Stories Of Hope & Inspiration


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Mr. Rogers

Once upon a time, a reporter was assigned the job of writing an article about the TV host of the long-running children's program, Mister Roger's Neighborhood. The reporter was a little skeptical and didn't know quite what to expect. Through his conversations with the beloved star, he thought he'd learn about Fred Rogers. But what actually happened caused the reporter to learn about what was missing in himself, and his relationship with God.

Mister Rogers did all that with a prayer that was just three words long.

Fred Rogers was not just a TV show host. He was also an advocate for Public Television and Children's Rights, and he wondered whether the connections we make with others can help create a Heaven on earth–that when we invest in others and care for them, we create the opportunity to basically ‘live' in Heaven (on earth.)

There are miraculous stories about how God used Mister Rogers. There were stories about how he inspired a boy with autism to open up and eventually start speaking. And how a man found his entire life changed after a brief encounter in an elevator with Mister Rogers. And the story about the connection he made with reporter Tom Junod is no different.

According to an article the reporter originally published in 1998, Tom had lost something when he was a child that had shaken his faith. And in their very first meeting, Mister Rogers asked him about it. Throughout their time together, he continued to bring up this beloved childhood toy - Old Rabbit - so intimately tied to Tom's prayer life.

After their introduction, Tom spent a considerable amount of time with Mister Rogers in order to write his now famous profile piece on the beloved children's TV host. It as more than just an interview - the reporter tagged along day after day.

Tom thought he'd get to know the man behind the show - that he'd separate Fred Rogers from the Mister Rogers on-camera persona. But he found there was no difference between the two. Mister Rogers was the same person when the cameras were rolling and when they weren't.
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Rat who detected land mines in Cambodia dies in retirement

A land mine-detecting rat in Cambodia who received a prestigious award for his life-saving duty has died in retirement

Magawa, an African giant pouched rat, passed away last weekend. said an announcement on the website of APOPO, a Belgium-headquartered non-profit group. The organization trains rats and dogs to sniff out land mines and tuberculosis.

Magawa was born in November 2013 in Tanzania, where APOPO maintains its operational headquarters and training and breeding center. He was sent to Cambodia in 2016.

The death of Magawa was announced a day after three mine removal experts working for another group were killed by an accidental explosion of an anti-tank mine in Cambodia’s northern province of Preah Vihear. Almost three decades of civil war that ended in 1998 left Cambodia littered with land mines and other unexploded ordnance that continues to kill and maim.

According to APOPO, Magawa detected more than 100 land mines and other explosives during his five-year career before retiring last year.

“His contribution allows communities in Cambodia to live, work, and play without fear of losing life or limb,” said the group. In 2020, the rat also won a gold medal from the Britain-based People’s Dispensary for Sick Animals, considered the highest award for gallantry an animal can receive.

African giant pouched rats are believed to be especially well-suited for land mine clearance because their small size lets them walk across mine fields without triggering the explosives.


In retirement in Cambodia’s northwestern province of Siem Reap, Magawa was housed in his usual cage, and fed the same food — mostly fresh fruit and vegetables — that sustained him during his active career. To keep him trim, he was released for 20-30 minutes a day into a larger cage with facilities such as a sandbox and a running wheel. His death at 8 years of age was not unusual for the species.


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President Abraham Lincoln

On January 1st 1863, U.S. President Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation which proclaimed freedom for all slaves in the ten states which were in rebellion.

At the time, when U.S. Secretary of State Seward took the document to the President to sign, Lincoln took a pen, and held it for a moment. He then removed his hand and dropped his pen.

Lincoln turned to Seward and said, "I have been shaking hands since nine o'clock this morning and my right arm is almost paralyzed. If my name ever goes into history, it will be for this act, and my whole soul is in it."

He hesitated, then took the pen, and without wavering, took the document and boldly signed it!


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Nobody Cares

There was a man who was imprisoned during Napoleon's reign. While sulking in his dungeon one day, he etched on the wall the words "Nobody Cares".

A few weeks later, through a crack in the dungeon floor, a little green shoot sprang forth, reaching toward the tiny ray of sunlight that came from his small prison cell window.

The prisoner began giving a portion of his daily water to the little shoot and it began to grow.

One morning the man awoke to a beautiful flower. A tear rolling down his face, he crossed out the words, "Nobody Cares" and replaced them with "God Cares."

