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This is a piece of TEXT I pulled from a ZIP, I consider it to be of Interest,
and Imagine there is some value in it for most of us.


Dan Sharpe


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I recently read this letter and thought to be of GREAT
importance. So read and remember... IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO START.


Dear Friend,


The Encyclopedia Britannica gives a half page to the
accomplishments of the son of President John Quincy Adams,
Charles Francis Adams. Adams followed the political trail
of his father and became a U.S. diplomat to Great Britain.
The encyclopedia makes no mention of Charles'family but
Charles'dairy does. An entry one day read: "Went fishing
with my son today - a day wasted."


However, another diary, that of his son Brook
Adams,gives us a different perspective:"Went fishing with
my father - the most wonderful day of my life."


Interesting, isn't it, how a little boy's perspective
could be so different from his dad's.


But it's true of me too. I can remember tugging, and
half-pulling my dad out of his favorite chair while he was
trying to read the evening newspaper. I wanted to play
catch. He usually let me win the tug of war, sometimes
reluctantly. Those were wonderful evenings.


There were fishing trips with Dad to Canada when I
caught a trophy Northern Pike. And another outing to a
local lake where he netted a small boy's catfish - a fish
so small that it went through the holes in the net. He
always used to kid me about that fish - his laughter still
echoes in my mind when I recall that skinny fish slipping
through the net.


It's interesting now as an adult how the mind can play
tricks on me. Looking back, those days of vacation and
moments of memories are among my most cherished
possessions. Yet, now that I'm grown it seems that playing
catch and going fishing are not nearly productive enough.
No measurable goal is apparently achieved. Until, of
course, I get a few moments to reflect on the value God
Places on a little boy or a little girl.


I was reminded recently that not all men today have
those memories of time with dad etched on the slate of
their hearts. Jeff Schulte, an associate of mine here in
the Family Ministry, recently wrote the following letter
to his ministry partners thanking them for their
partnership in strengthening families. It speaks of
memories of a different kind.





"I can still picture my Dad bouncing me
on his knee, coaching me in little league,
showing me how to shine my shoes, helping
me reel in my first fish, and telling me
stories about his early days as an undercover
detective on the Dayton police force.
"I can still hear him saying the words,
'Son, I love you.' I can imagine him messing
up my hair, wrestling with me on the living
room floor, and sharing a hot dog with me
at a Cincinnati Reds game.
"I can still see him puffing up his chest
when he talked about me to his friends. He
was proud to be my father. He would do anything
for me - I was his SON - he was MY dad. I was
a chip off the old block.
"I can still see all this and much more,
but I can't see it in the reservoir of fond
memories. Instead, I recall it from an
imagination and yearning that wished then
and wishes now that is were so. My dad left
home when I was 3. I never really knew him.
"When I drive home from the office, I'll
often turn off the radio and in the quiet
of the car I'll think about a little blond
headed 3 year-old somewhere who will grow
up knowing his dad because you and I decided
we wanted to make a difference."
"I'm 26 years old. I still miss my Dad
(even though that's hard to admit). I even
cry sometimes when I'm honest with myself
about how I feel. Please pray for my Dad.
I don't believe he's met Jesus."


The most piercing statement in Jeff's letter are the
words "I never really knew him." I couldn't help
reflecting on the number of children today who will replay
a similar record in their minds. No, not just those from
broken homes, but those whose homes have a father and a
mother in name only.


The little boy who went fishing with his dad, Brook
Adams, lived most of his life as an agnostic and a
skeptic, defying the roots of his Puritan ancestry. Near
the end of his 79-year life he returned to his home
church, overcame his shyness, and made a public profession
of faith in Jesus Christ. I wonder if God used the memory
of that fishing trip with his dad linked with the
spiritual values his father taught him to bring Brook
Adams to faith in Christ.


So this month take a kid fishing and teach him one
spiritual truth. Just one memory. Just one truth. It may
be the most "wonderful day" of his life.






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