The Sargent and the Boots That Turned.

This is the story of how one person came to faith and continued to live his faith in the face of adversary and how it had a powerful effect on others.

____________________________

THE SARGENT AND THE BOOTS THAT TURNED

There was once a Sargent in the Scottish Guards who was a fearsome man in or out of uniform. He was taller and stronger than most men. He was known as the "Mallet" because his fists were so large. When Sargent McGregor was off duty he would dare anyone to go one round with him in a bout of fist-to-cuffs. The wager was a tempting one for many but none could last a single round with the Mallet. He could take the best blows they could give but after a half a minute he would stop playing and crash a powerful punch upon his opponent and send him flying, thus winning the bet. As much as the men in his company feared him they respected his leadership blindly. Sgt. McGregor was a seasoned soldier who fought in the king's army in many campaigns. He was fearless in battle.  Sgt. McGregor was also a bully who used threats, taunts, ridicule, and harsh punishments to keep his command in order.

Randy was a private in his command. Randy is the nickname for one who has loose values and morals; and Randy was a lover of fun, gambling, strong drink, and many other wicked things.  Randy was a good soldier who obeyed orders well enough and fought in combat with distinction worthy of the elite Highland Unit.

Returning from war in the east the Highlander's ship stopped at the island of Malta; the island where Paul the Apostle did many wonders. The highlanders had left to explore and amuse themselves on the island. Randy found himself separated from his companions and wandered about alone.

He came to a statue of St Paul. Without understanding why Randy was drawn to it. He could not help but stand for some time looking at the statue of St Paul. The statue seemed to trouble him but he was not able to leave.

"The Apostle did many miracles on this island." A voice behind him said. Randy turned and saw an old man in plain black clothes.

"The face on this statue looks so peaceful, yet full of authority and confidence," Randy commented.

"Paul was all those things- after he met Jesus."  The old man said. "Have you met Jesus?"

"How can I?" Smirked Randy, "Jesus died long ago."

"You can meet Jesus today and know him as Lord and Savior. He loves you and died for your sins."

Randy looked at the old man and considered these words. The old man had the same spirit of peace and confidence. "Tell me more."

That day Randy learned the Gospel of Jesus and he received Jesus into his life as Lord and Savior. He became a new creation in Christ and resolved to live for Jesus with the same abandon and passion that earned him the nickname of Randy.

His daily prayers and diligence to read the Bible was quickly observed. He gave up strong drink, late-night carousing, his language was without cussing and became gracious.

McGregor despised Randy for all of this. He saw religion as weak and hypocritical. He bullied Randy harshly with many jeers and insults and gave the private dirty hard task to perform. The Sargent criticized every effort Randy made to live a righteous life.

In spite of all the hardships, Randy was faithful to the Lord who he loved. He read the Bible daily and sought to win others for Christ. He was persistent in prayer. His reputation for Godly living became known throughout the entire regiment.

It became his custom to read the Bible in the morning at breakfast. A few guardsmen would sit with Randy and listen to his reading of a few verses. The Sargent would hover nearby for the purpose of mocking God's Word.

One morning the regiment was camped in tents in some distant campaign, and the soldiers were around the campfires when Randy read the words of Jesus' sermon. "But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: But whosoever shall smite the on the right cheek turn the other to him also." * The Sargent rushed out of his tent and pounced upon the words of Jesus, criticizing the teaching of Jesus with mocking and cursing. Randy quietly tried to defend the Lord's words but McGregor refused to listen.

It was a day of a long march through muddy marshes. The cold damp overcast day put the entire regiment in a bad mood; McGregor was more of a bully than ever, and his temper was growing around the campfire that night.

As his last duty of the day the Private knelt in his tent to pray, giving thanks and worship to the Lord; and beseeching God's blessing on the King, country, regiment, and brothers in Christ. His words were soft-spoken but audible to those passing by the tent.

McGregor hearing the muttered prayers became enraged. He was sitting on a stool next to the fire and had taken off his muddied boots to relieve his swollen sore feet. Grabbing one he threw it with all his might into the Private's tent hitting Randy full on the right side of his face knocking him over. The laughter around the campfire was like a roar. The Sargent teased, "I wager he'll not turn that cheek for a time."

Randy quietly picked himself up and resumed his prayers kneeling the other way, facing his other cheek to McGregor, who shouted. "I've never refused a challenge in my life." He snatched up his other muddied boot and threw it hitting the Private squarely on the side of the face knocking him over again. The private picked himself up again and knelt as before to pray for the regiment.

Many of the men around the campfire were humiliated by the scene of Randy faithfully enduring the Sargent's abuse. In shame and silence, they turned away and sought their own tents. McGregor sensing he was losing his audience raised his voice louder and added more insults against the private and his Lord.  He pulled out a flask of rum and drank until he stumbled into his tent for the night.

