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Post by Kimmy on Jul 2, 2009 6:37:59 GMT
My Child
I had just returned home from the clinic. I had made my choice. . . I'd had an abortion.
Tired, weary and hurting I tried to sleep. It wasn't a physical hurt, but a hurt that came from deep within me, a pain that branched out to every part of my being. I had never hurt like this before. Why was I feeling like this now? Why didn't somebody tell me it would be like this? At the time before the abortion I was convinced it wasn't even a baby. I remembered what a friend had said, "It's not even a baby yet, it's only a mass of tissue. So don't worry about it. Once it's done it's over with!" But it's not over! This is the worst kind of hurt. Will it ever go away? What in the world have I done? God, please forgive me!
I lie there, silent, my thoughts screaming through my head.
After a long restless struggle I began to feel myself drifting off. Somewhere between wakefulness and sleep I had this sensation, it was as if I were rising upward, floating, weightlessly towering far above the world below.
Suddenly, I found myself in a place far beyond my imagination. I first recall the overwhelming fragrance of what seemed to be a vast field of flowers, an awesome scent. Was I dreaming? As I opened my eyes, breathlessly I took it all in. Somehow, I had been transformed to another world. Without being told I knew my eyes beheld: the Celestial City. This unearthly splendor I was experiencing could not be matched by any earthly pleasure. The feeling of utter bliss stirred my senses.
As I stood enchanted by the magnificence surrounding me, I began to hear a faint cry somewhere in the distance. Wondering where it was coming from, instantly, there I was: the Pearly Gates, even more magnificent than my grandmother had described to me growing up.
There, at the foot of the gate, where the heartbroken sobs rang out, was a small child. The child's cries penetrated my soul as if it were my own pain, until my face too was streaked with tears.
"Sweetheart," I said: "Why are you crying?"
The child replied, "The Gate Keeper said he has no name recorded for me in his Great Book, because; I have no name. But it's not my fault! I had no choice; I was aborted."
It wasn't until that moment I realized that this child was my own. I held my child as we cried until we saw it, a light; a light so brilliant, so radiant a glow, that it warmed our hearts and dried our tears. Out of that light we heard a voice, like divine music pronounce; "Suffer the little children, and forbid them not to come unto me: for such is the kingdom of Heaven. Your name is, My Child."
The name "My Child" had no more been spoken than it appeared in the Lamb's Book of Life.
At that instant, the Gate Keeper opened the gate and we heard as the trumpet blew an angelic choir singing, and it was then that we saw Him. It was Jesus, in all His glory. We knew it was Jesus, as He held out His arms, we could see His nail scarred hands. Without hesitation My Child ran to Him and was tenderly lifted up into His warm embrace. He looked to me saying, "Behold, children are a gift of the Lord; The fruit of the womb is a reward. In all things set an example by doing what is good. Now go and sin no more!"
Suddenly, I was swept back to the world I thought I had left behind. Once again I lie there, silent, regretful, pondering over the wrong I had done. Yet, anticipating the days ahead and longing to make known to others the love and forgiveness I now knew I was destined to share . . . . . . Jesus!
Still, that choice would have to be theirs.
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 3, 2009 12:56:09 GMT
Alone we travel, never knowing where or how far in search of happiness and riches, we carry on with only our hearts to guide us, to realize who we are through love and despair, through right and wrong our need to be wanted grows stronger each day a touch from a friend is the greatest feeling of all knowing somebody cares and will help you along the way friendship is the greatest gift that will never fall through life’s mysteries and love we all may stray but when loneliness comes, we can hear the call a great friend is waiting on you, and is here to stay cherish each day and be thankful for our friends so many things we take for granted, until its no longer there may we all live happy through life’s many trends the greatest feeling is knowing that somebody does care
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 4, 2009 8:44:16 GMT
I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60 &70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ... I will.
I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.
They, too, will get old. I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day(if I feel like it).
MAY OUR FRIENDSHIP NEVER COME APART ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S STRAIGHT FROM THE HEART!
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 5, 2009 9:21:34 GMT
Childhood Doesn't Wait
I was sitting on a bench while in a nearby mall, When I noticed a young mother with two children who were small.
The youngest one was whining, "Pick me up," I heard him beg but the mother's face grew angry as the child clung to her leg.
"Don't hang on to me," she shouted as she pushed his hands away, I wish I'd had the courage to go up to her and say...
"The time will come too quickly when those little arms that tug, Won't ask for you to hold them or won't freely give a hug.
"The day will sneak up subtly just as it did with me, When you can't recall the last time that your child sat on your knee.
"Like those sacred, pre-dawn feedings when we cherished time alone Our babies grow and leave behind those special times we've know.
"So when your child comes to you with a book that you can share, Or asks that you would tuck him in and help him say his prayer...
"When he comes to sit and chat or would like to take a walk, Before you answer that you can't `cause there's no time to talk
"Remember what all parents learn so many times too late, That years go by too quickly and that childhood doesn't wait.
"Take every opportunity, if one should slip away Reach hard to get it back again, don't wait another day."
I watched that mother walk away her children followed near, I hope she'll pick them up before her chances disappear
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 6, 2009 6:51:56 GMT
THE PARADOX OF OUR AGE
We have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints; we spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less.
We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast,
get too angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired,
read too seldom, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom and lie too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life; We've added years to life, not life to years.
We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor. We've conquered outer space, but not inner space;
We've done larger things, but not better things; We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul; We've split the atom, but not our prejudice; We write more, but learn less; We plan more, but accomplish less.
We've learned to rush, but not to wait; We have higher incomes; but lower morals; We have more food but less appeasement; We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication; We've become long on quantity, but short on quality.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion; tall men, and short character; steep profits, and shallow relationships.
These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure and less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.
These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes.
These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one-night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill.
It is a time when there is much in the show window and nothing in the stockroom; a time when technology can bring this letter to YOU, and a time when you can CHOOSE either to make a difference, or to just hit delete... choose delete, and you forfeit your right to complain.
