HelloFridays

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It takes forever for these homemade graphics of mine to load. I would like to say it is well worth the wait, but after you've waited the 45 seconds or so you would probably be so upset that you would not get anything out of the inspirational section below. So I suggest that you go ahead and start reading the text and then come back to the top when your done. Then you can admire my limited graphics ability. Sincerely, HF graphics department.

From Beautiful Belleair Bluffs, Florida:
Hello Fridays attempts to get you to do two things: to think and to laugh, both of which are critical to your health and success in an ever-challenging world. Take a moment and ponder with your heart, and then turn around, kick back, and laugh until it hurts. You deserve the inspiration and the break! GOD BLESS.
NUMBER 31

SUCCESS

Being a citizen of the United States is one of the greatest privileges that anyone could every hope for. For those of us born here we are indeed blessed. But as with all things, there is another side to the story. The U.S. has set the world standard in almost all categories. With few exceptions, as a country we have had an unbroken string of success for over 200 years. We continue to be the only world leader. Every other country wants to be like us. You might say we have been successful - the American way. And therein lies the problem. We have come to equate the American way as always being the right way. But it is just not true in every instance. For Christians this creates a major dilemma. Most believers don't even realize that a problem exists. It is this contradiction between the American success paradigm and the Biblical paradigm that could well be the single biggest problem of the American church and believer.

Simply stated, we judge the effectiveness of our faith and our Christian institutions based on the American success ethic. But what is the American success ethic and how does it relate to a Biblical worldview? (You may be murmuring that I have been reading too many George Will and Cal Thomas columns, but hear me out.) In America success basically means winning, being the best at what you do, overcoming long odds to succeed, being the biggest, being the strongest, being the wealthiest, being the smartest. All of our education and business institutions are driven by this philosophy.

So what's the problem?!? The problem is that as believers we have fallen into the trap of evaluating the effectiveness of our faith by American success standards. We ask ourselves the questions "how many times have I gone to church this week?" "How many folks have I led to Christ this year?" "How many days have I read my Bible this month?" And then we compare our numbers against other believers and we rate our success as a Christian.

Biblical Christianity does not work that way. God calls us to obedience -- not to success, not to numbers, not to comparisons. The first time you compare your faith and its manifestations again someone else, you have blown it. God wants you to be overwhelmed by His grace, one day at a time, to be obedient to what he lays on your heart for that day. It might be only a smile to lift the spirit of a downtrodden soul, or it could mean leaving your goals and dreams and following Him to the jungles of Africa.

That is the adventure of our faith. It has nothing to do with man's evaluation! Learn to live the freedom and the joy of a Biblical life. Do not beat yourself up based on someone else's expectations of what you should be doing. 'Seek God and His kingdom and all the necessary things of this world will be given to you also." (Matthew 6:33). Remember -- pleasing God has nothing to do with your station in live or society. It has everything to do with seeking God one day at a time and pursuing His version of success!

Now it's time to get SILLY

SLEEPING AND PRAYING
(sent in by Carlos LeClair - Florida)

A Baptist minister dies and is waiting in line at the entrance to heaven. Just ahead of him is a guy who is dressed in sunglasses, a loud shirt, leather jacket, and jeans.

Saint Peter addresses the man in jeans and says. "Who are you, sir, so that I may know whether or not to admit you to the Kingdom of Heaven?"

The man in the leather jacket replies, "I'm Joe Cohen, taxi-driver from Noo Yawk City."

Saint Peter consults his list. Then he looks at the taxi driver and smiles saying, "My son, take this silken robe and golden staff and enter the Kingdom of Heaven."

The taxi-driver goes into Heaven with his silk robe and golden staff, and it's the Baptist minister's turn.

He stands erect and booms out, "I am Joseph Snow, pastor of the First Baptist Church for the last forty-three years."

Saint Peter consults his list, then he says solemnly to the minister, "Take this cotton robe and wooden staff and enter the Kingdom of Heaven."

"Just a minute," says the minister. "That man ahead of me was a taxi-driver and he got a silken robe and golden staff. How can this be?"

Saint Peter replied, "Up here in heaven it is results that count. While you preached, people slept; but while that man drove, people prayed.