The sun rose the next morning shining its yellow light on the tents of the camp as the men were making breakfast fires to cook on and to warm themselves. McGregor opened the flap of his tent to preview the weather and mood of the Guardsmen. His eyes rested upon two shiny beautiful boots before his tent. The leather shown with polish and the brass fittings were buffed until they gave off a golden light. They were his own boots that he had thrown at the faithful Christian Private. The boots were now cleaned of all grime and mud; they were restored to a condition better than McGregor had seen since they were new.

"Who cleaned my boots?" The Sargent muttered half suspecting the answer. A passing Guardsman carrying a bucket of water supposing the question was addressed to him replied, "Private Randy, Sir. He spent most of the night at the task."

The words and sight of the cleaned boots did what battles and warfare could not do. McGregor's resistance broke and his heart melted by an act of love and forgiveness. The many words of the Gospel which Randy faithfully proclaimed flooded up in his soul. Tears rolled down his scarred cheeks. He turned back into the tent, knelt next to the cot, and prayed, confessing his sins and receiving the love of his Lord who he now trusted as Savior.

* Matthew 5:39

(C)Adron Dozat

The Parable Of The Eagle Who Thought He Was a Chicken

Here is a colorful allegory I sometimes use when I am mentoring young people. It parallels many truths.

* * * * *

THE PARABLE OF THE EAGLE WHO THOUGHT HE WAS A CHICKEN

The gray ferret, Wagraye, was the most wicked animal in the hundred-mile forest. His crimes included stealing bird's eggs and kidnapping baby bunnies. He would break up the beaver's dam for no other reason than mischief and steal the squirrel's nuts out of meanness. He was a murderer who would kill not out of necessity but for the pleasure of it.

The Great Eagle was the King of the Skies, and he despised the Grey Ferret. As he flew above the forest guarding over the innocent creatures, he would search for the ferret so he may put a halt to the evil the malicious animal would do. The noble eagle hopped the ferret would repent of his wicked deeds and turn to do good, but sometimes the King of the Skies wished disaster would befall the ferret, so he watched and waited.

One day the wicked ferret went too far and, for entertainment, attacked a squirrel's nest, hurting and maiming the baby squirrels. The eagle dove from the skies like a flaming angel of vengeance. His battle cry was a scream of living fury and spread terror over the forest. The ferret dodged the razor claws of justice and, shouting his own war cry, turned to attack. Many ferrets joined him, and a great battle was fought across the grassy meadow. Dozens of ferrets swarmed over the eagle, trying to overwhelm him by their many numbers. The eagle slashed and bit, bringing death to many.

The brawl ended without warning when the bloodied ferrets fled to holes and hideaways. The eagle stood alone on a black stump of a tree in the midst of the blood-stained meadow. Scattered all about the eagle lay ferrets; many dead and many more whimpering with broken bones and gushing wounds.

"You will pay for this attack!" The Grey Ferret yelled from a hole in the ground.

"You will pay for all the wrongs and evils you have done, Ferret." The eagle cried.

"Payment? What justice is this when you have slain my children, my clan, and my wife."

"It's no more than you have done to so many innocent creatures. Stay in your hole and never come out to do mischief again, or my vengeance will be a hundredfold." The eagle spread his great wings and swooped into the sky.

"I'll teach you about vengeance." Muttered the bitter ferret. He slithered out of his hole, and without a look at the injured and dead ferrets that covered the meadow, he stalked off to carry out revenge. The ferret traveled to the heart of the hundred-mile wood to a rocky mountain that rose like a ship sailing on a sea of forest. He climbed the rocky sides and scurried up cliffs. Day and night, he climbed, ignoring the heat until he reached the top far above the green forest. At the very pointed top of the mountain was the nest of the Great Eagle. In the nest was a single egg; it would hatch a son who would be the Prince of eagles and take his place as King of the skies one day. The ferret waited, and when the eagle soared away, the ferret, like a master thief, stole the egg.

"I said I would get my revenge," he muttered gleefully to himself.

Down the cliff face, he ran, jumped, and scampered. The ferret recklessly bounded over rocks and slid down gravely dusty paths. All the while, he cradled the egg with as much love as a mother. It must not be hurt during the crazed descent. Not until the ferret came under the shadow of the many forest trees did he stop to rest. It was then that he heard the cry of the King Of The Skies. "Ferret! You have killed my son. You will pay for this wrong!"