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 7, 2009 7:47:50 GMT
ETERNAL INK
I dreamed I was in heaven Where an angel kept God's book. He was writing so intently I just had to take a look.
It was not, at first, his writing That made me stop and think But the fluid in the bottle That was marked eternal ink.
This ink was most amazing, Dark black upon his blotter But as it touched the parchment It became as clear as water.
The angel kept on writing, But as quickly as a wink The words were disappearing With that strange eternal ink.
The angel took no notice, But kept writing on and on. He turned each page and filled it Till all its space was gone.
I thought he wrote to no avail, His efforts were so vain For he wrote a thousand pages That he'd never read again.
And as I watched and wondered that This awesome sight was mine, I actually saw a word stay black As it dried upon the line.
The angel wrote and I thought I saw A look of satisfaction. At last he had some print to show For all his earnest action. A line or two dried dark and stayed As black as black can be, But strangely the next paragraph Became invisible to see.
The book was getting fuller, The angel's records true, But most of it was blank, with Just a few words coming through.
I knew there was some reason, But as hard as I could think, I couldn't grasp the significance Of that eternal ink.
The mystery burned within me, And I finally dared to ask The angel to explain to me Of his amazing task.
And what I heard was frightful As the angel turned his head. He looked directly at me, And this is what he said...
I know you stand and wonder At what my writing's worth But God has told me to record The lives of those on earth.
The book that I am filling Is an accurate account Of every word and action And to what they do amount.
And since you have been watching I must tell you what is true; The details of my journal Are the strict accounts of YOU.
The Lord asked me to watch you As each day you worked and played. I saw you as you went to church, I saw you as you prayed.
But I was told to document Your life through all the week. I wrote when you were proud and bold, I wrote when you were meek.
I recorded all your attitudes Whether they were good or bad. I was sorry that I had to write The things that make God sad.
So now I'll tell the wonder Of this eternal ink, For the reason for its mystery Should make you stop and think.
This ink that God created To help me keep my journal Will only keep a record of Things that are eternal.
So much of life is wasted On things that matter not So instead of my erasing, Smudging ink and ugly blot.
I just keep writing faithfully and Let the ink do all the rest For it is able to decide What's useless and what's best.
And God ordained that as I write Of all you do and say Your deeds that count for nothing Will just disappear away.
When books are opened someday, As sure as heaven is true; The Lord's eternal ink will tell What mattered most to you.
If you just lived to please yourself The pages will be bare, And God will issue no reward For you when you get there.
In fact, you'll be embarrassed, You will hang your head in shame Because you did not give yourself In love to Jesus' Name.
Yet maybe there will be a few Recorded lines that stayed That showed the times you truly cared, Sincerely loved and prayed.
But you will always wonder As you enter heaven's door How much more glad you would have been If only you'd done more.
For I record as God sees, I don't stop to even think Because the truth is written With God's eternal ink.
When I heard the angel's story I fell down and wept and cried For as yet I still was dreaming I hadn't really died.
And I said: O angel tell the Lord That soon as I awake I'll live my life for Jesus- I'll do all for His dear sake.
I'll give in full surrender; I'll do all He wants me to; I'll turn my back on self and sin And whatever isn't true.
And though the way seems long and rough I promise to endure. I'm determined to pursue the things That are holy, clean and pure.
With Jesus as my helper, I will win lost souls to Thee, For I know that they will live with Christ For all eternity.
And that's what really matters When my life on earth is gone That I will stand before the Lord And hear Him say, well done.
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 8, 2009 6:46:30 GMT
"A Story To Live By"
My brother-in-law opened the bottom drawer of my sister's bureau and lifted out a tissue-wrapped package. "This," he said, "isn’t a slip, this is lingerie." He discarded the tissue and handed me the slip. It was exquisite; silk, handmade and trimmed with a cobweb of lace. The price tag with an astronomical figure on it was still attached. "Jan bought this the first time we went to New York, at least 8 or 9 years ago. She never wore it. She was saving it for a special occasion. Well, I guess this is the occasion." He took the slip from me and put it on the bed with the other clothes we were taking to the mortician. His hands lingered on the soft material for a moment, then he slammed the drawer shut and turned to me. "Don't ever save anything for a special occasion. Every day you're alive is a special occasion." I remembered those words through the funeral and the days that followed when I helped him and my niece attend to all the sad chores that follow an unexpected death. I thought about them on the plane returning to California from the Midwestern town where my sister's family lives. I thought about all the things that she hadn't seen or heard or done. I thought about the things that she had done without realizing that they were special. I'm still thinking about his words, and they've changed my life. I'm reading more and dusting less. I'm sitting on the deck and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden . I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time in committee meetings. Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experience to savor, not endure. I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them. I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event-such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, the first camellia blossom. I wear my good blazer to the market if I feel like it. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries without wincing. I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties; clerks in hardware stores and tellers in bank shave noses that function as well as my party-going friends. "Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now. I'm not sure what my sister would have done had she known that she wouldn't be here for the tomorrow we all take for granted. It's those little things left undone that would make menagerie if I knew that my hours were limited. Angry because I put off seeing good friends whom I was going to get in touch with-someday. Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that I intended to write-one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my husband and daughter often enough how much I truly love them. I'm trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special Every day, every minute, every breath truly is...a gift from God.