MORRIS >/td>
(sent in by Laurie Hale - Texas)

Morris, a Russian man saves his rubles for twenty years to buy a new car. After choosing the model and options he wants, he's not the least bit surprised or even concerned to learn that it will take two years for the new car to be delivered. He thanks the salesman and starts to leave, but as he reaches the door he pauses and turns back to the salesman "Do you know which week two years from now the new car will arrive?" he asks.

The salesman checks his notes and tells the man that it will be two years to the exact week. The man thanks the salesman and starts out again, but upon reaching the door, he turns back again.

"Could you possibly tell me what day of the week two years from now the car will arrive?"

The salesman, mildly annoyed, checks his notes again and says that it will be exactly two years from this week, on Thursday.

Morris thanks the salesman and once again starts to leave. Halfway though the door, he hesitates, turns back, and walks up to the salesman.

"I'm sorry to be so much trouble, but do you know if that will be two years from now on Thursday in the morning, or in the afternoon?"

Visibly irritated, the salesman flips through his papers yet another time and says sharply that it will be in the afternoon, two years from now on Thursday.

"That's a relief !" says Morris. "The plumber is coming that morning!"

JOE THE BARBER >/td>
(sent in by Laurie Hale - Texas)

A man walked into Joe's barber shop for his regular haircut. As he snips away, Joe asks, "What's up?"

The man explains he's taking a vacation to Rome.

"ROME?" Joe says. "Why would you want to go there? It's a crowded, dirty city full of Italians! You'd be crazy to go to Rome! So how ya gettin' there?"

The man replied, "We're taking TWA."

"TWA!!!!" yells Joe. "They're a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly and they're always late! So where you staying in Rome?"

"We'll be at the downtown International Marriott."

"That DUMP!!!!!!?" says Joe. "That's the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly and slow and they're overpriced. So whatcha doing when you get there?"

The man says, "We're going to see the Vatican and hope to see the Pope."

"HA, that's rich!" laughs Joe. "You and a million other people trying to see him. he'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on THAT trip! You're going to need it."

A month later the man comes in for his regular haircut. Joe says, "Well, how did that trip to Rome turn out? Betcha TWA gave you the worst flight of your life?"

"No, quite the opposite" explained the man. "Not only were we on time in one of their brand new planes, but it was full and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful and I had a beautiful 28 year old flight attendant who waited on me hand and foot."

"Hmmmmm" Joe says, "Well, I bet the hotel was just like I described!"

"No, quite the opposite. They'd jus finished a $25 million remodeling job. It's the finest hotel in Rome now. They were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us the Presidential suite at no extra charge!"

"Well" Joe mumbled, "I KNOW you didn't get to see the Pope!"

"Actually we were quite lucky. As we toured the Vatican, a Swiss guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained the Pope likes to personally meet some of the visitors and if I'd be so kind as to step into this private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, 5 minutes later the Pope walked through the door, shook my hand and I knelt down as he spoke a few words to me!"

Impressed, Joe asks, "Tell me, please. What did he say?"

"Where'd you get that awful haircut?"

TEN SIGNS THAT YOU'RE BROKE >/td>
(sent in by Daryl Renshaw - Florida)

10. You've rolled so many pennies, you've formed a psychic bond with Abe Lincoln.

9. Your idea of a 7-course meal is taking 7 deep breaths outside a restaurant.

8. American Express calls and says: "Leave home without it!"

7. Long distance companies don't call you to switch anymore.

6. McDonalds supplies you with all your kitchen condiments.

5. You finally clean your house, hoping to find change.

4. At communion you go back for seconds.

3. Sally Struthers sends you food.

2. You rob Peter--and then rob Paul.

1. Your bologna has no first name.

HYMNS >/td>
(sent in by Chiqui Polo - Texas)