"It is you who will pay." The vile rodent muttered. He slithered through bushes and under trees carrying the egg as if it were gold. Quickly and silently, the ferret padded through the forest to its very edge and looked across the asphalt road to the Land of Man. Waiting until dark, he crossed the road to a familiar place, the chicken farm.  The ferret had often entered by a secret way to steal and eat the eggs. This time he did not come to steal and eat an egg; he left an egg. The eagle's egg was lovingly placed in a chicken's nest in the chicken house.

"Now, my ladies, take good care of this one." He hissed to the chickens cowering in the corner. "It is a payback for the ones I took before. Teach him everything you know, make him the most chicken of all chickens there ever was."  The ferret slid like oil out into the night.

The eagle sought the murderer for many days. Every day he felt the gash of grieving in his heart. How he vowed to deliver justice! From the first hint of sunrise to the final dimness of dusk, his piercing eyes roved the forest hungry for any sight of the despised one. At last, he saw the villainous rodent sunning himself boldly on a rock. With rage, the eagle swooped down from the sky and snatched the ferret in his claws.

"I got you now, you son of evil!" the eagle cried. "At last, you shall pay for the death of my Son."

"Fool of a turkey you are, your son lives. Kill me. You will never know where."

"You lie."

"No. Let me live, and I will tell you where you will find your son."

"Tell me first, and I will decide."

"No. I will tell you after you set me down safely."

The eagle seeing the ferret, was stubborn and will not tell, took him to a high rock above the forest like a spike. Setting down the ferret where it could not escape, the King of the Skies demanded, "Here, I have set you down. Now tell me where my son is."

"Ha! I am the winner! Your son is in the land of man, in a chicken house. He is living with the chickens and thinks he is one. Your son will never fly. He will never rule at your side. He will be a freak and laughed at by all creatures because he thinks he is a chicken. Your son will never be an eagle."

The King of the Skies let out a painful cry that was heard across the hundred-mile forest. "Enjoy your rock." Raising his wings, he lifted himself away. The ferret ran to the edge of the rock to see the sides were smooth as glass and too steep to climb down to the distant forest far below. Back and forth across the rock, the ferret ran looking for a way down but now found none.

"Your majesty, my Lord and King, you have done me wrong; you stranded me on this rock! I can't get down. I will perish up here."

"Ha! We have both kept our word; you told me where my son is, and I set you down safely. I will find my son, and you will find justice." The great eagle flew away as the trapped ferret ran back and forth vainly, seeking a way down.

Driven by the passion, the great eagle flew across the forest, covering the many miles in a short time. From high in the clouds, his keen eyesight soon found the chicken farm. He saw the Prince of eagles, a lone large brown bird among hundreds of white, silly, foolish chickens. The Prince was scratching in the dirt just like a chicken, plucking at bugs and grain thrown by the farmer.

The King of the Skies called for his son to come to the heavens and join him as ruler of the skies. Over and over, he called. The Prince heard only the clucks of the chickens; a senseless noise he made for no reason except the hundreds of chickens around him did it. He never learned the language of eagles, so his father's words were nonsense to him.

Every day the King of the Skies would fly above the chicken farm calling his son. He watched as the Prince became more and more like a chicken.  The Prince ran when the chickens ran, he ate what the chickens ate, he slept when the chickens slept. It broke the heart of the King of the Skies a hundred times over.

The Prince was an eagle who thought he was a chicken because he knew nothing else. His heart had the fire to be something other than a chicken. He sensed he was meant to be more. He knew a bird such as him was not meant to live in the dirt and scratch the ground for bugs and eat corn like the foolish little birds around him.

The Prince tried to fulfill this inner prompting by attempting to be the ruler of the chickens. He was a prince even though he didn't know it and something deep inside him told him he should bring justice and order to the scattered-brained chickens. His efforts were wasted, for they were oblivious to his promptings to do right, and they rejected his rule. When he tried to lead them, they turned on him by the hundreds, pulling his feathers out and pecking at his exposed flesh with their hard pinching beaks.

The King of Eagles saw this attempt at fulfillment and grieved deeply for his son's frustration.

The Prince felt he was meant for more than a chicken coop. He tried to woo and win the favor of the chickens. He tried to romance the chickens and compete with the roosters. He was rejected by the chickens and becoming a source of jokes among the rosters. The Prince found a corner of the chicken yard and sulked by himself, sad and alone.

The King of Eagles saw this and cried out in grief for the Prince's disappointment.

The Prince felt deep inside that he should be more than a bird sulking in a corner; he felt others were supposed to look up to him. He tried to be popular. Seeing one of the roosters clowning around, he thought he would try to be a clown. He told jokes to the chickens and tried to do tricks to amuse them. But eagles do not have a sense of humor, and his tricks looked awkward, for eagles were made for majesty, not for comedy. He went back to the corner of the yard and felt sorry for himself.

