This is your page of stories, sent in
by you guys:)
This one compliments of Glenda...Thank you Glenda:)
Once upon a time there was a poor village in a land
at war. There came into the small
hamlet a company of weary soldiers. Tired and hungry, they encamped in the
town near
the town square. The villagers trembled, for they had no food to share with
these men,
and were afraid the men might cause trouble. Soon the small band of men uncovered
a
gigantic pot and began to lay a fire for it. Trudging back and forth to the
town well, they
filled the pot with water and set it carefully on the crackling fire. An
old woman, peering
from behind a shutter, noticed that they had dropped a round stone into the
pot. Unable
to contain her curiosity, she ventured into the open, approached the cluster
of men around
the pot, and after looking in the kettle, "What pray tell, are you cooking
there?"
The soldiers looked up and replied, "Stone soup, my good woman, a wondrous
dish and so,
so much better if we were to have a single onion or two to drop herein!"
"I am but a poor
peasant and have hardly enough to eat for myself," she answered, "but perhaps
there is a sad
onion or two on my kitchen shelf". I will bring them here for your soup if
you will share a bowl
of your fine repast with me." They consented, and she quickly disappeared,
hungry with
anticipation at the meal.
As she returned and added the onions, a querulous old man approached and
after looking
into the kettle, called out, "What pray tell, are you cooking here?" "Stone
soup, my good man,
and a right good banquet it is," they answered, "but how much better it would
be if only we
had some simple carrot to add." The poor man shook his head and replied,
"I am but a
starving peasant, but perhaps my good wife has some carrots hidden away for
our last bite of
food. I would share them with you if you would share a bowl of your fine
soup with me and
that good woman." They nodded appreciatively and awaited the return of the
old man, his old
wife and the carrots. After a while, return they did, and added their meager
bounty to the pot.
They all sat down and waited. A young girl with a small basket full of herbs
from the meadow
entered the square and joined the group around the large and bubbling pot.
She too was
persuaded to add her share and she too waited. One by one, the hungry peasants
of the
village came out to see what the excitement was about. And one by one, they
added a few
potatoes, a handful of beans, a small green cabbage and a bone.
There soon appeared in their midst the town butcher, who had long since closed
his door.
Huffing and puffing, and mopping his brow with with a large red handkerchief,
he called
out, "What is all this commotion? What pray tell, smells so wonderfully good
here in this
poor village, which has nothing to eat?" "Stone soup, Sir," said the soldiers,
"a creation
fit for a king. All that is lacking to gibe it truly proportions is a chicken."
Oohs and aahs were heard throughout the crowd of hungry peasants. It is said
that one
old woman fainted from the heavenly nature of the thought. The butcher quietly
disappeared.
Within a matter of minutes he returned, clutching a scrawny chicken, his
very last, and
dropped it, with applause from the crowd, into the pot.
There was a great merriment in the town that night. It had been a long time
since they had
laughed and sung and danced - and a very long time since they had eaten so
well. In the
morning when the town awoke, the soldiers had packed up their pot and left
the village,
eaving behind only the stone.
They marched all day and in the evening entered another small town. They
uncovered their
gigantic pot and set about laying a for for it. A nervous old man approached
them and asked,
"What pray tell, are you cooking there?" The soldiers looked up and replied,
"Stone soup,
my good man, a wondrous dish and so, so much better if we were to have a
single onion
or two to drop herein!"
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This one compliments
of Janet N...Thank you Janet:)
I believe-
That we don't have to change friends if we understand that friends change.
I believe-
That no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you every once
in a while
and you must forgive them for that.
I believe-
That true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance.
Same goes for true love.
I believe-
That you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for
life.
I believe-
That it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I believe-
That you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the
last time you see them.
I believe-
That you can keep going long after you can't.
I believe-
That we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I believe-
That either you control your attitude or it controls you.
I believe-
That regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion
fades
and there had better be something else to take its place.
I believe-
That heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be
done,
regardless of the consequences.
I believe-
That money is a lousy way of keeping score.
I believe-
That my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.
I believe-
That sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down, will
be the
ones to help you get back up.
I believe-
That sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't
give me
the right to be cruel.
I believe-
That just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't
mean
they don't love you with all they have.
I believe-
That maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and
what you've
learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.
I believe-
That it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have
to learn to
forgive yourself.
I believe-
That no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your
grief.
I believe-
That our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but
we are
responsible for who we become.
I believe-
That just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each
other.
And just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.
I believe-
That you shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your
life forever.
I believe-
That two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally
different.
I believe-
That your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don't even
know you.
I believe-
That even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out
to you,
you will find the strength to help.
I believe-
That credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.
I believe-
That the people you care about most in life are taken from you too soon.
I believe-
That you should tell this to all of the people that you believe in.
I just did.