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 9, 2009 8:23:31 GMT
The mule fell into the farmer's well. The farmer heard the mule 'braying' - or whatever mules do when they fall into wells. After carefully assessing the situation, the farmer sympathized with the mule, but decided that neither the mule nor the well was worth the trouble of saving. Instead, he called his neighbors together and told them what had happened...and enlisted them to help haul dirt to bury the old mule in the well and put him out of his misery. Initially, the old mule was hysterical! But as the farmer and his neighbors continued shoveling and the dirt hit his back...a thought struck him. It suddenly dawned on him that every time a shovel load of dirt landed on his back...HE SHOULD SHAKE IT OFF AND STEP UP! This he did, blow after blow. "Shake it off and step up...shake it off and step up...shake it off and step up!" he repeated to encourage himself. No matter how painful the blows, or distressing the situation seemed the old mule fought "panic" and just kept right on SHAKING IT OFF AND STEPPING UP! You're right! It wasn't long before the old mule, battered and exhausted, STEPPED TRIUMPHANTLY OVER THE WALL OF THAT WELL! What seemed like it would bury him, actually blessed him...all because of the manner in which he handled his adversity. THAT'S LIFE! If we face our problems and respond to them positively, and refuse to give in to panic, bitterness, or self-pity...THE ADVERSITIES THAT COME ALONG TO BURY US USUALLY HAVE WITHIN THEM THE POTENTIAL TO BENEFIT AND BLESS US! Remember that FORGIVENESS--FAITH--PRAYER--PRAISE and HOPE...all are excellent ways to "SHAKE IT OFF AND STEP UP" out of the wells in which we find ourselves!
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 10, 2009 8:26:58 GMT
A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.
When the Viet Nam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands. He said, "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.
The young man held out his package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this."
The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the painting that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. "Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift."
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.
The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.
On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. "We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?"
There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted. "We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one."
But the auctioneer persisted. "Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?"
Another voice shouted angrily. "We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!"
But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?"
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the long-time gardener of the man and his son. "I'll give $10 for the painting."
Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.
"We have $10, who will bid $20?"
"Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters."
"$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?"
The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!"
A man sitting on the second row shouted. "Now let's get on with the collection!"
The auctioneer laid down his gavel. "I'm sorry, the auction is over."
"What about the paintings?"
"I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings. The man who took the son gets everything!"
God gave his son 2,000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is, "The son, the son, who'll take the son?"
Because you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 11, 2009 13:50:16 GMT
JUST CHECKING IN
A minister passing through his church in the middle of the day, Decided to pause by the altar and see who had come to pray.
Just then the back door opened, a man came down the aisle, The minister frowned as he saw the man hadn't shaved in quite a while.
His shirt was kinda shabby and is coat was worn and frayed. The man knelt, he bowed his head, then rose and walked away.
In the days that followed, each noon time came this chap, Each time he knelt just for a moment, a lunch pail in his lap.
Well, the minister's suspicions grew, with robbery a main fear, He decided to stop the man and ask him, "What are you doing here?"
The old man said, he worked down the road. Lunch was half an hour. Lunchtime was his prayer time, for finding strength and power.
"I stay only moments, see, because the factory is so far away; As I kneel here talking to the Lord, this is kinda what I say:
"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD, HOW HAPPY I'VE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER'S FRIENDSHIP AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN.
DON'T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY. SO, JESUS, THIS IS JIM CHECKING IN."
The minister feeling foolish, told Jim, that was fine. He told the man he was welcome to come and pray just anytime.
Time to go, Jim smiled, said "Thanks." He hurried to the door. The minister knelt at the altar, he'd never done it before.
His cold heart melted, warmed with love, and met with Jesus there. As the tears flowed, in his heart, he repeated old Jim's prayer:
"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD, HOW HAPPY I'VE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER'S FRIENDSHIP AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN.
I DON'T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY. SO, JESUS, THIS IS ME CHECKING IN."
Past noon one day, the minister noticed that old Jim hadn't come. As more days passed without Jim, he began to worry some.
At the factory, he asked about him, learning he was ill. The hospital staff was worried, but he'd given them a thrill.
The week that Jim was with them, brought changes in the ward. His smiles, a joy contagious. Changed people, were his reward.
The head nurse couldn't understand why Jim was so glad, When no flowers, calls or cards came, not a visitor he had.
The minister stayed by his bed, he voiced the nurse's concern: No friends came to show they cared. He had nowhere to turn.
Looking surprised, old Jim spoke up and with a winsome smile; "The nurse is wrong, she couldn't know, that in here all the while
Everyday at noon He's here, a dear friend of mine, you see, He sits right down, takes my hand, leans over and says to me:
"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, JIM, HOW HAPPY I HAVE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND THIS FRIENDSHIP, AND I TOOK AWAY YOUR SIN.
ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR YOU PRAY, I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERY DAY, AND SO JIM, THIS IS JESUS CHECKING IN."
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Post by BC on Jul 11, 2009 14:37:25 GMT
Love him or hate him, he sure hits the nail on the head with this! Bill Gates recently gave a speech at a High School about 11 things they did not and will not learn in school. He talks about how feel-good, politically correct teachings created a generation of kids with no concept of reality and how this concept set them up for failure in the real world. Rule 1:Life is not fair - get used to it! Rule 2: The world won't care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself. Rule 3: You will NOT make $60,000 a year right out of high school. You won't be a vice-president with a car phone until you earn both. Rule 4: If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss. Rule 5: Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your Grandparents had a different word for burger flipping: they called it opportunity. Rule 6: If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault, so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them. Rule 7: Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you were. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent's generation, try delousing the closet in your own room. Rule 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life HAS NOT. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades and they'll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life. Rule 9: Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF. Do that on your own time.. Rule 10: Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs. Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one.
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Post by makingitslowly on Jul 11, 2009 19:37:24 GMT
Very true mate.
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 12, 2009 11:06:48 GMT
The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, just old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's, but he has never collected unemployment either.
He's a recent Comprehensive School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. &nb sp;He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.
He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient.
He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.
If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands.
He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all.
He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.
He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking.
In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great- grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the BRITISH Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.
He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.
And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.
'Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen.'
When you read this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our ground troops in Afghanistan, sailors on ships, and airmen in the air, and for those in Iraq .
There is nothing attached... This can be very powerful...
Of all the gifts you could give a British Soldier, Sailor, or Airman, prayer is the very best one.
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Post by banger on Jul 12, 2009 12:01:46 GMT
Of all the gifts you could give a British Soldier, Sailor, or Airman, prayer is the very best one. AMEN.
