WHO DO YOU WANT TO BE: DATTA OR JOHNNY?

                                  Johhny Barnes       Datta Phuge

The latest issue of The Economist (Jul 23rd 2016) has this in its obituary column.

"In the city of Pune in Maharashstra, in 2012, Datta Phuge conceived a desire to display something no one else had. Something, that is, made of pure gold. 

"As founder-floater of the Vakratunda Chit Fund, a slightly slippery credit society, he had any amount of gold in his possession or on his body: rings, bracelets, coins, mobile phone. He was in the habit of wearing 7kg of it a day, here and there. He had given a heap to his wife Seema, who began to find it a little boring to wear. 

"But since gold was his passion and his chief way of showing how happy and fortunate he was, he wanted to flaunt it still more.

"After chatting it over with his friends at Ranka Jewellers, he ordered a shirt made almost wholly of gold. It comprised 100,000 spangles and 14,000 gold flowers fixed to white velvet cloth, so that it could be folded away like any other shirt. 

"Accessories were provided, also of 22-carat gold: necklaces, cuffs and a belt. Altogether, the outfit weighed 9.5kg. It took 15 craftsmen from West Bengal, working 16-hour days, more than two weeks to create it. 

"And it cost 1.27 crore rupees, or $250,000..."

Tragically, Phuge was stoned to death on July 14, allegedly by those to whom he owed money. His famous shirt was allegedly taken away by one of his creditors in Mumbai. What a tragedy!

It is very interesting to note that the obituary compares and contrast Phude with Johnny Barnes who lived in Bermuda, almost 13000 kms away, who decided to put on a prodigal display.

He would stand at the Crow Lane roundabout in Hamilton, where most of the rush-hour traffic came past, and tell each passing motorist how sweet life was and how much he loved them. His days had long overflowed with happiness, in his garden and in his jobs as a railway electrician and a bus-driver, where he had taken up the habit of waving and smiling to anyone who passed as he ate his lunchtime sandwiches. He had lavished joy on his wife Belvina, “covering her with honey”, as he put it. But there was plenty left over.

Both Mr. Barnes and Mr. Phuge were taken for madmen at the start; but they justified themselves partly by the ambient culture.

In India, Mr. Phuge explained, everyone loved gold, and in Maharashtra they loved it even more. Politicians went laden with it and, as a man of political ambition himself, he hoped the shirt might get him noticed nationally. That was why he wore it not just to functions or events, but also when going casually around the town, causing a small sensation.

For Mr. Barnes, his extravagant love of Hamilton’s commuters came partly from Bermudans’ habit of saying “Good morning” anyway, partly from his genuine joy in the life God had blessed him with, and partly from the switching his mother had given him when he failed, as a child, to greet an old lady. Every day ever since, he had tried to spread happiness to as many people as possible.

Fame came rapidly. Mr Barnes was hailed as an icon of Bermuda, and in 1998 a statue of him was put up near the roundabout. Tourists from Africa and America came to be photographed with him and to buy his dollar postcards; he once waved to the Queen of England. Mr Phuge was on all the Marathi TV channels modelling his shirt, but also had BBC reporters and Canadians lining up at his front door; they were, his wife said, “evenmore sought-after than royals”. Both men were credited with powers to make gold, or happiness, increase. Mr Barnes, a Seventh-Day Adventist, often prayed with his visitors beside the road, and his rare absences were taken as bad omens. Mr Phuge (who always wore with his shirt a giant “Om” in crystals on a thick chain of gold) was believed to have the Midas touch, and was asked to bless houses. Both men hugely enjoyed the attention.

There were naysayers, of course. Those who were not so lucky, or in a bad mood, resented these continuous demonstrations of good fortune. Gentle Mr Barnes was condemned as a traffic hazard, and once had a bucket of water thrown over him. Mr. Phuge was more justifiably attacked as a shady money-lender, parading in his gold while local farmers starved—and indeed while he, too, was deep in debt. When he strolled out in his shirt his heavily armed “boys” went too, to protect him.

On the night of July 14th, on his way to a party—but not, apparently, in the shirt—he was stoned to death by “friends” to whom he owed money. Nothing could have been further from the peaceful death of Johnny Barnes, in ripe old age and in the firm conviction he was heading home.

The moral of the tale seems almost too easy to draw: the selfish flaunter of happiness, weighed down by gold, came to an awful end, while the selfless one, wearing his prodigious love so lightly, was praised and lamented. Both men, though, left behind a deficit of magic. 

After Mr. Phuge died, no one could find the wonderful gold shirt. It was not in the house, nor at Ranka Jewelers; rumor had it that a creditor from Mumbai had taken it away. As for Mr. Barnes, people searched up and down, far and wide, for the true secret of his happiness; for that too, had disappeared with him.