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This one compliments
of Elaine & Arnie...Thank you Elaine & Arnie:)
Unseen Gifts
It had been a year since Susan, a once fiercely independent woman, became
blind.
She was suddenly thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and
self-pity.
Now all she had to cling to was her husband Mark.
Eventually, Susan felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get
there? She
used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get around the city
by herself.
Mark volunteered to drive her to work each day, even though they worked
at opposite
ends of the city. At first, this comforted Susan and fulfilled Mark's need
to protect his
sightless wife who was so insecure about performing the slightest task.
Soon, however Mark realized that this arrangement wasn't working - it was
hectic,
and costly. Susan is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted
to himself.
But just the thought of mentioning it to her made him cringe.
Just as Mark predicted, Susan was horrified at the idea of taking the bus
again.
"I'm blind!" she responded bitterly. "How am I supposed to know where I'm
going?
I feel like you're abandoning me." Mark's heart broke to hear these words,
but he
knew what had to be done. He promised Susan that each morning and evening
he
would ride the bus with her, for as long as it took, until she got the
hang of it.
For two solid weeks, Mark, military uniform and all, accompanied Susan
to and from
work each day and then took a cab back to his office. He taught her how
to rely on her
other senses, specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and
how to adapt to
her new environment. He helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch
out for her,
and save her a seat.
Although this routine was even more costly and time consuming than the
previous,
Mark knew it was only a matter of time before Susan would be able to ride
the bus on
her own. He believed in her.
Finally, Susan decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own.
Monday morning arrived, and before she left she threw her arms around Mark,
her
temporary bus riding companion, her husband, and her best friend. Her eyes
filled with
tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, his love. She said
good-bye, and for the first
time, they went their separate ways.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday ... Each day on her own went perfectly,
and
Susan had never felt better. She was doing it! She was going to work all
by herself!
On Friday morning, Susan took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying
for her fare
to exit the bus, the driver said, "Boy, I sure envy you."
Susan wasn't sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all,
who on earth would
ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the courage to live
for the past year?
Curious, she asked the driver, "Why do you say that you envy me?"
The driver responded, "It must feel so good to be taken care of and protected
like you are."
Susan had no idea what the driver was talking about, and replied, "What
do you mean?"
The driver answered, "You know, every morning for
the past week, a fine looking
gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the corner watching
you when
you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely and he watches
you until
you enter your office building. Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little
salute and walks
away. You are one lucky lady."
Tears of happiness poured down Susan's cheeks. For although she couldn't
physically see
him, she had always felt Mark's presence. He had given her a gift more
powerful than sight,
a gift she didn't need to see to believe - the gift of love that can bring
light where there had
been darkness.
"Sometimes it's the unseen support that makes
for the biggest gifts of joy."
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This one compliments
of Louise...Thank you Louise:)
FROGS
Once upon a time there was a bunch of tiny frogs....
who arranged a running competition.
The goal was to reach the top of a very high tower.
A big crowd had gathered around the tower to see the
race and cheer on the contestants....
The race began....
Honestly, no one in crowd really believed that the tiny
frogs would reach the top of the tower.
You heard statements such as:
"Oh, WAY too difficult!!"
"They will NEVER make it to the top."
or:
"Not a chance that they will succeed.
The tower is too high!"
The tiny frogs began collapsing. One by one....
Except for those, who in a fresh tempo,
were climbing higher and higher....
The crowd continued to yell,
"It is difficult!!! No one will make it!"
More tiny frogs got tired and gave up....
But ONE continued higher and higher and higher....
This one wouldn't give up!
At the end everyone else had given up climbing the tower.
Except for the one tiny frog who, after a big effort,
was the only one who reached the top!
THEN all of the other tiny frogs naturally wanted to know
how this one frog managed to do it?
A contestant asked the tiny frog how he had found the
strength to succeed and reach the goal?
It turned out....
That the winner was DEAF!!!!
The wisdom of this story is:
Never listen to other people's tendencies to be negative or
pessimistic.... because they take your most wonderful dreams
and wishes away from you -- the ones you have in your heart!
Always think of the power words have.
Because everything you hear and read will affect your actions!
Therefore:
ALWAYS be....POSITIVE!
And above all:
Be DEAF when people tell YOU that you cannot fulfill your dreams!
If you fall down 10 times, Stand up 11 times.
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This one compliments
of Elaine & Arnie C...Thank you guys:)
Read the following note
then look at the picture .... absolutely moving!!!!
The picture is that of a 21-week-old unborn baby named Samuel Alexander
Armas,
who is being operated on by a surgeon named Joseph Bruner. The baby was
diagnosed
with spina bifida and would not survive if removed from his mother's
womb.
Little Samuel's mother, Julie Armas, is an obstetrics nurse in Atlanta.