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 13, 2009 8:45:34 GMT
Brenda was a young woman that wanted to learn to go rock climbing. Although she was scared to death she went with a group and they faced this tremendous cliff of rock. Practically perpendicular. In spite of her fear, she put on the gear and she took a hold of the rope and she started up the face of that rock. Well, she got to a ledge where she could take a breather. As she was hanging on there, whoever was holding the rope up at the top of the cliff made a mistake and snapped the rope against Brenda's eye and knocked out her contact lens. You know how tiny contact lenses are and how almost impossible to find.
Well, here she is on a rock ledge, with who knows how many hundreds of feet behind and hundreds of feet above her. Of course, she looked and looked and looked, hoping that she would be able to find that contact lens. Here she was, very far from home. Her sight was now blurry. She was very upset by the fact that she wouldn't be anywhere near a place where she could get a new contact lens. And she prayed that the Lord would help her to find it. Well, her last hope was that perhaps when she got to the top of the cliff, one of the girls that was up there on the top might be able to find her contact lens in the corner of her eye.
When she got to the top, a friend examined her eye. There was no contact lens to be found. She sat down with the rest of the party, waiting for the rest of them to come up the face of the cliff. She looked out across range after range of mountains, thinking of that Bible verse that says, "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth".
She thought, "Lord, You can see all these mountains. You know every single stone and leaf that's on those mountains and You know exactly where my contact lens is."
Finally, the time came when it was time to go down. They walked down the trail to the bottom. Just as they got there, there was a new party of rock climbers coming along. As one of them started up the face of the cliff, she shouted out, "Hey, you guys! anybody lose a contact lens?" Well, that would be startling enough, wouldn't it? She had found the contact lens! But you know why she saw it? An ant was carrying that contact lens so that it was moving slowly across the face of the rock. What does that tell you about the God of the universe? Is He in charge of the tiniest things? Do ants matter to Him? Of course they do. He made them. He designed them. Brenda told me that her father is a cartoonist. When she told him this incredible story, he drew a picture of that ant lugging that contact lens with the words "Lord, I don't know why You want me to carry this thing. I can't eat it and it's awfully heavy. But if this is what You want me to do, I'll carry it for You." If God is in charge of the ants, don't you think He cares about you and me? I guess Solomon was right. One could learn a valuable lesson from that ant - trust in God.
We could probably all say a little more often, "God, I don't know why you want me to carry this load. I see no good in it and it's awfully heavy. Still, if you want me to, I'll carry it for You."
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Post by banger on Jul 13, 2009 11:31:06 GMT
Computer Hell
Jesus and Satan were having an ongoing argument about who was better on his computer. They had been going at it for days and God was tired of hearing all of the bickering. Finally, God said, "Cool it. I am going to set up a test that will run two hours and I will judge who does the better job." So Satan and Jesus sat down at their keyboards and typed away. They moused. They did spreadsheets. They wrote reports. They sent faxes. They sent e-mail. They sent out e-mail with attachments. They downloaded. They did some genealogy reports. They made cards. They did every known job. But ten minutes before their time was up, lightning suddenly flashed across the sky, thunder rolled, the rain poured, and of course, the electricity went off. Satan stared at his blank screen and screamed every curse word known in the underworld. Jesus just sighed. The electricity finally flickered back on, and each of them restarted their computers. Satan started searching frantically screaming "It's gone! It's all gone! I lost everything when the power went out!" Meanwhile, Jesus quietly started printing out all of his files from the past two hours. Satan observed this and became irate. "Wait! He cheated! How did he do it?"
You'll love the punch line........
Here it comes...............
God shrugged and said.........
"Jesus saves."
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 14, 2009 9:23:12 GMT
Michael is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. when someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!"
He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Michael was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation. Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Michael and asked him, "I don't get it! You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?"
Michael replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, Mike, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood. I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it.
Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life."
"Yeah, right, it isn't that easy," I protested.
"Yes, it is," Michael said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line is: It's your choice how you live life."
I reflected on what Michael said. Soon thereafter, I left the Tower Industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.
Several years later, I heard that Michael was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower. After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Michael was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.
I saw Michael about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied. "If I were any better, I'd be twins. Wanna see my scars?"
I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.
"The first thing that went through my mind was the well being of my soon to be born daughter," Michael replied. "Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or I could choose to die. "I chose to live."
"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked.
Michael continued, "...the paramedics were great. They kept
telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'he's a dead man. I knew I needed to take action."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me," said Michael. "She asked if I was allergic to anything.
'Yes, I replied."
The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled,
"Gravity."
Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead'."
Michael lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude.
I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.
Attitude, after all, is everything.
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 15, 2009 8:55:12 GMT
His name is Bill. He has wild hair, wears a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans, and no shoes. This was literally his wardrobe for his entire four years of college. He is brilliant. Kind of esoteric and very, very bright. He became a Christian while attending college.
Across the street from the campus is a well-dressed, very conservative church. They want to develop a ministry to the students, but are not sure how to go about it. One day Bill decides to go there.
He walks in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt, and wild hair. The service has already started and so Bill starts down the aisle looking for a seat. The church is completely packed and he can't find a seat. By now people are really looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one says anything. Bill gets closer and closer and closer to the pulpit and, when he realizes there are no seats, he just squats down right on the carpet. (Although perfectly acceptable behavior at a college fellowship, trust me, this had never happened before in this church).
By now the people are really uptight, and the tension in the air is thick. About this time, the minister realizes that from way at the back of the church, a deacon is slowly making his way toward Bill. Now the deacon is in his eighties, has silver-gray hair, and a three-piece suit. A godly man, very elegant, very dignified, very courtly. He walks with a cane and, as he starts walking toward this boy, everyone is saying to them- selves that you can't blame him for what he's going to do. How can you expect a man of his age and of his background to understand some college kid on the floor? It takes a long time for the man to reach the boy. The church is utterly silent except for the clicking of the man's cane. All eyes are focused on him. You can't even hear anyone breathing.