NO MATTER WHAT; I WILL ALWAYS BE THERE

In the country of Armenia, in 1988, Samuel and Danielle sent their young son, Armand, off to school. Samuel squatted before his son and looked him in the eye. "Have a good day at school, and remember, no matter what, I’ll always be there for you".  They hugged and the boy ran off into the school.

Hours later, a powerful earthquake rocked the area. In the midst of the pandemonium, Samuel and Danielle tried to discover what happened to their son but they couldn’t get any information. The radio announced that there were thousands of casualties.

Samuel then grabbed his coat and headed for the schoolyard. When he reached the area, what he saw brought tears to his eyes. Armand’s school was a pile of debris. Other parents were standing around crying.

Samuel found the place where Armand’s classroom used to be and began pulling a broken beam off the pile of rubble. He then grabbed a rock and put it to the side, and then grabbed another one.

One of the parents looking on asked, “What are you doing?” “Digging for my son,” Samuel answered. The man then said, “You’re just going to make things worse! The building is unstable,” and tried to pull Samuel away from his work. But, Samuel wouldn't relent.

Samuel set his jaw and kept working. As time wore on, one by one, the other parents left. Then a fire-fighter tried to pull Samuel away from the rubble. Samuel looked at him and said, “Won’t you help me?” The fire-fighter left and Samuel kept digging.

All through the night and into the next day, Samuel continued digging. Parents placed flowers and pictures of their children on the ruins. But, Samuel just kept working. He picked up a beam and pushed it out of the way when he heard a faint cry. “Help! Help!” Samuel listened but didn’t hear anything again. Then he heard a muffled voice, “Papa?”

Samuel began to dig furiously. Finally he could see his son. “Come on out, son!” he said with relief. “No,” Armand said. “Let the other kids come out first because I know you’ll get me.” Child after child emerged until, finally, little Armand appeared. Samuel took him in his arms and Armand said, “I told the other kids not to worry because you told me that you’d always be there for me!”

Fourteen children were saved that day because one father was faithful.

Friends, whether trapped by fallen debris or ensnared by life’s hardships and struggles, we are never cut off from God’s faithfulness. He is true to His character. He is reliable and trustworthy and can be counted on always.

YOU ARE THE POTTER; I AM THE CLAY

There was once a man who went to his Teacher with a complaint: “Teacher, it says in the Bible: ‘See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse (Deuteronomy 11:26).’ All I see in my life are curses. Where are the blessings God promises?”

The teacher answered with a folktale about a couple who visited England to celebrate their wedding anniversary. Both loved antiques, especially teacups. One day, in a charming little shop, they spotted the most beautiful teacup that they had ever seen. The couple asked the shop owner if they could see the teacup and he obliged.

As soon as the lady handed the admiring couple the cup, it began to speak. It said, “I wasn’t always so beautiful. I was once red clay. My master rolled and patted me over and over again. I asked him to leave me alone but he only smiled and said, ‘Not yet.’

“Then I was put on the spinning wheel. I was spun around and around. I asked my master to stop. I told him I wanted to get off. But my master only said, ‘Not yet.’ Next I was placed in a hot oven. I never felt such heat. I couldn’t understand why my master wanted to burn me. I knocked on the door screaming that I wanted to come out, but I could see me master mouth: ‘Not yet.’

“Finally, he opened the door and placed me on a shelf, but then he brushed me and painted me all over. The fumes were horrible and I thought I would choke. I asked my master to stop, but he said, ‘Not yet.’ Then he put me back in the oven, only this time it was even hotter. I thought I wouldn't survive it.

“Just when I had nearly given up hope, my master took me out. Later on, he showed me a mirror and I looked like this. Then my master explained: ‘If I wouldn’t have rolled you, you would have dried up. If I would have stopped spinning you, you would have fallen. If I hadn’t placed you in the oven, you would have cracked. If I wouldn’t have painted you, you wouldn’t have hardened or had color in your life. If I hadn’t put you back in the oven, you wouldn’t be durable.”

Sometimes, what seem like hardships in our lives are the greatest blessings — we only need to change our perspective. In Isaiah we read: “We are the clay, you are the potter.” God is our potter, shaping and making us the finest we can be. Let’s rest easy and be blessed knowing we are in the finest hands.

“STAY HUNGRY; STAY FOOLISH”

I give a story, as told by Steve Jobs in his commencement speech to Stanford in 2005.   It is one of the greatest reflections on life. 

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn’t even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor’s code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you’d have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I’m fine now.

This was the closest I’ve been to facing death, and I hope it’s the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And, most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960s, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors and Polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: It was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.

Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: “Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.” It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

TAUGHT TO WALK, BUT NOT HOW AND WHERE TO

A rehabilitation counselor took an early retirement to spend the rest of his life preaching. One day, while addressing an audience, he told of how - early in his career - he found a young boy with several birth defects. He arranged financial and medical help. Skilled surgeons restored the child's facial appearance. Trained therapists taught him to speak and walk. By his teens, the boy was able to take part in all the activities of other young people.

Addressing his crowd the retired counselor asked: "What do you think has become of this young man?" One guessed that since this young man had overcome such physical deformities he may have dedicated himself to becoming a great athlete. Someone else thought that, since his life had been changed by medical doctors, that he had become a skilled surgeon. Another said that he might have become a social worker because he received help from others to build his life.

"No, none of these," the retired counselor said sadly. "The young man is a prisoner, serving a life sentence for murder. We were able to restore his physical features and his ability to walk and act but we failed to teach him where to walk and how to act."

“I was successful in helping the boy physically, but I failed to help him spiritually. From that day on, I have determined to use the rest of my life to help people direct their steps and actions toward glorifying God.”

I also wish to narrate a story of a rich man who used to live in constant fear of his eldest son that the son shall kill him because that young man had the feeling that his father has not done justice to him while partitioning his assets. (The fact is that he received 100 acres of rubber estate while the younger son got the business in the town!) The father told me once with tears welling up in his eyes that he sleeps with the door of the bed room is fully fastened and with a revolver under the pillow. He further told, “I, in the pursuit of wealth, forgot to give God to my children!”

Have we forgotten, while busy teaching them to walk, how and where to?

WHAT GOD CAN DO WITH 57 CENTS!

A little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned away because it was "too crowded." "I can't go to Sunday School," she sobbed to the pastor as he walked by.

Seeing her shabby, unkempt appearance, the pastor guessed the reason and, taking her by the hand, took her inside and found a place for her in the Sunday school class. The child was so happy that they found room for her, and she went to bed that night thinking of the children who have no place to worship Jesus.

Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement buildings. Her parents called for the kindhearted pastor who had befriended their daughter to handle the final arrangements. As her poor little body was being moved, a crumpled red purse was found which seemed to have been rummaged from some trash dump.

Inside was found 57 cents and a note, scribbled in childish handwriting, which read: "This is to help build the little church bigger so more children can go to Sunday school."

For two years she had saved for this offering of love. When the pastor tearfully read that note, he knew instantly what he would do. Carrying this note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he told the story of her unselfish love and devotion.

He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the larger building. But the story does not end there...

A newspaper learned of the story and published it. It was read by a wealthy realtor who offered them a parcel of land worth many thousands. When told that the church could not pay so much, he offered to sell it to the little church for 57 cents.

Church members made large donations. Checks came from far and wide. Within five years the little girl's gift had increased to $250,000.00 - a huge sum for that time (near the turn of the century). Her unselfish love had paid large dividends.

When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church, with a seating capacity of 3,300. And be sure to visit Temple University, where thousands of students are educated.

Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday school building which houses hundreds of children, built so that no child in the area will ever need to be left outside during Sunday school time.

In one of the rooms of this building may be seen the picture of the sweet face of the little girl, Hattie May Wiatt, whose 57 cents, so sacrificially saved, made such remarkable history. Alongside of it is a portrait of her kind pastor, Dr. Russell H. Conwell, author of the book, "Acres of Diamonds".

This is a true story, which goes to show what God can do with 57 cents!

I C U

Have you ever tried to say ICU slowly? Then try it

Following is circulated as the last words of Steve Jobs

I reached the pinnacle of success in the business world. In others’ eyes, my life is an epitome of success.

However, aside from work, I have little joy. In the end, wealth is only a fact of life that I am accustomed to.

At this moment, lying on the sick bed and recalling my whole life, I realize that all the recognition and wealth that I took so much pride in, have paled and become meaningless in the face of impending death.

In the darkness, I look at the green lights from the life supporting machines and hear the humming mechanical sounds; I can feel the breath of god of death drawing closer…

Now I know, when we have accumulated sufficient wealth to last our lifetime, we should pursue other matters that are unrelated to wealth…

Should be something that is more important:
perhaps relationships, perhaps art, perhaps a dream from younger days

Non-stop pursuing of wealth will only turn a person into a twisted being, just like me.

God gave us the senses to let us feel the love in everyone’s heart, not the illusions brought about by wealth.

The wealth I have won in my life I cannot bring with me. What I can bring is only the memories precipitated by love.

That’s the true riches which will follow you, accompany you, giving you strength and light to go on.

Love can travel a thousand miles. Life has no limit. Go where you want to go. Reach the height you want to reach. It is all in your heart and in your hands.