THE TV WEATHERMAN'S HYMN...THERE SHALL BE SHOWERS OF BLESSINGS

THE DENTIST'S HYMN.........................CROWN HIM WITH MANY BLESSINGS

THE CONTRACTOR'S HYMN...............THE CHURCH'S ONE FOUNDATION

THE TAILOR'S HYMN..........................HOLY, HOLY, HOLY

THE POLITICIAN'S HYMN..................STANDING ON THE PROMISES

THE OPTOMETRIST'S HYMN..............OPEN MY EYES, THAT I MAY SEE

THE IRS HYMN...................................ALL TO THEE

THE GOSSIP'S HYMN...........................PASS IT ON

THE ELECTRICIAN'S HYMN................SEND THE LIGHT

THE SHOPPER'S HYMN......................SWEET BY AND BY

IF YOU MUST TRAVEL ON THE HIGHWAY(sing these hymns loudly)

at 45 mph............................GOD WILL TAKE CARE OF ME
at 55...................................GUIDE ME, O GREAT JEHOVAH
at 65...................................NEARER MY GOD TO THEE
at 75...................................NEARER STILL NEARER
at 85...................................THIS WORLD IS NOT MY HOME
at 95....................................LORD. I'M COMING HOME
at 100.................................PRECIOUS MEMORIES

HOW TO GIVE THE BAD NEWS >/td>
(sent in by John Locher - Oklahoma)

Phil goes to Europe and leaves his favorite dog with his brother James. While in Europe, Phil calls James to check on his dog and asks: "so James, how's my favorite dog doing??" and James very tersely says,

"Your dog is dead" "

"What??" says Phil "you can't just tell someone their favorite dog is dead without a warning, you have to ease them into it."

"How?" says James. "Well, the first day I call, tell me my dog is on the roof," remarked Phil. "Tell me the dog is going to be fine and not to worry.

"The next day, when I call to ask about my dog, tell me that you were about to get her down, when it jumped off of the roof and broke its leg, tell me the doctors say it will be ok, but it will have to stay at the vets for a while. Are you getting all of this???" "Yes," says James.

"Good," remarks Phil. "Then the next day when I call back, tell me that there was severe internal bleeding that the vet didn't pick up and that my favorite dog died at 2:00 this morning. That way it won't be such a shock to me. Got it??"

"Yes." "Good, so, how's Grandma doing?" asks Phil.

"Well ..." James replies, "she's on the roof."

TALKING TO GOD >/td>
(sent in by Susan Lewis - California)

To his astonishment a voice came from the clouds. "Yes, Jimmy? What can I do for you?"

Seizing the opportunity, Jimmy asked, "God? What is a million years like to you?"

Knowing that Jimmy could not understand the concept of infinity, God responded in a manner to which Jimmy could relate. "A million years to me, Jimmy, is like a minute."

"Oh," said Jimmy. "Well, then, what's a million dollars like to you?"

"A million dollars to me, Jimmy, is like a penny."

"Wow!" remarked Jimmy, getting an idea. "You're so generous... can I have one of your pennies?"

God replied, "Sure thing, Jimmy! Just a minute."

Now it's time to get SILLY

Get the POWERPAGE

Are you tired of your old start page when you connect to the Internet. Perhaps it is AOL or MSN, or Yahoo or something. You never know what you are going to get, and you never know where those links will take you. I have just published a brand new start page for Christians called the POWERPAGE. It features safe Search Engines, free e-mail (Hotmail), and positive links to Sports, Weather, Stocks, Travel, Daily Inspiration, Humor, Kids Stuff, Entertainment, Family sites, Promise Keepers, and much more.

Click here to take a look at the real POWERPAGE in action right off the web. Sample the links and the Search Engines.

POWERPAGE for Internet Explorer

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4. Click "OK".

If you are using a newer release of Netscape Navigator:
1. Under the "Edit" menu, select "Preferences".
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4. Click "OK".

If you are using Microsoft Internet Explorer 3.0:
1. Under the "View" menu, select "Options".
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3. Next to "Address", type http://www.hedge.org/powerpage
4. Click "OK".

If you are using Microsoft Internet Explorer 4.0:
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2. Under the "General" look for Home Page".
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If you are using the AOL browser:
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2. Change the address of the home page to http://www.hedge.org/powerpage
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Now it's time to get SILLY

A SANDPIPER -TO BRING YOU JOY >/td>
(sent in by Cheryl Orr - Florida)