The King of The Skies saw this from far above, and his heart broke again for his son.

The Prince lifted his wings and wondered what they were and why. He had a feeling deep in his heart that these wings were for majestic glory.  He flapped them while squatting in the chicken yard. Something felt right, but he didn't know what. He was afraid to wave his beautiful wings since none of the chickens ever did. As the chickens slept, he hopped out in the chicken yard to flap his wings secretly but felt guilty as if he was breaking a rule. His guilt began to weigh him down until he gave into it and tucked his wings in.

The King of the Skies watched daily and daily mourned for what his son was becoming.

The Prince climbed the top of the chicken house. He spread his wings. "Watch everybody, I am going to fly." A few chickens looked around momentarily at his appeal. The Prince leaned over the side of the house with spread wings and tumbled to the ground. Chickens ran around laughing. The Prince went to the corner of the yard and felt sorry for himself.

The King of the skies could take it no longer.

The following dawn, the sun rose over the chicken yard and shown on something new. When the chickens went into the yard, a great bird sat in the midst of it. They kept away from this stranger. The Prince looked at the great bird. "What a beautiful bird!" I wish I could be like him.

The beautiful bird said, "Son, I've come."  But the Prince did not understand the language of the eagles since the only language he heard was the cluck, cluck, cluck of silly chickens. The King repeated, "Son, I've come to show you how to be what you are meant to be."   The awesome beauty of the commanding voice of the King terrified the Prince.

The King of Eagles lived among the chickens with the Prince for many seasons. The Prince admired the great bird, though the chickens feared him. The King of the skies was patient with all. Day by day, he spoke to the Prince. The language of eagles was beautiful to the Prince; every sound would make his heart jump. Trying the sounds felt right, and: slowly, over time, his understanding of the eloquent commanding language of great birds grew.

The King of Eagles began a daily routine of exercise in the middle of the chicken yard by flapping his huge wings, sending dust high into the yard.  The Prince would copy this, and together they would flap their wings like two dancers. The Prince felt dormant urges to fly bubble up from his soul as his wings grew firm and strong.

The Prince began to feel that he was becoming what he was meant to be. He began to suspect that there was joy somewhere in the world, and he might find it.

The King of Eagles taught the Prince the way of the noble eagle. He taught about honor and integrity. He spoke of guiding the forest creatures well. He taught about the need to for a ruler to be fair and just. The more the Prince learned about justice, protecting the weak creatures, and avenging the victims, the more he felt his purpose was near.

After many seasons, the King said to the Prince, "Bird, do you know why you are here?"

"I am a chicken, and chickens stay here."

"No. You are meant to be an eagle. You are meant to rule from the skies to be the bringer of justice and enforce fairness in the hundred-mile wood."

These words sounded like golden sunlight to the Prince's heart.

"But I am in a yard. I sleep in a chicken house. I live with the chickens."

"You are the Prince of the Skies stolen from my nest by a foe. I have taught you all I can teach here. You must follow me to take your true place in the skies." So the Great Eagle spread awesome wings and swept himself into the sky. "You must follow me to take your true place."

The Prince hesitated. The chicken farm was home; it was near, familiar, and he had a corner where he could sit and feel sorry for himself.

From above, the King called down, "You are meant to be an eagle. If you don't follow me, you will be a chicken, yet not a chicken, forever."

The Prince looked at the blue sky. It was so big, so far away; there was no ground, fence, or chicken house. He hesitated. Around him were hundreds of chickens, scratching in the dirt, pecking for corn and bugs. It was a safe place, and he knew it well.

The King of Eagles said one last word. It would be his final. "Come!"

The Prince felt the word echo to his core. "Come," resounded into his heart as if there was no other word in creation. "Come." He heard the call of his father, and he answered. He answered with a true eagle's scream that sent all the chickens fleeing like white tumbleweeds to the corners of the yard. Alone in the center of the chicken yard, he lifted wings and stretched his mighty wings up, and swept them back with power. He felt his body, soul, and heart lift from the earth, and with strong beats of his wings, he left the yard and the chickens behind forever. Rising up, up, up, he became the Prince of the Skies.

______________

This allegory illustrates how we sense a need for more in our lives. We were made for better things than to be scratching in the dirt of the earth for meager trinkets. But we need someone to rescue us and bring us to the place we belong. 

If you want to know how Jesus can rescue, follow this link: Salvation.

(C) Adron Dozat 7/14/12

Thank You! 

WOULD YOUR KIDS LIKE PRINTABLES EACH WEEK? 

If you make a monthly pledge of only $3:50 a month, you will receive BIBLE TIME FUN WEEKLY, a children's activity printable bulletin every week. You will receive additional material available only to patrons, as well as an editable Word Doc. It has pages of puzzles, coloring pictures, and games for the kids. You can share it with the kids in your church, Awana Bible club, class, camp, VBS, Backyard Bible club, school, and home. Use the button below.

