Key to Life

THE KEY TO LIFE

by Roger Dean Kiser, Sr.
"I bet that old man has a million dollars stashed in one of those steel lockers down at the Trailways Bus Station. I see him down there all the time," said a young teenage boy to his friend. "I bet he wears the key to the locker around his neck. I saw him pull out a purple bag several times when he was sitting on top of the heater vent down by the Florida Theater." "If he has a million dollars why would he be living on the street?" his friend asked. "He's crazy and he's all messed up in the head.

That's why." I had been standing in the alleyway, for more than two hours, waiting for a chance to steal a new pair of shoes from the shoe store located across the street from the alley. Once again I had runaway from the orphanage; as tomorrow was my ninth birthday I

was going to steal something new as a birthday present. The old man had passed me several times going in and out of the alley. He was very old, walked all hunched over, and always walked with his arms wrapped around himself. "BOO!" said someone from behind me. Being almost dark, I jumped and quickly turned around just as the old man passed me. He winked, smiled at me and then headed back out into the street. All at once, the two young teens grabbed the old man and began dragging him back into the alley.

He let out a horrible scream as the two of them began to beat him with their fists. Within seconds the old man was down on the ground and the two boys began kicking him as hard as they could. Rolling up into a ball the old man continued to yell. I was less than twenty yards from the man, yet I could hardly hear him the sound was so muffled. "Give us the key, old man," one of the boys kept yelling. "It's my key to life. It's the key to life. Leave it alone, Please," the old man kept screaming. The two boys just kept beating him. As I ran out of the alley, I saw a Chinese man running back into the restaurant.

I ran inside and began yelling at the man to call the police. He stood there waving his hand at me. "No involve here. No involve," he yelled at me. I ran back out of the restaurant, crossed the street and into the shoe store. "Call the police," I screamed at a woman, near the back of the store.

I ran outside and back into the alley where the two boys were now wrestling with the old man. "Give me that key, old man," one of the boys was still yelling. I ran past them and hid behind several large trash cans located about half way down the alley. In the distance, I could hear sirens heading in our direction. The two boys jumped off the old man and began running out of the alley. Several minutes later, people began walking into the alley. Two men walked up to the old man, who now lay motionless on the ground.

"I think he's dead," said a heavyset man, as he knelt down to look at the old homeless fellow. "He's dead, alright," stated another man beside him. "He's not breathing," he continued. Several minutes later, police cars came from every direction. There were flashing red lights everywhere. "Call an ambulance," yelled one of the policemen to one of the other officers, at the end of the alley. The police began to question people in the surrounding area to see if they could find out what had happened.

Being a runaway, one well known by the police department, I was not about to come out from hiding. The woman from the shoe store told the policeman that two boys were beating on the old man and kept yelling at him to give them their keys back. "I think this is what they were after," said the officer, as he reach down and tried to remove the purple bag from the dead man's grip.

I stood; my body tightly pressed against the cold brick wall which ran the entire length of the alley. I watched as the policeman continued to try and remove the small purple sack from the old man's hands. The small gold rope finally broke as the officer pulled it free from the homeless man's grasp. Spreading open the top of the bag, he turned on his flashlight and looked inside. The officer stood there slowly shaking his head, back and forth. Dropping hands to his side, he called for the other officers to come and take a look. I had hoped that the policeman would take the "key of life" out of the bag so that I could see what it looked like.

One at a time, the officers looked into the bag and as they did each one slowly shook their heads. I saw the ambulance lights turn into the alley so I moved behind the large trash cans and continued hiding from view. Several attendants, dressed in white, quickly took a small bed from the back of the vehicle and rolled it over to the dead man. I turned away because I did not want to see them pick up the old man. Dead people's arms swinging freely about always seemed to bother me. Several minutes later, the ambulance left and the officers continued to talk for ten or fifteen more minutes.

As they returned to their individual cars and began to pull away, the officer holding the small purple bag tossed it into one of the three small trash cans, sitting behind the Chinese restaurant. When all was quiet, I slowly came out from behind the large trash cans and walked over to the back of the restaurant.

Looking from can to can, I finally saw the small, purple pouch with the golden rope. I reached down, picked up the pouch and just stood there. It felt strange to know that someone who was now dead was alive an hour before and was holding this bag in his hands. Holding up the bag with my left hand, I began feeling the bottom of the bag with my right hand. Sure enough in the corner of the bag was the "key to life." ?

I wonder why the police did not keep this key if it is truly the "key to life,' I thought to myself. Slowly, I turned the bag upside down causing the "key of life" fell into the palm of my right hand. I tightly closed my fingers around the key and carefully moved down the alleyway and into the streetlight.