The minister can't even preach the sermon until the deacon does what he has to do. And now they see this elderly man drop his cane on the floor. With great difficulty he lowers himself and sits down next to Bill and worships with him so he won't be alone.
Everyone chokes up with emotion. When the minister gains control, he says, "What I'm about to preach, you will never remember. What you have just seen, you will never forget. Be careful how you live. You may be the only Bible some people will ever read."
How true it is! We need to each of us stop and ask ourselves "What kind of testimony do give through my actions?"
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 16, 2009 9:53:03 GMT
It was a cold winter's day that Sunday. The parking lot to the church was filling up quickly. I noticed as I got out of my car that fellow church members were whispering among themselves as they walked to the church. As I got closer I saw a man leaned up against the wall outside the church. He was almost laying down as if he was asleep. He had on a long trench coat that was almost in shreds and a hat topped his head, pulled down so you could not see his face. He wore shoes that looked 30 years old, too small for his feet with holes all over them, his toes stuck out. I assumed this man was homeless, and asleep, so I walked on by through the doors of the church. We all fellowshipped for a few minutes, and someone brought up the man laying outside. People snickered and gossiped but no one bothered to ask him to come in, including me. A few moments later church began. We all waited for the Preacher to take his place and to give us the Word, when the doors to the church opened. In came the homeless man walking down the aisle with his head down. People gasped and whispered and made faces. He made his way down the aisle and up onto the pulpit he took off his hat and coat.
My heart sank.
There stood our preacher...he was the "homeless man." No one said a word.
The preacher took his Bible and laid it on the stand. "Folks, I don't think I have to tell you what I am preaching about today." Then he started singing the words to this song. "If I can help somebody as I pass along. If I can cheer somebody with a word or song. If I can show somebody that he's traveling wrong. Then my living shall not be in vain."
"IS YOUR LIVING IN VAIN?"
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 17, 2009 6:52:30 GMT
Do you believe that God not only loves you, but knows where you are and what you're doing every minute of the day? I certainly do after an amazing experience I had several years ago.
At the time I was driving on 1-75 near Dayton, Ohio, with my wife and children. We turned off the highway for a rest and refreshment stop. My wife, Barbara, and children went into the restaurant. I suddenly felt the need to stretch my legs, so waved them off ahead saying I'd join them later.
I bought a soft drink, and as I walked toward a Dairy Queen, feelings of self pity enshrouded my mind. I loved the Lord and my ministry, but I felt drained, burdened. My cup was empty.
Suddenly, the impatient ringing of a telephone nearby jarred me out of my doldrums. It was coming from a phone booth at a service station on the corner. Wasn't anyone going to answer the phone? Noise from the traffic flowing through the busy intersection must have drowned out the sound because the service station attendant continued looking after his customers, oblivious to the incessant ringing.
"Why doesn't somebody answer that phone?" I muttered. I began reasoning. It may be important. What if it's an emergency? Curiosity overcame my indifference. I stepped inside the booth and picked up the phone.
"Hello," I said casually and took a big sip of my drink. The operator said: "Long distance call for Ken Gaub." My eyes widened, and I almost choked on a chunk of ice.
Swallowing hard, I said, "You're crazy!" Then, realizing I shouldn't speak to an operator like that, I added, "This can't be! I was walking down the road, not bothering anyone, and the phone was ringing...."
"Is Ken Gaub there?" the operator interrupted, "I have a long distance call for him."
It took a moment to gain control of my babbling, but I finally replied, "Yes, he is here." Searching for a possible explanation, wondered if I could possibly be on Candid Camera!
Still shaken, perplexed, I asked, "How in the world did you reach me here? I was walking down the road, the pay phone started ringing, and I just answered it by chance. You can't mean me."
"Well," the operator asked, "is Mr. Gaub there or isn't he?"
"Yes, I am Ken Gaub," I said, finally convinced by the tone of her voice that the call was real.
Then, I heard another voice say, "Yes, that's him, operator. That's Ken Gaub."
I listened dumbfounded to a strange voice identify herself. "I'm Millie from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. You don't know me, Mr. Gaub, but I'm desperate. Please help me."
"What can I do for you?"
She began weeping. Finally, she regained control and continued, "I was about to commit suicide, had just finished writing a note, when I began to pray and tell God I really didn't want to do this. Then, I suddenly remembered seeing you on television and thought if I could just talk to you, you could help me. I knew that was impossible because I didn't know how to reach you: I didn't know anyone who could help me find you. Then, some numbers came to my mind, and I scribbled them down."
At this point she began weeping again, and I prayed silently for wisdom to help her. She continued, "I looked at the numbers and thought, 'Wouldn't it be wonderful if I had a miracle from God, and He has given me Ken's phone number?' I decided to try calling it. I can't believe I'm talking to you.
Are you in your office in California?"
I replied, "Lady, I don't have an office in California. My office is in Yakima, Washington."
A little surprised, she asked, "Oh, really, then where are you?"
"Don't you know?" I responded. "You made the call."
She explained, "...but I don't even know what area I'm calling. I just dialed the number that I had on this paper."
"Ma'am, you won't believe this, but I'm in a phone booth in Dayton, Ohio!"
"Really?" she exclaimed. "Well, what are you doing there?"
I kidded her gently, "Well, I'm answering the phone. It was ringing as I walked by; so, I answered it."
Knowing this encounter could only have been arranged by God, I began to counsel the woman. As she told me of her despair and frustration, the presence of the Holy Spirit flooded the phone booth giving me words of wisdom beyond my ability. In a matter of moments, she prayed the sinner's prayer and met the One who would lead her out of her situation into a new life.
I walked away from that telephone booth with an electrifying sense of our heavenly Father's concern for each of His children. What were the astronomical odds of this happening? With all the millions of phones and innumerable combinations of numbers, only an all-knowing God could have caused that woman to call that number in that phone booth at that moment in time.