She knew of
Dr. Bruner's remarkable surgical procedure. Practicing at Vanderbilt
University Medical
Center in Nashville, he performs these special operations while the baby
is still in the womb.
During the procedure, the doctor removes the uterus via C-section and
makes a small
incision to operate on the baby. During the surgery on little Samuel,
the little guy reached
his tiny, but fully developed, hand through the incision and firmly grasped
the surgeon's finger.
The photograph captures this amazing event with perfect clarity.
The editors titled the picture, "Hand of Hope." The text explaining the
picture begins,
"The tiny hand of 21-week-old fetus Samuel Alexander Armas emerges from
the mother's
uterus to grasp the finger of Dr. Joseph Bruner as if thanking the doctor
for the gift of life.
" Little Samuel's mother said they "wept for days" when they saw the
picture.
She said, "The photo reminds us my pregnancy isn't about disability or
an illness, it's about
a little person." "The Hand" of the fetus. You can see the actual picture,
and it is awesome...
incredible. The world needs to see this one.
http://www.superlaugh.com/1/hand.htm
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This one compliments
of Robin...Thank you Robin:)
Biggest Weakness can
become your Biggest Strength
Sometimes your biggest weakness can become your biggest strength.
Take, for example, the story of one 10-year-old boy who decided to study
judo despite
the fact that he had lost his left arm in a devastating car accident.
The boy began lessons with an old Japanese judo master. The boy was
doing well, so he
couldn't understand why, after three months of training the master had
taught him only one move.
"Sensei," the boy finally said, "Shouldn't I be learning more moves?"
"This is the only move you
know, but this is the only move you'll ever need to know," the Sensei
replied.
Not quite understanding, but believing in his teacher, the boy kept
training.
Several months later, the sensei took the boy to his first tournament.
Surprising himself, the boy easily won his first two matches. The third
match proved to be more
difficult, but after some time, his opponent became impatient
and charged; the boy deftly used
his one move to win the match.
Still amazed by his success, the boy was now in the finals.
This time, his opponent was bigger, stronger, and more experienced.
For a while, the boy appeared to be overmatched. Concerned that the
boy might get hurt,
the referee called a time-out. He was about to stop the match when the
Sensei intervened.
"No," the Sensei insisted, "Let him continue."
Soon after the match resumed, his opponent made a critical mistake:
he dropped his guard. Instantly, the boy used his move to pin him. The
boy had won the
match and the tournament. He was the champion.
On the way home, the boy and Sensei reviewed every move in each and
every match.
Then the boy summoned the courage to ask what was really on his mind.
"Sensei, how did I win the tournament with only one move?"
"You won for two reasons," the Sensei answered. "First, you've almost
mastered one of the
most difficult throws in all of judo. And second, the only known defense
for that move is for
your opponent to grab your left arm."
The boy's biggest weakness had become his biggest strength.
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Teach The Children
This is how it happened...I just finished the household chores for
the night and was preparing
to go to bed, when I heard a noise in the front of the house. I opened
the door to the front
room and to my surprise, Santa himself stepped out from behind the
Christmas tree.
He placed his finger over his mouth so I would not cry out. "What are
you doing?" I started
to ask. The words choked up in my throat, and I saw he had tears in
his eyes. His usual jolly
manner was gone. Gone was the eager, boisterous soul we all know.
He then answered me with a simple statement.
"TEACH THE CHILDREN!"
I was puzzled; what did he mean? He anticipated my question, and with
one quick movement
brought forth a miniature toy bag from behind the tree. As I stood
bewildered, Santa said,
"Teach the children! Teach them the old meaning of Christmas.
The meaning that now-a-days Christmas has forgotten."
Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a FIR TREE and placed
it before the mantle.
"Teach the children that the pure green color of the stately fir tree
remains green all year round,
depicting the everlasting hope of mankind, all the needles point heavenward,
making it a symbol
of man's thoughts turning toward heaven."
He again reached into his bag and pulled out a brilliant STAR.
"Teach the children that the star was the heavenly sign of promises
long ago.
God promised a Savior for the world, and the star was the sign of fulfillment
of His promise."
He then reached into his bag and pulled out a CANDLE.
"Teach the children that the candle symbolizes that Christ is the light
of the world, and
when we see this great light we are reminded of He who displaces the
darkness."
Once again he reached into his bag and removed a WREATH and placed
it on the tree.
"Teach the children that the wreath symbolizes the real nature of love.
Real love never
ceases. Love is one continuous round of affection."
He then pulled from his bag an ornament of himself.
"Teach the children that I, Santa Clause symbolize the generosity and
good will we feel
during the month of December."
He then brought out a HOLLY LEAF.
"Teach the children that the holly plant represents immortality. It
represents the crown of
thorns worn by our Savior. The red holly represents the blood shed
by Him."
