Daily prayer: Loving Father, You give us treasures that go far beyond monetary accounting. They include special people in our lives, those categorized as mentally impaired, who can lift our soul, bring a different perspective to life, and confound the most educated among us. They teach us a great deal about survival, overcoming, and simple trust. Their value of life is based not on the artificial but on the genuine. They show us that You have a special plan for each of us, no matter the challenge or how difficult the hardship. Thank You, Father, for bringing these precious souls into our lives so that we can be of blessing to them just as they are of great worth to us. We really do need each other. We pray for the major challenges that caregivers face in caring for these dear souls, that You would provide for them strength, hope, medical expertise and helpers along the way. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen.

Today's message brings to mind an illustration shared by John Keefer, a previous pastor. He shared a story from the Gospel Greats newsletter titled, “What I Learned From The Bag Boy” by Al Keeney. It's a little long but will brighten your day:

Stephen's Note: As a young teen age boy I got my very first real job as a sacker at a Kroger Grocery Store in Independence, Missouri. (Sacker is the job title in the south, bagger is used in the north.) I can rarely resist striking up a conversation with a bagger in a grocery store, even if I’ve never met him, and reminisce aloud of my young years as a sacker at Kroger.

Brooksyne’s Note: The mention of Sandy’s name brings about many memories but I’ll just share one. I think that Sandy’s mother taught her to have a special love toward her pastors over the years since the pastor before our arrival also had a special relationship with her. One Sunday morning Stephen happened to sit in the same pew as Sandy during Sunday School. She scooted her way toward his end of the pew so she could sit near her pastor, but then I kind of messed things up when I came in a few minutes later. I asked her to scoot down a little so I could sit next to Stephen. She crossed her arms (the ones that spoke silently but with her added smirk communicated, “I don’t wanna”). She did anyway but during most of the Sunday School hour I had to endure the sideways glance of Sandy’s “silent wrath” as expressed in the crossed arms, squinted eyes, and upside down smile.