Forgetting my drink and nearly bursting with exhilaration, I headed back to my family, wondering if they would believe my story. "Maybe I had better not tell this," I thought, but I couldn't contain it. "Barb, you won't believe this: God knows where I am!"
God also knows where you are. Place yourself in His hands, concentrate on knowing His will for your life, and He will never forsake or forget you.
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Post by banger on Jul 17, 2009 11:31:16 GMT
I know that any Worth a read is definitely that, it's just this piece gave me a smile "I suddenly felt the need to stretch my legs, so waved them off ahead saying I'd join them later."
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 18, 2009 12:13:06 GMT
I walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry. The pain of losing my husband of 37 years was still too raw. And this grocery store held so many sweet memories. Rudy often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with the three yellow roses in his hands. Rudy knew I loved yellow roses. With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since Rudy had passed on. Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two. Standing by the meat, I searched for the perfect small steak and remembered how Rudy had loved his steak. Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blond, slim and lovely in a soft green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large pack of T-bones, dropped them in her basket, hesitated, and then put them back. She turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks. She saw me watching her and she smiled. "My husband loves T-bones, but honestly, at these prices, I don't know." I swallowed the motion down my throat and met her pale blue eyes. "My husband passed away eight days ago," I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice. "Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you have together." She shook her head and I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled away. I turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. A quart, I finally decided and moved on to the ice cream section near the front of the store. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream cone. I placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the front. I saw first the green suit, then recognized the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried a package. On her face was the brightest smile I had ever seen. I would swear a soft halo encircled her blond hair as she kept walking toward me, her eyes holding mine. As she came closer, I saw what she held and tears began misting in my eyes. "These are for you," she said and placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms. "When you go through the line, they will know these are paid for." She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then smiled again. I wanted to tell her what she'd done, what the roses meant, but still unable to speak, I watched as she walked away as tears clouded my vision. I looked down at the beautiful roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal. How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear. I wasn't alone. "Oh, Rudy, you haven't forgotten me, have you?" I whispered, with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel.
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 19, 2009 8:35:57 GMT
Pappy was a pleasant-looking old fellow. He had the whitest hair which he kept neatly cut and combed. His eyes were blue, though faded with age, and they seemed to emit a warmth from within. His face was quite drawn, but when he smiled, even his wrinkles seemed to soften and smile with him.
He had a talent for whistling and did so happily each day as he dusted and swept his pawnshop; even so, he had a secret sadness, but everyone who knew him respected and adored him.
Most of Pappy's customers returned for their good, and he did not do much business, but he did not mind. To him, the shop was not a livelihood as much as a welcome pastime.
There was a room in the back of his shop where he spent time tinkering with a menagerie of his own precious items. He referred to this back room as "memory hall." In it were pocket watches, clocks, and electric trains. There were miniature steam engines and antique toys made of wood, tin, or cast iron, and there were various other obsolete trinkets as well. Spending time in memory hall delighted him as he recalled many treasured moments from his past. He handled each item with care, and sometimes he would close his eyes and pause to relive a sweet, simple childhood memory.
One day, Pappy was working to his heart's content reassembling an old railroad lantern. As he worked, he whistled the melody of a railroad tune and reminisced about his own past as a switchman. It was a typical day at the shop. Outside, the sun illuminated the clear sky, and a slight wind passed through the front screen door. Whenever the weather was this nice, Pappy kept the inner door open. He enjoyed the fresh air--almost as much as the distinctive smell of antiques and old engine oil.
As he was polishing his newly restored lantern, he heard the tinkling of his bell on the shop door. The bell, which produced a uniquely charming resound, had been in Pappy's family for over a hundred years. He cherished it dearly and enjoyed sharing its song with all who came to his shop. Although the bell hung on the inside of the main door, Pappy had strung a wire to the screen door so that it would ring whether the inner door was open or not. Prompted by the bell, he left memory hall to greet his customer.
At first, he did not see her. Her shiny, soft curls barely topped the counter. "And how can I help you, little lady?" Pappy's voice was jovial.
"Hello, sir." The little girl spoke almost in a whisper. She was dainty. Bashful. Innocent. She looked at Pappy with her big brown eyes, then slowly scanned the room in search of something special.
Shyly she told him, "I'd like to buy a present, sir."
"Well, let's see," Pappy said, "who is this present for?"
"My grandpa. It's for my grandpa. But I don't know what to get."
Pappy began to make suggestions. "How about a pocket watch? It's in good condition. I fixed it myself," he said proudly.
The little girl didn't answer. She had walked to the doorway and put her small hand on the door. She wiggled the door gently to ring the bell. Pappy's face seemed to glow as he saw her smiling with excitement.
"This is just right," the little girl bubbled. "Momma says grandpa loves music."
Just then, Pappy's expression changed. Fearful of breaking the little girl's heart, he told her, "I'm sorry, missy. That's not for sale. Maybe your grandpa would like this little radio."
The little girl looked at the radio, lowered her head, and sadly sighed, "No, I don't think so."
In an effort to help her understand, Pappy told her the story of how the bell had been in his family for so many years, and that was why he didn't want to sell it.
The little girl looked up at him, and with a giant tear in her eye, sweetly said, "I guess I understand. Thank you, anyway."
Suddenly, Pappy thought of how the rest of the family was all gone now, except for his estranged daughter whom he had not seen in nearly a decade. Why not, he thought. Why not pass it on to someone who will share it with a loved one? God only knows where it will end up anyway.
"Wait...little lady." Pappy spoke just as the little girl was going out the door--just as he was hearing his bell ring for the last time. "I've decided to sell the bell. Here's a hanky. Blow your nose."
The little girl began to clap her hands. "Oh, thank you, sir. Grandpa will be so happy."
"Okay, little lady. Okay." Pappy felt good about helping the child; he knew, however, he would miss the bell. "You must promise to take good care of the bell for your grandpa--and for me, too, okay?" He carefully placed the bell in a brown paper bag.