Opening my hand, I looked down to view the "key to life." What I saw absolutely amazed me. I too had once owned a "key to life." I had found it on a dirty, wooden floor in a small country grocery store several years before. It had been attached to a small can of meat the grocery man told me they called Spam. Roger Dean Kiser, Sr.

The True Hero of the Titanic (The Most Touching True Story.)

The True Hero of the Titanic

John Harper was born to a pair of solid Christian parents on May 29th, 1872. It was on the last Sunday of March 1886, when he was thirteen years old that he received Jesus as the Lord of his life. He never knew what it was to "sow his wild oats." He began to preach about four years later at the ripe old age of 17 years by going down to the streets of his village and pouring out his soul in earnest entreaty for men to be reconciled to God.As John Harper's life unfolded, one thing was apparent...he was consumed by the word of God. When asked by various ministers what his doctrine consisted of, he was known to reply "The Word of God!" After five or six years of toiling on street corners preaching the gospel and working in the mill during the day, Harper was taken in by Rev. E. A. Carter of Baptist Pioneer Mission in London, England.

This set Harper free to devote his whole time of energy to the work so dear to his heart. Soon, John Harper started his own church in September of 1896. (Now known as the Harper Memorial Church). This church which John Harper had started with just 25 members, had grown to over 500 members when he left 13 years later.

During this time he had gotten married, but was shortly there after widowed. However brief the marriage, God did bless John Harper with a beautiful little girl named Nana.Ironically, John Harper almost drowned several times during his life. When he was two and a half years of age, he almost drowned when he fell into a well but was resuscitated by his mother. At the age of twenty-six, he was swept out to sea by a reverse current and barely survived, and at thirty-two he faced death on a leaking ship in the Mediterranean. Perhaps, God used these experiences to prepare this servant for what he faced next.......

It was the night of April 14, 1912. The RMS Titanic sailed swiftly on the bitterly cold ocean waters heading unknowingly into the pages of history. On board this luxurious ocean liner were many rich and famous people. At the time of the ship's launch, it was the world's largest man-made moveable object. At 11:40 p.m. on that fateful night, an iceberg scraped the ship's starboard side, showering the decks with ice and ripping open six watertight compartments.

The sea poured in.On board the ship that night was John Harper and his much-beloved six-year-old daughter Nana. According to documented reports, as soon as it was apparent that the ship was going to sink, John Harper immediately took his daughter to a lifeboat. It is reasonable to assume that this widowed preacher could have easily gotten on board this boat to safety; however, it never seems to have crossed his mind.

He bent down and kissed his precious little girl; looking into her eyes he told her that she would see him again someday. The flares going off in the dark sky above reflected the tears on his face as he turned and headed towards the crowd of desperate humanity on the sinking ocean liner. As the rear of the huge ship began to lurch upwards, it was reported that Harper was seen making his way up the deck yelling "Women, children and unsaved into the lifeboats!" It was only minutes later that the Titanic began to rumble deep within.

Most people thought it was an explosion; actually the gargantuan ship was literally breaking in half. At this point, many people jumped off the decks and into the icy, dark waters below. John Harper was one of these people.That night 1528 people went into the frigid waters. John Harper was seen swimming frantically to people in the water leading them to Jesus before the hypothermia became fatal. Mr. Harper swam up to one young man who had climbed up on a piece of debris. Rev. Harper asked him between breaths, "Are you saved?"

The young man replied that he was not.Harper then tried to lead him to Christ only to have the young man who was near shock, reply no. John Harper then took off his life jacket and threw it to the man and said "Here then, you need this more than I do..." and swam away to other people. A few minutes later Harper swam back to the young man and succeeded in leading him to salvation. Of the 1528 people that went into the water that night, six were rescued by the lifeboats. One of them was this young man on the debris.

Four years later, at a survivors meeting, this young man stood up and in tears recounted how John Harper had led him to Christ. Mr. Harper had tried to swim back to help other people, yet because of the intense cold, had grown too weak to swim. His last words before going under in the frigid waters were "Believe on the Name of the Lord Jesus and you will be saved." Does Hollywood remember this man? No. Oh well, no matter.

This servant of God did what he had to do. While other people were trying to buy their way onto the lifeboats and selfishly trying to save their own lives, John Harper gave up his life so that others could be saved."Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends..." John Harper was truly the hero of the Titanic!Sources for this article: "The Titanic's Last Hero" by Moody Press 1997, Scriptures are quoted from the King James Bible

Final Goodbye , (A Touching Story)

A Touching story about the Death of Our Loved Ones.