  Become a Patron! 

 Thank You!

The Messenger and the King of Many Faces.

This is a fun story that I tell to the children in my church to help them understand that we must come to know our Lord and King or else when he is at work in our lives we might miss seeing him. It is a little longer than most of my tales but I hope it engages the imagination.

*****

THE MESSENGER AND THE KING OF MANY FACES

In the old days of great empires, there was a good and kind emperor who had the custom of putting on a disguise and going out to live with the people.  Every three or four mounts he would take off his fine clothes and dress up as a peasant or laborer and spend the week living with the common people, doing their work and going through their struggles. This way he would know their needs and opinions and understand the concerns of the people.

He did this so much that the coins of the land had pictures of him not as a royal king but as a cowboy, a bricklayer, a tinsmith, a chimney sweep, butcher, and other common persons that he became for a time.  This made it hard for people to recognize the emperor and easy for the emperor to move among the common people freely.

The government officials were frustrated when they needed him to sign a bill or treaty because they couldn't find him.  It became necessary for the Parliament to request that he leave an agenda behind so they could find him because he became so good at his disguises.

There was a short war and during that time the king stayed at the palace performing his duties but when the war ended and he was longing for the adventure and discovery of the week-long masquerade.

Stan's Dispatch bag

Stan was the designated courier for the emperor that week. The messenger service had grown and each week all the couriers would be randomly drawn for their assignments for the following week.  This was to be fair since the couriers would gain part of their pay from tips.  If a letter was brought to a clerk he would give the courier a coin, but being a clerk he would only have a small coin normally a tin or iron coin. If a dispatch was sent to a magistrate he would give the courier a coin of a greater value, perhaps brass or copper.  If the courier brought a pouch of documents to a lord the lord would say, "here is something for your trouble," and he might give a coin of high value- a silver coin.  The best was to deliver papers to the royal family since they were generous and gave gold coins. With the ending of the war the gratuities were more generous since they were distributed after the documents were read or seen if the document was a good one like a peace treaty the receiver would be glad and give a good tip, but if the letter was a complaint or summons the gratuity would be poor.  So to be fair to all the couriers the assignments were randomly drawn out of a hat so everyone had a chance to deliver to the rich and no one was delivering only to the poor and never making good tips.

Stan was glad to be delivering for the king the week the war ended because Stan was in love with a beautiful upper-class woman, Lady Matilda, who also loved him.  She was from high society and Stan was only a messenger so, he needed to prove his worth to her father who was an ambassador, also the father asked a bride price of ten gold coins.  Stan hoped the gratuities from the king on the week would be enough to pay the bride price and start them out on married life.

The sun was barely over the horizon Monday morning when Stan entered the dispatch office.  He was given a courier bag with the royal emblem on it.  "Take these directly to the King."  The director of dispatches said. "It is your lucky day, Stan, because the pouch has the peace treaty that ends the war, it needs the king' signature. Also the account of the victorious battle, and list of valiant men who will be awarded honors." The thought of gold coins flashed through Stan's mind and with a grin nodded and put the strap of the bag over his shoulder.

Stan hurried from the administration building to the palace.  The emblem on the dispatch bag was all the passport he needed to be admitted.  The palace was quiet. "Is anyone here" Stan called to the empty halls and chambers.  "I have dispatches."  He listened to his own echo.

"This way." Someone called, from far up stairway.  Stan followed the voice to find a dull board man sitting at a desk writing in a book. "I have documents for his Majesty," Stan said.

"He is not here this week." The man looked up as he spoke. "He is visiting."

"What do you mean he is visiting? I have important papers for his Majesty to read and sign."

"He has put on the commoner's clothes for the week; he will not be in the palace until next Monday."

"Where has he gone, how will I find him?"

The clerk gave Stan a piece of paper with the name of seven towns on it. "The king will be in each of these towns for one day starting with the one at the top of the list today, then going on down the list."

"How will I recognize him?"

"Have you never seen his image on the royal coin?"

"Yes, but they are all different."

"But they are all true. Use them to help you recognize him."

Stan mounted a fast horse and rode to the first town on the list, called Gatehouse Village.  He spent the day walking about looking into the faces of the people hoping he would recognize the king.  After a while, he began to ask if anyone new was recently seen in town.  It became a discouraging day visiting all the shops and workhouses and marketplace.  At the end of the day, Stan thought that the king must have gone to the next town on the list.  Foot sore from waking the town he brought the horse to the stable.  After being in the bright sun the stable was dark and hard for his eyes to adjust. In the dimness, the stable hand and horse master were but shadows.  "How much to stable and fodder the horse for the night?" Stan asked the shadowy figures.