The story goes on to tell that His devotion to the flower was reported to the Empress Josephine. She was so very moved that she convinced Napoleon to set the man free.


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Thomas Edison

Thomas Edison was busy working in his laboratory at 2 o’clock one morning when an assistant came into the room and noticed that the inventor was smiling broadly.

“Have you solved the problem?” he asked.

“No,” replied Edison, “that experiment didn’t work at all. Now I can start over again.”

Edison could have such a confident attitude because he knew that the road to success is often paved with disappointments that serve to extend the road — not to block it. Each failure brought him a little closer to success.


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And He said to me, "It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give of the fountain of the water of life freely to him who thirsts.

The first man was called "Ah-dom", we know him as Adam. The word used for man/ mankind, in Genesis 1, is also the same word "Ah-dom".

Ah-dom is rooted in the three Hebrew letters, aleph-dalet-mem.

One of the Hebrew words for earth is "Adamah", which contains the same three letters, however it ends with the Hebrew letter "hay".

"Adamah" means "red earth", or "red clay", and this word points to the natural earth elements, the "earth dust" that composed Adam's body, and the body of every human being since.

Man is in a very real sense, clay.

If a piece of clay is to become anything, it has to be molded, and to be moldable it must become wet.

Clay has a tendency to dry out quickly and become hardened, and once that happens, there's not much you can do with it.

Since we are made of clay, we are in constant need of water. This is true both physically, and also spiritually.

The water of His Word welling up through His Spirit will prevent us from becoming dry and hardened, and will enable us to "water" others, even to be, ourselves, a spring of living water.


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Studying some remarkable events in the history of World War 2, we find the deliverance of the allied armies at Dunkirk; a true story of Divine providence in modern history.

On May 10, 1940, Hitler unleashed his armies against France and Belgium. Within days, the British army found itself outmaneuvered and unprepared for the German blitzkrieg assault led by General Rommel and his 7th Panzer division.

The German high command began boasting of the demise of the allied armies, particularly the 300,000 soldiers of the British army sent by then Prime Minister Winston Churchill to protect France and the low countries of Europe.

As the prospect of victory waned Churchill was prepared to announce an unprecedented military defeat of a third of a million soldiers.

But then a miraculous turn took place initiated by King George VI, who ordered the observance of a National Day of Prayer. The British Monarch, along with members of the cabinet, attended Westminster Abbey to pray, while millions of Britons all across the Kingdom in unprecedented unity, attended churches to join the King in prayer. Newspapers throughout the UK reported, "Nothing like it has ever happened before."

Then the miracles began:

First, Hitler ordered his troops to halt their advance for no apparent reason, which angered his generals and continues to baffle historians to this day. Secondly, a massive storm broke out in Flanders which grounded the German Luftwaffe squadrons, allowing the allied armies to travel to the beaches at Dunkirk unhindered by the German air force.

A third miracle involving the weather was that simultaneous with the storm which grounded the Luftwaffe, the English Channel was as still as a unprecedented calm which allowed ships of every size to evacuate over 338,000 troops including 140,000 French, Belgian, Dutch and Polish soldiers from the beaches at Dunkirk.

Winston Churchill addressed the British nation and described the evacuation of Dunkirk as a “miracle of deliverance.”


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A rattlesnake bit one of my sheep in the face about a week ago.

Deadliest snake that lives around here. The sheep's face swelled up and hurt her terribly.

But the old rattlesnake didn't know the kind of blood that flows through the sheep. Anti-venom is most often made from sheep's blood.

The sheep swelled for about 2 days but the blood of the lamb destroyed the venom of the serpent.

I was worried but the sheep didn't care. She kept on eating, kept on drinking and kept on climbing because she knew she was alright.

Often the serpents of this life will reach out and bite us.

They inject their poison into us but they cannot overcome the blood of the Lamb of God that washes away the sin of the world and the sting of death. Don't worry about the serpent or his bite, just make sure that the Lamb's blood is flowing through your veins. sheep in,in South Australia's Clare Valley.


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In Christ name stop!

In the 4th century lived a Christian named Telemachus, in a remote village, tending his garden, and spending much time in prayer. One day, he believed he heard the voice of God telling him to go to Rome, so he obeyed, setting out on foot.

Some weeks later, weary from his journey, he arrived in Rome about the time of a great festival.The little man followed the crowd surging through the streets into the Colosseum. He saw the gladiators standing before the Emperor and proclaiming, "We who are about to die salute you."