Next he pulled from his bag a GIFT and said,
"Teach the children that God so loved the world that HE gave HIS begotten
SON..."
"Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift.
"Teach the children that the wise men bowed before the Holy BABE and
presented
HIM with gold, frankincense and myrrh. We should always give gifts
in the same spirit
of the wise men."
Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a CANDY CANE and hung
it on the tree.
"Teach the children that the candy cane represents the shepherds' crook.
The crook on the
staff helps to bring back strayed sheep to the flock. The candy cane
is the symbol that we
are our brother's keeper."
He reached in again and pulled out an ANGEL.
"Teach the children that it was the angels that heralded in the glorious
news of the Savior's
birth. The angels sang 'Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace
and good will toward men."
Suddenly I heard a soft twinkling sound, and from his bag he pulled
out a BELL.
"Teach the children that as the lost sheep are found by the sound of
the bell, it should ring
mankind to the fold. The bell symbolizes guidance and return."
Santa looked back and was pleased. He looked back at me and I saw that
the twinkle was
back in his eyes. He said,
"Remember, teach the children the true meaning of Christmas and do
not put me in the
center, for I am but a humble servant of the One that is, and I bow
down to worship
HIM, our LORD, our GOD."
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A "Merry Christmas"
Mission...
I'm on a "Merry Christmas" mission and I'm in full throttle. My little
yellow VW Beetle has
turned into a Christmas billboard with Merry Christmas written across
the back window.
Yes, I've decided to trek off to work everyday on the public highways
with a message that
seems to offend people.
At stop lights, I even turn my music up a little louder, and to top
it off, I sing along with it.
Don't I know that stopping at a red light to roll my windows down
only to share the joy of
Christmas carols on public streets is a No-No? Don't I fear the Christmas
Gestapo and
those who would have me remove the written message from my car?
I'm sorry folks, but the only person I'm concerned about "offending"
during this Christmas
season is the Lord himself. LEAVE THAT MANGER ALONE! We've allowed
the
Baby Jesus to be kicked out of His lowly manger, and those offended
by Christmas are
still not happy. I refuse to let this happen. I'm going to do my
part to make sure
"Merry Christmas" doesn't become extinct. Because like it or not,
if the believers in
Christmas don't take a stand now, it's gone forever. Listen folks,
the Christian community
has been underestimated before; we will have to show ourselves again.
I walked into a Wendy's Restaurant the other day and was rather exuberant
with my
"Merry Christmas" greeting to the manager. He didn't have much of
a response and
I said, "Where's your Christmas spirit?" He said, "We're not allowed
to use the words
"Merry Christmas" when greeting customers. We can only say "Happy
Holiday."
This morning I grabbed a quick breakfast at a Whataburger Restaurant.
I noticed
there wasn't a single decoration in the store. I asked the manager
why they weren't
decorated for Christmas. He told me the corporate headquarters decided
not to send
any decorations to any of their stores,and he didn't know why.
After I heard about all the Macy's and Federated Stores taking down
their Merry
Christmas signs, the Target stores not allowing the Salvation Army
to "Ring the Christmas
Bells," and the many incidents of children, choirs, and bands not
allowed to play or sing
Christmas carols, I realized it was happening right here in my own
little Texas town.
How can this be? Not Texas! We do, however, have a store, Hobby Lobby,
that plays
nothing but Christmas carols during the season. On Christmas Day
they run a full page ad
in our local newspaper. That ad is not to promote the store, but
uses the entire page to tell
the story of Jesus' birth. Now that's taking a stand. We need to
thank them.
When I saw a news report the other evening of children being taught
new words to a song
we've sung for years - "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" - I was saddened
to hear
"We Wish You a Splendid Holiday." I know now that it's just a matter
of time that the
"Merry Christmas" greetings will be gone. Look around your town.
Notice the "Holiday"
greetings and not "Christmas." It's happening right before our very
eyes.
Start singing the songs; go down the streets of America singing to
your heart's content. Get
some of those wash-off markers that these kids use to write on car
windows when they're
rooting for their hometown football team. It's easy to do, and if
a torrential rain washes it off,
write it on there again. We've got to get this message out. "Go Tell
It On the Mountain . . .
that Jesus Christ is Born." Sing it, speak it, be a billboard for
our Lord. The story of this
"Baby Jesus" alone has brought about more goodwill at this time of
year than any other day
we celebrate. How can we sit back and allow Him to be snuffed out
of our lives?
Is it Jesus, or is it His followers that the "offended" don't like?
What kind of revulsion
galvanizes one to campaign so vehemently against the mere mention
of His name, the
mere singing of a carol, or the mere visual of a sign that says "Merry
Christmas? I can
listen to my own boss at work use some of the vilest words and follow
up with, "Excuse
my French." I may cringe inside at his damning of God's name, but
I tolerate it. So if you
don't like me wishing you a "Merry Christmas," I'll say, "Excuse
my joy." You may cringe
that I celebrate the birth of Jesus, but just tolerate it. I cannot
be concerned that
"Merry Christmas" offends you.
