Thursday, December 31, 2009


When I think about New Year's Eve, I think about pots and pans.

Not for cooking. For banging and clanging and raising a ruckus.

It was a tradition at our house, as much a part of our annual New Year's Eve celebration as the non-alcoholic "champagne" we drank to toast the New Year (in plastic champagne glasses, of course) and watching on TV while that big ball came down over Times Square in New York. Dick Clark would count down the last seconds of the old year, we would all shout "Happy New Year!" at the appropriate moment, Mom would make her way around the room kissing everybody and then we would go outside and pound on pots and pans and make all kinds of noise.

To be honest, I never cared for non-alcoholic champagne -- my taste always ran more toward Dr Pepper. The magic of the big ball coming down on Times Square evaporated as soon as I figured out it had actually happened two hours earlier. Mom's kisses were... well... Mom's kisses. But going outside in the middle of the night to pound on pots and pans and make noise... now, that was something.

Pot-pounding was generally frowned upon, even in the middle of the day. And doing it outside for all the world to hear... well, it simply wasn't done. Except on New Year's Eve.

And that made New Year's Eve special, although I wasn't exactly sure why.

"I don't get it," I said to Mom one New Year's Day. "We don't go outside and pound on pots and pans on Christmas Eve or Thanksgiving. We don't do it on Easter or on birthdays. The only time we do anything like it is when we set off fireworks on the Fourth of July, and I know why we do that. But I don't know why we pound on pans on New Year's Eve."

Mom gave me that why-didn't-I-stop-after-seven-children look. As a parent myself, I finally understand where that look comes from: not having any idea of the answer to the question. But as anyone who ever played cards with her knows, Mom was a master bluffer.

"It's an ancient... Indian... tradition," she said, forgetting for a moment that early Native Americans probably didn't have many pots or pans upon which to bang. "They believed that every year has its own spirit, and if you wanted the year to be good you needed to frighten it into submission from the beginning. So every New Year the Indians would gather to make all of the noise they could in order to frighten away evil spirits and motivate good spirits to action."

That seemed at least as reasonable to me as flying reindeer, or a rabbit that lays colored chicken eggs. "So when we're out there banging on pots and pans, we're actually chasing away evil spirits," I said, sucking it all in like the huge, pre-adolescent sponge that I was.

"Well, yes," she said. "But mostly, we're trying to let the new year know who's in charge."

And that isn't such a bad idea, when you stop and think about it. New years can be a little scary, filled as they are with hidden traps and unknown obstacles. Maybe if we set out anxiety aside and enter the New Year boldly, aggressively, noisily, we'll convince ourselves that there's nothing to fear. And that we're in charge -- at least for ourselves.

So don't go gently into this year. Pound on some pans. Bang on a bucket. Raise a ruckus. The way I see it, even if we don't scare away evil spirits, at least we'll let the year know who's the boss.

And who knows? Maybe we'll remind ourselves, as well.

Written by Joseph Walker

Wednesday, December 30, 2009


A wise woman who was traveling in the mountains found a precious stone in a stream. The next day, she met another traveler who was hungry and the wise man opened her bag to share her food. The hungry traveler saw the precious stone in the wise woman’s bag and admire it and asked the woman to give it to him. The wise woman did so without hesitation.

The traveler left, rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew the jewel was worth enough to give him security for the rest of his life.

But a few days later he came back, searching for the wise woman. When he found her, he returned the stone and said, “I have been thinking. I know how valuable this stone is, but I give it back to you in the hope that you can give me something much more precious. If you can, give me what you have within you that enabled you to give me the stone.


Tuesday, December 29, 2009


The Guy in the Glass (aka - The Man In The Glass)
By: Dale Wimbrow

When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.
For it isn't your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgement upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.
He's the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he's with you clear up to the end,
And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.
You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum,
And think you're a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.
You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you've cheated the guy in the glass

This poem was previously known as "Man in the Glass".
The correct title is "The Guy in the Glass" and was written by Peter "Dale" Wimbrow Sr., (1895-1954). The copyright information is in The American Magazine which was published in 1934.

Monday, December 28, 2009


Once when I was a teenager, my father and I were standing in line to buy tickets for the circus. Finally, there was only one family between us and the ticket counter.

This family made a big impression on me. There were eight children, all probably under the age of 12. You could tell they didn't have a lot of money. Their clothes were not expensive, but they were clean.

The children were well-behaved, all of them standing in line, two-by- two behind their parents, holding hands. They were excitedly jabbering about the clowns, elephants and other acts they would see that night. One could sense they had never been to the circus before. It promised to be a highlight of their young lives.

The father and mother were at the head of the pack standing proud as could be. The mother was holding her husband's hand, looking up at him as if to say, "You're my knight in shining armor." He was smiling and basking in pride, looking at her as if to reply, "You got that right."

The ticket lady asked the father how many tickets he wanted. He proudly responded, "Please let me buy eight children's tickets and two adult tickets so I can take my family to the circus."

The ticket lady quoted the price. The man's wife let go of his hand, her head dropped, the man's lip began to quiver. The father leaned a little closer and asked, "How much did you say?"

The ticket lady again quoted the price. The man didn't have enough money.

How was he supposed to turn and tell his eight kids that he didn't have enough money to take them to the circus?

Seeing what was going on, my dad put his hand into his pocket, pulled out a $20 bill and dropped it on the ground. (We were not wealthy in any sense of the word!) My father reached down, picked up the bill, tapped the man on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me, sir, this fell out of your pocket."

The man knew what was going on. He wasn't begging for a handout but certainly appreciated the help in a desperate, heartbreaking, embarrassing situation. He looked straight into my dad's eyes, took my dad's hand in both of his, squeezed tightly onto the $20 bill, and with his lip quivering and a tear streaming down his cheek, he replied, "Thank you, thank you, sir. This really means a lot to me and my family."