Then Telemachus realized that these men were going to fight to the death for the entertainment of the cheering crowd. So he cried out in a loud voice, "In the name of Christ, Stop!" Yet the games began, so he pushed his way through the crowd, climbed over the wall and dropped onto the floor of the arena.

The entire Colosseum watched this tiny figure rushing toward the gladiators, crying, "In the name of Christ, STOP !!!" The gladiators thought it was part of the show and began laughing. But in a few moments, they realized it was not part of the show, and then the crowd became angry. Telemachus stood his ground, insistently pleading with the gladiators to stop their bloody show, when one of them plunged a sword into the saint's body. He fell to the sand. As he was dying, his last words were, "In the name of Christ, STOP!!!"

Then a strange thing happened.

The gladiators stood there looking at the tiny Christian lying there dead. A hush fell over the Colosseum. Way up in the upper rows, a man stood and made his way to the exit. Others followed. In dead silence, one by one, everyone left the Colosseum. The year was 404; and that day saw the last battle to the death between gladiators in the Roman Colosseum. Telemachus' martyrdom initiated an historic ban on gladiator fights by the Roman Emperor Honorius. Never again in the great stadium did men kill each other for the entertainment of the crowd.

One tiny man's bold voice -- one voice -- reshaped Roman history, and saved thousands of lives, by fearlessly proclaiming the truth in God's name!


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Alfred Nobel, the inventor of dynamite, awoke one morning in 1888, shocked to discover his own obituary in the morning news.

The newspaper had mistakenly printed the story about Alfred, instead of his brother, who had just passed away. As he read his own epitaph, the story of the "Dynamite King", the great industrialist who made an immense fortune from explosives -- Alfred Nobel was rudely awakened to the fact that the world viewed him as a merchant of death! The mistake was not wasted on him. Rather, it served as his wake-up call!

As he read his obituary with horror, Alfred resolved to make clear to the world his understanding of the true meaning and purpose of his life. So he used his immense fortune to create a foundation which would promote and embody his ideal for world peace...and he is now remembered, not as the "Dynamite King", but the creator of what we know now as the "Nobel Peace Prize".


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It was a bright Sunday morning in 18th century London, but Robert Robinson’s mood was anything but sunny.

All along the street, there were people hurrying to church, but in the midst of the crowd, Robinson was a lonely man. The sound of church bells reminded him of years past when his faith in God was strong and the church was an integral part of his life. It had been years since he set foot in a church -- years of wandering, disillusionment, and gradual defection from the God he once loved.

That love for God -- once fiery and passionate -- had slowly burned out within him, leaving him dark and cold inside.

Robinson heard the clip-clop, clip-clop of a horse-drawn cab approaching behind him. Turning, he lifted his hand to hail the driver. But then he saw that the cab was occupied by a young woman dressed in finery for the Lord’s Day. He waved the driver on, but the woman in the carriage ordered the carriage to be stopped.

"Sir, I’d be happy to share this carriage with you," she said to Robinson. "Are you going to church?" Robinson was about to decline, then he paused. "Yes," he said at last. "I am going to church." He stepped into the carriage and sat down beside the young woman. As the carriage rolled forward Robert Robinson and the woman exchanged introductions.

There was a flash of recognition in her eyes when he stated his name.

"That’s an interesting coincidence," she said, reaching into her purse. She withdrew a small book of inspirational verse, opened it to a ribbon bookmark, and handed the book to him.

"I was just reading a verse by a poet named Robert Robinson. Could it be…?"

He took the book, nodding. "Yes, I wrote these words years ago."

"Oh, how wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Imagine! I’m sharing a carriage with the author of these very lines!"

But Robinson barely heard her. He was absorbed in the words he was reading. They were words that would one day be set to music and become a great hymn of the faith, familiar to generations of Christians:

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace’
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.

His eyes slipped to the bottom of the page where he read:

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it—
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

He could barely read the last few lines through the tears that brimmed in his eyes. "I wrote these words—and I’ve lived these words. ’Prone to wander…prone to leave the God I love.’"

The woman suddenly understood. "You also wrote, ’Here’s my heart, O take and seal it.’ You can offer your heart again to God, Mr. Robinson.


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A woman once asked John Wesley what he would do if he knew that he would die at midnight the next day.