If I'm not careful, the day will come when saying I'm a Christian
will offend you.
I'm offended that you're offended. How about that? When we get to
a point that we can
no longer take part in a tradition we hold dear, we have no choice;
we either defend that
tradition or we give it up to those who say NO. That's it . . . period.
So, which will it be? I'm not giving up my "Merry Christmas" joy
to anyone.
If I know of someone that celebrates another holiday during this
time of year, I will be
glad to wish them whatever holiday they want. Just tell me what it
is and I'll shout it to
the world and wish you a grand celebration. Just give me Christmas.
To you merchants:
Stop being so hypocritical and "filling your tills" on the back of
Jesus! Who do you think
is the symbol of giving at this time of year? It was the wise men
bringing gifts to the
newborn Christ-child. You want your coffers full, but have ordered
your employees to
take down all the Merry Christmas signs. If that's the case, I'll
buy gifts at a place that
understands my joy. If you're worried about offending someone, you
just did.
The most recent Newsweek survey shows that 82% of Americans believe
that Jesus is
the Son of God. So, in trying not to offend a few, you've offended
many. It's okay to
jump into the "Merry Christmas" spirit when it fills your cash register,
but let's call it
something else . . . and don't stop giving ... and don't stop buying.
. . we'll just change the
name and you'll never know the difference. I know the difference
and I'm feeling it greatly.
It's hard not to be aware that townships across our country have
actually banned the
singing of Christmas carols because it might offend someone. And
it's not just the religious
songs; it's the secular ones too. No more "Jingle Bells" or "Rudolph,
the Red-Nosed
Reindeer" because they're associated with Christmas. Boy, aren't
we getting sensitive?
If we're not celebrating Christmas for the hope it gives with the
birth of our Savior . . .
there is no hope!
My freedom to celebrate Christmas in the tradition of the Christian
religion is as much
my right as it is your right to be offended by it. So what are we
going to do? Did anyone
hear me . . . what are we going to do? Do we defend a person's right
to go forward with
a time tested tradition (how about 2000 years?), or do we defend
a person's right to
end it all because they're offended?
As long as we live in this great land and have the freedom to express
ourselves and what
we believe in, we will always offend someone. If we try to make everything
right for
everyone, we won't have anything for anyone.
May you always have Christmas in your heart
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True Story
about a Hippo...
How cute is this!
NAIROBI(AFP) - A baby hippopotamus that survived the tsunami waves
on
the Kenyan coast has formed a strong bond with a giant male century-old
tortoise, in an animal facility in the port city of Mombassa, officials
said.
The hippopotamus, nicknamed Owen and weighing about 300 kilograms
(650
pounds), was swept down SabakiRiverinto the Indian Ocean, then forced
back to shore when tsunami waves struck the Kenyan coast on December
26, before wildlife rangers rescued him.
"It is incredible. A-less-than-a-year-old hippo has adopted a male
tortoise, about a century old, and the tortoise seems to be very
happy
with being a 'mother'," ecologist Paula Kahumbu, who is in charge
of
LafargePark, told AFP.
"After it was swept and lost its mother, the hippo was
traumatized. It had to look for something to be a surrogate mother.
Fortunately, it landed on the tortoise and established a strong
bond.
They swim, eat and sleep together," the ecologist added. "The hippo
follows the tortoise exactly the way it follows its mother. If somebody
approaches the tortoise, the hippo becomes aggressive, as if protecting
its biological mother," Kahumbu added.
"The hippo is a young baby, he was left at a very tender age and
by nature, hippos are social animals that like to stay with their
mothers
for four years," he explained.
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The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four
extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and
snaps up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but
still in decent shape. I found it in 1963
when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through
bags of clothes Mom
intended to give away. "You're not taking that old thing,
are you?" Mom said when she saw me
packing the yellow shirt. "I wore that when I was pregnant
with your brother in 1954!"
"It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class,
Mom. Thanks!" I slipped it into
my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt be came a
part of my college wardrobe.
I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved
into my new apartment and on
Saturday mornings when I cleaned.
The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore
the yellow shirt during big-belly days.
I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado
and they were in Illinois.
But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother
had worn it when she was pregnant,
15 years earlier.
That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given
me, I patched one elbow,
wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom
wrote to thank me for her "real"
gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned
it again.
The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's
to pick up some
furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table,
I noticed something yellow
taped to its bottom. The shirt!
And so the pattern was set.
On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and
Dad's mattress. I don't know
how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed
before I discovered it under the
base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was
just what I needed now while
refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.
