A pastor read a letter from an elementary school teacher who attends East Hill Church. The gist of the letter was as follows:

Last school year, her classroom was made up of little third graders, every one of which came from either a single parent family, or a dysfunctional family, was undernourished and/or uncared for, lived in an abusive home and was either beaten, bruised, or raped by other family members; one little girl’s dad died of aids, and the list goes on. Her heart bled for these kids.

Before the ’99-2000 school year started, she and her husband went to her classroom and prayed over each desk in the room. They prayed that God would place an angel behind each and every child throughout the coming year to watch over them and protect them.

A month or so after the year had started, she gave the kids an assignment to write about what they would like to be when they grew up. Everybody was busy with his or her assignment, when “Andrew” raised his hand. When she asked him what he needed, he asked how to spell mighty.” After telling him how to spell mighty, she asked him why he needed to know.

Andrew said it was because when he grew up he wanted to be a “mighty man of God”.

When he said this, little “Mark” sitting next to him asked, “So, what’s a mighty man of God?” The teacher, swallowing back her tears, and knowing she could not say anything in the classroom, told Andrew to go ahead and tell Mark what it was.

So Andrew says, “It’s a man who puts on the armor of God and is a soldier for God”.

After observing some conversation between Andrew and Mark, the teacher, with a lump in her throat, started to walkaway when Andrew motioned with his little forefinger for her to come closer.

He whispered to her, asking if she believed in angels.

She told him yes, she did.

Then he asked her if she thought people could see angels, and she said she thought some people probably could.

Andrew said that he did, and he could see an angel standing behind each kid in the room.

I don’t think there was a dry eye in the church that night! We need to remember to pray for all of the teachers, that although there is no prayer in school, that they are dedicated enough to pray for the protection of God’s angels over the lives of their students. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, even at work.

Here is a story, about a nine year old boy who lived in a rural town in Tennessee. His house was in a poor area of the community. A church there had a bus ministry that came knocking on his door one Saturday afternoon.

The child came to answer the door and greeted the bus pastor.

The bus pastor asked if his parents were home and the small boy told him that his parents take off every weekend and leave him at home to take care of his little brother. The bus pastor couldn’t believe what the child said and asked him to repeat it. The youngster gave the same answer and the bus pastor asked to come in and talk with him. They went into the living room and sat down on an old couch with the foam and springs exposed. The bus pastor asked the child, “Where do you go to church?”

The young boy surprised the visitor by replying, “I’ve never been to church in my whole life.” The bus pastor thought to himself about the fact that his church was less than three miles from the child’s house.

“Are you sure you have never been to church?” he asked again.

“I’m sure I haven’t,” came his answer.

Then the bus pastor said, “Well, son, more important than going to church, have you ever heard the greatest love story ever told?” and then he proceeded to share the Gospel with this little nine year old boy.

The young lad’s heart began to be tenderized and at the end of the bus pastor’s story, the bus pastor asked if the boy wanted to receive this free gift from God. The youngster exclaimed, “OF COURSE!”

The child and the bus pastor got on their knees and the lad invited Jesus into his little heart and received the free gift of salvation. They both stood up and the bus pastor asked if he could pick the child up for church the next morning.

“Sure,” the nine year old replied.

The bus pastor got to the house early the next morning and found the lights off. He let himself in and snaked his way through the house and found the little boy asleep in his bed. He woke up the little boy and his brother and helped get them dressed. They got on the bus and ate a doughnut for breakfast on their way to church.

Keep in mind that this boy had never been to church before.

The church was a real big one. The little child just sat there, clueless of what was going on. A few minutes into the service, these tall unhappy guys walked down to the front and picked up some wooden plates. One of the men prayed and the child, with utter fascination, watched them walk up and down the aisles. He still didn’t know what was going on. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, it hit the child what was taking place.

These people must be giving money to Jesus. He then reflected on the free gift of life he had received just twenty-four hours earlier. He immediately searched his pockets, front and back, and couldn’t find a thing to give Jesus.

By this time the offering plate was being passed down his aisle and, with a broken heart, he just grabbed the plate and held on to it. He finally let go and watched it pass on down the aisle. He turned around to see it passed down the aisle behind him.

And then his eyes remained glued on the plate as it was passed back and forth, back and forth all the way to the rear of the sanctuary.

Then he had an idea. This little nine year old boy, in front of God and everybody, got up out of his seat. He walked about eight rows back, grabbed the usher by the coat and asked to hold the plate one more time. Then he did the most astounding thing I have ever heard of. He took the plate, sat it on the carpeted church floor and stepped into the center of it.

As he stood there, he lifted his little head up and said, “Jesus, I don’t have anything to give you today, but just me. I give you me!”

Having lunch with a group of people, I fell to talking with a surgeon, a very interesting man. “Doctor,” I asked, “what was the greatest operation you ever performed?”

“Well,” he said, “I really don’t know. Many operations I have performed required all my skills. But perhaps the one that meant the most to me was the time I operated on a little girl who was given only a ten percent chance of survival. She was such a little thing, and so pale when they brought her into the operating room.

“At that time, I was having a great deal of trouble, myself. I had a son who was a real problem and there were other things as well. I had allowed myself to become an unhappy man. As the nurses were preparing to administer the anesthetic to this little girl, she asked, ‘Doctor, may I say something?’

” ‘Yes, honey,’ I replied. ‘What is it?’

” ‘Well,’ she said, ‘every night when I go to bed I say my prayers, and I’d like to say a prayer now.’

” ‘That’s all right, honey, please say your prayer, and think of me, too, won’t you?’

In a sweet voice she prayed:

Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me, Bless thy little lamb tonight;
Through the darkness be thou near me: Keep me safe till morning light.

“And, dear God, please bless the doctor.’ Then she added brightly, ‘I’m ready now. And I’m not afraid, because Jesus loves me and He is right here with me and is going to bring me through okay.’

“I was blinded by tears,” confessed the surgeon. “I had to turn away and occupy myself with another wash up before I could start the operation. And I said, ‘Dear God, if You never help me save another human being, help me save this little girl.’

I operated on her and the miracle happened. She lived! Leaving the hospital that day, I realized that I was the one who had been operated on, not the girl. She taught me that if I take all my problems and put them in the hands of Jesus, He will see me through.”

- written by Norman Vincent Peale