"Why, Madam," he replied, "just as I intend to spend it now. I would preach this evening at Gloucester, and again at five tomorrow morning, after that I would ride to Tewkesbury, preach in the afternoon, and meet the societies in the evening. I would then go to Martin's and pray with the family as usual, retire myself to my room at 10 o'clock, commend myself to my Heavenly Father, lie down to rest, and wake up in glory."


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In the 1940s, there was a man who, at the age of 65, was living off of $99 social security checks in a small house, driving a beat-up car.

He decided it was time to make a change, so he thought about what he had to offer that other people may benefit from. His mind went to his fried chicken recipe, which his friends and family loved.

He left his home state of Kentucky and traveled throughout the country, trying to sell his recipe to restaurants. He even offered the recipe for free, asking for only a small chunk of the money that was earned.

However, most of the restaurants declined his offer. In fact, 1,009 restaurants said no.

But even after all of the rejections, he persisted.
He believed in himself and his chicken recipe.

When he visited restaurant #1,010, he got a YES.

His name?

Colonel Hartland Sanders.


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Have you ever heard about how the Inuit tribes kill wolves?

First, the Inuit people coat the blade of his knife with animal blood and allow it to freeze. He then adds and freezes more layers of blood, several coats, in fact, until the blade is completely covered with frozen blood. Next, he plants his knife in the snow, the blade facing up, and goes about his business.

When a wolf finds his way to the luring aroma of fresh blood, he starts licking. Then more and more vigorously, lapping it until the sharp blade of the knife is exposed. However, by this point, so intense is his craving for the scrumptious blood, that the wolf does not notice the sharp sting of the blade on his own tongue, nor does he even realize that his ravenous craving is now being satisfied by his very own blood! By the light of dawn, the hunter will find him lying dead in the snow.


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Covered By The Cloud

This is a true story as told by Spencer January. It was a morning in early March, 1945, a clear and sunny day. I was 24 years old and a member of the U.S. Army's 35th Infantry Division, 137th Infantry Company I. Along with several other companies of American troops, we were making our way through dense woods, towards the Rhine River in the German Rhineland. Our objective was to reach and take the town of Ossenberg, where a factory was producing gunpowder and other products for use in the war. For hours we had pressed through an unrelenting thicket.

Shortly after midday word was passed that there was a clearing ahead. At last, we thought, the going would be easier. but then we approached a large stone house, behind which huddled a handful of wounded, bleeding soldiers who had tried to cross the clearing and failed. Before us stretched at least 200 yards of open ground, bordered on the far side by more thick woods. As the first of us appeared on the edge of the clearing there was an angry rat-tat-tat and a ferocious volley of bullets sent soil spinning as far as we could see. Three nests of German machine guns, spaced 50 yards apart and protected by the crest of a small hill to the left, were firing across the field. As we got our bearings it was determined that the machine guns were so well placed that our weapons couldn't reach them. To cross that field meant suicide.

Yet, we had no choice. The Germans had blockaded every other route into the town. In order to move on and secure a victory, we had to move forward. I slumped against a tree, appalled at the grim situation. I thought of home, of my wife and my 5-month old son. I had kissed him good-bye just after he was born. I thought that I might never see my family again, and the possibility was overwhelming. I dropped to my knees. "God," I pleaded desperately, "You've got to do something. Please do something." Moments later the order was given to advance. Grasping my M-1 rifle, I go to my feet and started forward. After reaching the edge of the clearing I took a deep breath. But just before I stepped out from cover, I glanced to the left. I stopped and stared in amazement.

A white cloud -- a long fluffy white cloud -- had appeared out of nowhere.

It dropped from over the trees and covered the area. The Germans' line of fire was obscured by the thick foggy mist. All of us bolted into the clearing and raced for our lives. The only sounds were of combat boots thudding against the soft earth as men dashed into the clearing, scrambling to reach the safety of the other side before the mist lifted. With each step the woods opposite came closer and closer. I was almost across! My pulse pounding in my ears, I lunged into the thicket and threw myself behind a tree. I turned and watched as other soldiers following me dove frantically into the woods, some carrying and dragging the wounded. This has to be God's doing, I thought. The instant the last man reached safety, the cloud vanished! The day was again bright and clear. The enemy, apparently thinking we were still pinned down behind the stone house on the other side, must have radioed their artillery. Minutes later the building was blown to bits but our company was safe and we quickly moved on. We reached Ossenberg and went on to secure more areas for the Allies. But the image of that cloud was never far from my mind. I had seen the sort of smoke screens that were sometimes set off to obscure troop activity in such situations. That cloud had been different. It had appeared out of nowhere and saved our lives. Two weeks later, as we bivouacked in eastern Germany, a letter arrived from my mother back in Dallas. I tore open the envelope eagerly. The letter contained words that sent a shiver down my spine.