In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three children,
I prepared to move back to
Illinois. As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered
if I could make it on my
own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged
through the Bible, looking for comfort.
In Ephesians, I read, "So use every piece of God's armor to resist
the enemy whenever he
attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up."
I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was
the stained yellow shirt.
Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn't my mother's love a piece
of God's armor? My courage
was renewed.
Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to
Mother. The next time
I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer.
Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year
later I discovered the yellow shirt
hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet. Something new had been
added. Embroidered in
bright green across the breast pocket were the words "I BELONG
TO PAT."
Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added
an apostrophe and
seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, "I
BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER."
But I didn't stop there. I zig-zagged all the frayed seams,
then had a friend mail the shirt in a
fancy box to Mom from Arlington, VA. We enclosed an official
looking letter from
"The Institute for the Destitute," announcing that she was the
recipient of an award for good
deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom's face when
she opened the box. But, of
course, she never mentioned it.
Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding,
Harold and I put our car in a
friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while
my husband drove us to our
honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head.
It felt lumpy. I unzipped
the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt.
Inside a pocket was a note:
"Read John 14:27-29. I love you both, Mother."
That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found
the verses: "I am leaving you
with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't
fragile like the peace the world
gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what
I told you: I am going away, but I will
come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be
very happy for me, for now I can
go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these
things before they happen so
that when they do, you will believe in me."
The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three
months that she had terminal
Lou Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age
57.
I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave.
But I'm glad I didn't, because it is
a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16
years. Besides, my older
daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art
student needs a baggy yellow
shirt with big pockets.
There's some mighty fine advice in these words, even if you're
not superstitious. This Lotus
Totus has been sent to you for good luck from the Anthony Robbins
organization. It has been
sent around the world ten times so far.
Share with your friends if you love this story as much as I did.
A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches
your heart.
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This one
compliments of Carla...Thank you Carla:)
Just an Old Golden
Retriever
By Audrey Thomasson
She was just an old golden retriever.
Her name was Brandy, and for eleven years she was
the sole companion of an elderly woman who lived in a bungalow
colony in the country.
Neighbors often saw the two of them together in the garden.
The woman would be hunched
over picking flowers and there was that old dog, close at her
heels or lying in the middle of the
grass watching her pull weeds. When the woman died, some
relatives came and collected
anything they thought was valuable and put a "For Sale" sign on
the front lawn. Then they
locked the dog out and drove away.
Some of the neighbors left food out for
Brandy, but mostly the dog stayed near the house
that she knew and waited for her owner to come back. A young
mother who lived next door
noticed the old retriever, but she had never been around animals
before and while she thought
the dog was friendly enough, she didn't feel it was any of her
concern.
However, when the dog wandered into her
yard and began playing with eighteen-month-old
Adam, she wanted to shoo the dirty thing away. Adam was
her only child and the light of her life.
But he was having so much fun feeding Brandy cookies she decided
to let her stay. After that,
whenever Adam had cookies Brandy came by to visit.
One afternoon, the boy's mother left
Adam in the soft grassy yard to play while she answered
the phone. When she returned he was gone. Just gone.
The mother was frantic. Neighbors
came over to help in the search. Police arrived and looked
for three hours before calling in the
state police and helicopters to do an extensive aerial search.
But no one could find the child, and
as the sun set over the horizon, whispers of abduction, injury
or even death crept into conversations.
The search had been going on for six
hours when a neighbor, who'd just returned home,
wondered where Brandy was. Adam's mother, hysterical with
worry, didn't understand why
anyone was asking about the old dog at a time like this.
When someone suggested she might be with
Adam, a trooper recalled hearing a dog barking
deep in the woods when they were doing a foot search. Suddenly,
everybody started calling for
Brandy. They heard faint barking and
followed the sound until they found the toddler, standing
up fast asleep, pressed against the trunk of a tree. That
old dog was holding him there with one
shoulder as one of her own legs dangled over a thirty-five-foot
drop to a stream below.
Brandy had followed Adam when he wandered
off. When she saw danger, she'd pushed him
out of harm's way and held him safe for all those hours, even
as the child struggled to get free.
As soon as the rescue team picked up
Adam, the old dog collapsed. A trooper carried Adam
back home, while his mother, sobbing with relief, carried Brandy.
She was so grateful to the old
golden retriever that Brandy spent the rest of her days with them.
Brandy lived to the ripe old
age of seventeen.
But this story doesn't end with just
one life saved. In Brandy's honor, Adam's mother,
Sara Whalen, founded Pets Alive, a rescue sanctuary in New York
that takes in unwanted animals,
including those designated to be euthanized because they are old,
blind, incontinent or perhaps
not cute enough to be adopted. While she can't save them
all, Sara feels comforted that she can
help at least some of them. She knows that if someone had
put that old retriever to sleep, she
could have easily lost the light of her life: her son.
