My mother, Helen Exum, went to be with the Lord in late August of last year and, in the way folks do, I was going through some of her files last week when I ran across an envelope with my name on it. Inside was a story and written in her hand were the words, “This is a wonderful story for you to tell!”
Not being one to disobey my mother and not about to waylay the wishes of the dead, I read the story she had saved for me and she was right. It is a good story and it needs to be told.
Not only that, but today’s the day, so freshen your coffee and let’s review my Mom’s parting wisdom.
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Once upon a time two brothers who lived on adjoining farms fell into conflict. It was the first serious rift in 40 years of farming side by side, sharing machinery, and trading labor and goods as needed without a hitch.
Then the long collaboration fell apart. It began with a small misunderstanding and grew into a major difference, and finally it exploded with bitter words followed by weeks of silence.
One morning there was a knock on John’s door. He opened it to find a man standing with a carpenter’s toolbox. “I’m looking for a few day’s work,” he said. “Perhaps you would have a few small jobs here and there that I could help with? Could I help you?”
“Yes,” said the older brother. “I do have a job for you. Look across the creek at that farm. That’s my neighbor. In fact, it’s my younger brother. Last week there was a meadow between us and he took a bulldozer to the river levee and now there’s a creek between us. Well, he may have done this to spite me, but I’ll give him one better. See that pile of lumber by the barn?
“I want you to build me a fence – an eight-foot fence – so I won't see his place or his face anymore,” said the older brother.
“The carpenter said, “Yes sir, I think I understand the situation. Show me the nails and the post-hole digger and I’ll be able to do a job that pleases you.”
The older brother had to go to town, so he helped the carpenter get the materials ready and then he was off for the day. The carpenter worked hard all day…measuring, sawing, nailing.
About sunset, when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just about finished his job. The farmer’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. There was no fence there at all. It was a bridge – a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other. It was a fine piece of work, handrails and all. And suddenly his neighbor, his younger brother, was coming towards the bridge, his hands outstretched.
“You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I have done.”
The two brothers stood at each end of the bridge, and then they met in the middle, taking each other’s hand. They turned to see the carpenter as he hoisted his toolbox to his shoulder. “Stop…wait…stay a few more days. I’ve a lot of other projects for you,” said the older brother.
“I’d love to stay on,” said the Carpenter, “but I have many more bridges to build.”
* * *
REMEMBER THESE THINGS:
God won’t ask you what kind of car you drove, but He’ll ask how many people you drove who didn’t have transportation.
God won’t ask the square footage of your house, but He’ll ask how many people you welcomed into your home.
God won’t ask about the clothes in your closet, but He’ll ask how many you helped clothe.
God won’t ask about your social status, but He’ll ask what kind of class you displayed.
God won’t ask how many material possessions you had, but He’ll ask how they dictated your life.
God won’t ask what your highest salary was, but He’ll ask if you compromised your character to obtain it.
God won’t ask how much overtime you worked, but He’ll ask if your overtime work was for yourself or your family.
God won’t ask how many promotions you received, but He’ll ask how you promoted others.
God won’t ask what your job title was, but He’ll asked if you performed your job to the best of your ability.
God won’t ask what you did to help yourself, but He’ll ask what you did to help others.
God won’t ask how many friends you had, but He’ll ask how many people to whom you were a true friend.
God won’t ask what you did to protect your rights, but He’ll ask what you did to protect the rights of others.
God won’t ask in what neighborhood you lived, but He’ll ask how you treated your neighbors.
God won’t ask about the color of your skin, but He’ll ask about the content of your character.
God won’t ask how many times your deeds matched your words, but He’ll ask how many times they didn’t.
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Nobody knows who wrote what you have just read but I know my mother left it in an envelope with my name on it and that it sure means more to me today than she could have ever imagined.
royexum@aol.com