My father and I went back to our car and drove home. We didn't go to the circus that night, but we didn't go without.

-Author Unknown-

Sunday, December 27, 2009


After a car accident put me into the hospital, I felt very angry about a lot of the way my life was turning out. The doctors repaired the major damage done to my body. And after all, the car was just that, a car. But I was laying there feeling pretty sorry for myself. I didn't care to see anyone or talk to anyone.

I had been there about a week, the nurses had been good about leaving my door closed. But one bright morning I was awakened by sounds of people out in the hallway.

Since I was still feeling sorry for myself, I didn't wake up in a pleasant mood. As I pushed the button to call the nurse, I saw a little boy in the hallway. A cast completely covered his arm, from fingers to shoulder. His face was covered with a smile. In his other hand he was holding a teddy bear.

I heard his mother telling him to sit and wait until she was done. He looked over to me and I had the permanent scowl on my face, but he smiled at me. Then without warning he came running into my room. As I was silently cursing the nurses for leaving my door open, the smile upon his face widened.

He came right up next to my bed and stood there smiling at me. Then with his good arm he held out his big brown teddy bear. It was missing an eye but I had to admit it was cute. I layed there and stared at him for the longest time. Not knowing what he was wanting from me.

He said, "This is Teddy. He's still sick. He needs to stay here. Could you keep him here till he gets better?"

I reached out and took Teddy from his hand. I promised I would take care of Teddy until the time he got better. I also promised to keep him from harm afterwards.

Just then the little boy's mother called to him. He looked back at me and said, "Bye mister, bye Teddy" and ran out of the room. His mother smiled down at him and the nurse wheeled him away. I sat there hugging Teddy for the longest time. The nurse responded to my call just in time to catch the tears rolling down my cheeks and the biggest smile on my face.

I will never forget what that little boy gave to me that day. It was so much more than a well loved, one eyed teddy bear. I have kept my promises to that little boy too.

I have kept Teddy close to me ever since that day in the hospital room, and I have kept that little boy close to my heart. Just recently I sent Teddy to the most special person in my life. She has the most incredible love. I will join her soon and we will keep Teddy for the rest of our lives.

Teddy will always be very well loved.
--- Jay James

Saturday, December 26, 2009


Once upon a time–so long ago that everybody has forgotten the date–in a city in the north of Europe–with such a hard name that nobody can ever remember it. There was a little seven-year-old boy named Wolff, whose parents were dead, who lived with a cross and stingy old aunt, who never thought of kissing him more than once a year and who sigheddeeply whenever she gave him a bowlful of soup.

But the poor little fellow had such a sweet nature that in spite of everything, he loved the old woman, although he was terribly afraid of her and could never look at her ugly old face without shivering.

As this aunt of little Wolff was known to have a house of her own and an old woollen stocking full of gold, she had not dared to send the boy to a charity school; but, in order to get a reduction in the price, she had so wrangled with the master of the school, to which little Wolff finally went, that this bad man, vexed at having a pupil so poorly dressed and paying so little, often punished him unjustly, and even
prejudiced his companions against him, so that the three boys, all sons of rich parents, made a drudge and laughing stock of the little fellow.

The poor little one was thus as wretched as a child could be and used to hide himself in corners to weep whenever Christmas time came.

It was the schoolmaster’s custom to take all his pupils to the midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and to bring them home again afterward.

Now, as the winter this year was very bitter, and as heavy snow had been falling for several days, all the boys came well bundled up in warm clothes, with fur caps pulled over their ears, padded jackets, gloves and knitted mittens, and strong, thick-soled boots. Only little Wolff presented himself shivering in the poor clothes he used to wear both weekdays and Sundays and having on his feet only thin socks in heavy wooden shoes.

His naughty companions noticing his sad face and awkward appearance, made many jokes at his expense; but the little fellow was so busy blowing on his fingers, and was suffering so much with chilblains, that he took no notice of them. So the band of youngsters, walking two and two behind the master, started for the church.

It was pleasant in the church which was brilliant with lighted candles; and the boys excited by the warmth took advantage of the music of the choir and the organ to chatter among themselves in low tones. They bragged about the fun that was awaiting them at home. The mayor’s son had seen, just before starting off, an immense goose ready stuffed and dressed for cooking. At the alderman’s home there was a little pine-tree with branches laden down with oranges, sweets, and toys. And the lawyer’s cook had put on her cap with such care as she never thought of taking unless she was expecting something very good!

Then they talked, too, of all that the Christ-Child was going to bring them, of all he was going to put in their shoes which, you might be sure, they would take good care to leave in the chimney place before going to bed; and the eyes of these little urchins, as lively as a cage of mice, were sparkling in advance over the joy they would have when they awoke in the morning and saw the pink bag full of sugar-plums, the little lead soldiers ranged in companies in their boxes, the menageries
smelling of varnished wood, and the magnificent jumping-jacks in purple and tinsel.

Alas! Little Wolff knew by experience that his old miser of an aunt would send him to bed supperless, but, with childlike faith and certain of having been, all the year, as good and industrious as possible, he hoped that the Christ-Child would not forget him, and so he, too, planned to place his wooden shoes in good time in the fireplace.

Midnight mass over, the worshippers departed, eager for their fun, and the band of pupils always walking two and two, and following the teacher, left the church.

Now, in the porch and seated on a stone bench set in the niche of a painted arch, a child was sleeping–a child in a white woollen garment, but with his little feet bare, in spite of the cold. He was not a beggar, for his garment was white and new, and near him on the floor was a bundle of carpenter’s tools.

