness is a virtue. That's the moral of the story for me and a good way to live one's life by, whether you are a Christian or Muslim or ... .

Now let me share something with you.

In Times Like These, Choose Love

By George G. Ritchie/Elizabeth Sherrill and Gary Amirault

(An excerpt from the book "Return from Tomorrow" by George G. Ritchie with Elizabeth Sherrill, published by Fleming H. Revell, A division of Baker Book House, Grand Rapids, MI., pgs. 113-116)

When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, the 123rd Evac entered Germany with the occupying troops. I was part of a group assigned to a concentration camp near Wuppertal, charged with getting medical help to the newly liberated prisoners, many of them Jews from Holland, France, and eastern Europe. This was the most shattering experience I had yet had; I had been exposed many times by then to sudden death and injury, but to see the effects of slow starvation, to walk through those barracks where thousands of men had died a little bit at a time over a period of years, was a new kind of horror. For many it was an irreversible process: we lost scores each day in spite of all the medicine and food we could rush to them.

Now I needed my new insight indeed. When the ugliness became too great to handle I did what I had learned to do. I went from one end to the other of that barbed wire enclosure looking into men's faces until I saw looking back at me the face of Christ.

And that's how I came to know Wild Bill Cody. That wasn't his real name. His real name was seven unpronounceable syllables in Polish, but he had long drooping handlebar mustaches like pictures of the old western hero, so the American soldiers called him Wild Bill. He was one of the inmates of the concentration camp, but obviously he hadn't been there long: his posture was erect, his eyes bright, his energy indefatigable. Since he was fluent in English, French, German and Russian, as well as Polish, he became a kind of unofficial camp translator.

We came to him with all sorts of problems; the paper work alone was staggering in attempting to relocate people whose families, even whole hometowns, might have disappeared. But though Wild Bill worked fifteen and sixteen hours a day, he showed no signs of weariness. While the rest of us were drooping with fatigue, he seemed to gain strength.

"We have time for this old fellow," he'd say."He's been waiting to see us all day." His compassion for his fellow-prisoners glowed on his face, and it was to this glow that I came when my own spirits were low.

So I was astonished to learn when Wild Bill's own papers came before us one day, that he had been in Wuppertal since 1939! For six years he had lived on the same starvation diet, slept in the same airless and disease-ridden barracks as everyone else, but without the least physical or mental deterioration.

Perhaps even more amazing, every group in the camp looked to him as a friend. He was the one to whom quarrels between inmates were brought for arbitration. Only after I'd been at Wuppertal a number of weeks did I realize what a rarity this was in a compound where the different nationalities of prisoners hated each other almost as much as they did the Germans.

As for the Germans, feelings against them ran so high that in some of the camps liberated earlier, former prisoners had seized guns, run into the nearest village and simply shot the first Germans they saw. Part of our instructions were to prevent this kind of thing and again Wild Bill was our greatest asset, reasoning with the different groups, counseling forgiveness.

"It's not easy for some of them to forgive," I commented to him one day as we sat over mugs of tea in the proceeding center. "So many of them have lost members of their families."

Wild Bill leaned back on the upright chair and sipped at his drink. "We lived in the Jewish section of Warsaw," he began slowly, the first words I had heard him speak about himself. "My wife, our two daughters, and our three little boys. When the Germans reached our street they lined everyone against a wall and opened up with machine guns. I begged to be allowed to die with my family, but because I spoke German they put me in a work group."

He paused, perhaps seeing again his wife and children. "I had to decide right then," he continued, "whether to let myself hate the soldiers who had done this. It was an easy decision, really. I was a lawyer. In my practice I had seen too often what hate could do to people's minds and bodies. Hate had just killed the six people who mattered most to me in the world. I decided then that I would spend the rest of my life, whether it was a few days or many years, loving every person I came in contact with."

Loving every person . . . this was the power that had kept a man well in the face of every privation.

A foot for thought !