The stable hand were shadows

"Two coppers or five iron coins." Stan put the coins in the grubby dirty had of the stable hand.

"May I sleep here tonight? I will need to leave early in the morning." Stan asked.

"Yes you may," said the stable master.  Stan spent the night on a cot next to the horse, listening to the snores of the stable helper who also slept in the stable.

The next morning Stan rode out early to the town of Smithy Waters.  It was a busy mill town where the water wheels on the river turned the gears of the mills.  Stan asked around all day if anyone new was in town and again had no success.  He walked about looking into the faces of everyone to see if any looked noble or had a bearing like a king.  At the end of the day, he followed the road to the end of the town and stopped at the ferry house so he could take the ferry across the river to the next town on the list.

"I need to cross the river," Stan said to the ferry boat captain.

The Pole man wore a hat

"We will not be taking any more over tonight, but you can stay until the morning and go in the first boat.  My pole-man will show you where to sleep."   The pole man was wearing a hat down over his face since the sun on the river was bright.  He turned and waited for Stan to follow him to the boathouse where the barges were tethered for the night.  Stan and the horse spend the knight listening to the pole man snore.

The next day Stan crossed the river and came to Plow Break Commons, the farming lands of the town where the king was supposed to be that day. Stan again looked around asking for news of any newcomers to town.  He looked intently into the faces of everyone he saw.  After the day he was discouraged.  His frustration was made worse when the horse threw a shoe.  Slowly Stan walked the horse to the blacksmith. "My horse threw a shoe, how much."

Soot covered the helper

"Two coppers for the shoe and one tin for the forge." Stan paid and watched as the helper covered with coal and soot stoked the fire and the blacksmith hammered the shoe to shape on the forge. Stan asked,

"Where in town can I stay tonight?"

"Plow Break Commons has no inn, but you are welcome to sleep next to the forge." So Stan spent the night sleeping on the ground next to the forge listening to the helper snore on the other side.

Stan rode to the next town on the list, it was Bakerville, and true to its name it was full of the good smells of baked goods.  Again he spent the day asking if any new person had come to town, he looked in the faces of the people to see if any looked like a king. At the end of the day, he entered one of the bakeries. The cook was a fat man who asked him what he would like. Stan needed some provisions for the rest of the week and asked for hearty bread.

"Oh, we have only the finest bread here but the hearty tack is around the back.  My assistant cook will show you where it is."

Bakers Helper, White From Flower

Stan paid and the helper who was white with flower from the crown of his white hair to the rough shoes took him around the back to select the hearty tack bread that could sustain a traveler.

"Where might I sleep tonight?"

"The Baker has rooms above the shop." The assistant replied over his shoulder as he reached up for the loaves of bread. Stan spent the night in one of the rooms the size of a closet. He lay awake worrying that he will never find the king and get the dispatches delivered; failure could be seen as treason. Through the thin walls, he could hear the helper snoring.

The next town was Copper Hills. A mining town. Stan wandered around the town asking if anyone new has been there that day.  He looked in the windows of cooper smiths shops and went to the workhouses of the miners.  He watched as tired miners came out of the dark mines their faces covered with sweat and grime.  As the day came to another end he found the miner's bunkhouse and asked if there were any new miners that started that day. "Where does a person spend the night in Cooper Hills?" He asked a grimy faced miner.

"You can sleep in the bunkhouse with all of us." Stan went into the dark bunkhouse, some miners were already sleeping.  Only one bunk was free, a bottom bunk, above was a dirty miner reading a book by a candle.

"Is anyone using the bunk down here?" Stan asked.

I was not always a miner

"No, you are welcome to it."  The man said from behind the pages of his book.

"It is rare to find a miner who can read."  Stain said as he laid down.

"I was not always a miner."  The old man said.  I should warn you, I snore."

"Oh, I have been getting used to that." Stan spent the night in the bunkhouse listening to the snores of the miner sleeping in the bunk above his. Stan worried that he would let the king down by not delivering the dispatches.

The next town was called Wheat Fields.  Hopelessly Stan rode the horse into the town. In front of him was a caravan of Gypsies in their colorful wagons.  Stan asked all over the town if there was a stranger in the town.  "No one new around here except those Gypsies."  The Gypsies were not liked or trusted by anyone.  "Maybe who you are looking for is riding with them?"

"No," Stan replied. "The one I am looking for is a nobleman of high family, he would never ride with the Gypsies."

After spending the day looking for the king Stan sought a place to sleep the night.  There was only one place for a traveler in Wheat Fields and it was in the village square, but the square was taken over by the Gypsies.  Reluctantly Stan walked to their camp.