Today, thirty years later, there are
more than three hundred animals in her care, including
birds, potbellied pigs, old horses retired from the carriage business
and unadoptable pets
from rescue groups across the country. The woman who used
to think an old, abandoned
dog wasn't any of her concern found that every life has value
and has become a beacon
for thousands of animals in need.
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Letter
from Grandma:)
This one compliments of Abby...thank you Abby:)
Dear Family and
Friends,
I just spent several hours observing teenagers hanging out at
our local mall. I came to the
conclusion many teenagers in America today are living in poverty.
Most young men I observed
didn't even own a belt; there was not one among the whole group.
But that wasn't the sad part.
Many were wearing their daddy's jeans. Some jeans were so big
and baggy they hung low on
their hips, exposing their underwear. I know some must have been
ashamed their daddy was short,
because his jeans hardly went below their knees. They weren't
even their daddies' good jeans,
for most had holes ripped in the knees and a dirty look to them.
It grieved me, in a modern, affluent society like America, there
are people who can't afford a
decent pair of jeans. I was thinking about asking my church to
start a jeans drive for "poor kids
at the mall." Then on Christmas Eve, I could go Christmas
caroling and distribute jeans to these
poor teenagers. But here is the saddest part..... it was
the girls they were hanging out with that
disturbed me most. I never, in all of my life, seen such poverty-stricken
girls.
These girls had the opposite problem of the guys. They
all had to wear their little sisters clothes.
Their jeans were about 5 sizes too small! I don't know how they
could put them on, let alone
button them up. Their jeans barely went over their hipbones.
Most also had on their little sister's
top; it hardly covered their midsections. Oh, they were trying
to hold their heads up with pride,
but it was a sad sight to see these almost grown women wearing
children's clothes.
However, it was their underwear that bothered me most. They,
like the boys, because of the
improper fitting of their clothes, had their underwear exposed.
I never saw anything like it.
It looked like their underwear was only held together by a single
piece of string.
I know it saddens your heart to receive this report on condition
of our American teenagers.
While I go to bed every night with a closet full of clothes nearby,
there are millions of
"mall girls" who barely have enough material to keep it together.
I think their "poorness"
is why these 2 groups gather at the mall, boys with their short
daddies' ripped jeans, and
girls wearing their younger sisters' clothes. The mall is one
place where they can find acceptance.
So, next time you are at the mall, doing your shopping, and you
pass by some of these poor
teenagers, would you say a prayer for them? And one more thing
..
Will you pray the guys' pants won't fall down, and girls' strings
won't break?
I thank you all,
Grandma
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This one
is compliments of Riverrat...thank you Riverrat:)
Policeman Helps Homeless Orphan
One of many
homeless orphans in a large city searches for a warm place to sleep
away from the
cold of Winter.
In the city of Chicago, one cold, dark night, a blizzard was
setting in. A little boy was selling
newspapers on the corner, the people were in and out of the
cold. The little boy was so cold
that he wasn't trying to sell many papers.
He walked up to a policeman and said, "Mister, you wouldn't
happen to know where a poor
boy could find a warm place to sleep tonight would you? You
see, I sleep in a box up around
the corner there and down the alley and it's awful cold in there
for tonight. Sure would be nice
to have a warm place to stay." The policeman looked down at
the little boy and said,
"You go down the street to that big white house and you knock
on the door.
When they come out the door you just say John 3:16, and they
will let you in."
So he did. He walked up the steps and knocked on the door, and
a lady answered. He looked up
and said, "John 3:16." The lady said, "Come on in, Son." She
took him in and she sat him down in
a split bottom rocker in front of a great big old fireplace,
and she went off. The boy sat there for a
while and thought to himself: John 3:16....I don't understand
it, but it sure makes a cold boy warm.
Later she came back and asked him "Are you hungry?" He said,
"Well, just a little. I haven't eaten
in a couple of days, and I guess I could use a little bit of
food." The lady took him in the kitchen and
sat him down to a table full of wonderful food. He ate and ate
until he couldn't eat any more.
Then he thought to himself: John 3:16... Boy, I sure don't understand
it but it sure makes a hungry boy full.
She took him upstairs to a bathroom to a huge bathtub filled
with warm water, and he sat there and
soaked for a while. As he soaked, he thought to himself: John
3:16... I sure don't understand it, but
it sure makes a dirty boy clean. You know, I've not had a bath,
a real bath, in my whole life. The only
bath I ever had was when I stood in front of that big old fire
hydrant as they flushed it out. The lady
came in and got him. She took him to a room, tucked him into
a big old feather bed, pulled the covers
up around his neck, kissed him goodnight and turned out the
lights. As he lay in the darkness and looked
out the window at the snow coming down on that cold night, he
thought to himself:
John 3:16... I don't understand it but it sure makes a tired
boy rested.