In the clear light of the stars, his face, with its closed eyes, shone with an expression of divine sweetness, and his long, curling, blond locks seemed to form a halo about his brow. But his little child’s feet, made blue by the cold of this bitter December night, were pitiful to see!

The boys so well clothed for the winter weather passed by quite indifferent to the unknown child; several of them, sons of the notables of the town, however, cast on the vagabond looks in which could be read all the scorn of the rich for the poor, of the well-fed for the hungry.

But little Wolff, coming last out of the church, stopped, deeply touched, before the beautiful sleeping child.

“Oh, dear!” said the little fellow to himself, “this is frightful! This poor little one has no shoes and stockings in this bad weather–and, what is still worse, he has not even a wooden shoe to leave near him to-night while he sleeps, into which the little Christ-Child can put something good to soothe his misery.”

And carried away by his loving heart, Wolff drew the wooden shoe from his right foot, laid it down before the sleeping child, and, as best he could, sometimes hopping, sometimes limping with his sock wet by the snow, he went home to his aunt.

“Look at the good-for-nothing!” cried the old woman, full of wrath at the sight of the shoeless boy. “What have you done with your shoe, you little villain?”

Little Wolff did not know how to lie, so, although trembling with terror when he saw the rage of the old shrew, he tried to relate his adventure.

But the miserly old creature only burst into a frightful fit of laughter.

“Aha! So my young gentleman strips himself for the beggars. Aha! My young gentleman breaks his pair of shoes for a bare-foot! Here is something new, forsooth. Very well, since it is this way, I shall put the only shoe that is left into the chimney-place, and I’ll answer for it that the Christ-Child will put in something to-night to beat you with in the morning! And you will have only a crust of bread and water tomorrow. And we shall see if the next time, you will be giving your shoes to the first vagabond that happens along.”

And the wicked woman having boxed the ears of the poor little fellow, made him climb up into the loft where he had his wretched cubbyhole.

Desolate, the child went to bed in the dark and soon fell asleep, but his pillow was wet with tears.

But behold! the next morning when the old woman, awakened early by the cold, went downstairs–oh, wonder of wonders–she saw the big chimney filled with shining toys, bags of magnificent bonbons, and riches of every sort, and standing out in front of all this treasure, was the right wooden shoe which the boy had given to the little vagabond, yes, and beside it, the one which she had placed in the chimney to hold the
bunch of switches.

As little Wolff, attracted by the cries of his aunt, stood in an ecstasy of childish delight before the splendid Christmas gifts, shouts of laughter were heard outside. The woman and child ran out to see what all this meant, and behold! all the gossips of the town were standing around the public fountain. What could have happened? Oh, a most ridiculous and extraordinary thing! The children of the richest men in
the town, whom their parents had planned to surprise with the most beautiful presents had found only switches in their shoes!

Then the old woman and the child thinking of all the riches in their chimney were filled with fear. But suddenly they saw the priest appear, his countenance full of astonishment. Just above the bench placed near the door of the church, in the very spot where, the night before, a child in a white garment and with bare feet, in spite of the cold, had rested his lovely head, the priest had found a circlet of gold embedded in the old stones.

Then, they all crossed themselves devoutly, perceiving that this beautiful sleeping child with the carpenter’s tools had been Jesus of Nazareth himself, who had come back for one hour just as he had been when he used to work in the home of his parents; and reverently they bowed before this miracle, which the good God had done to reward the faith and the love of a little child.


Friday, December 25, 2009


On a December night in Chicago, a little girl climbed onto her father's lap and asked a question. It was a simple question, asked in children's curiosity, yet it had a heart-rending effect on Robert May.

"Daddy," four-year old Barbara asked, "Why isn't my Mommy just like everybody else's mommy?"

Bob May stole a glance across his shabby two room apartment. On a couch lay his young wife, Evelyn, racked with cancer. For two years she had been bedridden; for two years, all Bob's income and smaller savings had gone to pay for treatments and medicines.

The terrible ordeal already had shattered two adult lives. Now Bob suddenly realized the happiness of his growing daughter was also in jeopardy. As he ran his fingers through Barbara's hair, he prayed for some satisfactory answer to her question.

Bob May knew only too well what it meant to be "different." As a child he had been weak and delicate. With the innocent cruelty of children, his playmates had continually goaded the stunted, skinny lad to tears. Later at Dartmouth, from which he was graduated in 1926, Bob May was so small that he was always being mistaken for someone's little brother.

Nor was his adult life much happier. Unlike many of his classmates who floated from college into plush jobs, Bob became a lowly copy writer for Montgomery Ward, the big Chicago mail order house. Now at 33, Bob was deep in debt, depressed and sad.

Although Bob did not know it at the time, the answer he gave the tousled haired child on his lap was to bring him to fame and fortune. It was also to bring joy to countless thousands of children like his own Barbara. On that December night in the shabby Chicago apartment, Bob cradled his little girl's head against his shoulder and began to tell a story.

"Once upon a time there was a reindeer named Rudolph, the only reindeer in the world that had a big red nose. Naturally people called him Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer." As Bob went on to tell about Rudolph, he tried desperately to communicate to Barbara the knowledge that, even though some creatures of God are strange and different, they often enjoy the miraculous power to make others happy.

Rudolph, Bob explained, was terribly embarrassed by his unique nose. Other reindeer laughed at him; his mother and father and sister were mortified too.

Even Rudolph wallowed in self pity.

"Well," continued Bob, "one Christmas Eve, Santa Claus got his team of husky reindeer -Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixon ready for their yearly trip around the world. The entire reindeer community assembled to cheer these great heroes on their way. But a terrible fog engulfed the earth that evening, and Santa knew that the mist was so thick he wouldn't be able to find any chimney.