"I am a traveler and will need to sleep in the square too." The told the head Gypsy.

The Gypsy had a patch

"We want no trouble, pick out the place you would like.  This one will give you any help you need."  The head gypsy said as he waved to one of the gypsies who came over to help. "Help this brother of the road."

The Gypsy who came had a black scarf over his head tied tightly at the back and a patch over one eye, his beard has not been shaved in a week.

"No thank you I need no help." Said Stan and waived away the old Gypsy. Stan chose to tie the horse to the shady tree and slept under the cool of its branches.  He could hear the snores of the Gypsy.  Laying there he wondered if he would end up in prison or worse for not delivering the dispatches would he never again see the beautiful Lady Matilda.

The next morning Stan said to himself. "I must find the king today."  The week was almost up and he had not delivered a single dispatch.  He had hoped to deliver many by now.  The last town was the army town called Kings Fort.  Stan rode up to the high stone walls and stopped at the post gatehouse.

"Has any strangers come through here today?" He asked the guard.

They have Latrine Duty

"No," the guard replied as he checked the book visitors signed. Stan sat on his horse and looked at the faces of those that came through the gate.  After a while, some solders pushing a cart of barrels came out of the town and disappeared up over a hill.  They came back with an empty cart. Many times as Stan sat at the gate the same two solders pushed the hand cart out.  He could smell the foul putrid stink of latrine water.

"What are those two doing?" Stan asked the guard.

"They have latrine duty.  They are emptying the latrine soil into the cesspool outside the city.  The fort does not have sewers."  Stan had to step aside each time as they trudged past.  They were covered with filth and smelled of waste.

"Where can I spend the night?" Stan asked the Guard.

"You can try at the inn.  It is next to the barracks."  Stan lay in a decent bed for the first time in a week.  He felt awful, he had let the king down and the courier service down and he would never have the ten coin bride price for the ambassador.  He would return to the Dispatch office and face the consequences, he was sure to be hung for treason, he would stand at the gallows and look for Lady Matilda's face it will give him courage.

The next day Stan slowly rode back to the city.  He was discouraged since he failed to find the king all week. "Here are the dispatches.  I didn't find the king- he was visiting. May I have an exception and be the courier for the king another week?"

"No exception," Said the director of courier services.

"Another will deliver the documents to the king. Your assignment this week is the tax office. Here is a courier bag with reports, audits and fees."

"Just great." thought Stan as he picked up the courier bag. "There is no one stinger than the tax office. I'll be lucky to have two coppers by the end of the week." And he turned to go.

"Sir," Stan said to the minister of courier services. "I am sorry to let the service down."

"Don't worry about it. The king is forgiving of mistakes when the intention is sincere."  The Director of Courier services opened the dispatch pouch to inspect the documents. "Wait, Your documents have been delivered and signed. See, here is his Majesty's signature and the seal from his signet ring. You did deliver and never knew. Job well done, Stan."

Stan was confused. How did the documents get the King's signature since the bag never left his side- indeed he used it as a pillow?

The tax office shared the building with the mint where coins were made.  It was a crowded place that day because the new coins were being displayed.  In the lobby of the office was a series of pictures of the new coins but each was covered with a linen cloth.  Stan lingered for a moment to see some of the ceremonies.  The first picture celebrated the end of the war.  Lady Victory would be on one side of all the coins she was standing proudly holding the sword low with its blade behind her, in her other hand held high was the olive branch of peace.  Stan felt proud of his country and a just victory.  On the other side of all coins were images of the king.  Ice gripped Stan's heart when he saw clothe lifted off the second it was the king as a stable hand.  The cloth was lifted off of the third and it was a pole-man on a ferry boat.  The next showed the king as a blacksmith's helper at a forge,  then an assistant baker, a copper miner, a one-eyed Gypsy,  and a solder on latrine duty.

Stan did not see the last one because the clerk came to the window.  It was a window with bars and the glass was foggy with cigar smoke. The window slid up and the old man behind was wearing the strangest glasses ever, they had three row of lenses one pair flipped up and one pair flipped down. "May I help you?"

"Dispatches." Was all Stan could say.

"What's wrong young man?" asked the old man as he took the dispatches.  Stan explained that he had spent the week trying to find the king and each time he failed to recognize him.  He explained he was hopeful for a generous gratuity, but also he was angry with himself for failing the king and the people.  He was ashamed of his performance and how he reflected badly on the courier service.

"I am sorry you did not recognize the king these eight times."  The clerk said.  "Wait, and I will give you something for your trouble." He flipped the top lenses down over the middle ones and looked over the papers in the dispatch case.  Slowly the old man put a copper coin on the counter. "Have a good day Stan." and the old man lowered the window.