The next morning the lady came back up and took him down again
to that same big table full of food.
After he ate, she took him back to that same big old split bottom
rocker in front of the fireplace and
picked up a big old Bible. She sat down in front of him and
looked into his young face.
"Do you understand John 3:16?" she asked gently.
He replied, "No, Ma'am, I don't. The first time I ever heard
it was last night when the policeman told
me to use it." She opened the Bible to John 3:16 and began to
explain to him about Jesus. Right there,
in front of that big old fireplace, he gave his heart and life
to Jesus. He sat there and thought: John 3:16.
I don't understand it, but it sure makes a lost boy feel safe.
You know, I have to confess, I don't understand it either, how
God was willing to send His Son to die
for me, and how Jesus would agree to do such a thing. I don't
understand the agony of the Father and
every angel in heaven as they watched Jesus suffer and die.
I don't understand the intense love for ME
that kept Jesus on the cross till the end. I don't understand
it, but it sure does make life worth living.
John 3:16 "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth
in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life."
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This
one is compliments of Renie...Thank you Renie:)
Oscar the cat!
Oscar was named
after the Sesame Street character who lives in a garbage can because
that is
where we first became acquainted. I was working at a
pizza-delivery chain and had been assigned
garbage duty. While tossing bags into a Dumpster, I heard
a faint meow. I began digging through
the trash, and several layers down I found a cat - bruised
and thin. I wasn't sure if the cat had
crawled into the Dumpster to scavenge for food or if he had
been put there purposely. Our
establishment sat directly behind an apartment complex, and
unsupervised and abandoned pets
were common.
Back on solid ground, it became evident that the cat had an
injured leg. He couldn't put any weight
on his right hindquarters. The situation created a dilemma
for me. Finances were tight, and I was
moving back home to my parents' house - with two cats already
in tow. Dad barely tolerated the
two established felines. His reaction to another injured
stray was sure to be less than receptive.
I took the stray to the vet, hoping to patch him up.
After shots and X-rays, the vet discovered the
cat had a cracked pelvis. I posted notices, hoping someone
would claim the cat or adopt him.
Meanwhile, the response at home was swift and firm: No more
cats! Dad insisted I take the cat to
the Humane Society immediately. I protested that the
cat would be put to sleep. Luckily, my mother
intervened. She agreed the injury would make the cat
unadoptable, so we would keep him long
enough for his hip to heal. Then he would have to go
- no arguments.
Oscar must have somehow understood his situation. He
seemed to study the other two cats and
their interactions with my father. We suspect he bribed
Tanner, our golden retriever, with table
scraps in exchange for etiquette lessons. When the other
cats were aloof, Oscar was attentive.
He came when his name was called, and he would roll over on
his back to have his belly scratched.
As his injury began to heal, he would jump on the ottoman by
my father's favorite chair, and,
eventually, into his lap. Initially, Dad pushed Oscar
away, but persistence paid off.
Soon, Oscar and a muttering Dad shared the chair.
At mealtimes, Oscar would come to sit with us. Positioned
on the floor by my father's chair,
every so often Oscar would reach up with one paw and tap Dad
on the knee. At first, this
provoked great irritation and colorful expletives expressed
in harsh tones. Oscar, however,
refused to be put off. Repetitive knee-taps soon
led to semi-covert handouts of choice morsels.
Oscar greeted my father at the top of the stairs every morning
and waited for him at the door
every evening. My father sometimes ignored Oscar, and,
at other times, stepped over him,
complaining the whole time. Oscar mastered opening doors
by sticking his paw underneath the
door and rocking it back and forth until it opened. Soon,
he was sleeping in the master bedroom
at the foot of the bed. My father was completely disgusted,
but couldn't stop the cat from
sneaking onto the bed while they were sleeping. Eventually,
Dad gave up.
Before long, Oscar, aspiring to his own place at the table
during meals, began jumping up into
my lap. He was allowed to stay as long as his head remained
below table level. Of course,
an occasional paw would appear as a reminder of his presence.
Three months passed, and the vet pronounced Oscar healthy and
healed. I was heartbroken.
How could I take this loving soul away from what had become
his home, from the people
he trusted?
Sick at heart, I brought Oscar home and told my parents what
should have been good news:
Oscar was a healthy cat with a healed hip.
"I'll take him to the Humane Society like I promised,"
I said dully.
As I turned to put Oscar in the carrier for the trip,
my father spoke, uttering three magic words:
"Not my cat!"
Oscar is home to stay. He now has his own chair at the
table and sleeps - where else?
- in the master bedroom between my mother and father.
He is their official "grand-kitten"
and living proof that deep within the most unlikely heart,
there is a cat lover in all of us.
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Until next time...be good to each
other!
Hugs from Patsy
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