The Story of Adam & Eve's Pets

Adam and Eve said, 'Lord, when we

were in the garden, you walked with

us every day. Now we do not see

you any more. We are lonesome

here, and it is difficult for us to

remember how much you love us.'

And God said, I will create a

companion for you that will be

with you and who will be a

reflection of my love for you,

so that you will love me even

when you cannot see me.

Regardless of how selfish or

childish or unlovable you may be,

this new companion will accept

you as you are and will love you

as I do, inspite of yourselves.'

And God created a new animal

to be a companion for Adam and Eve.

And it was a good animal and God was

pleased.

And the new animal was pleased

to be with Adam and Eve and

he wagged his tail.

And Adam said, 'Lord, I have

already named all the animals

in the Kingdom and I cannot

think of a name for this new animal.'

And God said, 'I have created

this new animal to be a reflection

of my love for you, his name will

be a reflection of my own name,

and you will call him DOG.'

And Dog lived with Adam and Eve and

was a companion to them and loved them.
And they were comforted.
And God was pleased.
And Dog was content and wagged his tail.





After a while, it came to pass that

an angel came to the Lord and said, 'Lord,

Adam and Eve have become filled

with pride. They strut and preen like peacocks

and they believe they are worthy of

adoration. Dog has indeed taught

them that they are loved,

but perhaps too well.'

And God said, I will create for them a

companion who will be with them

and who will see them as they are.

The companion will remind them

of their limitations,

so they will know that they are

not always worthy of adoration.'

And God created CAT to be a

companion to Adam and Eve.

And Cat would not obey them.

And when Adam and Eve

gazed into Cat's eyes,

they were reminded that

they were not the supreme beings.

And Adam and Eve learned humility.

And they were greatly improved.

And God was pleased..

And Dog was happy.

And Cat . . .

didn't give a shit one way or the other.

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The Pickle Jar

The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom.

When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar. As a small boy, I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar.

They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.

I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar to admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the Jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.

Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.

Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back.'

Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly. 'These are for my son's college
fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me.' We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. 'When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again.' He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. 'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,' he said. 'But you'll get there; I'll see to that.'

No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to
serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.

To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me 'When you finish college, Son,' he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to.'

The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.

A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words: he never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.

The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. 'She probably needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.

She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was
feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.

This truly touched my heart. Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings. Never underestimate the power of your actions.
With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.

God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for GOOD in others.

The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller

Happy moments, praise God.
Difficult moments, seek God.
Quiet moments, worship God.
Painful moments, trust God.
Every moment, thank God.

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