Suddenly Rudolph appeared, his red nose glowing brighter than ever. Santa sensed at once that here was the answer to his perplexing problem. He led Rudolph to the front of the sleigh, fastened the harness and climbed in.

They were off! Rudolph guided Santa safely to every chimney that night. Rain and fog, snow and sleet; nothing bothered Rudolph, for his bright nose penetrated the mist like a beacon.

And so it was that Rudolph became the most famous and beloved of all the reindeer. The huge red nose he once hid in shame was now the envy of every buck and doe in the reindeer world. Santa Claus told everyone that Rudolph had saved the day and from that Christmas, Rudolph has been living serenely and happy."

Little Barbara laughed with glee when her father finished. Every night she begged him to repeat the tale until finally Bob could rattle it off in his sleep. Then, at Christmas time he decided to make the story into a poem like "The Night Before Christmas" and prepare it in bookish form illustrated with pictures, for Barbara's personal gift. Night after night, Bob worked on the verses after Barbara had gone to bed for he was determined his daughter should have a worthwhile gift, even though he could not afford to buy one...

Then as Bob was about to put the finishing touches on Rudolph, tragedy struck.

Evelyn May died. Bob, his hopes crushed, turned to Barbara as chief comfort. Yet, despite his grief, he sat at his desk in the quiet, now lonely apartment, and worked on "Rudolph" with tears in his eyes.

Shortly after Barbara had cried with joy over his handmade gift on Christmas morning, Bob was asked to an employee's holiday party at Montgomery Wards. He didn't want to go, but his office associates insisted. When Bob finally agreed, he took with him the poem and read it to the crowd. First the noisy throng listened in laughter and gaiety. Then they became silent, and at the end, broke into spontaneous applause. That was in 1938.

By Christmas of 1947, some 6 million copies of the booklet had been given away or sold, making Rudolph one of the most widely distributed books in the world. The demand for Rudolph sponsored products, increased so much in variety and number that educators and historians predicted Rudolph would come to occupy a permanent place in the Christmas legend.


Thursday, December 24, 2009


Hesitating, the first snow flakes fell. It was one day before Christmas. There was this small house in front of a big forest, which was breathing quietness. Just every now and then, two rabbits disturbed the peace and quietness. They seemed to be searching for something between the dead leaves. Inside, a man stared through the window, as if he was waiting for something.

Except for the man, there were two other people in the small room. They were his daughters in the age of fifteen and seventeen, who were both reading. The youngest one was called Mary and the oldest Leslie. They were both of the dreaming type, this unlike their father who, being a lumberjack, could not see any good in dreaming.

Quite often, it bothered him that his daughters were reading. This was not in the first place because he could barely read himself but because books were expensive and he did not make a lot. Every once and a while Leslie spoke up by pointing out that they read used books but this did not mean much to the poorly educated lumberjack.

'Dad, could we please go for an evening walk?' Leslie asked. The lumberjack growled a bit and then nodded.

Meanwhile, it was snowing considerably and so the girls dressed accordingly. To make sure that they would not get lost, they took the familiar path, which ran along the wood. To go into the wood itself, was even now for an experienced trapper risky. As more snow fell, the evening became lighter.

Mary and Leslie continued in silence. They both had the same thought: their mother who had died a year ago because of terrible fever. So their father's behaviour was understandable.

When the girls were already at quite a distance from their home, rather suddenly the wind increased. The sisters got a startle out of this because they knew very well what this could mean. They looked at each other but there was no need for words and they returned.

However, a return was out of the question because soon they lost their way. Leslie got overwhelmed by fear and started to cry. Mary tried to comfort her older sister. 'Take it easy Leslie, we will just wait on this trunk' she said and put her arm around her sister.

The wind increased to gale force and it seemed as if the snowflakes were trying to beat each other in size and speed. Soon, the snow came to their knees. Leslie was sobbing silently and Mary was praying.

Suddenly, their surroundings were strongly lit. The girls covered their eyes quickly. 'Don't be afraid!' a soft voice said and the sisters looked up at once because they had recognized their mother's voice. Leslie could not speak at all but Mary felt that this happened for real.

'O mother, you are returning!' Mary cried. 'Only temporarily, after you will have to go on your own on this earth,' their mother said, emphasizing 'this'.

The bright white light, which surrounded their mother's appearance, became less bright and also got different shades of color. 'Are there more planets like the earth?' Leslie asked who had recovered from the unusual event. 'Yes, dearest Leslie, many more but most important is that it is over there always Christmas?' and their mother brushed away a tear. Now, Leslie could not control her emotions any more either and burst out crying.

Then a miracle occurred: her tears changed into beautiful pearls, which she could catch in her hands. Mary looked up to her mother with a question mark on her face, whose appearance spread now a soft glow.

'It is really you isn't it??' she asked almost begging. 'Yes Mary, it's really me. But what happens here is not done by me because only God can do that. This event has a special meaning. It's an expression of God's Love for His Creatures. With these pearls part of the hunger, poverty and misery can be solved. Every one of us, gets the chance to perform a very beautiful task; to spread Peace and Love all over the world.'

Tomorrow, it will be Christmas. Your tears will be normal tears again because everybody will have to contribute to the Great Plan him- or herself. Money will only be a tool. One has to act from the heart.

Their mother's shape began to fade away but Mary and Leslie were not sad. They were very happy because they received the most beautiful Christmas message of their lives.