"Oh, I promise," said the little girl. Then, she suddenly became very still and quiet. There was something she had forgotten to ask. She looked up at Pappy with great concern, and again almost in a whisper, asked, "How much will it cost?"
"Well, let's see. How much have you got to spend?" Pappy asked with a grin. The child pulled a small coin purse from her pocket then reached up and emptied two dollars and forty-seven cents onto the counter. After briefly questioning his own sanity, Pappy said, "Little lady, this is your lucky day. That bell costs exactly two dollars and forty-seven cents."
Later that evening as Pappy prepared to close up shop, he found himself thinking about his bell. Already he had decided not to put up another one. He thought about the child and wondered if her grandpa like his gift. Surely he would cherish anything from such a precious grandchild.
At that moment, just as he was going to turn off the light in memory hall, Pappy thought he heard his bell. Again, he questioned his sanity; he turned toward the door, and there stood the little girl. She was ringing the bell and smiling sweetly.
Pappy was puzzled as he strolled toward the small child. "What's this, little lady? Have you changed your mind?"
"No," she grinned. "Momma says it's for you."
Before Pappy had time to say another word, the child's mother stepped into the doorway, and choking back a tear, she gently said, "Hello, Dad."
The little girl tugged on her grandpa's shirttail. "Here, Grandpa. Here's your hanky. Blow your nose."
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Post by delboy on Jul 19, 2009 12:33:55 GMT
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 20, 2009 7:40:42 GMT
This teenager lived alone with his father, and the two of them had a very
special relationship. Even though the son was always on the bench, his
father was always in the stands cheering. He never missed a game. This
young man was still the smallest of the class when he entered high school.
But his father continued to encourage him, but also made it very clear that he
did not have to play football if he didn't want to. But the young man loved
football and decided to hang in there. He was determined to try his best
at every practice, perhaps he'd get to play when he became a senior.
All through high school he never missed a practice nor a game, but remained
a bench warmer all four years. His faithful father was always in the stands,
always with words of encouragement for him. When the young man went to
college, he decided to try out for the football team as a "walk-on."
Everyone was sure he could never make the cut, but he did. The coach
admitted that he kept him on the roster because he always puts his heart and
soul to every practice, and at the same time, provided the other members
with the spirit and hustle they badly needed.
The news that he had survived the cut thrilled him so much that he rushed to
the nearest phone and called his father. His father shared his excitement
and was sent season tickets for all the college games. This persistent young
athlete never missed practice during his four years at college, but he never
got to play in a game. It was the end of his senior football season, and as
he trotted onto the practice field shortly before the big play off game, the
coach met him with a telegram. The young man read the telegram and he became
silent. Swallowing hard, he mumbled to the coach, "My father died this
morning. Is it all right if I miss practice today?" he coach put his arm
gently around his shoulder and said, "Take the rest of the week off, son.
And don't even plan to come back to the game on Saturday."
Saturday arrived, and the game was not going well. In the third quarter,
when the team was ten points behind, a silent young man quietly slipped into
the empty locker room and put on his football gear. As he ran onto the
sidelines, the coach and his players were astounded to see their faithful
teammate back so soon. "Coach, please let me play. I've just got to play
today," said the young man. The coach pretended not to hear him. There was
no way he wanted his worst player in this close playoff game. But the young
man persisted.
Finally feeling sorry for the kid, the coach gave in. "All right," he said.
"You can go in." Before long, the coach, the players and everyone in the
stands could not believe their eyes. This little unknown, who had never
played before was doing everything right.
The opposing team could not stop him. He ran, he passed, blocked and tackled
like a star. His team began to triumph. The score was soon tied. In the
closing seconds of the game, this kid intercepted a pass and ran all the way
for the winning touchdown. The fans broke loose. His classmates hoisted him
onto their shoulders. Such cheering you've never heard!
Finally, after the stands had emptied and the team had showered and left the
locker room, the coach noticed that the young man was sitting quietly in the
corner all alone. The coach came to him and said, "Kid, I can't believe it.
You were fantastic! Tell me what got into you? How did you do it?" He looked
at the coach, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Well, you knew my dad died,
but did you know that my dad was blind?" The young man swallowed hard and
forced a smile, "Dad came to all my games, but today was the first time he
could see me play, and I wanted to show him I could do it!"
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Post by banger on Jul 20, 2009 20:29:33 GMT
Crazy Weather We have been having some crazy weather here in the mountains of my home this summer. The other day, for instance, started out beautifully with a sunrise that could make the heavens' sing. The air was warm and the breezes gently kissed your cheek as you walked outside. The shining sun filtered through the leaves and lit up the world in a thousand different places. Just being outside lit up my own soul as well and I thanked God for another great day to be alive.
By afternoon, however, the weather had turned hot and muggy. The skies had become partly cloudy and the distant roar of thunder was in the air. As I went to run an errand it started to rain. Driving down the road I could still see the sun behind me but thick, grey clouds lay ahead. After only a few miles a gentle sprinkling of rain became a torrent that rolled down the roads and turned every pothole into a puddle. I stopped to go into a store but was drenched before I got three feet. Lightening flashes could be seen over the hills and I wondered if the storm would ever end. As I drove back home, though, the clouds parted and the sunshine reappeared. I arrived home soaked but safe and looked up to see the most glorious rainbow bridging the sky. I stopped in my dripping clothes to take in the sight and store it safely in the memories of my soul.