What is the most expensive bed in the world? Sick bed…
You can employ someone to drive the car for you, make money for you but you cannot have someone to bear the sickness for you.

Material things lost can be found. But there is one thing that can never be found when it is lost – Life.

When a person goes into the operating room, he will realize that there is one book that he has yet to finish reading – Book of Healthy Life.

Whichever stage in life we are at right now, with time, we will face the day when the curtain comes down.

Treasure Love for your family, love for your spouse, love for your friends.

Treat yourself well. Cherish others.

When you say ICU slowly; you will be saying I SEE YOU. Is not your lying in ICU a time of seeing God?

LIVE IN THE PRESENT - TENSE

We are called to be people who live in the present-tense.  Hence we have to learn to stop trying to grapple with the ‘what ifs?’ and let God take care of it. You simply focus on ‘today’ and do what you can and as you can.  As ‘todays’ of your life are put together, it shall become a master-piece.

While touring Italy, a man visited a cathedral that had been completed on the outside only. Once inside, the traveler found an artist kneeling before an enormous wall upon which he had just begun to create a mosaic. On some tables nearby were thousands of pieces of colored ceramic. Curious, the visitor asked the artist how he would ever finish such a large project. The artist answered that he knew how much he could accomplish in one day. Each morning, he marked off an area to be completed that day and didn’t worry about what remained outside that space. That was the best he could do; and if he faithfully did his best, one day the mosaic would be finished.

It is found that an average person’s anxiety is focused on:

40% - things that will never happen. 

30% - things about the past that can’t be changed.

12%  - things about criticism by others, mostly untrue.

10%  - about health, which gets worse with anxiety related           

             stress.

 8%   - about real problems that has to be faced. 

Remember that anxiety about the future will not take you anywhere. Moreover, it shall fail you to tackle the real problem which is only 8%. Do not let your energy drained by the 92% assumptions which shall either not happen at all or it shall come in the 8% of ‘that day’ in the future.

DOES OUR FAITH ENABLE US TO FACE DEATH CHEERFULLY?

Death is a tragedy for mortal man, and yet with faith in eternity and anticipation of the embrace of our heavenly Father, death becomes radiant.

I share a story about the news of the death of Sister Cecilia, a Carmelite of Santa Fe in Argentina, who suffered from lung cancer. She astonished those who surrounded her in her agony by the beautiful smile on her face as she was approaching her final moments. 

Following was the profound announcement of her death:  

Dear brothers, sisters and friends,

Jesus! Just a few lines to let you know that our very dear little sister has softly fallen asleep in the Lord, after an extremely painful illness, which she always endured with joy and surrender to her Divine Spouse.

We send you all of our affection, thankful for your support and prayer during this time that is so sorrowful and yet also so marvelous. We believe that she flew directly to heaven, but all the same, we ask that you do not fail to pray for her. From heaven, she will reward you.

A warm embrace from your sisters of Santa Fe.

Photos circulating on the internet of a dying Carmelite sister are certainly, as they say, worth a thousand words (The publishers have clarified later that it was not taken at the moment of death; but on her sick bed). The image that has traveled around the world is only part of the story. For those who lived her suffering beside her, the nun’s testimony of joy and peace were just as radiant as her face.

Despite her illness, she did not lose her joy, which was sustained by the support of her numerous family members, who remained close by. Joyful nieces and nephews congregated in the gardens outside the hospital where she was admitted for some weeks, sending her messages and helium balloons to distract and entertain her from the window.

Her joy was accompanied — or perhaps explained — by a profound state of prayer. Whenever she could, she put on her habit so as to participate at Mass in the hospital chapel. She lived these Masses with the same devotion that characterized her behind the grille of the Carmel of Villa Pueyrredon in Buenos Aires.

Despite her illness, Sister Cecilia remained quite lucid. Though she couldn’t talk during her last months, her weak gestures at each Mass gave evidence of her attention and fervor. When the prayers of the faithful included the intention of the sick, her expression showed her gratitude.

Those who saw her spoke of her face as showing peace and joy — as someone awaiting the encounter with the One to whom she had given her life, Our Lord Jesus Christ.

“I am very content,” Sister Cecilia Maria wrote in May, “astonished by the Work of God through suffering, and by so many people who pray for me.”

Some hours before dying, the Carmelite was able to receive Communion, wetting her lips with the Precious Blood of Our Lord. The illness had already, sometime before, taken the use of her tongue, “the most sacred paten for receiving his Body and Blood,” as she described it.

She “has softly fallen asleep in the Lord, after an extremely painful illness, which she always endured with joy and surrender to her Divine Spouse,” her sisters in the Carmel of Santa Fe said in announcing her death.

[I post her photo for the benefit of those who have not come across the story in the internet. It is more powerful than ‘n’ number of words.]