They did not need to think long about the destination of the pearls. They would give one to their father and the rest would go to the needy ones. They themselves did not even want a pearl since their mother had given them something that was worth much more.

by: J. Luinenburg, Source Unknown

Wednesday, December 23, 2009


December is the busiest time of the year. Everyone’s busy preparing for the holidays and continuing family traditions. Has it ever crossed your mind, as to how many really stop and think what Christmas is all about? Are we teaching our children the true meaning of Christmas or how many gifts need to be bought? If we have taught our children the true meaning of Christmas, what we’ve instilled in them will be carried into generations to come. I like to see families create traditions all year long. After all, the original gift to all of us here on earth, was given from His heart. For through our hearts, one single gift of kindness, can touch an endless amount of hearts forever.

This is a story about a child that saw the importance of giving and never thought about giving up. Some may think a child isn’t old enough to carry enough wisdom to teach us all a lesson in living. But I’ve learned a heart grows from life’s many challenges and sometimes a child’s challenges can be far greater than some adults.

We met a little girl seven years ago, during one of my daughter’s occasional hospital stays. Her name was Beth and she was my daughter’s room mate for a week. Beth was a very happy girl despite her medical problems she was facing. Her long blonde curls always seemed to bounce with her smile. The girls got to know each other well and had become good friends.

On the pediatric floor of the hospital, we saw many seriously ill children. It was so sad, even though my daughter had an uncurable kidney disease and not a very good chance of living to see old age herself. We always saw many children with all kinds of cancer, and sadly enough Beth was one of those children. She was doing two weeks of chemo and radiation. I was amazed at her will and determination to never give up despite how very sick her treatments made her. She was always concerned about my daughter and the other children with cancer she grew to know over her many hospital stays.

My daughter’s IV treatments were done after a week and I was happy to finally bring her home. We were awaiting the final discharge orders when Beth appeared from the other side of the curtain that separated their beds.

She said, “I want you to have this. I know you need a new kidney, so keep this angel pin with you till you get better. She will watch over you so you smile all over. My friend, John gave this to me to watch over me, but it’s time for this angel to watch over you. When you get your new kidney and smile, you can give this angel to someone that needs her too. I’m done reading my book so here’s my bookmark that has a poem on it called, Don’t Quit!, I know it by heart anyhow.”

My daughter thanked her and the girls exchanged hugs and big smiles. I knew, we may never see Beth again, but we never forgot the gift she gave from her heart that day. During that year, we found out Beth has passed away. It was so sad to know such a beautiful little girl was no longer bouncing smiles to everyone she would meet. Her sincere kindness will stay with us forever.

We kept that angel for six more years. My daughter had gone beyond what medical journals had studied and expected from her disease. Was it the angel watching over her or pure luck? My daughter ended up on kidney dialysis for over a year, and one month after almost loosing her, a kidney became available and she received a transplant. My heart tells me, an angel upstairs was watching with a loving smile.

My daughter had kept that angel pin and now she felt it was time to give it to someone who needed watched over till they could smile again. She gave it to an elderly man trying to overcome the damage from heart problems and undergoing extensive therapy. His family has informed us, that when he returns home he wants to give the angel to someone he knows suffering from a brain tumor.

How many families and hearts this angel has touched no one knows for sure.

But all it took was one single gift of kindness, that has and will touch an endless amount of hearts forever.

So this Christmas season, look around and see that gift that can’t be bought. Create a tradition with your children or maybe someone you love. Make someone’s day and do the unexpected, let a friend know you care, or greet a stranger with a warm smile. Give the gift that keeps on giving. It’s open twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, it’s a gift from your heart. After all, isn’t that what Christmas is all about?

by: Bonnie, , A Heartprint Original

Tuesday, December 22, 2009


It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree at this time of the year for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it. You know, the overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma, the gifts given in desperation because you couldn’t think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner city church. The kids were mostly black.

These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.

As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without head gear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler’s ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously couldn’t afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn’t acknowledge defeat.

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.” Mike loved kids-all kids. He understood kids in competitive situations, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That’s when the idea for his present came.

That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.

His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition – one year sending a group of mentally challenged youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas – on and on…

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. Still, the story doesn’t end there.

You see, we lost Mike last year due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. Yet Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad.

The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further, with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation, watching as their fathers take down their envelopes.

Mike’s spirit, like the spirit of Christmas, will always be with us.

-Author Unknown-

Monday, December 21, 2009


In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone.

The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.

He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries. Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either. If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it. I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.

The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck. The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whoever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job. Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel.

An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night. I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people.

I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal. That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.

When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-- fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage. The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home.

One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana I wondered? I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids. I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys - then hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boy’s pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe. A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.

When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat. Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was a whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.

Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was a whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll. As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.

Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.

Father, I ask you to bless our friends, relatives reading this story right now. Show them a new revelation of your love and power or let them be the ones bringing love and joy in someone else’s life. Amen.

Sunday, December 20, 2009


One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley.

A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen. The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart.

Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said, "Why your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine." The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was beating strongly, but full of scars, it had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing.

The people stared ? "How can he say his heart is more beautiful?" they thought.

The young man looked at the old man's heart and saw its state and laughed. "You must be joking," he said. "Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears."

"Yes," said the old man, "Yours is perfect looking but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom have given my love - I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart, but because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared."

"Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges - giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?"

The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks.

He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man with trembling hands. The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart. It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.

The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowed into his.

They embraced and walked away side by side.


Saturday, December 19, 2009


I found myself daydreaming about past Christmas’. Remembering my two small boys, excitement filling their eyes, as we trimmed the tree and they talked about a visit from Santa, leaving cookies out for the jolly old man and carrots for his reindeer and shopping with their small savings for gifts for each other. I remember Christmas morning in church and I remember always being surrounded by loved ones during the entire holiday season. How blessed I was to have my family and friends and God in my life.

This started me thinking about ways to “give back” for all the blessings I enjoyed. But what could I do?