"You remember Mrs. Tankersly from our church?" my mother wrote. Who could forget her? I smiled. Everybody called Mrs. Tankersly the prayer warrior. "Well," continued Mom, "Mrs. Tankersly telephoned me one morning from the defense plant where she works. She said the Lord had awakened her the night before at one o' clock and told her, 'Spencer January is in terrible trouble. Get up now and pray for him!" My mother went on to explain that Mrs. Tankersly had interceded for me in prayer until six o' clock the next morning, when she had to go to her job. "She told me the last thing she prayed before getting off her knees was this" -- "Lord, whatever danger Spencer is in, just cover him with a cloud!" I sat there for a long time holding the letter in my trembling hand. My mind raced, quickly calculating. Yes, the hours Mrs. Tankersly was praying would indeed have corresponded to the time we were approaching the clearing. With a seven-hour time difference, her prayer for a cloud would have been uttered at one o'clock, the exact time Company I was getting ready to cross the clearing. From that moment on, I intensified my prayer life. For the past 52 years I have gotten up early every morning to pray for others. I am convinced there is no substitute for the power of prayer and its ability to comfort and sustain others, even those facing the valley of the shadow of death.


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What love is all about

It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly gentleman, in his 80s arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated that he was in a hurry and that he had an appointment at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs, and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would be able to see him.

I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound.

On exam it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redressed his wound. While taking care of him, we began to engage in conversation. I asked him if he had a doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife. I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for awhile and was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease.

As we talked and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, and hadn't recognized him in five years. I was surprised, and asked him,

"And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?"

He smiled and patted my hand and said, "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is."


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Peter Miller

Peter Miller was a plain Baptist preacher of Pennsylvania, in the days of the Revolutionary War.

Near his church, lived a man who maligned the pastor to the last degree.

The man became involved in treason and was arrested and sentenced to be hanged.

The preacher, Peter Miller, started out on foot and walked the entire way to Philadelphia roughly seventy miles away to plead for the man’s life.

George Washington heard his plea, but he said, “No, your plea for your friend cannot be granted.”

“My friend!” said the preacher. “He is the worst enemy I have.”

What!” said Washington, “you have walked nearly seventy miles to save the life of an enemy?

That puts the matter in a different light. I will grant the pardon.”


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I was touched by the boy's willingness to give his all in this story, but I have no way to tell if the story is true or not.

Giving ALL

Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a
hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who
was suffering from a rare & serious disease. Her only
chance of recovery appeared to be a blood
transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had
miraculously survived the same disease and had
developed the antibodies needed to combat the
illness. The doctor explained the situation to her
little brother, and asked the little boy if he would
be willing to give his blood to his sister.
I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a
deep breath and saying, "Yes I'll do it if it will save
her." As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed
next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing
the color returning to her cheek. Then his face
grew pale and his smile faded.
He looked up at the doctor and asked with a
trembling voice, "Will I die right away, or how soon?"
The boy had misunderstood the doctor;
he thought he would have to give his sister
all of his blood in order to save her.


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Surrounded by her loving family as she relaxed by the pool on a dream holiday, Maria Belon felt she must be the luckiest woman in the world.

Seconds later, Maria and her terrified husband and three sons were swept away by a ferocious 30 foot wall of water that devoured everything in its path.

Maria was horrifically wounded as she was dragged under water by the devastating Indian Ocean tsunami of Boxing Day 2004.

After being submerged for more than three minutes, she finally surfaced and clung on to a tree.

She was petrified, alone and convinced she was dying – but in a miracle that has inspired new film The Impossible, the mum and her family survived.

Moments before paradise was smashed to bits, Maria was on a lounger at the Orchid Resort Hotel in Thailand while her boys, Lucas, 10, Tomas, eight, and Simon, five, were playing nearby with their dad.

The mother watched in horror as husband Quique Alvarez and their two youngest boys were submerged by the roaring mass of dark water that carried with it cars and the chalet the family had been staying in.