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea. "Hello, "she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child. "I'm building," she said. "I see that. What is it?" I asked, not caring. "Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand. "That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by. "That's a joy," the child said. "It's a what?" "It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy." The bird went gliding down the beach. "Good-bye joy, " I muttered to myself, "hello pain," and turned to walk on. I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up. Ruth," I answered "I'm Ruth Peterson." "Mine's Wendy...I'm six." "Hi, Wendy." She giggled. "You're funny," she said. In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me. "Come again, Mrs. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day." The days and weeks that followed belong to others: a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. "I need a sandpiper," I said to myself, gathering up my coat. The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared. "Hello, Mrs. P," she said. "Do you want to play?" "What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance. "I don't know, you say." "How about charades?" I asked sarcastically. The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is." "Then let's just walk." Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. "Where do you live?" I asked. "Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages. Strange, I thought, in winter. "Where do you go to school?" "I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation." She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home. "Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone today." She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. "Why?" she asked. I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, my God, why was I saying this to a little child? "Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day." "Yes, and yesterday and the day before and-oh, go away!" "Did it hurt?" "Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself. "When she died?" "Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door. "Hello, "I said. "I'm Ruth Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was." "Oh yes, Mrs. Peterson, please come in" "Wendy talked of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies." "Not at all-she's a delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it. "Where is she?" "Wendy died last week, Mrs. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you." Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. My breath caught. "She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." her voice faltered. "She left something for you...if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?" I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope, with MRS. P printed in bold, childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues-a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.

The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words- one for each year of her life- that speak to me of harmony, courage, undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand--- who taught me the gift of love.

"The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less"

ICE CREAM IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL >/td>
(Sent in by Bill Violette - Florida)

Last week I took my children to a restaurant. My six-year-old son asked if he could say grace. As we bowed our heads he said, "God is good. God is great. Thank you for the food, and I would even thank you more if Mom gets us ice cream for dessert. And Liberty and justice for all! Amen!"

Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby I heard a woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't even know how to pray. Asking God for ice-cream! Why, I never!". Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?"

As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table. He winked at my son and said, "I happen to know God thought that was a great prayer."

"Really?" my son asked.

"Cross my heart," said the man. Then in a theatrical whisper he added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), "Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."

Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal. My son stared at his for a moment and then did something I will remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and without a word walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her, "Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes, and my soul is good already!"

ALL THE GOOD THINGS >/td>
(sent in by Laurie Hale - Texas)

(Editor's note: This has been around for a while but it is a great story)

He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, but had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful.

Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving - "Thank you for correcting me, Sister!" I didn't know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice-teacher's mistake. I looked at Mark and said, "If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"

It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, "Mark is talking again." I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it.

I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room.

As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me. That did it!! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, "Thank you for correcting me, Sister."

As the end of the year I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to my instructions in the "new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in third.

One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves - and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.

Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish the assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled. Mark said, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend."

That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. "Really?" I heard whispered. "I never knew that meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't know others liked me so much!"

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.

That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip - the weather, my experiences in general. There was a light lull in the conversation. Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance and simply says, "Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important. "The Eklunds called last night," he began.

"Really?" I said. "I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is."

Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said. "The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like if it you could attend." To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark.

I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, Mark, I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me.

The church was packed with Mark's friends. Chuck's sister sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water.

I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who had acted as pallbearer came up to me. "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded as I continue to stare at the coffin. "Mark talked about you a lot," he said.

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to Chuck's farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him. "Thank you so much for doing that, " Mark's mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it."

Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put this in our wedding album." "I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary." Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an eyelash. "I think we all saved our lists."

That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

Hey,

I'm sorry it is taking me so long to get each HF published. Time is precious these days. As a matter of fact, Diane and I are making plans to move to Tennessee (Lord willing). Please pray for us through this transition - we have lived in Florida for a very long time. Thanks also for your continued prayers for HEDGEBUILDERS. We are on the cusp of several significant events. God has been good! Take care and have a great October. Yea, it will almost assuredly be November before you hear from me again. The Mustache Guy

God bless and have a great week! Ken

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(Special note to new "Hello Fridays" recipients. "Hello Fridays" is a free, bi-monthly, e-mail publication (and now Web page) that I send out which includes inspiration and wit. It all started in February of 1997. You are receiving it because you either requested it, someone else put you on the recipient's list, it was forwarded to you, or through sheer dumb luck. If, for some unexplainable reason, you would like to discontinue receiving HF, you can e-mail me at Hello-Fridays@juno.com to let me know to remove you from future mailings. Also if you come across any neat stuff, either serious or funny, that you think would make a great addition to HF, please send it my way.)