"I am going home to Denmark, Son, and I just wanted to tell you I love you."
In my dad's last telephone call to me, he repeated that line seven times in a half hour. I wasn't listening at the right level. I heard the words, but not the message, and certainly not their profound intent. I believed my dad would live to be over 100 years old, as my great uncle lived to be 107 years old. I had not felt his remorse over Mom's death, understood his intense loneliness as an "empty nester," or realized most of his pals had long since light-beamed off the planet. He relentlessly requested my brothers and I create grandchildren so that he could be a devoted grandfather. I was too busy "entrepreneuring" to really listen.
"Dad's dead," sighed my brother Brian on July 4, l982.
My little brother is a witty lawyer and has a humorous, quick mind. I thought he was setting me up for a joke, and I awaited the punchline - there wasn't one. "Dad died in the bed he was born in - in Rozkeldj," continued Brian. "The funeral directors are putting him in a coffin, and shipping Dad and his belongings to us tomorrow. We need to prepare for the funeral."
I was speechless. This isn't the way it's supposed to happen. If I knew these were to be Dad's final days, I would have asked to go with him to Denmark. I believe in the hospice movement, which says: "No one should die alone." A loved one should hold your hand and comfort you as you transition from one plane of reality to another. I would have offered consolation during his final hour, if I'd been really listening, thinking and in tune with the Infinite. Dad announced his departure as best he could, and I had missed it. I felt grief, pain and remorse, Why had I not been there for him? He'd always been there for me.
In the mornings when I was nine years old, he would come home from working 18 hours at his bakery and wake me up at 5:00 A.M. by scratching my back with his strong powerful hands and whispering, "Time to get up, Son." By the time I was dressed and ready to roll, he had my newspapers folded, banded and stuffed in my bicycle basket. Recalling his generosity of spirit brings tears to my eyes.
When I was racing bicycles, he drove me 50 miles each way to Kenosha, Wisconsin, every Tuesday night so I could race and he could watch me. He was there to hold me if I lost and shared the euphoria when I won.
Later, he accompanied me to all my local talks in Chicago when I spoke to Century 21, Mary Kay, Equitable and various churches. He always smiled, listened and proudly told whomever he was sitting with, "That's my boy!"
After the fact, my heart was in pain because Dad was there for me and I wasn't there for him. My humble advice is to always, always share your love with your loved ones, and ask to be invited to that sacred transitional period where physical life transforms into spiritual life. Experiencing the process of death with one you love will take you into a bigger, more expansive dimension of beingness.

The Golden Fish

Children in Bosnia-Herzegovina all know the ancient story of the poor woman who caught a golden fish, released it, and in return gained wealth and happiness. According to a 1998 Associated Press story, this Balkan fairy tale turned into reality for one poor family. Before the start of the Bosnian war, the Malkoc family lived next to a small lake in the northwestern village of Jezero. One day in 1990, Smajo Malkoc returned from a trip to Austria with an unusual gift for his teenage sons, Dzevad and Catib: an aquarium with two goldfish. Two years passed before Bosnian Serb forces advanced on Jezero.

The women and children fled, and the men stayed back to resist the attacking soldiers. Smajo Malkoc was killed. When his wife, Fehima, sneaked back into the destroyed village to bury her husband and rescue what remained of their belongings, she took pity on the fish in the aquarium. She let them out into the nearby lake, saying to herself, "This way, they might be more fortunate than us." Fast-forward to 1995. Fehima Malkoc returned with her sons to Jezero. Nothing but ruins remained of their home and their village. Through misty eyes she looked toward the lake. Glimpsing something strange, she walked over to the shore. "The whole lake was shining from the thousands of golden fish in it," she said. "It made me immediately think of my husband. This was something he left me that I never hoped for."

During the years of killing all around the lake, life underwater had flourished. After their return, Fehima Malkoc and her sons started caring for and selling the goldfish. By 1998, homes, stores, and coffee shops all over the region feature aquariums containing fish from Jezero. The Malkoc house, rebuilt on its original site, is one of the biggest in the village. Two new cars are parked in front, and the family says it has enough money to quit worrying about the future."It was a special kind of gift from our father," Dzevad Malkoc said. One can never underestimate what a gift of love or an act of kindness might produce. Jesus said, "Give, and it will be given to you" (Luke 6:38).

Whenever you give, no matter how small and insignificant your gift might be, God blesses it and uses it to accomplish great things. Jesus took a young boy's lunch and fed a multitude. Have no doubt that he can take whatever we offer to him and turn it into something magnificent.

The Malkoc's story is also a parable of God's relentless grace at work even in the midst of chaos and trouble. While the war in Bosnia was raging, life below the surface of a small lake flourished. We can rest assured that God's will is being done--that his kingdom is flourishing--even when life on the surface is full of trouble and strife. That is the message of the gospel--the ultimate fairy tale that comes true.