Life too can give us some crazy weather at times. Clear days can suddenly turn stormy in an instant. Sunny skies and gentle breezes can give way to pounding rains and lightening for no reason. Problems, troubles, and frustrations can soak you to the skin and you can find yourself wondering if the storm will ever end. When this happens take heart in knowing that God loves you through every type of weather and that you have enough sunlight in your soul to ride out any storm that life throws at you. Let that rain help you to grow and remember that the storms always end, the clouds always part, and sometimes you even get blessed with a rainbow. ~ Joseph J. Mazzella
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 21, 2009 7:13:31 GMT
Hello There Nice Person Did Anyone Ever Tell You, Just How Special You Are The Light that You Emit Might even Light a Star
Did Anyone Ever Tell You that Many Times When They were Sad Your E-mail made Them Smile a bit In Fact It made Them Glad
For the Time You Spend Sending Things And Sharing whatever You Find There are No Words to Thank You But Somebody, Thinks You're Fine
Did Anyone Ever Tell You
Just How Much They Like You Well, My Dearest Friend Today I am Telling You
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 22, 2009 7:24:02 GMT
It was an unusually cold day for the month of May. Spring had arrived, and everything was alive with color. But a cold front from the North had brought winter's chill back to Indiana. I sat, with two friends, in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town square. The food and the company were both especially good that day. As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town was a man who appeared to be carrying all of his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read, "I will work for food." My heart sank. I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car. Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: "Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once more around the square." And so, with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square's third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the storefront church, going through his sack. I stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town's newest visitor. "Looking for the pastor?" I asked. "Not really," he replied, "just resting." "Have you eaten today?" "Oh, I ate something early this morning." "Would you like to have lunch with me?" "Do you have some work I could do for you?" "No work," I replied. "I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch." "Sure," he replied with a smile. As he began to gather his things. I asked some surface questions. "Where you headed?" "St. Louis." "Where you from?" "Oh, all over; mostly Florida." "How long you been walking?" "Fourteen years," came the reply. I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said, "Jesus is The Never Ending Story." Then Daniel's story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God. "Nothing's been the same since," he said, "I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now." "Ever think of stopping?" I asked. "Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me. But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads." I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment, and then I asked: "What's it like?"
"What?"
"To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?" "Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments. One tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts of other folks like me." My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door, he paused. He turned to me and said,
"Come Ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in." I felt as if we were on holy ground. "Could you use another Bible?" I asked. He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite. "I've read through it 14 times," he said. "I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see." I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful. "Where you headed from here?" "Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon." "Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?" "No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next." He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him back to the town-square where we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things. "Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked. "I like to keep messages from folks I meet."
I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture from Jeremiah, "I know the plans I have for you," declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a future and a hope." "Thanks, man," he said. "I know we just met, and we're really just strangers, but I love you."
"I know," I said, "I love you, too." "The Lord is good."
"Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?" I asked.
"A long time," he replied. And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed. He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, "See you in the New Jerusalem."
"I'll be there!" was my reply. He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bed roll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned and said, "When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
"You bet," I shouted back, "God bless." And that was the last I saw of him.
Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them... a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them. I remembered his words: "If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?" Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry. "See you in the New Jerusalem," he said. Yes, Daniel, I know I will..."I shall pass this way but once. Therefore, any good that I can do or any kindness that I can show, let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again."
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 23, 2009 7:41:01 GMT
To my child... Just for this morning, I am going to smile when I see your face and laugh when I feel like crying. Just for this morning, I will let you wake up softly, all rumpled in your sheets and I will hold you until you are ready for the day. Just for this morning, I will let you choose what you want to wear, and smile and say how perfect it is. Just for this morning, I am going to step over the laundry, and pick you up and take you to the park to play. Just for this morning, I will leave the dishes in the sink, and let you teach me how to put that puzzle of yours together. Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the telephone and keep the computer off, and sit with you in the back yard and blow bubbles. Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once, not even a tiny grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck, and I will buy you one if he comes by. Just for this afternoon, I won't worry about what you are going to be when you grow up, or second-guess every decision I have made where you are concerned. Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me bake cookies, and I won't stand over you trying to fix them. Just for this afternoon, I will take you to McDonald's and buy us both a Happy Meal so you can have both toys. Just for this evening, I will hold you in my arms and tell you a story about when you were born, and how much I love you. Just for this evening, I will let you splash in the tub and not get angry. Just for this evening, I will let you stay up late while we sit on the porch and count all the stars. Just for this evening, I will snuggle beside you for hours, and miss my favorite TV show. Just for this evening, when I run my fingers through your hair as you pray, I will simply be grateful that God has given me the greatest gift ever given. I will think about the mothers who are searching for their missing children, the mothers who are visiting their children's graves instead of their bedrooms, and mothers who are in hospital rooms watching their children suffer senselessly, and screaming inside that they can't handle it anymore, and when I kiss you goodnight I will hold you a little tighter, a little longer. It is then that I will thank God for you, and ask him for nothing, except one more day.
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Post by Kimmy on Jul 24, 2009 14:23:58 GMT
Maybe
Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right one so that when we finally meet the right person, we will know how to be grateful for that gift.
When the door of happiness closes, another opens, but often times we look so long at the closed door that we don't see the one, which has been opened for us.
The best kind of friend is the kind you can sit on a porch and swing with, never say a word, and then walk away feeling like it was the Best conversation you've ever had.
It's true that we don't know what we've got until we lose it, but it's also true that we don't know what we've been missing until it arrives.
Giving someone all your love is never an assurance that they'll love you back! Don't expect love in return; just wait for it to grow in their heart but if it doesn't, be content it grew in yours. It takes only a minute to get a crush on someone, an hour to like someone, and a day to love someone, but it takes a lifetime to forget someone.
Don't go for looks; they can deceive. Don't go for wealth; even that fades away. Go for someone who makes you smile because it takes only a smile to make a dark day seem bright. Find the one that makes your heart smile.
There are moments in life when you miss someone so much that you Just want to pluck them from your dreams and hug them for real!
Dream what you want to dream; go where you want to go; be what you want to be, because you have only one life and one chance to do all the things you want to do.
May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human, enough hope to make you happy.
Always put yourself in others' shoes. If you feel that it hurts you, it probably hurts the other person, too.
The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way; Happiness lives for those who cry, those who hurt, those who have searched, and those who have tried, for only they can appreciate the importance of people who have touched their lives.
Love begins with a smile, grows with a kiss and ends with a tear.
The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past, you can't go on well in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.
When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling.
Live your life so that when you die, you're the one who is smiling and everyone around you is crying.
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