Stan was about to turn when the window opened again. The old man was scribbling on a parchment.

"Take this dispatch pouch to the ambassador Westvailla, maybe he will have a gratuity that will help make up for your last week." Stan picked it up the courier bag he never held such a heavy dispatch.

Stan rushed out the door hopeful that he might see the lady Matilda since her father was the ambassador of Westvailla.  The ambassador and his staff greeted him coldly since they did not have any obligation to the tax office.

"What? Is this some mischief? Taxes! The king has just won a war and does he want to bully us now?"  All the aids crowded around the ambassador and looked over his shoulder as he read the dispatch. They all looked up at Stan, then the letter, then back at Stan then inside the dispatch case.

"Gentlemen." The ambassador said to his aids. "You are dismissed." Stan took that as his instructions to depart and turned to go.

"No. Not you Stan. Why did you not tell me and Lady Matilda that you had friends in such high places? The king himself! Well my goodness. We certainly accept your service as the new royal liaison to the Westvailla Embassy."

Stan was completely confused. The ambassador held out his hand for Stan who shook it. "Well now about the gold coins. Ten will do. I never heard of anyone who was so close to the king that the king paid the bride price for him. You must be an exceptional man indeed."

Stan's eyes bulged out as the ambassador reached into the courier pouch to remove ten gold coins and put them on the table.

"Take the rest as the letter said it is his Majesty's gift for your service to him and your companionship on his recent travels."

The ambassador placed the bag in Stan's hand and looking into stan saw twenty-five gold coins. Each one had the eighth image of the king as a government tax clerk wearing three pairs of glasses.

***

One of the signs of a mature Christian is that he knows Jesus, not just casually but he knows Jesus voice from afar, he recognizes the face of Jesus in the dimmest light and he perceives the hand of Jesus in the workings of the world around him. To an immature Christian Jesus is cute or a charm or just the founding martyr of a world religion. We must make knowing Jesus our highest priority.

(C)Adron Dozat

(c)Adron Dozat 8/31/1

The Educated Young Man And The Shoes.

The Educated Man
And The Shoes

I was teaching a lesson on pride to a class of high school kids and found this story to help them understand the Christian motivation for humility.
______
Back when the emperor ruled in China there was a young man who lived in a city. His family was wealthy and had many servants so the young man never had to dirty his hands with common work. Because he came from a wealthy family he was able to receive a fine education. He excelled in all his studies and was considered one of the brightest students at the university. He was very cultured and was careful to observe all the customs of upper society. This man became a Christian and as a follower of Jesus he wanted to serve his Lord, so he joined a mission hospital that was run by a missionary and there the young man trained to become a nurse.

He was given many interesting opportunities to help people and being educated he was able to understand much of the medicine and science. He was excited to be able to serve Jesus by serving people whom Jesus loved. He was respected by patients and staff.

I have never cleaned shoes it is below me

One day the missionary doctor brought to the young man some muddy filth covered shoes and asked him to clean them.

"What?" decried the young man. "No, not me I have been educated. I understand science and medicine. I am from the upper class we do not clean shoes, have someone else do this."

"Everyone else is busy elsewhere. I need you to clean these shoes."

"I have never cleaned shoes. It is below me I will not do this."

The missionary brought out his worn Bible, and read from the Gospel of John. "And supper being ended, the devil having now put into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, to betray him; Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he was come from God, and went to God; He riseth from supper, and laid aside his garments; and took a towel, and girded himself. After that he poureth water into a;basin and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded. Then cometh he to Simon Peter and Peter saith unto him, Lord dost thou wash my feet? Jesus answered and said unto him, What I do thou knowest not now; but thou shalt know hereafter. Peter saith unto him, Thou salt never wash my feet. Jesus answered him, If I wash thee not thou has no part with me. Simon Peter saith unto him, Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head. Jesus saith to him, He that is washed needeth not save to wash his feet, but is clean everywhit: and ye are clean but not all. For he knew who should betray him; Therefore said he, Ye are not all clean. So after he had washed their feet, and had taken his garments and was set down again, he said unto them, Know ye what I have done to you? You call me Master and Lord and ye say well; for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you and example, that ye should do as I have done to you.*"  Then the missionary left the room without saying a word leaving the open Bible on the table.

He washed the disciples feet

Later that day the cleaned shoes were brought to the missionary by a now very humble young man. He set the clean shiny shoes down on the table and said, "If Jesus can wash the disciples feet then I can clean shoes."  The young educated man became known as the most willing worker in the hospital who was happy to scrub floors, clean wounds, take out trash, clean dishes, and do whatever lowly task offered, because so doing he was following his Savior.

*John 13:2-16 JKV

(C)Adron Dozat