Being a small restaurant owner left very little time for anything else in my life. My husband, one of my sisters who worked at the restaurant, my Chef and I got together to discuss ideas and finally we came to the conclusion that we could do what we did best and what we did everyday – serve food.

There were a number of homeless and needy people in my small town; a few even enjoyed a cup of our soup slipped to them while passing by the back door of the restaurant. A plan began to come together …we could serve Christmas dinner to families who were having difficult times. If we closed the restaurant early on Christmas Eve, we could serve them a Christmas dinner and still have family time afterward!

But who would help prepare the food and serve the food and do the dishes and cleanup …all on Christmas Eve?

We posted a letter to the restaurant staff titled “A Christmas Story – A Time For Giving” explaining our plan and asking for their help. In a matter of a couple of days we had more than enough volunteers to help prepare the food and serve it, wash dishes and clean up! “A Christmas Story – A Time For Giving” had the employees excited and eager for the chance to give of themselves during the holiday season!

The next obstacle was how to obtain a list of people to invite and how to get the word out about the Christmas dinner.

Many of the restaurant customers attended local churches and those churches sponsored a free meal for the needy every Thursday evening. The restaurant always donated food or money to help with those dinners. Could they help us put together a guest list?

I met with the person in charge of those Thursday night dinners and was told they would be delighted to help with our Christmas dinner plan. The churches would put together a guest list and get the word out to the needy at their Thursday dinners.

When we received the guest list early in December, we found that many children would be among our dinner guests. My sister said, “We have to have gifts for the kids.” She and some friends held a charity party every year to raise money for needy families and they decided to give part of that money for gifts for “our kids.” The guest list included the age and sex of every child, so Sis was able to purchase appropriate gifts for each one.

Those that volunteered to serve Christmas dinner also asked if their children could help. Who could deny them the pleasure of serving others! The kids had the time of their lives serving the Chef’s scrumptious roast turkey dinner with all the trimmings and pumpkin pie for dessert.

When every appetite was satisfied and folks lingered over coffee, my sister and her helpers presented wrapped gifts to every child. Every one of us was blessed when we saw each child’s eyes light up with surprise and happiness. It is a very special feeling to bring a moment of joy and a full tummy to those in need.

The restaurant continued this Christmas Story – A Time For Giving every year thereafter. We never lacked for volunteers. Unfortunately we never lacked for needy guests, either. But it is a fabulous experience to have people in the community stop by or telephone to offer their help every year. As it turns out, there are many caring people who want to “give back,” to share in a celebration of God’s blessings to others.

“A Christmas Story – A Time For Giving” is simply people helping people. It is what Christmas, and life, is really all about.

By Donna Hager

Donna Hager has owned and operated an American-Style Restaurant for over two decades. Hundreds of Real-Restaurant-Recipes can be found on her website that also features menu ideas, cooking tips, and much more. Visit Donna at Real Restaurant

Explore Donna’s site for great Christmas and holiday recipes.

Friday, December 18, 2009


Christmas is just round the corner and many have started their Christmas shopping. I have also received a few presents already even though it's still slightly more than a week to Christmas. In case, you have run out of ideas for presents, here are some ideas for gifts that don't cost a cent...and the best part is - these will multiply when you give them. Take care and have a blessed season and a great day!


But you must REALLY listen. No interrupting, no daydreaming, no planning your response. Just listening.


Be generous with appropriate hugs, kisses, pats on the back and holds. Let these small actions demonstrate the love you have for family and friends.


Clip cartoons. Share articles and funny stories. Your gift will say, "I love to laugh with you."


It can be a simple "Thanks for the help" note or a full sonnet. A brief, handwritten note may be remembered for a lifetime, and may even change a life.


A simple and sincere, "You look great in red," "You did a super job" or "That was a wonderful meal" can make someone's day.


Every day, go out of your way to do something kind.


There are times when we want nothing better than to be left alone. Be sensitive to those times and give the gift of solitude to others.


The easiest way to feel good is to extend a kind word to someone, really it's not that hard to say, Hello or Thank You.

Take care and remember to smile a lot and be happy always...Have a lovely weekend!

Thursday, December 17, 2009


The greatest pain in life is not to die, but to be ignored.

To lose the person you love so much to another who doesn't care at all.
To have someone you care so about so much throw a party... and not tell you about it.

When your favorite person on earth neglects to invite you to his graduation.
To have people think that you don't care.

The greatest pain in life, is not to die, but to be forgotten.

To be left in the dust after another's great achievement.
To never get a call from a friend, just saying "hi".

When you show someone your innermost thoughts and they laugh in your face.
For friends to always be too busy to console you when you need someone to lift your spirits.
When it seems like the only person who cares about you, is you.

Life is full of pain, but does it ever get better?
Will people ever care about each other, and make time for those who are in need?

Each of us has a part to play in this great show we call life.

Each of us has a duty to mankind to tell our friends we love them.

If you do not care about your friends you will not be punished.

You will simply be ignored...

as you have done to others.


* I am not sure if I have posted this before. Still, it is a very thought-provoking piece which I hope can remind all of us to be human...Take care and have a nice day.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009


One day I was lying on the bed, reading, when my mother came into the room. She held out a vase--a rather ugly vase. She asked, 'Would you like to have this vase?'

"I replied quickly, 'No, I don't want it.'

"As she turned to walk away, I picked up something that said to me, 'Wait a minute, don't shut this off yet.' So I asked, 'Where did you get it?'

"She said, 'Oh, I got it when I filled an order.' Filled an order? I thought--no communication here. So I asked, 'What do you mean, filled an order?'

'Well,' she said, 'when I was a little girl, the Smith Company mailed catalogs to people. I would take the catalog around the neighborhood, and I'd get people to order from it. When I filled an order and sent it in, they gave me a prize. One time, I got a porch swing for my family.'

"Now you have to understand," said Hensley, "that my mother is 81 years old. She is one of six children in a family that her father deserted when she was quite young. Money was real hard to come by. My grandmother managed to keep the family together through the years, although I don't know how. For my mother to win a luxury like a porch swing was a significant accomplishment. Although she no longer had the swing, she had the vase--a vase full of meaning--which she offered to me. Instantly I said, 'Mom, I want the vase.' Now it sits in a prominent place in my living room. It symbolizes a precious meaning which my mother and I share: Unless you and I are sensitive to the other person and hear meaning, we may well have a communication problem.

-Author Unknown-


The story is told of an old man who lived on a farm in the mountains of eastern Kentucky with his young grandson. Each morning, Grandpa was up early sitting at the kitchen table praying. His grandson who wanted to be just like him tried to imitate him in any way he could.

One day the grandson asked, 'Papa, I try to pray just like you but I don't understand it, and what I do understand I forget as soon as I begin to pray. What good does praying do?' The Grandfather quietly turned from putting coal in the stove and said, 'Take this old wicker coal basket down to the river and bring back a basket of water.'

The boy did as he was told, even though all the water leaked out before he could get back to the house. The grandfather laughed and said, 'You will have to move a little faster next time,' and sent him back to the river with the basket to try again. This time the boy ran faster, but again the old wicker basket was empty before he returned home. Out of breath, he told his grandfather that it was 'impossible to carry water in a basket,' and he went to get a bucket instead. The old man said, 'I don't want a bucket of water; I want a basket of water. You can do this. You're just not trying hard enough,' and he went out the door to watch the boy try again.

At this point, the boy knew it was impossible, but he wanted to show his grandfather that even if he ran as fast as he could, the water would leak out before he got far at all. The boy scooped the water and ran hard, but when he reached his grandfather the basket was again empty. Out of breath, he said, 'See Papa, it's useless!'

'So you think it is useless?' The old man said, 'Look at the basket.'

The boy looked at the basket and for the first time he realized that the basket looked different. Instead of a dirty old wicker coal basket, it was clean.

'Son, that's what happens when you pray. You might not understand or remember everything, but when you pray, it will change you from the inside out.'

Moral of the wicker basket story: Take time to pray each day; it will affect you for good even if you don't remember what you prayed.

Thought for Today: God's Love is like the ocean, you can see its beginnings but not its end.

I really like this story because I don't remember things like I used to....but then I think God isn't concerned about my brain anyway, He's more concerned about my heart....

This was sent to me in an email by a blog reader named Mr. P. Thanks!

Sunday, December 13, 2009


There once was an oyster
Whose story I tell,
Who found that some sand
Had got into his shell.

It was only a grain,
but it gave him great pain.
For oysters have feelings
Although they're so plain.

Now, did he berate
the harsh workings of fate
That had brought him
To such a deplorable state?

Did he curse at the government,
Cry for election,
And claim that the sea should
Have given him protection?

'No,' he said to himself
As he lay on a shell,
Since I cannot remove it,
I shall try to improve it.

Now the years have rolled around,
As the years always do,
And he came to his ultimate
Destiny stew.

And the small grain of sand
That had bothered him so
Was a beautiful pearl
All richly aglow.

Now the tale has a moral,
for isn't it grand
What an oyster can do
With a morsel of sand?

What couldn't we do
If we'd only begin
With some of the things
That get under our skin.

-Author Unknown-

Friday, December 11, 2009


There are little eyes upon you
and they're watching night and day.

There are little ears that quickly
take in every word you say.

There are little hands all eager
to do anything you do;

And a little boy who's dreaming
of the day he'll be like you.

You're the little fellow's idol,
you're the wisest of the wise.

In his little mind about you
no suspicions ever rise.

He believes in you devoutly,
holds all you say and do;

He will say and do, in your way
when he's grown up just like you.

There's a wide-eyed little fellow
who believes you're always right;
and his eyes are always opened,
and he watches day and night.

You are setting an example
every day in all you do;

For the little boy who's waiting
to grow up to be like you.

-Author Unknown-

Wednesday, December 9, 2009


Cherish things while you still have them,
before they're gone,
and you realize how precious they really are.

Life can only be understood backwards,
but it must be lived forwards.

Everything in life is temporary.
So if things are going good,
enjoy it because it won't last forever.
And if things are going bad,
don't worry because it won't last forever either.

Destiny is not a matter of chance,
it is a matter of choice;
it is not a thing to be waited for,
it is a thing to be achieved.

A journey of a thousand miles
begins with a single step.

Never cross a bridge
without knowing how to swim the tides.

If you could not add years to your life
Add life to your years.

-Author Unknown-

Tuesday, December 8, 2009


One day a mother died.

And on that clear, cold morning,
in the warmth of her bedroom,
the daughter was struck with
the pain of learning that sometimes
there isn't any more.

No more hugs,
no more lucky moments to celebrate together,
no more phone calls just to chat,
No more 'just one minute'

Sometimes, what we care about the most goes away.
never to return before we can say good-bye,
Say 'I Love You.'

So while we have it ..... it's best we love it ...
And care for it and fix it when it's broken
and take good care of it when it's sick.

This is true for marriage.... and friendships
And children with bad report cards;
And dogs with bad hips;
And aging parents and grandparents
We keep them because they are worth it,
Because we cherish them!

Some things we keep --
like a best friend who moved away
or a classmate we grew up with.
There are just some things that makeus happy,
No matter what.

Life is important,
and so are the people we know
And so, we keep them close!

I received this from someone today
who thought I was a 'KEEPER'!

Then I posted this in my blog
Specially for my readers whom I think of in the same way !

May your troubles be less,Your Blessings be more,
And nothing but Happiness
Come through your Door.

Patience is not passive; on the contrary, it is active; it is concentrated strength."


*Many thanks to Angela who sent me this article which I modified a bit for this post.

Monday, December 7, 2009


A few years ago a group of salesmen went to a regional sales convention in Chicago . They had assured their wives that they would be home in plenty of time for Friday night's dinner. In their rush, with tickets and briefcases, one of these salesmen inadvertently kicked over a table which held a display of apples. Apples flew everywhere. Without stopping or looking back, they all managed to reach the plane in time for their nearly-missed boarding.

ALL BUT ONE!!! He paused, took a deep breath , got in touch with his feelings, and experienced a twinge of compassion for the girl whose apple stand had been overturned. He told his buddies to go without him, waved good-bye, told one of them to call his wife when they arrived at their home destination and explain his taking a later flight. Then he returned to the terminal where the apples were all over the terminal floor.

He was glad he did. The 16-year-old girl was totally blind! She was softly crying, tears running down her cheeks in frustration, and at the same time helplessly groping for her spilled produce as the crowd swirled about her; no one stopping and no one to care for her plight.

The salesman knelt on the floor with her, gathered up the apples, put them back on the table and helped organize her display. As he did this, he noticed that many of them had become battered and bruised; these he set aside in another basket.

When he had finished, he pulled out his wallet and said to the girl, 'Here, please take this $40 for the damage we did.

Are you okay?' She nodded through her tears. He continued on with, 'I hope we didn't spoil your day too badly.'

As the salesman started to walk away, the bewildered blind girl called out to him, 'Mister.... Excuse me,' He paused and turned to look back into those blind eyes. She continued, 'Are you God?'

He stopped in mid-stride, and he wondered. Then slowly he made his way to catch the later flight with that question burning and bouncing about in his soul: 'Are you God?' Do people mistake you for God?

That's our destiny, is it not? To be so much like God that people cannot tell the difference as we live and interact with a world that is blind to His love, life and grace. If we claim to know Him, we should live, walk and act as He would. *Knowing Him is more than simply quoting Scripture and going to church.* It's actually living the Word as life unfolds day to day.

You are the apple of His eye even though we, too, have been bruised by a fall. He stopped what He was doing and picked up you and me and paid in full for our damaged fruit.

Please share this, iF you feel led to do so. Sometimes we just take things for granted, when we really need to be sharing what we know...Thanks.

Be Blessed and Be A Blessing to others. May God Bless you beyond measure!!!

-Author Unknown-

This story was sent to me yesterday by my dearest friend, Angela. Thanks sweetheart!
Have a nice day folks!

Sunday, December 6, 2009


People are unreasonable, illogical and self-centered.
Love them anyway.

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Do good anyway.

If you are successful, you win false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway.

The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway.

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway.

People really need help but may attack you if you help them.
Help people anyway.

Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth.
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

Written by Mother Theresa

Friday, December 4, 2009


Once upon a time it was announced that the devil
was going out of business and would sell all
his equipment to those who were willing to pay the price.

On the big day of the sale,
all his tools were attractively displayed.
There were Envy, Jealousy, Hatred, Malice, Deceit, Sensuality, Pride,
Idolatry, and other implements of evil display. Each of the tools was
Marked with its own price tag.

Over in the corner by itself was a harmless looking,
wedge-shaped tool very much worn, but still it bore a
higher price than any of the others.
Someone asked the devil what it was, and he answered,
"That is Discouragement."
The next question came quickly,
"And why is it priced so high even though
it is plain to see that it is worn more than these others?"

Because replied the devil,
"It is more useful to me than all these others.
I can pry open and get into a man's heart with that
when I cannot get near him with any other too
Once I get inside, I can use him in whatever way
suits me best. It is worn well because
I use it on everybody I can,
and few people even know it belongs to me."

This tool was priced so high that no one could buy it, and to this day it has never been sold.
It still belongs to the devil,
and he still uses it on mankind.

-author unknown-

Wednesday, December 2, 2009


I received the following post from Angela and would like to share it with you this morning because of its many beautiful lessons. Thanks, Angela, for sharing. Please pass it on if you find it useful. Thanks and have a nice day!


ONE : Don't miss the boat
TWO : Remember that we are all in the same boat!

THREE : Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.

FOUR : Stay fit. When you're 60 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.

FIVE : Don't listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.
SIX: Build your future on high ground.

SEVEN : For safety's sake, travel in pairs.

EIGHT : Speed isn't always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.

NINE : When you're stressed, float awhile.

TEN : Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.

ELEVEN : No matter the storm, when you are with God, there's always a rainbow waiting.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Carpe Diem

Believe in yourself. Be brave...but it's ok to be afraid sometimes

Study hard

Give lots of kisses

Laugh often

Don't be overly concerned with your weight, it's just a number

Always try to see the glass half full

Meet new people, even if they look different to you

Remain calm, even when it seems hopeless

Take lots of naps..

Be weird whenever you have the chance

Love your friends, no matter who they are

Don't waste food


Take an occasional risk.

Try to have a little fun each's important

Work together as a team and share a joke with friends

Fall in love with someone.....and say 'I love you' often

Express yourself creatively

Be conscious of your appearance

Always be up for surprises

Love someone with all of your heart

Share with friends

Watch your step

It will get better

There is always someone who loves you more than you know...

Exercise to keep fit

Live up to your name

Seize the Moment

Hold on to good friends; they are few and far between

Indulge in the things you truly love

Cherish every Sunday

At the end of the day... PRAY

........ And close your eye

And smile at least once a day!

Have a nice day!!!